The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

That night, it had rained so hard that by morning the town should have been washed clean. The heavens cried out in despair, sadness falling in warm sheets of tears. But, we just weren’t that lucky. The downpour simply stirred the pot, leaving it tarnished and somehow dirtier than ever.

I’m not one for poetry, but over time, I had found myself praying for those friendly bombs. There’s not a lot that would’ve improved the place, but a little urban renewal, courtesy of a few hundred pounds of RDX might have started the ball rolling.

Slough, it might not have been my kind of town, but, for my sins, it was where I called home. We were perfectly paired; ugly, hated and entirely without redeeming qualities. My name is Carmine Belch, private dick and public embarrassment. I’d just finished tying off some loose ends in the Frottage case, and all I wanted, was some sleep.

Ms. Frottage stirred drowsily, moaning in a way that did something primal to me. I’d known that she’d wanted me, from the moment her silhouette appeared in the frosted glass of my door. But, I’ve never been one to mix business with pleasure, (just ask Madam Mimi). Of course, at the time I hadn’t realised that she’d wanted me for intergalactic breeding purposes.

I zapped her again with my Nerve Induction Pistol, and took no small amount of pleasure in how her moans became suddenly more throaty and musical. You’ve got to love Rigelian technology, even if they are some of the most perverse buggers in the known universe (and I use that term advisedly). Cruelly, I allowed the beam to play over her body, letting it linger just where I knew it would do the most good.

She squealed, that really was the only word for it. It took all of my miniscule self-control to stop then, even though I knew what was happening to her. Her body writhed, trapped helplessly, in the sticky webbing. She gave another heartfelt groan and that settled it. I zapped her again, focussing the sapphire light directly onto that magnificent arse. What can I tell you? I’m weak.

Reluctantly, I left Ms Frottage squirming, as she orgasmed away the remainder of her resistance. If I’d had the time, I would have stayed to watch the floorshow. But like I said, it was late and even the enslavement of a naked Reticulan princess in bondage wasn’t going to keep me from my bed. Pausing only to blow her a sleepy kiss and then nail her jiggling buttocks one last time, I staggered to the couch. Okay, maybe twice.

I woke to find that the rain wasn’t the only thing beating at my windows. I don’t remember inviting her across the threshold, in fact, I was sure that I had locked the door pretty securely before retiring. But I do remember her entrance, (which I’ll come back to later). She sashayed into my office, wearing a little something that she had just thrown on, and missed. All that I could think of was the image of a dead heat in a zeppelin race, and the view from the rear looked like two angry weasels, fighting to escape a particularly tight bag. I drooled.

Our eyes met, eventually, and her voice was warm chocolate that would still have dripped innuendo had she been reading a shopping list.

“Carmine Belch?” she asked, as her tongue licked unnecessarily over her crimson lips.

“Gaah,” I answered with aplomb, before adding, “Whub?”

“I need your help,” she sighed, which did all sorts of interesting things to the rest of her body, “There’s no one else I can trust.”

“Ah,” I tried, “Mmm.”

“My father’s dead. The police say it was natural causes, but I know different,” she told me earnestly while I wondered what it might take to have her sit on my face, “And now my sister’s gone missing as well.”

Her bottom lip began to quiver, as her voice started to break. It was an impressive display, but completely wasted on me. I’d already decided that she was only here to shaft me; the question was whether it would happen under her terms, or mine.

“I didn’t catch you name, Ms?” I asked casually, recognising the scent of money even above the cloying stench of deceit.

“Safoe,” she smiled, dazzling me, “Lesley Safoe, my friends call me Les.”

“I’ll bet they do,” I smiled back, taking her proffered hand and letting my lips brush against it, “Why don’t you start at the beginning, Les, and tell me why you’re not buying what the cops are pedalling.”

She filled me in, (not literally, that wouldn’t happen until much later). Explaining how her father, Nebbish Safoe, had shuffled off this mortal coil under decidedly suspicious circumstances. Apparently the old boy met his end from dehydration, of all things. He’d been found, dried out to a crisp, in the family’s palatial mansion. So far so weird, but then the other Safoe sister had gone missing and that was just one too many coincidences.

Despite my reservations, I was really starting to warm to Lesley, and not just because I couldn’t get rid of the image of that long slippery tongue. Predictably, that was when Ms. Frottage decided to make her presence known. It’s hard to mistake the noise a woman makes when another orgasm is ripped from her weakening body, for anything else. I stared into Lesley’s deep brown eyes, willing her to not to have heard.

She opened her mouth, the question dancing towards the tip of her luscious tongue and, not a moment too soon, Stephanie showed up and saved me. I should probably explain about Stephanie and me. She’d been my personal assistant, secretary, occasional muscle and emergency stress relief for about as long as I could remember. The blonde bombshell blew into the office with all the finesse and subtly of a force five tornado.

I muttered a silent prayer to Asimov, as Lesley retreated from the whirlwind of barely represent sexual desire. Oh great, Steph was running in ‘hornulation’ mode. I gave up on getting any more sleep at all now, and ushered my other late night guest through the door. She somehow managed to hold on to her allure, even while trying to escape. The offer of a threesome followed her out into the corridor, but I really don’t think she heard me. I clutched the small scrap of paper that she had thrust into my hand. Her telephone number, no doubt.

Stephanie grabbed hold of me, her eyes flashing. Briefly I considered hitting the override, but the encounter with little Miss Safoe was an itch that I desperately needed to scratch. Some mindless mechanical sex was exactly what I needed, and there really wasn’t anyone more qualified. I don’t know who did the original ‘work’ on her, much less all the upgrades since then. I’m guessing that it was someone from out of town, if you catch my drift.

Cutting edge and state of the art, Steph leaned in close, stinging my eyes with her boozy breath. Her hands were suddenly all over me, and I could tell from their urgency that for the moment at least, I wasn’t in charge.

“So,” she slurred sultrily, “Who was the floozy in the spray-on dress?”

I watched as her eyes lost their focus, and felt her fumbling lurch away from ‘needy’ and straight into ‘clumsy’. She pinched, and I knew that tomorrow there would be bruises. Two questions sprang to mind, but discretion meant that I only asked the first.

“Stephanie,” I wondered carefully, “How much have you had to drink?”

“Bottle,” she hiccoughed, “The boys wanted to make sure that I was completely ratted.”

I groaned. Well, that answered the second question as well. She’d been out playing with her buddies, full-body conversions, every last one of them. If she hadn’t reset before she came home, her thighs were going to snap me in two. She nuzzled against me, resting her head against my chest. I stifled another yelp as her fingers pinched. I opened my mouth, wanting to know how much trouble I was in. But she interrupted me, her snoring vibrating through me, in a way that was not entirely unpleasant.

Stephanie muttered something about the joys of electrostimulation, and snuggled close. Her message was half threat, and half promise. I trembled, cursing my weakness. There was no way I’d take advantage of her, well, no more than was strictly necessary. But, if she’d have been just a little more awake, then damn the orthopaedic bills, I’d have had her then and there. Another basso snore suggested that wasn’t going to happen.

Breathing an ambivalent sigh of relief and frustration, I sought to extricate myself from this potentially perilous position. This had happened before, although not for some time. Stephanie hadn’t gone the whole hog, not yet. She was still a hybrid of woman and machine. Her friends might have gone full-borg, but she retained some of her humanity. Believe me, there are parts of a woman’s body that you want to keep soft and squidgy. Don’t get me wrong, I like chrome as much as the next technophile, but sometimes Mother Nature does it better.

The problem was, when the organic part of you was that small, it really didn’t take that much to get you toasted. Stephanie giggled in a manner that really didn’t say cybernetic hottie. I let my fingers tangle gently in her long hair, before easing her onto the couch. It was an effort, titanium might be light, but her power core had to be lead-shielded. So, while she was svelte, it was a good job that I still worked out.

What with Steph’s snoring, and Ms. Frottage’s moans, it should come as no surprise that I didn’t get any more sleep. What I used to call my famous Java has been upgraded. Now it is nothing short of legendary. The smell of the ground beans was enough to drag my assistant’s alcohol sozzled brain back to some semblance of sobriety. She’d complained in the past that the finished product stripped off her anodised coating (I believe the term she used was ‘battery acid’). But I needed her sharp, and if that meant she needed to spend some time in the shop, then it was price worth paying.

I forced my regal prisoner to drink half a cupful, and then soothed away her complains with another burst from the ‘happy beam’. I wasn’t being wilfully cruel, I just couldn’t spare the time to deal with her more humanely. As always, that was a task for Steph. Strangely, she took great delight in those kind of jobs. Dr Diode, the cybershrink, had said something about projective identification. Of course, shortly after that, he’d been detained at Her Majesty’s pleasure for using doctored Rorschach’s.

But before that, I needed her to do some digging for me. Lesley had almost certainly told me some of the real story. But I just didn’t trust her. She was a dame, and in the dyslexicon I used instead of a dictionary, that spelt trouble. I watched, as my assistant recovered from the latest shuddering convulsion. It really was good stuff, my Java, drinking it was like imbibing tequila’s dark and eviler twin.

“Steph,” I began carefully, “I need to know every about the Safoes. Including the stuff that’s outside the public domain.”

I wrote down the phone number that Lesley had given me, leaving out the hastily scribbled breasts with which someone had seen fit to embellish the original. Stephanie took it from me, nodding her understanding.

“I’m off to see if I can get some more out of Miss Safoe herself,” I told her, as I reached the door.

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Steph smiled evilly as I left, “At least not according to the graffiti I’ve read.”

I left her to it; she was always cranky the morning after. I could hardly talk, after last night I was just a tightly wound knot of rampant sexual need. Just before the door swung shut, I heard Steph educating Ms. Frottage about what delights lay in store for her. I almost felt bad for the strange woman. She was completely at the mercy of an inordinately frustrated cyborg, who’d just switched into ‘Stephnatrix’ mode. How dreadful!

The drive across town finally gave me the chance to think. I needed to talk to Lesley some more. Last night, she’d obviously had more to tell me. Naturally, she knew more that she was going to let on, but then that was all part of the game. I reached inside my trenchcoat and patted my sidearm for reassurance; there was something about touching my NIP that was deeply calming.

Safoe Towers sat just inside the county boundary. It was an unrepentantly modern edifice, what Charlie would have referred to as a monstrous carbuncle. The only other way to describe it, was, Beckingham Palace but without the charm and sophistication. I drove up to the gate and was surprised to find it open. There were no guards in evidence, so I pulled into the long gravel drive, wincing at what was happening to my paint work.

There were three cars already parked outside the main house. The Mondeo was completely out of place and clearly an unmarked police car. But the Bentley and the vintage Morgan both looked like they belonged here. I decided to park my Jag as far away from the quality as possible. Classic racing green looked good next to the cop car.

My feet scrunched loudly as I walked to the main entrance. I rang the doorbell, wondering how much Lesley might be willing to let slip. The thought was still racing around my caffeine enhanced brain, when the door opened. I’d never seen a female butler before, I wasn’t even sure what the correct description might be; a butleress? She was dressed in a top coat, her pneumatic figure testing the stress tolerances of her blouse.

“You rang?” she demanded, her voice syrupy and with just the right undercurrent of lusty abandon.

“Hi,” I greeted her, coaxing my eyes up towards her face with an effort of will, “Carmine Belch, I’m here to see Miss Safoe. She’s expecting me.”

“Oh yes,” she smiled, making even those two words sound so dirty that I fought not to blush, “Please, let me take you round the back.”

“Uhm,” I retorted wittily, “Thank you, Miss?”

“Dunnett,” she grinned, inhaling heavily and nearly forcing my eyes to pop out (among other things), “Jo Dunnett, I am the Safoe’s Butler.”

Well, that answered that question anyway. The journey through the house was an education in opulence, at least when I managed to tear my eyes away from Jo’s jiggling derriere. It seemed that this baby’s back more than matched her impressive frontage. We’d walked through into the conservatory, before she offered to take my coat. I was about to decline, when I hit the wall of humidity that marked the limit of the greenhouse.

She winked knowingly at the sight of my pistol, I wasn’t sure if she knew what it could do, but somehow I wouldn’t have been surprised if she had. For some reason her reaction flustered me. I was glad that she couldn’t see my backup piece. After all, I wasn’t used to letting anyone catch a glimpse of my NIPs, especially so soon after meeting them.

Jo pointed out where Lesley was waiting, and then retired, giving me another wonderful view of her gyrations. I was already sweating by the time I reached my hostess’ table. She was drinking something long and cool (and which I immediately envied). Lesley looked stunning, and it was a tribute to the butler’s curves that she still managed to leave an impression on me.

“Miss Safoe,” I started politely, “We were interrupted last night, so I thought I’d pop over and kill two birds with one stone. First off, we can finish off our conversation, and then I can have a look around the ‘crime scene’.”

She stared at me over the top of her glasses, glossy red lips pouting around the shaft of a drinking straw. I swallowed hard, and tried to keep my mind on the matter in hand. Then I spent several minutes trying to clear the thought of what matter I really wanted to get my hands on.

“Carmine,” she husked, “How nice of you to drop by. I’m afraid that I have another visitor, a rather tiresome police person. But, why don’t you have your look around? Then, you can come back and we’ll pick up where we left off.”

I nodded sagely. That explained why the police car was parked outside. But I had one last question before I would be ready to leave. They’d both done their level best to distract me. But, when I was on a case, even two awesomely stacked women couldn’t stop me from doing my job.

“This is a really impressive collection, Miss Safoe,” I enthused, gesturing at the greenery that surrounded her, “Your father’s?”

“How clever of you to notice,” she said, and I almost missed the subtle way in which her eyes narrowed, “Yes, my father collected all sorts of exotic things, it was his hobby.”

Exotic was one word for it. There wasn’t one plant in that greenhouse that originated on this planet. So, daddy had been on the inside of the conspiracy. That added a whole other twist to this case, and, it seemed logical that Lesley knew at least some of it as well. Otherwise, why try to hide it from me?

“Thank you, Miss Safoe,” I grinned, “I look forward to seeing more of you later.”

Nebbish’s study was my first port of call. Fortunately, the house was pretty easy to navigate, because I really didn’t want to rely on anyone else. It was clear as soon as I walked through the door, that the bulk of his collection had been stored here. The greenhouse had been impressive, but this, was the mother lode.

Aldebarren pleasure beads sat alongside a living-crystal psi-crown from Tau Ceti V. Four different kinds of anti-photon weapons broke about seven interstellar treaties and if that wasn’t a full set of Jovian punishment piercings, then I really was losing my touch. But, what drew my attention, was to all appearances entirely unremarkable. Bending down, I paused to examine the broken silica glass container. I recognised the remnants of a stasis cell immediately.

I lifted one of the larger fragments, noticing the pale green slime that coated it. The disgusting stuff felt oily on my fingertips, and even the smallest amount made my skin tingle quite deliciously. I already had a good idea of what we were dealing with, but I needed to be sure. I sniffed, letting the hot tang sting the back of my nose. It smelt of lime cordial, or at least what lime cordial would smell like, if it had been cut with Absinth and Tabasco.

It all began to come together, the pieces forming into their own complex pattern. Somehow Nebbish had gotten hold of an Andromedian Brain Slug, evil little blighters, but at least this one had been in stasis. Then, a catastrophe had occurred, and the container had been broken, realising the monster inside. It must have found a host; (they’re pretty much obligate parasites), and once it had, that person would have been consumed with an insatiable desire to mate.

When you ask the question, just how much sex can one person have? It would be wise to remember the case of poor Nebbish Safoe. Quite literally shagged to death, by whoever the slug had gotten it’s slimy pseudopods into. My working hypothesis, given what little I had by way of evidence, was that Olivia, the second Safoe sister, had drained daddy dry. Then, she had fled, following the twin imperatives, to remain undetected, and screw anything that moved.

All I had to do now, was to follow the trail of happy husks all the way to the errant sister and her squicky alien hitchhiker. It’s always the weird ones, but damn, if I don’t love my job.

There was no way that I was ready to share what I had discovered with Lesley. Partly because what I had was at best circumstantial, but mostly because I’m petty and vindictive. She had chosen not to tell me everything, and now I was going to return the favour. When I walked back into the conservatory and found her deep in discussion with a gorgeous redhead, my mind was already made up.

The other woman was clearly a cop. She had managed to make her designer outfit look as bland as a uniform, and I swear that there was starch in her Donna Karen. But, despite what I had expected, she was anything but all business. They sat so close together that the cop’s knee disappeared until the hem of Lesley’s skirt and there was enough movement visible to suggest all sorts of exciting things might be going on, just out of sight.

I cleared my throat noisily, grinning inwardly as they both jerked in surprise. They turned as one, both fixing me with surprisingly cold eyes. Just for an instant I felt like a lab specimen being appraised, then just as suddenly, it was gone. Lesley was all smiles again, and the cop managed to affect a calculated air of indifference.

“Ladies,” I began, trying to ignore my sudden discomfort, “Sorry if I’m interrupting, I can always come back later, Miss Safoe.”

Lesley pouted again, and as her lips puckered, a little thrill ran through me as well, as my own muscles tensed in sympathy. This was so wrong. How could I even think about all the carnal pleasures that we might be able to inflict on each other, under these circumstances? Sorry, your sister is the killer, and it was the slug in her brain that made her fuck daddy until he was crispy. Anyway, fancy a shag? No, that just wasn’t going to work.

“It’s okay,” she breathed, each syllable fondant, one sentence adding about an inch to my waist line, “Kate and I are almost done. But, tell me, did you find anything interesting when you were snooping around?”

I looked between then, noticing for the first time how flushed they both seemed. Sure, it was hot in there, but this was something else. The cop bit her lip, not quite stifling a little moan. I realised that my mouth was gaping, just a second too late. Lesley’s eyes locked with mine, and I could tell that she was enjoying my reaction. I couldn’t work out who was doing what to whom, but from the sound of it, the cop was getting the better end of the deal.

“Uhm,” I ventured, unable or perhaps unwilling to look away, “Just the rest of your father’s collection. Look, Miss Safoe, you’re obviously right in the middle of someone … something … I can come again after she has … I can come back later, when you’re both done … I’ll call you.”

“Oh, don’t be so silly, Carmine,” Lesley laughed, her tone mocking, “My goodness but you’re tense, perhaps I should lend Jo to you for a couple of days … she can do the most wonderful things with her … assets.”

“That’s more than generous,” I almost yelped, not doubting it for a second, “But the office is already a little crowded.”

“So I heard,” Lesley whispered, her eyes flashing.

The cop chose that moment to give a great sobbing groan, and that was enough to break the spell. I glanced away, suddenly realising that the thumping bass line in the background was my heart hammering against my ribs. She rose gracefully, taller than I had expected. Her hand was warm in mine, and sticky with more than just perspiration.

“Hello,” she said coldly, “You must be Belch, Lesley’s told me so much about you.”

“Please,” I matched her tone, “Call me Carmine, under the circumstances I think the time for formality has passed, don’t you, Kate?”

“That’s Detective Sergeant Domme to you, gumshoe,” she barked angrily.

I smiled my sweetest smile and she finally let go of my hand. Restraining the urge to wipe it clean, I stepped past her and sat down on the seat she had so recently occupied. I blew her an impudent kiss, and her control almost shattered. But professionalism won over in the end, and she stalked angrily out of the greenhouse.

“I’m watching you,” she called over her shoulder, “Put one foot wrong, and I’ll be all over you, like a cheap suit.”

Lesley giggled, seemingly amused by our antics. I kept my eyes averted, but couldn’t escape the soft wet sounds that emanated from my hostess’ direction. What on earth had I gotten myself into, and was I ever going to get laid?

“Who stands to benefit from you father’s death?” I asked quietly, pretending that nothing untoward was happening.

“Ooohhhh Ggggggod!” she suggested, before adding, “Faaaaaammmmilyyyyyy Sooooolicitooooorrrrrrrrr!”

“Ah yes, good call,” I agreed happily, climbing to my feet, “Thanks Les, really appreciate the help. No, don’t get up, you’re obviously busy. I’ll see myself out.”

“Kneel, Bitch!” roared the electronically magnified voice as I opened my office door.

“Hi Steph,” I called out weakly.

“Oh, sorry Carmine,” she said sweetly, her voice returning to a more normal volume, “You don’t have to kneel if you don’t want to … Although, I could make you want to … would you like that?”

I swallowed hard, not sure if I could cope with the full enormity of the ‘Stephnatrix’ right now. Then she giggled again, and I felt my whole body relax. The teasing I could handle, but not another session with that violet wand of hers.

“No, I’m still busy with this case,” I sighed, “Did you manage to dig up anything juicy on the Safoes?”

“I didn’t say you could relax, Slut!” she screamed suddenly, and it was all that I could do, not to jump.

Ms. Frottage somehow managed to kneel to attention, her lithe, nubile, sweat-drenched body quivering with the effort to remain still. I tried to roll my tongue back into my mouth, dragging it up slowly from where it rested just below my waist.

“Sorry,” muttered Steph, “But these Safoes are connected, boss. Old man Nebbish was on every mailing list and message board even vaguely related to extraterrestrial life. Word is, he had quite the collection of EBEs, as well as the licenses to hold them (for the most part).”

I nodded, that pretty much gelled with what I’d discovered. Unfortunately it brought me no closer to finding his missing daughter, or indeed to proving what had happened to him. I glanced around, distractedly, trying to find another way in which the pieces might fit together. The office was tricked out like a centre fold for Heavy Bondage and Industrial Arc Welding Monthly (I never miss a copy). ‘Stephnatrix’ obviously had plans, and I knew that I had to end this quickly.

“Lesley,” I began, sensing my error just before Stephanie raised one eyebrow in question, “Miss Safoe, mentioned a family solicitor. Did you find anything about them in your research?”

“The Safoe’s have the law firm, Dewey, Cheatem and Howe on retainer,” Steph explained, accessing her encyclopaedic memory, “Their solicitor is a Miss Penelope Mal.”

I thanked her for all the hard work and then made my apologies. The repetitive swish of advanced polymers filled the air, as I made my way to the door. There was a sharp crack, which made me wince, even though I knew it wasn’t coming anywhere near me.

“Assume the position!” Steph yelled, unable to keep the glee from her voice.

The door closed behind me, but even the triple glazing couldn’t muffle the sound of Ms. Frottage’s screams. Strangely, it didn’t sound as if she was in pain. Well, not to me at least.

Dewy, Cheatem and Howe were a City firm, through and through. But, they had a sub-office in Slough and my satnav knew exactly how to find them. I’ve never had a high opinion of lawyers, but these guys really plumbed the depths. Their business acumen would have made Wolfram Hart look like Amnesty International. You didn’t have to be irredeemably corrupted in order to work for them, that would happen by itself, given time. I wondered how long Ms. Mal had been employed, and what kind of reception she might give me.

Whatever I had been expecting, it wasn’t what met me at the door. It appeared that Ms. Mal didn’t even rate a secretary of her own. That spoke eloquently of where she sat in the pecking order. I stared into her blank and apparently soulless eyes, and tried not to shiver. She was pretty enough, in a tightly repressed ball of undiscovered passion, kind of way. But her emotions never quite reached her eyes.

“Ms. Mal,” I began, wondering if this case could get any weirder, “I’m working for Lesley Safoe, and she suggested that I spoke to you about her father, Nebbish Safoe, and presumably, his will?”

“Ah Lesley,” she smiled, her eyes showing animation for the first time, “Oh but what I wouldn’t give to have some of that.”

“Excuse me?” I demanded, shocked, despite my streetwise exterior.

“Oh, come on,” she continued breathlessly, “She’s fit, you must’ve noticed.”

“Well,” I began before my brain caught up with my mouth, “No, I don’t have time for this. Ms. Mal, please tell me who inherits the bulk of the Safoe fortune.”

She stared at me, licking her lips and suddenly appearing very moist indeed. It was as if she had noticed me for the first time. Her eyes glinted, the earlier blankness now completely gone. She took a deep breath, and went from ‘pretty enough’, to ‘edible’, in about point four of a second.

“Oh,” she grinned, “You must be Carmine. Lesley did tell me to expect you, but I’m so scatty sometimes. Yes, the only people who benefit from the death are the Luscious Lesley and the equally fragrant Olivia. What I wouldn’t give to be the filling in a Safoe sandwich.”

“Thanks,” I said without conviction, “Any idea where I could find this Olivia?”

“Hmmm,” she pondered, stroking herself gently, “If she’s not at home, you could always try the strip. There’s a rumour that she has her own place out there somewhere.”

That was exactly the kind of information I needed. If it was accurate, then it would allow Stephanie to track our fugitive right back to her secret lair. Of course, from what I had seen so far, Ms. Mal was hardly the most reliable of witnesses. Still, in this business, beggars couldn’t be choosers.

“Or,” she added, interrupting my train of thought, “You could stay here and we can eat each other out?”

“Come again?” I demanded and instantly regretted it.

“Oh no, Carmine,” she beamed, “After you, I absolutely insist.”

Her whining complaints and pleas followed me out on to the street, as I showed her a clean pair of heels. I needed to talk to Stephanie, and I needed my tensions unknotted. The two were not mutually exclusive, but I needed her back in ‘pussycat’ or preferably ‘kitten’ mode before that could happen. I kept my fingers crossed all the way back to the office, in the hope that she might have already finished off Ms. Frottage.

As soon as I pulled into the street, it was clear that I was going to be unlucky. The streetlamps flickered, as the power ‘browned out’ and the roar of heavy machinery filled the air. I don’t know how the neighbours stood it, or why we didn’t get more complaints. I made a mental note to speak with Stephanie about that, just as soon as she’d calmed down a little.

The scene that greeted me, as I stepped back into the office, was probably the last thing I needed to see. Ms. Frottage knelt astride Stephanie, grinding herself into my assistant’s sex. Her arms were trapped in a long leather singleglove and her body was bowed back in trembling arousal. She had thrown back her head, eyes closed and with a look of ecstasy on that proud face.

The lighting dimmed again, and what sounded like a drill kicked into higher gear. She groaned, breathing out one long syllable, as the wetness between them popped and fizzed. St. Elmo’s Fire danced over them both, teasing Ms. Frottage’s nipples diamond hard. She pressed herself down even more forcefully and her cries drowned out the relentless buzzing.

“Mmmmmiiisssstressssssss!”

My hands found the waist band of my trousers, and slipped inside. Lesley and the policewoman had just made me uncomfortable. Well actually that was a lie, but this was pretty much the hottest thing I had seen and as I may have mentioned before, I was getting a little antsy by then. As soon as my fingertips felt how wet I was, I knew that this wouldn’t take long. One slow stroke forced me to gasp softly. I let me eyes drift close, basking in the moment. Then, I looked up again, and found myself looking directly into Stephanie’s predatory gaze.

“Oh, Carmine,” she leered, “You’re such a bad girl, aren’t you?”

I blushed despite myself, realising how much trouble I was in. As a result of my actions, I’d just shifted from being the boss to a potential target in the ‘Stephantrix’s’ mind. She raised a thin plastic wand and waved it slowly from side to side. All the while, she pinned me with her unblinking stare.

“Don’t be shy,” she grinned, “Come, join us, I’ve got another ‘socket’ that you’re more than welcome to use. After all, we’ve got plenty of juice.”

I was tempted, even though I knew that I’d end up as deeply beholden as the delectable Ms. Frottage. But that wasn’t what stopped me in the end. No, in the end, it was boring practicality, with just a hint of greed that kept me from leaping onto that plastic pole. We had a case, and more importantly we had paying clients.

“Maybe later, Steph,” I hedged, knowing that I was only buying myself a little time, “But right now, I need to know if you can find Olivia Safoe’s home away from home. Apparently it’s somewhere on the strip.”

She pouted, and I felt my resolve wavering. But, then, almost as if a switch had been thrown, she became all business. I could see the information scrolling across her eyes, as she searched. Ms. Frottage still ground against her, moaning her submission, and I had to fight to keep my hands under control.

I was just starting to lose that battle, when Steph gave me what I needed. It was just as well, because a couple of seconds later, and I would have been begging her to give me what I wanted. There’s no kinder way of describing it, I fled the office, desperate to put as much distance between myself and the deliriously happy couple. Armed with the address, I could finally put this case to bed, and then, if I was really lucky, the Stephnatrix would have me in every way imaginable.

Still reeling from the encounter, and unable to clear the sweaty scent of lust and ozone from my nostrils, I drove somewhat hesitantly to the strip. How best to describe it to you? This is about the best that I can manage: If you imagine Slough as a human body, then the strip is where you’d give the suppository. It was the dark heart at the core of the rotten place. I still get flashbacks and even I’ve not seen the worst of it. There was no place where you’d be less likely to find one of the great and ‘good’, that’s what made it the perfect hiding place.

I hefted my piece, before leaving the car, making sure that it was fully charged. I had no idea what I was walking into, but it seemed sensible to take every precaution. I could’ve used some back up, but Steph was all I had. Determined not to sweat it, I walked casually to the door, checking the address one last time. Then I hammered my knuckles against the chipboard.

I saw light flashing through the spy hole, and had to restrain myself from just zapping her through the door. I couldn’t be sure that this was my quarry, and with DS Domme looking over my shoulder, it wouldn’t do to make mistakes.

“Who is it?” a woman’s voice asked, the resemblance to her sister was quite uncanny.

“Carmine Belch,” I replied airily, “I’ve come about your father.”

I just caught the soft sob, before she answered. It was almost too quiet to hear, but the door was thin, and after the rain, the night had grown unnaturally still. The sound caught me off guard, because it wasn’t the kind of noise that you made when your head was filled with slug-slime.

“Oh thank God!” she sighed, “Please, they’re looking for me, you have to help me.”

The door swung open, and I realised that I had been doing Olivia a disservice when I compared her to her sister. I had one of those moments, the kind that only happen when you meet that special someone for the first time. It’s like your brain and mouth are dislocated. All that you know, is that this is person with whom you want to spend the rest of your life.

That’s how it was for me. Lightning flashed, the stars froze in the sky and the world stopped spinning on its axis. With utter certainty I realised that I had to take her back to my place, strap her into my sound-proofed dungeon and just do things to her, for about a week. Then I’d let her down and have her do things to me. Maybe after a while we could bring a friend, or two, perhaps the local lady’s hockey team.

My thoughts trailed off as she ushered me inside. I had to stay focussed, even if my guts were telling me that she wasn’t the host. They’d been wrong before, and I couldn’t quite shake the feeling that it wasn’t just my guts that were doing the talking. She was heart-stoppingly cute, and I was vulnerable. To be honest, she could’ve had a face like a bucket of smashed crabs, and I’d have still fantasised about her lips and mine meeting in perfectly asymmetrical lust.

She was really scared; no one was that good an actress. It didn’t make sense, slug-hosts never showed fear. In fact, lust and anger were about all they could feel. I decided to risk some straight talking, Olivia looked like she could take it, and I was too tired to dissemble.

“Listen, doll face,” I began, instantly regretting it, “Sorry, Miss Safoe, it’s been a long day. I don’t know who killed your father, but I do know why. Up until about a minute ago, I thought it had to be you … but that theory went up in smoke about the same time that you invited me inside, without inviting me inside, you.”

I watched as her irritation settled, and I mentally marked a cross against ‘doll face’ as a term of endearment. She didn’t relax completely, but at least she did me the courtesy of not interrupting.

“Your father had a big collection of unusual life forms,” I pressed on, wondering how much she already knew, “Including some that are very unpleasant. One of them escaped, I don’t know when and I don’t know how. But it must’ve gotten inside someone and then forced them to kill him.”

She gave a barely perceptible nod, as if agreeing with me. But, I could sense that she had something else to say. If I could keep everything business-like then I might have a chance of making through the next 15 minutes without asking her if she’d prefer me to use a strap-on or the double dong that I reserved for special occasions.

“But, the question I wanted to ask,” I told her gently, “Is what happened to make you run away? Did you see who did it, Miss Safoe?”

She gasped, and reached for me. I was just too slow, my reactions dulled from lack of sleep. In an instant, I was enfolded in her strong arms. She rested her head against me, her body wracked with deep sobs. I let her snuggle close, and felt the discordant recollection of Stephanie clinging to me earlier in the day.

My hands cradled her, stroking soothingly through her blonde locks. I still wanted to make her scream out my name, but that desire warred with the need to comfort and protect. I found myself mouthing platitudes, trying to ease her pain, as I told her that everything was going to be alright. By the time she told me what had happened, I’d already guessed the truth.

“My sister,” she cried, her voice strong despite her tears, “I found them both in the conservatory. It was disgusting; just … wrong … I tried to stop them … but …”

“I know,” I whispered, “But there was nothing you could do. Once a slug-host builds up to a crescendo, it’s too late to do anything, except get out of the firing line.”

“She … she wanted to put one of those things in me,” she gasped, “That’s why I ran, why I had to get as far away as possible. She’s still my sister, Miss Belch. But there’s someone else in the driving seat.”

“Andromedian Brain Slug,” I agreed, trying to keep her attention centred on the here and now, “And please, call me Carmine.”

“Then you must call me Olivia,” she said forcefully, her tone making the hairs on my neck prickle, “You seem to know an awful lot about this, Carmine, is there a way to get my sister back?”

I paused just a second too long before I answered, and the look on her sad face as she pulled away from me, was enough to tell me that she’d understood.

“I’m sorry,” I breathed, “None that I know of, although I am hardly the expert.”

It wasn’t really fair, leaving her that little doubt. In fairness I just wanted to allow her some hope. Perhaps, if she thought there might be a way to free Lesley from her enthrallment, it would keep her from despair. It didn’t make the lie sit any easier with me, but it was a justification of sorts.

Her eyes swam with tears, big limpid pools that I longed to drown in. Tears stained her perfect features, and it was an effort not to try to kiss them away. I was wired, and no longer thinking straight. We had to get somewhere safe, and a grotty bedsit in the centre of the strip really didn’t qualify.

Something nagged at my subconscious, trying to make itself heard over the tumult of my fantasies. Whatever it was, the worry was persistent. It somehow managed to push aside the image of Olivia and I enjoying exactly the same predicament as the one in which I had left Steph and Ms. Frottage.

“Uhm,” I posited, using my sparkling wit, “You said she tried to stick a slug in you?”

“Yes,” she agreed, a look of remembered horror crossing her beautiful face, “It was gross, and icky. She wanted to put it … well she wanted to put it somewhere … unexpected.”

I nodded in what I thought was a sympathetic manner, trying my level best to hide the growing sense of envy. The pieces were shifting again, and I began to look at the events of the last day in a completely new light. I’d gotten it wrong before, assuming that I was dealing with a single slug. But according to Olivia, there had been at least one more of them, and that opened up all sorts of possibilities. Suddenly, the strange behaviour of everyone connected to this case, began to make a terrible sort of a sense.

“We need to get back to my place,” I told her quickly, “If I could track you here, then the police certainly can.”

“The police?” she asked quietly, sounding shocked, even as I grasped her hand in mine and began to lead her to the door.

“Yes,” I agreed, “She’s got at least one cop on the payroll now.”

Fear sharpened my mind in a way that the caffeine could only dream of. I was mildly surprised to find the street quiet and still. The streetlights had stopped their mad flickering, and there was no noise, other than the usual sounds of the dozing town. I had a very bad feeling, but even that wasn’t enough to stop me.

There were no lights on when we eventually reached the office. I peered through the open door, but could make out nothing except a sickly pale glow emanating from the far corner. I squinted, while my hand fumbled around the door frame.

“Hello Carmine,” said Stephanie happily as I flicked the light switch, “Oh, you brought me a present?”

I smiled tightly, still unable to shift the feeling of wrongness. Olivia stared at my assistant with a mixture of concern and irritation that I found quite enticing. My eyes darted around the small space, searching for anything that seemed out of place.

“Hi Steph,” I grimaced, “What happen to Ms. Frottage?”

“Oh,” she paused, and I could see the glow of the letters that swam before her eyes, “I … I … I wrapped her up and … and … and put her to bed.”

“Really?” I asked quietly, pretending not to notice the stammer, “Have we had any visitors since I left, Steph?”

“Nnnnnnnnnn,” she groaned through gritted teeth, her body shuddering.

A feedback loop was always a bad sign. Someone had tried to subvert Stephibot and now her mind and processors were in direct conflict. I motioned for Olivia to get behind me, and drew my pistol. My thumb caressed the arming stud, and I dialled the power up from ‘mild tingle’ to ‘extra crispy’. Nobody messed with my girl, and slug or no slug, they were going to pay.

“What’s happening?” Olivia asked fearfully.

I noticed the faint smear of slime on the side of Stephanie’s face, and realised what I had seen, just before I turned on the lights. My free hand was reaching for my backup when Steph finally broke free from her infinite recursions.

“Danger!” she bellowed, with enough volume to rattle the windows, “Danger, Carmine Belch!”

I whirled just as Penelope stepped from the shadows. We fired simultaneously, but my sudden movement had thrown off her aim. I recognised the Vegan Synaptic Disruptor that she held inexpertly in her dainty hands; it had been part of Nebbish’s collection. It was obviously still in fine working order, and its emerald beam would have been more than sufficient to take the fight right out of me. Unfortunately for the young lawyer, before she had the chance to fire again, my own shot hit her square between the eyes, and sent her orgasming off to her ‘happy place’.

“Olivia!” I screamed, “Get down!”

I swept round, guns akimbo and ready for anything. The moment was pure John Woo and I half expected some doves to fly dramatically through the small room. Instead, the butler appeared and tried to trap me with a Reticulan Web Dispenser. Suddenly, my NIPs were on fire, and I let her have it with both barrels, bathing those magnificent mammaries with enough neural energy to make a mouse feel good at a cat convention. She moaned something dirty and arousing, before lapsing into a particularly blissful coma.

For a moment everything was quiet. Well, except for the slowly building whine of capacitors overcharging. I completed my slow circle, waiting to see if anyone else wanted to try their luck. Then, I finally began to let myself relax. Olivia was pulling herself shakily to her feet, concern etched on those beautiful features. I opened my mouth to say something reassuring, and that was when she shot me.

“Oh,” I gasped as the stun bolt rippled across my chest, “Bollocks!”

I found myself staring into those deep dark eyes once more, as my legs suddenly lost the strength to keep me upright. Tears streamed down her cheeks and she mouthed her silent apology. I found myself on the edge of a vertiginous cliff. The twin pools beckoned, and, with nowhere else to go, I just dove straight in.

Disorientation gripped me when I finally woke. There was no telling how long I had been unconscious, but it was clear that my captors had not been idle. They had stripped me naked, which was about par for the course. Then they had placed me in one of the most elaborate standing ties to which I had ever been subjected. It felt oriental, asymmetric bondage that was inescapable, but almost entirely comfortable. Standing on one leg, I felt vaguely ridiculous, but also extremely vulnerable.

“How are you feeling, Carmine?” a familiar voice whispered in my ear, and I couldn’t help but twitch in surprise.

“Fine, thanks for asking, Jo,” I said, as evenly as I could, “This is a very unusual tie, Kinbaku-bi?”

“Impressive,” the butler told me, stepping into view, she was completely naked, and I felt my body twitch again, this time in anticipation, “I had a feeling that you would appreciate it.”

“So,” I tried, carefully, “What happens now?”

“Oh, Carmine, don’t be coy,” she smiled, licking her lips lasciviously, “I think you can guess what’s going to happen. After all, there’s you, all tied up and helpless and then there’s me, practically dripping with anticipation, both of us sans clothing. My job is to ‘soften you up’ before you become our seventh host. You’re going to have such a good time that I expect you’ll beg me not to stop. I’m going to enjoy that most of all … hearing you beg.”

She stepped into my personal space, and pressed her heavy breasts against me. I couldn’t stop myself from letting out a small gasp, it just felt wonderful. Jo’s nipples were scalding hot bullets that indented my sensitive flesh. She massaged me, trapping my meagre tits between us and letting her hot breath send wonderful tingles over my neck.

My bondage added to the sense of helpless arousal, and Jo kept up a constant monologue, reinforcing just how badly beaten I had been and how what little resistance I might have left was just oozing away. I could feel the warm trickle of my desire, as it flowed freely down my leg and the steady drip only added to the sense of defeat.

Then, just when I thought she had done her worst, Jo brought the big guns into play. One stiff nipple traced a line down into my aching slit and all my remaining self-control just joined that wash of lust, as it poured from my helpless pussy. She crushed her tit into my cunt and I knew that right then, if she had stopped I would have begged her to keep going. She smiled evilly at me, and I realised that we both understood how badly she was affecting me.

“Carmine,” she laughed, “If I can do this to you with my titties, just imagine how good my tongue is going to feel. I could drain you dry, and still have you begging me not to stop.”

I couldn’t deny it; she was pushing me closer and closer to the first orgasm, and whatever the consequences, I didn’t want her do anything except keep going. Then her tongue shivered wetly over my folds and ripped a scream from me that was almost entirely animal. She buried her face in my sopping pussy. I could feel her laughter, shuddering hot breaths, which tingling against my trembling clit and drove me even more deeply into the frenzy of sexual heat.

Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, she just stopped. Jo kissed me fiercely, letting her tongue probe my mouth. I could taste myself on her, as she smeared my own sticky essence over my face. My climax was a pale and fragile thing, more of an anticlimax than anything. We stared into each other’s eyes and I could see what she wanted. I had no pride, not then, nothing mattered, just so long as she would let me cum. I took a deep breath, prepared to beg in the most humiliating manner possible and that was when everyone else arrived.

“Carmine Belch,” Lesley said sweetly, “So nice to see you again. I see that you decided to take me up on my earlier offer. How was she?”

At first, all that I could manage was an indignant whimper, but then I looked up and took in the full scene. As I had expected, they were all here. Kate and Penelope stood off to one side, holding hands. They regarded me with a mixture of lust and anger. Stephanie was next to them, and I could tell that she was still fighting an inner battle with the insidious parasite. Silently I willed her on, knowing that she was probably my only hope of getting out of this without becoming a slug-for-brains.

Then I saw who was standing next to Lesley; arm in arm and with the same look of sadness that I remembered, etched into her porcelain visage. It was Olivia, but no longer ‘my’ Olivia. I’d noticed the telltale traces of slime around her face, and in that moment I felt my heart sink.

“Why?” I asked, unable to keep the pain from my voice.

“I couldn’t stand being alone,” she sobbed, “Les, called me just before you arrived and offered me a deal. She told me how we can all go back to being one happy family. It won’t be so bad, Carmine. You and I can still be together … afterwards.”

Jo chose that moment to cup my pussy in her hand. Then, she let her fingers dance over my engorged clit and any response I might have made just dissolved into incoherent groans. I was still aware enough to notice as Lesley brought the icky slimy thing towards me, not that it would have made any difference. I was bound tight, aroused to the point of distraction, and now that Olivia was one of them, I’d pretty much given up. It was almost a relief when the slug squirmed its way up my nose.

It was disgusting, but somehow that couldn’t stop it from feeling wonderful at the same time. Jo’s tender ministrations had already pushed me to the edge, the slug’s oozing progress simply knocked me over it. My climax was a terribly thing, crashing into me and tearing away the last vestiges of resistance. Dimly I was aware of my bonds being cut, but my body was no longer my own, and I couldn’t take advantage of my unexpected freedom.

I could still feel Jo’s hand massaging me, and then suddenly my face was smothered with the scent of wet pussy. Somehow I recognised Lesley’s taste, as she dripped onto my mouth and nose. I knew that she was kneeling astride me, and I couldn’t help but kiss and nibble at her proffered lips.

“That’s it, bitch,” she groaned, “You’ve been a thorn in our sides for far too long, Carmine Belch. But from now on, you’re going to be my pussy-licking broodmare. Do you hear me, Carmine? I saved the best one for last; you and only you get to carry our Queen. Aren’t you honoured?”

It was almost impossible to focus, but the enormity of what was she was saying managed to break through everything else. I tried to remember everything I knew about the slugs. The Queen’s role was usually just ceremonial, basically she became nothing more than an egg factory. But it was just too hard to hold onto anything else. Jo’s fingers lifted me expertly towards another mind-shattering climax and my senses were filled with Lesley. But despite all of that, over and above everything I could still taste Olivia’s exquisite flavour.

It was the slug. The disconnected, rational part of my mind recognised that, and I almost welcomed it. In our own way, Olivia and I were so alike. I could recognise the need in her, because on one level I shared it too. Not wanting to be alone, willing to accept almost everything just to belong.

“Olivia,” I mewled into Lesley’s dripping snatch, and I felt her respond.

Another orgasm pounded me, but it was her voice that cried out in ecstasy. Then, without warning, whatever was happening reached out and gripped each of them in turn. Lesley was the last to give in, juicing and spurting over my face. I felt her creamy cum dribbling over my chin. It took only a weak nudge to push her off, letting her collapse beside me, still spasming and convulsing.

“How?” she managed weakly, “It’s not possible.”

“Stephibot,” I called, ignoring Lesley for the moment, “Override Code: Cunning Linguist.”

“Stephibot online,” she replied mechanically, “Awaiting instructions.”

“Restrain everyone here who isn’t me,” I ordered, struggling to stand.

“Well, here it is,” I explained slowly, “I’m what they call a xenophile, and one of the risks implicit in that, is that I’ve gotten a dose of pretty much everything going. Call it an occupational hazard. But, it all came to a head when I inadvertently passed on a case of Acturian Crotch Rot to the Terra Novan ambassador.

They were plenty pissed, let me tell you. But I just couldn’t help myself, as far as goo-monsters go, she was a real dish, and I’ve always had a thing about tentacles. Anyway, the Terra Novans are good ‘people’, and besides, the ambassador put in a good word for me. So, they let me off with a warning, but not before they’d dosed me up with the broadest of broad-spectrum antibiotics.”

Lesley stared at me in disbelief, as Stephibot closed one perfectly manicured hand around her slender neck. There was a blur of movement, and the next moment, she joined the other perfectly packaged captives on the dungeon floor.

“My guess is that they treated your Queen as if she was just another infection,” I continued carefully, unsure if she could still hear me.

Anyway, that’s pretty much the story so far. We’re all waiting on the Terra Novans now, hoping that they’ll share some more of that special juice, so that I can rescue the other girls. Of course, I’m not in any real hurry. Once I switched off the organic part of Stephanie, the slug lost its control over her. She and Ms. Frottage, sorry, Candice, are getting on famously, there’s even talk of a civil partnership.

Kate and Penelope have become a bit of an item, apparently the cop needs to be in charge, and the lawyer likes to be told what to do. Not exactly a match made in heaven, but they seem happy enough, and whatever happened to me while I played host to the Queen, it still seems to be working. That lets me do all sorts of interesting things to my girls.

That pretty much brings me full circle. As for my fate, well, I can’t complain. I get to play with both of the gorgeous pouting Safoe sisters, and their equally delicious butler. Of course, I need regular intravenous infusions to keep myself from going the same way as Nebbish, but really that’s a small price to play. After all, it’s nice to belong and once you’ve tried slug, trust me, you’ll never go back.