NO PART(S) OF THIS WORK, NOR THE WORK IN ITS ENTIRETY, MAY BE: ALTERED; COPIED; EXCERPTED; REPRODUCED; STORED IN ANY TYPE OF INFORMATION STORAGE AND/OR RETRIEVAL SYSTEM; TRANSMITTED; OR USED IN ANY OTHER WAY(S) BY ANY MEANS SUCH AS DESKTOP PUBLISHING, ELECTRONIC, MECHANICAL, PHOTOCOPYING, RECORDING, OR ANY OTHER METHOD NOT EXPLICITLY STATED IN THIS DISCLAIMER WITHOUT THE EXPRESSED PERMISSION OF THE COPYRIGHT HOLDER.

AUTHOR’S NOTE:

This story is dedicated to the caring, cunning, compassionate, cruel, comely, condescending, concealed, conspicuous, curvaceous GODDESS MISTRESS MARQUESA DE SADE. It should not be read by any minor. It should not be read by anyone who is ethically, legally, morally, religiously, or personally {for any reason(s)} prohibited or proscribed from doing so. It should not be read by anyone who is fearful of, or uncomfortable with, the subject of feminine influence/control/domination/superiority/supremacy/inspiration or the topic of mind control in any of its forms or both.

Chapter 1

Paulo Lupica sat alone at a table for two in his favorite combination restaurant and watering hole. He had not lied when he told his wife he was having a business dinner this evening. His colleague had come and gone. Their meeting was a smashing success. He was certain his wife would never discover the time of his coworker’s departure. Every man needs a night out once in a while. Tonight was as good a time as any for Paulo to kick back and enjoy himself by himself. If he was lucky, he might even get lucky.

His gaze was grabbed by the amazingly attractive lady languorously lounging for some time ‘sans’ companion at one of the best tables. Not one individual in this swanky saloon could do more than temporarily tare their eyes away from this living doll. It was as if she was the vivacious, vivified embodiment of a living voodoo doll. {From what he could see, she neither wore any sort of ring nor had she any telltale marks thereof upon any of the fingers on either of her hands.} And yet, it was not her alluring appearance which made it meet for his sight to settle upon her and on no one and nothing else. It seemed to Paulo that he had espied this enchantingly ensorcelling apparition before. Try as he did, racking his recollections did in no wise yield even a hint of a clue to either her given or familial name. He regretted and cursed the fact he was not blessed with a good memory for most things.

Lupica freely fell quickly into a quandary. His still small voice of conscience simply said he should leave this place and forget about finding out even the faintest fragment of information regarding this ravishing representative of the fair sex. He wanted to meet her. Paulo was finished with everything he had to do this evening. He yearned to discover why she seemed so familiar. Lupica was a married man. He craved any kind of relationship he could have with this dreamy dream boat of a dream girl. Paulo Lupica perceived he would be perennially perturbed by his failure to engage in a little harmless interaction with the most beauteous babe he had ever beheld. It was not as if he had set his fancy on fostering a flirtation with this fascinating female. All he would do is find out her name. What could be wrong with being nice to someone who was probably a stranger in this small town? As friendly as she was–if his wife was here, she would certainly go over to this unknown woman. Wasn’t she always telling him to mingle more at the parties they infrequently went to? By finding out who this woman was, he’d finally be doing what his wife wanted him to do. Just because he had no intention of telling her about this meeting with a stranger didn’t make what he was contemplating a bad thing. Did it?

The next concomitant conundrum was coming up with an appropriate avenue for introducing himself into her world? He considered sending her a delightfully delicious drink. There were problems with this ploy. Though no one had sat down with her, this was no guarantee she was not expecting the imminent entrance of someone else. {Whoever this person was (who may not even had existed) Paulo knew he hated this loathsome individual with all his heart. He despised this monster because Lupica esteemed him as the luckiest man alive.} He did not know what she liked to imbibe. For all he knew, she could be a teetotaler. If he did send her something, she might construe his gentlemanly gesture as a calculatingly caddish sleaze ball’s sinisterly slimy stratagem to dull her senses and sensibilities by politely plying her with the bedeviling Devil’s brew of high quality booze.

Next Paulo strove to remember or create an acceptable opening line. Tenaciously try as he did, he could not call to mind or construct a single syllable of even a solitary sentence which was not at best a third-class, second-rate takeoff on some tawdry, telltale, worn-out, picked over pickup line. Mr. Lupica was compelled to acknowledge he was not a golden throated, silver-tongued devil even partially graced with the gift of gab graciously given from the halcyon hand(s) of Calliope or conferred by kissing the Blarney Stone.

He had only one option. Tacky as it might sound, there was only one thing he could say to her which might pique any interest in him on her part. Before he sallied forth, he finished downing the latest of the several cocktails he’d had this evening.

Making sure his eyes never wandered from her captivatingly comely countenance, he slowly and tentatively moved in her direction. To ensure he did not violate her safety zone by bursting the bubble of her personal space, he made sure to pause his progress no less than a couple of feet from her chair. Paulo Lupica cautiously cleared his throat before saying a single word to this witching siren sensuously swathed in a silky, sheer chiffon ensemble.

He swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and prepared himself for the worst case scenario. “Excuse me, Miss, I know how what I am about to say is going to sound. I wouldn’t blame you, if you laughed in my face or slapped me silly. But, I just can’t get the idea out of my head that I must have seen you somewhere before.”

To Lupica’s shock and relief, a courteous smile was her response to his opening salvo. She further put him at ease by shifting the focus of her large, luminous eyes entirely to him and thereafter motioning him to sit down. In this instance, it turned out that honesty was the best policy. His moralizing wife had been right again.

“Considering the concept of six degrees of separation, it is very possible we have met before. My name is Agnes Moorehead.”

“I am Paulo Lupica. Hmmm, Agnes. I am a little surprised your parents named you Agnes. Agnes is not a very common name these days.”

“I was named after one of my mother’s closest friends,” she said reverently.

“I would never have guessed your first name was Agnes.”

“And why is that?” she inquired.

“You are far more attractive than what I automatically assumed a lady named Agnes would look like.”

“I see.” Ms. Moorehead’s voice was tinged with only the slightest sliver of serene frostiness.

At this juncture, Paulo perceived it was somewhat safe to allow his eyes to, hopefully, discretely take in the remainder of Agnes’s amazing appearance. He had already consciously committed to memory the memorable color of her eyes. He took note of her long, luxuriously luxuriant locks. Based upon what he had seen, he inferred Agnes was the proud possessor of a sinuously svelte yet very voluptuous physique.

Now he consciously noticed something shimmering on her blouse. It was a large, exquisitely crafted pendant. There was something Paulo seemed to recognize about at least the central portion of its design.

“If I’m not being too forward, may I ask where did you get that beautiful pendant?”

Agnes absentmindedly stroked the chain supporting her most favourite and precious piece of jewellery. “Oh this! Originally, the centerpiece of this was once my sorority pin. I liked it so much that I had it incorporated into this pretty pendant.”

The words “sorority” and “pin” struck a resonating chord in Lupica’s mind. Now he experienced a flash of insight. “To which sorority did you belong?” he asked. He heard her give him its Greek alphabetic designation. Now he softly clapped his hands as his face lit up. “So you are one of my wife’s sorority sisters. Now I think I know why you seemed so familiar to me. One of my ex-girlfriend’s had a pin with that sort of design.” He recalled that he saw a number of young women sporting similar pins on his wedding day. Now was not the proper time to divulge that data dollop.

“Your pendant really is lovely. Now that I’ve had a good look at it, it is hard to take my eyes off of it. Aside from the pin, that is, did you come up with the rest of this design yourself?”

“Yes, I did. I told the jeweler what I yearned for, and she did a magnificent job of bringing what I envisioned in my mind’s eye into physical reality for my eyes to see and celebrate.” Now did Agnes stroke the pendant with her fingertips. The soft lighting where she was seated sparkled off of her nails and flickered from her necklace and the pendant it bore. Flecks of light in a rainbow of subtle shades could clearly be seen cascading about her. “I simply adore pendants. I use a wide assortment of them in my profession?”

“And what do you do for a living?”

“I am a therapist.”

Now Paulo felt at ease in the profound presence of this exquisite enchantress. Perhaps this level of comfort was a causative catalyst for what happened next. Some individuals experience an amelioration or eradication of some or all of their inhibitions while intoxicated with ethyl alcohol or under the influence of some other mind altering ingestible or injectable agency. Lupica was such a person. Perhaps the effect of the liquid courage flowing freely throughout his veins and thereafter in his nervous system was partially a factor for what he did. After giggling a little Paulo Lupica said, “It is ironic that you are a therapist.”

“How so?” Dr. Moorehead asked.

“A sex therapist with a last name of more head!” He giggled once again. “You have to admit that is really funny!!!” For the third time Agnes heard him giggle.

Briefly did Agnes widen her eyes. “Yes, indeed. A sex therapist with such a name would be ironic and amusing.”

Paulo beamed. On many occasions people didn’t get his sense of humor. Here was a gorgeous woman who liked his jokes. Something told him the time had come for him to make his next move. “I know this is sudden, but I really like you a lot. I feel there is something strong between us. Say, I was wondering if we could get together?”

“In what context?” asked Agnes Moorehead.

“Ever since I got married, my sex life has been a little dull. Considering what you do for a living, you could really help me out with this. I bet you are up for anything. You’d be a lot of fun. I have always wanted to have a three-way. You, my wife, and me together get ‘in it on all night long. Two girls doin’ me all over. What a nasty freaky you are! Come on, baby, what do you say?”

Now she did open up her eyes even wider than beforetime. “Even in my therapeutic experience, no one has ever made me such a proposal.”

“But, will you do it?” Lupica inquired insistently.

Agnes contemplatively closed her eyes for some moments. She wanted to be sure she fitly framed her response to his question. Slowly, she opened her eyelids and stared straight into the centers of his expectant eyes. “Paulo, nothing would please me more than to take care of your problem once and for all.”

Paulo Lupica could not believe his ears. “Are you sure?” The hesitancy in his voice was palpable.

“I have never been more certain of anything in my life.”

Had he not been in a public place, Lupica would have jumped for joy, right out of his shoes, and out of his tingling skin. He could hardly wait to jump out of his clothes and jump her bones, muscles, skin, and all of her other bodily tissues. To get a preview of upcoming attractions, he eagerly extended his sinister hand and started stroking the topmost of her consummately captivating, coquettishly crossed, luxuriously long legs.

After some time had elapsed, Agnes placed one of her hands atop his fingers feeling up and down her tantalizing thigh. Her action impeded their progress, but did not remove their presence from her now flexing ever so slowly shapely stem. She leaned close to him and whispered in his ear nearest to her. “Before we get down to the physical aspect of our relationship, there are things we must do.”

“Like what?” he said breathily.

“We must determine if all parties involved are truly compatible.” On a couple of occasions the tempting tip of her tantalizingly talented tongue came this exquisitely and excruciatingly close to teasingly touching his earlobe.

“How do we do that?”

“Our hearts, our minds, and our bodies must! be in sync, in tune, and in harmony. We Must! be as ONE!! FLESH!!!” Had Agnes cast her gaze down upon Lupica’s lap, she would have seen Paulo’s excitement was clearly growing.

“How?” was his next query to her.

“One flesh, one flesh. We must be one flesh as one. In my profession, I have learned that mutual, synchronous relaxation is one the one way for multiple partners to come inside the plateau of pleasure.”

“What is, how do we do that?”

Agnes interlaced her fingers with those of his hand held beneath it. “Multiple sexy partners must have a common goal. This is a pretty, little candle.” She began to nonchalantly swing her pendant to and fro, passing it back and forth in the sphere of the candlelight’s gentle glow. “The lovely light softly flowing out of this candle is so pretty. The soft, soothing light of the candle makes everything it touches so soft and relaxing. The lovely light from the soothing, sexy candle makes everyone and everything and everyone it tenderly touches so soothing and so relaxed, and sooooooo soothing.” As she spake, Ms. Moorehead’s fingers on her nondominant hand played with his fingers with which they were intimately intertwined.

Agnes noticed Paulo’s eyes inadvertently following her manipulations of her pendant. “The light is so relaxing. The lovely luminescence flowing from the candle is so very relaxing us now. Now relaxing more and more. As all eyes and all attention sees the soft, soothing, sensuous light. The light is so relaxing. My touch is relaxing us more and more and even more. My touch of the flickering candle’s fascinating light is sooooooo relaxing us more and more.”

At this point Agnes was almost successful in stifling all the signs of an obviously deep yawn. “So soothing, so relaxing, so almost sleepy. The soft light, like the twinkling of distant stars later and later at nighttime for bed, is so soothing, so sleepy, sooooooo sleeping. Pleasure. I am sleepy now. It feels good to relax and listen and sleeping so sweetly and peacefully. Pleasure of the candle’s sleepy light. It feels good hearing only the voice speaking to me. Pleasure of my voice and the candle and sleepy now. Now I feel so sleepy, sleepy, sleeeeeeep.” Her voice had taken on a much more relaxed tone and a slower cadence.

This time she barely put up any resistance against the yawn which overtook and overwhelmed her resistance. “It has been such a long day. So tired now. Time for bedtime for pleasure, is all I feel. Feeling my fingertips and pleasure and so relaxed and sleepy. Eyes so heavy now. Eyes feel so tired and heavy now. Listening to the soft, soothing sound of my voice. So sleepy and pleasure and sleeeeeeepy. Closing my eyes down, down, down. Eyes closing down just for a moment. It feels so very good listening to my voice and so softly sleeping. So tired, so heavy, so sleeeeeeepy. Just rest all eyes softly closing now. So heavy, so tired, so sleepy, sleepy, sleeeeeeep.”

During the latter portion of their conversation, Agnes had traced various patterns on the back of his hand by softly, soothingly, and sensuously stroking it with her thumb or her thumbnail. As she whispered her words in his ear, she saw his eyelids eventually beginning to close down. Then they fluttered several times. At long last, his heavy and tired and oh sooooooo sleepy, sleepy, very sleeeeeeepy eyes remained shut tight.

Before his stealthily spellbound mind could meander beyond her reach, she spoke to Paulo Lupica once more. “Paulo, you can hear my voice. Gently nod your head and say, “Yes.”” She saw and heard his obedience to her commands. “You want to feel more of me and more and even more pleasure and sleepy. Nod your head and say, “Yes.”” Although it took some moments and several attempts for him to comply, Agnes Moorehead was given the data which indicated Paulo Lupica heard and assented to each and every one of her words.

“Excellent. To feel more and more pleasure, there is something you must easily do. For you to feel even more pleasure than you have ever felt before, this is what you shall do. Whenever you hear me say the words, “ENDORA LUPICA PAULO,” you return to this place of deep relaxation and hearing my voice and even more and more pleasure. When you hear me say the words, “ENDORA LUPICA PAULO,” deep relaxation, hearing and obeying my voice in your mind telling you your instructions, soothing sleepiness of even more and more and more pleasures beyond pleasures. Tell yourself out loud what will happen when you hear me say, “ENDORA LUPICA PAULO?””

“Sleepy, more fun, pleasure, obey.”

“Excellent! You have done well. And now, relaxing even more and still able to follow each of your instructions to yourself. Each of your instructions to yourself is spoken by my voice. When you are in this kind of relaxation, each breath makes you even more and more relaxed. You relax more and more each time you breathe in and out. Hearing and doing what you tell yourself with my voice and even more and more relaxation.” For a couple of minutes she saw him surely and certainly succumbing to his soporific state of submissive suggestibility.

“Paulo, when you hear me say the word “AWAKEN” and snap my fingers three times, you will think and feel and act as you usually do. Whenever you hear me say, “AWAKEN” and three times I snap my fingers, then you will act, you will think, and you will feel as you regularly and normally do. You will remember we were having a conversation. You will consciously remember we were having a quiet conversation. Only in your mind’s secret place of your unconscious shall you know that when I say the magic words, “ENDORA LUPICA PAULO,” you will automatically go even deeper and deeper into deeply relaxed relaxation than you have ever been before. Only your subconscious self will always remember to never forget that when I shall say, “ENDORA LUPICA PAULO,” you will be more relaxed than ever before. After you say with my voice the words, “ENDORA LUPICA PAULO,” you will also do what you tell yourself to do. You will use my voice to tell you what to do. When you do what my voice says you are telling yourself to do, you will feel even more pleased with yourself.”

Agnes Moorehead’s mouth and hands gave Paulo the signals to come out of his entrancement. Lupica knew he had been spending time, and hopefully making some brownie points, with the most gorgeous creature he had laid eyes on for some time. This was all he needed to know. That he could think of nothing else did not disturb him in the least.

“And what did you say you did for a living?” Agnes asked.

This was his chance. He told her all about his occupation. He did so in much detail and with even more embellishment.

As their private confab continued, on several occasions she spake his hypnotic trigger phrase. Each time he responded as Dr. Moorehead had instructed his ensorcelled subconscious self to unconsciously do. After each instance of his entrancement, she employed various techniques designed to deepen the depth of his mesmeric state. Agnes also laid the groundwork for his even deeper descent into hypnosis should she subsequently spellbind him with his inescapable mesmeric trigger phrase. Before bringing him out of the last of his cycles, amongst other expertly executed items on Agnes’s agenda was the removal of the posthypnotic suggestion pertaining to her saying the word “AWAKEN” and snapping her fingers thrice. Each time Paulo returned to his waking state, he was entirely oblivious to the fact he had ever departed therefrom in her presence.

After a few more minutes, their conversation was concluded. Paulo drove home to his wife. Agnes returned to her hotel room. As she lay in bed, she smiled to herself and meticulously made her plans for the ensuing day.

Chapter Two

About midmorning of the following day, Paulo Lupica’s wife Darleen received an unexpected and most welcome telephone call from her sorority sister, Agnes Moorehead.  After Darleen’s astonishment was abated, she invited Agnes to come over and catch up on old times.  Dr. Moorehead eagerly accepted her longtime friend’s hospitality.

When they met, Darleen and Agnes joyously hugged each other.  After exchanging a few pleasantries and reminiscing for a short stint, Darleen asked, “So what brings you into this neck of the woods?”

“I was subpoenaed to give some expert testimony in a criminal trial.”

“That’s surprising.  I always thought you wanted to get into marriage and family counseling?  I’m surprised you’re involved with forensic psychology.”

“Working with couples and doing family therapy are my first love.  But there have been a few times when I’ve had to testify in court.  It’s not as nerve-racking as I assumed it would be.  Still,” she said with a sigh, “if I had my druthers, I’d never have to do it.”

“Speaking of your professional life, did you ever pursue your fascination with that hypnosis stuff you were always going on and on about?”

“Yes, I did.  In fact, I am also a certified clinical hypnotherapist.”

“That’s wonderful” Darleen enthused.  “I remember how often you asked, tried to maneuver, or attempted to finagle one of us into letting you practice casting your hypnotic spells on us.”

“And I recall you were the one who would always step in–just when I was on the verge of having someone agree to fall under the power of my spell.  Now why did you always interfere?”  Now did Agnes begin toying with an exquisite, enormous, eye-catching pendant she wore.

Darleen giggled at the erudite, exotic enchantress ensorcellingly ensconced across the diningroom table from her.  “Because I know how your sense of humor works.”

“And just what do you mean by that?” Agnes inquired following a sly and knowing wink.

“In case you’ve forgotten, I was on the business end of some of your most devious pranks.”

“I never forget any of my victims.”

“Considering how many there were, I’d of thought you’d need a neural network of supercomputers just to keep track of them.  Now you know why I did everything in my power to stop you from messing with other people’s minds,” Darleen Lupica responded.

Now were sensuously stretched out, charmingly crossed, and masterfully massaged by both of her elegantly manicured hands the languorously long and lusciously lovely legs of Agnes Moorehead.  “What makes my little toy believe you have any power at all where I am concerned?  So, Miss smarty-pants and goody two-shoes, I will have you know that in spite of your interference, I have recently mesmerized someone you know very well.”

“And who might that be?” Darleen queried.

“He told me his name was Paulo Lupica.”

Darleen contorted her countenance and rolled her penetrating eyes in disbelief.  “I am shocked.  He’s never even hinted at any interest in something like hypnosis.  Paulo agreed to let you hypnotize him?”

“I didn’t say he agreed.  I said I mesmerized him.”

“Then why did.  Where did you meet him?”

“At a restaurant near the hotel where I’m staying.  I don’t think he really remembered me even after I told him my name.”

“Did you tell him you were a hypnotist?”

“No.  After we introduced ourselves, I said I was a therapist.”

Darleen knew more about her husband’s ways than he presumed she did.  “Oh boy!  Did he do that stupid joke about sex therapy and more head?”  Mrs. Lupica noted that Dr. Moorehead said not a solitary syllable.  “Your silence is my answer.  Now I know why you put him under.  I do have a couple of questions.  What did you do with, or more accurately to, him?”

Agnes simply smiled knowingly and laughed with ever so much wickedly witching wickedness.

Although she strove to resist the impulse to do so, Mrs. Lupica shuddered noticeably.  “It still gives me the heebie-jeebies and screaming meemies whenever I hear you laugh like that.”

“Excellent, my pretty, all is as it should be,” Agnes said sinisterly as she slyly smirked.  “What is your final question?”

“Could you teach me to do whatever it was you did to him?”

“Could I teach you?”

Darleen sensed her sorority sister was being persnickety just for the hell of it.  “You know what I mean.  Will you teach me how to do that to Paulo?”

For some moments Moorehead simply stared serenely into Darleen’s eyes.  It always amused Agnes to amicably agitate Darleen.  As she did so, she pondered her answer to her friend’s query.  After seeing the distaff Lupica finally break eye contact, Agnes proceeded to simulate the action of washing her hands.

“Are you trying to tell me that one hand washes the other?” Darleen inquired.

“You perceive my message correctly.”

“What do you want me to give you?”

“As George Costanza said after finding out Jerry Seinfeld had slept with George’s love interest prior to a journey to India for Sue Ellen Mishke’s nuptials, “I demand reparations!”  And I’d like a side order of revenge to boot.”

“What sort of reparations and vengeance?”

“I find your husband unquestionably guilty of an unforgettable and unforgivable crime.  He is guilty of the iniquitous trespass of willfully and wantonly disrespecting my profession and attempting to make fun of my name.  He must pay the Pied Piper.  It is up to you to punish him.  And you will do so in my presence and without my assistance in creating or administering his punishment.”

“But I don’t.”

“Darleen Lupica, look into my eyes,” Agnes announced.  Her command imperiously silenced her sister’s protestations in mid-sentence.  “Is it ever wise for you to disagree with me?”

After fervently feeling that intensely ensorcelling and intimidatingly intimate eye contact once more, with submissive sheepishness did Darleen bow her brunette head.  “No, my lady.  I shall do as you bid.”

“You do will, my little one.  And I’d love to stay for dinner.  You always did cook such wonderful dishes.”

Full foreknowledge of what awaited him could not have prepared Paulo for the paralyzing, perilous presence of the second woman he saw after he swaggeringly sauntered across his home’s threshold.  While his wife affectionately greeted him, his awareness absorbed nothing save the sight of Agnes Moorehead luxuriously lounging upon the loveseat in his livingroom.

Such a torrential tidal wave of questions ran over and overran his mind.  Why was Agnes in his home?  How did she discover where he lived?  What had she said to Darleen?  Had she mentioned his flirtation with her?  What details had she told his wife?  Had Agnes embellished or exaggerated any events in his encounter with her?  What was Darleen feeling?  What had Agnes been thinking?  How could he explain whatever it was Darleen believed he had done?  What would Darleen or Agnes or both do to him?

Even a sliver of some sort of clue concerning the answer to only one of his quandaries was what Paulo yearned for?  All he obsequiously asked of The All-knowing Almighty was a solitary smidgen of a sign forecasting his fateful future?  If just one of these women would reveal anything at all about what she knew, what she was conjecturing, or what she intended to do?  Not one answer from one quarter did he receive.  The only thing these two women, who knowingly or unwittingly held his fate in their hands, tended to talk about were their reminiscences about their collegiate activities.

Paulo had never given any credence to the concept of Hell or the idea of eternal damnation.  Not even the notion of Purgatory had ever nudged its way into the innards of Mr. Lupica’s conscious contemplations.  This night was different from all other nights.  For during this interminably excruciating evening Mr. Paulo Lupica earnestly experienced to the full measure the behemoth’s brandywine snifter of unending torment all the way down to its accursedly acrid and acidic dreadful dregs of doom.  The queries which would not quit his consciousness were bad enough.  On top of their terror was the even more horribly horrifying horror that at any instant he might mentally misstep and his loose lips would sink his ship and let slip some loathsome secret about what he had done or some fact he should not have known.

How could he be expected to engage in conversational pleasantries in such a situation?  If he said he had a headache or something, he could rapidly retreat to the safety and security of some other room.  No.  Once he was gone, who knows what might transpire between Darleen and Agnes?  He had to remain.  He was trapped like a lowdown, dirty, sewer ratfink foully, fully, and forever ensnared in an eternally inescapable labyrinth made up of millions of mazes of torture chambers.

He couldn’t eat anything tonight.  His loving wife had gone out of her way to prepare his most favorite dishes.  Not tonight!  How could he swallow anything other than spittle?  If he didn’t eat, one of them might ask why?  Never had eating utensils felt so heavy in his hands.  Was he not eating enough?  Was he chewing too fast?  Had he neglected to compliment Darleen on her glorious gastronomy?  Was he being uncharacteristically and/or overly polite?  He knew he must do something.  But what should he do right now?  Would this monstrously menacing ménage à trois never come to an end of his agonies?

Again Agnes was wearing that beautiful pendant.  He knew he must never gaze upon her breasts–uh look at the jewellery nicely nestled in her captivatingly compelling cleavage.  At all costs he must avoid staring at her in the altogether–watching her at all.  If he never looked directly at her, this distaff doom or his faithful wife might feel he was being rude.  Even worse, Darleen or Agnes might comment on his unchivalrous behaviour.  Worst of all one or both of them might be compelled to question him ceaselessly on this tenuous, torturous topic.  Someone might broach the subject of Agnes Moorehead’s pendant.  His opinion of that bedazzling bauble could be requested at any instant.  What fiendish fate would fearsomely fall upon him, if he let it slip that he had previously seen it?  How could he allow either or both of these women to possess the perilous knowledge of how much he lusted in his heart and burned in his groin for this far too fiendishly fascinating, beautiful bombshell of a woman who now knowingly or unwittingly threatened his peace of mind with immanently, imminently impending incineration?  Infinitely enduring being snatched up by Scylla, caught in the core of Charybdis, and slaughtered by Shiva would be preferable to the hosts of flaming swords of Damocles swinging by rotting, moth-eaten threads hanging over his head.

At no time did Agnes Moorehead in any way acknowledge she had ever even seen him before.  Far from furnishing this foul, fearful, philandering fellow with relief, her each and every word and gesture only amplified his anxiety.  If only she had not been so stunning.  With each word she spake and courtesy of every movement she made, why did she seem to always allure Paulo’s attention to the all-consuming inferno of her infernally amazing amazon attractiveness?

During the hideous happenstance of the three of them indulging in enjoying Paulo’s favorite dessert, At one point Moorehead mentioned she was a therapist.  It was necessary for him to bite his tongue–not solely or merely symbolically, but also literally.  The physically painful latter was the only means which enabled him to successfully stifle the unspeakably unutterable urgent urging to utter the exemplar of half-witted repartee with which he had regaled her during their first memorable meeting.  In the deepest depths of his memory he knew he would never forget that encounter.

Whether or not she was aware of doing so, Darleen saved Paulo from his present predicament.  “What kind of therapist are you?” was the question she asked of Agnes.

“One of my specialties is the E.L.P intervention therapeutic regimen.”

Not even a seer or psychic who completely comprehended and perfectly perceived each thought and every emotion ever to dwell within any portion of Paulo Lupica’s consciousness could entirely experience the ecstasy he now embraced.  At long last, Paulo stood on the brink before the open doors of the gateway leading into his city of refuge’s ‘sanctum sanctorum’.  He conjectured and hoped with all his heart that his turmoil would be ameliorated or eliminated altogether once she started talking about the intricacies of this particular aspect of her vocation.  To increase the probability of his deliverance from danger and despair, he determined he would pose an appropriate query to Agnes before the conversation could migrate to some other environ.

“Doctor, what exactly is E.L.P therapy?” he queried calling upon all the feigned interest he could muster.

Things could not have worked out better for Mr. Lupica’s state of mind.  As Dr. Moorehead droned on and on about E.L.P’s efficacy, the yearnings and feelings which had plagued Paulo began to subside.  Had Darleen not given into her curiosity and asked Agnes about the specific sort of therapy in which her guest was engaged, there was no telling how much longer Paulo could have held out and held his cravings completely in check.  Now did he surmise that sometimes serendipity supersedes strategy.

At the end of her soliloquy, Agnes explained, “E.L.P stands for “ENDORA LUPICA PAULO.””

The two women watched Paulo Lupica swiftly surrender to the irresistibly irresistible irresistibility of the potent posthypnotic trigger immaculately implanted in his everlastingly inferior inner man.  Darleen was flabbergasted by the immediacy of his entrance into entrancement and the deepness of his descent into the trance state.  Dr. Agnes Moorehead simply smiled sagaciously.

The arresting amazon arose, walked behind and stood over her sorority sister, and began to masterfully massage the wife’s neck and shoulders.

“”ENDORA LUPICA PAULO,”” Darleen commenced, “my husband’s name spoken last name first preceded by the name of one of your favorite characters.”

“Yes, indeed.  I always did enjoy how the most famous holder of my name portrayed Samantha Stevens’ manipulating, magical mother.  Oh how she lived to torment her son-in-law Derwood, Darwin, Dumb dumb, What’s-his-name, Derweed, Dolphin, Duspin, etc.”  Once again did Dr. Agnes Moorehead issue that insidiously insinuating, sinister spree of laughter.  “Once I have given him a few instructions, he is all yours–so to speak and for the moment.  As you carry out your part of our bargain, the fun will have truly begun.”

THE END.