Compromised

---

Rice was boiling on the stove. Chicken, onions, garlic, peppers, and broccoli were chopped up on the cutting board. Eric had just left to pick up some wine to go with their stir-fry, when the knock came at the door.

Megan heard Carmen open the door, and spoke one word that sent a chill down Carmen's spine.

"Chris!"

Fuck, the stupid bitch opened the door without looking through the peephole..

"Carmen, we need to talk. You can't send me to prison."

Megan rounded the corner, and saw Chris with his arms on Carmen's shoulders. She was backed up against the wall, wide-eyed with terror.

"Get the fuck out of my house, now!" Megan spoke with finality, but Chris ignored her.

"Carmen, my lawyer says I am looking at at least five years in prison. I am not going to be someone's bitch for five years."

"Knowing you, you will be the bitcher, not the bitched." Megan's tongue sometimes moved faster than her wisdom.

Chris wheeled on her. "Stay the fuck out of this, you cunt. That cock sucking cop isn't here to protect you."

Shit, he had been waiting outside for Eric to leave. How long before Eric got back from the liquor store? Fifteen minutes?

Chris returned his attention to Carmen. "I mean it. I am not going to prison. You need to tell them that it was someone else, that you lied in order to get back at me for dumping a little whore like you."

Megan's hands were on her cell phone.

The button beeps were loud enough to cause Chris to wheel on her again. She had been standing too close. He slapped the phone out of her hand. It shattered against the wall.

Megan's wrist was screaming in pain from the blow. That's a break, she knew.

Carmen ran for the bathroom when his attention was on Megan. She locked the door before he could stop her.

Oh Carmen, you should have run outside and screamed. Megan's wrist was on fire.

Chris pounded on the bathroom door. "Carmen, open up!"

Megan knew the door lock wouldn't hold. But it might last long enough for her to call 911 from the land line, if Chris worked the door. She shuffled into the kitchen, toward the cordless phone.

"Where did you go!" She heard Chris yell, and heard loud footsteps coming toward her. Chris had recognized the threat of leaving her unattended.

Terror welled up. She was in real danger. He couldn't get at Carmen with Megan running free, and he didn't have much time. He was going to have to knock her out... or worse.

Options...

Eric had given her pepper spray, but it was still in the plastic, useless. She mentally kicked herself.

The chef's knife on the counter -- she had been using it to cut vegetables for stir fry. She had it in her hand just as Chris rounded the corner into the kitchen. He stopped when he saw what she was holding.

"Kitty found a claw."

She held the knife in front of her, and reached for the cordless phone. The kitchen counter was between them.

Chris reached for it as well, leaning across the counter. She slashed out with the knife, but he was expecting it. He had two good hands to her one. He brought his right hand down on her wrist, trapping her good hand against the counter.

She released the knife.

Chris let her go and picked up the weapon for himself.

dammitdammitdammit. She backed away.

Chris maneuvered around the counter to get to her. "I've got your claw, little kitty. What were you planning to do with this?"

Megan felt heat against her back. She had retreated in front of the stove. She smelled the steaming rice, and thought of the saucepan, filled with water and starch at a temperature exceeding 212 degrees.

She grabbed the handle of the saucepan and threw it in Chris's face. The lid caromed off his forehead. Rice and hot water covered the left side of his face and dripped down onto his neck and shoulders. He roared with a volume that instinctively made her flinch.

But he didn't drop the knife. He is going to kill me. His left eye was shut, but his right eye showed cold fury.

Chris came at her in a bull rush, holding the knife in front of him like a spear.

Megan remembered her practice with Eric. She ducked low, sidestepping him. She extended her leg in front of him and pushed him with her one good hand, adding to the momentum of his charge.

Chris tripped over her leg. He spun wildly as he fell, slashing with his knife rather than trying to break his fall. It was a poor choice, as it allowed his head to hit the corner of the doorway with a loud crack. Megan saw plaster fly.

Chris collapsed and lay still.

fucking bastard.

Megan let herself fall to the kitchen floor. She closed her eyes and took deep breaths. Med school lectures came back unbidden. She was still experiencing the fight-or-flight response brought on by the epinephrine rush. They used to call it adrenaline, she recalled for no clear reason. She held her broken wrist in her lap.

Megan looked at Chris's unconscious form. Blood was pooling underneath his head from a scalp wound. The burns on his face were bad. He was breathing, but had taken a nasty concussion. He needs a hospital, her inner doctor told her.

Megan heard someone at the front door. "Megan, why is the door open?"

"Eric." It was half call/half moan. She closed her eyes.

She felt and heard him come into the kitchen. He cursed and did a sharp intake of breath as he saw the scene.

She didn't open her eyes. She knew she would lose it if she did. She was not going to sob into the arms of the big strong cop. He hadn't won this fight.

She had.

"Are you OK?"

"Broken... wrist". She had to breath between each word. "Otherwise... fine. Call 911. Check... him. Carmen's...in bathroom."

Eric called in, gave his badge number, and asked for two ambulances and a couple squad cars. He stayed on the phone. At the same time, she heard Eric examine Chris. She heard the click of cuffs.

"Steady pulse, probable concussion, widespread second degree burns on face and neck." He relayed to the dispatcher. "Also have twenty eight year old woman with broken wrist." He paused, listening to the dispatcher. "No, I don't think I would use the word 'victim' for Megan."

She smiled at that. Damn right.

He settled next to her, putting his arm around her. I'm not going to sob.

She finally opened her eyes to look at him. He was beaming down at her -- his countenance showing not pity, but pride. "That's my girl." He whispered in her ear, stroking her hair. "That's my girl."

With a burst of love exploding in her heart, Megan leaned into his chest.

She didn't sob.

The sex that night when they returned from the hospital had been incredible, despite her being "an angel with a broken wing," in Eric's words. They had each told the other "I love you" for the first time.

---

Megan came out of her reverie. She lay alone in her bedroom, stewing in sexual frustration. She wanted Eric, and she somehow knew masturbation would just frustrate her further.

There was no way she was getting back to sleep, all hot and bothered. She rose, got dressed, and headed downstairs to make herself breakfast. By the time she had finished her bowl of granola, her arousal had diminished. She breathed a sigh of relief -- she was worried that she might be horny all day long.

Her heels clicked on the linoleum as she walked to put her cereal bowl in the dishwasher. Heels? Why am I wearing heels?

She stopped to assess her clothes. She was wearing a satin red cocktail dress that she had never dared to wear outside the dressing room, along with stockings and her only pair of three inch stiletto heels. Her undergarments felt funny, and she felt for them as well. Oh God. She was wearing a peekaboo black shelf bra that didn't even cover her nipples, along with her g-string, and a garter belt. Her stockings were thigh-highs. She was decked out in the lingerie that Eric thought was her sexiest, and she had done it without even realizing it.

Well, what's the point of having clothes like this if not to wear them? Everything in its proper place.

Monday

Eric had arrived home the night before after she had already gone to bed, and she only saw him for a few minutes before he headed out to work earlier than usual. He was evidently planning on a long day. Which was fine with her. She had to work Saturday next weekend, so she had today off. She was waiting outside Esmer's building when he arrived shortly before 8AM.

"Dr. Fletcher?" He didn't seem surprised to see her, or concerned.

"Dr. Esmer, may I talk with you?" What are you a doctor of?

"Are you having an interesting week?" His smile was one of amused curiosity.

"What did you do to me?"

"What I was paid to do -- save your marriage."

"You hypnotized me without permission. That is a violation of medical ethics."

"You would know more about that than I would. Unlike you, I am not a doctor of medicine. I am a mere marriage counselor, which requires no licensing in this state. Hypnotherapy itself is not a recognized medical practice by most states, including Indiana, so I don't have to worry about any ethics beyond my own."

"What kind of doctor are you?"

"My doctorate was in the history of medicine. In researching the history of hypnotism I discovered I had a knack for it, and my career branched out."

"You are a fraud?" Her heart sank. They had reached his office, and she sat down in the chair opposite of his desk.

"It has been almost a week since our treatment. You really think my treatment was fraudulent? Surely you have seen it's effects by now?"

"You turned me into some sort of sexual slave."

"It's an odd sort of slavery when the master has to clean house for his slave."

"You didn't give us a choice."

"Yes I did, satisfaction guaranteed or your money back. Are you requesting a refund?"

"What happens if I do?"

"Well, I obviously can't hand back $2000 and let the customer keep the product, so I will speak a post-hypnotic phrase that will permanently remove all of your conditioning."

Megan said nothing.

"Is that what you want, Dr. Fletcher?"

"Why didn't you tell us what you were doing."

"Too inefficient. No one believes me and I waste time convincing you. Then you argue over free will and identity for four weeks, and half the time the customers don't come back. My way is easier. You now know what I did, and can decide whether you want to keep it. So I repeat the question, what do you want, Dr. Fletcher?"

"What will this do to me? What if someone else cleans near me? What if Eric starts washing dishes when we are at a friend's house, and I... embarrass myself in public? What if we have kids, and one of them needs help and I can't respond because I have some sort of compulsion to have sex with my husband?"

"The conditioning only works in response to your husband's behavior, and has a much less potent impact while in the presence of others, or when some other powerful need is at hand. I daresay you would be able to control your urges when necessary."

Esmer reached into his desk, and pulled out an envelope. Megan noticed her own name written across the front. "This contains the phrase which will permanently remove your conditioning. You have until Wednesday to claim a refund, in which case I will read the phrase myself and then give you your money back. After Wednesday, the phrase in the envelope will still work, but I won't give you a refund."

"Why me?"

"Do you mean, why not your husband?"

Megan didn't like the question being phrased so bluntly, but she nodded.

"I could have conditioned him to clean every time you had sex, but based on your evidenced level of sexuality, I didn't think that would help. I was afraid you would be in divorce court without ever having sex again. I was paid to save your marriage, Mrs. Fletcher. You might not think much of my ethics right now, but I take my job very seriously."

"You had talked about marriage being a compromise. How is this a compromise?"

Dr. Esmer smiled broadly. "Dr. Fletcher, you and your husband are admirable people. I am familiar with your story. It made the front page a couple years ago, as you may recall. But you are also very strong-willed. Both of you. Compromise is not always easy for people like you. I don't think you know it when you see it. You should be familiar with the concept of doing the minimum intervention necessary. If you haven't noticed it already, your husband is being conditioned as much as you are. Just not through hypnosis and not by me."

---

"I take it you and Eric went to see him." Sandy was giving her an annoying smirk, but there was sympathy in her eyes.

"Why didn't you tell me what he would do?" They had gone to Esmer on Sandy's recommendation.

"Because you wouldn't have gone."

"Shouldn't that have been my choice?"

"Didn't he give you an out? A way to reverse the conditioning?"

"Yes, but that isn't the point."

"Of course it's the point. You still have a choice, but now you know what the choice is."

Megan sat down on Sandy's couch. She was full of conflicting emotions: fear, arousal, anger, humiliation. "What did he do to you?"

"He saved my marriage by hypnotizing John."

Megan waited for Sandy to elaborate.

Sandy sighed. "John was spending us into bankruptcy with his collectibles obsession, and I had gained sixty pounds, which was killing our love life. Now, if I exercise for at least thirty minutes every day, John feels no interest in buying vintage movie memorabilia on eBay." Sandy sipped her coffee and turned in profile. "I have lost thirty pounds so far."

"You do look nice," Megan admitted. "But doesn't John feel like he has lost something?"

"John is happier than hell. We aren't in danger of losing the home, and our sex life has improved. I no longer want to divorce him. You are over-thinking this Megan."

Megan said nothing, but crossed her arms and chewed her lip.

Sandy elaborated. "I deal with contract law every day. One party wants X, another party wants Y, and the contract sets the terms. Everyone is better off. Marriage is a contract as well. From what you told me, you set an expectation of sex and didn't meet it. Eric set an expectation of housework and hasn't met it. Your choices are to walk away from the contract, live with the breech, or enforce the terms. All Esmer did was come up with a clever way to enforce the terms."

Megan furrowed her brow, less certain.

"Look at it this way. Are you happier? Is your marriage stronger?"

"I am not sure."

"Well, tomorrow is a perfect day to find out."

Valentine's Day

Megan felt a lump in her throat as her car turned into the driveway of her home. Lights were on in the house, indicating Eric was already there.

Am I ready for this? She had already decided that this would be a romantic evening, of sorts. She was going to try it the way Dr. Esmer suggested. She would ask Eric to clean some dishes, or straighten out the shit he had undoubtedly left all over the floor of the bedroom, and the conditioning would kick in. They would have sex, and they would both be happy.

Then why do I feel like I am selling my soul?

She parked the car, and noticed her hands were shaking as she removed the key from the ignition.

Oh, God.

She opened the door from the garage, and walked up the stairs toward the dining room.

Eric was waiting at the top.

How long has he been here?

A motion of his hands drew her attention toward them. He was holding a red rose in his right, and a miniature dove chocolate bar in his left.

"Am I supposed to choose?"

"No, you get both."

She popped the chocolate in her mouth, and took the rose.

"I have dinner ready. Why don't you sit down?"

Two candles were lit on the table, and the rest of the lights were out. A small vase was sitting in front of her chair. A wine glass was waiting for her, filled with a red. She placed the rose inside the vase. "What's for dinner?"

"Each course is a surprise."

"Ooh, I get courses?"

"Of... a certainty."

She laughed, and noticed she was no longer nervous. The house was dim by candlelight, but she could see that it was clean. Eric had put away his morning mess rather than leaving it for her, and even the kitchen was already clean of most of the food preparation.

Eric wouldn't have anything to clean to get her aroused, she realized. Why am I disappointed by that?

The first course was a yellowish soup that smelled of chicken and lemons. "Avgolemono," he said. "Greek chicken soup compromised of egg, lemons, and rice."

"Comprised."

"Isn't that what I said?"

She let it go. The soup had a creamy texture from whipped eggs, with the sour of the lemons perfectly balancing the salt of the chicken broth in a perfect marriage of tastes. Eric didn't cook very often, but he knew how. He had told her once that it was one of his favorite seduction techniques. He hadn't used it on her because they had spent almost all their dating time at her house, but he had insisted that it was one of the most reliable methods of getting into a woman's pants. Looks like he is right.

The second course was a steamed artichoke with a curry yogurt dipping sauce. They took turns removing a leaf. Megan remembered once telling Eric that artichokes were the sexiest food in the world. It was like taking off a piece of clothing. Watching Eric uses his mouth to remove the fragment of heart off of each leaf reminded her of what he looked like when he went down on her. Eventually the leaves were gone. Eric removed the choke with a spoon, exposing the heart. It had the soft pliable texture of lips or labia. She leaned across the table to feed most of the heart to Eric, before finishing off the last bite herself.

Eric said not a word, just looking at her in the dim candlelight. Megan respected the silence, and found herself getting aroused as they finished their appetizer. She wanted him now, and was certain this wasn't the work of Esmer's hypnotic conditioning.

Eric rose to get the entree out of the oven, and finally spoke. "You have been in an interesting romantic mood for the last week."

"Is that what you call it? Interesting?"

"Most of it has been very nice. You have surprised me a couple times, which is something you haven't done much in the last year."

Megan said nothing.

"You aren't giving up. I like that about you. You never give up." He set the serving dish in front of her.

It looked like tiny chunks of meat wrapped in leaves, skewered by a toothpick. "Marinated kebobs broiled in a basil leaf."

She tasted one. It was heaven. "What's the marinade?"

"Olive oil, balsamic vinegar, lemon juice, garlic, thyme."

"I am having a food orgasm."

"The first of many tonight, we hope." He paused. "You have been trying to be nice to me all week, and I wanted to return the favor. I hope you are enjoying it."

"The whole meal is wonderful. You need to cook more."

Eric smiled at her.

"What did you have in mind after dinner?" She reached across the table to hold his hand.

"I thought we would remove to the bedroom."

She drew circles in his palm with her finger. "Take me there."

"You head up. I want to clean up these dishes first." He looked slightly disappointed.

Had he figured out the relationship between her sexuality this week and his housecleaning? She wasn't sure, and this was the first time all week she felt like having sex with him without any help from Esmer' conditioning. She wanted to see if she could keep it that way. "No, let it wait until after. I want you now."

Eric's lip twitched, and he held out his hand. She took it and rose. He blew out the candles, and she followed him into the bedroom. She noticed with pleasure that it was clean. He had straightened up sometime earlier.