The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Los Angeles — Early 80s, mid-afternoon

She paused to swallow, feeling horse and raspy from talking for almost an hour straight. She still tasted him from the blowjob given during the single break from the long slow fucking. When he had pulled out—temporarily soft. “That boy has stamina like a mule,” she wondered in that dispassionate part of her mind which through years of training observed and remembered detail instinctively even if her top level of consciousness was lost in an endless ecstasy—she watched him as he leaned over to flip the C-60 in the portable cassette recorder, he nodded towards his dick so she reached out and guided him between her lips and sucked hard, and soon the honey flow of his thick semen soothed her throat and would later continue to coat and flavor her palate as she spilled secret after secret to the rhythm of that marvelously resilient dick. Even after he’d cum at least four times by her count the creamy pace hadn’t done much more than become a continuous luxuriant massage of her sopping cunt walls while his skilled hands wandered between her bulbous bouncing boobies and quivering clit.

In the beginning she had told him all that she knew about her current case, the spying on Annette Bullman and her companions for Billy Banger’s lawyer, digging dirt to be used as leverage for any upcoming settlement talks.

Next she had told what she knew about him, Troy his name was, a beautiful young man with an amazing boner, too untanned pasty-white to have spent any time in California, a friend of Annette’s from Wisconsin; and she told him that one partner in the Redderton’s Investigative Agency was chasing leads there but hadn’t filed any reports yet.

Lulu moaned again and as he has asked began dishing the next hot story of the naughty doings of the rich and famous from their files. All he said when she paused for a breath was, “Interesting. Go on,” and then sometimes when she finished the tale, “Oh, yeah you have a real sweet pussy. Why don’t you cum for me again. All you need to do is tell me another.” And she would. And she did. For what he had simply asked her was to tell him all the best secrets of the agencies clients, starting with Billy Banger, who he now knew had hired Lulu to target Annette and her fellow victims. And as long as Lulu had him injecting her with his own special truth stick, she talked. Remember earlier when he flipped the tape and asked her to suck him hard again she did with no hesitation; he blew a salty load down her throat and then pressed the record and play buttons to start recording again flipping her over on hands and knees and entered her anew, this time not putting a condom on first which she didn’t realize the consequences of until the next month.

Damn it, she’d never in her forty years and two marriages been fucked so long and hard, and felt it so deeply even after she’d decided that life would be easier if she (mostly) played for the other team, but she couldn’t seem to keep her mouth shut or keep a secret. He’d asked her to tell all with the very first thrust of his then rubber encased cock, and when she had he blasted into her and then left her panting as he wiped off with the dishtowel the agency office kitchen used to dry coffee mugs. Three clients betrayed confidences later including one particularly embarrassing incident where a sea-otter was drunkenly mistaken for an affectionate mermaid in a public display at SeaLand, turned into both a hit comedy and a hushed up copyright/slander lawsuit, just as she finished dishing on Travolta, the hot guy on Kotter, the Sweathog, the tape clicked off as it ended its second side.

Back at the restaurant it had seemed so easy, she’d been caught watching the target’s table, there was something about the tall young man, in a town of beautiful people he stood out to her. As the meal went on Lulu found herself transfixed watching him, when she should have been more subtle and watching and listening to the whole table. The bug was knocked out early, so the best she could do was visual observation, and she was usually better at staying unseen than she had been today. Even at the time she was inwardly kicking herself for being so sloppy and unprofessional. Back on the force she’d been good at surveillance, her somewhat stocky build, no fat but not razor thin or super buff like so many in Hollywood usually meant quick dismissals from those looking at her seeking hotter eye-candy. She blended in. She liked to wear somewhat low cut blouses and push-up bras that highlighted her big round breasts and flawless beach-tanned skin, they were her best features, and by showing the boys proudly she indicated that she fit in this town, perhaps not an actress, but a recognizable type of local.

After lunch one of the women, not Annette Bullman or the other women from Brentwood but the stranger named Vicky reached into a small change purse and then rubbed the boy’s hair. A second dip with her fingers into her purse and she reached under the table while he seemed to squirm a bit. A hand job? No, too quick.

Then Lulu was stunned as the guy rose up, walked over to her table and sat opposite her.

“Hi, I’m Troy. What’s your name? Are you watching us?”

Lulu tries to think up the prearranged cover story for getting found out—it happens and you have to be prepared—and smoothly starts to speak, but the words come out shockingly wrong, “I’m Lulu from the Redderton’s Investigative Agency. We’ve been hired to watch you.”

Lulu gasps, that wasn’t what she wanted to say at all, not one tiny bit. But his smile—and she can see there is a kind of purple and orange powder mixed into his hair. She clamps her jaw shut.

He leans close in and looks her deeply and directly in the eyes and says, “A spy! And now I guess you intend to seduce me in order to get me to spill all I know.”

Lulu actually had formed the opinion that Troy probably wasn’t that bright—she’s not sure where that came from—and she probably could get him to talk, but that was something one of the prettier agents would have tried, Lulu was older, wiser and frankly less sure of herself as a seductress. Shocked again, she found herself saying, “That’s the plan,” and accepting his hand when offered to help stand up.

Troy looked her up and down like a hungry wolf at a helpless she-goat. “Where to go? There’s a motel down the street.”

Lulu shivered, that place was a notorious bedbug-ridden hot-sheet hell-hole, and she had enough control to keep from suggesting her own apartment. But there was an apartment the agency used, she’d have to go back to the office for the keys, and wondering where it was all going but finding she didn’t have the energy to care as long as she stared at the god made flesh in front of her—or so it seemed as he came close. “I know a place.”

When they arrived at the office, she told him to stay in the car. He followed her anyway. She let herself in, it was a small operation, just Lulu and two other female ex-cops, both younger and trimmer. One was at the library newspaper and public records office researching Annette Bullman, Cindy Walters, Sylvie Delgato and the one that was just called Nameless, the other was on-route to Wisconsin to dig up dirt there. Billy Banger was sparing no expense and it was full court press time, so the office was empty.

Lulu picked up the key and gathered up a portable tape recorder and box of fresh cassettes. She wasn’t sure why this strategy would work—it didn’t make sense—he’d suggested it after all, but who knew. He was in the outer waiting room, naked when she came out. His stiff rod shone with the same purple and orange glow as his hair. His balls shone even brighter with the sparkly dust mixed deeply into his pubic hair.

“What’s wrong with right here?”

She gulped, but had no words.

“How are you going to seduce me if you still have all your clothes on?”

There was something about the way he said, “Gosh you’re a real babe” that she knew was absolutely sincere—that he really desired her now naked body. It had been a while since she’d had that compliment, recently feeling more and more like the left over second choice when she went out with her younger friends and cop buddies. She had a full body blush that left her neatly trimmed pubes bright red and burning hot. She had an eager beaver.

Troy couldn’t help himself, a trade-off for the “magic” that made fertile women ten or more years older than him find him a highly desirable fuck reflected back to Troy, pulling him forward towards the hot matrons caught in his magnet. A kind of call and response, they got horny and his lust fed off their reactions. And Lulu was, in his opinion, a lulu. Big, it’s true, but in Wisconsin the housewives he picked up at the grocery stores and in the malls sometimes were much larger women. Lulu wasn’t fat, her belly bump was cute, not gross, her legs nicely shaped by the heels she still wore, like a porn star. Hes skin an even creamy tan except the faint bikini lines, which accented her breasts and spa-trimmed crotch.

He sat down on an armless client chair, faux leather, easy to clean and went through the items she’d had in her hands. He placed the recorder on a side table and peeled a cassette from its wrapping and asked, “You were going to record us?”

She nodded shyly.

“OK.” He found that he needed to press both the play and record buttons to get it to work.

He then picked up a condom she’d also brought out of the office. “Do you want me to wear this?”

Again she nodded.

Again he opened a package and then rolled it onto his pecker. “OK, but then you’ll have to do all the work to start. You are seducing me after all. Climb aboard.”

She hesitated, staring at the door to the building’s hall.

Troy laughed, “You better lock the door first.”

With that she raced over and threw the latch, and straddled Troy, tits rubbing each of his cheeks between them, which he gently raised to bring her nipples between gentle biting teeth.

The sense of relief at the back of her mind disappeared as she slid down his pole when he calmly said, “And now you have to tell me all about why you are interested in Annette and the girls.” It was like a spring lock popping open with the right key, it all came flowing out as she bobbed up and down. And it felt so good. And it felt like betrayal.

LA — Early the same day. Gino’s Restaurant, Noon

Lulu Brand, nee Lulabelle Brank, watched closely over the menu as the four young women and the tall man were greeted by the hostess. It had been a couple of years—maybe even five or more since she had last been by herself in the field, she usually worked the phones at the Redderton’s Investigative Agency or backed someone else’s lead on a tail or to cover alternate views. Her partners were the ones who usually did all the active surveillance, but Lulu had the contact at Gino’s Restaurant. She dressed herself smartly, called up the owner of Gino’s who owed her a favour from back when she was on the force, and secured herself a rare last—minute small single table along the inner-side wall with a good view of the booth where her client’s target was sitting. Cindy, an executive assistant for one of the major studio vice-presidents, married to a journeyman TV director, a no longer young no longer wunderkind. In the flower arrangement in front of Cindy was a tiny omni-directional microphone attached to a high frequency transmitter, in Lulu’s ear a hearing aid tuned to listen in.

Lulu recognized as three of the women from her files, they were the other ones held captive in the notorious Brentwood case, names not released to the media but known to half the ambulance chasers in town, plus who she was working for today. Given who her client the older brother was lawsuits were going to be frequent and substantial, even the nuisance ones. Lulu had sipped on her watered down but still excellent margarita and watched as the hostess sized up the arriving group, the perky young hostess’s body language going from clueless tourists—the clothes were not couture or presenting the deliberately under-dressed confidence of the truly privileged and the gawking around made them out-of-towners and certainly not in the business, for Gino’s was difficult to get a reservation in without fame, clout, or outright bribery—to a nod of newly won respect as she led them to Cindy’s booth. “The four women, all of them together” Lulu noted.

Lulu cursed under her breath when after seating the group, the hostess who was in on the spying looked right at her. She had been part of the plan to bug the table, and Lulu worried that the group would notice her because of it, and tried to look away without seeming furtive, but it was enough to make Vicky look over at the middle aged woman sitting studying the menu. Big boned but not a bad looker, some evidence of hair-dye and long hours on a stair-master. Vicky was reminded a bit of Gail, whose return to competitive dancing had built muscle and flattened her tummy. The woman was trying not to stare their way, but as Vicky was sitting beside Troy, so to her an explanation was obvious. Lately she’d often point gawking women out to him—he was sometimes so oblivious. Send him off to have an adventure. The woman was looking directly at them, then looking away, then looking again. Vicky didn’t see any drool, but if she kept watching him sooner or later she’d jump Troy right at the table. Vicky had seen it before, once a lady had focused in on him, it was like two magnets at different ends of a room, and slowly they’d start moving together, but then BAM! the force of attraction would seal the deal. Vicky wasn’t sure if this constituted a personality change on Troy’s part, he’d always been a horndog who lived to dip his wick, but after Eggy, that’s me your humble storyteller, came along and made some changes, the magnet pulled strongest to and with women in their late 30’s and early 40’s, exactly like the one across the room. At minimum she’d be disappointed if Troy didn’t do her later.

Vicky had observed this dance since Eggy had released them from the restriction that the group would only do unto each other. Troy with some middle-aged beauty full of grace and dignity on the hook and slowly losing herself like a rock groupie. And the idiot didn’t realize it half the time. It didn’t take any great intuition to spot another squirming in her seat Susan Q. Housewife staring at him. On the other hand, Troy thoroughly believed she had some magic bird dog powers—well she did control the group’s collected manna as the guardian of the book, but this was just an eye for detail—and Troy was always grateful when she pointed the hot and bothered mamas out, most recently on the flight here.

Sure enough, when Vicky put on the altered glasses she could see that Cindy too had a glowing collar and leash around her neck leading to Annette’s wrist. Then Vicky scanned the room, some of the diners were more than they seemed on first glance, there was a kind of glow that emanated to various degrees, and on closer inspection several of those with an aura were people she knew from TV or the movies. “Isn’t that Don Johnson?” she whispered to Cindy.

“Yes. It’s ok to notice the stars, the secret is to do it discretely.”

“OMG, that’s Laverne!” Annette cried a little louder than she’d intended.

The three women on leads all swiveled their heads in almost exactly the same motion. Cindy winced, and Annette said, “Sorry.”

Annette had explained to Troy and Vicky that Cindy worked for a studio as an EA, which was more than a fancy name for secretary, she had stumbled into the Brentwood nest of vipers and had seen too much and was being given her first treatment on the machine that exploded at the same time Annette was first hooked in. In fact all four were hooked up, but only Annette walked away with leads on her wrist, the others ended up with the collars. All assumed this was because Annette had been first on the circuit, but in fact it was the feedback from her safeguards that I’d put in place that had caused the machine to explode, taking out all of the gang of their captors and blowing a hole out the roof that sent the fire department and police into the gated compound. The leads were a result of protections given to the innocent victims, replacing physical damage done by burning-hot shrapnel with a conduit from Annette’s manna enhanced body to Cindy, Sylvie and Nameless. Without it they’d all be a hideous mess in the burn ward or dead like the men. Vicky had called me out the previous night for an explanation, and though I was reluctant to interfere with Annette’s life until she invited me back in, I couldn’t refuse the master of the book. The magic glasses gave Vicky an excuse for knowing things without invoking me, Annette didn’t know. And now through them she saw the audio bug in the centerpiece, and casually knocked it over while gesturing and telling Annette to get a grip and play it cool with the fan girl gushing. Annette glared back at her, and so did Cindy, Sylvie and Nameless.

Troy said, “Whoa!”

The girls all looked daggers at each other until Annette broke and started giggling, and so they were all laughing when Troy blew a sigh of relief.

A busboy came over and wiped up the spilled water, Vicky told him to just take it away. And so the bug was lost, and all Lulu could do was watch while out of earshot the target table said many things she’d have wanted to know. Vicky also detected where the bug was aimed and made sure that the woman had a good view of Troy, leaning back slightly so he was more clearly in her path.

Over lunch each told their story of how they were captured, except for Nameless who remained mute and strongly resisted any inquiry into her past. They talked about what to do about a lawsuit and who to sue. This mostly came down to an argument as to the culpability of Billy Banger, the elder brother of Roger, one of the killed captors, though not the leader of that group.

Billy was a big star about to get bigger. His first feature after a long-running TV series had been a hit and the critics and box-office agreed. The first sequel even more so, but by this time a problem had emerged, Billy’s social crowd and the one that his younger brother gathered had always intermixed, the “loser kid brother and his friends” had always been tolerated at parties and social outings where Billy was a desired guest. But they had been found out talking to the tabloids, and been banished. To make it up for them, Billy had bought a party house on a low hill on the edge of Brentwood, on enough land to have both a main house and a guest suite off the pool and let them live there as a bit-too-old frat house. Sometimes Billy even came for a visit or to watch a football game.

But the guys missed the steady stream of starlets and party girls that seemed to gravitate to Billy. None of them were in any way successful enough in the industry—some bit parts and extra work—to get even the c-listers to come to their parties, though there was always the chance of one or two new-to-town hopefuls with a hot body and a lack of common sense to make at least a first visit. But no girls seemed to stick around. Then they met this mad electrochemist named Markus.

Troy looked up at the newcomer and said, “Hi, I’m Troy.” He ran his hand through his hair, which raised a sparkly purple and orange halo over his head. “Lulu tried to seduce me to get all sorts of nasty secrets about my friend Annette Bullman. She was very good.” He slaps Lulu’s rear affectionately and she sinks to the floor.

Lulu hid her face in her hands, but otherwise sat sprawled legs wide open, back to a file cabinet, tits squeezed between her arms, with milky fluid leaking out of her twat onto the hardwood floor.

“Not good enough though. You’re Christie, right? I know what you’re thinking, ‘if Lulu almost broke him, I gotta have a better chance.’ Right? You’re thinking Lulu had the right idea, but fell short in execution, that you’re a way better fuck. So now you are going to get me all hot with a striptease—to make me weak and ready to talk. Lulu told me all about what you did to Anson Williams. But I defy you to try that with me. I defy both of you to try to break me at the same time. You can’t break me! I dare you! Do your worst! I double dare you!” He then grabbed his balls and shook, raising a second cloud of purple and orange sparkles over top of his dick. “I’m waiting.”

Troy had been intending on leaving after the tape was done. When Christie walked in, he was about to ask Lulu to gather up and give him any paperwork that related to Annette and the girls, also any phone records, interview and other recordings audio and video. RIA’d have a hard time restarting on the case, if their client didn’t just demand their money back for incompetence.

He trusted that Vicky wouldn’t freak if he didn’t get back until later. He knew she wanted him to at least have a quickie with Cindy before the weekend was done to give her the health advantages of having one of the original seven guys’ top 10 sperm lurking quietly in her womb, not dying, alert, and fiercely combative against any disease that touched the reproductive system, such as in her blood, and through blood her heart and liver. He’d fucked Sylvie and Nameless the night before, both were on the pill, but from now on any unprotected spurting in their wombs would add one name to Troy’s standing in the expecting column on the mystically updating whiteboard—everybody who saw it called it the “score” board—in Sam’s room of potential pregos, knocked-up nookie and newly-delivered bundles of joy.

All 10 lurking swimmers have a mystic geas that detected when unprotected consensual sex had left their home previously satisfied womb with fresh visitors it would result in one of the ten best of the sneaky spermatozoa impregnating her—“best” chosen by a complex formula—that sperm evolving, always merging with any other sperm in her from every individual donor, sorting and discarding DNA, taking the best from them into their code. Always giving something in the future child that is recognizable to each potential father to make them see “mine”; a nose, a mannerism, a way of walking, hair, and so on. But any and all birth control attempts made even as hit and miss as rhythm methodologies would work—even late douching within 30 minutes after sex would be effective if it was done with contraception in mind. Otherwise 100% of the time, a kid. Super-healthy and beautiful. Lucky. Smart. Well-liked because they’d know what to say. Each of the seven guys pass along good health plus their unique special traits, Carl’s cum for example passes to his sons huge dicks and their powers to initially frighten and ultimately delight and mold their partners orifices entered to always have the perfect size on every subsequent fuck, blowjob or buggery. To his daughters he passed along his trait of fucking anything likely if it seems like a good idea at the time. Troy passed along his lust for and attraction to older by half a generation lovers through both his sons and daughters, but that isn’t triggered until they reach 18. At which point they fuck like rabbits, just like Dad.

But the special traits of the original 14 manifest only in descendants with two or more of the originals in their family tree—even if down several generations and only a fraction of the total ancestry—and only those descendants will be potential busy bee manna collectors for the guardian of the book and by extension your humble narrator, the GotB’s grand vizier and dogsbody—well bird body at the moment. My current shape, should you ask, is sort of like a large dark purple eagle with orange crests at the tips of my feathers, and an orange belly. Standing I’m about four foot high, I can make myself larger, but this size seems to work well in human sized rooms.

So Annette and Carl’s child when she gives birth in less than a year and a half will grow up with both their gifts in effect, from her an ability to concentrate and a gift for words and writing, from him a horny and not very discriminating nature, and if male a huge wonder dick that passes along some powerful resizing-for-a-perfect-fit-on-the-fly abilities to every of all their lovers fleshy orifices as it’s introduced into them. But the six—at this time—other pregnancies and three dozen dormant sperm clusters then sitting in different wombs waiting for a birth control slip up, potential preggos Carl has credited on the mystic board with women from outside the group—along with Sheila he had returned to the swinging scene in a big way—would not have those traits but pass them along.

A benefit of Carl and Sheila hitting up a key party, a gang bang or an orgy every weekend is the massive reduction in suburban middle-aged middle-class VD. Like a reverse patient 0 all the women he fucked had his disease fighting cum waiting to destroy any and all microbiological baddies. Including any nasties introduced in or on a visiting male member. Because of Carl inside of five years in Milwaukee you were less likely to have the clap if you were a swinger than a non-swinger would in Boise.

Also as a public health service Carl hired the occasional hooker. Even if she was careful with Carl his hardy semen would live on, clearing her system of disease and virus, and temporarily cleaning out any future john’s reproductive system of any crabs, clap or other type of sex-spread disease. Of course said john could always catch whatever again, but any woman who’d had Carl cum in her cooze, thus every whore he usually paid a generous tip to were now like a human car wash on their lovers and clients dicks. Scrubbed away all the nasties and left them fresh and clean. And whenever the high priced call girl or lowly street walker that Carl hired—he wasn’t that fussy and liked variety—when that woman got knocked up through some birth control slip-up or deliberate secession she’d seek a safe and nurturing environment for her child, her and all the “1 Ups” mothers and children will have a guardian birdie making their luck, a handsome and powerful fellow if I do say so myself.

Of course these health protections began with the original women who also had the ability to scrub their lovers clean through fluid contact once they had fucked any of the guys.

Only children where both parents are of the original set will be extra special to begin with. I designed it so there isn’t a massive flood of “freaks” hitting adolescence and causing curiosity among geneticists and sociologists who may become alarmed and cause trouble. There’s a carefully worked out balance between the number of additional “2 Ups” as I call them, kids with two or more special primogenitors and “1 Ups” who will act as improved DNA carriers, guys with the same special type of cum but without, for example, Will’s sweet taste or Stella’s ass of wonder. But generally attractive, healthy, lucky and with great concentration. That’s why neither I nor Vicky was letting Annette off the hook on her upcoming pregnancy by Carl, those second generation kids will be important to the whole project while it may take time before enough “1 Ups” breed with other “1 Ups” to be sustaining in and of themselves. Annette’s reaped the benefits of the changes as much as any of them had, and we insist she pay the price. Her attitude was guaranteed to change once she was actually pregnant, that is predetermined, but until then what kvetching. Besides when she sees the boost pregnancy gives in slowing aging among the other women, her kid number 2 and after shouldn’t cause anywhere near as much angst.

Vicky and I had talked about it and she had plans that will make it easier for Annette to pursue her Hollywood dreams as well as incubating her own little bundle of 2 Up.

As every child who’s a “2 up” has will already meet the precondition of two original generation ancestors, and so have various talents manifest, some like health at birth, some not until the age of 16, 18 or 21 depending on the raunchiness.

The women spent the afternoon in Gino’s getting quietly sloshed. It was the first time Cindy and Annette had actually been together and talking since the hospital, and they were both so shaken at the time that nothing much was said.

Annette firmly but politely asked Cindy what she could do to help with finding work, adding as an afterthought that she didn’t just mean acting. Cindy asked about any training.

“Not really.”

“What have you done?”

With this Vicky butts in, “She co-wrote a best-seller last year! And a porno. No, not a movie. A novel. It’s hot.”

Annette glares daggers at her, but Cindy and the girls all lean in expectantly. Vicky continues, “Look, you’re bound together. She and her father are Miss R and Mr. R, and their book is My Dear, You’ve Got Good Taste—A Personal Journey.”

Cindy sputters, “Oh my... Really? How then..? Did you...you know? Every studio in town wants to license the title. ”

Annette sighs, “Yeah, but my dad—and no we didn’t, we did our research apart, I’m cool with you guessing that—everyone does, but when you meet him—he’s got a thing about people thinking he’s sucked my clit and that sets him off. But by all accounts he’s the top puss-gobbler in the world, I guess you’ll all get to meet him at some point,” She grins.

“I can testify to Sam Bullman’s talents, and ...” Vicky reached down between her legs, up her dress and onto her silk panty-covered pussy and rubbed, “Ooooooh! Just imagining...”

Sitting back up perkily, “In other words totally worth it.”

Annette and Vicky looked at each other and started giggling like grade sixers.

“I take it that you are committed to remain anonymous then. But I know of a writing job if you want to try for it... to audition you’ll have to write some six page episode outlines for a new evening soap. I have some samples as far as what they want, and I have the bible—that’s the book with all the info on the characters and setting and other things that need to be consistent. It’s a bunch of good looking young urban professionals who live in a funky former warehouse turned into lofts that can be tastefully furnished by the show’s sponsor, a retail rent-to-own chain. They have lots of implied sex and improbable adventures. Skate the edge of smut, Push tenderly at what can be shown in the ten o’clock broadcast slot. I can guarantee they’ll at least buy scenes if they’re hot. If you want to do it you’ll need to sign a contract, but that’ll pay a few bucks and put you on the books, anything they actually want to use they’ll then give you studio—union scale to start. If more than 80% of an episode is deemed to be written by you then you are the named lead writer and get paid by a larger scale. They may go with a bullpen approach and offer you a staff writer job if you could face that. All I can do is make sure your outlines are read. Can you do four in a week?”

“Of course she can do it!” Vicky acclaims.

“Only if you stay and help me.” Annette turns to Cindy, “Vicky was my proofreader and typist and research subject,” and telling Vicky, “I can do it if you help.” She added, “She really put herself out on the porno.”

“Um... OK How does this sound. I’ll stay a week, but after that you’ll have to do it yourself or find someone else to assist. What about having these two watch and help us and then they’d be sort of trained. They need something to do. I think I have enough powder left in the pouch to goose the process. How about it girls, do you want to help Annette write for the big TV show?”

“Yeah,” Sylvie says happily, “I can type.”

“Bonus! Now the first lesson. Pay attention to what I do. To be a good assistant, start a new project by gathering information.”

Vicky then asks Cindy, “Please tell us more about the show, who’s the main hunk and who is he fucking? Is there an evil slut? Annette could write a great evil slut. Any actors signed up yet?”

Facing Sylvie, looking directly in her eyes Vicky says, “See what I did in there? The sell? That’s part of the job too. Not too often so as you become a joke, unless that leads to work that Annette wants to do. Understand? Take it professionally, you’re going to need some boring office stuff. A day-timer. A file cabinet. A pencil sharpener. Fuzzy handcuffs. Nipple clamps. That kind of stuff.”

There was something about how Vicky had said “evil slut” that caused Annette to blush as she realized she had three women at her beck and call and they knew it, and her admittedly limited Wisconsin humility finally completely cracked and she stopped thinking so much of where they had been and looking at them as fellow victims, Nameless the most obviously broken. The “The Annette Bullman” was born in that instant. After months of frustration her strong but not very well defined ambition was now pointing towards a target she knew she could hit ten times out of ten. The future beckoned. And a fair chunk of her mid-western humility flew the coop.

And by the next two cocktails Annette had three fair, four good, and two excellent plot ideas while feeling better about allowing Troy to escape.

They had planned some tipsy shopping at Frederick’s but finding someone spying on them was alarming, they grabbed a cab back to Annette’s hoping Troy was there or that he’d left a message on the answering machine—Annette regretted not knowing how to retrieve messages remotely.

Sure enough there was a message waiting, Troy sounded like he was having fun, and he’d be back at the apartment soon. He had left a number, and when she called a breathy female voice said, “Redderton’s Aaaahhh Redderton’s Investigative Ahhhhgency.”

Vicky smirked at knowing she had called the right number. “Put Troy on you tramp.”

“He is on Ma’am. In deep tooooo. Hey, you up there with the dick. It’s your mom, now on speakerphone.”

Vicky decided she really liked the woman Troy was banging on the other end of the phone line. “Ha! He’s good, isn’t he?”

On arriving back at the apartment Annette had been anxious to get her ideas down on paper. She demanded, “Take this down—Sketch 1 Scene between ex-lovers who find themselves face to face and ‘everything else’ to ‘everything else’ at a nudist beach. He fails to hide his feelings. Then...”

“Whoa! Let’s do this right,” Vicky said. Talking to Sylvie and Nameless, she added, “Annette has superb concentration. You can’t throw her off track by interrupting—she’ll always pick up where she left off—it’s a gift. Get set up properly at the start of a session. Trust me, it’s a pain later if you don’t. In fact expect the occasional paddling, Annette will tell you why you deserved it.”

Annette looked on bemused, Vicky was doing great. Annette was initially tempted to explain everything. But Vicky taking charge had left her mysterious to the women, which felt right.

“Annette tends to pace and prowl when she’s dictating. She can become very grabby. Go with it. You won’t spoil her train of thought by interrupting her. Sometimes she needs a cuddle or a licking to get over a writing block. Again, she’ll always pick up where she left off—it’s a gift. She writes best when there are strong vibes of steaming female horniness, perfume and silk and erotic pictures. Sometimes you can add a guy or a girl to the writing session, as long as the guy will do exactly what she wants. Hence bringing Troy here.”

“I want to get my ideas on paper, like tonight you know.”

“Just a jiff, hon!” Vicky kissed Annette on the cheek, which shocked her into temporary silence.

“When we worked on Taste we always wore our hottest lingerie. Let’s start right with everyone wearing something they bought yesterday.”

Cindy comments that she didn’t go with them shopping at the Rodeo Drive boutiques.

Vicky asks Annette, “Cindy’s about the same size as you. Do you still have that red demi-bra and matching split-crotch panties and garters, with the see-through red peignoir? Can Cindy borrow it?”

Annette asks, “Do you want to get in my split-crotch panties?”

A quick nod and Annette and Cindy head to the bedroom while Sylvie, Nameless and Vicky take their purchases from bags in the hall closet and strip naked. Sylvie dresses quickly in a short pink nightie and calves length tan doeskin booties with a two inch heel. Soft but strong. Vicky had splurged on many outfits and pieces as a treat for Andy when she got back, so had a hard time selecting. Nameless saw her indecision and went to help, picking out a cunt-hair thin thigh-length rich electric-blue pure silk robe, with a flesh tone push-up bra and black nylons, two-inch heels, no panties and no belt to tie it closed, just a single metal snap just below her belly button and above her pubes. As Nameless handed each piece to Vicky she put it on, but was dubious that it’d all work, it was only when Vicky saw herself in the full length mirror that she realized that she looked damn sexy. “Shit girl, you’re good at this,” she complimented Nameless. Nameless pulled an armless small men’s “Rod’s Gym” muscle t-shirt over her head. Braless her model-slim torso pushed boldly at the logo raising perky little molehills, not mountains, stiff nipples thrusting through. Then she went to a bag from a different store.

Vicky’s eyes bugged out, “What? Are you really going to wear that?”

Sylvie just burst out laughing.

Nameless had strapped a belt around her waist and between her legs that had a dildo holder in front out of which a lifelike flesh (“Caucasian” on the box) dingus bobbed upwardly at about a 30 degree angle. It even had fake dangling balls. Nameless mimed walking like a body builder swaying side to side and then she belched and scratched the fake balls.

Sylvie and Vicky doubled over in laughter.

“Well, that’s what I’d call a statement of intent, Nameless. Honestly that’s brilliant. I’m sure what we come up with tonight will be brilliant too. It’s great that Cindy is here—we’re going to get this project off with a bang!”

Forty minutes later a taxi pulled in front of Annette’s pad. Troy and the two detectives got out; each woman carried a file box as they went through the lobby and into the elevator. One box carried all the case notes and other material related to the Brentwood case and the cassettes Troy recorded with Lulu and Christie. The other box was filled with sex toys, the four that were found secreted around the office plus the dozen that Lulu came down with from her condo when they did a quick detour. Lulu would have to earn her sex toys back one at a time.

Troy carried three large pizza boxes from a take-out they hit up on the way.

Vicky had been unsure about bringing the detectives to Annette’s, but Troy wasn’t wrong when he pointed out that once he left any hold they had on them was gone, and that Vicky was the one with the change purse full of magic dust. Well, not full anymore, but Annette had a plan on how to generate enough manna to refill the bag and even leave some for next week. Troy would be hard-pressed and pressed hard tonight. Vicky had packed a hip flask of Betty’s Tonic, which she’d ration out tonight. She had a plan on how to silence the spies, and it’d require a lot of mystical power. To collect enough manna for everything Vicky needed an orgy and Troy was the only male she trusted here, so it’d have to be herself, Annette, the three leashed ladies and the two detectives. Good time for Annette to give a cunt-lapping demo with lots of practice afterwards. She may not be as skilled as Sam, but she was his equal as a teacher. Plus use whatever toys Troy had scooped from the older detective’s apartment.

Troy had told the private eyes that if they wanted to get the real dirt to be quiet and observe, so they said nothing as they entered the apartment where Annette and four other women were lounging in some spectacularly sexy underthings and night wear. Lulu recognized them from Gino’s, and Christie knew them from the research she had done that afternoon.

Vicky looked up from where she had been writing on a foolscap pad at the kitchen table, robe falling open as she leaned forward showing her pink nipples on modest but beautifully rounded hooters. “Put the boxes here. What’s your names?”

Christie recognized Vicky’s voice from the phone. About the same age as Troy, certainly not his mom. All Christie had found out in her research was Troy and Vicky’s names, she had been more focused on the four from Brentwood than a couple of youngsters from the Boondocks, neither old enough to be a lawyer. Who they hired for the inevitable lawsuit was one of the things the detective agency had been tasked to find out ASAP.

The mystery woman, the one who hadn’t been identified, who seemed to be mute opened one box and started to empty it on the table, laying out dildos, plugs, lubes and creams, and a couple of Betamax tapes. Lulu flushed, she didn’t care so much what Troy and the girls saw, but her sex life was being exposed to her business partner Christie. One tape was The Sultan’s Widows which promised hot girl-on-girl action. As Nameless picked it up she raised her eyebrows and made a point of showing everyone.

“Yeah, so I’m a perv! Like you aren’t,” Lulu broke her silence.

“No, not at all. We’re just pretty broad-minded. So what are you going to do tomorrow? Run to tell Billy and his lawyers you both fucked all the people you were supposed to be discretely watching?”

“Yeah. It’ll get us fired, but we owe that to them. They are the client.”

“Fair enough. You know our story, right. Kidnapped. Held captive. Almost killed when their brain-washing machine blew up-killed them all. The press says we survived because we were grounded together or something. Before that the assholes screwed up Nameless so badly she can’t talk and doesn’t want to know who she was. How responsible do you think Billy is?”

“Some. Not very. He gave them the house and an allowance. But he swears he didn’t know what they were doing. Finding starlets and wanna-be’s to fuck shouldn’t have been a problem for them, except they were such losers—who wanted a sure thing. And that nutbar Markus. Billy couldn’t stand him.”

Sylvie adds, “They smelled bad and were jerks too.”

Christie blurted, “And what about how you are treating us. Me and Lulu. It isn’t right either.”

Christie was the youngest of the Reddertons—just thirty, one of the first African American women detectives on the LAPD in the 70’s, one of the first fired when she was caught blowing a drug dealer to the stars for inside dirt to make headline grabbing arrests. Her posture was perfect, her tits high and proud, her waist slender, her mind sharp, and her ethics strictly self-interested. A tight afro with bleached white highlights gave her a professional air, though she had dressed for a day in the air-conditioned library, almost all her clothes were left back at the office, She still had her miniskirt and heels, and on top only a rather too small pink cardigan that her other partner kept in the office waiting-room closet.

Troy smiled at that, “Hey, I got the lowdown on how you operate. From Lulu today. Want to hear the tapes? Bugging. Badger games. Blackmail. Break and enter. If all else fails, fuck your way to success. For shame. I think Annette can use that. Your secret plan to infiltrate us means you have to listen to her and Vicky and do what they say. ”He reached over and undid the buttons on her sweater, which like Vicky bared her breasts yet covered the shoulders and arms. “There, no longer overdressed. Now you fit in.”

Vicky cleared her throat. “So we’re not going to hurt you, and we’re not going to keep you or even tell you not to talk. But I need you on our side. And there’s only one way that seems to work I can think of. I bet you don’t believe me but you’ll be better off.” She puts on the purple and orange glasses and has Annette and Sylvie move so that the leash between Annette’s wrist and Sylvie’s neck shrinks to about a foot long, then carefully sprinkles some of the powder along its length and where it circles Sylvie’s neck. Pinching the end near Sylvie, she gives the collar part a short sharp tug, and the end separates and starts flailing around like a headless snake.

Annette and the Brentwood women gasp. Troy and the detectives see nothing so peer closer. Sylvie’s collar is still there, but a new lead has separated, attached at one end to Annette’s wrist with the others. Vicky thrusts the twisting leash towards Christie’s neck, where it snaps around joining seamlessly to itself. “Oh gawd.” Christie goes in involuntary orgasm.

Lulu’s stunned, “What did you do to her?”

“Nothing bad. Your turn. Sit still. You may want to remove your panties first.”

“Troy didn’t let me put them back on,” she said.

“Ah, thinking ahead. That’s our Troy. Here’s a towel to sit on.” Vicky repeated the process with the same result, and when it was done Annette had two new leashes on her wrist. These were thinner than the others, both glowed purple and orange to Vicky and all the others, who could see all the leads. The only difference was a small control box with a dial near Annette on the new ones. Vicky explained that it was like a volume control, Annette could raise or lower the strength of the connection. “I want to try to put one of these on the other three leads, not today, but later if this works.”

Annette turned the knob on Lulu’s down to the minimum, and immediately she tried to tear off the connection. All that happened is it stretched and snapped back. The knob was then turned all the way up, and Annette asked, “So how do you feel now?”

“Like I’d do anything to make you happy. I’m so ashamed at trying to hurt you. Let me make it up to you. Please!” And then Lulu started crying.

Annette rotated the dial back to a middle position, “Nice.”

Vicky nodded, “Best I could think up short notice. I’m almost out of powder though. You want to do another sketch?”

“Yeah. That last one was good. Do you think Wild Carl will recognize himself? Pffft-hahaha! It’s like having the girls here feeds my imagination.” She turns to Cindy, “I don’t think I could be as good writing in a bullpen with a bunch of guys—I mean without it turning into an orgy. Maybe it’s a crutch, doing it like this. With company but just me writing and getting your reactions. This feels right.” She turns to the detectives who are gazing at her with admiration, as she’s bumped up their dials by a quarter rotation. “It’s Showtime.”

Vicky takes up pen and paper, then has a thought she shares, “Cindy need to fuck Troy. Let’s do this one while they get it on.”

Troy sniffs his pits, “I should shower first.”

“That’ll wash off all the dust. But I think we’re ok, it might be dangerous to leave on too long. Cindy, can you wait?”

“If I have to.”

“Lulu can warm you up, she digs pervs.”

Annette turns the dials way up, then looks over, “Lulu eat her out. And Nameless, as long as you have that thing wagging around, why don’t you welcome Christie to Annette’s Happy Little Harem. Vicky, pen up. And listen to this one, I think it’s the best story yet. Sketch 4—Francis moves in and hosts an S&M theme party, we’ll call it a ”Leather and Lace“ party in the script, for the new neighbors at the same time Daniel’s smoking hot but prudish country cousin drops by for a visit...”

When Troy comes out of the bathroom dripping wet and a towel around his waist he quietly goes to Cindy and taps her shoulder while Annette and Vicky are engrossed with a complex scene involving wife-swapping gone comically wrong due to mistaken identity, it’s a cliché, but they’ve come up with some new twists, and are going back and forth on details. Troy motions silently for Cindy to get up off the kitchen chair, where he sat and removed the towel, revealing his revived erection and with hand motions indicates that she should sit on it, reverse cowgirl so he can play with her tits. When Cindy sinks down his prick Annette exhales and grabs herself, the sensation traveling from Cindy up the leash. But other than this Annette never loses a syllable, even as Troy and Cindy start bouncing faster and faster. When Cindy then Troy cum Annette flushed and finished her latest seed of Emmy-bait, the last for the evening idea, with “And they all fucked happily ever after.”

Only then did the other women, even Vicky turn their attention from the storyteller, aware of what just happened across the room for the first time as Troy and Cindy sat in a slowly moving over the shoulder kiss, still connected deep inside her. Vicky observed, “I think that was the best one of all.” The detectives were confused by what was going on, but as with everything else Lulu was filing away the events in her memory to mull over later. Troy no longer seemed the irresistible golden man, the shower had cleared off all the dust, though not all had gone down the drain and until Annette and the girls moved they came out of the bath or shower hornier than they went in. As did the next couple of tenants. But that hardly mattered, the whole infiltrate and fuck the truth out of the targets scheme seemed so naive to Lulu now, replaced by a burning loyalty to Annette. Though she hadn’t noticed at the time how Troy and Cindy were balling on the chair across the room, it turned Lulu on, and in retrospection she found herself hot-cunted and wanting another fuck, but was too shy to ask.

Troy sprayed some water from the sink on his crotch and used a paper towel to wipe himself, and threw the roll to Cindy. Nodding his head at the Redderton women, “You know their partner is spying on Annette’s folks. We should warn them.”

Vicky nodded, “I called Andy earlier and let him know.”

“Vicky!”

“No ’Nette, I didn’t tell your folks, all I told Andy was that there’d be some detective getting dirt and to watch out and warn everyone. But you do need to talk to your folks. And, probably talk to you know what.”

The “you know what” being your humble narrator.

“Tomorrow. Yes. I promise. I’ll call mom. Now I need a fuck and a nap. Troy, Vicky, come with me to the bedroom. The rest of you, Cindy call a cab home, we’ll go through the drafts tomorrow and Sylvie will type them up. Call two or three cabs, everyone who doesn’t live here, out! I want to try a full script and we need to read that bible to see if we are on track. Geeze that was fun, but I need a stiffie and a friendly tongue and some private time with my friends who came all this way to see me.”

“Wait. One thing more. Ladies,” Vicky turns to the detective women who are redressing, “Annette and I don’t care what you tell Mr. Banger and his lawyers, here’s our offer. Sign over the house in Brentwood, it’s a teardown wreck but the land is prime. No loans, no liens, all taxes and utilities paid, no hidden costs, free and clear. Billy can keep any insurance money after demolition which he pays for. Do that and Sylvie will go public with a statement that Billy Banger had nothing to do with his brother’s depraved criminality. Then we all will shut up. She has no family or community the tabloids could bug. No one seems to know where Nameless comes from and Annette’s family have are pretty good at staying off the radar if we don’t push it. The rest of us will stay anonymous, no public announcement of our names. Turned over equally to all four of us who were held there. Do you think we could force a better settlement?” She picks up the change purse that has just a trace of the powder left, though they don’t know that.

“You could rob Fort Knox with that.”

“But we’re fair and honest.” Annette turns the volume on those leashes right down to a quarter so we get a real reaction. “Tell the truth. OK, is that fair? And do you want a chance to do this again?”

“The lawyers will squawk with any fast settlement. Smaller fees for less work. Billy’s smart enough to see through that. The land is probably about three million, which is about what you’d end up with in a couple of years in court. It’s worth extra to him to make it go away faster, you could squeeze harder,” Lulu said. “They’d be stupid not to take it.”

“Hell yes I want to do this again,” Christie adds. “It’s a fucking ringside seat. At a fuck television circus.”

Vicky nods and says, “Well, there’s still the detective in Wisconsin, what should they tell her?”

Annette thinks for a second, “The truth. Mostly. Tell her that things have changed and you are now go-betweens. No details until you can explain it in person. Tell her that she should delay coming back to LA, and continue to learn about the Bullmans. That it’s important to get on their good side. That their OK will help any settlement with Billy.” She explains to Vicky, “It’ll be a good test of how good their defenses are. Your folks still want a quiet life.” Returning to Lulu, she adds, “ And when you eventually meet them laugh at Sam’s jokes, compliment Betty when she gives you homemade baking. I’ll let my folks know she’s coming. Then tell her that she should try to get Sam Bullman to give her head. If she asks why, say you’ll explain when she gets back to LA, but it’s strategically important that it happens… Actually on second thoughts see what Billy says tomorrow first and then we’ll figure something out.”

Vicky whispers in Annette’s ear. She nods agreement.

Vicky asks, “How do you talk to her? Do you banter or is it all business?”

Lulu answers, “Banter. Hollywood. It’s expected.”

“So when you suggest asking Sam to muff-dive her make it seem like a bantery dirty joke.”

Annette gets where this is going, “Yeah. If she can’t do that, then tell her to see if she can suck Will off, that’s my brother. Or do both. And for sure tell her she should try some of my mum’s special baking, mom’s sure to offer, she’s writing a cookbook. And do it, you know, all banter like. Make it seem like a tease.”

Vicky digs in her purse and brings out a half empty Tic-Tac box. She dumps the contents and puts a sparkling pinch of the powder into it, about a quarter teaspoon worth, snaps its lid back on and hands it to Lulu. “When you’re talking to your partner, what’s her name?”

“Sunflower. Sunflower Dyck. Her folks were beatnik Amish.”

Sylvie guffaws as Vicky continues, handing the box to Lulu, “When you talk to her shake this out onto the phone.”

On leaving Lulu tries to take her box of sex toys, Nameless bats her hand away, then picks up one of the smaller vibrators and hands it to her. Sylvie smirks, “this’ll have to do for now.”

Annette hold up her wrist with the five leads on it and points to Troy, then makes a fuck gesture by moving the fingers of one hand through a ring of her other.

Vicky hands the glasses over to Troy who says, “Oooh, that’s what you mean by leashes.”

Sylvie interprets, “Don’t worry about getting off again. When Annette fucks Troy seven ways on Sunday in a bit you’ll feel it all through these.” She gently lifts Lulu and Christie’s glowing cables. “So will Cindy, Nameless and me too. Consider it a perk from your new client if you must. I don’t think you should drive tonight. And in the future one of your jobs will be to get Annette spectacularly laid. A-list but no assholes. B-list if they’re beautiful. Gender flexible. She’s picky so we’ll talk later.”

Vicky gave Sylvie a nod of approval. She’s going to be an excellent assistant.

As the cabs arrive Annette tells the detectives that she’d call their office at three the next afternoon for a progress report.

So this is where I finally was invited into the whole mess, the next morning after sending Troy off to the airport with one last round of LA pussy, Annette called her folks to tell them a highly edited version of the recent events and declare that no, she wasn’t going to move back to Milwaukee, and to expect a visitor that needed some special attention. Then Vicky went “out for jog” and out of Annette’s view called me up, filled me in as above and told me to make Sunflower’s visit with the Bullmans a fucktastic occasion. With Lulu planting the ideas of possible sex acts in her head, memories of the conversation and an intense curiosity of what they would be like will trigger on meeting the other Bullmans and all I had to do was limit her reluctance to engage in all sorts of happy and horny encounters with Annette’s friends and family. Put her in a fuck fog where she will emerge a changed woman with a new sense of purpose and 10 special visitors waiting to give her later joy. From what Lulu said about her not much persuasion would be needed, mostly a dampening of whatever professionalism she thought she had—and maybe some of Betty’s special punch. No need to put her on a leash, her partners’ approval and her own experiences should be enough to turn her to Team Eggy, as I still liked to call it despite my demotion to second fiddle.

Vicky later told me that Annette that night said to her, “Now don’t let Will claim I never do anything for him. Ha! Dad’s first lick of her snatch or one suck of bro’s dick and she’ll be hooked. I bet she’ll really like eating mom’s muffin, if you know what I mean, nod nod wink wink.” I don’t believe she did use those exact words though; Monty Python wasn’t something Annette paid any attention to, but Vicky watched it with Andy every week on PBS.

Christie dunked her pretzel in the cold decaf and sucked its salty curve. After getting back to the office the two agents had cleaned themselves as best they could and headed down the block to their usual corner table at the back of the 24 Hour Winchell’s Donuts. She and Lulu were still trying to figure out what had happened, and the best they could come up with was, “Fucked if I know. Fuck!”

Lulu noticed a pulse travel through her lead like a doctor’s finger on a wrist. She had been toying with it between her fingertips, rolling back and forth. There wasn’t time for this to register though, an instant later her mind was hit with a wave of pleasure which spread like wildfire right down to her toes, hitting her clit particularly hard. A faint image of what was happening at the other end of the cord formed in her mind, interpreting the intense physical sensations.

“He slipped it in herrrrrr!”

Across the table Christie is gripping its chrome edges, leaning forward tits shaking and mouth wide. “I knooow!”

“Now someone is also licking her clit while he p-p-pounds away”

“I k-k-know!”

Later finally slipping into her own bed, alone and going over the events of the day in her mind, organizing to help her accurately remember, Lulu found this exercise at drifting off time most days useful and today, well yesterday now, it was quite memorable. Lulu realized that they had gone into the donut shop talking about how to get themselves untangled from Bullman and her freaky following and went out scheming together on how to get Annette laid. And, to her surprise after careful consideration she was all right with that.