The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

As soon as we were sure that the host was pregnant Vivian and I adjusted Amanda’s duties to safeguard the well being of our unborn baby. We eased off a bit on some of the most physically demanding labour and concentrated on more subtle forms of psychological control so that the pain of a spanking less often traumatised her. The application of the strap was suspended completely although I was not foolish enough to inform her of that fact. But there was no sense in risking a miscarriage now we’d come so far. I was even obliged to curtail my sexual usage of the lovely blonde slave, an inconvenience which I found mildly frustrating on occasion, although not even a fraction as frustrating as the girl herself! Since I had to refrain from enjoying the pleasures of her sex I saw no reason why she should benefit from it herself. I lowered her base level of arousal somewhat and I also put a strict cap on the ceiling, a little below the level at which she could achieve an orgasm. For the last six months of her pregnancy Amanda didn’t enjoy so much as a single climax, although she continued to feel the urge to masturbate if rather less frequently than before.

Just because I was denying myself access to Amanda’s cunt, it didn’t mean that I couldn’t continue to exploit some of the other features of the girl’s anatomy. I didn’t consider her arse off limits until she was showing a pronounced bulge and so she was regularly buggered, albeit somewhat more gently than hitherto. The metal slugs which Mrs. Tibbs was planting deep inside her pretty bottom were doing their work well, stretching the girl’s muscles and widening her nether passageway so that I was able to enjoy longer and more penetrating excursions into her rectum. I also had the opportunity to continue her training in oral sex. Amanda has a lovely tongue as you’ve experienced for yourself. I had been savouring her dainty little kisses and delicate licking round my balls for some time now and although she’d more recently learned to ingest my ejaculations I really wanted to be able to deep throat her, so that I’d be sure every last drop was destined for her stomach. This was something the poor girl found difficult to swallow. Her natural instinct was to gag and choke when my member pressed home too far. But her mouth is wide and perfectly constructed to suck a fat cock so I knew that with sufficient tuition her natural instinct could be overcome and I’d be tickling her tonsils with my bell end whether she liked it or not! So little by little, I accustomed her to opening her mouth and throat wider and wider to my cock. And at last I was able to plunge my member up to the hilt in her.

When the oral sex was immediately preceded by anal sex, I know my fastidious blonde maid found it particularly unpleasant to have to use her mouth to clean an organ tainted by the flavours of her own bottom. She did it anyway though. I insisted.

But you may be asking yourself how the girl reacted emotionally to the knowledge of her pregnancy? This, after all, was really the key to the success of the entire project and I must admit I’m proud of the way my wife and I handled it.

So what to say to Amanda to ensure she reacted to the baby she was nurturing in the right way? Well nothing at first; nothing consciously anyway. My wife and I let Amanda deduce her pregnancy by slow degrees; the first missing period, the rush of hormones, the subtle adjustments and slow accommodations her body made as the tiny foetus inside her grew on the rich nourishment provided by her bloodstream and the security of her womb. Unconsciously, our healthy blonde breeder was prepared quite carefully with a revised program of subliminal messages. But this was the easy part. We were working with nature, not against it. Millions of years of evolution had already programmed Amanda for the requirements of successful reproduction—with instincts to cherish and protect any unborn baby inside her more powerful than that of the hapless marsh pipit and with no evolutionary defence against our kind of cuckoo! Nevertheless... nevertheless there were precedents for rebellion if the psychology of the situation was mishandled. Perhaps even for the disaster of an attempted abortion or worse if she found out what was really going on. That couldn’t be permitted. Amanda was left to believe that she was at least half responsible for the baby! It was safer for her to think of herself as the mother—safer and of course a lot more plausible. But what about the father? After all, I’d told her I’d had a vasectomy right at the outset of our relationship and her conditioning had continued to bamboozle her about this ever since so she’d never thought to question if the sperm I was so frequently expelling into her body was ‘live’ at all. Apart from Dr. Stebbing’s own understandable indulgencies at Harley Street when he’d been ‘testing’ her sexuality, she’d had no other penetrative sex with a man since Carol had broken her relationship with Steve. The timing wasn’t right for the doctor to be the father. Not knowing about the Cuckoo implant, the only possible conclusion for Amanda would be that I was responsible. As of course I was, but not in that conventional sense! I had a plan in mind. A slightly risky plan if the truth be told but I could reduce the risk with careful ground work in her conditioning. And if the plan worked it would make the period of the pregnancy a great deal safer and easier to manage.

I waited until Amanda had deduced for herself that she was pregnant. The inner turmoil would force her into a confession to me sooner or later because she knew very well she couldn’t hide it from me forever. So when she finally knocked on my study door one bright morning and placed my cup of coffee respectfully on the corner of the desk I eyed her nervous figure like a hawk watching a mouse. I knew what she was about to tell me but I let her sweat. I felt like some stern and shocked Victorian headmaster, about to hear of a teenage pregnancy. And that’s how I played my little game...

“P... please master. I think. I mean, I...”

She swallowed convulsively.

“Spit it out Amanda!”

“I think... I’m p... p... pregnant” Her voice faded away at the end into a whispered silence.

“What!”

“I think... I mean I could be... possibly could be pregnant...”

“Good grief how did that happen!”

She looked like she was going to cry.

“Come here and sit on my lap!”

She obeyed without question, meek as ever. I pushed her dress up and away so that the flat of my hand could spread across her belly. It was still too early for any very noticeable swelling but I thought I could already detect a tightening of the skin. And behind that there was a noticeable fluttering which was probably just the quickening of her own nervous heartbeat but which an overactive imagination might have fancied were the first stirrings of the Killingworth baby.

“Are you sure? No of course you’re not! How can you be? It’ll be some phantom of your imagination my dear. You’ve always had an overactive imagination, haven’t you? I think some sleeping pills to help you to rest at night and perhaps some harder physical work to tire you out. That might keep you from dreaming up these impossible ideas.”

“But it’s not a dream! I think I really am. I’ve missed my. There was no b... blood.”

“Really?”

I was cold now, turning from ridicule to a calculated distant anger. Perhaps I missed my vocation when I stopped acting after I left school. Although of course so much of high level business is about acting too.

“Well we shall have to get you tested then. But I don’t see how you can be pregnant unless you’ve found some guttersnipe boy from somewhere unsavoury to give up a tupping. And I don’t know how you did that without my knowledge or permission.”

“I... didn’t. I haven’t. O you know I haven’t!”

She was crying now, tears streaming down her face and little sobs interrupting her.

“It must be your baby. Yours and mine!”

“Well it can’t be Eddie’s. I know the doctor gave you some intimate tests on his last visit but he didn’t mount you this time did he?”

Amanda bowed her head at my objective but humiliating musings. The doctor hadn’t fucked her this time and she knew it. She was far too confused to consider the truth of exactly what he had done inside her womb.

“You’re probably not pregnant at all my dear”, I said at last. “But lets get the tests done and if I’m wrong we can soon have you cleaned out inside eh? A quick little abortion and you’ll be back to work in no time.”

She stiffened in my arms and went white.

My aim here was to shock. Of course I didn’t want her to have an abortion, quite the opposite! What I did want to do was to manoeuvre her into the right mental state and this was only the first step.

“B... but you can’t!”

Already you see, she knew it was my decision. But her buy in was what I wanted. And her fear—her fear of the alternative...

“Of course I can. It’ll be quick painless and cheap. Now come on Amanda darling, be serious for a minute can’t you? How can you possibly keep a baby in your condition? You’d be a single mum and you don’t earn nearly enough money to raise a kid. And what about your work? I don’t see how you can do a proper job of being a housemaid here in the manor house if you’re worrying about dropping a sprog. And you know this job is your last chance don’t you? You’ve made such a mess of all your previous chances. I’m really disappointed in you Amanda!”

I didn’t want Amanda to do anything drastic. I just wanted to steer her in the right direction. That involved some more subliminal messages to give her the right ideas. A home pregnancy testing kit confirmed to her (and apparently to me) what I’d known all along and left Amanda desperate. Next day she came to me with ‘her’ suggestion. It was a rather frantic plea on the face of it but I certainly enjoyed watching her beg. I pursed my lips and looked stern.

“You are asking a great deal here Amanda, you know that don’t you? A very great deal... Lets run though it again. You want to bring this baby to term and then you’re suggesting that my wife and I adopt it! That we take the baby off your hands and raise it as our own? It’s a piece of breathtaking cheek I must say!”

“B... but the baby’s yours master—yours and mine!” she answered miserably.

“So you keep saying but it doesn’t make it true.”

“I don’t want to have an abortion!”

I strung her along for a bit longer but then pretended to relent.

“Hmmm... I shall have to talk to my wife. I’m not promising anything—not promising anything at all, but we’ll talk it over.”

“Oh thank you master! Thank you!” The plan had worked perfectly! Because she thought it would ensure her baby’s survival Amanda had begged me to take the child away. The silly bitch had begged me to do the very thing I intended to do all along!

I made Amanda wait for a week before I put her out of her misery and gave her the good news. She would be allowed to give birth to the baby but after that, my wife and I agreed to take full responsibility for its upbringing. It would be our child, not hers. “It’s for the best, isn’t it Amanda?” I said. “There are too many single mothers in the world. You simply couldn’t cope with a child in your line of work.”

The subliminals had made that point quite forcibly and she believed everything they said, so my acceptance of her suggestion seemed like an immense favour instead of the cunning manipulation it really was. She couldn’t even contemplate anything as radical as leaving of course! Dr. Stebbings’ technique really is a marvel.

“Oh thank you master, thank you!”

My desperate blonde slave was pathetically grateful.

“Perhaps you can demonstrate your appreciation.”

I unzipped my trousers and Amanda dropped to her knees. She knew what to do and she did it very well! Over the next fifteen minutes I was treated to the best oral sex I had ever enjoyed from my pretty blonde pet. She has a mouth that seems made for ministering to a cock as I’ve just said and as I’m sure you’ll agree from recent personal experience eh? It’s wide and sweet with appealing moist lips and a teasing tongue, but as I think I’ve also said before she had a natural aversion to putting it to its proper use when I first took her on, and it had taken some effort to train her. But now, for the first time she was overwhelmed with relief which translated into enthusiasm and gratitude. Her kissing and licking was divine and in fact this was the first memorable occasion when I achieved full deep throated penetration, her wide adoring eyes touched by a tiny prickle of tears in the corner as I discharged a healthy dose of spunk right down her oesophagus.

It had been a rather dangerous business in some ways but the result was worth it. Because she believed that the baby’s life had been in real jeopardy I knew Amanda would now strive extra hard to keep it. And I retained a shadowy and sinister ultimate sanction to replace the threat of the cane I could no longer use. Of course, I’d never put her through an abortion but she didn’t know that. So much of the game of power is about bluffing! And I’d bluffed Amanda into a new kind of devoted love slavery to protect the very thing I wished her to protect. It was all so psychologically exquisite.

Once the maid’s uniform became too tight for her gravid belly and swelling breasts I had Amanda go naked round the house, save only for a leather collar and a pair of stiletto heels. The collar was just a little touch to amuse me and remind me of her real role as breeding livestock. The shoes improved her posture, helping to keep the curves of her bottom and belly in balance. I insisted on them although I knew that with the extra weight she was now carrying and with the swollen ankles which were a symptom of her pregnancy, they were very uncomfortable for the poor girl.

Amanda quickly became accustomed to working unclothed, although she occasionally seemed to feel a heightened awareness of the shame of it and would blush a fetching shade of pink all over. Naked like this, my wife and I were able to stroke the smooth curves of her bare stomach and sense the rapidly developing life inside. Young James was a hearty baby and he put on a lot of weight in Amanda’s tummy. From time to time there was the thrill of seeing a little kick inside as he demonstrated the first significant signs of independent action, making his surrogate mother wince.

This was the period when Vivian really appreciated the benefits of our scheme. She suffered from none of the symptoms afflicting Amanda—the morning sickness, the food cravings, the mood swings and the simple handicap of a bulky body to take care of. Vivian continued to enjoy her social life, albeit a less public one. She could dress elegantly, drink alcohol with a clear conscience and look forward to all the benefits of the birth with none of the physical and emotional distress—Amanda would be taking care of all the messy business!

As a consequence Vivian mellowed a little, her attitude to Amanda becoming quite indulgent now that the time of her triumph over the hapless young woman was drawing so close. She was patronising now, without the cruelty, sometimes sitting the naked blonde on her knee and stroking her thighs, breasts and belly almost tenderly whilst crooning libidinous and crude words into her ear which made the pregnant woman squirm and blush. I was reminded of the way an old fashioned farmer might handle a favourite cow. It was affectionate but ultimately distant and mercenary. Usually she concluded with a light swat to Amanda’s bare arse to send her waddling back to her duties—little more than a pat on the bottom compared with the spankings, strappings and canings she’d been subjected to during her acquisition and training but it reminded her very simply of her status.

If Amanda had managed to achieve a temporary truce with my wife, Kirsty wasn’t so lucky! Vivian returned from a trip to London one day with a very smug smile and a collection of interesting photographs to share. It seems she’d made an appointment with Dr. Stebbings with the express request of having a ‘heart to heart’ with his submissive little nurse. The doctor was only too happy to oblige and my wife explained how she’d quickly made it plain to Kirsty exactly what she thought of ‘cock teasing sluts who get their hands on my husband’s private organ’. The innocent blonde, who’d only done as she was told in serving me, was then bent over my wife’s lap with the good doctor’s help and given a very sound thrashing indeed! The photographs of Kirsty’s bright red bottom and sobbing face had apparently been taken by Helen and they were quite provoking.

“Well it certainly seems like you taught her a lesson, my dear”, I commented with apparent approval. Secretly I was wondering if I might find the opportunity for some fun with Kirsty again. I’d enjoyed myself last time and she really looked very fetching in the photographs. It would add an interesting spice to a future liaison if Kirsty was kept well aware of the risks of my wife finding out, but of course, conditioned as she was she’d be unable to refuse me. I saw a chance to recreate the interesting state of mind Amanda had been put through when she’d thought our ‘affair’ was a secret from my wife. Only this time, it would be a real secret and Kirsty would know for certain how bad the consequences of discovery could be!

Patricia Stebbings had agreed to act as our gynaecologist. Obviously we needed someone we could trust with the unusual nature of the pregnancy. She brought portable scanning equipment on her periodic visits and was able to confirm that James was developing into a normal healthy baby by taking the usual samples. If there’d been any question of handicap or genetic disorder my wife and I had decided we’d terminate the pregnancy and start Amanda off with a fresh implant but fortunately that wasn’t necessary.

“The child is putting on lots of weight in the womb”, she told us. “It might be a difficult birth.”

I shrugged. “You know the priorities.”

Patricia answered with a nasty smile. That was the most important reason for employing a gynaecologist who understood the requirements of the labour to come. There must be no question of doing anything that might jeopardise the welfare of the baby—that was paramount at all times. But where medical ethics might conventionally dictate consideration for the mother that wouldn’t be necessary in this case. Patricia could take whatever risks she wanted to with Amanda’s health and well being, so long as the baby came through the birth unscathed.

When the time came it did prove to be a long and difficult labour, but ultimately a very successful one! Our son James was born on 6th July at 2 o’clock in the morning—healthy, kicking and squalling!

“That’s quite some story”, Richard Mann said after a short silence. Despite the interruption to eating caused by Sir Peter Killingworth’s long account the two men had managed to finish their lunch and now they returned to the drawing room where Richard had first met Amanda and enjoyed such an exquisite introduction to her skills in oral sex. That was an hour and a half ago but enthralled as he had been in his friend’s tale and in the demonstration of the maid’s obedience that their short walk through the grounds had provided, it seemed like a mere ten minutes.

Amanda fetched some drinks for the men, then stood to attention by Sir Peter’s chair where he could idly stroke her long lean legs.

“This was all a couple of years ago but there isn’t much else to add “, the businessman resumed at last.

“Amanda had served the purpose for which we’d acquired her. Any further use we could make of her was a bonus and it won’t take me long to bring you up to date. We didn’t want young James to form any sort of emotional attachment to his surrogate mother so we took the child away from her immediately after the birth. Vivian came in and made sure she had an active involvement in rearing our son so that it was her face that was imprinted on the boy’s consciousness during the crucial early weeks of his life. We hired a nanny to look after him for those occasions when we needed to be elsewhere but James knows who his mummy and daddy are.

And that was almost the end of Amanda’s involvement in raising the boy; but not quite. The drugs and the pregnancy had done wonders for her knockers and she was clearly primed and ready for lactation as soon as a pair of lips closed over her fat little nips. It would have been a waste not to use her as a wet nurse, so we let James suckle from the slave girl’s tits. Amanda was told very firmly that her role was only that of a living milk bottle—just a convenient pair of mammary glands to provide the boy with the nutrients he needed. She was allowed no chance to bond with the child once the mechanics of feeding were completed.

But Amanda expressed her milk well and freely, so that there was more than enough for me to sample the delights of suckling from Amanda’s juicy young udders for myself. It was quite delicious—sweet and warm and fresh from the teat.

We put Amanda back in uniform again, a nursing bra being the only concession to her state as the prime milk source for our son. She was taught how to use a breast pump to save the copious results of lactation if she was ready to be milked but for some reason James wasn’t ready or available to feed. That way none of the milk went to waste. Mrs. Tibbs supervised milkings when my wife and I weren’t present and in general we had a very good yield from our pretty dairy maid! James certainly benefited from the contents of her breasts for rather longer than is usual, I believe. He continued to suck from them after his teeth had started to come through and by the time he was finally weaned, he had started to bite and chew at the nipples which caused the girl some distress, I fear.

It was gratifying to be able to make full use of Amanda’s body again without having to exercise the restraint which had been necessary whilst she was carrying the future heir to the estate. I instituted an immediate program of vigorous physical exercise to tone her up and flatten her belly which had inevitably been stretched by the pregnancy. And I took a much firmer line in disciplinary matters again. I had to correct any misleading ideas that she might have formed in the late stages of her pregnancy because of the relatively lenient treatment I’d allowed her. I made it quite clear now. That had been for the benefit of my son and heir and certainly not out of any consideration for her own comfort or welfare! Vivian was happy to help me in restoring the proper measure of fear and respect that we expect from our pretty possession. She got the message quickly enough!

And now we’ve achieved a healthy regime, which keeps her in line without too much difficulty. Regular spankings are supplemented from time to time with a healthy dose of the strap and a more judicious but effective application of the cane to her bare backside. Nothing less than instant and unquestioning obedience is acceptable; to myself, my wife, my servants, my guests and even my horses and dogs when they can reasonably be considered to require service from her.

I’ve managed a few refinements to the way she’s governed. Nothing conceptually new since the doctor put the implant in her neck but just some easier ways of managing her. I have this little hand held PC programmed to monitors her drug reservoir and control her arousal level. She knows what a firm line I take on unauthorised masturbation but I don’t entirely trust her not to try to slip furtive fingers into that sweet little honey pot of hers when she thinks we won’t notice. However, with the benefits of this device I get a log of any activity of that kind and I can quickly cool her off! She never climaxes without permission, although I must admit I occasionally like to let her finger herself to one in private, pretending she’s managed to break my rules. It gives me a suitable pretext for a spanking.

She’s is a very saucy little sweetmeat, dressed in the French Maid’s uniform, don’t you think? It’s quite a pleasure to be able to enjoy the benefits of a well prepared hot and moist little snatch and the lively young body of a wench desperate to please me and craving for the release of an orgasm which only I have the authority to grant her.

I’m afraid the little bitch still hasn’t come to terms with her way of life, even after almost three years of employment. Her fears and her needs are sufficient to ensure that she will never escape our total mastery of her mind and body but it doesn’t stop her from remembering what life was like when she still had her independence. I’m sure she misses it and longs for freedom—that’s an irreducible part of her personality which none of Dr. Stebbings methods can overcome. But do you know, I don’t mind that at all! On the contrary, if I’m honest, I rather like it. The veiled look of anguish and despair which sometimes flashes across Amanda’s face before she surrenders to an authorised climax just adds to my pleasure and that little extra wriggle of reluctant humiliation which she often gives when I’m buggering her is priceless. All in all, Amanda’s body has been quite a bonus.

Now tell me something Richard. Would you like to take Amanda upstairs and give her a work out? It’s what she’s there for—entertaining guests is a part of her duty! You would? I rather thought so! She hasn’t been gasmed for nearly a week so if I just set the controls accordingly I think you’ll find it a most pleasurable experience...

Go on. Enjoy yourself!

Sir Peter Killingworth lent back in his big leather chair and frowned. Amanda swallowed her terror and glanced at the WPC for reassurance. This wasn’t easy for her. Confronting her former boss, her erstwhile captor and self styled master would have been quite an ordeal under any circumstances but on his own territory in the very room where he’d so often casually fucked and abused her it was almost a form of torture.

“And how exactly am I supposed to have achieved this?", the businessman said, his voice a confident contrast to her own soft, hesitant and miserable tones. “It seems to me that if you had been working here as my maid—and mind, I’m not admitting that you were—you had every chance to leave. Why didn’t you?”

“The baby. The baby’s mine.”

“Really?” Sir Peter raised an eyebrow. “Well there are genetic tests to prove these things aren’t there. I’m sure the courts would find no evidence to back up an absurd claim like that! And it was just your so called baby that kept you here was it?”

“No!”

“The young lady claims she was drugged”, the chief inspector interrupted smoothly, cooling the argument. “She says you were brainwashing her and keeping her passive with the aid of chemicals and subliminal aural messages.”

“Really?” Sir Peter began to chuckle. “Wasn’t that the plot of some lurid 1970’s schlock film? The Manchurian Candidate I think it was called. It’s quite absurd of course. Just science fiction. Ask yourself this. Why would my wife co-operate in any sort of scheme to brainwash you girl? And she’d have to co-operate if you were here for as long as you say. What would her motive be? Your story all looks very threadbare once we get past the lurid sensationalism doesn’t it? I’m afraid you’ve been led astray by a tawdry little gold digger Inspector. I don’t know what her game is but I’m having none of it!”

Amanda thought she was going to cry—she had to fight very hard not to. Put like this her claim did sound implausible. And she really wasn’t used to confronting Sir Peter. The whole experience felt unnatural, even to the clothes she was wearing, a simple grey knee length skirt with flesh coloured tights, low square heels and a demure white blouse. In this house it felt like she was overdressed. She certainly wouldn’t have been permitted the modest white panties that cradled her bare sex -permanently denuded, she remembered now with a flash of anger, on Sir Peter’s orders.

“Well how do you explain this then?” she said pushing her hair up suddenly and fingering the valve in her neck which Dr. Stebbings had implanted to control her drug reservoir. “You see I found out about you. You.. you.. b... b... beast!”

And now she did break down and cry for a few breaths. But her courage had returned a little with her anger and she forged on. “Your Code Babel isn’t perfect. I picked up some clues about what you were doing to me. I found out where the speakers were and I muffled them. I got to the bottle of chemicals that Mrs Tibbs was using to fill this thing in my neck. And I emptied it out and topped it up with water. Even then I had to pretend I was still in your thrall. I had to pretend you controlled me perfectly until I could find the chance to run away. The chance to steal some of my old clothes and make a getaway.”

“I see.” Sir Peter’s voice was colder now; altogether more serious suddenly. “But of course you have absolutely no way of substantiating these wild claims. That thing in your neck. I suspect if we investigated we’d find a respectable doctor who’d tell the courts it was for a respectable medical condition. I’ve heard they can treat schizophrenia with slow release drugs. And doesn’t that make the patient prone to delusions and paranoia? That’s what it’ll be in your case. It’s all starting to make sense now.”

“But I can prove it!”

“Really? How?”

“Like this!”

Amanda reached into her hand bag and fumbled out a cassette. She looked around wildly. There was a stereo in the corner of the office with a tape deck. Amanda slipped her cassette in the slot with fumbling fingers then pressed the play button. The sound of Sir Peter’s voice came clearly through the speakers. “Dr. Stebbings asked if either of us had any ethical objections to breaking some of the social rules which operate in conventional society. Naturally we said no.”

Another man could be heard laughing.

“There’s more than one way to use a tape”, Amanda said over the recording. “I found a cassette recorder on my cleaning duties and I was able to hide it and record some of your conversations when you’d put me under your so called Code Babel protocol. That’s how I know. I know it all!”

“No you don’t”, Sir Peter said. “If you knew it all you’d know that your baby was never your own. But that doesn’t matter. That’s a detail. The point is you obviously know too much. Too much for your own good my dear. You’ve been very enterprising, Miss Jenkins, very enterprising indeed. How unfortunate for you! If it hadn’t been for that tape I could have let you go. There was nothing you could prove. But as it is, I’m afraid I’m going to have to keep you! The party’s over now. Inspector, if you wouldn’t mind?”

Amanda had listened to this little speech with a kind of numb horror, her eyes wide and her muscles locked. Only at the very end did she think to turn away and flee. But it was too late. She only managed one gurgled scream before the WPC’s hand closed over her mouth and the Inspector seized her arm...

Five minutes later the struggle was over. Regulation police handcuffs secured Amanda’s wrists and her arms were stretched above her head and looped through a hook in the ceiling. Blouse, skirt, shoes, tights and panties had all been removed, the tights tied tightly round the prisoner’s ankles and the panties wedged into her mouth to muffle the girl’s anguished cries which had now subsided to choked sobs.

“I’ll have to hand it to the bitch, she’s a feisty one!", the Inspector said. “She put up quite a fight there. Those legs can certainly kick can’t they? Good job there were three of us.”

He patted WPC Julia Sanderson on the bottom appreciatively, knowing that it was only her presence which had reassured the witness sufficiently to persuade her to step foot inside the Manor House. Amanda was still wriggling and squirming like a freshly caught fish and hot tears flooded from her eyes.

“I hope you’ll be more careful with your property in future. It was only a stroke of good fortune brought her to my patch first.”

“Don’t worry there’s no chance I’ll make the same mistake again”, Sir Peter said. “It’s fortunate she didn’t recognise you, Richard. After all, you’re not just a casual acquaintance. You have given her a good poke before, eh?”

“I certainly recognised her!", the police officer confirmed. “But it’s been six months since I visited you—it was only the once and I had a beard and moustache then. Add to that, the fact that she was distraught and not expecting to see me and it isn’t too surprising...”

He paused to land a single ringing slap on the victim’s bottom. “Keep still bitch, for goodness sake. You’re not going anywhere now!”

They watched Amanda subside, her breasts still heaving and her face flushed pink from her excursions.

“Well thank you Inspector”, Sir Peter said, “I certainly appreciate it.”

“Glad to be of assistance. Your maid was quite an inspiration to me when I last visited you. Quite an inspiration and quite a pleasure! That’s what gave me the idea to send Julia here to see your friend Doctor Stebbings. But now I’m afraid we must be off. I’ve other business to attend to.”

“So soon... Won’t you at least enjoy a little of Miss Jenkins’ hospitality before you go?”

“Well... perhaps just a quick one eh?”

In fact it was half an hour later when the Inspector’s car turned out of the drive and back in the direction of the village where Amanda had been picked up by one of his patrol vehicles less than a week ago. In the driver’s seat, Chief Inspector Richard Mann felt some considerable degree of satisfaction over the outcome of his visit to Sir Peter Killingworth’s house. It was good to be able to perform a basic piece of police work so effectively. Sometimes the job of a chief inspector seemed either too political or too managerial or both. He’d lost sight of what it meant to be a grass roots officer on the beat. But today he’d been given the opportunity to remember what he loved about the force—the ability to keep law and order and serve the public—and his friends of course! Even in something as simple as the return of lost property. And that was exactly what Amanda was—lost property to be returned to her rightful owner. Admittedly this particular piece of property could have caused its owner a lot of trouble if it had turned up in the wrong place. Which was why he felt no shame about enjoying the finder’s reward. That blonde bitch was hot! Miss Jenkins’ body was every bit as good as he’d remembered. How she’d squirmed when he plugged her bottom and forced her to accommodate him! The silly little tart thought she was being so clever but she’d really made such a dreadful mistake. It had been quite a sight to see her hopes dashed so cruelly by his betrayal and he’d almost felt sorry for her—almost. He caressed Julia’s knee lightly as he changed gear. When they got back to the station the curvy little WPC would make a nice desert...

“What am I going to do with you eh Amanda?” Sir Peter asked rhetorically. He was standing behind her whispering in her ear as his left hand rhythmically squeezed her left breast and his right hand played with her bare pussy. “You’re such a trial to me, you know that? And now you’ve got me in trouble with the police! It’s a good job Inspector Mann is so understanding isn’t it? I hope he enjoyed himself in your bottom—it’s the least he deserves don’t you think?”

The businessman gave Amanda’s breast a firm squeeze. He was pleased to note that for all her tears, all her misery and abject humiliation her sex was moistening despite itself. That part of Amanda’s conditioning had bitten too deeply and she could never escape the slavery of her sexual desires, no matter how much her conscious mind might want to. Sir Peter knew at least part of what he was going to do with Amanda—the important part. Just before her escape Vivian had been talking about a second child.

“Let’s get ‘miss rent a womb’ started on another”, she’d said. That was fine by Sir Peter. But this time he decided things would be a little different. He’d overestimated Amanda. It was wrong to use her as a maid when really she was just livestock. Dr. Stebbings had suggested another piece of surgery which he’d turned down before, but now he felt inclined to take it up. He would have Amanda’s vocal chords clipped. It would reduce her to inarticulate little moans and squeaks more appropriate to her status. He’d keep her in the kennels with the dogs—permanently. She’d be easier to control in there. And when their next baby was born, why not rent her out to his friends, or contacts of Dr. Stebbings who might want to do the same thing but hadn’t the resources to acquire a juicy young womb like Amanda’s? Yes, with a bit of planning it could become a little business. Amanda could be kept more or less permanently up the duff with cuckoo pregnancies, year after year after year...

So that was the long term, but what about the short term? That’s what he hadn’t decided on. Amanda deserved something special to punish her for her recalcitrance, something to help break her back into the harness quickly. Spanking, strap and cane weren’t sufficient somehow. As he stroked her flesh savouring her sweet young body with all it’s nubile pleasures, it’s fears, it’s terrors and it’s helplessly aroused sensuality he considered several options but none seemed quite good enough... Still, there was plenty of time. He’d think of something...