The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Some way between one obscure star and another, the exploration spaceship of the eighth machine culture of J469 began to malfunction. A mere skirmish with raiders who had been easily brushed aside had nonetheless resulted in the entry of a virus which was steadily disabling the computers to the point that irreparable physical damage had been suffered. The command triangle waited till they were near a string of planets and released their treasured nano-robots. As the ship’s systems prepared for self-destruction – so technology should not fall into the wrong hands – the nano-robots spread out. Some did not find the pull of a planet’s gravity and circled forever or till a collision destroyed them. Some burned up on entry to an atmosphere. Some landed on dead planets or moons and waited for millions of years without a call. Three, just three, landed on a planet with life – but no machines – and waited. They communicated so each knew it had two siblings.

A volcanic eruption destroyed one. That left two. They waited till finally their systems assessed that the time was ripe for implant into a new-born biological life form. One went first and reported success: the alien biological systems had not detected it and the body seemed suitable, the brain full of potential. Then the other implanted.

Lena Lopez was aware of eyes fixed upon her from the moment she entered the bank. There were the security cameras, of course, but there were also staff and customers, male and female, who paused to stare at the leggy, tight-curved young woman with long black hair and olive-brown skin, simply and classily dressed in black knee-length pencil skirt and crisp white blouse, a black handbag dangling from a golden chain.

A pretty, uniformed customer service assistant approached her.

“Can I be of any help, madam?” she asked. The dark lady looked into her eyes and said nothing. The security cameras would have picked up nothing. But Lena sought, found and conquered in the girl’s blue eyes. “Come with me,” the girl said. They passed through a security door. No-one outside saw anything surprising: a rich woman, a model, a foreign actress or a millionaire’s trophy wife perhaps, had asked for a private interview and of course it had been granted.

The customer service assistant led her down a corridor and through another security door, where they were faced by a uniformed male guard, a thickset youngish man with a skin-colour similar to Lena’s. Lena marched up to him, noting his uncertainty, knowing he was weighing up contradictory messages: one the one hand, this woman had been brought through security doors by Marianne and her manner seemed confident; on the other hand, he had not been informed of anyone accessing the vaults and his orders were clear.

“Hold it!” he said. The tall woman’s eyes met his. For a moment neither said anything, not moved. Then the guard turned, took a big key from his belt and unlocked a thick door.

Lena was in there a mere twelve minutes. She turned the key the guard had surrendered, locking him inside, and let the customer service assistant lead her back to the public area, where she politely thanked the girl and marched out. The customer service assistant stood with glazed eyes until a customer spoke to her. Normality returned.

It was another half an hour before the theft of the diamonds and sapphires was discovered.

Relaxing back in her hotel room, her long legs freed from the skirt, her murderous body obscured only by black shorts and a black t-shirt with the white letters “WITCH”, Lena thought about the customer relations girl. She did like fair-haired, blue-eyed ones, especially shit-stupid innocent and trusting ones. There seemed to be quite a lot like that here in Oklahoma. She toyed at the sushi she had ordered and thought hard about the girl.

After a while a buzzer sounded.

“Reception, Ms Diablo. A visitor’s here for you, a Miss Christiansen. Says you’re expecting her.”

“Yes, I am,” Lena replied. “Show her up.”

“Have a nice day,” the receptionist concluded.

“You too,” said Lena. Then, putting the phone down, “a nice day and a very, very scary night!” There was a light, tentative knock on the door and the customer service girl entered. You had to look quite closely in her eyes to see it, Lena thought. It was not this cartoon glazed look thing; but she knew her powers. Once the girl had looked into Lena’s eyes and Lena had used the Power, she was at Lena’s beck and call. Some of the things Lena left alone to live normal, foolish lives. The bank guard, she thought, would be one of those. This girl she had chosen to summon. At the end she might tell the girl to kill herself, or put her under permanent control, or more likely, given her insignificance, let her alone. For now, though, she was fun waiting to be had.

“Sit down on the bed,” she told the girl. “What is your name?”

“Marianne Deanne Christiansen. My friends call me ‘Chrissie’.”

“Age?”

“Twenty-four.”

“Boyfriend?”

“Yes, Richard.”

“Live in?”

“No.”

“Sexual experience?”

“Yes.” Lena slapped her hard.

“Proper answers, slut! How many times have you had sex and with whom?”

“Er…with Richard about twelve, no, fifteen times. Twice with, um, John. Twice with two different kids at college and once with Mr Gross when I was, well, drunk.”

“That all?” Lena was unimpressed. “Ever with a woman?”

“No!” Lena shrugged.

“Strip – and strip sexy like a stripper!”

Chrissie’s attempts to imitate a stripper were pretty pathetic: she was a good looker with a pretty face and the right curves, but as a stripper, she had no verve, no technique. Lena had expected nothing else. She found the pathetic imitation amusing.

“You are a crap stripper,” she told the girl in due course, “but your ass and tits aren’t bad. “Now lick my pussy! Lick! Lick! Lick! Harder! Further! TRY, you little slut! Aaaaaah. Not bad. Now lie on you back and open your legs VERY WIDE. Good.” She took her time with the girl and finally was about to tell her to dress and go, when a new thought occurred to her.

“This Richard – do you love him?”

“A whole lot. We’re get…”

“When are you seeing him next?”

“Tonight. We’re going to the…”

“Good. Take this knife. When you see him, stick it in his belly, as far in as it’ll go. Then twist it around. Got that? O.K. – you can go now.”

Left alone, Lena snapped her fingers as she often did in triumph, and whistled a little tune, very capably, for she was good at musical things. Stupid Chrissie Christiansen was quite likely to go to the electric chair! What a shame when they fried them they threw them away. Now – a quiet night in the hotel lay ahead, a good sleep, and then she was off to Memphis for her next act.

As usual in a new town, she booked into a comfortable but not top-class hotel. The maid, a youngish Latino woman, looked just a little strangely at her as she said goodbye after taking her to her room, but Lena guessed the woman saw her as a fellow Latino, and maybe few such stayed in such hotels here.

Lena was in fact the offspring of a Peruvian businessman father and a Bulgarian journalist who’d arrived to cover some peculiar religious sect that had appeared in the Peruvian Andes. Her early years had been spent in Peru, but her teenage years, after her parents split, in Bulgaria. Disagreements over “that strange girl”, as her father called her, had been one cause of the split. She had travelled in Europe and the Americas before setting up her own business, one that would have horrified both her parents.

Her aim in Memphis was not yet a robbery, but just to check out the target, a private art collection with some very stealable figurines. She already knew where she could sell them. Tomorrow under a false identity as an art security advisor she’d be keeping an appointment she’d made and she’d be able to check the conditions under which the collection was kept.

Having little time for most U.S. television, she relaxed on the bed naked, her hands swaying a little in time to the music of Rachmaninov’s “Island of the Dead”.

There was a knock on the door. Without hurry, she took off the headphones and walked to the door.

“Who’s there?” she asked. She hadn’t called anyone.

“Police. Just open up, please, Ms Blair.” She opened up. Facing her were two uniformed officers. The front one was youngish, white, thickset, with a reddish complexion but with alert, rather sexy eyes. He had drawn his gun which was pointed at her torso. Behind him was a younger Black guy, slimmer and taller, looking rather nervous. His gun was not drawn.

Dealing with two at once was always difficult, Lena knew. You couldn’t enslave both at once, and while you were dealing with the first one, the second might take inconvenient action. Fortunately the Black kid’s gun was still in the holster.

She looked into the white officer’s eyes.

“Give me your gun, darling, and move to your right,” she said softly. He obeyed. That gave her a clear view of his colleague. The kid was staring and his mouth was open. He started to draw his gun. Lena found and held his gaze. “Shoot your colleague in the belly, please, dear,” she said. The kid actually had to take a step to get in position to do that. He fired and the senior cop’s face distorted with pain. He staggered and fell. “Drag him inside, darling,” she told the rookie, for such he surely was. He obeyed. The older cop was moaning.

Lena has spied an impressive bulge in the Black kid’s uniform trousers.

“Get the pants off that jerk and fuck him up the asshole!” she instructed. She could tell the kid had never done anything like this before. He had trouble finding the hole. In all likelihood he’d never even buggered a girl. Well, she delighted in giving people new experiences.

She let the younger cop fuck the older for some time. Then she told him to shoot his colleague up the hole he’d just fucked. That took care of the white cop. For the Black one, she still had some use.

“Lie down, face up, and give me your cock!” she ordered. He really was big and full of energy. She bounced up and down on him until she became bored. She had one last instruction for him. “Now, darling, shoot yourself in the head. Excellent!” That set-up would really give the investigators some surprises – but they would come to only one conclusion, that the younger cop had gone mad, raped and killed his colleague, and then killed himself. All true, really.

She packed quickly. Clearly she could not stay here and the operation would have to be postponed. Outside she saw the Latino maid and her eyes confirmed what Lena had suspected: pictures of her from the bank job, from the security cameras and maybe photofits, had been published and this woman had recognised her. Bad move.

As Lena made her way down in the lift she could not hear the crump as the maid’s body hit the ground, having thrown herself from the highest window. Lena had told her to do that and she knew she would be obeyed. The receptionist looked a bit surprised to see her. Lena told her to go up to her room and lick the blood until someone came.

She had meant to hire a car, but had now abandoned that idea. Instead she took a taxi, ordered the driver to forget he had ever seen her, and on a whim gave him his fare. The light aircraft was well hidden in the woods on the edge of a clearing that had once been larger. A man maintained it on a regular basis and brought in basic supplies, believing as soon as he returned home that he had been hunting. Lena was a skilled pilot.

The hideaway she had prepared in Nevada was comfortable and gave her time to think and plan. She had grown overconfident. The ease with which she hypnotised people had fooled her into forgetting that she could not rely on power of eyes and mind alone. If those two stupid cops in Memphis had been just a tad more nervous, if they had been given more reason to think she was dangerous, she could have been shot before she could enslave them both. If she was cornered by several armed people, she could not deal with them all in one. Her likeness had been sent all over the USA, and one difficulty about being brown-skilled and brown-eyed was that changes in her appearance were quite difficult. Blue eyes, say, would not be credible, or fair or red hair. To lighten skin was harder than to darken it. Spectacles, a short haircut, a little bodily padding could be managed, but they might not be enough.

No, she would have to leave the States. Latin America, Europe, India maybe? Her looks would not be that unusual in any of those, and the locals were not going to be interested in publicity about some Yankee bank-robber. Maybe she’d try Latin America first: it was not so far and she had some knowledge.

She should not repeat the same mistakes there, though, especially as the cops tended to be quite trigger-happy in most of the countries. No more walking into high-security places where cameras would record her face. Either she must operate by enslaving some key person to make the theft, someone who had all the necessary access, or she must make other use of her skills. The market was good for paid assassins in some countries from Mexico south, she’d heard. She had contacts in Colombia: she would establish a new base there.

“Yeah, I’m a student, but I’m not on a gap year, I just came off a boat,” said the fresh-faced young American apologetically. “I’d sure like to get into all the customs of these people in Ecuador and maybe help, like with that school on the way from the harbour, which seemed pretty poor. But I’m crew and I have to stick with my father.”

“And your father is a sailor, a captain?” the beautiful, slim, dark woman asked, cradling the beer he’d bought her.

“He’s the captain, but not a real sailor, just playing…well, a recreational sailor. He’s a businessman and, can you believe, he has two other yachts?”

“Seems like he could only use one at a time,” she commented sympathetically.

“Yeah, that’s what I think. Seems kinda obscene. But I don’t say that.”

“Of course not. Is your father this Elliot Samuels guy? I heard he was often here.”

“No, he’s Grant Laval of Apricot Holdings. Embarrassingly rich.”

“Still, you can’t take it with you, they say.”

“He does. His rings kinda embarrass me.”

“David, would you do something for me? I’ve got a slight, well, wardrobe problem. Could we just go round the side?” He followed, intrigued.

She stared into his unsuspecting blue eyes.

“What valuable things are on the yacht?” she asked.

“Apart from the people, who are all equally valuable, of course, there’s the yacht itself, my father’s rings, the big diamond on his new third wife’s ring, my kid sister’s gold pendant and some Aztec stuff my father keeps in the safe to show off to people. Plus a load of beluga caviar, which is pretty pricey.”

“Very well. Here is a neat little gun and here is a sharp knife. You are to rejoin the yacht and as soon as it gets out of harbour you are to kill all the other people and bring all the valuable things you mention – except the people – to me, plus your sister’s head. I will be at the disused coastguard station on the headland over there.”

He said nothing, but she knew he would do it. He had no choice. She wasn’t quite sure yet what she would do with him when he returned, but she quite fancied fucking with him. Then perhaps she could get him to take his sister’s head to the local police station and say they might be interested in it. That would do.

The Ecuadorian car hire man did not have a large office – little more than a booth where he sat behind his neat desk. He was clearly impressed by the classy woman who did not seem to be a local, but spoke excellent Latin American Spanish. She had quite a short skirt and crossed her legs several times. However, he disciplined himself to concentrate on the paperwork.

Lena sized him up. She had come here to hire a car and as often, had not planned whether to enslave anyone or not. A suspicious, too observant person would need to be dealt with, or she might simply find it amusing to play with some innocent-looking girl – but it was unwise to enslave everyone she dealt with and some people would bore her. Her first impressions of this shortish, fit-looking, impassive-faced man had not been favourable – but there was something about him. She glanced at the photo on his desk and the two framed behind him. The one on the desk showed an attractive woman with a small child. One of the two behind him showed a man in a white suit apparently opening the branch, but the other was of a small group of soldiers. Yes, she had identified something she had sensed: he was surely an old soldier, and not just someone who had done a couple of years. She asked.

“Yes, I was fifteen good years in the army, a sergeant for much of it. A good life for those who are suited for it, but not when you are no longer young,” he replied. She decided he could be useful. A regular enslaved assistant would have many uses. She completed the paperwork, rose to shake his hand and stared into his eyes.

“You will introduce me to your wife,” she said. That was a necessary chore, for she could not allow a wife to interfere. A week later the stupid woman had driven her car into a deep gulley, with her son for good measure, and her Ernesto was entirely Lena’s.

The slim, beautiful woman waited by the bus-stop, but took no notice when a bus arrived. One or two men glanced at her, hoping she was a high-class whore, but she seemed not to notice them. She seemed self-sufficient, wrapped up in her own world. Then a big car pulled up.

“It will rain tomorrow on the hills,” said the squat man at the wheel.

“But the wise will be in their swimming-pools,” the woman replied.

“O.K. – get in,” the man said. The woman walked gracefully round to the front side door, noticing the second man in the back, and got in. The car sped away. Just in case, as an insurance policy, the woman looked into the eyes of the small man in the back and whispered,

“If anyone tries to kill or capture me, you are to kill him – or her.”

The car found its way to a farm, which had once been an ordinary farm but which now just looked ordinary outside. Inside there was a swimming-pool and a fine new house.

“Lena Lopez!” said the fat man with the eyes of a drowsy tiger. “I have become curious about you. A Peruvian, and so successful!”

“I succeed in my way, Capitano Solano, and you in yours. What do you want me for?”

“A beautiful woman, a Latin woman, and so direct! It concerns a certain Chief of Police in a large provincial town of some importance to us.”

“Yes?”

“He is a great nuisance to our business. He refuses all bribes, he has ignored several warnings, has survived several attempts to deal with him, is cautious about his own security and well-protected. Eliminate him and we will pay well. Eliminate him in a way that makes him an object of contempt or condemnation, not a martyr, and we will pay much better.”

“Has he any weak points?”

“Hardly, or he would be dead.” The Capitano paused. “Perhaps there is one weak point, but it is also a strong point.”

“Yes?”

“His wife is dead. We blew her into tiny little pieces four years ago with one son aged eighteen and one daughter aged sixteen. Very amusing – they could not tell which pieces belonged to which, except some teeth and a young nipple. But his eldest daughter is his most trusted lieutenant – not as a policewoman, or we would probably have been able to take her, but as a lawyer and politician. She is a firebrand, a Pasionara. It is a waste, for she is…” he gestured expansively with both hands around his hips and his chest, and then pouted his lips as if for a kiss and finally made a gesture with a closed thumb and forefinger and a stabbing finger from the other hand. “She could be a great actress or whore. But instead she chooses to support her father and make trouble for us.”

“Does he love her?”

“Very much! He would do anything for her. To save her, he would give up his life, the fool. If you could eliminate her as well, that would please us very much, but she should suffer.”

“Good. Now I must ask you to be specific about money.”

When the figure swathed against the rain in a cape with the hood up slipped into the police station, one veteran sergeant fingered his gun and a young officer pulled his out. The figure threw back the hood to show the face of a beautiful Latin woman, perhaps with a hint of Indian, and an angry scar on one cheek.

“Of course,” she said, “you must check me for weapons, for a bomb even. Do your job. But I have come for help.” She was carrying no weapon except a small knife, which the officers took.

“Please come to the interview room,” the sergeant said.

“I am sorry, sergeant. You are an honourable man and a warrior – but I can speak only to the Chief.”

“The Chief is not in.”

“Then I will wait. I do not want to go out in the street again.”

“He will not be long. But he will not see you alone. I hope you understand why. He always has another officer with him.”

“So I have heard. That is no problem. If he trusts that officer, so do I.”

Forty minutes later the Chief came in – a big man, strong and a little clumsy, tall and broad, with a broad face and a magnificent moustache. The sergeant spoke to him: Lena could clearly see it was about her. The Chief looked at her, caught her eye and inclined his head. A moment later he was striding across to her.

“Madam, I understand you wish to speak to me. Why cannot you speak to my officers?”

“I have escaped from Solano. He kept me in his house. See what he did to me, this scar. I can only trust you because you are incorruptible.” The Chief was a man who made firm decisions.

“I will see you, of course, but as always, with another officer. You have been abused by men, so I call in a woman officer. Jorge, call Teresa.” Soon Lena was sitting in the Chief’s office, toying with a cup of coffee as if it might bite her. Facing her across the desk were the Chief and a young female officer with the high cheekbones of an Indian but a skin almost as pale as a Gringo’s.

“Very well. You are safe with us. Please tell us your story. Take your time,” the Chief coaxed.

“I am very grateful! So grateful!” Lena sobbed. “Pull out your gun and hold this cunt prisoner. If she moves, shoot her.” The Chief did what he was told, his eyes expressionless. The horrified young officer did not move, except to talk:

“Chief! Ernesto! What is this? I’m Theresa! My father was your old comrade till the drug runners killed him! Please put down that gun!”

“Keep her covered while I take her gun,” Lena instructed. “Good. Now give me your gun and rape this girl. If she shouts, bust her mouth.” The girl was too horrified and bewildered to act quickly. The Chief was a very strong man and she did not have a chance. She did just get out

“Help! Help!” before the Chief’s heavy fist burst her lips and knocked out half her gleaming white teeth. A minute later he was raping her on the carpet, his massive cock gouging out a hole. She whimpered but had given up fighting.

“Arsehole too!” Lena ordered. The Chief complied. The officer started a loud wailing, so in case other officers came, Lena plugged her mouth with the wreckage of her shirt. Then she grabbed her glossy black hair, pulled her head up and stared into her eyes. Timing was all. It would have been much less fun if she’d enslaved the cop girl sooner. Lena ordered her to stay still and silent, and the Chief to pull out of her bludgeoned arsehole.

“Now, my dear,” she told the young cop, “you’re going to have the most wonderful sexual experience of your short life, a fuck absolutely out of this world, and you will enjoy it very much. How lucky you are!” The girl smiled. “Take this gun, which belongs to the Chief, put the end up your cunt and pull the trigger. Excellent! Chief, take this carcass and put it in the big safe over there. Good, but there is some blood on the floor. Lap it up.” She had wondered if either the noise of the struggle or of the shot would bring other police in, but the office was some way from other occupied rooms and the shot had been muffled by the girl’s vulva. “Now, Chiefy, I have some very detailed instructions for you and you must follow them precisely…”

The Chief’s driver dropped the beautiful woman with the scar as he had been instructed at a café near to the Chief’s house and drove the Chief to his front door before leaving. The Chief turned off the security cameras inside his home and waited for the woman to arrive. Lena walked in, nodding to her slave, washed the fake scar off in the Chief’s bathroom and climbed to the top of a cupboard in the great man’s bedroom where she waited out of reach of the security cameras the Chief now turned on again.

He rang his daughter and beseeched her to drop whatever she was doing and come to his house. She did not need to ask for a reason: her father needed her and would not call her from her work lightly. Fortunately she had nearly finished the interview with a client and her Renault was soon outside his house.

“What is it, daddy? You look tired,” she said.

“I’ll tell you. Come in. I have something you must see,” he said. She could tell he had something on his mind and she was concerned. She followed dutifully as he led her to his bedroom.

“Please, daddy, what is it? You can te…” she said. He slammed his big fist into her mouth, knocking out teeth and busting her lips. He grabbed her long, black hair and slammed her head against the corner of the wardrobe, twice. He let her free for a moment as she breathed heavily and stared uncomprehendingly at him; then he punched her hard in the stomach and dragged her to the bed.

“Daddy! No! What…” she protested before his fist slammed into her face again and squashed her nose like a ripe tomato. He began to tear her clothes off. Lena, watching, was squirming about with intense pleasure, feeling wet. The Chief unhooked handcuffs from his belt and secured his daughter’s slim wrists behind her back. He tore her white bra from her magnificent, warm brown tits. He ripped her cream panties apart and punched her once more, in the belly. Then he liberated his massive, stiff cock and rammed it into her cunt. His pumping shook her about like a rat in a terrier’s jaws. He pulled out, pushed her over and forced his way into her tight arsehole while she wailed and screamed. Lena came in a rush of delight and glory. The Chief tugged his daughter over again and forced his cock into her mouth, ramming it down her throat till he could shove his hairy balls past her red lips. Blood and tears ran down her face together and mingled.

The Chief pulled out of her, stood up, opened a drawer, drew out a medal and with the ribbon tied her two slim ankles together. Lena was impressed. Untreated humans had amazingly weak memories: you couldn’t give them a series of detailed instructions and expect them to follow all of them, unless they used some kind of electronic or mechanical aid; but she had enslaved the Chief and now he was following her instructions to the letter. Leaving his daughter limp and moaning, he went downstairs. Lena knew exactly what he was getting, and merely smiled with proprietary satisfaction when he returned with a plate, a glass, a bottle opener, a bottle of wine, a tiny bottle which she knew to contain Tabasco sauce, a fork and a small but evidently sharp knife. He drew a chair up to the bed and extended the top of the bedside table to make a space where he could place the plate and bottles. Then, smiling absent-mindedly, he took up the knife and sliced off the top of his daughter’s left breast, placing it on the plate before opening the wine bottle and pouring himself a glass. Completely ignoring the banshee screaming wail coming from his beloved daughter, he sliced up and ate the tit end between sips of wine. Lena now was tense. Had he forgotten something? No. He picked up the Tabasco sauce and shook a little of the fierce liquid on to the bleeding stump before slicing off a second piece. When he had finished that, he repeated the exercise with the remaining bit of tit. Burping with satisfaction, he started on the right tit. He was in no hurry, but in due course the whole of his daughter’s magnificent, nutritious breasts were in his digestive system.

The daughter, still conscious, looked up and at last saw the smiling Lena on top of the cupboard. Lena smiled at her but was careful not to enslave her.

The Chief disappeared again – again according to his instructions – and returned with a length of what could be called thin rope or thick cord and a step-ladder. He passed the rope over a pipe that ran along one side of the ceiling and knotted it, making the other end into a noose. He positioned the chair beneath the rope and dragged his daughter by her long black hair to the chair, yanking her up to stand on it. This part of the operation, Lena realised, was difficult because the girl’s ankles were broken and she was in great pain standing; but the Chief managed to hold her upright while he fitted the noose round her shapely neck and tightened it.

“No, Daddy! No, please! Don’t! Remember mummy! Please…” the girl pleaded. He kicked the chair away, there was a neat little click, her neck extended and she kicked once. She dangled from the ceiling. Her father looked at her for a moment and then left the room for the third time. Lena stared with triumph and love at the broken, beautiful figure swaying gently from the rope. A fine lawyer she was now! She jumped down from the cupboard and jogged downstairs, pausing in the bathroom to wash away the signs of her joy, making a quick phone call, leaving the house (carefully shutting the door) and walking across the street, accepting a couple of wolf-whistles, to go in a small café, choose a table inside but by the window, and order a lime milk-shake. As she put the straw to her lips she heard emergency sirens down the street.

Three police cars screamed to a halt outside the Chief’s house, quickly followed by a fourth. The veteran sergeant and a younger officer got out of the lead car and walked towards the door. Halfway there, they dropped dead as the Chief picked them off from his spare bedroom window. The other officers took up positions behind their cars, except for one young woman who, disobeying shouted orders, raced to the younger fallen officer waving a white handkerchief. She bent over the fallen man in his spreading pool of blood. One shot rang out and she slumped over her man, the white handkerchief dropping into his red blood. At first Lena could not see where the Chief had popped her, till blood oozed through her uniform trousers from her bottom crack.

Lena was loving this: it was so exciting! The officers were now returning fire. The café owner ran crouching to Lena and told her she should take cover. She looked into his eyes. He would not interfere again and would not remember she had been there. Her eyes were caught by one officer crouched behind her car, a broad-faced, dark-skinned Indian type with the most magnificent fat, round, wobbly arse imaginable. Lena thought she would like to eat it. She could not now control what the Chief did, beyond the instructions she had given him, but she really did hope he’d plug the fat-arsed cop. The cop was concentrating, taking cover cleverly, firing selectively. Then a small, red firework seemed to go off in her head and she slumped to the dust a mess of human refuse, the huge rump comically, ludicrously, sticking out of the wreckage. Lena clapped and cheered. She just had time to see some more cops in riot gear arrive. One big man rose and fired some sort of rocket-propelled g renade at the window; it narrowly missed and hit the wall and the officer dropped dead to a single shot. The Chief was VERY good. A waste, really, until now.

Her phone rang. She slipped out the back of the café by way of the toilets to find Ernesto waiting with the car door open. As they drove off they heard an explosion: no doubt the defeat of the Chief was nearly accomplished. Lena delighted over the thought that everything he had done to his daughter would be recorded by the security cameras, but her own presence would not be.

On the way to the safe house provided by the Capitano, Lena’s inventive and restless mind had a pleasant, even exciting, thought. But first she phoned the Capitano and told him what she had achieved. The great man was naturally delighted and even increased his agreed payment.

Enrique Garcia took the call himself. It was the police guard at the gate: a Government forensic scientist and a police detective had arrived to take one of the bodies for analysis, It was not a total surprise, though in most cases, as far as he could see, the cops had died in very straightforward ways. Nonetheless, the scale of the slaughter meant the Government would be desperate to be seen to be doing everything, even if everything meant no sense.

His young assistant Esmeralda let them in. It seemed to Enrique that she hesitated a moment, facing the svelte woman in a suit dress, but then she motioned them forward. The woman, presumably the scientist, was quite young, intelligent-looking and self-assured, dressed and walking like class: he wished all scientists were like that. The man with her was an obvious cop, fit, impassive, quietly dressed – nothing exceptional about him except his manner of someone on duty but expected to play second fiddle.

“You want one of the bodies for examination, doctor?” Enrique asked the woman. “Which one?”

“A female cop. Show me the female bodies, Senor Director.”

“Certainly. This one?” He drew out a slab from the drawer. The body on it was young, female, beautiful, slim, and he remembered there was not a mark on her unless you studied her arsehole closely where the bullet had entered. He had studied it closely, and he rather hoped this was not the body for scientific examination in case they discovered the bullet had not been the last thing to enter her arsehole.

“Not that one. And not the one with her breasts chopped off.”

“Ah. Then this?” The body now displayed was plumper, shorter, darker-skinned, more exuberantly feminine than the first. There was a neat hole drilled in her forehead.

“Yes, that one.” He told Esmeralda to pack the dead cop up in a refrigerated body bag, and she went about her work without a word.

“Pleased to be of help, Senora doctor,” he said. The doctor turned towards him.

“One more thing,” she said, and looked into his eyes.

As Lena and Ernesto left with their booty, the police guard, the Director and his assistant were all putting themselves in refrigerated compartments and pulling the doors shut.

Back at the safe house, they unloaded the carcass. Lena kissed her slave on the forehead and asked,

“Do you believe I’m a good cook, Ernesto, my pet?”

“Yes, my queen.”

“Better than your stupid wife?”

“Better than my stupid wife.”

“Good. Amuse yourself. I’ll be busy cooking.”

Some time later, they were well into the meal and Lena felt free enough to play footsie under the table with Ernesto. It did not disturb her control of her wine-glass or of carving-knife, ordinary knife and fork.

“My darling, have you ever eaten cunt before?” she asked.

“Not in that sense, my queen.”

“It’s delicious, isn’t it?”

“Yes, my queen, delicious.”

“Do you think it adds something special that it comes from a pig girl?”

“Yes, my queen, it’s special.”

“Good. I must get you another – but not from a Mexican, the smell is a little off-putting. Perhaps a Russian? No, their tennis players are class but their police are coarse. I know – an English pig! I promise you, my dear Ernesto, I’ll bring you the cunt of an English policewoman – and the tits and ass, of course, they come together. But there is plenty still to eat on this magnificent big ass, my love, and the crackling is divine! Well, the caretaker of this place has a dog, but to waste rumpsteak on it would be criminal. This wine is very acceptable.”

Far away on another continent, though, someone whose powers were equal to Lena’s was preparing her downfall.