It was, Alex privately reflected, absolutely ridiculous that he’d had to pay for the modern networked home doorbells and security systems and everything, but he did have to admit that it was nice being able to see who was at his door even when he was out back doing yardwork. Looking at the feed on his phone, he smiled to himself and toggled to a different app, where he opened a call to the smartwatch he’d bought his wife Denise.

“DeeDee?” he asked.

“Yes, hun?” she chirped.

“Terry’s just knocked at the door. Go tell him I’m out back and give him two cold beers to take through.”

“Mmmm… yes, hun,” Denise replied with a cheery giggle. “Whatever makes you happy.”

Alex cut the call and shut down the doorbell notification, then went back to raking leaves. Might as well get some more done while he waited. Terry wouldn’t be long, but there was a good chance there wasn’t going to be any more work being done until the following day once he arrived.

As Terry made his way into sight, the two chilled beer bottles dangling by the necks from one hand, Alex leaned the rake against a tree and gestured toward the hand-built wooden table and the four intricately carved wooden chairs beside it, all of which had once rested on his porch before he’d been forced to move them.

He could tell just from the body language in Terry’s walk that his friend was fuming - not only that but he could tell this was no mild annoyance. There was something very real simmering under the surface. Being sat down when Terry got into it just seemed like a good idea. He congratulated himself on making sure there’d be beer on hand.

He took his favourite seat and swung one workbooted foot up to rest on the table as Terry reached him. His friend put both bottles down on the table, revealing that Denise had already popped the tops, cut a pair of lime wedges, and put them in place.

Alex smiled to himself. He and DeeDee had become a favourite couple in the neighbourhood, clearly in love, ever thoughtful, and very friendly. Of course, that had taken hard work on both their parts.

He took up his beer and enjoyed a first pull; like many of their friends, Terry was a respectful man by nature, and he’d want to give a few moments. Alex held out his bottle, and Terry clinked against it in salute.

“What’s on your mind, man?” Alex asked.

Terry took a hefty pull of his own, then let his breath out in a long exhale. Only then did he speak. “She’s got to go, Al,” he said. He shook his head as if in disbelief. “She’s got to go.”

Alex nodded quietly. So this was about Patricia, then.

To both of them, Patricia was only ever ‘she’. Both of them lived under the same Home Owners Association, and Patricia had been President for the past four years. At first, she’d been almost a positive force, but over time she’d got worse and worse, falling down the same old path as the previous President; increasingly strict rules, increasingly sharp fines for violating them, or occasionally making the required amendments themselves and billing the resident not just for the amendment but also for the cost or arranging it.

It was Patricia whose rules had banished Alex’s table and chairs to the back yard, where it couldn’t be seen from the road - and also where Alex and Denise couldn’t entertain other couples in the open air on summer evenings. It was Patricia whose rules had made Terry rip up a thirty-year-old hedge and move it a single foot further back from the sidewalk, something Alex had been called in to help with just to reduce the cost.

It was Patricia who’d mandated the new cloud-based security systems, and who’d insisted that ‘suspicious images’ from everyone’s doorbell cams be shared with the rest of the residents - leading to that unpleasantness with the Perezes getting accused of being thieves the week they moved in. And, all right, Patricia had actually defended the Perezes, but if it hadn’t been for her idea, the MacTavishes would never have had the chance to accuse them.

“What’s she done this time?” Alex asked. “I have her emails go straight to recycle now.”

Terry dug his phone out and opened it up, then passed across his mail app open on the email. Alex skimmed past the first couple of paragraphs (always residential gossip mixed with waffle) to find the meat of the email.

…accordingly, rather than encourage rotting pumpkins, leftover mess, and childhood obesity, residents are directed not to carve jack-o-lanterns, take their children trick-or-treating in the neighbourhood, or pass out candy to children from other neighbourhoods. To ensure compliance, door cams will be monitored on all likely nights.

Jack-o-lanterns for internal use are permitted so long as they are placed in composting bins by noon on November 1st. I invite feedback on how to present a better neighbourhood to family and guests visiting for Thanksgiving next month, and will summarise the best ideas in the next email…

Alex handed the phone back, stared into space for a while. “Huh,” he said, and watched the puff of his breath hang whitely in the air.

Terry nodded, taking the single syllable as saying much more. “She’s got to go.”

Alex nodded thoughtfully, then frowned and shook his head. “Maybe not.”

He finished his thought, nodded again, and turned his head to meet his friend’s gaze. “I’ve got an idea,” he said, his tone neutral. “You willing to trust me?”

Terry’s expression showed more than a healthy hint of skepticism, but after a long moment, he nodded. “I guess so,” he said. “You need any help?”

“I don’t know, man. I really don’t. I’ve got to finish working it through first.”

Terry nodded. “Alright. I trust you. But if you could get it done in time for me to tell Bella she can dress up this year, I’d appreciate it.”

Alex smiled his wry smile. “Just tell her that Halloween might be a week late this year?”

Terry took another gulp of beer. “Suits me. I can buy my candy at sale prices.” He looked across the back yard. “Place is really looking good this year.”

*

Patricia Watson would have been surprised if she’d been told that residents in her Association were plotting against her. Her opinion was very much that she hadn’t done anything wrong. Trick or treating was… well, it was dirty, it was messy, and it brought in families from outside the neighbourhood looking to graze on superior candy, candy that - if it had to be handed out at all - should go to neighbourhood kids. The place should look like a tourist attraction, but that didn’t make it one.

Appearances were, of course, not unimportant for Patricia. You couldn’t do the job she did without taking care in appearances around you, and she invested a correspondingly significant amount of time working out, stretching, and working through her yoga poses every day. Her hair was long, curly, brunette, and required a lot of management to get it just how she wanted it (when it wasn’t, as now, just held back with a sweatband for her workout). In her mid-forties now, Patricia saw a long and successful life ahead of her, with a third husband on the horizon. In the meantime, she was enjoying a life of helping others to reach the same contentment, the same spiritual and physical happiness.

Her home gym was expensive - some would say over-expensive - and well-equipped. A big fan of cloud-based and distributed systems, Patricia had invested in a Peloton set early in the system’s infancy and still made sure to catch one of their sessions every couple of days. She was nearing the end of one of these workouts when her phone chimed, alerting her to someone at the doorbell of her house.

She climbed from the bike and helped herself to a gulp from her water bottle, enjoying the chill flavour. Picking up the phone, she called up an image from the door cam - a delivery driver.

I haven’t ordered anything…

She wondered about that for a little while, then headed for the door. She collected a small towel on her way out of the gym, wiping down her forehead before slinging it over her shoulder. Only gentlemen sweated; as a lady, Patricia would only allow another to see her gently perspire.

She opened the front door and saw no delivery man, only a large cardboard box on her porch. It was taped down but she couldn’t see either a company logo printed on the box or a shipping label. And she didn’t see a delivery van anywhere in sight.

The driver must have dropped off the box, rung the doorbell, and run for the van, having left the engine running, to be gone by that time. Well. She hoped this wasn’t going to become typical behaviour in the area, but she’d have to re-check the picture even to work out what firm he worked with.

She picked up the box - a little heavier than she’d expected - re-locked her front door - security was everything, and the beep of confirmation from her phone was immensely satisfying - and moved into her kitchen to find a knife and open it. When she did, there was a sudden hiss which was followed almost immediately by a puff of cinnamon-scented air billowing out of the box and into her face. Patricia coughed, startled, but then inhaled again, rather enjoying the smell now it wasn’t a surprise. There was just a hint of ginger to the scent; she was reminded inevitably of pumpkin spice coffee, one of the few indulgences she allowed herself at this time of year, but somehow this was stronger, headier.

She blinked, several times, as her vision grew a little hazy, then shook her head to clear it - a move she only halfway accomplished, everything still a little fuzzy. With an effort of will she could see well enough to look at the half-opened box lid properly.

The smell of cinnamon and ginger still enveloped her, and it was delicious - more than delicious, it was intoxicating.

On woozy legs she set down the knife and pulled the lid flaps apart. Inside the lid she saw a small plastic device with a nozzle and what looked like some sort of transparent canister, with a switch attached to a line leading to the box tape. Below that was another layer of cardboard; the contents of most of the box weren’t visible. She lifted the device out and saw a bit of paper beneath it, a single sentence printed on it in huge type.

PLEASE SIT DOWN BEFORE YOU FALL

Her vision swam again, and she frowned. None of this made any sense, but also, the nerve of whoever sent this! A wave of cinnamon dizziness passed through her head, and her unsteady legs buckled. She thought fleetingly of the fine white kitchen title beneath her and braced for impact, but strong arms were catching her from behind, and she fell into their embrace just as she fell into unconsciousness.

How had anyone got inside her house?

*

When her consciousness returned, Patricia was lying flat on her chest, her arms stretched out above her head, her head tight between her forearms. Her legs were spread, and limbs were refusing to moving. A little testing found that it wasn’t just the strange, slow heaviness in her body, but also that her wrists and ankles had been secured into place.

She tried to tug on them a couple of times, feeling little pain but plenty of resistance. Next, she tried turning her head to one side or the other, but the only direction that gave her any sight at all was to tilt her head back, where she could see between her stiff, aching, heavy arms to the restraints that held them in place - a soft white set of leather cuffs, which evidently had something firmer inside, keeping her wrists perfectly in place.

The thin bar of the room visible above her arms told her she was lying on her own dining room table. She tugged again, to no avail, and for the first time she was annoyed at how high-quality a table she’d paid for.

She wasn’t afraid, she noticed; in fact, she felt calmer and more peaceful than she had in some time. Her every breath was still full of pumpkin spice, and there was a strange, scalp-tingling euphoria lurking on the edge of her thoughts, tempting her to relax into it.

She wasn’t quite ready to do that.

“So,” she said, trying to ignore the slow, lazy tone her voice came out in, the way she’d talk to a lover when half asleep, “who are you, and what do you want?” So far as she could tell without being able to twist around to see, she was still in her workout Lycra - this might just be an inventive thief.

“It’s time we had a proper discussion, Trix.”

Definitely one of the male homeowners. Patricia hadn’t got to the point where she knew them all by voice, especially the ones who didn’t talk to her often. “This is breaking and entering,” she said, and she meant it as a warning, though that lazy tone took all the threat out of it. “That’s very much against the rules.”

“Really?” the man asked. “Because the records from your security system show you letting me in.”

“I did no such thing.”

“The computer says you did. Actually, it says you summarily summoned me by email, too.”

“You’ve hacked my system?” There still wasn’t any anger in her voice. Wreathed as her head was in delicious, soporific pumpkin spice, she didn’t even feel angry, though she thought she probably should be.

“Didn’t need to,” the man said, and his voice was almost friendly. “You set everything up so that access permissions weren’t hard to come by. When I decided this needed setting up, getting in was simple. But that’s not the key thing here, Trix.”

“Patricia.” Her insistence met with a chuckle.

“Not for much longer. You know, we’re one of the younger couples in the neighbourhood. I’ve been pretty lucky with the companies that hired me; we’ve made some good money and got some lucky breaks. But also, those companies worked on some interesting projects, and I got to put them together.” Patricia felt his hand rest on one buttock. In the heady cinnamon fog, the contact was electrifying, delightful, mouthwatering. Someone was making free to put their hands on her and she couldn’t help but want more. “You’ve never asked about what I do. Which is fair, I mean, I’ve never asked what you do, either. But you also turned your home into a smart house, and you hooked everything up to the cloud that runs the neighbourhood. I never asked about this before, but while I was setting things up, I got to wondering.”

She saw his hand fasten a smartwatch around her wrist just below the restraint cuff, connected to some strangely bulky cabling. He touched a switch on the side and a strange, low-pitched drone started up, one she could feel through her hand as well as hear. Her nerves tingled up and down the arm.

“Did you get kickbacks from the companies that set all this up, Trix.”

She opened her mouth to deny it, but what came out was “Yes.”

Why did I admit that? “Are you doing something to me?”

“Oh, yes, Trix. Of course. Wouldn’t be much point to this otherwise.” His hand lifted from her rear, then came down again - hard - with a sharp smack that echoed around the room. The watch’s vibration shifted in tone. Patricia’s eyes rolled back for a second. The startled gasp ended with a slow moan. Even strapped down, Patricia felt herself wiggle her ass as best she could, and realised her body was inviting another spank.

“The process is going to take a bit of a while yet, but don’t worry - you cleared your calendar for today, cancelled all your appointments.”

She’d heard the voice now for long enough to place it. “Alexander,” she said. “Alexander Davis. Right?”

“Right.”

“Then that wife of yours is going to need you home. You should let me go, and…” She realised she was still wiggling her ass, like her body wanted more. “…and we can discuss this rationally,” she ended, knowing it was a little lame.

“Oh, no, DeeDee’s holding down the fort at home. She’s a good girl. She loves being given tasks to complete for me.” A stab of jealousy rolled through Patricia’s mind at that. Why would she be jealous of…

“So what’s the end-goal of all this?” she asked. That pumpkin spice bliss kept her happy, but happy didn’t stop her knowing all this was wrong.

One of Alex’s hands slid into her brunette curls, fingers making a light fist in her hair just above her head. The tingle in her scalp got stronger, and he tugged her head a little higher. The whimper slipping past her lips was one of delight.

With his free hand he slipped an earbud into each ear. The design of these was somewhat unusual; their trailing antenna also had a clip, which he used to fasten it over her lobes, next to the tasteful diamond studs. She heard each little snap as they clicked into place. There’d be no shaking these out.

The drone of the watch was now echoed by a similar pleasing vibration, felt rather than heard, in her ears. Alex released her hair, and a growing part of her wanted him to take it in his hands again, and tug, and to do more than just that…

“It’s probably going to take a couple of hours now,” he said. “Don’t worry, there’s a blanket under you, so the table won’t stain.” What did that mean? “It might take a bit longer, if you’re really set in your ways. But I’ll be here the whole time, I brought a book. If you call out, I’ll hear you. But,” and the vibration of the devices attached to her intensified, “don’t call out unless you need to.” Something about his tone of voice and the feel of the devices shuddering around her told her she really wouldn’t.

“And most important of all, don’t worry.”

She felt utterly overridden, as if her own desires didn’t matter to him, couldn’t matter to him, never had. It was outrageous. It was everything she’d lived her life against. It was the root of the divorce from her first husband. But it was also, in this cinnamon stupor, turning her on even more than being tied down and spanked…

…none of which should have turned her on, and yet all of which had.

“Hello, Trixie,” the earbuds suddenly said. A recorded message from Alexander, no doubt. There was a strange echo to it, some kind of audio modulation, that made it feel like her own brain was repeating it back. “It’s time you changed your mind about things, so I’m going to change it for you. You trust me to do that.” The vibrations shifted for that last sentence and the sense she was repeating it back felt less like an illusion, more like the truth.

“You’re a strong, capable woman. You can accomplish anything you set your mind to. But you have a deep, dark secret. That secret is, you love the idea of handing over control to someone else. You love the idea of someone else being able to overrule you. Being told what to do by someone you admire turns you on. In fact, it turns you on more than anything else. And the payoff feels better than anything else.”

This was obviously stupid. Patricia didn’t have any secrets she was so embarrassed about she’d have to hide them. Being overruled wasn’t her thing.

…except…

…she had felt turned on by his attitude while she was strapped down…

…that was his doing, surely?

“You’d rather be told to fuck someone than fuck under your own steam, because you know it will be better. More enjoyable. More satisfying. You’ve always kept this secret. You don’t really notice that you don’t remember thinking about it before now.”

In trying to dismiss these claims, she accidentally pictured Alexander telling her to fuck him, or maybe to fuck his wife - DeeDee, he’d called her - with a strapon. She had to bite her lip to avoid a delighted squeak being audible from wherever he was sat.

“You want to submit to someone, to put your skills, your smarts, your brain and your body at their disposal. But you’ve been so ashamed of your secret, you’ve never reached out. Never admitted it.”

She whimpered. What a beautiful way of putting it. What a clear way to sum up her secret fantasies. She felt truly seen for the first time. Alex had made it through all her masks, all her defences. Seen her secret.

“But when I take it this evening, when I unstrap you and call you Trixie, you’ll realise I’m a person who fits your fantasy. And even though I have a wife, you’ll be fine with that. After all, in your fantasy, I’m in total control.”

Trixie lowered her head to the table, arms around her face, so nobody could see her secret smile. Her hips were starting to twitch, too, just from so much time spent thinking about her kinky fantasy, her secret desires…

“Your real, secret name is Trixie Treat, and you can’t wait to surrender to me. Because your secret fantasy is going to come true, and it’s going to feel even better than you dreamed. There’s nothing you could be commanded to do that you won’t find a way to enjoy, no matter how much it makes you squirm.”

She kept the whimper inside. Alex didn’t hear. She was sure of that. Mostly sure of that.

There was a sudden period of silence. Trixie twitched on the table, hips jerking as if a toy were clamped between her legs, shoulders and thighs erratically jerking from the endurance test she was going through. Her body was shuddering with anticipated bliss, and the words still seemed to echo from inside her head as the fog of cinnamon dimmed her mind. Sweat beaded on her brow, dripped from the curls above it.

“Hello, Trixie,” the earbuds began again. This time, the echo on the voice definitely was inside her mind. She continued to listen; there was nothing else she could do.

Alex was in total control, not just in her fantasy, but in life.

*

To Alex’s surprise, she’d lasted two and a half hours before the first time muffled cries indicated she’d cum just from the repeated programming and indoctrination. Even the point where she went from occasional muffled whimpers to unashamed moans had taken over an hour. Trixie turned out to have more willpower than he’d expected. The newer version would probably have more still, even if all of it was dedicated to his own pleasure.

He finally set his reading down shortly after the first confirmed orgasm and shut down the recording, if not the devices themselves, then got up and moved over to the chair. “Can you hear me alright?” he asked gently.

“Yes,” she whispered.

He set the earbuds to idle; the input from the watch should be enough for a while. He uncuffed her ankles first, taking the time to run his hands up and down her legs as he did, hearing her groan softly in pleasure. Right now, every part of her would be hypersensitive; he knew this from conditioning DeeDee. As his hands lingered on her thighs, he slid a finger around to the inside, feeling to see just how far her wetness had spread along the Lycra, and smiled to himself when he saw how far. She’d held out against making a sound, but she’d enjoyed it all the same; Trixie’s first treat.

She didn’t move her legs once he set them back down, but they would be stiff and exhausted by now. Moving around the table, he ran a finger up her spine, hearing a long, gurgling noise of delight for his trouble.

He took up her wrists, unclipping the cable from her watch, then undoing her cuffs. “You’re going to be a little stiff,” he said. “So take it easy, but sit up for me, Trixie.”

It was a damn good thing she’d bough a top-quality table like this one. He’d been planning to use her bed until he noticed how sturdy its thick legs were and decided to take a chance; the atmosphere would be a little less threatening, he’d thought. He watched her slow stir, twitchy and slow at first, before she rolled onto her side, pushed herself upright with one elbow, and came to a seated position, both feet dangling off the edge of the table.

He held out the water bottle she’d discarded when the vapours got her, refilled while he waited for her to come to. “Your throat will be pretty dry,” he said. “Drink. Just a little at first. Don’t gulp.”

She took it from him wordlessly. Her eyes were on him now, and for the first time he saw them changed; wide, open, and honest, drinking him in eagerly. Alex reminded himself that it wouldn’t just be her senses that were currently supercharged; her head was acclimatising to its newer, more easily guided state, and getting used to viewing him as a guide.

He smiled. “You know, Trixie, we’re not quite done with your training. You’re happy to help with that, right?”

She nodded again, taking another sip.

“We’re not there yet, though,” Alex told her. “There are a few things to do first. But before we get started on any of that, sit down on your sofa and get comfortable. You’re going to be very stiff.”

He helped her down off the table and over to the sofa. She was still clinging to the water bottle, but that was a good thing. She needed to be ready for the next while.

“You must have noticed, your first couple of instructions have been simple,” he told her. “It won’t always be that way.”

Alex heard her breath catch as she nodded. She was comfortably primed already to know that anything might be asked of her, but he wanted to be entirely sure she was committed to the new her before her really pushed it. It was going to take multiple sessions before he was ready for Halloween.

Luckily, he had access to her schedule now. And she’d be more than willing to help him make any adjustments he wanted.

He handed her her phone. “I want you to book a hair appointment,” he said. “Two days before Halloween. October 29th. You will pre-specify you want to go blonde, and that you want your hair straightening.”

She looked up at him, lips slightly parted, eyes still wide open and eager. After a moment, that eager innocence gave way into a happy smile and she gave just the gentlest little nod, eager now to do whatever she had to.

He watched her place the call, stroking her hair as he did. As she hung up, he delved back into the box of tricks he’d brought in, looking for one of the lowest-tech tricks of all.

He held up a thin leather collar, bright pink, with a two-inch metal ring dangling from the front. “Do you want me to wear that?” Trixie asked eagerly.

He nodded. “Hold your hair up out of the way,” he said. She stared into his eyes with an intent, happy excitement as he slipped the leather around her neck, cinching it in hole by hole until he saw a muscle on the side of her neck twitch. Just tight enough, then. Alex fastened it carefully, grinning into her eyes as he did.

“Are you feeling a bit less stiff?” he asked softly. “A bit more ready to move?” She nodded, and he looped two fingers into the big steel ring from below, then stood, giving just a gentle pressure on the ring. She rose smoothly, unprompted by words but following his intent eagerly. Giving herself up to his control with only the lightest prompting. He led her out from the sofa into an open space in her living room, in front of the big bay window looking out over her back yard. When he released the collar, Trixie simply stood there, swaying slightly, smiling dreamily.

He took hold of her top and pulled it up, her arms lifting eagerly to help him, and he tossed it aside where it would hang over the back of the sofa. Next he fumbled with her sports bra, discarding that in the same direction. He stood for a moment studying her breasts, starting to sag but still full of appeal, and then took a nipple between thumb and forefinger and tugged. He listened with delight to her sharp intake of breath.

Then he settled to one knee, hooking his thumbs into her leggings and panties and drawing them down, slowly but steadily, revealing toned buttocks atop well-muscled thighs, drawing them down to her ankles. “You’ll step out of these when we move elsewhere,” he instructed, and got a breathy, excited “Mhmm!” in response.

Alex stood again and looked at Trixie all but naked. Nearly twenty years his senior, her body was still delightful even if it wasn’t quite what he wanted. But he could correct that, too, of course. He’d been right to praise her determination, her hard work, her body. Everything about her except her attitude had been fantastic - and if he could see things he wanted to amend about other things, well, that was just human nature. There was always closer to perfection to strive for.

He circled her slowly as she stood unmoving. As he passed her rear he put out his hand, trailing his fingers from the small of her back round over her hips and onto her belly. Not perfectly flat, it was soft, yielding, tempting. Everything he could ask for in raw material, as he thought of her.

That was no insult. Denise had been raw material, too. He and she had had to work hard to create DeeDee. And even though Trixie was now Trixie, she was some way from being perfected. But that was OK. There was plenty of time.

“Where’s your bedroom?” he asked. “Upstairs, sure, but where specifically?”

“It’s directly above this room,” she said meekly. “Would you like me to show you?”

There was a temptation to send her up in front of him, but he smiled and shook his head. “Open wide,” he instructed, and her mouth settled into a welcoming O. He placed two fingers on her tongue, and Trixie closed her mouth around them, still watching him with those wide eyes for any sign that what she was doing was right.

Alex started walking to the stairs, and Trixie followed, though he placed no physical pressure on her whatever. He paused at the doorway to her bedroom. “Right,” he said. “Let’s see what we’ve got to work with…”

*

The night before Halloween, the residents of the neighbourhood were surprised, one by one, to see a figure approach their house, tottering on high-heeled red patent leather boots.

The legs above the boots were bare up to the hem of a very short red miniskirt, one which flared out from her hips but didn’t reach down much below the base of her buttocks. Atop that was a white blouse, tight-fitting and low-cut to show tremendous cleavage, which similarly dipped low in the back - to allow a large golden key to extend outward from the middle of her spine. The box it was mounted on was strapped just below her breasts, but allowed it to revolve slowly.

Her long, straight blonde hair had been separated into two bunches, and the makeup on her face made her look almost artificial, which was amplified by the thin black lines marking joints at elbows and knees.

By her side, she carried a large plastic pumpkin basket filled with candy.

For the first few houses, it was only once the door was open and they heard her happily chirp “Hi! I’m Trixie Treat!” that they recognised the HOA President. But word travelled fast, and it travelled through the ‘suspicious visitor’ photo system on the doorbells. Before long everyone knew who their visitor would be in advance. Many couples spent the time before she arrived debating what it could possibly mean.

After she left a house, if the house included children, the parents would often phone their neighbours to discuss what they made of it. Families with children saw Trixie ask to speak to the children, where she would settle to one knee (the miniskirt demurely, if barely, preserving her decency) and offer them the chance to draw a handful of sweets from her basket, then ask them if they were going to dress up themselves.

The houses without children tended to be quieter about what pleasures Trixie Treat brought them that night, but with every sense the neighbourhood possessed alertly attuned for gossip, it was notable that she stayed in those homes much longer. For weeks afterward, when they passed Patricia travelling about the neighbourhood, the menfolk turned their heads to watch her go, hands moving as if caressing something in memory. Some of the women did the same, while others studiously avoided eye contact even as she happily greeted them by name and asked after their progress.

The night after Halloween, belated jack-o-lanterns began to appear in windows, on porches, at doorsteps, like green shoots emerging after a spring rain.

The night after that, the children went round the neighbourhood. Laughter and happiness filled the road, and while a number of candy wrappers littered the street that night, the following day Trixie was seen out and about early on, trash bag in hand, picking up the litter. Ever the compassionate soul, DeeDee rallied the neighbours to join her, and Alex and Denise’s reputation as good people in the neighbourhood grew ever stronger.

*

Before Trixie’s night of treats was over, though, and before most discussions had properly begun, her final stop for the night was at Alex and DeeDee’s house. Alex was, at the time, in his den, so it was DeeDee who welcomed in a Trixie brimming with excitement and enthusiasm, a Trixie who had been able for the first time to practice her devotion to her owner openly (even if nobody but the three of them knew of her secret).

DeeDee put a finger to Trixie’s lips, immediately silencing her, and led her through to the kitchen, where she closed the door behind them. “There. Now we won’t disturb Alex until he calls us up.” She offered her fellow devotee a warm smile. “I was so happy when Alex said he’d chosen someone else for the treatment.”

Already red-cheeked with excitement, Trixie seemed to blush even deeper. She set her basket - now almost empty of the candy he’d told her to buy - down on the counter and smiled. “Does he want me still in my costume?” she asked happily.

“I don’t know,” DeeDee replied. “Best not disturb it too much, just in case.” Alex’s original test subject, Trixie noted, was wearing low cut, short, highly revealing clothes, but nothing that would be completely out of place if they suddenly had company. It was just another way that Alex had earned the right to total control over her. Whatever else he might be, he was a man who also understood the importance of appearances. He had DeeDee presenting just as he wanted her; the perfect wife to people who didn’t understand their secret desires, but beneath that, in secret, still ideal for his own desires.

She owed Alex for showing her how her own appearance needed to change. A trophy like herself reflected the glory and the desires of its owner. The straight blonde hair was not her choice; it was his. The padding under her bra in her outfit today was not her choice; it was his. The change in her fitness regime to focus on developing a thicker, firmer rear was not her choice; it was his. And the upcoming cosmetic surgery he had had her book using her kickback money from the security company - what he cheerfully referred to as her Community Chest - was not her choice; it was his.

That was all exactly as it should be, and that was what really gave Trixie a thrill. Like most people she’d lived her whole life with the occasional nagging doubt that she was missing something. She now knew exactly what it had been, and was grateful to Alex for correcting her.

It could have been so much worse. She’d been so wrong, and the old Patricia, given Alex’s power over someone so wrong, would have punished them. Yet Alex had, instead, focused on correcting both the bad behaviour - disregarding the wishes of Alex and his friends in the neighbourhood - and the underlying cause. As he had cheerfully remarked, she’d been an absolute brat. It was only right that this had been trained out of her.

(And yet she suspected that, if she ever craved further correction, a little more bratty behaviour should give her what she craved, and see Alex enjoy himself to boot.)

DeeDee had brewed some strong coffee, rightly predicting that Trixie would need help staying awake until Alex was ready for them both after a day like that. The two women sat at the small table in the kitchen’s breakfast nook and talked, with Trixie finally learning something about a homeowner whose disinterest in neighbourhood politics had meant she would never have paid attention to before.

After perhaps half an hour or so DeeDee just giggled.

“What?”

“I was wondering what he was going to turn you into,” she said. “And how you’d fit it. I thought he’d turn you into someone who balanced the things I can’t give him. Instead, he’s made you into something pretty much just like me.”

Trixie smiled too. “He must really love you.”

“Yeah… I guess that’s it.” And that means he must love me too.