Chapter 2

Monday. 10:45 a.m. Claire Willis and Rachel McGilll were having coffee as usual in Claire’s dining room. Claire was telling Rachel about how a neighbor’s exclusive handbag was actually a cheap knockoff.

As Claire explained, “So she says, I bet it was $10,000. And I say I bet she didn’t spend ten bucks. And she says, no way, and I say, way. And she says, how can you tell? And I say, you can totally tell by the stitching. And...”

Rachel’s cellphone interrupted Claire’s story.

“Sorry.” Rachel said with a sheepish smile. Claire frowned and sipped her coffee while Rachel checked the caller’s number.

“Sorry got to go.” Rachel declared abruptly.

“Hey!” Claire objected but Rachel was out the door in an instant.

“She’s been acting real crazy recently.” Claire mused as she went to her front window to see where Rachel was going. She went into Dr. Don’s house across the street.

“Oh that ho!” Claire laughed. “I’ll surprise her and the doc when they’re getting it on. Let me time this right. Five minutes chit chat. Two minutes to strip. Ten minutes for foreplay. Strike that. The doc has got to be a slow mover—15 minutes for foreplay. So I’ll give them roughly 30 minutes and start banging on the door. That will scare them totally shitless.”

Claire thought about Rachel’s infidelity while she waited for the right moment to surprise the couple. She felt responsible for it. She must have given Rachel the idea when she talked about how she wanted to have an affair. She hadn’t been serious about fooling around. Sure her husband had other lovers. He probably had several, both guys and girls. Claire’s reaction was “so what.” He could play the field as long as he took care of Claire and he did that very well. He bought her whatever she wanted—the best clothes, the nicest handbags, the most expensive shoes, a great car. She had feigned anger in front of Rachel just to break up their dull routine.

Claire had to admit though that she had sacrificed a lot for this life of luxury. Regular sex was one casualty. Her husband, Paul, wasn’t around much and wasn’t up for nookie when he was. Another price had been her dancing career. Paul was adamant it was inappropriate for his wife to be a dancer. At the time her husband had popped the question, giving up dance for security seemed like a good deal. She was unemployed, bouncing checks and her landlord was ready to evict her. Sure she loved the thrill of performing before an audience and showing off what her bod could do, but good gigs where always hard to come by. She found it hard to compete against the flat-chested stick figures with her deep breasts and curvy figure. The life was tough and she didn’t want to go the way of Natalie Portman in Black Swan.

Not that she didn’t want to dance anymore. She practiced solo but it wasn’t the same. That urge to dazzle a crowd was still with her and annoyed her terribly from time to time, to the point that she might explode if she didn’t get on a stage. Sometimes, when she was really alone, she felt other urges and desires, feelings deep and primal that she kept locked away, a fantasy of dancing naked before an audience hungry for her and desperate to have her. She dispelled these feelings for fear they could doom her life of comfort.

As much as her “kept woman” existence grated on her sometimes, Claire had to endure it as best she could, especially since Paul had made her sign an ironclad pre-nup that would leave her out on the street without a dime if she was caught fooling around. She was far too prudent to let hat happen.

Claire took great pleasure in being able to now wield that moral superiority over Rachel. Though they were essentially in the same situation as bored housewives, Rachel’s Ivy League intellectual pedigree and smarts gave Claire a major league sense of inferiority. Rachel seemed to know everything about everything. What made that worse was that Rachel had married for love where Claire had married for security. Those smarts and romance didn’t carry much weight any more and Claire took a lot of glee from that. Rachel slipped up morally and in a really stupid way. Now who was the better person?

The time that Claire had set to show up at Dr. Don’s had come. She restrained the urge to run over. When she got to Dr. Don’s door she gave it a hard pounding, hoping to rile up the occupants from their illicit conjugal bliss.

Claire had been surprised the first time she had knocked on Dr. Don’s door when it turned out that he knew her and Rachel even though they had never met. She was surprised this time too when the door opened to reveal Rachel, completely naked except for a slinky pink thong, with a tiny pink bow in the middle, and matching pink high heels. Claire was also stunned to find Rachel wearing makeup—lots of it. The most Rachel usually wore was maybe some gloss. Now, her lips were painted bright red, her eyelids were coated with full-blown, gaudy purple eye shadow, her lashes were thick black with black eyeliner, and her cheek bones were defined by bright rouge.

Rachel’s eyes were closed as if she were trying especially hard to concentrate. When she opened them, she whispered, “Don’t.”

Claire misinterpreted the word as a plea instead of the warning Rachel had summoned the strength to make.

Claire was about to make a teasing comment, but Dr. Don’s voice interrupted her. “Please show our guest in.” He said. Instantly, Rachel’s demeanor turned to one of stiff formality, like a servant in a period mansion in England.

“Come in, Miss Claire.” Rachel said meekly. “We’ve been expecting you.”

Rachel spun around and sashayed into the house, her hips swinging seductively. Claire gulped. Rachel was certainly beautiful but Claire had never seen her do anything so sexy before. Presumably she saved that stuff for her husband. Now she was moving as if she wanted to turn Claire on and she had succeeded.

Claire followed Rachel into the Doctor’s living room. The Doctor himself was sitting comfortably in a plush leather chair, reading one of his scientific magazines and drinking a scotch. Without acknowledging Claire, he raised his drained glass and gave it a little shake, clinking the ice cubes it contained. Without hesitation, Rachel obtained a scotch bottle and refilled the glass. For a moment, she turned her head slightly to look at Claire and gave her a brief, pensive look of shame. Then she returned the bottle to a shelf and fell to her knees besides Dr. Don, her head bowed as if a supplicant before her god.

Claire laughed out loud. “Could you two just be a little less discrete with your master slave act you got going on here?” She snorted sarcastically.

Rachel blushed but neither she nor the Doctor said anything.

Claire became annoyed about being ignored. “Doc, you can move wherever you want, but Rachel has her reputation to worry about. If anyone finds out what you two are doing her, Rachel’s good name will be in the toilet.”

Finally, Dr. Don gave a light wave to Rachel and said, “Tell her, girl.”

“I’m not Rachel anymore.” Rachel said blushing, with an air of sad resignation. “I am Sir’s girl.”

Claire became unnerved. “Come on, Rachel! Snap out of it.” She said insistently. “You’ll need a miracle worker for a divorce attorney if your husband finds out about this!”

“I live to serve, my Sir, Dr. Don.” Rachel said flatly, her voice tinged with shame.

Claire couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “For god’s sake Rachel! Think of your future. This weird ass s-and-m thing is not worth it.”

For a moment, just a moment, Rachel’s brow trembled and she closed her eyes as if she were exerting herself to move. She failed to lift a finger and sobbed, “I am Sir’s girl.”

Claire pointed an accusing finger at Dr. Don. “You’ve brainwashed her, you bastard!”

The Doctor finally looked at Claire and shook his head. “Brainwashing would presume that I compelled my girl to do something she wouldn’t want to do. I am merely helping her realize one of her fantasies. In return she is providing me with some valuable data. In fact, I’ve learned from her that my induction programs have to move slower if they are to properly alter a subject’s thought patterns. My girl, here still feels a need to resist her programming even though she cannot fight it.”

“You’re crazy!” Claire gasped.

The Doctor shrugged. “I am sure I seem that way to you now, but once you join my experiment, you will discover how lucid I am.”

Claire didn’t like the sound of that. “Back off, asshole!” She cried, not realizing a small black creature had crawled up her sleeve and was on her shoulder. Only when it had scurried to the base of her neck did she realize it was there until it quickly burrowed into her skin and attached to her spine.

Suddenly, Claire fell into a void of empty whiteness, deprived of thought and emotion. Out of this emptiness came a voice, a chanting voice, reciting a seemingly random series of zeroes and ones, “Zero, one, one, zero, one, zero, zero, one, one, one.” As the voice droned on in a monotone, Claire began to reemerge into conscious awareness. Slowly, Claire realized she knew the source of the voice. It was her own. She was saying these numbers even though she could not feel her lips moving or even the rest of her body. Finally, her voice deviated from the numbers to which it was devoted and said something else. “Test Subject 2. Claire Willis. Twenty-eight-year-old Caucasian female. Fantasy: exhibitionism...

Claire swooned as Dr. Don’s living room came back into focus. Dr. Don was giving her a clinical look as if performing a routine health exam. Rachel was staring at her sadly.

Something was wrong. Claire felt it. Even if she had no idea what it was. Anger rose within her. “What did you do to me, you bastard!” She demanded of Dr. Don.

“Merely inducted you into my test protocol as I have already done with my girl.” The Doctor replied matter-of-factly.

“You’re not going to pull your invasion of the body snatchers routine on me!” Claire yelled and she scrambled out the front door. Down the sidewalk she saw a neighbor, Mr. Jenkins, walking his dog. She ran after him.

“Hey, Bert!” She called.

Mr. Jenkins stopped, turned and faced the out of breath, sweaty Claire. Perhaps it was the surprise of female attention, unconscious lust, or a primal mating instinct but, whatever the reason, Mr. Jenkins eyes inadvertently fell on Claire’s heaving chest.

Claire liked Mr. Jenkins enough and never thought him anything close to attractive. Yet, somehow, his glance her breasts received turned her on. Her body began to glow with warmth and her stomach tightened from the reception she had received from his eyes. For a moment, Claire forgot her anxiety and coquettishly reached for her blouse as if she was going to give him a more unobstructed view of her bosom.

A sharp twinge of embarrassment and shame retrieved her from going any farther.

“Oh my god, what am I doing?” She blurted and tore off, leaving a confused Mr. Jenkins scratching his head.

Claire slammed the door behind her when she reached home and rubbed her forehead. “What the hell did that freak do to me?” Her protest trailed off as her body began to throb with a strange sensation. Her flesh seemed to vibrate with energy as if the warmth from Mr. Jenkin’s stare had infected the rest of her form. There was a countervailing sensation now too. Her clothes—the began to feel constricting, like a boa strangling its prey. This feeling became so unpleasant that the urge to strip then and there became overwhelming. She tore off her all clothes, popping buttons in her haste, and threw her garments across the room as if they intended to do her harm. Free from her bondage, Claire laughed and drank in the exhilarating freedom of her nudity, but only for a moment. This strange behavior worried her deeply. What had the Doctor done to her to make her act so crazy? She remembered that pinch at the back of her neck. Maybe that had something to do with the cause. She ran up to the full-length mirror in her bedroom to find if it had left a mark.

Upon inspection, Claire did find a red mark on the back of her neck, but no other clues to show how she might have been tampered with. She grimaced as wondered what to do next. Her eyes fell to her reflection.

“Hey, I am so hot.” She discovered as she drank in the vision of her nude self. She still had her dancer’s body with her strong and firm arms and legs, her long swan-like neck and non-existent tummy. Her big boobs and curvy waist that had been a liability in her profession were still dazzling.

“I am sssso hot.” Claire told her reflection in a sexily smooth voice as she drank in her image. She ran her hands over down her chest, circling her swelling boobs and thickening nipples. The feeling of her own fingers was as intimate and delicious as a lover’s caress.

As her body swayed from the bliss of her own touch, she became intoxicated with its movements in the mirror. She playfully swung her hips to a Nickelback song she played in her mind. At first the undulating motion of shoulders, to waist, to hips was subtle but became more exaggerated with each wave of movement.

“God, what a hot bod!” She repeated as she watched her private dance ... giggling at her rhyme. “It’s too hot to keep secret. I should be showing it off.” A vision came to her, one like she had toyed with many times over the years. She was on a dance platform in front of crowd of lust inspired men, reaching out to her with desire, but unable to touch her glorious body. How she drove them wild in this dream, how she drove them from reason to lust’s full embrace. Even though she had enjoyed this fantasy many times before, the rush from its current incarnation conjured the more intense bliss than she had ever know before. One hand fell to her sex and found it wet, hot, hungry and inviting.

The doorbell rang, rousing Claire from her lurid dream.

“Oh my God!” She gasped as she looked at herself, naked, hot and flushed from her self arousal. “What am I becoming?”

The doorbell rang again. Claire ran to her closet for something to put on. She reached out for a prim blouse and skirt but hesitated. She couldn’t bring herself to put it on, it was too restricting and too concealing of her sexy and luxuriant body. The thought of wearing it made her flesh crawl. Claire tried to force herself to pick something but she couldn’t. The idea of wearing the clothes in her closet now seemed utterly repellant. It was like after eating the same food she liked had suddenly become unpalatable.

The doorbell made an irritably long and loud ring.

“Come on!” Claire yelled at herself, “I have to wear something. I can’t answer the door naked.”

The thought slipped her back into the realm of her randy fantasies. In her boredom, she actually had dreamed of answering the door naked with whoever was there becoming entranced by her sexy body, their jaw slack, their mouth watering, their hands reaching out to touch her. It was a fantasy that would become reality; she only had to let go...