NOTICE:  

This is a story about obsession; a journey into the dark 
side of fantasy hypnotic mind control.  As such, some of the 
basic rules that usually guide my writing get twisted, bent, 
or broken on this one.  The title character is cut from the 
same cloth as Suzerain in "Pleasure Cruise -- Exchange".  

Don't say I didn't warn you.



SANDMAN

(c) Copyright 2000 by Wiseguy



Her beauty captured my soul.

I just stood there, precious time ticking away, and watched 
her sleep.  I'd seen sleeping women before -- many, many 
times before -- but when I first saw Gabrielle's face in 
the dim light of my penlight, everything stopped for a long 
moment while I studied her face, so serene in sleep.

The moment seemed to last for hours, but was probably only 
a few seconds.  Then her face twitched -- the penlight was 
rousing her.  I held the little pump spray bottle close to 
her mouth and pressed the button once, letting a light 
spritz of the contents coat the lower half of her face.

Her eyes opened at the slight hiss of the pump and the feel 
of the cool liquid on her face.  The beam of the penlight 
filled her eyes -- beautiful, bottomless brown eyes -- and 
she gasped in surprise, which was exactly what I needed her 
to do.  Along with air she drew in a hefty dose of the drug 
I'd sprayed on her face, a fast-acting relaxant used in 
some hospitals for calming highly nervous patients long 
enough to administer a conventional sedative.  For the 
second or two it took for her lungs to send the initial 
dose through the bloodstream to her brain, she looked up at 
me like a frightened child.  I had a cotton cloth spritzed 
with the same solution in my right hand, ready to stifle a 
scream, but it wasn't necessary.  She took a second breath, 
then a third, and her eyes lost their focus as the drug 
took effect.  It would only last for a few minutes, but 
that was more than enough time for my purpose.

"Relax, Gabrielle," I whispered, laying the cloth aside.  
"You are safe, safe in your own bed.  You are having a 
strange dream is all."  While I spoke to her, my right hand 
dug in my side pocket and pulled out the crystal on its 
simple black cord and suspended it in front of my victim's 
face, twirling and spinning it, aiming the penlight at its 
center to enhance the prismatic properties of the crystal.

"A strange, sleepy, relaxing dream," I continued.  "You are 
dreaming that you are being hypnotized by a mysterious, 
attractive stranger.  You see the crystal before you, 
drawing your eyes to its center, the colored lights 
reflecting in all directions, relaxing you more and more as 
you gaze into its depths.  Your eyes are captivated by it.  
They can't look away; they don't want to look away; all 
they want to do is stare deeper and deeper into the center 
of the crystal, the eyelids getting heavier and heavier as 
you relax ... "

Between the dissociative effects of the drug, her half-
asleep state to begin with, and my own consummate skill as 
a stage hypnotist, she had no chance.  Her eyes glazed over 
and closed on my command.  And once again, I had the 
opportunity to relax a little myself and drink in the 
beauty of her sleeping form.  Reluctantly, I dragged myself 
away from her bedside and got back to business.  

Tonight that business was the age-old art of stealth 
burglary.  Out of habit, I took a quick look around the 
bedroom.  Aside from the high-rise luxury condominium 
itself, Gabrielle lived modestly for a high-profile TV news 
reporter, which she was.  The closet was full of practical, 
all-business-all-the-time clothing; the items in her cherry 
jewelry box were of good quality, but not valuable enough 
to be worth the effort of taking them; the bank envelope 
taped to the underside of a dresser drawer held only a few 
hundred dollars in cash, her passport, and some leftover 
traveler's checks.

But those weren't my reason for invading Gabrielle's condo.  
In the beginning, when bookings for my stage hypnosis act 
were few, far between, and low paying, I had supplemented 
my income with this sort of petty thievery; nowadays, I 
deal in a much more lucrative commodity.

Creeping into the second bedroom, I found my true 
objective:  Gabrielle's computer.  It was a Mac Powerbook 
G3, very nice, with all the options.  I turned it on and 
waited for the system to boot.

The first thing it did was prompt me for a power-on 
password.  My respect for Gabrielle went up -- almost any 
decent laptop provides this simple security feature, but 
few people are wise enough to use it.  If I'd merely taken 
the laptop with me, it would be worthless -- the hardware 
may be nice, but the true value of a computer lies in the 
data it holds.  Fortunately,  my methods are much more 
subtle and effective.

"Gabrielle," I called softly as I returned to her side.  
"You are still in a deep, hypnotic sleep.  I want you to 
imagine for me that you have awakened, and that you want to 
update your notes for the story on Platt Pharmaceuticals 
you've been working on.  What do you do?"

Her mouth opened slowly.  "I get up," she said thickly, 
"and go to my computer.  I turn it on and type in my 
password."

"Listen to me, Gabrielle," I whispered.  "That password is 
very important, you know.  If you've made it too easy to 
guess, someone could come in and read your notes.  I hope 
you made your password a nice, difficult one that is hard 
to guess."

"Yes, I did," she mumbled.  "Very hard to guess."

"But at the same time," I continued, "you must be able to 
remember it yourself.  It's important for you to show me 
that you remember it.  Can you remember your password, 
Gabrielle?"

"Of course," she said.  "It's WILDFLOWER782.  I can always 
remember that."

"That's very good, Gabrielle.  I'm very proud of you for 
choosing such a wise password.  Do you also use a password 
on individual files, so nobody can read them but you?"

"No," she admitted with a sigh.  "I used to, but Edgar 
always gets annoyed when he can't remember the password for 
a file I've given him, so I stopped."

"That's okay, Gabrielle," I assured her, enjoying the smile 
that came over her at my words.  "I'm sure your files will 
be quite safe with that good, strong password protecting 
the computer.  Make sure you keep that password, 
Gabrielle."

"Okay."

I told her to just relax, picture the crystal in her mind, 
and just watch it spinning until I called her name again, 
ignoring any sounds or movements around her, then went back 
to the Powerbook.  I typed in her password; the computer 
finished booting and gave me access to her desktop.  It 
didn't take long to find the files my clients were 
interested in -- judging by her filing system, Gabrielle 
had a neat and orderly mind.  I'll bet even her brain cells 
are beautiful, I thought to myself.

Within 20 minutes I'd hooked up a portable Superdisk to the 
machine and copied all of the files that looked useful or 
salable.  I spent a few more minutes returning the machine 
to its original state.  Now it was time to restore 
Gabrielle to hers.

As I approached the bed one more time, I was again struck 
by how beautiful she was.  Unable to resist the urge to see 
more, I peeled back the blankets.  I was disappointed -- 
she looked as though she had a splendid body, but it was 
covered from neck to mid calf in unglamorous blue and white 
striped flannel.  A practical nature is a fine thing in a 
woman, but this was taking it too far.

"Gabrielle, my sweet," I said softly.  "Soon your 
wonderful, hypnotic dream will be over and you will return 
to normal sleep.  When you wake in the morning, you will 
feel completely refreshed and content, and will remember 
nothing about this dream at all.  It's not important to 
remember the dream, because none of it really happened.  If 
anything seems odd or out of place in the morning, it's 
okay to just ignore it and act as though everything is the 
way you expect.  Also, you will find that you no longer 
wish to confine yourself to wearing practical, businesslike 
clothing all the time.  You love the feel of fine fabrics 
against your skin, fabrics like satin and lace and silk.  
The texture of these fine fabrics makes you feel 
wonderfully alive and sexy and confident.

"And now, Gabrielle, I will count to three.  On the count 
of three, your mental image of the crystal will fade away 
and you will return to normal, restful sleep.  Nothing will 
disturb that sleep until it is time for you to wake up in 
the morning.  One ... two ... three.  Sweet dreams, 
Gabrielle."

Her body shifted ever so slightly as she slipped from 
trance into normal sleep.  I felt a strong impulse to bend 
over and kiss her, but my common sense held me back.  
Instead I crept quietly out the door and down the empty 
stairs, undetected as always.



Professionally speaking, my encounter with Gabrielle was 
highly profitable.  Not only did I collect the agreed-upon 
fee from my pharmaceutical client for identifying the 
anonymous sources who had been leaking embarrassing 
information to Gabrielle, but some of the other files I 
copied contained information of great value and utility to 
the campaign manager of an embattled member of Congress, 
who paid handsomely for the "motivational speech" I gave to 
him using the files' contents.  

In the days to follow, however, when I thought back to that 
evening, it wasn't the impressive financial gain that came 
to mind.  It was Gabrielle herself:  the tranquility in her 
face, the depth of her brown eyes, the way her black hair 
flowed naturally around her, the sharp mind that showed in 
the way she organized her life.  I found myself turning 
more often to the TV for news, especially Gabrielle's 
station.   Seeing her on the tube was nothing new -- she 
was well-known locally, probably headed for network in 
another year or two -- but now that I'd seen her in person, 
she seemed more real to me than ever before.

Gabrielle occupied my thoughts so much that, when my 
contact at the pharmaceutical company came back to me with 
a follow-up request, I broke one of the cardinal rules of 
my nocturnal business:  never hit the same mark twice.

And so it was that about six days after my first visit to 
Gabrielle's condo, I found myself once again looking down 
at her quiet, sleeping face.  My spray bottle and crystal 
at the ready, I played my light across her face again.  She 
woke with the same start, inhaling the relaxant, falling 
back against the pillows as I wove my spell around her mind 
once again.

Something was different this time.  Once I had her well 
under, imagining my crystal spinning before her, I was able 
to take a closer look and notice that her shoulders and 
arms were bare, save for a pair of thin, shimmering straps.  
I lifted the covers and beheld the results of my earlier 
suggestion:  Gabrielle was now wearing a peach-colored silk 
chemise which flowed smoothly over her skin.  Now that's 
more like it, I thought admiringly.  Her bare legs looked 
so inviting that I lifted the silk slightly to peek 
underneath and note the cotton panties.  I also noted that 
her nipples were erect, telegraphing their shape through 
the gown.  Slowly, gently, I caressed one through the silk 
with my gloved hand.  When Gabrielle moaned softly in 
response, my cock responded.  How I would have loved to 
slide it inside her ...

But no -- this was still a business call, and a risky 
enough one at that without leaving semen samples behind.  I 
took a deep breath and imagined tying a tourniquet around 
the base of my cock until it slowly settled down again.  
Self-hypnosis is a very useful tool at times like that.

"Gabrielle," I said softly, "how do you feel?"

"Mmmmm," she replied sleepily.  "Dreamy ... sexy ... warm 
and tingly in my boobs."

"How do you feel about Platt Pharmaceuticals?"

A frown clouded her face.  "They're evil and greedy.  They 
made Tranquin so expensive to buy that the people who need 
it most can't afford it, just so they can make fat profits 
from the insurance companies."

You're probably right, I told her silently, then got to the 
purpose of my visit.  "Gabrielle, you've been given wrong 
information about Platt.  Platt spent millions and millions 
of dollars to develop Tranquin so that people would have an 
effective antidepressant that doesn't harm their sex drive, 
but the FDA kept demanding more and more trials before they 
would agree to approve it.  Platt would love to lower the 
price, but they can't until they cover the cost of all 
those extra unnecessary trials.  So you see, Gabrielle, 
it's really the bureaucrats at the FDA who are responsible 
for the high cost of Tranquin.  Somebody should investigate 
that story, don't you think?"

"Yes ... investigate ... "

"And then there's the insurance companies, especially the 
HMO's.  They have millions of patients who could benefit 
from using Tranquin, but they refuse to make it easy for 
doctors to prescribe it.  Instead, they insist on trying to 
make people pick from their list of cheap, less effective 
drugs.  That means there are fewer Tranquin customers, 
which is causing the price to stay high.  Somebody should 
tell the people about that, too, shouldn't they?"

"Yes ... tell the people ... "

"Gabrielle, I know you're an intelligent and fair-minded 
reporter, much too smart to be fooled by those people at 
the FDA and the insurance industry.  They want you to 
believe that Platt is an evil, greedy company looking to 
gouge people who need Tranquin.  The truth is, Platt is a 
generous company just trying to recover their costs so they 
can stay in business.  Whenever you think about Platt 
Pharmaceuticals, Gabrielle, I want you to remember how 
dreamy and sexy and happy you feel when I do this."

I let my hand touch her breast again, gently sliding the 
silk over its surface, teasing the nipple, bringing a low 
moan from her lips.

"Every time you think about Platt Pharmaceuticals, you will 
experience that same wonderful feeling, and you will know 
that they are truly on the side of the people.  Do you 
understand, Gabrielle?"

"Yes ..."

"Very good, honey," I told her.  She smiled a sleepy, happy 
smile.  "And now, it's almost time to go back to your 
regular sleep.  I'm going to count to three, and on three 
you will come out of trance and go back into deep, 
refreshing, natural sleep.  Nothing will disturb you until 
it is time to get up in the morning.  But from now on, 
Gabrielle, any time you hear my voice say the word 
'Sandman', a wonderful, warm, heavy feeling will come over 
you and you will immediately slide back into a deep, 
lovely, obedient, hypnotic trance even deeper than the one 
you are in right now.  Will you do that for me?"

"Yes ... Sandman ... "

"That's good.  One ... two ... three."

Why did you do that? I asked myself, referring to the 
induction trigger.  You're not coming back here again.  My 
common sense told me I'd better not -- twice was risky, 
coming back a third time would be foolhardy.  



Of course, my suggestions worked.  Gabrielle continued to 
pursue the Tranquin story with all the vigor that had won 
her the respect of viewers and other reporters; however, 
her angle of attack changed dramatically.  Instead of 
cornering Platt officials and asking hard questions, she 
took her cameras into the offices of the FDA and several 
major insurance companies, demanding that they justify the 
practices which had contributed to the high cost of this 
terribly important new drug.  My contact told me Platt was 
extremely pleased, and I received a hefty bonus in addition 
to my usual "consulting" fee.

And best of all, every time Gabrielle mentioned the name 
'Platt Pharmaceuticals' on the air, her hand would steal 
over and touch her left breast for just a moment.  I spent 
hours watching the news, taping her segments and rerunning 
them so I could admire the results of my work.


The next few days I spent in West Virginia, doing my 
hypnosis act at a minor comedy club outside of Charlestown.  
Ten years as a stage hypnotist, and I was still only 
getting bookings in crummy little dives that nobody 
interesting ever goes to.  I'm a damned good hypnotist -- 
you can ask Gabrielle if you don't believe me -- but I 
guess not much of a showman.  Truth to tell, I'd probably 
try harder if I really needed the money.


The first thing I did when I got home was turn on the TV to 
see what Gabrielle was up to.  I knew the Platt story had 
fallen by the wayside; Gabrielle's change of angle had 
apparently confused her peers enough that the feeding 
frenzy broke up, relegating the story to the back pages of 
the print media.  From reading her computer files, I knew 
she had a story on Medicaid fraud that was ready to go and 
fully expected to see it early in the newscast.

When the second commercial break came with no sign of 
Gabrielle, I was irked.  Halfway through the final segment, 
when Gabrielle finally came on to deliver a puff piece 
about some retired janitor who'd won the lottery, I was so 
dumbfounded I barely noticed the lace-trimmed blouse that 
she was wearing underneath her black blazer.  Since when 
does a reporter of Gabrielle's stature end up interviewing 
lottery winners?  Something had to be wrong.

I had to call in a favor, but a few days later I had the 
name and home address of the station's executive director 
in charge of the news division.  It was a neighborhood I 
knew well from previous excursions, a nice quiet suburban 
conclave full of big houses with tall fences.  His two 
children, it turned out, were away at college, so I had 
only the director and his wife to deal with.  A quick spray 
from my handy little pump bottle and they were both very 
easy to manage.

"Listen very carefully, Howard," I told the director, my 
crystal holding him completely in its thrall.  "I am the 
owner of the station, and it's very important that we talk 
about what you're doing with Gabrielle Walker.  Why has she 
been getting less air time lately, and doing such 
unimportant stories?"

"She screwed up on the Tranquin story," he said groggily.  
"Got people at the FDA all pissed off and the insurance 
companies threatening to sue us.  And somehow Platt found 
out who her sources were and they dried up.  I decided she 
should lay low for a while, earn her way back to the top 
spot."

My blood boiled.  This pompous, ignorant prick wouldn't 
know a good reporter from an Amway salesman, and here he 
was passing judgment on my Gabrielle.

"You've got it wrong, Howard," I scolded him.  "Gabrielle 
Walker is the best reporter you've ever seen.  She's 
tenacious, insightful, independent ... everything a 
reporter should be.  In fact, with her talent, she 
shouldn't be chasing stories at all -- she belongs behind 
the anchor desk.  The sooner you get her there, the better 
off my station will be.  Viewers love and respect 
Gabrielle; if you continue to mistreat her, she will leave 
and you will lose your audience, which means losing your 
job.  You don't want that, do you?"

"No, sir."

"Good, then we agree.  Gabrielle is to be put back on her 
normal assignment, starting with that hard-hitting Medicaid 
fraud story she's been working on.  And starting now, 
you're going to see to it that she gets every opportunity 
to take over as anchor.  Oren Stevenson has been there too 
long; the station needs some fresh blood, someone the 
viewers can relate to and admire ... someone like 
Gabrielle."

"Yes ... of course ... "



There was an extra fire in Gabrielle's eyes the next 
evening as she delivered the first part of her Medicaid 
fraud story at the top of the hour.  If her businesslike 
dress plunged a little lower in the front than usual, 
showing a hint of white lace around the shadow of her 
cleavage, I'm sure it didn't hurt the ratings any.

I told myself it was foolhardy, stupid, reckless, totally 
against all common sense and self-preservation, but that 
night I nonetheless found myself back in Gabrielle's 
bedroom, standing over her sleeping form.

She was in another silk chemise tonight, a pale blue one 
with white lace trim at the bust and the hem.  Gently, 
slowly, I put my hand over her breast and caressed her 
through the silk.  She stirred, smiling, then opened her 
eyes with a start and a gasp.

"It's all right, Gabrielle," I reassured her.  "It's me, 
Sandman."  At the sound of her trigger word, Gabrielle's 
eyes dropped shut and her entire body relaxed with a deep, 
satisfied sigh.  Not quite her entire body, I noticed -- 
her nipples became firm and erect, pushing up against the 
silk as the rest of her sunk deeper into the bed.  I 
caressed both nipples for a few minutes, talking her deeper 
into trance, until she was moaning steadily and the scent 
of her arousal began to tingle in my nose.

I lifted the bottom of the chemise and saw that she had new 
underwear, an off-white mesh thong that failed miserably at 
hiding her curly black thatch.  The cotton insert was 
thoroughly soaked and reeking of her juices.

"Gabrielle, my sweet," I said.  "Your secret lover is here.  
Already you've felt the pleasure of my touch, arousing you, 
making you feel so wonderful.  You love the feel of my 
hands on your body.  My touch, the touch of your lover, 
never fails to arouse you.  In fact, you have become so 
aroused at my lover's touch that your sex is dripping with 
the desire to receive me.  Your body knows that great 
pleasure is only moments away."  Coaxing her to lift her 
butt a little, I pulled down the thong panties to expose 
her glistening center.  "Go ahead, Gabrielle ... feel how 
very wet you are, how very ready you are to receive me.  
Touch yourself in all of your favorite places, each touch 
making you more aroused and more anxious to receive me 
inside you."

I watched, my cock threatening to burst through my black 
slacks, as Gabrielle's fingers probed her own private area, 
circling her nub and spreading the slick fluid all around.  
Her moans grew louder and more impassioned the longer she 
went.  

Don't do that! my common sense screamed as I peeled the 
glove off my right hand.  I was in the grip of a more 
powerful force than common sense, however:  gently, firmly, 
I removed Gabrielle's hand from her center and replaced it 
with my own.  

"I am about to enter you now, Gabrielle," I told her.  
"When I do, it will give you the most intense sexual 
pleasure you have ever felt.  I will count to five, and at 
the count of five your body will experience the strongest, 
longest, most satisfying orgasm you have ever had.  You 
will continue to orgasm until I tell you to sleep; then you 
will fade into a normal, natural sleep that will not be 
interrupted by anything until it is time for you to awaken 
in the morning."

With that, I plunged my first two fingers deeply into her 
vagina, putting gentle pressure on the slight bulge in the 
top wall where I knew she would feel it most intensely.  
She shuddered and gasped, then went back to an ever-
increasing rate of moaning and panting.  I teased her nub 
with my thumb while stroking the inside of her with my 
fingers, and I could feel her body struggling to hold off 
orgasm until it received the command.  I counted to five 
slowly, relishing the uncontrollable passion in her face 
and her body, and let her come until it seemed she could 
stand no more.

"Sleep, Gabrielle," I told her.  "Sleep now, and awaken in 
the morning feeling better than you ever have before."

Before leaving, I took another short look around.  The 
array of practical cotton underwear I'd found on my first 
visit was gone; a wide variety of soft, shimmering things 
had taken their place.  These were much nicer, much more 
fitting for my Gabrielle.  So were the various silk, satin, 
and lace slips, camisoles and blouses that I found hanging 
in the closet, the older broadcloth things relegated to a 
back corner.  I approved.



My Gabrielle's Medicaid fraud piece more than made up for 
any damage done to her reputation as a reporter.  She made 
her debut at the anchor desk the following week, marking 
the beginning of a sweeps period.  She looked absolutely 
radiant behind the desk, her soft, sexy voice giving the 
news a whole new level of compelling interest.  I watched 
every minute of it with her thong panties from our latest 
encounter -- I didn't remember tucking them into my pocket, 
but they'd been there when I got home -- clenched in my 
hand.  The scent of her juices in them was faint but still 
detectable.

The next morning, I thumbed anxiously through the Style 
section of the morning paper; my Gabrielle must be 
mentioned in there, I reasoned.  Sure enough, she was -- 
but not, as I was expecting, in the TV column.  Instead, I 
saw her name in bold type in the 'Reliable Source' gossip 
column:


     Local news reporter Gabrielle Walker 
     finished her first night at the anchor desk, 
     where she is filling in for vacationing Oren 
     Stevenson all this week, by painting the 
     town.  Sources say her chosen escort was 
     fellow newshound Tom Matthews, fueling 
     speculation that the pair may be 
     collaborating outside of work.  


Obviously, this would not stand.  I thought briefly about 
paying a call on Mr. Matthews, but abandoned the idea -- if 
I warned him off, there would be many others willing to 
take his place.  No, this was a problem that needed to be 
attacked at the source.

It had only been a few days since my last visit with my 
Gabrielle, but I couldn't afford to wait any longer.  I 
crept into her room that night, roused her with my 
penlight, and said the word that sent her into blissful 
trance.

"We need to talk, Gabrielle," I said after deepening her 
hypnotic state.  "Tell me about your relationship with Tom 
Matthews."

"He's a guy at work," she said slowly.  "We've dated a 
couple of times lately.  He wants more, but I'm not sure I 
do."

"Of course he wants more ... all men want you, my 
Gabrielle, but only one is worthy.  Tom Matthews is a 
walking Ken doll, a pretty face with no substance.  He is 
not worthy to lick your shoes, my darling.  Indeed, none of 
the men you see in the waking world are right for you.  
None of them can give you the pleasure that I give you, my 
Gabrielle.  I, your secret lover, am the only man who can 
please your body and your mind.  You must love me, and only 
me.  Do you understand?"

"Yes ... only you ... "

"That's right, Gabrielle, only me.  Other men will desire 
you, many of them will try to woo you, but you must remain 
faithful to me at all times.  You may socialize with these 
men, but you must not become involved with anyone other 
than me.  If someone else presses you for dates, for 
attention, you will invent excuses that will not betray our 
secret love."

Slipping off my glove, I lifted the covers and reached 
inside her nightgown.  My fingers slid up her thigh and 
found nothing but warm, soft fur and moist skin -- she was 
wearing nothing under the silken sheath.  She purred 
sensuously as I caressed her mound, slowly spreading the 
increasing moisture around and parting her nether lips.

"You love the feel of my hands on your body, Gabrielle.  My 
touch arouses you more than any other touch; my voice 
arouses you more than any other sound; my kisses arouse you 
more than any other man could ever hope to.  Feel the raw 
pleasure of my touch, and my kisses, and my voice, and let 
them bring you to a deep, intense, satisfying climax ...  
and as you submerge yourself in the sexual joys that I can 
bring you, realize that no other man can give you this kind 
of pleasure.  No other man can make you come. "

I probed her slit with my thumb and fingers for a while, 
listening to the sounds of her ascending passion as I 
touched all of her favorite spots.  When she was dripping 
wet and nearly out of her mind, I spread her legs apart, 
peeled the black hood off my face, and dove in for the 
kill.

She climaxed almost immediately.   I let her enjoy it, 
kissing her inner thighs gently while she writhed on the 
bed until the pace slowed, then sank back in and traced 
circles around her clitoris with my tongue.  Her legs 
clamped down on me and she climaxed again.  I let her ride 
it out, and then at the very end I stimulated her one more 
time and sent her over the edge yet again.  My face was 
coated in her delicious juices when I finally let up.  I 
reminded her again that no other man could make her feel 
this way, and sent her off to sleep.




I managed to hold out almost a week before going back to 
see my Gabrielle again.  I was struck immediately by how 
content she looked, and noticed that she was now sleeping 
between satin sheets.  Her eyes opened when I touched her 
through the satin, but there was no gasp and no look of 
fear in her face.  Instead, she gazed intently into my 
eyes, the only part of my face visible through the black 
hood I wore, and waited.

"It's Sandman," I said, and enjoyed watching her eyes fall 
closed and her body slide deeper into the sheets.  I peeled 
away the top sheet and drew in a sharp breath myself:  my 
Gabrielle was naked.

I sat there on the edge of the bed for untold time, 
studying her body as it lay ready for our mutual pleasure.  
Her nipples were already standing up in anticipation, and 
the familiar musky scent I'd come to love was already 
rising from her center.  The sight of her breasts, felt so 
often but now seen for the first time, was too much to 
ignore -- choking off the scream of protest that rose from 
the back of my brain, I removed the black hood I normally 
wore and nuzzled my face between her breasts.  There was a 
strong scent of perfume on her chest which filled my head 
and overrode almost all of my remaining reason.  I spent a 
long, happy time suckling at my Gabrielle's breasts, 
kissing and sucking and caressing them freely, listening to 
her impassioned moans and losing myself in them.

My cock ached to be inside her, but my embattled sense of 
caution managed to win that skirmish; instead, with the 
flush of her excitement covering her skin from throat to 
crotch, I settled down between her legs and adored her.  
Her body responded to my loving attentions in a most 
satisfying way, climaxing again and again as her thighs 
squeezed around my head.  Partway through I realized I was 
coming as well, pumping large amounts of my own seed into 
my pants.  There was a large damp stain around my zipper 
when I got up, but I was lucky -- none had soaked through 
to the sheet.

I'd given myself quite a scare -- I'd come close to leaving 
a dangerous piece of physical evidence behind, something 
I'd never done before.  My Gabrielle would never betray me, 
of course, but I hadn't escaped suspicion for all these 
years by leaving evidence in my wake.  I would have to be 
more careful.




The ratings for my Gabrielle's newscasts were excellent -- 
a good 10 percent above the station's normal share for the 
6pm and 11pm slots.  The station didn't hesitate to issue a 
press release trumpeting the numbers, fueling speculation 
that they may offer her a permanent spot as co-anchor.  The 
papers picked up on the story, and it became a minor 
scandal when an "anonymous source" inside the station 
speculated that my Gabrielle's sudden success may be less a 
function of her journalistic talents than of her ability to 
wear peek-a-boo lace with a business jacket.  Probably Oren 
Stevenson, I thought to myself.  That sanctimonious prick.  
It had only been a few days since my last visit, but I felt 
that a celebration was in order.

This time, when I crept into my Gabrielle's condo, I had a 
picnic basket with me.  Quietly, letting the anticipation 
build in my loins, I set out the contents of the basket on 
the dining table:  a magnum of champagne, chilled and 
swathed in a cloth napkin, and two flutes.  The vinyl 
tablecloth I laid out on the living room floor for a 
different purpose.

I made my way to the bedroom to see my love.  Without 
waiting, I peeled back the satin sheets and beheld her 
stunning, naked body.  She stirred at my first touch and 
met my gaze just before I sent her off to sleep.  I sat on 
the edge of the bed with her, lovingly stroking her breast 
with a gloved hand, until I heard a sharp metallic click.

"Take your hand off her, you pervert." 

Calm and relaxed, I told myself as I turned my head slowly.  
I could just make out the speaker in the dim moonlight from 
the windows:  a tall, gangly, redheaded woman with anger in 
her eyes.  The open closet door behind her told me where 
she'd been hiding; the way her hands held the gleaming  9mm 
Beretta, cocked and ready to fire, told me she was skilled 
in its use.  My best chance was to put the intruder off 
balance, so I turned back to  my Gabrielle again as if 
nothing out of place was happening.

"I said stop that!" 

I counted a quick three in my head as I continued fondling 
my Gabrielle's breast.  "She likes it," I said quietly, 
keeping my head very still.  "See how her body responds to 
my touch?"  To prove my point, I gave the breast a good 
squeeze, rolling the nipple between my fingers, and my 
Gabrielle gasped and moaned with pleasure, arching her back 
in a most satisfying way.

"She does not like it," the woman insisted.  I repeated my 
action and let my love's obviously increasing arousal prove 
the lie.  The interloper watched as I removed my glove and 
began fingering my Gabrielle's center, then could watch no 
more.

"What the hell are you doing to her?" she demanded, moving 
closer to my line of sight in an unconscious attempt to 
regain control.

Still I didn't look away from my love.  "That should be 
obvious," I remarked.  "I'm giving her an orgasm.  The 
first of several tonight."  To punctuate my statement, I 
slipped two fingers deep into my Gabrielle's canal and 
rubbed her G spot, bringing her to an instant and loud 
climax.

"Un-fucking-believable," she said as the moaning subsided.  
"Aren't you even going to ask who I am?"

"You'll tell me soon enough."  Beneath my hood, I smiled -- 
she still had the gun, but I had claimed for myself the 
position of power.

Sure enough, my suggestion was immediately rewarded.  "I'm 
her friend, Vanessa," she said, her voice full of anger and 
now frustration.  "Gab's been acting very strangely lately 
... she's stopped dating, and her taste in clothes has 
changed ... then there's that whole fiasco with Platt 
Pharmaceuticals -- she acts as though nothing went wrong 
there, but she blew a big story.  The other day she 
remarked that some guy has been breaking into her condo, 
feeling her up and going through her things, but it didn't 
seem bother her in the least.  Well, it bothers me, so I 
decided to find out for myself."

I waited long enough to make this so-called friend wonder 
if I was paying any attention to her at all, then spoke.  
"Gabrielle, my love," I said, still running my hands over 
her body.  "Do you want me to stop visiting you at night?  
To stop touching your body?  To stop loving you as no other 
man ever could?"

"No," came the breathless reply.  "Please don't stop.  
Don't ever stop."

In my peripheral vision, I saw Vanessa lower the gun and 
approach a little closer to the bed.  "Gab, you don't know 
what you're saying," she argued, the anger in her voice 
replaced by bewilderment.  "He's got you brainwashed or 
something.  Don't you see how sick this guy is?"

My Gabrielle said nothing; she was too busy moaning as I 
stroked her, bringing her closer to another orgasm.  The 
only voice she wanted to hear was mine.  Seeing the 
intruder's eyes locked on my Gabrielle's enraptured face, I 
picked up the pace of my caresses with one hand.  With the 
other, I slowly reached into my pocket and found my little 
spray bottle.  "She's not listening to you," I said as a 
distraction.  "The only sound my Gabrielle wants to hear is 
my voice."

The redhead made her final mistake -- she took her right 
hand off the gun, took the remaining steps over to my 
Gabrielle's side, and tried to shake her awake.  With her 
body now between the gun and me, I had the perfect 
opportunity -- my hand with the little spray bottle came up 
and I pumped twice, hitting her squarely in the face.  The 
intruder shrieked as the solution burned her open eyes, 
wiping frantically with her free hand while she pointed the 
gun at me with the other.  I counted three gasping breaths 
and saw her face begin to slacken.  Then, and only then, 
did I make direct eye contact.

"That gun is very heavy, Vanessa," I told her, slowly and 
deliberately.  "Very heavy ... so heavy you can barely hold 
it anymore.  Feel the weight of it dragging your arm down, 
down, down ... deeper and deeper ... pulling you down ... 
so heavy ... "  I watched with satisfaction as her arm, as 
if drawn by gravity, sank down until it was pointing the 
gun at the floor near her own feet.  "You're feeling so 
sleepy now, Vanessa," I continued, "Sleepy and tired ... so 
sleepy and so tired, that you can no longer keep your eyes 
open.  Let them close now, Vanessa, let your eyes close and 
sleep.   You know they must, you know they need to ... let 
them close now, and listen carefully to my words."

Her eyes closed and a look of relief came over her face as 
she slipped into trance.  I relieved her of the gun 
immediately, de-cocked it, then removed the magazine as 
well as the round in the chamber before turning my 
attentions back to Vanessa.  I gave her another quick shot 
of my relaxant to ensure her cooperation a little bit 
longer, then took her deeper and deeper.  She tried to 
fight me, but her own body betrayed her, obeying my every 
suggestion, until she finally slumped to the floor and 
surrendered.

"Vanessa," I asked my new subject, "what did you plan to do 
with me and that gun?"

"Stop you," she answered thickly.  "I was going to keep you 
covered with the gun while Gab called the police."

"Would you have shot me if I'd resisted you?"

"Yes ... in the leg, or something like that."

"And why would you have done that?"

"Because you're a creep ... a pervert ... "

I fumed in silence for a few moments.  Creep, am I? I fumed 
silently.  Pervert?  We'll just see who the real pervert 
is!  

"You're wrong, Vanessa," I said, gently stroking her hair, 
fighting to keep the rage out of my voice.  "I'm neither a 
creep nor a pervert.  I'm Gabrielle's secret lover, the 
Sandman.  She enjoys my visits, just as I enjoy visiting 
with her.  Anyone who would try to interfere with that 
could never be a true friend to her.  You must never 
interfere with our affair again, do you understand?"

"Yes ... never interfere."

"Very good.  Now tell me something, Vanessa:  have you ever 
had sex with another woman?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I'm not like that," came the timid response.  "It creeps 
me out a little."

A most satisfying response; controlling the anger became 
easy.  "Listen to me carefully, Vanessa.  You may not have 
realized it before, but you actually do want to have sex 
with other women.  Lots of other women.  Whenever you see a 
woman, you will find yourself thinking about having sex 
with her.  You may feel disgusted with yourself for having 
these thoughts, but they are in your nature and can't be 
ignored."  Vanessa squirmed, but didn't reject the 
suggestion.  A closet lesbian is born, I applauded 
triumphantly to myself.

"In fact," I continued, "the first person you want to have 
sex with is Gabrielle.  When you awaken in the morning, you 
will see her lying naked in her bed and the desire to make 
love to her will be overwhelming.  The more you try to 
suppress that desire, the stronger it will be.  You will 
find a pair of panty hose and tie her hands together at the 
headboard so she can't stop you; then you will take off all 
of your clothes, climb in between her legs and perform oral 
sex on Gabrielle.  You will continue doing this no matter 
what she says, growing more and more aroused the more she 
speaks, until you orgasm.  Once you orgasm, you will stop.  
You will confess that it is you who have been sneaking into 
her bedroom at night and molesting her, because you are 
obsessed with her and want her to be your lover.  You will 
then do anything that Gabrielle tells you to do, even if 
she says to go away and never speak to her again.  Do you 
understand, Vanessa?"

"No," she whined weakly.  "I don't want to ..."

Another dose of my relaxant overcame her reluctance.  A 
wicked smile crept over my face when she relented.  "And 
now, Vanessa, I want you to go to sleep.  You will sleep 
without interruption until Gabrielle's alarm clock sounds; 
you will then turn off the alarm and obey your 
instructions."

"Yes, sir."  My vanquished enemy sagged a little more as 
she drifted into sleep.  I took the opportunity to set my 
Gabrielle's alarm clock about half an hour earlier than 
usual and turn it on.

My Gabrielle lay on the bed still, her body flushed and 
warm, waiting for more stimulation.  I had other things in 
mind, however.  "Gabrielle," I called to her.  "At the 
count of three you will awaken, feeling refreshed and 
happy.  Nothing you see, hear, or do will seem unusual or 
strange.  You will know that I am your secret lover; you 
will be happy to spend time with me, happy to do anything I 
ask you to do, because we are so deeply in love with one 
another.  One ... two ... three."

Her eyes fluttered open and then fixed on me with love.  
"Hi," she said sweetly, making no attempt to cover her 
nakedness.

I took her hand and kissed it.  "We are celebrating your 
success tonight," I told her.  "I brought champagne.  Would 
you like to come have some with me?"

"Certainly."  She slid quickly out of the bed and followed 
me, pausing only long enough to grab a pink silken bathrobe 
and slip it over her shoulders.

The champagne had lost some of its chill during the 
unexpected interruption, but was still cold enough to 
serve.  I popped the cork, using a cloth napkin to capture 
it, and poured two glasses.

"Why the robe?" I asked casually as I handed her a glass.

She giggled.  "The windows, silly."  She pointed toward the 
glass doors at the end of the living area, which led out to 
the small balcony.  

"Of course."  I closed the vertical blinds and then slipped 
off my hood, the better to enjoy my champagne.  "To our 
love, and to your success," I offered, holding my glass in 
the air.

My Gabrielle smiled brightly and touched her glass to mine.  
The champagne was deliciously dry.

"The papers suggest that you may be offered a permanent 
anchor job," I said.  "Do you know anything about that?"

"They already did," she admitted, grinning.  "But I turned 
them down."

I almost dropped my glass.  "Why would you do that?"

"An anchor is just a figurehead, darling, not a real 
reporter.  I love the hunt, the deadlines, the grand 
feeling I get from being first with the most.  It's a 
tough, unforgiving, brutal job and I happen to be damned 
good at it.  Why would I want to give that up just to sit 
behind a desk reading someone else's copy from a 
teleprompter?"

I was flabbergasted.  If she had any idea of the risk I'd 
run to get her that offer ...

"Listen to me, Gabrielle," I said seriously.  "For a woman 
with your abilities, there is no more appropriate job than 
anchor.  The exposure will lead to better offers, bigger 
networks, and who knows?  In time, you could be producing 
your own investigative reporting specials.  You need that 
anchor job; it's important for your future happiness.  In a 
day or two, the station will offer you the anchor job 
again.  When they do, you must accept it.  Do you 
understand?"

Was that a tiny flash of resistance in her eyes?  If so, it 
passed quickly.  "Of course, honey.  I'll accept it if they 
offer it again."

"They will," I assured her.  Time to change the subject.  
"So tell me about Vanessa."

"She's a good friend," my Gabrielle replied.  "We've known 
each other since I joined the station."

"What would you do if you woke up one morning and found 
Vanessa trying to have sex with you?"

"I'd probably freak out.  I don't have a problem with 
lesbians in general, but I don't want to be one.  Vanessa 
wouldn't do that, anyway; she gets the shivers whenever 
someone even mentions the 'L' word."

"Actually," I contended, "I think Vanessa really is a 
closet lesbian.  In fact, I think she desperately wants you 
as her lover.  I wouldn't be a bit surprised if she even 
snuck into your condo sometimes at night and molested you 
in your sleep."

My Gabrielle shivered.  "That would be too weird," she 
said.

"Much too weird," I agreed.  "In fact, if you ever wake up 
to find her touching you in sexual ways, you won't find it 
pleasurable at all.  You will immediately resist her.  Tell 
her to stop, demand that she stop, until she does.  And 
then, you will tell her to leave you and never try to 
contact you again.  You'll do that, won't you?"

"Yes, of course."

"I know I can count on you."

Sitting there at her glass-topped table, watching her drink 
champagne while the pink robe fell open around her, I was 
overcome with the burning need to make love to my 
Gabrielle.  That night, I had come prepared to follow 
through on the desire.

Setting my empty glass down on the table, I walked around 
behind my Gabrielle and began massaging her shoulders 
through the robe.  Her body melted under my touch.  
"Mmmmm," she purred, "I love the feel of your hands on my 
body."

"Oh, really?" I teased.  "How much?"

For answer, my Gabrielle stood up and turned to face me, 
dropping the robe off her shoulders.  "This much," she said 
lustily, and drew me in for a long, slow, open-mouthed 
kiss.

My hands explored her back and bottom as our tongues danced 
together.  Every time I started to pull back and breathe, I 
found her mouth closing hungrily on mine again.  I felt 
fingers working at the front of my pants, and her hand 
slipped inside to grab the stiffening length of my cock.   
I could feel my own self control withering as my cock grew 
in her hand -- I wanted nothing more than to throw her down 
on the floor and fuck her brains out.  "I want you so 
much," she breathed between kisses.  "Please fuck me, 
Sandman.  I want to come.  I want you to come inside me."

The whole time she talked, she was also working at my 
clothes.  My pants fell to the floor, and she began to 
strip the shirt off my back.  I allowed her to keep going 
until I was standing amidst a pile of my own discarded 
clothes, as naked as she was.  My Gabrielle put her arms 
around my neck and climbed onto me, wrapping her legs 
around me and clinging like a warm, beautiful vine.  My 
aching shaft was tantalizingly close to her sex; I could 
feel the moisture coating it, dripping down from just 
above.  

Through an effort of will I walked us both over to the 
living room.  I put her down on the tablecloth and she 
immediately climbed up on her knees to catch me as I 
reached for a foil packet I'd left on the coffee table.

"You don't need that," she said to me.  "I'm safe, and I 
know you're safe too."

"It's better this way," I replied truthfully.  "But you can 
put it on me if you wish."

My Gabrielle was happy to take the packet from me and, from 
her kneeling position, roll the condom onto my cock.  One 
hand snuck around and fondled my balls while she finished 
seating the condom in place, and almost caused me to come 
right then and there.  "On your back," I croaked, and she 
complied immediately, falling backward onto the tablecloth 
and spreading her legs wide.

I dropped down between her legs, lifted her bottom, and 
slipped easily into her ready and waiting receptacle.  My 
Gabrielle arched her back and thrust herself into me, 
grabbing my waist with her legs and pulling me in as 
tightly as she could.  I felt forward with a hand, grabbing 
a breast and caressing it in rhythm to the movement of our 
hips.  We rocked and moaned together, faster and faster, 
louder and louder, until I exploded inside her.  She felt 
my orgasm begin and cried out with the force of her own 
climax.  We remained locked together, our loins shuddering 
together in sympathy, until the intensity subsided, then I 
released her and let myself slide down beside her to 
recover.

"Gabrielle?"

"Yes, darling?"

"Go back to your room, my love.  Get in bed and wait for me 
there."

"Okay."

I watched in admiration as my Gabrielle's beautiful, naked 
form rose from the tablecloth and padded lightly back to 
the bedroom.  I sighed heavily; making love to my Gabrielle 
had been wonderful, but now it was clean-up time.

I used a dry corner of the tablecloth to clean myself, 
being careful to keep it folded in toward the middle, then 
carefully dressed again.  I folded up the tablecloth, 
keeping the surface we'd made love on to the inside, and 
put it back in the picnic basket.  The condom I flushed, 
being careful not to leave any fingerprints on the commode 
or sink area.  The leftover champagne I poured down the 
sink, then the bottle, cork, and glasses also went back 
into the picnic basket.  Using a clean cloth, I carefully 
wiped the glass tabletop, kitchen counter, coffee table, 
and any other surface that I had touched while my gloves 
were off, then dropped the cloth into the basket.  I took 
one more look around:  as far as I could tell, all possible 
physical evidence of my presence was now either in the 
picnic basket or down the drain.

My Gabrielle was on her back in the bed, her naked body 
telegraphing through the satin sheet, waiting for my return 
as instructed.  "Sandman," I said to her, and I watched her 
eyes lose focus and close down.

"Gabrielle," I said softly.  "In a moment, I am going to 
kiss you one more time.  When I do, you will have the most 
delightful orgasm you've had tonight, one that will be so 
strong and so long that when it finishes you will fall into 
a deep, restful, and natural sleep.  Nothing will disturb 
that sleep until you to awaken in the morning.  You will 
not awaken until you feel someone's tongue touching your 
genitals.  That someone will be Vanessa; when you do 
awaken, you will react the way I suggested that you react.  
When she leaves, you will get up and go about your day.  
You will not remember the time we spent together tonight, 
and you will be relieved to know that with Vanessa gone, 
nobody will be molesting you anymore in your sleep."

I watched her face as my suggestions sank in, and 
reinforced them several times before going on.  My pulse 
quickened as I prepared to give her the final suggestions 
of the night.

"Tomorrow, Gabrielle, you will meet a very special man.  He 
will come to the building at 10:20am exactly in order to 
look at the empty unit which is for sale on the 8th floor 
of this building.  At 10:20, you will find an excuse to 
come down to the lobby and you will meet this man.  His 
name is Peter, and he is a stage hypnotist.  Your conscious 
mind will find him fascinating, and will feel a strong 
sexual draw to him; your subconscious will recognize that 
Peter is actually me, your secret lover, and will ensure 
that your conscious mind falls deeply and passionately in 
love with him."  With that, I wished my Gabrielle goodnight 
and kissed her, triggering the orgasm that would send her 
to sleep.  

I watched her sleep for a few minutes -- she was 
breathtakingly beautiful, as always -- then gathered up my 
hood and basket and stole away into the night.  


-wg
10/5/00