The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Fifteen minutes later, Amanda rushed into the lobby of Police Headquarters, pushed a button on the elevators and waited. For countless seconds, she shifted uncomfortably, fiddled with her handbag and finally pushed the button again. Cursing under her breath, she walked quickly to the stairwell. Pushing the door open, she entered the landing, stopped for a second and listened.

Slowly, her right hand reached into her handbag as her left went down and rubbed slowly on the outside of her pants, up and down her leg, finally reaching her crotch. She pulled a cigarette from her bag and stuffed it in her mouth as she continued to rub her fingers up and down between her legs. Breathing deeply, she drew the smoke in and out slowly with her lips as she gripped the handrail for support.

Suddenly, she heard the door open on the landing above and she hurriedly pushed her way back through the stairwell door and into the lobby. Grabbing her phone from her purse, she pushed a button, the cigarette still hanging from her mouth.

“Damn you, Mario. Where the hell are you? I’m at Downtown now. Please, PLEASE call me back ASAP! I think I’m going CRAZY! I can’t even THINK straight anymore!...” Her voice was growing louder and one of the clerks nearby looked at her pointedly.

Amanda looked up from her phone. “What the hell are you staring at?”

“No smoking in the lobby, detective.”

“Look, it’s not lit, OK? Can’t you see I’m on the phone here?” She walked hurriedly away from the clerk down the hall toward the cafeteria, pressing the button to cancel the phone call.

Looking around, she noticed no one in the cafeteria, other than the cleaning staff. Adjusting the cigarette in her mouth, she headed straight to the Ladies Room. Pushing open the door, she immediately bent down to check the stalls, only to find all of them empty. Rushing to the far handicapped stall, she pushed open the door and threw herself down on the seat, balling her hands up in fists and bringing them repeatedly to her cheeks. Wetness came to her eyes as she muttered over and over to herself.

“What is happening to you, Amanda Tuck? What the HELL is going on?”

After a few moments, she grabbed some toilet paper and wiped her eyes. Then she drew the phone from her bag and laid it on top of the paper dispenser. Taking another cigarette from her bag, she gently ran her tongue around the end of it before placing it between her lips. Both hands moved to her waistband and she lowered her pants around her ankles and stepped out of them. Pulling her panties down, she likewise stepped out of them. Bringing them up to her face, she stared at them, her face a mixture of amazement and disgust. They were thoroughly soaked.

Wrinkling her nose, she grabbed a handful of toilet paper, wrapped up the panties and placed them into her bag, only to let out a sigh when she saw the paper slowly disintegrate into a pulpy mess inside the bag. Then she fell back on the seat and the tears began anew.

Then again, slowly, but deliberately, her left hand fell down into her lap and her sobbing fell quiet, replaced by another sound. Her right hand went to the cigarette and caressed it, sliding it in and out of her mouth. She began breathing deeply and unsteadily and her flats slid quietly back and forth across the tile floor as her body’s wetness caused her to slide to and fro on the coldness of the toilet seat.

Then she began to hum. Softly at first, then a bit louder. She somehow recalled the tune, but couldn’t remember from where, exactly. It was a quick little tune, strangely suited for the job at hand, and relaxing.

And exciting. Very exciting.

Quickly—she began to move more quickly. Now her right hand joined her left, holding open the gates, allowing the fingers to work their magic on the treasure inside. Her tongue moved the fag back and forth in her mouth, keeping time with the rhythm of that magic tune she was humming. And maybe the end was near. Could it be near? She prayed for the end.

Then the restroom door opened.

Instinctively, as if from another lifetime, both her feet rose from the floor to the sides of the door to the stall and froze there, like a statue carved by an obscene artist, as two familiar voices entered the room. The cigarette snapped to attention in her mouth as she went deadly silent.

But her hands did not stop. Could not stop.

The rhythm was still in her head. And it was strong.

“So where are you and Fernando going tonight?”

Then she started remembering.

“I think he wants to stay at home and watch basketball. Playoffs or something.”

The words.

“Right. That figures.”

There were words to go with the rhythm.

“Hey, you smell what I smell?” One of the voices started giggling.

She’d heard them once in a movie.

“I guess one of the cleaning ladies couldn’t wait to get home.” More giggling.

A cartoon movie?

“I always wondered what they did after hours. Makes me wonder what else they do in these things when there’s no one around.”

She started remembering the words.

“Ewww, like I needed to think about that.”

And her fingers moved faster as she remembered.

“You’d have thought they’d at least spray some of that air freshener around after they’d finished.”

Something about a merry-go-round?

“Unless they get off on having other people know what they’re doing in here.”

More giggling.

Yes, a merry-go-round...

“I mean, you’re a cop, think about it. It’s not even 5 yet. If the smell is fresh, that means that they’d just been in here.”

...breaking down...

“Or...”

Moving faster. The rhythm moving faster.

“No.”

Fingers moving faster.

“You can check, if you want to. I’M not gonna check.

More giggles.

So close. So close.

From the top of the nearby toilet paper dispenser, the cell phone rang. Loudly.

“What the hell??!!!” Came a loud voice from outside the stall.

Startled, Amanda blindly reached for the phone, only to have it slip from her hand, fall to the floor and bounce on the tile floor just outside the stall. Quickly, she grabbed the waist of her pants and pulled them up just as a hand reached down outside the stall to recover the phone. Madly, Amanda pulled the stall door open and rushed past two very surprised uniformed policewomen, one of whom was holding her phone.

“Tuck?” asked one of them, bewildered, and tears began refilling Amanda’s eyes as she threw open the restroom door and disappeared outside. Behind her, Officers Karech and Mayo stared at each other with shocked expressions.

Through the cafeteria she ran, oblivious to the stares of the cleaning crew and assorted clerks straightening up their work areas as they got ready to leave for the day. She raced through the lobby, and into the parking lot and didn’t stop running until she was at the driver’s door to her Grand Am. She reached for the door handle and pulled with all her strength. When it didn’t budge, she reached for her handbag...

...which still lay on the restroom floor.

Then Amanda bent over the hood of her Grand Am and wept.

Which is how Assistant District Attorney Bailey Davenport found her five minutes later.

“Detective Tuck?” Came the voice, and Amanda felt a hand on her shoulder.

“No,” she replied at first, sobbing, with both hand covering her face. “I mean, yes,” she corrected herself, trying her best to wipe away the tears.

“What’s the matter? You’re shaking all over. Are you sick?” Davenport moved her hand from Amanda’s shoulder to the back of her neck.

Amanda pulled away and brought her hand up to her neck in an effort to brush the other woman’s hand away. “No. Just...stress.” She continued to rub her eyes with the one hand and stare down at the hood of her car.

Davenport gently clasped her hand and didn’t let go. “I don’t know, girl. You really look like you’re in bad shape. You sure you don’t want to go to the hospital?”

“Maybe. I mean NO!” She pounded on the hood with her free hand. “I’ll be...fine, really. Just need to see...Mario.”

The DA slid her other hand up and down Amanda’s arm as she grabbed her hand, preventing another slam against the hood. “I saw Detective Lopez leave about an hour ago with Captain Delgado. Something about a meeting with Tammy Spencer about the Baines case. I thought he was going to interview me, so I hung around. But he said you were going to do it, so I waited.”

Good Lord, girlfriend, you’re soaking wet!” She continued as she held both of Amanda’s hands in hers and gently spun her around to face her. You SURE you don’t NEED to go to the hospital?”

“Yes... NO!” Again the older woman pulled away. “I just...wan’t...Mario.” She raised both her hands to her head and leaned back against the hood of the Grand Am.

Davenport bit her lower lip as she moved closer. “Well, I don’t think he’s coming back anytime soon. Delgado looked fairly set on getting some movement in the case by tonight. Sounded to me like they wanted to do a full session. I know Harry, err, DA Fredricks has them both under the gun here.”

Amanda moved her hands down to the hood and pressed her fingertips hard against the paint. “Damn” she whispered under her breath as her legs tensed straight and her nails bit into the finish, “we were supposed to meet at Roxy’s for dinner,” her voice growling louder with every word.

Davenport moved even closer. “No reason to think he won’t, though he’ll certainly be late. She reached into her large purse and pulled out Amanda’s handbag. “I ran into Officer Mayo a few minutes ago and she said you left this in the restroom. I figured you might need it.”

Amanda’s eyes brightened a bit at that as she reached out and snatched it out of the woman’s hands. “The phone! Did she give you the phone?” Amanda was digging through it furiously now.

Davenport shrugged. “No. Was she supposed to?” She moved to Amanda’s side and likewise leaned back on the hood of the car, watching the other woman intently.

“Damn!” Amanda shouted, and ripped the sides of the bag as she pulled. “Fuck!”

Davenport wrapped her arm around the distraught woman and pulled her close. “Settle down, girlfriend, it’s not the end of the world.”

“But you don’t fucking UNDERSTAND!” Amanda swore as she ripped the bag totally open now and its contents flew here and there about the two women, scattering in a wide circle around the Grand Am.

Davenport brought her hand up to the other woman’s face and gripped it tightly as she again grabbed for her hands. “Settle DOWN, Amanda! You’re a police officer, dammit! Act like one!”

The older woman froze at that, then her legs softened and she leaned back on the car once again, her arms falling to her sides and dropping the remains of the handbag, and her chest heaving once, then relaxing. She closed her eyes.

“Good,” Davenport continued, leaning down to pick up the pack of cigarettes. She pulled one out and handed it to Amanda. “Now, listen. You’re in no condition to drive, but my car’s right over there. I’ve got nothing planned tonight, so I can drive you over to Roxy’s and we’ll wait for Detective Lopez together. Hell, you can do the damned interview there if you want.”

Amanda brought her hands back to her face at that, her breaths becoming more and more steady. She put the cigarette in her mouth, but did not light it. “Ok,” she said, finally. “I just need to find a phone.” She looked around at the contents of her handbag and began to gather them up.

“Good.” Davenport replied. “The last thing we need right now is for you to get into a wreck. You can use my car phone,” she finished as she bent down to help Amanda retrieve the rest of her things. She was just about to stand up when she noticed the panties lying underneath the car, near the rear tire. Quietly, she grabbed them and stuffed them in the pocket of her suit.

Five minutes later, the two were safely inside Davenport’s BMW convertible, driving down the freeway. Amanda was fiddling with the phone and moving the still unlit cigarette around in her mouth. She frowned noticeably.

“What’s wrong? Davenport looked over at her, her cinnamon hair flowing freely in the rush of air.

“I can’t remember the damned number.”

Davenport laughed. “Had it on speed dial, eh? I do that all the time.” She reached over and put a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “I THINK I might have it at home. We’re not far from my townhouse right now. It’ll only take a few minutes for me to track it down.”

“I thought you lived out in Village Oaks?”

The DA smiled playfully. “That’s my official address, yes. But a girl needs a getaway every now and then, so I have another place I use. Makes my life a bit less ... complicated.”

A few moments later, the BMW pulled into the Fairfield Townhomes parking lot and into the garage of #169.

“Hey, Liz!” Davenport yelled as she opened the door. “Are you decent? We’ve got a visitor.”

Behind her, Amanda slowly let her eyes get adjusted to the low light. She found herself reaching for her handbag, but found the plastic grocery bag instead. She instinctively pulled out a cigarette and put it in her mouth.

“Yeah, right, like I’m EVER decent,” came the response from somewhere upstairs. Davenport smirked a bit at that and flipped a light switch. Amanda noticed that the DA didn’t take off her sunglasses even in the dark, but knew her way around the apartment seemingly by instinct.

“Why don’t you come down here and fix Detective Tuck a drink while I look for something? She’s had a really bad day and really needs one,” Davenport continued as she walked into the living area, beckoning silently for Amanda to follow.

“It’s my OFF day, dufus!” came the reply as a shortish, buxom woman with short jet black hair slid down the stairs. She was dressed in a Hooters shirt and cutoff jeans. “Hey, hey, what do we have here?” she said when she spied Amanda. “Dufus, didn’t they tell you not to look for love on the job? Just asking for trouble.”

Davenport lowered her sunglasses at that and the newcomer’s face suddenly went red and she started playing with the bottom of her shirt. “Sorry,” she mumbled under her breath.

Bailey took her glasses all the way off, sat down on a chair near her phone and picked up a small black book. “Why don’t you be a dear, Liz, and fix her up one of your specials?” she asked, but in a tone that sounded more to Amanda like an order. Then she turned to Amanda, who had a seat on the couch and continued to flip through the book.

“She makes THE best ‘Screaming Orgasms’ in the city,” Davenport said, dryly.

Amanda, who had been studying the decor, bit her lower lip and the cigarette almost fell from her mouth. She swiftly crossed her legs and brought both hands to her knee and rubbed it hard through her pants. And she started sweating. Again.

“Hokay,” replied Liz as she walked up to the bar. “One ‘Screaming Orgasm,’ it is.”

Amanda crossed her legs the other way and pushed herself further down on the soft sofa and she wrapped both hands around her abdomen and hugged herself. Davenport looked up from her book.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Amanda, did you need a light?”

Amanda took a very short breath and shook her head. “No.” She crossed her legs again.

“OK,” Davenport said as she continued to look at the detective, who was now rubbing her elbows nervously with the opposite hands. “Are you cold?”

“uh, no. I’m fine,” Amanda replied as she forced a smile and resumed her observations of the surroundings.

Davenport smiled in return. “If you decide to talk, Liz and I are GREAT listeners.”

Amanda’s foot started shaking rapidly. “Uh, no. I’ll be fine.”

Liz bounded up with two liquor glasses. “Here we go, two ‘Screaming Orgasms.’ If they don’t cure your problems, nothing will.”

Suddenly both hands went up to Amanda’s face and she started rubbing her eyes again, trying to hold back the tears. Above her, Liz looked bewildered, still holding both glasses.

“Did I say something wrong?”

Davenport dropped the book and moved over to the sofa and sat down next to the woman, who was now sobbing uncontrollably. Liz, after carefully placing the drinks on the inn table, sat down on the opposite side.

Both women put their arms gently around Amanda. “Oh, dear,” Liz whispered softly. “it’s THAT kind of problem, isn’t it? Now I feel REALLY awful.”

“Never,” Amanda started whispering. “Never ever, ever,” she kept repeating through the tears. “Never a problem before.”

Bailey got up to get a box of tissues while Liz continued to hold her body close to the crying woman, slowly and gently rocking her back and forth, occasionally massaging her face and working to keep the hair from her eyes. After a few moments, the tears lessened and Bailey handed the tissues to Liz, who slowly dabbed the wetness from Amanda’s eyes.

As well as from her own.

Then Bailey handed the drinks to Amanda. In less than a minute, both were empty save for a few lonely ice cubes.

While Amanda was drinking, Liz drew Bailey aside.

“What the hell is going on here, Dufus?” she whispered.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, take a fucking sniff. You know that smell as well as I do. She’s crying her eyes out, but she’s practically soaking your sofa.”

“So?”

“So?!!! Is that all you can say? Something’s really wrong here. The woman needs to go to a hospital.”

“I asked. Twice. She doesn’t want to go. I can’t force her.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“She’s got a hot date tonight. I figure the problem might just take care of itself.”

“Bailey, I dunno if I like the way you said that. This isn’t like you.”

“Believe me, there’s nothing I’d like MORE than to get her to go to the hospital, but until then, I thought we could humor her. Maybe get her fixed up and dressed up nicely. She’s about your size.”

“Geez, thanks. Maybe a year ago.”

“Well, you’ve still got some sexy dresses from back then. I thought maybe that emerald one you wore when you were dancing...”

“Geez, that would make her look forty trying for twenty. I dunno.”

“Then why don’t you take her upstairs and see what she thinks? And work on her hair and makeup while you’re at it. She looks like she’s had absolutely no experience at all.”

“What the hell, Dufus, is this her date or YOUR date?”

“Listen, do you want to help her get laid or not?”

“Look, it’s only for a fucking GUY, right? Hell, all she has to do is smile and drop her pants.”

“Oh, yeah, like YOU’D know?”

“OK, so she doesn’t even have to smile.”

“Hey,” a voice interjected from across the room. “I’m not deaf, you know.”

Liz walked quickly back to the sofa. “Sorry ‘bout that. You know these law enforcement types and secrecy. Feeling better?”

Amanda forced a smile and nodded. “Thanks for the drinks, Liz. And everything else. And, no, I don’t need to go to the hospital.”

Bailey crouched down to her knees at the inn table and smiled back at her. “I can’t find his cell phone number in my book, only his home and office number. But, I might have it on the computer. Why don’t you let Liz here take you upstairs and get you cleaned up. That outfit is fine for work, but I’m sure that after all this trouble, you want to look your best for him, right?”

Amanda looked down at her pants and then at her sweat-soaked blouse for a moment, then finally nodded. “A bath, if nothing else. This has been one fucked-up day. If menopause is half this bad, I think I’d rather kill myself.”

Liz laughed. “And guys think they have it tough because they get guts and lose hair. C’mon, big sister, let’s go upstairs and see what kind of damage we can do.”

As she watched the two of them climb the stairs, Bailey Davenport walked over to her sofa and bent down. After running one hand across the wet spot, she brought it up to her nose and breathed. She grimaced, then shook her head slightly, then smiled as she stood up. Then she took the pair of panties from her pocket, stared at them for a moment, then likewise brought them to her nose and breathed. Then she sighed deeply once and muttered to herself.

“Damn you. Damn you to hell, Bailey Davenport.”

As she moved to the computer and turned it on, she heard the familiar sound of bath water being run upstairs.

Then she heard an unfamiliar sound. A low, ringing noise.

Coming from her purse.

Again, drawing a long, deep sigh, she drew the cell phone from her purse and hit the “OFF” button. At once, the ringing stopped.

Then she threw the phone into the waste basket next to the computer and immediately felt the now-familiar rush.

Turning the computer off, she went to the sofa to have a screaming orgasm of her own.