A Promise Kept

That did give Rebecca some reassurance-- Henry's old trick of comforting her had come back even here. But it had the same short-coming as ever: the stakes were high, the situation was stressful, and he'd failed to entirely address it.

"But you said you didn't have an argument with the second part," Rebecca spoke again. "And that part might be the part that frightens me the most."

"But why does that scare you?" Henry prompted, once more.

"Because clearly you have great power over me," Rebecca replied. "And I don't entirely understand how you have it... or why... or what you want from me..."

Henry sat further back in his chair. "I don't want anything from you. I only want you-- want you to be mine. And you've known me a long time-- is it really necessary to be afraid of someone you've known your whole life, and who has only ever acted in your best interest to make you happy?"

Rebecca shook her head. "Maybe it doesn't make sense, but the fact that you could influence all those people-- influence me--"

"I didn't influence them," Henry corrected. "I hypnotized them."

"You hyp--" The word caught in her throat. She could hear her heart beating in her ears.

"Yes, that's right," he added. "And I hypnotized you too. And I could do it again, right now. But I won't-- unless you ask me to. We made a deal, you and I... you said you would give anything in exchange for the career you wanted, and I asked you to give yourself to me. I did my part-- will you now offer yourself to me, and accept that you are mine?"

The question made Rebecca's head swim-- the room felt too small around them.

There was a patience in the way Henry spoke that suggested confidence; as if he knew everything would go his way in the end.

Well, she thought. Wouldn't it? Hadn't she come to him, in the end-- just as he'd asked?

Rebecca thought of many things in that moment. She thought of the outline that had been tracing itself in his shape, constantly, throughout the past weeks and months of her life. She thought of the letter he'd sent her, sitting at home in her drawer-- of the note she had thrown away-- of all the arrows that had pointed back to him.

In the letter, he had written of her with such longing; had revealed that he watched each one of her panels on the local news station; watched them just to appreciate what she was wearing that day, to appreciate the professional opinions she offered up when asked, and the competence with which she shared them. When he had asked in that letter to be his, it had been like a plea-- when he had asked her, in the note, to come to him, it had been like an imploring-- as if he had waited for her so long-- as if he wanted her so much.

The thought of asking what she had come here to ask him no longer appealed to her, and it wasn't because of what he had done for her. He had implored her in his letter to be his-- and then implored her again in his note to come to him. How could she refuse a request that was fueled by such feeling?

Even if it were somehow possible-- if she could have found it in herself to be that unfeeling, and that unmoved by his apparent longing for her-- Rebecca found she didn't want to refuse him. She had never felt so wanted as he was making her feel now. Or as he had made her feel in his letter, or his note, so easily; with only the use of a few simple words.

Rebecca swallowed once more. She accepted it, because it was true. "Yes, Henry," she said-- her voice low in volume. "I'm yours; I belong to you."

Henry gave her a smile, then. It was a familiar sight; like the friendly, crooked one she had known on him when he was much younger. "Thank you," he said, and held out his hand to her; standing to do it, guiding her to stand too, and come with him.

He was leading her, again, this time by the hand. But he wasn't leading her very far; there was a door off the room they'd been in that she had missed before, and when he led her past its doorway, she found herself in a much larger bedroom.

He guided her to the bed, and she knew how he wanted her; she was finding that she was starting to want him to, and did not need to wait for his direction. She dropped his hand when they reached the bed, and moved to begin undressing herself, but Henry said-- "Let me--" and she let him.

He did it carefully, as if giving weight to every part of it; she could feel the potency of his desire for her in each move he made, and the idea struck her to undress him in turn. He let her, just as she had let him.

When they were both naked together, they got onto the bed; and the careful patience Henry had moved with dissipated. It seemed that now that he was so close to having her, he could not wait a second longer, and he took her lips quickly in a kiss. He kissed her with passion; and stirred a similar passion in her. She'd never been kissed like this-- never been kissed at all, but this kiss was better than any she had ever imagined.

He kissed her deeply, and was already moving against her-- his hand gliding smoothly between her legs to encourage lubrication there. Her body gave it in response to the call of his hand. He was beckoning it to come out of her as confidently as he had beckoned her to cross the threshold and enter his home.

She found it was so easy to give Henry what he asked of her-- especially when what he asked of her felt so good for her too. She was moaning into his mouth, rolling her hips to his rhythm; Henry kissed her deeper; the passion between them grew.

His other hand had come up to her breast, and he was kneading it carefully. She arched her back into his second touch; moaned harder. There was so much pleasure in her body-- so much of it so soon. The way Henry kissed her at first had been enough to summon it, but it had only grown more powerful inside of her with the added stimulation of his touch.

"Yes--" Henry managed, between kisses, keeping his stimulation of her going. "That's it-- feel the pleasure-- I want you to-- I want you to feel the pleasure that I give you--"

She was aching between her legs; she could feel ecstasy coursing all through her body; she was so slick under his hand that his fingers were sliding along her slit. She rolled his hips more urgently. She needed still more from him. "Henry--"

"Shh," Henry said. "I know."

And Henry proved that he did know; because he lined himself up with her entrance, and in the next second, slid into her.

Rebecca cried out from the pleasure of it; from the pleasure of being filled by him. It was ecstasy of the finest caliber-- it felt like a homecoming; like all that was right in the world, and as soon as Henry was seated in her, she felt herself folding in around him, her walls clenching on him with everything she had, enveloping him on all sides; she in turn could feel him brushing up against each internal inch of her channel.

She was grateful in that moment for the fact that she had taken birth control pills for most of her adult life, even though she had never been sexually active; grateful that she had taken one that morning the same as every other.

Henry had given her a moment to adjust to his girth; but now, it seemed that moment was passed. It didn't matter. She was more than wet enough to accommodate him, as he took up his pace inside her.

Rebecca rolled with the pace as she'd rolled under his hand, and she was moaning again as she did it. The pleasure was indescribable. It seemed to grip every part of her body, found every part of her internal layout no matter where it was hiding, and the only thing she wanted to do was feel more of it, and give voice to it.

Henry was kissing her again-- he had one hand near where their bodies were joined, and was gently rolling her clit under his fingers-- his other hand was at her breast, still, rolling her clit.

It was too much pleasure from too many sources-- there was no way she could resist giving what it wanted from her; she was going to fall into the ecstasy that was calling to her from the inside; she was going to fall--

She found the space to fit words into her string of moans. "It's too much-- I'm going to orgasm--" She panted around the form of the words.

Henry pressed a kiss to her cheek. "Let yourself. Come-- now."

She went when he told her to. It seized hold of her completely; rolling through her like a wave that washed everything out; washed everything away.

She was breathless when the ecstasy had at last passed through her; and she was still twitching around him. He had kept the same pace the entire time; it had only driven her pleasure further. He did not speed up, even now, but from the flush she saw in his face, Rebecca knew he'd be following soon after her.

He looked into her eyes as he rolled into her again. Rebecca's walls twitched in response to the motion. "Tell me you're mine," Henry said-- and it was a whisper in the dark.

There was no denying it now, after the way he'd just taken her; given the way she followed him so easily. She had said it before and it had been true then, too. But she understood why he wanted to hear it again; it would seal something between them.

"Henry-- I'm yours," she said; and then he was shuddering into her; she could feel him bathing her deeply with his ejaculate.

He pumped into her until the last of it had come out inside. Then he withdrew from between Rebecca's legs with a sigh of exhaustion-- she knew how he felt.

He pulled one side of the blanket down, so they could both get under it together; he draped one arm over her side as they lay in bed there together.

Rebecca was asleep a second later.

The next morning, when they woke up, Henry made them breakfast; but they ate it in silence. Rebecca was still thinking about the previous night's tryst. She didn't know what Henry was thinking about, but she wasn't concerned about it. She was his; she had the rest of her lifetime to spend in his company, and ask after his thoughts. For now, it was enough to keep her focus on her own.

He had been so focused on her, the previous night. She knew it had been pleasurable for him, too; but now in the light of day she felt as if she had only been taking what he gave her. That wasn't enough for her-- she wanted to give something back; give something to him, the way he'd given something to her.

When they finished eating, and both put their dish in the sink, they met afterwards for a kiss, and on the other side of it, Rebecca said-- "Let me pleasure you tonight, Henry; you were so generous with me last night. Let me return the favor. Come over to my house tonight."

Henry said, "Alright."

Then the two of them had to part ways for the day; the night before had somehow been a weeknight. Somehow, in spite of what had happened in it, the external world had not ceased to exist, and still had its same demands and expectations which called them both away from each other.

But that day, as Rebecca fitted herself back into her job, the entire world seemed different to her. She loved her job as she always had-- as she always would; loved the people she knew in her life; but there was a new dimension of color to everything now. She was Henry's-- she would go home tonight, and he would come to her there, and she would see him again. That knowledge alone completely transformed her day.

When the end of the working day came, for the first time in a long time, Rebecca did not stay late to work. She could work late on other nights; she was more interested on this particular evening in getting home before Henry came over-- to make sure she was ready for him when he came.

Rebecca was in luck; she found she was the first one there when she got back to her house.

She wasted no time. She went right to her room, and opened her wardrobe. She ignored the clothes that were towards the front of it; her regular rotation. Those were hers; they were meant for her. But the clothes in the back that she'd never worn were Henry's, meant for him. He'd had her buy them for him, so he could see her in them, and tonight she was only concerned about giving Henry everything he wanted.

She chose one of the leather skirts she'd never worn before, short and black, and paired it with one of the pairs of thigh-high boots, similarly black.

Then for her top, she chose a tight cream-colored blouse that hugged close to her body. She gave her ensemble a once-over in the mirror-- yes, Henry would like this. She looked delicious in her clinging top, short skirt, and in those boots.

Dressed this way, she left her room to go back out into the main part of the house, on her way to the kitchen. She liked the idea of making Henry something for dinner first; he might be hungry, after their day apart.

His timing was perfect, as it turned out; Rebecca was just plating up the food, some nice pasta sauce over penne noodles, when he knocked on her door.

She left the two plated meals on her counter, and went eagerly to the door. It took her a little longer than it otherwise would have; she wasn't used to walking in boots this tall yet, but she did manage to get there as quickly as she could.

She opened the door, and smiled when she saw Henry standing on the other side of it. He didn't smile back; because he had clearly been struck silent by her outfit.

"Come on," Rebecca said-- she took him by the hand this time, and led him to the dining room just beside the living room. Then she left him there to retrieve both plates from the kitchen. She set each plate down in front of their places at the table.

She'd already set the candles burning while she'd been making dinner, so the room was candlelit as the two of them began eating.

After a few seconds of silence, the two of them fell into easy conversation again; pleasant, entertaining. The meal passed quickly, and when at last it was finished, Rebecca cleared the plates back to the kitchen.

When she turned from the sink, she found Henry had followed in after her, and was standing there behind her.

"What now?" He asked. There was weight in his words.

"Just over here," Rebecca said, taking his hand to lead him again. "The living room."

The lights in that room were the brightest lights in the house, and when the two of them had come to a stop in it, Rebecca thought Henry would be able to see her outfit even more clearly than he'd seen it from the doorway.

She knew she'd thought right a second later. Because when Henry saw her, standing in the living room lighting, and wearing the black leather and boots and blouse she had put on her body for him, his eyes widened. He'd thanked her in advance that morning, but now, he said again-- "Thank you."

"I haven't even really gotten started," she replied with a smile. Maybe you should wait until I've finished to thank me."

"If things are off to a start this good, they're only going to improve from here," Henry quipped; but he fell silent again shortly after.

Rebecca undressed him, as she had the previous night, but this time did not have to co-ordinate it around his undressing of her, so it went much faster. He co-operated, and the two of them left his clothes behind them on her floor.

Rebecca had covered her living room armchair in a sheet-- and once she'd gotten him undressed, she guided him to sit in it.

He was already hard; and she didn't want to wait a second longer for him; she knew he felt the same.

She climbed up to straddle his lap, hovering over his hardness, and he twitched up out of his seat, impatient to get inside her.

But she brushed his face with her hand. "Sit-- let me. Just sit and let me."

Henry let out a sigh. "Don't keep me waiting," he said. But she had no intention of doing so.

She hadn't put underwear on underneath her skirt, quite deliberately. She was already in position above him; and in the next second, holding his cock steady at the base, she lowered herself onto it, shuddering as she went down.

Her legs were along his legs as she straddled him; she knew he could feel the texture of her boots against his naked skin.

Henry was shaking inside her, like she was shaking.

"That feels incredible, Rebecca--" he said. She was glad. She'd wanted it to be incredible.

When she got herself all the way down to his base-- when she'd driven his cock as far up into her as it could go, she began rolling her hips in a slow, sensual pattern that kept Henry dragging against her highest places.

Henry sucked a sharp breath in from the intensity of it. She kept her hips rolling at the same speed, kept herself squeezed tight around his body everywhere that she was touching him. But it was starting to affect her too. In this position, Henry could reach further into her than if they were lying down together; she felt even more deeply plugged than she had the night before.

In this position, she could feel every nuance of his form as her own body conformed around it-- could feel it in stark detail that had not been available previously. She slowed her roll to savor the feeling even more.

Henry was panting in response to her movements-- he was sweating; sweat on skin that brushed against hers where it peeked through her ensemble, sweat on fabric everywhere else. He couldn't do much to thrust from his position underneath, but he was shaking inside her, and she could feel the tremors reverberate out from their point of connection.

Rebecca was lost in the sensation of the moment; of the scene she had established for them. Bright illumination highlighting every visual detail of their coupling, so nothing was missed. But the visual was quickly becoming secondary to the physical; the two of them were still moving together, had never stopped. Their bodies were generating warmth, and they were passing it back and forth between themselves.

The bright light did enhance the moment, though. Rebecca could see every detail of Henry's form; and she knew he could see every detail of her, and of her outfit.

But Rebecca could not keep up her patient pace for ever; the hunger of her own body was driving her to pick up the pace. She followed that urging, riding Henry harder, hard enough to make the chair creak under them-- and then she gave a tight squeezing of her inner walls on one of her upward strokes, and the two of them were coming together.

Henry pressed a kiss to her lips before she climbed back off him. "Thank you again," he said. "I knew that would be special, and you didn't disappoint."

She passed his clothing back to him; they both stood, and he redressed.

Then the two of them left the room, their hands clasped as they went.

***

Rebecca's life after becoming Henry's kept the same dimension of color she had noticed that first day, after the night in which he'd taken her. The outline everything in her life had drawn in Henry's shape was filled by him-- permanently, and all the arrangements her subconscious mind had known to make paid off.

Henry sold his house, to move in to hers; they both enjoyed the spaciousness and privacy of the property together, as well as the spaciousness and design of the house. All the clothes that had waited in boxes and bags were taken out, and hung up properly; Rebecca wore them often around the house, for Henry's enjoyment. She climbed into thigh-highs, or pulled on leather skirts whenever she found the excuse. It was worth it for the look in Henry's eyes every time he saw her in them.

Outside of her home life with Henry, she was as fulfilled in the other areas of her life as she had ever been. She remained a brilliant rising star in her firm, remained a respected member of the community, and a respected community advisor-- and also a respected scholar; she stayed close to her colleagues, and friends and family.

She was grateful for every part of her life-- happy and satisfied in every part of her life. But really, she was most grateful for Henry. She had always been his-- she had only forgotten it for a while. Or, her conscious mind had forgotten it for a while, but her subconscious had remembered all the time, and had never forgotten to keep her ready for him.