The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

1

Empire City 1930’s

Mistress Fatale’s heart was pounding inside her chest. The moment was at hand and all she needed now was to bypass one or two last hurdles.

Anyone who spied the mysterious damsel lurking in the high shrubs near the front door of the mansion would have been stunned. The dark satin backless gown she wore this night accentuated a voluptuous figure. There was a high slit in the front that allowed a daring peek at the garters clasping sheer hosiery with seams up the back her shapely legs. A stylish fedora was cocked just so on the fluffy blonde curls on her head. Jade green eyes rimmed by long eyelashes peered with an ice-cold intensity through the eyeholes of a silk and lace-trimmed domino mask. Her arms were covered just past the elbows by shiny black opera gloves. A black silk cape, clasped with an ebony pendant, flowed behind her and her glossy black high heel pumps clicked lightly on the tile pavement as she crept out of the shadows toward the oak panel double doors.

With a simple few twists of her lock pick, Mistress Fatale had finally made her way into the inner sanctum of Julian Connor’s lavish country estate on the outskirts of Empire City. Now that she was in, she quickly made her way down a long hallway and into the two-story library, using a small penlight to illuminate a path through the darkness. The first thing she did was to tug one of the drawer handles of an immense cherry wood desk that sat in the middle of the room. It was not even halfway open when she was frozen like ice by a voice in the darkness.

“A woman in a mask who lurks around in the dark is just looking for trouble.”

There was a ‘click’ and a soft light filled the room.

Mistress Fatale’s heart skipped but she steeled her nerves before slowly turning her head to see Empire City’s most influential underworld figure sitting comfortably in a leather chair in one corner of the room grinning at her. She thought, ‘How could this be possible? I could have sworn I saw him leave with his bodyguards right before I slipped through the closing gate.’

She was about to reach for the automatic in the compact holster strapped to her thigh but she caught a movement from one of the bookshelf balconies above her. She glanced up to spy one a burly goon pointing the barrel of a shiny black Tommy gun down at her. For the moment she resigned herself that she was at a clear disadvantage.

“Mistress Fatale I presume? I wouldn’t make any sudden moves if I were you. It would be a shame to have a beauty like you cut to shreds.”

“How did you…?”

“…Get back here so quickly? That was a look-a-like you saw leave earlier. A decoy if you will. As you may know I have enemies in this city and he comes in quite handy. We’re the spitting image of each other. So close even my mistresses can’t tell us apart sometimes,” he chuckled.

“So…what now?” Mistress Fatale inquired, crossing her arms with cool defiance. She tried to keep up a nonchalant façade so as not to appear intimidated or frightened by Connor. Inwardly though she was more than a bit anxious. It wasn’t the first time some criminal had gotten the upper hand over her, but she always managed to come out on top, in more ways than one. This time would be no different. She would just have to be patient and wait for the right opportunity to make her move.

“Well, seeing as how you are trespassing in my home, I should call the police and have you arrested. I understand there is a handsome reward for the capture of the masked vigilante Mistress Fatale. But before I pursue that option, perhaps you wouldn’t mind telling what you were looking for in my desk.”

“I think you already know the answer to that,” Mistress Fatale sneered.

Connor shrugged and smiled. “I suppose you were looking for the evidence that proves Conrad Buxton did not murder his business partner. You’re one of the few that believes his story and through some clever detective work you’ve discovered that I hold the key to his innocence.”

“That’s correct,” Mistress Fatale replied with a tone of arrogance.

“Tell me, why should someone like you care if some spoiled rich socialite goes to the gas chamber while his gold-digging fiancée cries over her bad luck?”

Mistress Fatale bristled at Connor’s remarks. Indeed he had no clue that it was she, Constance VanDercourt, the fiancée of Conrad Buxton, who was behind the mask of Mistress Fatale standing before him now. After Conrad’s business partner, Ned Coddington, was murdered a year ago, “evidence” was turned over to the district attorney’s office that implicated Conrad in the murder of his longtime friend and business partner. After a sensational trial at which Conrad was found guilty and sentenced to the death penalty, his defense attorneys filed dozens of appeals to delay his execution while an army of private detectives searched for Ned’s true killer. They turned up next to nothing. With time running out, Constance decided to do something herself. Without anyone’s knowledge, including Conrad’s, she adopted the guise of Mistress Fatale, the mysterious masked avenger with a silver-plated automatic who could circumvent the usual channels to do her detective work whereas Constance VanDercourt or anyone else could not.

What also made her fume was the gold-digger comment. Constance was certainly not one of those. Her own fortune was already in hand by the time she met Conrad Buxton. It was at a fundraiser for the charity foundation she began at the age of 21 when she graduated from college and received her trust fund. His fortune did surpass her hers by several million, but that was not the reason she wanted to marry him. He was simply a caring loving man that she wanted to spend the rest of her life with.

“It’s simple really,” Mistress Fatale sneered. “Constance VanDercourt is a close friend and I promised to help her find Coddington’s true killer. Despite that so-called evidence against him, Conrad is innocent. That’s all there is to it.”

Julian Connor stared at Mistress Fatale long and hard before he finally stood up. He approached the masked adventuress and said, “Well, I certainly have no motivation to help him.”

“You bastard!” Mistress Fatale snapped. “You would let an innocent man die for a crime he did not commit?”

“It’s really none of my concern,” Connor replied with a callous shrug.

It was clear Julian Connor was the cold immoral fiend she had heard countless stories of. There was no way to break his icy façade. He only knew understood one thing and that was whatever benefited him the most. It was time to appeal to his greedy nature.

“Look, you have something we need. Perhaps we could make some sort of deal.”

Connor raised an eyebrow. “I’m listening.”

“What if Constance VanDercourt were to offer a substantial amount of money in exchange for the evidence?”

Conrad chortled, and then gestured dramatically to his immaculate surroundings. “As you can see, money is something I’m not in short supply of.” “Then I…she… we are at your mercy,” Mistress Fatale stammered, growing flustered at Connor’s unwillingness to see reason. “What else is there that she could do to convince you to help?”

Julian Connor smiled mischievously and Mistress Fatale immediately regretted what she had just said. Her heart began to speed up as she anticipated his next words.

“Here is my counter proposal. I will turn over all the proof that I have of her fiancé’s innocence and in return I only ask for one thing.”

Constance tensed up. She could already surmise what this cad’s next words were going to be. The masked vigilante steeled herself. “I’m listening.”

“I wish to spend one night in bed with Constance VanDercourt.”

Mistress Fatale flushed behind her mask. It was all she could do to keep from slapping the vile monster standing before her.

“You bastard! How dare you? Never in a million years would she agree to such a thing!”

“Pity. Only one night in my bed would be all it would take to snatch her lover from the gas chamber as well as the certain mind-numbing torture of solitary confinement he’s being subjected to due to the threats inside the prison.”

“She would still refuse!”

“If she is worried about anyone finding out, I can assure you that no one would have to know except she and I, and you of course.”

“What sort of perverse fiend are you? Even if she did agree to something so unspeakable, which she would never, what guarantees would she have that you would keep your word and not tell a soul? Or if your information concerning Conrad Buxton is even legitimate?”

“I don’t believe you would be here if it weren’t,” Conner replied with a smirk. “My only desire at this moment is to bed your beautiful young friend Constance VanDercourt for one night with no other strings attached.”

It was true what he said about the evidence. All leads and clues did indeed lead to Julian Conner, not as the killer, but as the only person in Empire City who had proof of Ned’s true assailant. In fact there was no major criminal activity that he did not have at least some passing knowledge of. At any time he could blackmail nearly anyone in the city if he so wished, including some corrupt politicians, judges and high-level members of law enforcement. That way he kept himself truly insulated from prosecution for his shady dealings.

The thought of it sickened Mistress Fatale. But the thought of her beloved Conrad, confined in his cell going mad with loneliness and worry that he could be put to death for a crime he did not even commit, distressed her even more. It was too much to bear. She ached to have him in her arms once again. But would submitting herself to Julian Connor’s base desires for one night be worth her pride and self-esteem? She could only imagine what humiliating acts she might be subjected to. Rumor had it that his tastes leaned toward the kinky when it came to his bedroom activities.

The vigilante scowled at the suave criminal. She was livid at the situation he was putting her in. But at the moment she realized she had no other choice. If this vile criminal held the key that would free her innocent fiancé, she would do whatever it took to save him. But, Constance VanDercourt, a well-respected member of Empire City high society, had her pride and good name, and there was no way she would even chance that it be sullied by the likes of Julian Connor. There had to be another way.

Mistress Fatale stiffened and in a cool tone told him, “Here is my own proposal. Let me take her place instead.”

Connor was taken aback by the offer at first, but already Constance could almost see the perverted thoughts churning behind his eyes. It was a good sign that the offer intrigued him. As Constance VanDercourt, she would never allow herself to be bedded like some trollop by this pervert. But as Mistress Fatale, the masked detective, perhaps she could take whatever he dished out and dish out something herself in the end if the opportunity arose.

“Think of it,” Mistress Fatale continued, before Connor could think of turning down the offer. “You could spend one night with the beautiful and sexy vigilante Mistress Fatale, the one woman pursued by both the criminal world and the police… one night to do anything you wished to her body… one night in which she would perform any act you desired. Afterwards, you alone would have bragging rights with all your disgusting cronies and even pictures to prove it if you wished. Rest assured that I myself would enjoy none of it! All I ask is that I keep my mask on and my identity remain a secret from you.”

Mistress Fatale could not help but notice that Julian Connor had achieved an erection at the mere thought of her bold offer. He gazed at her for several moments, and Constance feared he would turn her down.

Connor finally replied. “Well, that is a difficult offer to turn down. I would certainly enjoy having that uppity debutante in my bed to despoil, but I can see before me is a rare opportunity for something unique. Just the thought of it is causing adrenaline to course through my veins. But I need your word you will not renege on your proposal once my bodyguard leaves us alone… ”

“As long as you do not renege on yours,” Mistress Fatale replied in a sultry tone as she took a step closer to Connor, her body charged with a sexual boldness that took her by surprise. Certainly as Constance VanDercourt, she would never do anything to betray her Conrad’s trust, but behind the sexy mask and façade of Mistress Fatale, she was free to unleash a deep-seated sexual intensity.

“Vincent, leave us,” Connor ordered his bodyguard. The goon gave his boss an amused nod and promptly exited the room. Once the door was closed, Connor took one step closer to Mistress Fatale, until they were mere inches from one another.

With a cool tone, Connor told her, “Whenever I enter into a deal I always require a sign of good faith.”

“What do you have in mind?” Mistress Fatale inquired with a daring lift of her eyebrow.

“Your gun.”

Mistress Fatale tensed up for a moment. Without her gun she was somewhat vulnerable but she still had her wits and some fighting skills at her disposal. It was mostly that she hated the fact that she was giving up any tool of her crime-fighting trade. Well, she reasoned, soon enough it would not be the only thing she would be giving up. If this creep tried to harm her in any way, though, she would fight tooth and nail to survive. She gave Connor a haughty look. Then, with what could only be described as deliberately provocative, she parted the slit of her gown, revealing a silky thigh and the lace top of her silk stockings.

Connor took perverse delight in the leg and stocking show. It was one of the sexiest things he’d ever seen. He held his hand out as Mistress Fatale took her automatic from its slim holster and placed it in his palm, keeping her beautiful eyes locked on his as if daring him to try anything. Connor simply dropped the gun inside his jacket pocket.

“Well, then, shall we begin?” Connor asked.

Mistress Fatale’s heart pounded. This was the moment of truth. No matter what happened the rest of the evening, she silently swore to remain stalwart, knowing deep inside her heart, mind and spirit she would remain faithful to Conrad. Whatever she was about to do, she was going to do it as someone completely opposite of Constance VanDercourt, the only daughter of one of Empire City’s high society families, a private school honors student and top graduate of Bennington College for Women, who took her trust fund to establish a foundation for charitable works. As of this evening, however, she was the daring damsel Mistress Fatale, the “vivacious vigilante” who used her wits and detective skills over the last year to pursue the true killer of her fiancé’s partner and friend, and in turn explore the dark side of Empire City’s criminal underworld. Behind her mask, she was able to forego the usual channels to expose some of those evildoers to the light of justice. Over time, she made numerous enemies on both sides of the law. The criminals wanted her killed simply for meddling in their criminal enterprises. Law enforcement wanted her captured and jailed, citing her “vigilantism” as the reason as well as her so-called “interference with true police work.” However, the fact was there were those in the police department who wanted her out of the way because she was ruining their crooked arrangements with the criminal element.

In her pursuit of justice for her fiancé, she could never afford to show fear of anyone, least of all the man standing before her. As Constance VanDercourt she would never entertain the thought of sleeping with any other man besides Conrad, but as Mistress Fatale, she could see Julian Connor as simply a ruggedly handsome rogue whom she would join for one night of carnal acts.

“So, what would you like me to do?” Mistress Fatale asked in a sultry tone, feeling herself grow bolder and more sexually charged by the second. She removed her fedora and tossed it on the desk while slinking up to Connor and slipping one shapely leg between the both of his until her thigh was pressed firm against his groin. She gazed into his dark eyes, hands stroking the lapels of his jacket as she continued her seductive monologue. “Would you like me to get down on my knees and take you in my mouth first? Or should we could go straight to your bedroom where you can undress me and ravage me over…and over…and over…” Her last words were breathed hotly into Julian Connor’s ear as one hand slipped down between his legs to brush her fingers over his raging erection.

Connor had never been so aroused by a woman in his life, and he had had all kinds of women, including many of the high-class call girls in the city. None of them compared to this seductive little minx.

“There will be plenty of time for all that,” Connor rasped. “First…”

He clutched Mistress Fatale by the arms even closer, if that was possible, and planted his mouth full on her luscious lips, kissing her deep and hard while he allowed his hands to roam down her slinky back and cup her tight derriere cheeks, palming them gently at first and then gripping them firmly with his fingers. The voluptuous vigilante responded with a soft moan and returned his passionate kiss, allowing him to slip his tongue in her mouth and twirling hers around his in kind.

Mistress Fatale was overwhelmed by Julian’s passionate embrace. As Constance VanDercourt it had been so long since she had been intimate with Conrad. Once he had been accused of murder up until the trial he had been too stressed to make love to her. It had been even longer since her sexual needs had been fully quenched. She could feel the unmistakable ache deep between her legs. Her hips instinctively squirmed and pressed squirmed tighter against Julian’s waist as if seeking out a treasure held there. Her arousal boiled up even more when Julian began fondling her breasts through her satin gown. It was the one area of her body that was extremely sensitive to the touch. When he pinched one nipple through the sleek fabric, she was driven to the brink of desire. Her gloved hands instinctively rushed to loosen his tie and unbutton his shirt so she could feel his bare chest against her cleavage.

‘Damn, this woman is a sexual dynamo!’ Connor thought to himself. ‘I can’t wait to defile every inch of her!’

“All right you trollop,” Connor hissed as he drew Mistress Fatale away to catch his breath. “Its time to show me how talented you really are with that gorgeous mouth of yours!”

At any other time, those degrading words would have offended her. But for some inexplicable reason, coming from Julian Conner, it made her quiver with excitement. Constance had never experienced such a highly charged arousal before now. It was if some base feminine desire had been unleashed within her and she was now free to explore its limits. Although her love life with Conrad had been passionate at times, especially in the beginning, he was not the most adventurous when it came to the bedroom. Here with Julian Connor she was experiencing something she had never had with her fiancé. She immediately blocked out the faint pangs of guilt that threatened to overwhelm her. Instead of fretting over Conrad, she would focus all her thoughts on the task at hand. With a seductive look in her eyes, she ever so slowly moved down Connor’s open shirt, leaving teasing kisses on his chest, then his stomach before pausing just above the gold buckle of his belt.

Connor’s member was rock hard now and aching to be free from the confines of his tailored slacks. But he allowed Mistress Fatale’s teasing because it heightened the rush of arousal he was experiencing. He simply enjoyed watching as she rubbed her gloved hands up and down his thighs and nudged her nose and cheeks against his bulge. Then the masked seductress slowly unbuckled his belt, taking as much time as possible, driving Julian to the brink of anticipation of what was about to come. By the time she reached into his pants to take him out, he was nearly tempted to grab her by the hair and explode in her face. But he prided himself on his self-control and allowed her to continue her excruciatingly seductive actions.

Mistress Fatale gazed with awe and trepidation at Connor’s stiff member. A hundred thoughts ran through her mind as she contemplated her next decision. ‘Oh my! He is huge! I can’t believe I am going to do this! I have never felt so wicked! What is it about this man that makes me feel like some wanton tramp? Is it that I’m hiding behind this masked alter ego? Has Mistress Fatale released something deep inside and allowed me to be someone I’ve held back for so long? Someone I could never be with anyone else. My heavens, I am so aroused I can’t stand it any longer.’

Whatever it was that was driving Constance now, she was becoming a slave to it and nothing would allow her to turn back now. She puckered her full lips and placed tenders kisses over the smooth bulb of Connor’s shaft. When she felt it twitch in the grasp of her gloved fingers she was emboldened to do more. Letting slip her tongue to lavish a series of wet licks around the head and along the entire shaft. She heard Connor’s breathing become heavier and when she took just the head within the warmth of her mouth, she heard him groan with pleasure. Although she was on her knees in the most subservient of positions, the thought of having control over this man’s pleasure with her lips and tongue aroused Mistress Fatale even more. She could practically feel her feminine juices soaking the patch of satin panties between her legs.

Connor reached down and ran his fingers through Mistress Fatale’s golden curls. It was an incredible feeling watching the masked vigilante down on her knees in front of him, legs crossed primly at the ankles, the top of her head moving sensuously back and forth as she suckled him. He was thrilled even more when she would moan with delight and look up at him. Her eyes seemed to flash with desire behind her lace-trimmed mask. His cronies would have killed to be in his shoes at that moment, being pleasured by the famous Mistress Fatale, the one woman who was pursued, desired and fantasized about by nearly every man in the city for both murderous and more prurient purposes. The power he felt was more invigorating than at any time in his criminal career. She was driving him wild with her lips and tongue and he was on the verge of exploding in her mouth.

“Get up!” Connor suddenly ordered, yanking Mistress Fatale roughly to her feet.

The voluptuous detective gasped in surprise as he lifted her by the hips and plopped her onto the top of his huge desk and then reached though the high slit of her gown to spread her thighs apart. She had to brace herself when he grasped and tore away her silk panties.

The time for patience and gentleness was over. Julian Connor could not hold back any longer. He had to have this sexy siren and he had to have her now. Enflamed with arousal, he positioned himself between Mistress Fatale’s creamy silk thighs. In one quick motion he plunged his member brutally into the tight confines of her tender slit, uttering an animal-like grunt as he filled her entirely.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!” Mistress Fatale screamed out in surprising pleasure. Her back arched upward so much from the forceful thrust, that only the top of her head was touching the desk.

Constance VanDercourt considered herself a modern woman. In college she had even experimented in Sapphic love in the privacy of her dorm room with her roommate, Valerie Miles. She embraced her sexuality and did not subscribe to the strict morals of the times that one saved oneself for marriage. She and Conrad had made love numerous times during their courtship but kept their affairs secret, not only in deference to everyday society’s moral beliefs, but also to prevent the rumors and innuendos that high society was famous for. But nothing prepared for the overwhelming sensations that she was feeling now. Never had she been taken with such intensity. Certainly she had fantasized about such things, but to actually experience such arousal was another matter entirely. Julian Conner was long and stiff and filled her completely. His stabbing thrusts were painful at first but as she fell into the rhythm of his deliberate strokes, the boundless pleasure seemed to overtake her until she was practically urging him on to fill her even deeper.

Connor grinned as he stared down in the masked countenance of Mistress Fatale. Her eyes were closed tight, panting mouth open, head tossing from left to right as he drove into her. There was no mistaking the heated expression of passion and her desire to be taken as he was taking her now. He was going to enjoy spending every minute until morning using her body to fulfill his carnal needs. There were so many things he had planned for Mistress Fatale that he hardly knew where to begin. He was poised to erupt for the second time and again he decided to hold off. From past experience with his many mistresses, the longer he prolonged his orgasm, the more intense it would be once he unleashed it. Now would be the first of many opportunities to exercise his domination over his voluptuous plaything. With a series of quick expert stokes he waited until the gorgeous vigilante was squealing “Yes! Oh, yes! YES!” revealing the telltale signs of her impending climax. Just as she was tensed and on the brink of release, he cruelly pulled out of her without any warning.

Mistress Fatale uttered of gasp of shock and disappointment at being denied ultimate release and the intense pleasure of his manhood inside her. She stared at Julian Connor in disbelief and when she recognized his pleased look, she blushed with shame, realizing that perhaps she had revealed too much of her deep-seated enthusiasm.

“I knew you really wanted it…” Connor smirked, taking a step back to survey the flustered beauty before him. “Now beg me to continue.”

“You filthy bastard!” Mistress Fatale hissed as she stood up from the desk and attempted to slap him across the face.

Connor snatched her wrist before the blow landed and roughly twisted her around so that her arm was behind her back. Then he pushed her over the desk at the waist so that her buttocks were now thrust out invitingly. She tried to struggle free but he was deceptively strong and had her trapped firmly against the desk.

Now that she was pinned, Connor found it easy to take Mistress Fatale’s silk cape and use it to wrap both of her arms together at the elbows and cinch it with knot. He’d had plenty of practice in the past using silk scarves to bind his mistresses just like this.

“Damn you! Let me loose this instant!” Mistress Fatale demanded, flailing her lower arms in frustration. “I never agreed to anything like this you kinky pervert!”

“It’s too late to turn back now, my sweet,” Connor chuckled now that he had his prey cleverly trussed so that it is impossible to untie herself. Then he let loose with a series of cruel swats across her derriere with the open palm of his hand. “And this is only the beginning of what I have in store for you…”

All Mistress Fatale could do was squirm, wince and bite her lip as each stinging blow landed upon her quivering behind. She was determined not to let Connor humiliate her further by crying out, but she could not help the hot tears that spilled down her cheeks.

Meanwhile Julian Connor delighted in Mistress Fatale’s defiance. Most women he knew caved in to his demands much to quickly, but she was strong. It was going to make the taming of this arrogant hellcat so much more enjoyable.

2

“Aaaaaah! Stop this you coward!” Mistress Fatale begged after countless swats to her tender derriere.

“I will if you promise never to defy me again!” Connor told her.

“No!”

SWATTT!

“Damn you!” the masked adventuress groaned. The sting of his hand was painful, but there was something else about it that confused and excited her. Could it be that deep down inside she needed to be dominated like this. It was unthinkable. What’s wrong with me? I would never let any man treat me this way!

“I see you’re not ready to give in,” Connor smiled with one last swat, clearly pleased that there was still some fight in her. “Well then, let us retire to my bedroom and we’ll just see how defiant you are after a few hours in my bed.”

With that, Connor yanked Mistress Fatale up by the hair, keeping her arm in a firm grip behind her back. She was still exhausted from struggling in his grasp while he spanked her and before she could even think of resisting, Connor was already leading out of the library to his bedroom. Once there he shoved her face first onto the bed. She tried to turn over and get up but he pounced on her and pinned her waist down firm with his hips. She could feel his hardness pressed between the crevice of her buttocks. She was stunned by what came next. In a matter of seconds, he untied her cape from her arms and then placed them so that her wrists were now positioned above her head. Then he produced a pair of metal bracelets seemingly out of nowhere and snapped them to her wrists so she was now chained to the ornate headboard.

While she yanked and twisted at the cuffs, grunting with fear and desperation, Connor took his time to completely undress, setting his shoes on the floor with socks tucked neatly inside and then folding the rest of his clothes on a chair with great care. He left Mistress Fatale alone in the room for a while, presumably to wash up. When he returned he turned his full concentration toward his captive beauty. He removed her pumps one at a time, giving each stocking-covered foot a tickling caress. Then he unclasped the ebony brooch that held up her cape and the front of her gown. Now it was a simple matter of taking the satin dress by the hem and slipping it off her body so that all she wore was her mask, opera gloves, garters and stockings. Connor admired the delicious sight for a moment before he took a large pillow and propped up her waist so that her pert rear was poised upward.

“No! Not like this! I won’t be taken like some animal!” Mistress Fatale screamed at her molester.

“But the agreement was that I could do whatever I wished to your body. Isn’t that what you said?”

“I meant anything within reason!”

“In my bedroom, this is well within reason, my sweet. In fact this pales in comparison to what I have in store for you later.”

‘Oh, dear heavens! What have I gotten myself into? This man is a complete pervert! Constance fretted. She never envisioned anything like this when she decided to don the guise of Mistress Fatale. Certainly she had experienced her share of trouble in the past, such as the time she was knocked over the head, tied up, gagged and photographed in her mask and lingerie by a sleazy photographer. But just when the scoundrel was about to reveal her true identity, she escaped, pummeled the kidnapper and destroyed the photographs. Since then she had been extra careful to avoid capture.

Now she was in dire straits and there was little she could do but tug at her cuffs and curse her captor. She had never felt so vulnerable. He could even unmask her now if he wished and she couldn’t stop him. Yet she could not seem to understand why she felt such a tingling thrill at the danger of this whole situation. When Connor seemed ready to climb onto the bed to do heaven knows what, she made the mistake of trying to give him pause with the emasculating comment, “Why is it that sick perverts like you can only get your jollies by taking a woman by force?”

“I love hearing your defiant but useless comments, but I have something that I think is appropriate for the time being,” Connor sneered. He opened the drawer of the nightstand next to the bed and produced an odd contraption that consisted of a large black rubber ball with thick leather straps attached to it. “Do you know what this is?”

Mistress Fatale eyes widened with trepidation. She had never seen such a thing but she quickly surmised exactly what it was for. “No! Don’t you dare you dirty rotten bas-MMMMMMMMFFF!!!”

The vigilante’s screams were muffled by the ball crammed firmly between her teeth, sealing her lips tightly around the orb in a perfect “O” shape.

“Yes, that’s much better. A woman’s mouth is only good for a few things and talking isn’t one of them,” Connor taunted Mistress Fatale as he fastened the ball gag buckle tight behind her head. When he added a humiliating pat on her head after he finished, Mistress Fatale scowled at Connor

“ERUUMPH!” the masked vigilante uttered angrily.

“Now, let us get down to the business at hand, shall we?” Connor said, as he caressed Mistress Fatale’s bare rump. He enjoyed watching her squirm and grunt as he fondled her firm buttocks and breasts. He was gentle at first and then groped her more roughly just to gauge her reaction. Yes, she was still feisty and it pleased him greatly that she remained ever defiant.

When Connor reached between her legs to massage her groin, Mistress Fatale really began to squirm and growl behind her gag. She resisted mightily for what seemed like an eternity, but his expert fingers continued to manipulate her sex with deliberate effort. She was stunned to find that over time she had begun to respond to his touch, grinding her groin against his hand. Merciful heavens not again! I cannot believe this! I’ve never felt such aroused in my life! What is this scoundrel doing to me? If he doesn’t stop I’m afraid I’ll…

“UMMMMMMMMMMM!” Mistress Fatale groaned loudly. She began to tense up and shiver, uttering a low whine behind her gag. Julian Connor could tell she was at the brink of climax again. And once again he stopped just short of providing her sweet release.

“UNNNNNNHHH!” Mistress Fatale grunted in frustration and embarrassment when she realized what Connor had done to her yet again. His cruelty was boundless. She wanted nothing more than to kill him and at the same time she ached to have him take her right then and there. Ultimately, she was completely under her captor’s control… at his total mercy. He could do anything he wished and there was nothing she could do but wait impatiently for what else he had in store for her.

Julian Connor decided to tease his new plaything into total submission by placing his mouth upon Mistress Fatale’s sweet patch of blonde fur and licking her to his heart’s content. He could scarcely believe how hot and moist she was there between her quivering thighs. He took his sweet time tasting ever inch of her pink crevice, gripping her derriere cheeks firmly to keep her still in his grasp.

Mistress Fatale was panting and breathing heavily, her nostrils flaring and head tossing from side to side as Connor slathered her most intimate area with his tongue. The last time she remembered something so delicious as this was when she and her college friend Valerie Miles pleasured each other in the privacy of their dorm room. Connor’s teasing was more deliberate than any oral acts Valerie had ever performed however, and she could feel herself arriving at that familiar place of climactic release. This time I’m not going to let this cad get the best of me! Constance vowed, fighting desperately to keep herself from being driven to the brink of orgasm again. But after many more minutes of suffering Connor’s manipulations, the battle was being lost again. Her will was slowly crumbling against his oral onslaught and if the rubber ball gag had not stuffed her mouth she would have begged him to thrash her long and hard with his manhood. She even attempted to turn her head to tell him so with her eyes, but he only grinned lasciviously and went right back to work on her. All she could do was toss her head on the pillow and grunt in frustration.

Julian Connor knew he had her right where he wanted her. That pleading look she gave him was unmistakable. She was ready to be dominated. He knelt behind her and raised her hips, poised and eager to mount his prize. He waited until she turned around and looked at him, those wet eyes gazing with desperation behind her mask.

“Are you ready for me, Mistress Fatale?” Connor inquired. He was not going to take her until she was virtually begging for it.

There was a long silence. Constance knew exactly what he was doing and she wanted to resist. Her virtuous nature told her that she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing she was giving in to his degrading treatment, but the temptation was too much to bear. There was a burning ache and desire within her the likes of which she had never experienced. Finally she laid her pride bare and nodded in acquiescence.

“I thought so,” Connor sneered with perverted glee. All women were the same deep down inside. He gripped her hips with both hands and impaled her with one vicious thrust, driving Mistress Fatale forward until her face was nearly smothered in the pillows. But after that initial demonstration of his dominance, he was slow and deliberate with his hip motions, skewering Mistress Fatale with the entire length of his shaft. For nearly an hour Connor pumped her in this fashion, driving her to near insanity with arousal. Each time he sensed that she was on the edge of climax he slowed or stopped, savoring the sensation of her inner walls gripping him and urging him on. He worked her expertly, eventually to the point to where she was driving her hips back against him on her own accord while he remained still. Yes, Mistress Fatale was a sight to behold grinding and squirming beneath him. He spied her silk cape lying near and took it in both hands. Then he wrapped it once around her neck, just enough to cut off her oxygen a bit and heightening the intensity of her arousal. He released and tightened again and again, choking her a little longer each time so that after several minutes she was gasping and squirming with wild abandon, nostrils flaring and saliva dripping from her ball gag.

Connor knew the time was perfect. He tightened the cape one last time and began thrusting as fast and hard and deep as he could. Mistress Fatale endured the building of the most incredible orgasm she’d ever experienced in her life. It seemed as if every nerve in her body was raw and exposed and alive. While his manhood throbbed inside her, her vaginal walls gripped and tightened around it like a fist. He finally erupted inside her with a long loud grunt. He loosened the cape around her throat and she uttered a guttural scream into her ball gag as her body was wracked with one orgasmic spasm after another. It seemed like it would go on forever, but after a few more spasms, her body tensed one last time and then slowly relaxed.

Connor was pleased. He pulled out and gave Mistress Fatale a degrading swat on the rear before he left to wash up. All Mistress Fatale could do was lie there gasping for air, still trussed and slick with perspiration. He was gone so long that she had plenty of time to recover and started to panic that he had left her for good. Just when she started to really squirm yank at her cuffs, Connor returned, casually strolling in with a pipe and wearing a dark crimson robe.

“I regret to inform you that I must attend to some personal business for a few hours, but don’t fret. I have a very special friend who will keep you company,” Connor told the bewildered Mistress Fatale, who glared at him from the bed and grunted a response of alarm. Then her attention was drawn to the doorway, where a statuesque woman suddenly entered dramatically, wearing a thick fox fur coat. She was carrying a large carryall bag in one gloved hand and held a cigarette with a slender holder in the other. She carried herself in an elegant fashion, reminding Mistress Fatale of some classic Hollywood film actress.

Her appearance was striking from head to toe. Long lustrous red hair with bangs cut perfectly straight above her haughty eyebrows. She had jade green eyes with long curved lashes that gazed at her like a cat spying an injured bird. Her blood red lips were curled into a mischievous grin that created dimples just below her high cheekbones. Her skin was like porcelain, and splashed with freckles.

“Mistress Fatale, please meet my good friend, Darla. Darla, this is Mistress Fatale.”

“Pleased, I’m sure,” Darla replied in a sultry voice. She smiled at Connor and told him, “She’s a darling little thing!”

“Well, then, I shall leave you two alone to get better acquainted,” Connor said with a smirking grin. He left and closed the door behind him.

Mistress Fatale stared at Darla in trepidation. She didn’t like the way the woman was eyeing her helpless form. When Darla set her cigarette in an ashtray and opened her fur coat, Constance grew even more nervous. Underneath her coat, the tall gorgeous redhead was dressed in a white lace corset with matching panties, silk stockings, glossy patent leather high heel pumps and satin opera gloves. The corset looked impossibly tight, squeezing her narrow waist and causing her milky breasts to bulge so much that the edges of her nipples were peeking out the top of the bra cups. Mistress Fatale’s eyes grew wide and she gasped into her gag when Darla brought out a stiff whipping stick from beneath her coat.

“You and I are going to have so much fun together,” Darla told her as she stepped closer to the bed, brandishing her whip expertly. “By the way, I just adore the mask!”

“UMMMMMMMMMMMFFF!” Mistress Fatale squealed into her gag just before Darla let fly with one stinging switch across her quivering derriere. She prayed that Julian Connor was not really going to leave her alone with this woman for “a few hours.”

3

Julian Connor waited just outside the door, and listened intently to the snaps of Darla’s whip followed by the delicious sounds of Mistress Fatale’s muffled whimpers and screams. Then he strolled down the hallway and entered an adjacent room. Once inside he went into a large closet where there was a large movie camera mounted on a tripod filming through a two-way mirror. It was being tended to by one of Julian Connor’s mistresses, a striking brunette with ivory skin named Dita Saffron. By day she was a highly sought after fashion photographer, but on the side, she specialized in black market bondage photos and sex films featuring girl on girl action. This was right up her alley and Dita never took her eyes off the action in the next room, even using her own mounted still camera to capture photographs of the scene.

Connor took a seat in a large plush chair so he could relax while Darla put Mistress Fatale through the paces. He watched with perverse glee while Darla stung the masked vigilante’s bare behind with lash after lash of her wicked whip. Meanwhile Dita grew increasingly aroused by the action and decided to get on her knees and orally pleasure Connor and then straddle him right then and there on the chair. She humped him wildly and Connor had to clamp a hand over her mouth to keep her squeals to a minimum. He didn’t want to alert Mistress Fatale that she was being watched, filmed and photographed.

After the initial punishment to introduce herself, Darla had little trouble handling the once feisty but now exhausted blonde heroine. Mistress Fatale could barely resist after the expert dominatrix removed her gag and cuffs. The relief was short lived, as the cruel redhead used her own scarves and ropes to gag and truss the damsel in all manner of strict bondage positions on nearly every piece of furniture in the room. She stretched every limb of Mistress Fatale’s body to the limit. All the while Darla used other expert techniques to taunt, tease and torture her plaything mercilessly. The redhead not only used her tongue and fingers, but also a variety of other nasty little toys to drive Mistress Fatale wild with arousal.

After an hour of this, the masked damsel was sweaty and sore from head to toe. Every nerve ending in her pussy was raw, her bottom covered with red stripes and her nipples tender from Darla’s nibbles. Like Julian Connor, Darla was an expert at denying her captive any sexual release, no matter how much Mistress Fatale begged and pleaded.

Darla surveyed her prize there on the bed, bound in the most back-wrenching bondage position she’d ever concocted. Mistress Fatale was on her back, more or less, although the only parts touching the bed were the back of her head, her knees and her toes. Her legs were bent underneath her and ankles bound in a crisscrossed position so that her knees were spread apart. Her arms were bound behind her back at the elbows and wrists, and then tied to her ankles so that her torso was arched back, causing her breasts to thrust upward.

The ropes had been cinched so tightly, Constance could scarcely move, and when she did, it was extremely painful. She found the best thing to do was remain as still as possible, but that soon proved difficult when Darla brought out a suspicious looking bottle. Mistress Fatale stared in trepidation as the mischievous redhead unscrewed the cap and allowed a few drops to spill first onto the heroine’s nipples and then the pink slit of her vagina. The liquid was cool at first but then there was an increase in warmth that slowly grew into a highly aggravating sensation. Her body was tensing up now as the itch grew to startling proportions.

“Don’t you just love how my special oil feels down there?” Darla laughed with devious glee.

Un-gagged now, Mistress Fatale hissed at her tormentor, “You witch! What in the world are you doing to me? This itching is unbearable! Make it stop this instant!”

“I’m so sorry, my darling! There’s only one person who can satisfy your itch now. But don’t worry, he should be returning any time now.”

“No! I can’t…UNNNNNNH….take it!!!” Mistress Fatale screamed, her lithe body twitching and writhing strenuously in her unforgiving bonds.

“I’m so sorry, but I must leave you now. It’s been ever so much fun!” Darla giggled as she put away her whips, ropes, gags and other devious devices. She donned her fur coat and gathered up her bag and then started for the door, hips swaying in a vamp-like strut. Waving her cigarette holder like a concert maestro, Darla and gave Mistress Fatale one last, “Ta-Ta for now!”

“No! Please! You can’t leave me like this! Come back here this instant! Ooh! When I get out of this I’ll tear you to pieces!!” Mistress Fatale screamed out, but her threats were unheeded.

Mistress Fatale continued to struggle, grunting loudly as she tried desperately to relieve her itching nipples and groin any way she could. But after several minutes of fruitless squirming, she was gasping and more exhausted than ever.

When Julian Connor appeared in the doorway, she relieved at first but soon turned livid with anger when he made no attempt to free her. “Bastard! Don’t just stand there with that smug look on your face! Untie me right now, damn you! This itching….UNNNNH!”

“Wouldn’t you rather have that itch scratched first?” Connor inquired.

Constance knew exactly what he meant, and although she hated the thought of it, she knew the only way she would get any relief from this maddening itch would be to have this pervert fuck her senseless. There was no getting around it. She knew exactly what he was expecting and if it would hurry up things any quicker she would gladly do acquiesce to his perverted expectations.

“Please! Please do it!” Mistress Fatale gasped.

“Do what?”

“Damn you! You know exactly what!” Constance whined, thrashing about on the bed in frustration.

“I want to hear you say it.”

“No! Please! Just do it! I beg you!”

Julian Connor walked toward the bed while the heroine stared at him anxiously, urging him to hurry as quickly as she could with her masked eyes. But her cruel captor merely brushed the back of his fingers against the furry blonde patch of her aching groin, teasing her with just the barest hint of relief.

“All you have to do is tell me exactly what you want.”

“Oh, I hate you! Damn it if this is what you want me to say I’ll say it! Put it in me this instant and do it quickly!” Mistress Fatale groaned trying to be as discreet as her upbringing would allow.

“I think you can do better than that,” Connor chuckled, taking one of her nipples between his thumb and forefinger and giving it a gentle pinch.

Oh my heavens if he would only rub them both! Constance detested the thought of uttering anything vulgar, but desperate times called for desperate measures. “You cursed bastard! Plunge your cock inside my pussy and fuck me hard! And rub my nipples this instant!”

“You didn’t say the magic word,” Connor admonished her playfully.

“Please!” Mistress Fatale snarled after tossing her head in frustration.

“I knew behind that pompous exterior there was a dirty little whore just itching to come out,” Connor taunted the blonde beauty. “Well, if it’s my cock you want, it’s my cock you shall have my sweet.”

With that, Julian Connor positioned himself between Mistress Fatale’s quivering thighs, and with a wink over his shoulder at the two-way mirror he proceeded to give the masked heroine the most thorough pussy thrashing she’d ever had.

4

Constance VanDercourt awoke from a scandalous dream. A team of burly masked men had tied her spread eagle on a bed in some dank dirty basement and they were taking turns violating her every orifice. When were senses started to return little by little, she began to recall the previous evening. After the wicked redhead Darla left her itching and wet, Julian Connor had teased and mounted her and at last brought her to the most exquisite orgasm she’d ever experienced.

Afterwards, he mercifully untied her, and then made love to her over and over again far past midnight and into the early hours of the morning. Gone was that maddening itch in her groin and on her nipples. It was replaced by a sweet soreness inside that felt, of all things, completely satisfying. Never in her most intimate fantasies could she have imagined it. A rogue like Julian Connor could cause her to feel so sexually fulfilled as a woman. Conrad had never left her feeling this way even after their most passionate bout of lovemaking, which didn’t last nearly as long as the marathon session she’d just endured with Julian.

And there was also that episode with Darla, the sudden memory brought about by the faint stinging she felt on her bottom when she stirred in the bed. There was something both indecent and exciting about that whole episode

“Heavens! I must be going mad!” Mistress Fatale blurted. The sudden thoughts of Conrad and Darla made her come to attention and sit up to find herself on a silk-sheeted bed in a lavish guest room, presumably somewhere in Connor’s mansion. It was morning now and the dawn’s early light was beaming through the floor to ceiling picture windows.

She found that she had been dressed in a sleek white negligee. Apparently she had been bathed as her skin held the sweet scent of lilac soap. Suddenly she gasped and turned quickly toward a bedside vanity. She sighed with relief when she found that her mask was still in place. All she could do was hope and pray Connor kept his word and did not take a peek while she was passed out from exhaustion.

Although her body ached from the night of bedroom acrobatics, she managed to get out of bed to go and seek out Julian Connor. There was the matter of their arrangement that needed tending to.

She found Connor outside on the rear patio. He was sitting there in his robe and slippers by the huge swimming pool eating breakfast and relaxing with the newspaper. When she approached she noticed a large package sitting by the breakfast tray loaded with an array of scrumptious items. She was famished, and as much as she wanted to tear into that package, she sat down and served herself crepes, strawberries, cream, honey and coffee.

“I take it you slept well?” Connor inquired, as he continued perusing his newspaper.

Mistress Fatale grunted in affirmation between mouthfuls of the rich crepes.

“Well, then,” Connor said as he folded up his newspaper and laid it aside. “You kept up your end of the bargain and now I am keeping my end. In that package is all the evidence you are seeking in the matter of who murdered the business associate of Conrad Buxton.”

“That remains to be seen, and for your sake it better be exactly as you say. If it isn’t, rest assured Mr. Connor, that I will return and I will not be in the best of moods. And I warn you… if I ever discover that you unmasked me sometime in the night, I will make you pay dearly.”

Connor smiled at Mistress Fatale’s bravado. Hours ago the little trollop was begging him to take her and now her haughty arrogance had returned to all its glory. It was fine with him. He was content in the knowledge that he had spent the entire night fucking and fondling the most desired woman in Empire City and it was going to be a thrill once his closest confidants found out, if he decided to share the information.

“Don’t worry, my dear. I am many things but I am always a man of my word. I’m confident you will find the evidence more than adequate. However, I have to caution you that your friend Miss VanDercourt will not be pleased by some of the details there.”

Mistress Fatale tensed up at that statement. She suddenly lost her appetite and stood up, anxious to find out exactly what was inside this mysterious package. “Well, then. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be on my way. If you would be so kind as to direct me to my clothing and gun.”

“As you wish,” Connor said, rising from his chair. “Follow me.”

Julian Connor led her to the library where they first met the night before. There laid out neatly on the leather sofa were her gown, cape, gloves, hat, shoes and lingerie. Next to the clothes was her automatic tucked safely in the thigh holster.

“Perhaps we’ll see each other again,” Connor said before he left her alone to get dressed.

“Not if I can help it,” Mistress Fatale sneered. “I’ll see myself out.”

“As you wish,” Connor smirked and closed the door.

Constance dressed as quickly as she could and rushed out of the mansion, through the gate and down the tree-lined lane where she had secretly parked her Roadster the night before. She drove like a mad along the country road until she found a secluded turn off where she could be alone to study the “evidence” Connor had provided her. Once she screeched to a stop, she tore open the package.

In addition to a reel-to-reel tape, inside was a portfolio filled with pages of transcripts, photographs and telephone records. Whoever had prepared this for Julian Connor, it appeared to be the work of a meticulous professional. He or she seemed to leave no detail out, no matter how small. But as Mistress Fatale scanned the pages, she grew more and more anxious. Then there was a pause and her heart froze in her chest.

“Heavens no! This can’t be true!” Constance gasped. If what she was reading was true, her own father, Alfred VanDercourt, using an intermediary who specialized in such things, hired a man named Max Severin to murder Ned Coddington and plant evidence that would leave no doubt that Conrad Buxton was the killer. Even a motive was established whereby Conrad murdered Ned when Coddington refused to give up his interest in a patent for a drug formula that could potentially make millions for their pharmaceutical company, which was far from the truth. Conrad and Ned had always split the share of their company right down the middle.

What startled Constance even more was her father’s reasoning behind setting up Conrad as a murderer. He believed that Buxton was only after his family’s fortune and was only marrying Constance to get at it. Indeed, Alfred Buxton claimed that Conrad was involved with a mistress without his daughter’s knowledge and had pictures taken by a private investigator to prove it.

Constance heart felt crushed when she paged through a sleeve of grainy photographs, taken from a distance behind Conrad’s Rolls Royce. There was no mistaking it because it was the only one of its kind. In the first photo there was Buxton, sitting side-by-side conversing with an unidentified female dressed in a fur coat and stylish hat. The next photo, which made her heart stop, the two of them in an embrace, the third, kissing, the fourth, the woman’s head starting to disappear toward his lap, the fifth, Conrad’s head leaning back on the seat as if in ecstasy. There was no guessing as to what that vixen was doing to Conrad.

Constance was both crushed and horrified. Tears began to spill from her lovely eyes and splash upon the slick black and white photos.

“Damn you, Conrad! How could you do this to me?” Constance moaned. She slammed the portfolio shut and tossed it onto the floor of the Roadster, then placed her arms on the steering wheel and leaned her head forward to sob quietly for several minutes. The betrayal was too much to bear, and in a self-defensive mechanism, Constance finally stiffened up, and willed herself to cease feeling this terrible heartache or she would simply die.

“Well! That no-good cheating fool! I should let him rot in prison until he gets the gas chamber! But I can’t. He is innocent of murder. But he’s not innocent of betraying my trust and for that I’ll never forgive him!” Constance exclaimed, wiping away the last of her tears. “From now on, men are only good for one thing…to give me a good old-fashioned fucking when I need it…and that’s all!”

Constance felt an unexplainable yet familiar sensation return. The one that came over her the previous evening when she made her deal with that devil Julian Connor. There seemed to be a smoldering sexuality that bubbled like lava underneath her gorgeous exterior. It was a feeling that was accentuated by wearing a mask and carrying a gun. The feeling she kept locked away as Constance VanDercourt, but could be unleashed like a dam as Mistress Fatale.

Constance VanDercourt vowed then and there that she could not abandon this alter ego she originally adopted in order to find the real killer of Ned Coddington and help her innocent fiancé. She realized deep down that if she gave up Mistress Fatale, she would have to return to the self-centered and oftentimes mundane world of high society. No, she wouldn’t have it any longer. Their selfishness and phoniness was too much to take. She had an idea, but she was too exhausted to pursue at the moment. She needed rest and more time to think. And then there was the matter of what to do about her father and his part in Ned’s murder.

Mistress Fatale had her Roadster re-fitted with a flip up passenger seat so she could slip into the back seat easily. There she took a case out of a hidden compartment, which contained a simple but elegant dress and stylish shoes. Since she made it a point never to drive around as her alter ego in the daytime lest someone notice and attempt to follow her home, she made a brisk change of clothing and replaced her mask and the rest of her costume back inside the case and then drove back toward the heart of Empire City.

5

Once inside her lavish penthouse apartment in the exclusive Park Place hi-rise building in uptown Empire City, she handed off the costume case to Babette, her sweet young maid and the only person in the entire world who knew her secret.

“Oh my goodness, mademoiselle!” Babette exclaimed in her cute French accent. “You look as if you have come back from quite an adventure. Is everything all right?”

“Don’t worry, I’m fine, Babette,” Constance assured her concerned servant. “Please bring me a pot of hot tea and see that my costume is cleaned. I’m going to take a long nap and I want you to make certain I am not disturbed.”

“Yes, mademoiselle!” Babette complied and strutted off to fulfill her duties.

Constance went straight to her bedroom, locked the portfolio of evidence away in a hidden safe, then kicked off her shoes and dove into the covers of her huge canopied bed. When Babette arrived soon after with the silver tray of tea and cookies, her mistress was already in deep slumber.

“Oh, my!” Babette said, as she tucked Constance in with great care. The pretty maid did not hear a peep from her mistress as she went about her duties the rest of the day. When dusk began to fall over the city, she heard a familiar call from the bedroom.

“Babette!”

“Yes, mademoiselle!” Babette replied, entering the bedroom to find Constance stretching on the bed as she had just awakened and just a bit embarrassed that she had worn her clothes to bed from the night before.

“Why didn’t you wake me when the tea was ready? My goodness, you let me sleep the entire day away ”

“Oh, please accept my apology, mademoiselle,” Babette pleaded. “I could not bear to wake you. You looked so peaceful.”

“Hmm. Well I suppose you’re right. I needed the rest. Um…have you taken care of my costume?”

“Yes, mademoiselle, it is in the vanity room as always. Oh, I was tossing and turning all night when you did not return. Are you certain that you are well?”

“Yes, Babette. Please don’t fret now. Your worried brow does not become that pretty face of yours. You know that my activities after dark sometimes keep me away for long hours.”

“Yes, mademoiselle.”

“Well, then. Prepare my bath. I must get ready for tonight.”

“Oh, mademoiselle!” Babette whined. “Could you please take one night off?”

“Babette. There are evil men in this city and every night they come out and do bad things. If they never take a night off why should I?”

“Yes, mademoiselle. You are right,” Babette sighed.

“Very well then, off you go.”

Babette scurried off and Constance took a few minutes to perform her ritual of stretching exercises. She was thankful that she was in such good shape. If she wasn’t her body would be much more sore than it was. When Babette informed her that her bath was prepared, Constance simply peeled off her clothes, letting them drop as she made a beeline toward the bathroom while Babette picked up behind her.

Constance took a long hot bubble bath, allowing the hot steaming water to sooth her muscles. She closed her eyes and began another ritual in which she allowed one hand to slip down between her legs to massage her pubic area. Her fantasies usually drifted toward past trysts with Conrad, but on this night she could not help but allow her mind to drift to Julian Connor. It disturbed her yet her body seemed to grow more aroused by the second. She couldn’t understand it. What kind of hold did this rogue have on her? And even in her fantasies, when she was at the tipping point of orgasm release, yet again she was denied. She just could not manage to bring herself to climax.

Angry and frustrated, she called for Babette and jumped out of the tub. The French maid dutifully toweled off every inch of her mistress’s lithe body and helped her into a silk robe. From there, the two headed into an adjacent vanity room, where Babette assisted Constance in styling her hair and makeup and then slip into her glamorous Mistress Fatale costume.

“Wish me luck,” Mistress Fatale said after she donned her mask.

“Bonne chance!”

Mistress Fatale headed to a secret elevator that brought her down to a sub basement in the building. The Park Place hi-rise was owned by her father and had the garage constructed for his collection of rare automobiles. He had so many that she could borrow any one of Daddy’s sporty cars for her nocturnal adventures and no one was the wiser, even if she managed to damage one. She knew her father had long forgotten how many he actually owned.

Speaking of her father, as much as she abhorred the idea, Constance knew the time had come that she confronted him about his involvement with Ned Coddington’s murder. She still couldn’t believe he was capable of such a thing. Perhaps there were circumstances that she was unaware of and it was best to hear his side of the story before she made a rash decision.

She had contemplated the idea of confronting him as Constance but then she would have to explain where she had come upon her evidence. As Mistress Fatale she could avoid becoming the obedient daughter and confront him without any fear of reprisals or fatherly admonitions. It would still be nerve-wracking though and it would take every ounce of her will to keep a cool and confident facade. ‘Thank goodness for my alter ego’, she thought.

The drive to the marina took less than half an hour. Friday evenings Daddy always spent the night at the yacht supervising the crew in preparation for a weekend trip to the island where their getaway home was located. In the morning friends or business associates of Alfred VanDercourt would arrive for departure.

Mistress Fatale parked well away from the yacht and approached with stealth. She found the element of surprise always gave her an advantage. But when she boarded the yacht she heard loud music coming from within. She peered in one of the main cabin windows, and found to her shock and surprise that her father was already “entertaining” a guest. Apparently the crew was done with their duties for the night. There was not another soul around.

‘It shouldn’t surprise me’, Constance thought. Ever since her mother passed away when she was an infant, her father never passed up an opportunity to have sex with any woman he came in contact with. Now a confirmed bachelor, he dated as many women as possible, sometimes two or three at a time. Never mind the scandalous affairs he had as well as the secret trysts with the maids who worked for him. Was it any wonder that he had final approval of each one, making certain they were young, buxom and eager to please the master of the house.

Constance shook her head in disgust. Dagmar, the infamous showgirl from one of the downtown cabarets was busy dancing for Alfred VanDercourt wearing nothing but a pair of high heel pumps, opera gloves, and matching diamond bracelets and necklace. It was disturbing watching the look of pure lust on her father’s face.

“Well! I’ve seen quite enough!” Mistress Fatale grumbled. She went straight to the door and strolled right in as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Her father, however, was so distracted by the statuesque brunette dancing before him that he didn’t even notice anyone had entered the lavishly appointed yacht cabin.

“Ahem!”

Dagmar gasped and turned, then flashed bright pink, immediately covering her breasts and grabbing for her fur coat, which was apparently the only item of clothing she brought on board.

“What the devil?” VanDercourt exclaimed. He stood up quickly and demanded, “What is the meaning of this?”

“I’d like a word with you alone if it isn’t too much trouble,” Mistress Fatale informed him, trying her best to remain calm in this most uncomfortable situation. She would have to constantly remind herself that she had a mask on and her father had no idea who she really was. She would also have to maintain the change in the pitch of her voice.

“How dare you! Leave at once or I shall call the authorities!”

“That wouldn’t be a very good idea,” Mistress Fatale told him. “Now tell your bimbo to leave if you please.”

When VanDercourt made a move toward a box on a nearby table, Mistress Fatale swiftly drew her automatic and her father froze. There was most likely a weapon in that box. She had hoped this wouldn’t get out of hand but this was getting more serious by the second.

“Now if you would be so kind…” Mistress Fatale said, speaking to Dagmar and pointing her in the direction of the exit with her gun. It was always an empowering thrill when she pulled out her gun. Everyone always seemed much more cooperative when they had a gun pointed at them.

Dagmar sneered at Mistress Fatale and then looked over at VanDercourt. He nodded and winked at her as if everything was going to be all right. “Don’t worry, my dear. I’ll call you later.”

After Dagmar stormed out, VanDercourt was furious. “Who the devil are you?”

“I think you know who I am. I’m in all the papers.”

“Mistress Fatale?” VanDercourt said with incredulous disgust. “What do you want with me?”

There was no other way to avoid it. It was time to test the waters and the anticipation caused her veins to churn with adrenaline. “Are you familiar with a man named Max Severin?”

There was a slight pause, which Constance picked up on immediately, but her father quickly answered, “I’ve never heard of him.”

“You know Mr. VanDercourt. Ever since I became a “vigilante”, as the press and police refer to me, I’ve come in contact with many deceitful people. I’ve discovered several tell tale signs that allow me to see when a person is lying. I’ve noticed two with your answer.”

“Think what you will. I’ve never heard of this Severin fellow.”

“Well, then you certainly must know of Conrad Buxton, the fiancé of your daughter Constance and the man who has been found guilty of murdering Ned Coddington.”

“What are you getting at?”

“Come now, Mr. VanDercourt. I know and you know Conrad is not the real murderer of his friend and business partner. It was Max Severin who did it and made it appear that it was Buxton. The question now is, is there any truth it that you used someone in your vast network of associates to hire Max Severin to kill Ned Coddington?”

“This is outrageous! How dare you trespass upon my private property and make these wild accusations! Why would I have Ned Coddington killed?”

“That is what I would like to know.”

“You’re insane. Please leave.”

“I can assure you I’ve seen evidence of all this, Mr. VanDercourt. Incriminating tapes, phone records, photographs, transcripts. All I want to know is why? Why did you wish to set up Conrad Buxton as a murderer?”

VanDercourt stared at Mistress Fatale for a long time. It appeared as if he was trying to come up with some defense, but after a long sigh, he slumped into his chair and closed his eyes as if in deep anguish.

“I should have expected this,” VanDercourt sighed with regret. “How could I have been so foolish?”

“Just tell me your side of the story, Mr. VanDercourt.”

“May I pour myself another drink first?”

Mistress Fatale nodded. She felt badly for her father. Always the confident and exuberant multi-millionaire bachelor, now he looked so defeated.

VanDercourt went to the bar and as he poured a stiff brandy he asked his accuser, “Would you care for a drink young lady?”

“No thank you,” Mistress Fatale answered, marveling at her father’s ever-present good manners.

“There’s no need for that, I’m just a harmless old man,” VanDercourt said when he returned to his chair, nodding at Mistress Fatale’s gun.

“Very well,” the masked damsel replied. She turned a bit away from her father line of vision and tucked her automatic back into her thigh holster. “Now, you have my undivided attention.”

“Well, if you must know, I did it for my daughter.”

“Constance,” Mistress Fatale said.

“Yes. As you already know, she was engaged to marry that scoundrel…”

“Scoundrel?” Mistress Fatale interrupted.

“That devil was two-timing my daughter.”

“Yes, I’ve seen the photographs. Who was this woman?”

“Some trollop. I have no idea and it doesn’t really matter. There was no way that I allow such an unscrupulous character to marry my daughter. It only proved to me that he was only after our family fortune, as if his own were not enough. He was a greedy and untrustworthy sort and I do not tolerate such scoundrels.”

“But to set him up as a murderer. After all, Ned Coddington was innocent in all this. Don’t you think that was unconscionable to have him killed?”

“Not in the least. Coddington was certainly no innocent himself.”

Constance perked up at this. “What do you mean?”

“Coddington tried to blackmail me. He knew of Conrad’s indiscretions and he threatened to go public with them once they were married if I didn’t pay him an obscene amount of money. You would think the fellow would look the other way, you know, men will be men and all that. But when I spoke to Coddington it wasn’t hard to see that he had his eye on this young lady and he resented Buxton stealing her away while he was engaged to someone else. Well, he was confident in the belief that someone of my stature in society would be extremely embarrassed by a scandal of this sort. I am ashamed to admit but he was right. I told him I would pay but I needed time to gather the amount he demanded. In the meantime, I contacted a fellow who assists me now and then. A specialist, you see, who deals in this sort of thing. I explained the circumstances and simply told him to make the problem go away. He took it to a bit of an extreme mind you but I couldn’t argue with his results. Two birds with one stone you might say.”

“But doesn’t it bother your conscience in the least that Conrad Buxton will be put to death for a crime he did not commit?”

“As far as I’m concerned the man committed a crime of betrayal against my daughter and death is too good for him. My wife passed away years ago, and my daughter is all I have. She is my most cherished possession and I would have a hundred men murdered if it meant keeping her from any harm.”

Constance was thankful she was concealed behind her mask. She was both horrified and touched by her father’s explanation. Although his intentions were to keep her from learning the horrible truth of Conrad’s affairs, she could not allow Conrad to die for a crime that he did not commit, even if Coddington was no saint. She would have to think about what to do about that at another time. For now, she had to decide what to about her father.

‘I simply can’t turn Daddy in,’ Constance thought. ‘Yes, he’s responsible for Ned Coddington’s death, but if it weren’t for that no-account Conrad, none of this would have happened.’

She pitied her father. He did seem more stressed and was drinking more than usual ever since the murder. Despite his denials the guilt was certainly taking its toll on him and perhaps he was suffering enough. A man like him would certainly not last in prison. Besides, she reasoned, if any of this was to be made public, his business ventures and circle of friends would most certainly crumble. Her own charitable works would also suffer by association. High society was very unforgiving as far as that went. As much as it went against her nature, perhaps in this instance it was best to let sleeping dogs lie.

Mistress Fatale was about to speak when her father closed his eyes and began to slump in his chair. His body went limp and the glass of brandy in his hand dropped to the floor. She didn’t know if he had fainted or was having a heart attack. She rushed to him and checked his pulse. He was still breathing. Apparently he had passed out from the stress.

When she bent down to pick up the tumbler from the floor, VanDercourt sprung alert, seizing the opportunity to snap open the box on the nearby table, remove the revolver, and strike Mistress Fatale on the base of the skull with the butt of the gun before she even realized what happened.

“UNNNNNH!” the masked vigilante groaned, body stiffening and eyes rolling up behind her mask. Then she crumpled to the floor unconscious.

VanDercourt gazed down at the fallen heroine with a devilish look on his face and muttered, “Try to get the best of me, will you? I shall have to teach you a harsh lesson in tangling with a VanDercourt, my dear, whoever you are.”

6

Mistress Fatale awoke with a splitting headache. It took a full five minutes for her to recall what had happened before she was knocked out. Her father had tricked her, feigning unconsciousness. From the dull ache at the back of her head, he must have clouted her on the back of the head. In a growing panic at the realization of her situation, she quickly took in her surroundings. She was on the bed in the well-appointed bedroom cabin of her father’s yacht. To her horror, she found that not only had she been stripped down to her gloves, panties, bra, and stockings, but she had been tied up as well. An intricate series of loops around her waist and around her elbows had trapped her wrists at her hips. Her legs were folded so that her ankles were cinched to the back of her thighs with more loops of white rope. In this devious and back-wrenching bondage position, it was impossible to untie the stringent knots. All she could do was grunt and flail her gloved fingers. She took little solace in the fact that her mask remained placed on her face.

Suddenly the cabin door opened and her father stepped in with Dagmar, the cabaret dancer her father had been “entertaining” earlier. He was dressed in a crimson silk robe and slippers with a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Dagmar was clad in black lace bra, panties, garters with sheer stockings, black slipper heels with pom-poms and a floor-length night with black feather trim.

Constance blushed bright pink behind her mask. After all she was practically nude before her father and his sexy companion. All she could do was hope and pray that he did not realize who she really was. This was horrible enough. And the lascivious look on both their faces made the situation all the more distressing.

Mistress Fatale was about to speak when her father told her, “I have no idea who you are, my dear. My first inclination was to unmask you and then toss you overboard out in the middle of the ocean, but my sweet Dagmar has convinced me otherwise. She’s a provocative little tart you see, and she loves the idea of mysteries, hence your mask has remained. So herein lies our dilemma. What shall we do with you?”

“I vant to play with her, Alfie,” Dagmar pouted demurely in her thick German accent, like a child begging her father for a new toy.

“By all mean, my dear,” VanDercourt grinned. “Have at it while I sit back and enjoy the show.”

Dagmar giggled with perverted glee and pounced on the bed while VanDercourt made himself comfortable in a plush chair across the room. To Constance’s horror, he simply took out his erect penis and began to stroke it while Dagmar went to work. First she took full advantage of Mistress Fatale’s trussed up position by kissing, licking and tickling nearly every inch of her quivering body. She peeled her bra open and suckled the pink nubs until they pointed straight up toward the ceiling. The German beauty took great delight in pinching them until the Masked Mistress winced and groaned.

Constance was helpless to resist as Dagmar planted her mouth full on hers and slipped her tongue in to swirl and explore. Meanwhile she slipped her fingers under Mistress Fatale’s panties and tugged at her pubic hairs, causing her to squeal and whimper. She could hardly protest as Dagmar kept kissing and licking her mouth passionately.

Mistress Fatale’s body seized and arched up when suddenly Dagmar slipped a finger inside her moist slit. The voluptuous German worked her pussy expertly until the heroine was driven into a sexual frenzy. With one hand between her legs, another on her breasts and mouth on mouth, Constance was delirious with arousal. It didn’t take long before she was ready for release, but Dagmar sensed it and cruelly ceased her teasing. When she pulled away, Mistress Fatale gasped and gazed at her pleadingly, as if to ask why she stopped. Then she realized the situation, her father nearby pleasuring himself, Dagmar smirking at her like a mischievous cat, and she began to thrash with anger, blushing with shame.

“Damn you!” Mistress Fatale hissed.

“Look Alfie! She iss so beautiful ven she iss angry,” Dagmar laughed gleefully.

VanDercourt chuckled, amused by his chanteuse’s playful teasing.

“I know something that vill calm her down,” Dagmar announced and reached for something under the bed. When she brought it up to show her, Mistress Fatale’s eyes went wide behind her mask.

“I vant to introduce you to Hans,” Dagmar told the masked heroine, bringing the device closer so Mistress Fatale could get a good look. “Isn’t he beautiful?”

Constance was horrified when Dagmar flicked a switch on the handgrip and it whirred to life. The device was a hand held vibrator with an attachment for double-dildos. It didn’t make sense at first, but when Dagmar turned it off and then peeled her panties aside so could position it at her crotch, she suddenly realized with dismay what it was intended to do. Immediately Mistress Fatale began to squirm and writhe when Dagmar nudged the heads of the dildos into her vagina and anus.

“No!” Mistress Fatale exclaimed. “You can’t…UNNNH!…do this!”

“Shush, mein kitten,” Dagmar purred. “It does take getting used to, yes, but I promise you vill enjoy it, just as I did. Isn’t that right, Alfie?”

“Indeed,” VanDercourt smiled, still nursing a drink and smoking his cigarette with one hand and stroking his cock up and down with the other.

“UNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNGGGGHHHH!” Mistress Fatale groaned and winced as Dagmar forced the dildos in both her crevices. Dagmar took her sweet time to work the phalluses in and out, making sure they rubbed and filled every inch of Mistress Fatale’s pink inner walls. She seemed to gain great delight in seeing the masked heroine writhe and squirm. Her sensual moans were like music to her ears.

The sensation of the double penetration, coupled with cruel Dagmar’s teasing, was driving Constance to near madness. The sexual torture seemed to go on forever, and she was once again on the verge of climax. So when Dagmar flicked on the device without warning, Mistress Fatale let out a high-pitched squeal. The device jumped to life and both dildos began to throb inside her. Her body tensed up like it had been jolted with an electric current and her hips began to rise until her back was arched like a bow.

“AAAUUUUHHH! UUUUUUUNNNNHHH! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!” Mistress Fatale screamed and groaned. She was thrashing on the bed now, head tossing back and forth, hands flailing helplessly at her sides. The sensation was erotically excruciating, and it didn’t take long before her body was wracked by the first of what would be multiple climaxes. What was more incredible was that each orgasm was more intense than the last, especially when Dagmar teased and licked her nipples.

And so it went on for the next hour. Dagmar was playing with her new sex toy while Alfred VanDercourt looked on with quiet perversity. Mistress Fatale was deep in the throes of ecstasy and did not even know it when her Father took over with the device. It was only when he removed the throbbing device and turn it off that Constance opened her eyes, gasping for air as her breasts rose and fell from the exhausting sexual tortures.

It took her a moment to re-focus and see that her Father was disrobing right next to her. With a rising horror, she realized what he was intending to do. ‘No!’ Constance thought. ‘This can’t be happening! I can’t hide behind this mask any longer. I have to warn him not to do this before it’s too late!’

“Wait…No! You mustn’t…” Mistress Fatale started to cry out, but her Father promptly stuffed a handkerchief into her mouth to silence her protest. All she could manage was a panicked, “ERRRUMMMPPPPFFFF! UNNNNNNNFFFFF!”

“No more talking,” VanDercourt chuckled as he secured the cloth in her mouth with the silk sash of his robe. “It’s time that we got better acquainted.”

Mistress Fatale’s eyes went wide behind her mask. She was struggling and tugging at her stringent bonds, shaking her head back and forth vehemently and she realized with great distress that all she managed to do was arouse him further. Her body squirmed with resistance when he bent down and kissed her breasts and then moved downward. When he was just above her pubic area, he jammed a finger into her asshole. This caused her to hips to twitch upward and meet his waiting mouth.

VanDercourt feasted on the juiced slit of Mistress Fatale while Dagmar moved to position herself under him so she could suckle his cock and balls. While he buried his tongue deeper, his German mistress took his member whole. The sensation was incredible and made him all the more enthusiastic in his oral attentions. Soon he was pumping his hips vigorously in and out of Dagmar’s eager mouth.

Meanwhile, Mistress Fatale was nearly insane with both lust and shock. The full realization of what was happening was overwhelming. As much as tried to resist, the sensation of her Father’s expert tongue was driving her wild with arousal. Her mind simply could not compensate to the perversion, which was occurring. She wondered if this was some sick aftermath of her encounter with Julian Connor. Had that criminal corrupted her so much that even incest was not taboo? How could this be happening?

The masked vigilante bit hard into the sash between her clenched teeth, and she winced from the succulent sensations between her legs. Any minute now she knew she was going to climax, and she steeled herself for it. Then it slammed into her and short-circuited her senses. Her eyes rolled up behind her mask and she uttered a muffled squeal behind her gag. “UNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG!”

At that moment, VanDercourt spurted thick ropes of semen down Dagmar’s throat and she swallowed it hungrily, moaning and whimpering as she did so. She adored the taste of it and thrilled to the fact that she was making him climax while he buried his face in the lap of the masked vixen who was twisting and writhing in her bonds. Her fingers were busy as well in her own lap, and she brought herself to release as well.

Constance, who had difficulty breathing since she could only breathe through her nose, passed out from the erotic ordeal. When she awoke later she had no idea how long she had been out. She was still lightheaded but came to quick attention when she noticed Dagmar sitting on the bed beside her. She was wearing a rich red satin robe and a grin of satisfaction on her face. Her Father was nowhere to be seen.

“Did you sleep vell, mien liebhaber?” Dagmar asked.

Of course Mistress Fatale could not respond since her mouth was still tightly gagged but she uttered an angry muffled response. “UMMMMFFF!”

“Do not be cross vis me,” Dagmar cooed. “Vee only vish to entertain you. Ven Alfie returns vee shall haff more fun. In zee meantime, I cannot resist. I must see who iss behind ziss mask.”

Mistress Fatale shook her head back and forth as she uttered a muffled squeal of protest. But Dagmar ignored her pleading eyes and lifted the edge of mask ever so slowly, to prolong the anticipation and elicit more struggling from her captive.

When the mask was removed entirely, an odd expression came over Dagmar’s face. Then she quickly began to untie the gag in Mistress Fatale’s mouth.

“Mein Gott!” Dagmar gasped. “Ziss cannot be…!”

Suddenly the door to the cabin bedroom opened and Alfred VanDercourt entered in his pajamas and slippers with a pair of freshly mixed drinks.

“What have we here?” VanDercourt inquired. When he neared the bed got a good look at the unmasked heroine still trussed on the bed, he froze and his face went pale. He dropped both drinks. His hands flew to his face in shock and he screamed, “NOOOO!!!”

“Untie me!” Constance hissed at Dagmar, who was stunned into action and promptly went to work untying the knots while VanDercourt began to stagger and step backward, as if he had come across some horrific scene. Dagmar managed to get one of Constance’s hands loose before VanDercourt clutched his chest, gasping and then crumpled to the floor.

“ALFIE!” Dagmar screamed, and rushed to him.

Fearing the worst, Constance flew into a panic state. Now that one hand was loose, Constance was able to untie her other hand and then went to work on the rest of the trusses. Once free, she rushed to her Father and found that he was still breathing, but the look on his face could only be described as extreme shock.

“Run to the phone booth at the end of the dock!” Constance commanded. “Dial the operator and ask for an ambulance right away! Hurry!”

Dagmar rushed out while Constance took the ice cubes from the spilled drinks and wrapped them in the handkerchief that was used to gag her. She believed her father had fainted from the shock so she laid him on his back and applied the cold compress to his forehead. Dagmar never returned and Constance thought she had run away without calling for help. But minutes later she heard the wail of a siren. Suddenly she snapped to attention when she realized what the ambulance men would see when they entered. As quickly as she could, Constance cleaned up and hid the ropes, her costume and weapon, the sexual device and anything else that could be seen as unusual. In her mind she began to create a scenario of explanation. She was helping her Father prepare for a boat trip in the morning and suddenly he had an episode of some kind. Perhaps he had overindulged and that would explain the spilled drink. As quickly as she could she donned some extra clothes she kept aboard. Just as she fastened the last button on her blouse and fixed her hair a bit, she heard the men from the ambulance coming down the dock.

“What have I done?” Constance cried as she rushed to let them in to help her father. The trip to hospital seemed to take forever. And even longer was the wait to hear from his long time personal physician. Doctor Kreigstein informed her with much regret that her father had suffered a massive stroke brought about by some sort of severe stress. He would most likely live out the rest of days in a catatonic state.

7

The wheels were set in motion after the diagnosis of Alfred VanDercourt’s condition. Within days he was moved to the finest medical care facility in the state, The Whispering Woods Clinic located in the countryside just outside of Empire City. Constance spent the next couple of days meeting with lawyers to sign dozens of documents and soon the control of her father’s vast estate was transferred to her. It was burden she took on with regret, but the team of family and business attorneys assured her things would continue to run smoothly. She could remain doing all the things she usually did and they would keep her regularly informed of the estate just as they had done with her father.

The flurry of activity somehow helped her deal with the shock of what had happened with her father and Dagmar, who seemed to have disappeared off the face of the earth. But something else was amiss once she able to re-focus on her alter ego, Mistress Fatale. She could not help thinking about Julian Connor and that night of sexual adventure she spent with him. Each evening when she slipped into bed, erotic fantasies filled her mind and she could not seem to wipe them away until she brought herself to climax by pleasuring herself. Then she drifted off to sleep and her dreams were of nothing else but Julian Connor and a parade of sensual women. Usually she was tied up and forced to endure all manner of sexual tortures. One such dream involved not only Connor, but her father as well. The dreams were so vivid that she actually experienced orgasms. They were so intense, that when she awoke her pussy was soaked.

It was perplexing and Constance knew it wasn’t normal, especially the dreams of her father and feeling such overwhelming arousal. Lately there was the indescribable urge to return to Julian Connor’s home. There could only be one explanation for all this and she vowed to get to the bottom of it.

So once again, Mistress Fatale came to find herself face to face with Julian Connor. But this time she had the upper hand. Before she sneaked into his bedroom, she knocked out his bodyguard Vincent with a chloroform aerosol spray she had invented. Now she stood beside his bed with her gun pointed an inch from his temple while he slept.

“Wake up Connor!” Mistress Fatale commanded.

Connor stirred and blinked his eyes open to find a gun pointed in his face. When he saw who was pointing it at him, he smiled.

“Damn, you woke me up from a fine dream, but under the circumstances, this is much more preferable,” Connor said, sitting up so he could get comfortable. “I’m curious, however. How did you get past Vincent?”

“Never mind Vincent. He’ll be unavailable for quite some time.”

“Hmmm, this is the first time anyone got the best of him. All right then, what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

“I want to know what you’ve done to me.”

“Pardon?”

“You’ve done something to me. Mesmerized or entranced me somehow.”

“Why would you think such a thing?”

“Because, despite every inclination to resist, I felt the urge to seek you out again.”

“Perhaps you’ve grown fond of me.”

“A criminal like you? Never! Tell me what you’ve done or so help me I’ll pull this trigger.”

“Come now, no need to be so melodramatic. Let’s discuss this like adults.”

“I’m no longer in the mood for your games! Tell me now!”

“Very well, then,” Connor sighed. “I should have known you’d figure it out. You’re cleverer than I thought. Yes, you’ve been hypnotized in a way.”

Mistress Fatale grew angrier by the moment. “I knew it! There’s no other explanation for the things I’ve experienced since I left here that night. You did it while I was passed out from exhaustion, didn’t you? You slimy son of a bitch. Whatever you’ve done, I want it reversed!”

“Well I could, but how else would I be able to control you?”

“Damn you, you have no right to do this to me!”

“I know, but I simply couldn’t resist. I have to tell you, you were the most difficult subject I’ve ever encountered. You put up an incredible battle. Just when I thought it would be impossible, you finally crumbled to my suggestions. I have it all on film if ever want to watch it some time.”

“You are a sick fiend!”

And you are the most exciting and seductive woman I’ve ever encountered. We were made for each other don’t you think?” Connor chuckled.

“You’re a vile criminal. I could never be with someone like you!”

Connor scoffed. “The vigilante has morals? Even after what you did to old man VanDercourt? I know he was responsible for the murder of that poor sap Coddington and the imprisonment of your fiancé, but frightening him into a state of shock went a bit far don’t you think? What did your friend Constance have to say about that?”

“Not that it’s really any of your concern, but I did nothing to him. I was not even there. Constance informed me that Mr. VanDercourt had a stroke.”

“A stroke, eh? Isn’t a stroke sometimes brought about by severe stress? Are you sure it wasn’t because he discovered his daughter and Mistress Fatale were one and the same?” Connor asked with a knowing smirk.

Mistress Fatale gasped and her eyes went wide behind her mask. “You conniving bastard! You unmasked me as well while I was unconscious? You promised you wouldn’t!”

“Yes, yes, I admit it. I did renege on our bargain. But I had to be certain before I hypnotized you,” Connor told her. “But don’t be so outraged. I had already guessed as much even before you arrived that night that Mistress Fatale and Constance VanDercourt were one and the same. That’s why it was so much fun to test my theory by making that offer: One night in bed with the high and mighty Constance VanDercourt in exchange for information on Coddington’s true killer. I had a feeling you’d offer to take her place. Even if you weren’t Constance, I would have had my cake and eaten it too, literally and figuratively.”

Mistress Fatale sneered at the arrogance of the criminal. “You are a callous monster!”

“Don’t worry, my dear, your secret is safe with me. In fact, it’s in my best interest that no one finds out you really are. Otherwise you won’t be of any use to me.”

Mistress Fatale narrowed her eyes with suspicion. “What do you mean by that?”

“It simply means that we will be working together to rid this city of my enemies. We’ll both benefit of course. My rivals will be put out of business and in turn you’ll be able to sweep this city clean of its most corrupt element. It’s a win-win situation for both of us.”

“What makes you think I would be in league with you?”

“You really have no choice,” Connor informed her.

“Yes I do. Even if you have hypnotized me, all I have to do is pull this trigger and I’ll be done with you forever.”

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken, and I’ll prove it. Go right ahead and pull the trigger...if you can.”

Mistress Fatale tensed up. If what he said was true it was the only way to sever any control he might have over her. She had no qualms in ridding the city of this devious criminal. Her recent experiences had turned her colder than ever and there would be no regrets or guilt. She placed the gun to his temple with all the intention of going through with it. She cocked the .45 automatic, tensed her finger against the trigger and ordered herself to pull…but nothing happened. Her finger would not respond. Suddenly her entire hand shook and something inexplicably caused her to turn over the gun to Connor, who was already holding his hand out.

Connor took the gun, wrapped his fingers around the handgrip and casually placed the barrel at Mistress Fatale’s quivering lips.

“Open,” Connor ordered.

Stunned by his request, Mistress Fatale had no intention to comply, but the heroine was astounded to find that she was suddenly obeying Connor’s command. Constance flushed red and parted her lips, glaring at the smug criminal. She wondered how in heaven’s name she seemed to have no freewill of her own?

With perverse satisfaction Connor put the barrel of Mistress Fatale’s own weapon in her mouth, causing her to grunt in complaint. “You see? Right now you are nothing but my compliant plaything. If I wished I could make your life a living hell. But I can be a very generous man when I wish and so I’m giving you the option to be so much more. You could my ally and confidant as well as my lover. In turn I will satisfy your every desire. The choice is yours.”

Mistress Fatale was livid. She despised this man, but she could not deny that when she spent that one night with him, she had experienced thrills of such intensity that they were scorched into her psyche. It was the most profound sexual arousal and release she’d ever experienced.

Connor took the gun out of her mouth and inquired, “Well? What will it be?”

Constance seethed inside. She could not stand that this man had the upper hand over her. Some how, some way she would find away to escape his clutches, but for now she would acquiesce to his control. There was simply no other way around it. And besides, there was that itching tide of desire that she could not seem to stem. Already there was an urgent tingling between her legs that was itching to be filled and she knew deep down there was no other man who would be able to fill it. She thought, ‘Damn him, if this is what he wants I’m going to give it to him until he can’t take any more.’

Mistress Fatale fixed a stare on Connor that was both sensual and filled with revulsion. She began to remove her hat and dress and told him, “I’ll go along with this…but only for now…and you may provide me incredible sexual experiences, but mark my words, I will have the final upper hand…and when I do…heaven help you…”

Connor chuckled, “I almost believe that. And I’m certain it would be glorious. But by the time I’m through ravaging you, you’ll forget all those petty thoughts of revenge.”

Then Connor tossed the sheets and brought out his member from the slot in his silk pajamas. “Show me what your mouth is for and I promise I’ll make you cum for hours.”

Mistress Fatale flinched at the phrase. It was as if a switch was flicked in her mind and suddenly she found herself salivating at the thought of stuffing his cock in her mouth. From what she had studied of hypnotism in her spare time after a past encounter with that criminal stage hypnotist Mysterio, she surmised that it was a “trigger phrase” implanted in her mind while she was under. She fought a brief losing battle with her natural aversion to this criminal and then set about to do as he was ordered. Soon her head was bobbing up and down in Connor’s lap while she slathered his erection with her tongue and lips. The urge to please him was tremendous and it wasn’t long before she was going at it with enthusiasm, moaning and slurping like it was the most wonderful tasting treat she’d ever had. She thought, ‘Heaven help me I can’t get enough of this!’

The time seemed to move like molasses and she sensed that he was about to ejaculate in her mouth and she couldn’t wait to taste the nectar that was about erupt from his thick muscle.

“Not yet, my dear,” Connor laughed, as if he knew what she was craving. “It’s time for the masked mistress to ride the unicorn.”

‘Another trigger phrase!’ Constance thought. And so her will was pushed for a different act, this time to mount and ride him. She straddled his waste and guided his erection into her soaked pussy, but something kept her from moving. She stared at Connor, as if waiting for some sort of signal.

Connor chuckled at Mistress’ Fatale’s confusion. With a playful slap on her rump, he urged her to begin. Constance VanDercourt spent the rest of the evening and into the morning fucking her new Master as if her life depended on it. And this he kept his promise. She climaxed again and again and again.