The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The clack of her metal tipped high heels on the thinly carpeted floor was a source of embarrassment to Amanda. The unexpected sound tended to draw attention, and the gentle sway they gave to her shapely ass tended to keep it. The property sergeant had heard her coming from two doors away and was standing to attention. The lustful look in his eyes was matched by the huge bulge in his trousers. Amanda pretended to ignore both, but a part of her was wondering how big his cock was, what it would feel like thrusting into her ..

“Sergeant,” she said, having to consciously avoid licking her deep red lips, “I am going to do an inventory check. My attention has been drawn to a recent spending irregularity.” Amanda had to be that formal, she feared that any friendliness between herself and this sergeant could lead to intimacy far too easily.

“Yes ma’am,” he responded with an evident mixture of relief and disappointment. He unlocked the door to the armoury and stood well back, letting his superior enter the concrete clad room beyond. As soon as Amanda had switched on the light, he closed and locked the door behind her, as per standard procedure. Amanda was glad that at least some regulations were being adhered too, even as the uniform code slid.

Of course that was the problem, or at least what had caught her attention. She had been talking to the WPCs, had been suggesting that they wear the trousers rather than the skirt, and they had reminded her that she had sent a memo around instructing the female officers to go with the skirt. Amanda had had no recollection of that memo, until the moment it was mentioned and then she suddenly clearly remembered drafting and sending it.

That had set her to looking through her files to see what else she had done and not remembered. To her horror she found she had drafted a whole series of memos on ‘appropriate behaviour and dress’, all of which weren’t appropriate. And then there were the invoices for redecoration and equipment.

The first item on Amanda’s list was truncheons. She drew in a deep breath as she stared at the rack where they should be. What was there were indeed long and black, but they were not police issue. Police batons did not come with ribs or bulbous knobs on the end. It did, however, explain why the invoice for this batch came not from the usual supplier but from a firm that offered discrete brown packaging.

Next on her list was forensic gloves. What she found in the boxes, while made of thin latex, were not suitable as gloves unless you wanted to use them one finger at a time, and had very large fingers.

Noticing that each of the boxes was labelled with the names of her male officers, Amanda became curious and removed one from each box to compare them. She was slightly surprised, and secretly thrilled, that the largest belonged to PC Singh. Thoughts of testing the validity of the sizing had to be quickly quashed before she lost all focus on what she was supposed to be doing.

The next item didn’t help. In place of the station’s supply of pepper spray was several cartons of what proved to be a medical lubricant. The assurance on the label that it was suitable for vaginal and anal lubrication evoked images of a cock plunging into her own ass—PC Wells first, to be safe since he had the smallest cock ..

Amanda dropped the jar back into the carton and stepped away, inhaling sharply to try and clear her head. That just made it worse as she became aware of a scent of leather. She couldn’t take any more, hurrying to the door and rapping hard to let the sergeant know she wanted to leave.

It took all of Amanda’s willpower not to look at anything else in the armoury as she waited for the door to open. When it did she pushed past the sergeant quite bruskly and strode away, conscious once again of the stutico noise of her heels.

With a shrug, the sergeant turned off the light and carefully locked up after Amanda had left. If he noticed that two of the new ‘truncheons’ were missing, he didn’t mention it.

“Janus, you were part of the old Redfell station weren’t you?”

“Yes ma’am,” the young officer volunteered, “But only just. I’d only been there three weeks when they announced the new station. We all thought they were going to close down Redfell, especially since they had just retired the Sarge.”

“And WPC Clements had an even briefer tenure than you at the old station.” Amanda stated, more for clarification than information. She had the bare facts in front of her in the form of the personnel files. A disturbing trend was becoming evident.

“Yes ma’am. I know the rest of the guys treat us like the old hands, but we really hadn’t a chance to settle in before we were all shifting to the .., into this building.”

“That’s what I wanted to ask you about. What can you tell me about this building, from before it was converted?”

“Well, it was ‘allegedly’ a brothel at some time.” Janus hedged his words in the manner they hammered into you at police training college. Amanda allowed the slightest inkling of a frown cross her face to let him know she was serious.

“How about the station gossip? What did they say about the building, the residents?” Amanda clarified her earlier question. Janus shuffled nervously, so Amanda gave him a further prompting. “You don’t have to name any names.”

“Um, well .. supposedly a ‘pro’ bought this building some time in the seventies, did it up, established her trade and girls. Was a pretty rough area even back then, so probably a lot safer for the girls. Became a sort of established ‘landmark’ so to speak. Sarge .. ahem, the feeling I got was that it was sort of live-and-let-live with our boys. Didn’t hassle each other too much. Then ..”

Amanda made a noise in her throat that let the young policeman know that she didn’t appreciate the dramatic pause.

“Then there was the raid. Headquarters group but they pulled in the local bods for numbers. Don’t know much, Sarge just indicated that it went down bad, real bad.”

“Thank you.”

“Is that all, ma’am?” Janus asked hopeful to get away. Being in the station chief’s office was always nerve wracking enough, but with his superior’s mood swings it was downright scary.

“No, I want you to find the case-file for the raid and bring it to me. Today preferably.” Amanda said, staring off into space as she tried to make sense of why she was so interested in the building and its history. She dismissed Janus with a wave of her hand, something she would normally have considered as condescending but right now she was too distracted to care.

Amanda thought about it for a bit longer, decided she was getting nowhere and got up to see what was going on around the station.

“Interview room 1, Redfell,” Amanda intoned, “Suspect: Arnold Benson, charged with receiving stolen goods. Officers in attendance: Inspector Statton and PC Wells.”

The man sitting opposite the two uniformed officers was in his mid forties, slightly overweight and thinning on top. He was also perspiring heavily, which wasn’t unusual for someone being questioned about a criminal matter. Amanda gave him several moments of silence to sweat in before speaking again.

“Now Mr Benson, you could save us all a lot of time if you just told us who supplied you with the dvd-players.”

His response was instinctive. “They’re mine, I bought them legit. I would never knowingly accept stolen gear inspector, god’s honest truth.”

“Forty eight brand new, top of the line machines?” Amanda scoffed. She wished he would look up so that she could make eye contact. However, his gaze was firmly set on her chest. Not wearing her scarf or blouse, Amanda had to admit she was displaying a cleavage worth staring at.

“Uh,” Arnold wet his lips, still fixated on the firm mounds of flesh pushing apart the lapels of Amanda’s jacket, “I got a really good deal on them, thought I could sell them down the market, make a bit of cash.”

Amanda began to lean forward in mock anger, then realised that all she was doing was giving him a better view. Instead she pushed back her chair and stood up—something she wasn’t supposed to do, but fortunately Benson hadn’t asked for a lawyer yet. She saw that his gaze flicked to her legs as she moved around the table to stand beside him.

“Now Mr Benson,” she was addressing the top of his head as her spaghetti strap stilettos seemed to fascinate him, “We don’t want to make your life difficult, we know you’re only a small time fence. What we really want is the person who stole the dvd-players. He really isn’t a very nice man. He put the poor security guard in hospital when he broke into the warehouse. Surely you can help us catch the nasty man?” Amanda perched herself on the edge of the table and put a friendly hand on Arnold’s shoulder.

Arnold’s head moved up a fraction, and Amanda realised that her skirt had hiked up enough to expose her stocking tops—just inches from Arnold’s flushed face. There was also an embarrassed shuffle from PC Wells that Amanda ignored.

“Um, well .. I would like to help but .. " Arnold stammered. Detecting a weakness, Amanda decided to pressure him and putting her other arm around his neck, slid into his lap.

The startled gasp from her junior officer was completely drowned out by Arnold’s startled ‘Oh my god!’. Amanda could feel the firm hardness in Arnold’s trousers pressing against her ass cheeks and she knew she was on the right track. Stroking the back of his head, she let him savour the scent of the perfume she had dabbed between her breasts. His hand had crept up instinctively to her leg and was resting on the strip of soft flesh beyond her stocking top.

“I .. oh .. I can’t,” Arnold whimpered, his warm breath tickling Amanda’s skin in a delightful way. “I shouldn’t.”

Amanda gave a gentle wiggle of her bum and kissed him firmly on his forehead. “Please,” she whispered.

“Johnny Guest!” Arnold blurted out, “It was Johnny Guest! He even bragged about how he’d thumped the old guy.”

Amanda smiled and ran a finger over the wet crotch of her panties before pressing the juice-scented finger against Arnold’s lips. “Thank you so much, Mr Benson.” With that, she wiggled in his lap again, then got up, pulled her skirt back into place and went for the door. “PC Wells, you can release Mr Benson once you get a signed statement from him.” And with that she left the room, leaving both men in stunned silence for several moments.

Arnold recovered first.

“Don’t I get a disc?”

“What?” PC Wells responded, still too shocked to work out what Arnold was on about.

“A copy of the interview—they’re all recorded now, right?” Arnold pressed on.

“Uh yeah,” PC Wells admitted, then thought about it for a moment. “A hundred quid.”

“Make it fifty,” Arnold countered, “And I’ll run you off ten copies.”

“Deal.”

Back in her office, Amanda stared hard at a photograph Janus had found for her. It was faded, scratched and folded in more than one place. Lounging around, like a scene from a bad movie, was a bevy of ill-clad young women. It was obviously done in fun, the granny-knickers, badly laced corsets and ridiculous feather boas along with wild hair and overdone makeup—all parodying a bordello scene. But it was the ‘madam’, stern looking and clad in an all-encompassing black dress, that had caught Amanda’s eye.

When the photograph had been taken, probably in the late 1970’s, the woman playing the role of brothel-keeper had probably been in her thirties. However, for the humour of the picture she had put some effort into making herself look older. As a result, Amanda recognised Mrs Harlow.

Her hand trembling, Amanda reached for her phone and dialled Councillor Harlow’s private number. Something was going on, something was happening to her, and to her station and her officers. There was a single tone on the other end, followed by gentle tune with a computerised voice telling Amanda that Councillor Harlow was taking another call.

Amanda waited, softly drawn in by the music.