“Do I have to?…” Jenna asked as she looked over her shoulder and her lower lip quivered just a little.

“Of course you don’t have to Jenna… but don’t you want to?” I replied and could see the conflict behind her eyes.

There was nothing more that she want than for me to say no, she didn’t have to do it, but those words wouldn’t be coming out of my mouth and she knew it deep down. Instead, what little fight was left in her was trying to convince herself that she didn’t want to set the needle down on the record and get lost in the music that would come from it.

Six months ago, Jenna, or as she had preferred to be called back then, Jennifer, had been a real record geek. Dark hair, baggy clothes, a perchance to talk about records that were far older than she was.

That had been my in with her of course, when I’d “found” a record she had been looking for and offered it to her at a good price. It was indistinguishable from the real thing, down to even the formula for the vinyl that I’d used to recreate it. Intermixed with the music were subliminals, messages that her conscious mind didn’t hear, but her subconscious was enraptured with.

That first record had laid the groundwork for all that would follow. It opened her up to my influence and ensured her return visits to my record shop. It wasn’t long before she was accepting any album I suggested to her, no matter what the genre, and certainly no matter what the subliminals were telling her.

It was only a few weeks before I started to see the changes. Her clothing fitting better, her makeup done up more, her hair neater and lighter. It was only two months before she was in the back room of my store, her blonde head bobbing up and down my shaft. A month after that, she moved in to my place and had been here ever since.

By that time, there was no need for subterfuge of course, every few weeks I told her which new record to get and listen too, each one clearly labeled with what subliminals were on it.

She was fighting todays harder than the last few, and for good reason, it was a personal favorite of mine.

The needle touched the vinyl of the record and music started to play across the speakers as she closed her eyes and her head bobbed in time with it. I smiled and reached over and picked up the sleeve, silently reading the title, “Anal Sex Addicts Squeal Like Stuck Pigs”.

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