The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Pamela continued the internal argument she had been having since she left her office. This was foolish. She should have brought uniforms. She should have just had him brought in and not come here at all. That was procedure. That was all that was expected of her.

But she just didn’t want this case to go back to jail.

Now every case had a sob story; six years as a parole officer and she was all but immune to them. Most of them were lies anyway and easy enough to check. The only reason she still listened to them was to get an idea just how big a lie a parolee was inclined to tell her.

But José’s story had gotten to her. He had just started his freshman year at USC—studying engineering on an academic scholarship—when he was arrested. The police report said he was acting ‘nervous and guilty’ when they approached him here in the neighborhood where he had grown up. They claimed they had smelled marijuana, though José denied he had been using when he was arrested. Whatever the initial evidence justifying the search, it was undeniable that a search of his backpack produced a 5 lb. bag of Acapulco Gold.

To make matters worse, he had a flat-head screwdriver in his back pocket. He claimed he had been fixing his grandmother’s washing machine, which was probably true enough. Unfortunately, screwdrivers were also the weapon of choice among the cholos. They made a functional enough stabbing weapon but, up until the court caught on, hadn’t been considered as such in legal proceedings unless the tool had actually been found bloody or impaling someone.

The judge in José’s case was quite willing to call it a concealed weapon, however. José claimed the judge was racist and that he was sentenced more for his Mayan features and Spanish accent than his crime. It was certainly possible. You didn’t have to convince a crippled black woman that there was discrimination in this world. Pamela knew of several cases of white boys at USC found with larger amounts of more dangerous drugs who had gotten off with probation and community service.

José was the child of poor Salvadoranean immigrants and his public defender had gotten him a 2 year sentence of which he served six months in the state penitentiary. Needless to say, his scholarship wasn’t waiting for him when he got out.

It certainly wasn’t fair.

But life wasn’t fair. Pamela certainly knew that. She could hear her father’s voice reminding her: ‘If you’ve managed to live this long and still think life is going to be fair, you haven’t been paying attention.’

No, she had no reason to believe life was fair, she thought bitterly as she grabbed up her cane. If life was fair, she’d still be on the force. If life was fair, she would never have been partnered with a jumpy, careless rookie. If life was fair, he would have shot off his own fucking knee.

But her own personal tragedy was no reason to condemn José. The kid might really have a decent excuse for having missed their last meeting, for not answering her phone calls. He might deserve a second chance which he wouldn’t get if she had him brought in by uniforms.

She hoped she wasn’t doing this because she thought he was cute.

She had parked as near as she could to her destination. Hopefully this time she would be able to hear her car alarm in time to see who had given her the free paint job. She doubted it though. She checked the power lines—the sneakers hanging there indicated that the area was still controlled by Maria Salvatrucha. Well, at least their taggers were a bit more artistic than the Temple Street gang.

She locked up her car as well as she could and made her way to the last known residence of her delinquent parolee. It was one of the ubiquitous large old houses near downtown Los Angeles, nestled between slightly newer apartment complexes. These houses were the last remnants of that brief occupation of the original city of Los Angeles by white folk. The dispossessed had returned and once again made it their home. She knocked on the door.

It was answered by a young Hispanic woman with long curly dark hair wearing a ridiculously tight and short red dress. She was smiling broadly, looking at Pamela without really focusing on her. Not a good sign.

“Is José Aguila here?” asked the parole officer, hoping the woman spoke English—her Spanish sucked.

The woman smiled even more broadly.

“Chepe? Yeah, he’s upstairs. Do you wanna do him too?”

Pamela didn’t know what to say to that.

“I need to speak to him. I’m his parole officer.” she said icily.

“Oooooh!” said the woman with unexpected cheer. “Chepe said you might come by. Come on up. I know he’ll be glad to see you.”

Not bloody likely, thought Pamela as she followed the woman in red up the creaking wooden stairs, trying not to blush as the latina’s short tight dress revealed her lack of undergarments. Pamela strongly suspected drug use on the premises—that alone a violation of Aguila’s parole. Damn. Maybe she had misread him and he had been playing her all along. Or maybe he’d just given up; he had seemed awfully depressed at their last meeting. Almost suicidal.

The woman knocked on the door and shouted out.

“Hey Chepe!!! That parole lady is here! You wanna talk to her?”

There was some high pitched giggling, followed by a hushing sound and some muffled speech. At last the door opened and two women wearing less than her guide stepped out. They glanced shyly at Pamela, trying to suppress giggles, then went off down the hallway. The woman in red joined them, saying something in Spanish. Half way down the hall, they turned to look at Pamela then scampered off in a torrent of uncontrollable laughter. Definitely drugs involved.

Pamela turned back to the doorway and her errant charge. The lighting in the room was subdued. It was clearly a bedroom—a large, disheveled bed in the center of the room left little doubt as to what the women and Aguila were doing. The young parolee approached her from out of the dim room wearing a silk robe. He was definitely on something but Pamela couldn’t guess what. His eyes were red. Not blood-shot, red. The ‘whites’ of his eyes were a deep scarlet, his red-black pupils so wide that his brown irises were barely visible. It repulsed her, but she found she had difficulty not staring. It was just so freakish!

“Hello, Ms. Thomas,” said the ex-con. “I’m so glad you could visit. Can I get you a drink?”

“A drink...” said Pamela, not quite understanding the question. A drink would be nice. She shook her head. Had to focus, not let his weird eyes distract her.

“This isn’t a social call, Mr. Aguila.” she said, trying to show that she meant business. “You completely blew off our weekly appointment Tuesday and haven’t returned any of my phone calls. You know that our meetings are one of the conditions of your parole. One phone call from me and you’re back in prison to complete your sentence. What do you have to say for yourself!”

She made the mistake of staring into his eyes again. She was accustomed to looking parolees right in the eye, staring them down, looking for signs of guilt or dishonesty. It usually worked like a charm, but the strange redness was putting her off her game.

“I’m so sorry, Ms. Thomas.” he explained in a soothing tone, “Some weird things have happened this week and I got a little distracted. But you’re here now so everything is all right. We can have our parole meeting here.”

“Have our parole meeting here...”

That made sense. They could have the meeting here. Everything was all right.

“Why don’t you come in and sit down?” suggested her parolee.

“Come in...”

She tore her gaze away from the scarlet depths and looked into the dim room. She imagined José Aguila lying naked on that bed, his lithe body glistening with sweat, his long, dark hair flowing free, his hard member calling to her. A wave of heat rushed from her crotch to her cheeks, and she shook her head and tried to focus on her job. It wasn’t easy. In her attempts to smell traces of marijuana, she instead found the distinctive smell of sex.

What was wrong with her? He was a case, for hell’s sake!

“I really don’t think that would be appropriate. Can’t we sit down in the living room?”

Aguila stared into her eyes again. God they were strange. They were all she could think about.

“We could go to the living room, but it can be very noisy in there. It’s quiet in here and private. And very, very nice. It’s such a nice room. We should meet in here. It’s nice and safe.”

“Nice and safe...”

It was a very nice room. And she did feel much safer here now. It should be all right to just have a quick meeting with him in the bedroom. She walked in and closed the door behind her. They needed privacy.

He indicated an upholstered chair where she could sit, while he sat on the bed. His robe opened slightly and she could see his strong thighs. She quickly looked away and found herself staring once again into his strange red eyes. She tried to focus on business.

“So, Mr. Aguila, I think we both know that you’ve been using drugs again. Do you want to explain how it happened?”

That was good. Get him on the defensive.

“Of course I’ll explain Ms. Thomas. I’ll explain everything. But please, call me Chepe. All my friends call me Chepe and I want to be your friend. You want us to be friends, right? The best way for me to be reintegrated into society is for us to be very good friends.”

“Very good friends...”

So nice to be friends. Pamela wanted to be friendly.

“And since were friends,” continued Chepe in his soft voice “I should call you Pamela. You want me to call you Pamela, don’t you?”

“Yes...Pamela...”

That was her name, right? It was pretty, the way he put the emphasis on the second syllable. Pamela.

She started. She was having such a hard time focusing on this interview. Maybe a less direct approach. Talk about the drugs later.

“So, Chepe, are you still working at the gas station?” she asked.

She was supposed to check on his employment status every week. If she could get back into the routine, maybe she could regain her focus.

“No, Pamela, I quit that job. It didn’t really let me reach my potential. After all, I was a college boy before the state decided I need another sort of education. I’m pretty damned smart. I’ve recently found I have certain other...talents. So now I’m working as sort of a...consultant.

“You see, in prison, I got to know certain higher-ups in various local industries. Once I discovered my...talent, I went to one of them and offered my services. When certain people have a hard time understanding certain things, he brings them to me and I explain it to them. I’ve become very good at explaining things. It all becomes so clear after I’ve explained it.”

“Oh....” said Pamela. “Well, you really should have told me that you changed jobs. I’ll need to speak to your new employer, of course. Make sure that he knows about the conditions of your parole and that he can contact me if you slip up.”

“Oh, I don’t think he’d do that. He practically worships me. After the interview, he told me I could set my own hours and name my own salary. Basically, he thinks that I should have anything I want, Absolutely anything I want.”

“Anything you want...”

Pamela stared into those freakish red eyes.

She started. Damn, it had happened again. How long had she been staring? Well at least she had established that he was working. She still suspected drug use though.

“Chepe, you seem to be acting strangely and your eyes look unnatural to say the least. You’re using again, aren’t you.”

There, it was out in the open. No more distractions.

The young man looked down in his lap. Ashamed? Good, she was back in control. She’d stare him down and make him tell the truth. He looked up and returned her gaze. She could handle this. It was only some weird effect of the drugs that made his eyes look so strange. If she just focused, stared him down and made him confess, then she could get out of here, file her report, and be done with it. But she knew it was imperative that she return his gaze. If she appeared weak, he would lie to her like a dog. Six years as a parole officer had taught her how to deal with people who had things to hide.

“O.K., I admit that my cousin Memo gave me a joint last week. I didn’t want to take it; That shit got me in enough trouble. But you know, we got to talking about it and what a crock of shit this whole thing was.

“And me and Memo kept talking about it and I was getting so mad I thought I’d go find the first cop I could and beat the shit out of him. So I took the joint, since I thought that I could at least chill enough not to get myself killed. But when I came down, I remembered that I had to meet with you in a couple days, and you’d make me piss in a cup and I’d be back in that hole. So I went and asked Eddie if he knew how to fuck with a drug test. He does all kinds of shit, but he still keeps his job at the post office so I figured he must know something. Eddie gave me this little red pill—said it came from the middle east somewhere were they kill you if you’re caught using, so it had to be really powerful stuff. I took it since I figured I didn’t have much to lose. But it affected me weird. I passed out about twenty minutes after I took it and when I woke up my head was buzzing and my eyes were all funky.

“But you can see that, can’t you, Pamela. You just can’t help but stare at them. You don’t want to look away, don’t want to think about anything else, Pamela. Just stare at them and relax.”

“Stare and relax...”

So relaxed. Somewhere in the middle of his explanation, Pamela had stopped listening to the words, stopped focusing on looking like a stern authority figure and just let herself be engulfed by those deep red pools. Chepe’s voice droned on, but she took little notice of what he was saying now.

“Pamela?” he said, his voice once again capturing her attention. “Now, don’t get upset, Pamela, but my cousin left his stash right here in my bedroom. Now, I know that you don’t want me to smoke it, right?”

“Right,” agreed the parole officer, “You shouldn’t use drugs.”

“And it’s your job to make sure I don’t, right?”

“Right...my job...”

“But it’s a temptation for me to have the weed here so you should take it from me, right?”

“Right...Take the weed from you”

“Right, Pamela. You should take the marijuana from me and smoke it. You should smoke it all right now so that I won’t have it anymore. That way I won’t be tempted, right?

“Right...” said Pamela, feeling a bit confused. “Smoke it all right now...”

The parole officer shook her head. That didn’t sound right.

“You have to get rid of the marijuana, Pamela,” explained Aguila. “It’s your job. If you don’t smoke it I will, so you have to smoke it. You need to smoke it.”

“I need to smoke it...” agreed Pamela. She guessed that sounded right. After all, it was her job.

“Oh, thank you, Pamela. You are such a good parole officer. You help me stay off drugs by smoking them for me. You should hurry before I give in and smoke it myself.”

“Yes...” said Pamela. “Hurry...”

Chepe brought out a bong from his closet and a large bag of green matter. He packed the bud into the bowl and lit it. He slipped the mouthpiece between her lips and she toked deeply and held it, staring fascinated into the deep red eyes that were now so close to her own.

“That’s goooood, Pamela,” José breathed as she exhaled, “Very good. Take another toke, Pamela. You’re doing a great job.”

With Chepe’s guidance, Pamela continued to smoke his stash. It was important that she smoke all of it. She couldn’t leave it as a temptation for her charge. This was part of her job. A very important part of her job. She would keep this young man out of jail yet!

Chepe added another bud to the bong.

At first she toked at a furious rate. She needed to smoke all of it before Chepe’s will power gave out. In she sucked, watching the weed glow red—red like Chepe’s eyes. She blew the smoke out quickly and sucked it in again as deeply as her lungs could manage. She needed to keep it going, that red glow. It was her job. She was dedicated.

She nearly forgot that she wasn’t alone until Chepe spoke again.

“Slow down, Pamela, slow down,” he said.

Her eyes went from the intermittent red glow of the bud to the constant red glow of her charge’s eyes. Slow down. The sense of urgency left her. She breathed the smoke in slowly, held it, released it in a slow, soft kiss, staring into the red glow of Chepe’s eyes.

“That’s good, Pamela, good. Take your time. It’s your job but you can still enjoy it.”

“Still enjoy it...” Pamela repeated.

Yes. No reason why she couldn’t enjoy her work. She toked again, feeling the lightness that enveloped her body. Enjoy it...

“How do you feel, Pamela?” he asked.

How did she feel? Pamela felt woooonderful! It was the first time in years that her amputated leg hadn’t hurt. She had such a great job, keeping drugs off the street so that they could be used for medicinal needs like hers. That and she was helping her gorgeous parolee keep the terms of his parole. Life was great, she observed as she took another hit.

“I feel gooooooood!” she said as she exhaled, punctuating the sentence with a little giggle.

“That’s good, Pamela. It’s good to feel good. Nice to feel nice.” he instructed.

“Good to feel good. Nice to feel nice...<giggle!>“ Pamela agreed and then took another toke.

“So, are you feeling high, Pamela?” he asked.

“Mmmmmm, Yeaaah!”

“Feels good, don’t it?”

“So good....”

“Feels good to be bad.”

“Be bad?”

“That’s right, Pamela,” Chepe explained. “You’ve always been a good girl, but deep down, you want to be bad.”

“I want to be bad...” Pamela repeated.

“That’s right. That’s why you love to get stoned, Pamela. When you’re stoned, you can let go. You can loose control and be as bad as you want to be....”

“Bad as I want to be....”

“That’s right, Pamela, that’s right. Keep smoking.”

Pamela obeyed as Chepe grabbed his cell phone.

“Lupe—ven aca y traiga la camera de video,” he said, smiling at Pamela all the while.

Momentarily, the woman that had shown Pamela in entered the room. She had a small video camera in her hand. Pamela was confused—something was wrong but she didn’t know what.

She turned to Chepe. She looked deep into his red eyes. All the answers to every question were there. She understood that now.

“Don’t worry, munyeca,” he told her, his eyes throbbing. “Everything is fine.”

Pamela smiled. Everything was fine.

“Lupe wants to make a movie of you since you are so pretty and so clever. She is very impressed that you want to help me not to use drugs. Everyone is so proud of you for smoking all of my mota. We want to record it so that everyone can see what a great parole officer you are. Isn’t that right, Lupe?”

The woman in the tight dress nodded vigorously. Pamela smiled at her and returned to her work at the bong. There was a lot of dope to get rid of but everyone would be so proud of her for getting it off the streets. She took a deep drag on the bong, thinking about how her supervisor would praise her when he saw Lupe’s movie.

The room began to spin slowly. Pamela giggled at the giddy feeling. She looked again at Chepe’s throbbing eyes through the smoke and saw that everything was spinning around those incredible eyes. That seemed appropriate; the only thing that was constant and stable in the universe were those eyes.

“You’re very good at smoking pot, aren’t you Pamela?” said the voice behind the eyes.

Pamela giggled.

“Yes, I’m good. I’m very, very good. And baaaaaad!”

She took another long drag and blew it out slowly, waving her head back and forth so that the smoke snaked out in a long curl. She snorted with amusement.

“You must really like marijuana, since you’re so good at smoking it,” Chepe observed.

“Yes, I like it,” Pamela replied.

She couldn’t deny the man’s logic.

“It makes you feel really good, doesn’t it Pamela?”

“Mmmhmmm,” Pamela said as she sucked on the bong. “Gooooood,” she said, expelling the smoke.

“You feel relaxed and warm.”

“Warm...” she agreed and undid the top button of her blouse.

“But most of all, the pot makes you very, very horny.”

Pamela giggled as the red eyes throbbed at her.

“Makes me horny,” she said with delight, feeling flush.

Oh, that was certainly true. She was very, very horny! And God but Chepe was gorgeous.

“The pot makes your nipples tingle and your cunt get wet, doesn’t it?”

“MmmHmmmm..” said Pamela, slipping her free hand down the front of her pants as she continued to puff away at her big bong. Her panties were getting damp. Her pussy lips were swollen and welcomed her fingers. Her eyes smoldered at the throbbing red orbs that transfixed her.

“You just love this, don’t you Pamela? Your favorite thing in the world is to get high and fuck.”

“Mmmm...Get high and Fuck!”

“That’s right, Pamela,” he praised, “You’re a pot head and a sexpot!”

Pamela giggled. This was so great! She was stoned and horny and she was pretty sure that Chepe wanted her. Maybe when she was done smoking up all his stash she would jump his bones! She redoubled her efforts on the bong and Chepe put on the final bud. Soon it was nothing but ashes.

“Wow, Pamela, you smoked that like a pro,” praised Chepe, “Pamela the Pot Princess!”

“Pamela the Pot Princess!” exclaimed Pamela, liking the title. She collapsed in a fit of giggles.

“Smile at the camera, princess,” he encouraged. She followed his finger to where Lupe stood filming, took a moment to focus her eyes, then smiled and gave an exaggerated wave.

“Helloooooo!” she proclaimed. “I’m Pamela the Pot Princess!”

She took one last drag on the bong, then blew the cloud of smoke at the camera. Then she started giggling again and fell over.

Chepe helped her up. He was very close to her now. She could feel his breath on her face and see nothing but his beautiful red eyes. She smiled wanly and started breathing deep and slow.

“It’s very warm, isn’t it Pamela?”

“Yes...very warm...”

“Much too warm to wear clothes. Why don’t we all take our clothes off. You are my guest. I want you to be comfortable.”

“Comfortable...”

“And you are most comfortable when you’re naked, aren’t you Pamela?”

“Comfortable...naked...”

Yes, naked would be much more comfortable. She slipped off her jacket, revealing her shoulder holster and the .44 Magnum Desert Eagle that her father had given her the day she graduated from the academy. Her hands went to remove it but she hesitated. Something wasn’t right. She shouldn’t remove her weapon.

“It’s ok, Pamela.” said Chepe, “Everything is fine. Everything is safe. Take off your gun, now, and I will put it in a safe place. You trust me.”

She did trust him. She was safe. She took her gun off and gave it to him.

She stood with Chepe’s assistance and slowly fumbled with buttons and zippers. Chepe helped her and Lupe continued to film.

Since she had lost her leg, Pamela had avoided letting anyone see her stump. Her occasional boyfriends had to accept the fact that undressing would always be done in the dark. But as Chepe slipped her pants down, she wasn’t at all embarrassed. She felt...comfortable.

Chepe eased her to the floor. She started to stoke herself. God but pot made her horny!

“You look so hot, sucking on that bong, Pamela,” said Chepe to her delight and arousal. “It makes me jealous of the bong.”

Pamela giggled.

“Why don’t you crawl over here and suck on me for a while?” he suggested.

“That’d be dreamy,” said the parole officer.

The young man undid his trousers and pulled them down around his ankles to reveal his hard brown cock. Pamela giggled.

“You like my cock, don’t you puta.” he said, eyes throbbing “You love it. You want to lick it and suck it and swallow it. You’re a slutty cock sucker, aren’t you puta?”

“I’m a slutty cock sucker,” Pamela agreed, crawling towards him. “I love to lick and suck and swallow.”

He opened up his robe to reveal his purple-headed shaft. It was hard, beckoning her to it. Despite all she had smoked, her mouth began to water. She so loved his cock! And there it was, waiting for her, Pamela the Pot Princess, slutty cock sucker.

She worshipfully reached up and took the hot flesh in her fingers, reveling in the velvet softness of it.

“Don’t be shy, puta Pamela. Chupa-chupa,” he said.

Pamela giggled, then opened wide and took it into her mouth. It felt wonderful on her tongue and she started to drool in earnest. She moaned and pressed her full lips around his shaft, drawing them back, then pushing forward. Her tongue squirmed in delight at the taste of his flesh. Glancing upward, her eyes once again engaged in Chepe’s scarlet glory. He was smiling at her He was happy with her. Life was bliss.

“You’re so high and horny, aren’t you Pamela,” said Chepe after what seemed a timeless, eternal blow job to her.

“MmHmmmmmm,” she said around his shaft.

“You want to fuck me, don’t you Pamela?”

Releasing his hard member, she nodded vigorously.

“Want to fuck...”

“Need to fuck,” Chepe insisted, eyes burning.

“Need to fuck,” she repeated, “Need to fuck!”

Oh God, she was so hot! So wet! She needed it so badly!

“It’s o.k., Pamela,” he whispered, holding her by the chin, his eyes coming closer. “It’s time to fuck.”

“Time to fuck?” she asked, then giggled. “Time to fuck!”

“That’s right, Pamela,” he cooed, “Makes you so happy.”

“Sooooo happy!” she exclaimed as he helped her up and maneuvered her onto the bed.

“Lupe, you keep filming so Pamela can watch later,” Chepe instructed, “Pamela likes to watch herself fuck.”

“I like to watch....hee!” said Pamela.

“I like to watch too,” said Lupe.

“You want to be on top, don’t you Pamela?” Chepe told her.

“On top,” Pamela agreed, nodding vigorously.

Chepe lay back on to the pillows and smiled, “Then come fuck me, baby!”

Pamela giggled once more and crawled along Chepe’s hard body. She flung the stump of her right leg over Chepe and straddled him. Supporting herself on her left knee and right hand, she guided the maroon headed cock into her hungry pussy.

“Love to fuck,” she repeated through the haze that was her mind. “Love to get stoned and fuck. So horny, so very very horny. Ung!”

She lowered herself down with a moist shlup. The beautiful cock was inside her, she was high as a kite, and all was right with the world.

“Time for a ride, Pamela,” said the red eyes in the brown face beneath her. Then his powerful legs and buttocks began to work, pushing himself deeper inside her, gently lifting her as his hands grabbed hold of her waist and pulled her back down, closer, deeper. It felt oh-so-very nice and she began to rock her hips there along his shaft, following his rhythm, but staying slightly out of sync, so that she started pressing down just as he finished his upward thrust, causing her clitoris to rub against his hot shaft and sending a tremor traveling through her body, leaving her breasts trembling.

“Good, Pamela, good,” said the sweet, soft voice.

“So good,” said Pamela.

His hands were at her chest now, rubbing her breasts, kneading them, while never breaking the rhythm of his cock pressing into her. She sighed and her head started swaying back and forth in time with the rhythm, though her eyes never left the red orbs that held them.

He pushed her back so that she now sat upon his cock, her stump sliding forward to rest parallel along his side. He seamlessly shifted into another rhythm and licking the tip of one finger, she began to rub her swollen clit in a slow, counter-clockwise motion.

“Hmmmmm” said Pamela.

“Play with your titties, Pamela,” said Chepe, “You love to play with your titties. Feels so...good...”

“Titties...” said Pamela and started to rub and knead them. It felt so good. Of course it did. She pinched her nipples.

At some point she started laughing. She felt so very good there riding Chepe’s cock, her body bathed in pleasure. The pain of the past few years wasn’t even a memory. Chepe didn’t seem to mind the laughter. He just smiled at her. He wanted her to feel good.

“Time to come, Pamela,” he told her, “Come now. Come hard. Come loud.”

And Pamela came. She came like she had never come before. Her orgasm exploded from her cunt and blasted through her entire body. Even her toes were coming.

“How do you feel, Pamela?” he asked once she stopped screaming. She stopped panting long enough to let loose a giggle.

“Yummy,” she said.

“Tell the camera that you’re yummy Pamela,” he instructed.

“I’m yummy!” she said enthusiastically to Lupe’s camera with a toss of her hair.

“You think Pamela is yummy too, don’t you Lupe?” said Chepe.

“Oh yes!” replied the camera woman. “Very yummy.”

“You want to eat her hot little pupusa, don’t you?”

“Mmmhmmm!” said the Latina, head and camera nodding vigorously.

“Wassa pupusa?” asked Pamela.

In answer, he pulled out of her with a slurp.

“This is your pupusa,” he said, fingering her labia. He looked deep into her eyes again. “You want her to eat your little pussy, right?”

“Eat my little pussy...” said Pamela.

Yes, that was what she wanted.

“Then tell her to do it, girl!” he said.

“Eat me, Lupe!” she said with a giggle, “Eat my lil’...pupusa!”

“Yummy, yummy,” exclaimed Lupe as Chepe took the camera and she dove between Pamela’s thighs. This was a first for Pamela but it was what she wanted. She was doing a lot of new things today. Everything was good.

As the dark haired woman lapped noisily at the products of Pamela and Chepe’s fuck, Chepe set up a tripod and placed the camera on it. Pamela smiled and waved at it. Chepe came over and stroked her hair, looking deep into her eyes.

“You just love this, don’t you Pamela?”

“Love this...” she rubbed her stump against Lupe’s soft curls.

“God, you’re just insatiable,” Chepe observed.

“Insatiable....”

You must be some kind of crazy nympho slut,” he concluded.

“Crazy nympho slut....”

Oh God, he was right. He was so right. She was a crazy nympho slut and she loved it. Lupe was bringing her to orgasm again. Pamela started pulling on her own nipple and reveling in the sensation.

“Crazy nympho slut,” she repeated, self-satisfied.

Pamela awoke in her bedroom aching, disoriented and nauseous. Her mouth tasted foul. Her head throbbed, as did her pussy. There was an acute stinging at her right hip. With bleary eyes, she looked to see that a bright green cannabis leaf was tattooed on her dark flesh.

“Pot” said her brain without really connecting to anything. It tried again. She felt like this because she had been smoking pot. <Pot makes me horny.> Smoking pot with Chepe. <I love to fuck Chepe.>

She came fully awake with a start. She had been smoking pot at Chepe’s house. <Pot makes me horny> And then she had slept with him! <So good to fuck> She had gotten stoned and fucked a case! That wasn’t right, was it? <Good to be bad!> Oh God, what had she done? Why? How?

Bits and pieces of the night before started coming back. Mostly Chepe’s eyes. Red eyes. <So warm>.

Fuck! She had to focus! She was to frazzled. She got her purse and pulled out a joint. Had to get calm. Pot would make her feel better.

Oh God, what was she doing! She dropped the joint.

There on her nightstand was a note and a video cassette tape. With a trembling hand, she picked it up:

Dear Pamela,

Thank you for a wonderful evening. I had as much fun as you did, if not more, and the girls think you’re just scrumptous!

I’ve made several copies of the movie we made. Here is a copy for you. If any one else needs a copy, I’m sure you’ll let me know.

I’m afraid I won’t be able to make our weekly meetings. I’m sure you can take care of the necessary paper work. If you need to see me, you’re always welcome in my home: Mi casa es tu casa, as it were. Come by anytime; I’ll be glad to give you anything you need.

—Chepe

So there it was: blackmail. Make sure his parole didn’t get revoked or the tape of her behavior last night would be sent to God knows who; Her boss, her dad, maybe even the nightly news. She put the tape into her VCR just to confirm that last night hadn’t been some weird hallucination. <I like to watch!>

There she was, smoking dope and cheerfully acting like a whore. <My boss will be so proud!>

No...no that couldn’t be right. Chepe had made her think that. Her boss couldn’t see this. Couldn’t see her looking so..so...hot. God she looked hot. It was making her horny. She picked the joint back up, lit up and took a long slow toke. Her other hand went to her warm, soft vulva.

<So damned hot. She liked to watch. She was such a crazy nympho slut.>

No! What was she doing? She flung the joint down and crushed it out. Oh God, what had he done to her?

She looked in her purse and saw a dozen joints as well as a couple dime bags and rolling papers. Her pussy gushed at the sight.

It was permanent. Whatever he had done to her had changed her, made her into some sort of freak with a marijuana fetish. And she needed it! She mentally scanned a list of past and present cases, noting which ones could get her more weed. Maybe they would fuck her too. She could never get enough. Pamela the Pot Princess. Crazy nympho slut. A finger slipped into her moistening sex.

No! No, no no! She could not do this! She would loose her job, her friends, her family, her self-respect! Everything!

Pamela sank to the floor as the inevitableness overwhelmed her. She couldn’t stop masturbating. The more aroused she got, the harder it was to remember why she was trying to fight any of this in the first place.

She knew that there was nothing she could do. Her career would be over if that tape ever got out. She couldn’t tell anyone that he made her do it. Who would believe her? She would be lucky to even convince anyone to ask Chepe about it and she knew exactly what would happen then. How could anyone doubt Chepe’s word?

Vaguely she looked for a way out. She could leave town, change her name. But even as she made more and more elaborate plans, she knew that she would never carry them out. As much as she might try to stop herself, she knew that she would go and submit herself to him next week and every week, for as long as he would let her. She couldn’t help it. She needed him. It wasn’t the pot that was addictive—it was his eyes.

It wasn’t fair. But life had never been fair. And staring into the red oblivion of Chepe’s eyes, the unfairness of life didn’t seem to matter so much.

God, she was jonesing already.