The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

All the way there, she chided herself … she HAD to get control! She HAD to find out how he took those girls! She HAD to get some sort of physical evidence that she could go to the Captain with! But when they were there, she found herself wishing that the walk had lasted longer. She wished she could feel his arm around her just a little bit more.

It was a Victorian home that had been converted to an office/apartment combination, and he led her upstairs. The apartment was immaculate! She was after some sort of DNA evidence, but she doubted that anyone could even find a fingerprint in the place! Somehow, she kept from showing him her disappointment, but she couldn’t suppress a comment. “This is a bachelor pad?”

He laughed. “You couldn’t have picked a better evening. This was the maid’s day. She’s a little … well … efficient. I’ll have it back in its normal state of chaos in a day or two.”

“Can I use your bathroom?” she asked as he advanced toward her, a gleam in his eye.

“Er … sure. Right over there.”

And her heart sank. The bathroom looked as if an army of scrubbing bubbles had spent a year on the job in there. Somehow, she had imagined finding a hairbrush with dozens of strands, roots still firmly attached, waiting patiently for her … but there was no hairbrush. Who was she kidding? Forlornly, after making a thorough search, she stood regarding a toothbrush that looked brand new. Likewise the blade in his razor.

A knock at the door. “Hey, you okay in there?” Out of time. Out of ideas.

She opened the door. “Hi,” she said, smiling.

He handed her a glass of wine and led her back into the living room. They sat on the couch and sipped from their glasses and just looked at each other. Somehow, she knew that if he made a move, she wouldn’t be able to say no. Would she really justify having sex with a serial rapist as the only way to get a sperm sample? That was crazy! But, of course, that wasn’t the real story at all. She WANTED this! She wanted HIM! Oh, this couldn’t be happening! Deep down inside, she didn’t believe it, of course. She would never fall in love with a rapist, and she was falling in love with him … ergo, he wasn’t the rapist. But he had been there … four out of seven times … and maybe more!

Okay, time for a plan. She had to have more than just a sample, anyway. She had to have a method. She thought she knew, and despite what the crummy FBI profiler had said, she still believed it. She took a deep breath.

“Brett,” she began, and blushed and looked down again, unable to actually say it.

“What is it, Donna?”

She blushed even more. “You’re going to think I’m awful.” And she paused and fumbled her hands together. “Brett, could you … could you hypnotize me? Please? I’ve ALWAYS wanted to know what it was like … and here we are … and … and I trust you … and … and ….”

“Hey,” he said gently, smiling. “Sure. Sure I will.” He rose and walked toward the bedroom. “Just let me get something that will make it easier. You settle back on the couch and relax. I’ll be right back.”

She couldn’t suppress a frown. Easier? She had no intention of actually LETTING him hypnotize her. She was just going to ACT as if he was putting her into a trance. She planned to go along and see what he did with a girl once he had her “under.” But if he brought back some sort of drug or something, she’d have to put a stop to the whole thing.

And he walked back in with a piece of cut crystal dangling from a short monofilament line. With his free hand, he moved a chair so that it was facing of her, and he sat down and dangled the thing in front of her eyes. “Lean back and look at the crystal,” he told her in a matter-of-fact voice … not the tone of voice she expected to hear from a hypnotist at all. “Lean back and relax, please.”

“Promise me that if you make me act like a chicken, you won’t let me remember it,” she said timidly.

“Relax.”

Okay, she told herself, here we go. She knew that he’d be able to see whether the muscles of her arms and hands were tense or relaxed, so as she leaned back, she visibly relaxed them for his benefit. And she knew he was looking directly at her eyes, so she concentrated her sight on the shining crystal orb as its facets fractured the room’s lights into a myriad of colors that filled her vision. She would relax. She would do what he told her. But she would NOT fall asleep when he commanded … she would just pretend. Will power, Donna! Stay with the plan!

“Just relax and look at the crystal. Listen only to my voice. Relax. Yes, that’s it. And now tell me, please, why it is that you are so tired. Didn’t you get any sleep last night?”

This startled her, but she stayed relaxed for his benefit … she kept her eyes on the crystal. She hadn’t expected that he would ask her a question. “Um … no. I only got a few hours sleep this morning.” Which was the truth, of course. She wouldn’t tell him a lie … she would just withhold a few things.

“Ah, that explains it, then. I could tell that you were very tired. I could see it. I could sense that you were very, very weary. You don’t have to sleep, if you don’t want to. But if you relaxed even more, you might not feel so very tired. It might help. It might.”

And she gazed into the crystal and felt confused. She didn’t have to fall asleep? Wasn’t that what he was trying to get her to do? The plan was to pretend to be asleep … but not actually fall asleep … when he told her to go to sleep. But if he wasn’t going to tell her to do that, what was she going to …. Oh, she was SO tired! How did he know she hadn’t had enough sleep? Okay, change of plans. She would relax more for him, because he was watching her very closely, and if she relaxed more and more, then maybe she wouldn’t feel so tired. So very, very tired.

“And relax even more now. Yes, that’s it. And you will see only the crystal. Hear only my voice. And relax. Deeper and deeper. More and more relaxed. Yes, I know you are very tired. I understand, since you haven’t had enough sleep. Not enough sleep. I know. SO tired. How do you feel, Donna?”

“SO tired,” she replied immediately, because it was true. Relaxing wasn’t helping very much. Maybe if she tried relaxing even more ….

“And what do you see?”

“The crystal.”

“Very good. What else do you see? Relax even more and tell me.”

And now she hesitated. She relaxed even more and said “Nothing else. I can’t see anything else ….” Because it was true. Oh-gosh-oh-gosh-oh-gosh, she thought, he’s doing it. It’s happening. He’s hypnotizing me.

“And what do you hear? Tell me everything you can hear. Relax even more and tell me.”

“Your voice. Only your voice.” Oh-gosh-oh-gosh-oh-gosh. Time for another change of plans. But there WAS no time now. She relaxed even more for him. It was happening again. She was going to be a victim again. Always the victim … always the victim. Would she wake up nude somewhere across town? Would she even remember him?

“You’re SO tired, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“You’re SO sleepy.”

“Yes.”

“I’ll count to three, and then I’ll let you surrender to me, and I’ll let you sleep. That’s what you want to do more than anything else, isn’t it, Donna. You want to sleep SO badly.”

“Please ….”

“One … two … three.”

And her eyes closed all by themselves, and she surrendered herself, because it was the only way that he would let her sleep. But this was nothing new, really. She’d been surrendering her whole life. Surrendering was what she was best at.

And he talked to her, and talked and talked. And she listened and she obeyed, because she WANTED to obey. And then she was standing on a mountainous ridge, looking down on a small village in a valley, far below. And it was all so REAL, because in the clear air, she could see smoke winding up from a few of the chimneys, and lights in the windows, and the trees were greener than any she’d ever seen, and sky was bluer than blue. And she started walking down, down, down. And with every step, she went deeper and deeper into her trance. Deeper and deeper still. She stopped by a little stream, running rapidly down the steep slope, and she took off her clothes and bathed in the frigid waters, and she felt fresh and she was cleaner than clean. And the water was her consciousness, and it was running down and down and down, and she walked beside it, nude and clean and fresh and filled with joy, deeper and deeper. Until she was finally in the valley, and she was as deep as she could possibly go; and the door of one of the cabins opened, and Brett walked out. And he walked right up to her and said: “Wake up, Donna.”

And she did.

He was standing above her, so she stood up from the couch and just looked at him. He reached out and took both of her hands in his, but left them down at her sides, and they didn’t speak for the longest time and they just looked at each other, silent, intimate, close.

“I should take you home,” he said quietly.

She was very surprised to find that her eyes were suddenly overflowing, and with a catch in her throat, she pulled her hands free and flung them around his neck, standing on tiptoes, her wet eyes buried in the side of his neck. “Please don’t make me leave, Brett. Please don’t.”

He tilted his face down to answer her, and so she pulled his lips down to her own, and she was suddenly lost in his embrace. He finally moved his hands to her sides, her back, sliding them up, down, crushing her to him. She moaned loudly into his mouth.

He pulled away from her slightly, and drank her in with his eyes.

“Please, Brett. Please take me!”

He hesitated. “Um … Donna … I, um ….” He looked almost panicked. “I don’t have any protection.”

She laughed up at him breathlessly. “I’m on the pill,” she said in a meek voice. “And I haven’t been with a man in a long time … more than a year. I’m clean. Are you …uh … I mean ….”

“Yes,” he answered. “It’s been a long time for me, too. Almost a year.”

“A year?” How could she believe that about a guy she found so …? Well … SHE thought he was a hunk, anyway. And even if he WAS lying, even if he WAS the Stateline Rapist, the one thing they DID know about the guy was that he didn’t have any sexually transmitted diseases.

Her hands flew to the buttons of his shirt and she began undoing them.

“Donna ….”

She stopped. “Oh, you think I’m … You think I’m a slut, don’t you? You think I’m just a hussy and that I’m loose and ….”

“Donna!”

With a sob, she threw her arms around him and buried her face in his chest.

“Donna, I want you, too. I want you very much. But we have all night. Now, let go. Turn around … I want to see you. I want to touch you.”

Confused, she turned in his arms until her back was to him, and for the first time, noticed an antique mirror on the far wall, facing them. As she watched, his hands began caressing her stomach, her breasts, her neck, and just like the pimp did the night before, he began hiking the dress up slowly, slowly, revealing first her thighs, her thong panties, her stomach, her breasts.

“Arms up,” her ordered softly, and she didn’t hesitate as he lifted the dress up and off of her. She closed her eyes as he did so, and now, as she opened them again, she observed herself, naked, save for the thong and high heels, and watched breathlessly as his hands began to roam all over her body.

She couldn’t take the inaction any more, and she turned around again and clutched him and pulled his face down to hers again and began kissing him aggressively, passionately … and then lost herself in the feeling of it. The excitement overwhelmed her, and for the first time, she WANTED to be the victim, to surrender herself entirely to him. With a squeal, she found herself horizontal and in his arms, and he was carrying her into the bedroom, where he threw her onto her back on the bed, and with a single smooth, swift motion, he pulled the thong down her legs and off. The high heels seemed to leap from her feet of their own accord, and she lay naked and wide-eyed and breathless as he quickly removed his clothing.

His cock wasn’t as large as some she had seen, but it was hard and virile and it arched upward toward his stomach. For a moment, she couldn’t take her eyes off of it, and she found herself breathing even more heavily as she tried to imagine what it was going to feel like inside her. She’d never felt this way. Every other time she’d been with a man … every single time … she had simply been passive, overwhelmed by the man’s strength, his force, his persistence, his demands. But now, she WANTED this. She’d never wanted anything so much in her whole life! In the back of her mind, she wondered if he had manufactured this feeling … this urge … through his deep hypnosis. Because she HAD been deep … so very deep. But that didn’t matter anymore. All that mattered was that he should take her … use her … that she should please him, no matter what his desires might be.

She rolled over, and keeping her eyes on his cock, she crawled on the bed toward it. But he grasped her by the shoulders and pushed her back again. And suddenly he was with her, holding her, clutching her, kissing her lips, her face, her neck, her chest. Her breasts were small, and she wished she had more to offer him in that department, but her nipples ached and she knew they were swollen and hard. He sucked one into his mouth savagely, and she strained up at him, arching, clutching, her fingers laced in his hair, pulling him closer. Her groans were punctuated with rapid inhalations as she tried to breathe; gasp, moan, gasp, moan.

His hand was somehow on the flat of her stomach, sliding downward, lower, lower, and she spread herself wide for his benefit, until his palm was covering her entire pubic region, grinding into her, clutching her down there, kneading her, rubbing her. Without warning, a small orgasm shot through her like an electric jolt, and she let out a short stutter of a scream, straining up into the relentless hand.

As she came down from that first little pinnacle, she forced herself to let go of him with her right hand, and she reached down between them and grasped his cock. She could barely reach him from this position, but he groaned into her nipple, then relinquished it and slid up, nuzzling her neck, so that she had better access to that part of him. She squeezed lightly, stroked him, let go and cupped his balls, squeezed again, and he froze and shuddered a moment before assaulting her lips, kissing her deeply, thrusting his tongue into her eager mouth. She suckled it, and shuddered herself as his palm scraped savagely across her clitoris.

Suddenly, he pulled free; and he was between her widely spread legs, positioning himself for the ultimate assault, and she reached back down and grasped him again, guiding his cock to her wet opening. She was surprised by the amount of her own juices, which seemed to coat her whole nether region. She felt it with the back of her hand as she led him to his goal. And when he was finally inside of her, she relinquished her grip, used both hands to grasp his buttocks, and tried to pull him into her quickly, but he resisted. He was being damn slow about it! He pushed into her, inch by agonizing inch; strong and relentless, but slowly … oh, so slowly! She tried to push herself down toward him, tried to pull his hips toward her, and finally opened her eyes and yelled “Please!” in a harsh whisper while looking up at his face, but he laughed and made her blush at her own incredible need … and finally, finally, he was all the way in. She ground herself up into him, feeling her pubic hair pressing into his, and she threw her arms around him and thought that she had never felt so close to another human being in her life.

He began to set up a rhythm, pumping in and out of her, sliding easily up and down because of her slick moisture. But it only lasted a minute before he uttered a curse, stiffened, pushed hard into her as far as he could, then, seemingly, an inch more, and she felt his cock jerking inside her … jerking, twitching, as his orgasm claimed him. Her hands roamed his back and sides and chest, and his muscles were hard, his whole body straining, his cock jerking inside her. Her own orgasm had begun to build, but she wasn’t quite ready yet. That didn’t matter … she glowed in the rapture of knowing that she had brought his pleasure, and when his cock gave one last lurch, touching her cervix, he collapsed heavily on top of her, and she held him.

He stayed like that for a long minute, then rolled off of her, onto his back beside her. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I couldn’t wait. It’s been so long.”

She rolled onto her side, facing him, and trailed her fingertips lightly over his body. “It’s okay, Brett. It felt wonderful,” she told him, meaning it. But when her petting hand slid over his cock, it twitched and he brought his right hand up to his face and he moaned loudly. The cock swelled against her hand.

“Well, well. What have we here?” she asked softly. Quickly, she slid down, and before he knew what she was doing, she had taken his semi-limp penis into her sucking mouth. She had done this before to men … they had made her do it … but this was different, somehow. She had expected to taste herself, her own fluids, and she did. But when men had forced her to do this before following a round of sex, there had been a salty taste, a sort of … well … a unique taste … that was missing now. But the effect of her sucking was exactly what she had hoped to achieve. He was growing, stiffening, swelling. She used her hand and began to stroke him, and after another long minute, she cupped and squeezed his balls, the way she had before. He cried out, then sat up in bed, grabbed her roughly, lifting her and spinning her around so that she was on her knees.

He was behind her now, and she grabbed a pillow and lowered her head onto it, then clutched it in her arms, feeling him behind her, between her spread legs, his knees between her own. And she felt him as he slid his engorged cock up and down her slit, dipping into her sex, pulling out, sliding up and down again, poking into her again. Then he grasped her hips and pushed himself in. In this position, of course, he was deeper than before. He thrust into her hard, over and over, his body slap-slap-slapping against her buttocks. Then he pushed all the way in, making her moan deeply. But he didn’t cum inside her this time. Instead, he put his hand around her throat and pulled her up as he bent forward, so that his chest was against her back, so that his lips were pressed lightly against her right ear.

“Tell me what you’re feeling!” he whispered.

She gasped a few times, her mind spinning, but she answered immediately, truthfully. “I’m a little animal. Helpless. A little girl animal. A victim to the male animals. Little girl animals don’t understand what’s happening to them. Their only instinct is to surrender. Nature makes them surrender. That’s what I am. That’s what I’m doing.”

He let go of her, and she plopped back forward, and his body slap-slap-slapped against her three quick times, and the orgasm began to build again. But then he pulled out, making her cry out in disappointment, and he rolled away from her, back onto his back beside her.

“Get on me!” he ordered savagely. “Get on top of me now!”

She rose to her hands, kneeling beside him, and tried to figure out what he meant. She had never done that before. Men had always taken her, always on top of her or behind her, always in charge, always the aggressors. Tentatively, timidly, she crawled over him, straddling him. His cock was hard and stiff against his stomach, and for a moment, she couldn’t figure out how to get it lined up for entry. Then she bent forward, pressing her breasts into his hairy chest, reached down, grasping him, fumbled his manhood against her until it slipped in, and then pressed downward, filling herself with him.

He pushed her upright, so that she was sitting on him, his hands filled with her breasts, both of his thumbs flicking up and down across her nipples. She couldn’t remember closing her eyes, but she opened them now and looked down at him, surprised at his smiling, loving expression. She opened her mouth to tell him that she loved him, but he chose that moment to move his hands to her sides, under her arms, still pressing inward toward her breasts, and he pulled her down on himself with great force, so that his cock was pressed against her diaphragm, deep, deep inside her, and she couldn’t get the words out. Only a deep moan escaped her. He lifted her a few inches, and pulled her back down. Slowly, slowly, she understood, and she began pumping herself up and down on him.

To relieve the pressure just a little, she leaned forward, but he put his hands back on her breasts, kneading the nipples again, flicking them with his thumbs, so that she instinctively put her palms on HIS chest, then shifted her weight forward so that she could use her hips to keep up the rhythm. The pressure inside of her made her close her eyes again, and then there was only the feeling, only the emotion, only him. She made it go on and on. She never wanted it to stop.

He moved one hand away from her chest, using the remaining one to squeeze, stroke and pinch first one nipple, then the other; and suddenly, his hand was down where their bodies were joined and his fingers were against her clit. And she exploded. Lights flashed behind her closed eyes, she was oddly aware of her toes clenching almost painfully, her fingers were digging into his chest. She leaned back so that his cock was impossibly deep inside her, and she threw her head back and screamed toward the ceiling while the muscles of her cunt spasmed and squeezed and clenched all of their own accord. Below her, Brett’s body began to stiffen and arch upward toward her, and his cock swelled even larger inside her and once again began to jerk and lurch as his own orgasm claimed him; this one seeming bigger than the first. It all went on for an impossibly long time, and finally she settled slowly down into his arms, and he held her, and she was oh, so content to be held.

Without speaking, he rolled them both over so that they were on their sides, facing each other, wrapped in each other’s embrace, legs entwined, and she marveled at the feeling that he was still inside of her, and she relaxed, and she slept.

When she opened her eyes and looked at the clock beside the bed she was amazed to find that it wasn’t yet midnight. They had separated somehow, and he lay on his back, breathing rhythmically, evenly. She stared at him for a long, long time, then quietly got out of bed and started looking for her dress. She found it in the living room, of course, but then had to go back into the bedroom to retrieve her shoes and panties. She tucked the thong into her purse, and as she slipped on her heels, he roused and rolled over, looking at her.

“Don’t leave.”

“I have to, Brett.”

“I don’t know where you live. I don’t know your number. How are you going to get home?”

“My car is at the bar. It’s only two blocks from here. I’ll be alright. And I’ll come to you. I’ll come here. Tomorrow. Okay?”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” And she leaned over him and kissed him; a tender kiss; a lingering kiss; but she shied away from him as he reached toward her. “I promise,” she repeated. And she walked away.

All the way back to the bar, she thought about it. All the way home. It couldn’t be him. It couldn’t be. He had the opportunity, and he hadn’t acted. He had the means, and he hadn’t done it. It wasn’t him. It couldn’t be. When she got home, the computer was still on. The stack of DVDs was still sitting next to it. But they didn’t matter. Nothing else mattered. It wasn’t him. He wasn’t the one. But then the image of Number Four came back to her.

She’d only been a part of the task force for two weeks now. Hell, she’d only been a real cop for two weeks now! A few days ago, she’d gone with Murphy and Phelps as they interviewed some of the victims … again. Number Four was sixteen years old, and Donna had stood silently as the two men grilled her pretty mercilessly. Why didn’t she remember? What was the last thing she COULD remember? What did she remember about the wheat field she’d been found wandering in, twelve hours later, nude and shivering and alone? And on and on, until the girl had broken down in tears and her parents had ordered them out of the house. Once outside, Donna had told them that she’d find her own way back to the precinct, and she’d waited until they’d driven off before she went back and knocked on the door again. The girl’s parents had been very reluctant to let her back in, but when she promised them that she wouldn’t ask any further questions, they’d consented. They’d even left them alone for awhile, and Donna had confessed that she herself had been a victim of sexual abuse; that she understood what she was going through; that she knew how she was feeling; that things would get better … they really would … but that for now, it was perfectly normal to feel violated and weak and alone and bitter. And the girl had broken down. And they held each other and cried. And cried.

But she had promised the girl that they’d find the guy. She promised. And so now, Donna looked at the computer and thought about Number Four. And then she thought about Brett again. And she HAD to prove to herself that it wasn’t him. She HAD to prove that four-out-of-seven was just coincidence.

She picked up the next DVD and slipped it into the drive. This one was from a convenience store surveillance camera two blocks away from the suspected snatch point for Number Two. The quality was poor. As with most of the others, this wasn’t video … it was a seemingly endless series of still pictures, snapped three seconds apart and played in streaming video format. This made people appear to move in fits and starts, jerking through the field of the camera’s vision. People came. People went. Donna fast forwarded until the time stamp showed the approximate time of the abduction, then set it to run backwards, earlier and earlier. Everyone was backing up; jerking, jumping backwards.

And two minutes later … there he was. Donna leaned forward, clutching at her throat, screaming “NO!” and finding tears welling in her eyes. She groped for the mouse and started the sequence forward again. It was him. No doubt. It was Brett. He was there. Well … not THERE, but near there. Two blocks from there. He was at the scene.

Five out of seven.

She was in love with the Stateline Rapist.

What was she going to do? Well, there was only one answer to that one. She had to do this. She had to do it for Number Four. She had to do it for ALL of them. But how was she going to explain it? Not much doubt about that one, either. She had started this mad scheme thinking it was going to save her job, but now it was going to mean the end of it. When Brett had his day in court, the truth would come out. And she’d be finished as a cop.

But most importantly: How had it happened? Had she simply fallen in love with him? She swore that was the case … she had loved being with him … loved what he did to her … loved everything about him. But now she wondered if there might be something more. Had the hypnosis had something to do with it? Had he used hypnotic mind control to turn her on? To make her want him so desperately? To make her think that she loved him? An oh, she DID love him! She really did!

She looked up a phone number in the little book she carried in her purse and dialed. “Peter? Peter, it’s Donna Tompkins. Do you remember …. Yes, that’s right. Peter, I have a DNA sample I need you to examine right away …. No, it can’t wait …. Yes. Yes, it has to do with the Stateline Rapist case …. Can I come by tonight? …. Are you busy right now? …. Okay, I’ll be right over.”

She started for the door, then went back for a fistful of tissues, wiped furiously at her face, and walked out of the apartment.

Thursday, 1:17 am

As with everything in Kansas City, there are two morgues: one in each city … one in each state. In this city, Forensic Analysis was a division of the Medical Examiner’s Office. This time of the morning, the offices were down to a staff of one, with others on call. Fortunately, it was a slow night.

“Thanks for seeing me, Peter.”

The tall, gangling, nerdy-looking intern smiled down at Donna. He made her feel insecure and nervous; but then, just about ALL men had that effect on her. Just about all men wanted her … wanted to take her … but some were more overt than others. Peter was one of the overt ones.

“No problemo, Beautiful,” he told her, standing a little too close. “Where’s the sample?”

“Peter, this is sort of delicate. I’m going to confide in you, here. Can I trust your discretion?”

He suddenly regarded her suspiciously. “What’s the deal?”

“Um … Peter … it’s … that is ….” She paused and took a deep breath. She’d rehearsed this on the way over, but now that she had to put it into words, it wasn’t going to sound right. No, actually, it wasn’t going to sound SANE. “Peter … it’s inside me. The sample is inside me.”

He gawked at her. “You mean that you went out and screwed a guy you suspected to be the Stateline Rapist?”

“It didn’t start out to … I mean ….”

“Did he rape you? Did you report this?”

“No. I mean, no, he didn’t rape me.” A tear trickled down her right cheek. “Oh, Peter, can you just take the sample?”

“It wouldn’t be admissible!” he exclaimed, exasperated. “You stalked the stalker! You entrapped him! No court in the country would accept it as evidence!”

“It would establish justification for further investigation,” she said stubbornly. “Once we establish that it’s him, we can get surveillance set up, and eventually we’ll get something on him that will allow us to get a warrant. Right now, Captain Reynolds won’t even look at the guy.”

Peter took half a step back and regarded her seriously. He looked defiant. Then he looked interested. And then he started to look like every other guy that had ever looked at her. She suddenly felt decidedly uneasy.

“When this comes out, you’ll be through as a cop,” he told her.

“I know. But if we can keep it secret just for a few days … just so I can make sure the evidence gets to the right people ….”

“Decidedly irregular,” he told her. “But perhaps we could help each other here.”

“What do you mean?”

“Beautiful, I’ve wanted you since the first moment I laid eyes on you.”

A tear rolled down her cheek. “Oh, Peter. Oh, no.”

“We each need a service the other can provide,” he said quietly, placing a hand on her shoulder.

She resisted an urge to jerk away. What could she do? “Peter, please don’t.”

But he didn’t move his hand. “I can make it easy for you,” he told her evenly. “All you have to do is exactly what I say. You just follow old Peter’s orders, and I’ll give you what you want … and I’ll take what I need … and I’ll be satisfied with that. Hell, you’ve already played the whore with a serial rapist tonight. What difference would one more make?”

“Oh, Peter.”

But she let him take her hand and lead her back through the double doors. The old feeling was back. She was spiraling out of control, and she didn’t know how to stop it. Men simply took her. Men would ALWAYS take her. She would always allow herself to get into situations that hopelessly, inevitably, led her back into the role of Victim. This was her destiny. This was her curse.

Thank goodness there were no bodies out in the main examining room. He led her over to one cold, steel table that had stirrups at one end that allowed for vaginal examinations. Somehow, she hadn’t expected to see that in a medical examiner’s theater. He spread a dull green blanket over it for her.

“Hands up,” he told her.

“Oh, Peter. Please. Please don’t.”

“Now.”

She stretched her arms up, and he slid the dress up and off of her, gasping when he saw that she wasn’t wearing anything underneath. She held her eyes down, unable to look up at him … unable to do anything. She found herself breathing heavily. She was afraid. He patted the table with his hand, and wordlessly, she climbed onto it, toeing off her shoes, and she positioned herself on her back.

“Scoot down,” her ordered matter-of-factly.

Using her arms, she complied, until her butt was about to slide off the edge of the hard table. He grasped her legs and lifted them high above her, then settled them into the metal holders. He fastened her ankles into the devices using Velcro straps, and then he snapped some sort of locking mechanism and shifted her feet far apart, exposing her sex. Next, to her utter surprise, he began attaching other Velcro straps to her wrists.

“Peter! Peter, please don’t!”

But he didn’t answer, and she let him continue, crying softly, shaking. After her wrists were secure, he used yet another strap over her lower abdomen and arms. Helpless. She was helpless. She’d felt this way so many times before. She knew now that she was doomed to feel it again. And again. Forever.

He was between her splayed legs now, his face even with her vagina, peering inside. A moment later, she felt a probe entering her. She stifled a sob. Nothing happened for the longest time, and then she felt something cold and metal enter her. She gasped.

“What are you doing?”

“Quiet, girl!” He did something, and she felt herself being stretched open by the device. She cried out softly, then clamped her lips together and tried not to let him know how desperately afraid she was. Something else entered her … probed her. He was pushing it deep. She couldn’t contain the groan. “How long has it been?” he asked. “Did you clean yourself after he did it?”

She tried to answer, but the words couldn’t escape her constricted throat for a moment. She took a deep breath. “It’s been ... about two hours, I guess. And no, I haven’t bathed. I haven’t even gone to the bathroom.” She felt him remove whatever instrument he had inserted, and she breathed a sigh of relief. But then she felt his finger go into her … go deep … really deep. “Ahhhh!” she gasped.

And then he had stepped away from her, and he was looking down at her, his brow furrowed. He studied her for a long moment before speaking. “There’s no semen there,” he said sternly.

For a moment, she was overjoyed. “You mean he’s had a vasectomy?” If there was no sperm, then it couldn’t be Brett! Sperm was present in all of the victims’ samples.

“I didn’t say there was no sperm,” Peter told her. “I said there was no semen. Lots of your own lubrication … evidence that there’s been recent penetration … but no semen. None. Zero. Zip. No semen.”

She blinked up at him. “That’s not possible!” she told him. “He came inside me! I felt him! We did it twice … he came both times! He did! I felt him!”

“You might have THUOGHT he came inside you, Donna, but I can assure you, he didn’t.” He began unbuckling his belt. “I, on the other hand, will not disappoint you.”

She began struggling against the restraints. “No! Let me up!”

“We had a deal,” he said coldly. “I did what you wanted, and now I’m going to collect for services rendered.”

“But you’re wrong!” she cried. “We did it! He came inside of me! He did! I know he did!” Her mind was a jumbled mess. This was wrong! This was all wrong! She heard a short sound like tearing plastic, and she looked down between her obscenely spread legs and saw him discard a wrapper and roll a condom onto his cock. He was big … bigger than Brett.

Without any preamble, he stood at the base of the table and leaned forward, pushing himself into her. She gasped as he shoved all the way to the hilt, impaling her. He began using long, steady stokes, in and out, as he leaned forward and filled is hands with her breast, kneading them almost savagely, tweaking them, pulling at her nipples. She tried to get her mind to shut down, the way she had done so many times in the past. She would think of something else instead … something pleasant. But her mind was on Brett. How had he done it? Had he used hypnosis? Had they even done it at all? Was the memory of him just something that he had implanted in her mind? But it MUST have been real! It HAD to have been real! They had done it! She had felt it! She loved him! She really did!

Her mind snapped back to the present when she heard a low whining noise from some electrical device. He was holding a strange metal contraption above her that was making a snarling sound. She screamed.

“Oh, pipe down!” he yelled. “It doesn’t even have a blade in it! I just want you to keep your mind on the task at hand.” And with that, he lowered the thing to her and placed it directly on her clitoris. It was vibrating furiously. With a cry, she arched up at him. “That’s more like it!” he said, as he began pumping into her again.

“Peter!” she cried. “I … uh … I … OH! … Oh, God, Peter. Please … please don’t … AHH!” And she found that her body was straining back up toward him as he thrust, meeting him, pushing back up into him. She didn’t want this! She didn’t want the orgasm that was building rapidly. But alas, it was already here. It washed over her like a wave, crashing into her, lifting her up and up. She strained with all her might against the straps holding her wrists. The walls of her cunt began contracting, clutching at the invading cock, squeezing, grasping.

“YES!” Peter shouted. “Yes, that’s it! Like that!” and he pressed forward with all his might, thrusting in as deeply as he possibly could, and his cock began to twitch and lurch inside of her.

It felt like that, Donna thought. Brett’s orgasm felt just like Peter’s did. Well, not exactly like this … Brett wasn’t forcing her. Brett was different. But Brett’s cock twitched and jerked inside of her, just like this. He HAD cum inside her! She KNEW he had!

But now it was over. Panting, Peter slowly undid the straps on her ankles, then walked around and undid those that had fastened her to the table. Silently, she sat up and twisted around so that she was sitting on the edge of the table, weak, exhausted. She hung her head and looked forlornly at her feet. She glanced up as she heard a snapping sound, and realized that Peter had just pulled the used condom off of his deflating cock. And she wondered: Was that how Brett did it? Could he have given her a deep post hypnotic suggestion and then used a condom, while her mind told her that he hadn’t? But no, that didn’t make sense. They had talked about protection. She had grasped him with her hand. She had had him in her mouth. It didn’t make any sense.

“You should get dressed and leave.”

“Oh, shut up, Peter.”

He fumbled around the lab for a few minutes, picking things up. She sat, naked, on the table and thought about a seemingly impossible puzzle. At last, he came over and faced her. “Hey, Donna … it … it wasn’t that bad, was it? It was good for you, too. I mean, you came, right?”

She couldn’t believe men did this. First they took her, and then they tried to justify it. She didn’t answer.

“I’m sorry about the DNA thing,” he said weakly. Again, she didn’t answer or look up. He just stood there, obviously feeling guilty. Good. Let him. “Hey,” he said at last. “In the Academy, did you ever study the Southside Rapist in St. Louis?”

Now she looked up. “No. What about him?”

“Just like our guy,” Peter said. “Semen, but no DNA match. A guy in the Detective branch had a suspect, but no probable cause. So what does the cop do? He goes right up to the guy’s door and knocks. Guy comes out, and the cop says, cool as you please, that there’s been a bunch of robberies in the neighborhood, and they’re trying to eliminate everybody on this street through DNA evidence. Tells the guy that the ‘robber’ left some blood at the scene of a crime, and that this guy can clear himself it he gives the cop a sample. The guy consents. Just like that. The cop just asked, and he gave him a DNA sample. Bingo, it matched the DNA of the Southside Rapist. End of case!”

Donna stared at him for a long minute. Then she finally got up, slipped on her dress and walked out.