The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Carol breathed a sigh of relief as the door to Conti’s brothel closed behind her. Almost there. The last two days, between the whoring and little words of encouragement from Janice, had restored her self-confidence. She felt like a policewoman again. She hadn’t slipped into being Stephanie again, the role sleeping in her mind. Carol refused to believe what Stephanie had claimed, that Carol wanted to be a whore more than she wanted to be a policewoman. That was just her fear talking, nothing more. She was going to escape this. Everything was falling into place. What she’d done to Brenda had faded into memory, the new girl herself helping by gleefully talking about how much money she was making every time she ran into Carol. Now Carol was here, and all she had to do was find out as much as she could about how Karen and Laura were being kept. Then she could reclaim her life.

Shaking her head Carol slipped off the scarf and sunglasses. It was a simple disguise and the glasses had been a nuisance in the darkness, but it was necessary. Wainwright had to have the place under observation. When her erstwhile superior found out that she’d been here he would blow a fuse. She needed the captain to not realise what she was doing until she had information to soothe his anger. Covered up, avoiding the pools of light from the street lamps as much as possible, Carol hoped that she’d been unrecognisable. A lot of girls covered themselves on the way in, not wanting it known what they did, with luck any of the police that had the building under surveillance would think she was just another of Conti’s girls.

The place itself was different to Mrs Bowen’s. Oh, there were similarities. A room at the front to welcome customers, somewhere for the girls to show themselves to the men as they made their choice. Carol supposed most brothels must be arranged that way. But then she hadn’t been in that many, so how was she to know? At the very least, they all had to have a lot of bedrooms. But the feel of the place was different. Gaudier, brash, more of everything, the colours of the furnishings distilled from neon lights. Carol found it stifling. Mrs Bowen’s place wasn’t exactly restrained, it was easy to see what it was, but it was better than this. Here there was an obvious attempt at refinement, but it missed the mark like a drunk trying to plant a kiss on a whore’s lips. Carol wondered where Conti had found wall covering with a velvet pile that thick.

She didn’t have long to consider the décor. A quick impression was all, followed by a flash of disappointment that neither Mandy nor Tabitha were amongst the girls lounging around waiting for custom. Carol hoped she could find them. Any deal with Conti wouldn’t survive the raid, and she wanted something to take back to Mrs Bowen. A promise that the two girls might come work for her would do. She didn’t let herself think about why after tonight she would need to keep the madam happy.

Two bouncers stood near the desk, looking at her. They seemed at ease, but Carol wasn’t fooled. One of them looked away after studying her for a moment, obviously rating her as no threat. The other continued to eye her suspiciously. She returned his gaze. Carol suspected few young women he didn’t know ever came through the door.

“I’m here to see Mr. Conti. Mrs. Bowen sent me.” Much as she wanted a chance to look around the place, try to work out where Laura and Karen might be held, she couldn’t afford to make it obvious.

The frown on the bouncer’s face cleared a little. “You Jewel?”

“Yes,” Carol declared. If she was supposed to be here to negotiate with the owner she wasn’t about to let a bouncer intimidate her.

“Okay, I’ll let the boss know you’re here.”

He picked up the phone on the table near him. A quick conversation later and Carol was guided to a small room a little further back in the brothel. There were two chairs, plush, overstuffed and red as a hothouse rose. The bouncer directed her to one of them, not quite sure what to do with her. Carol sank into the chair, it was so large that she felt she might be lost amongst the deep red of the cushions. “Boss’ll see you in a few minutes,” the bouncer had announced. Carol wasn’t surprised that she’d been brought here and not left waiting out the front. Neither she nor the brothel wanted any potential customers to think she worked there.

Carol waited as she heard the heavy tread of the bouncer, hardly muffled by the long carpet, fade as he headed back the way they’d come. As soon as she thought it safe she fought her way out of the chair and crept over to the door. To her right was the corridor leading to the front door. To her left, further into the brothel, were bright painted doors that she guessed led to bedrooms. Beyond them were steps leading to the upper floors. She was tempted to sneak out and investigate. There were parts even of the ground floor that she couldn’t see from her limited vantage point. But she had no idea where Laura and Karen might be held. She doubted it was in any of the rooms near where she was. They didn’t look particularly secure and near the entrance was too public, too exposed. The missing girls were probably held deeper in the brothel, most likely upstairs.

Carol doubted that the kidnapped girls were available to just anyone. Copeland’s method had included convincing his victims that they were no longer in the States. So if Conti was maintaining that illusion, he’d have to restrict their clientele to those he could trust to maintain the charade. Plus he probably didn’t want his average customers seeing some of the girls held under lock and key. The police had wondered at first why it had been worth the brothel owners’ time, why they’d taken the risk with kidnapped girls when they had other, more willing, workers. Eventually the rescued girls had told their stories. Broken, helpless, the girls supplied by Copeland didn’t have the choices the other whores did. The owners didn’t have to pay them. Some men just liked the girl’s helplessness. But for others Copeland’s victims were made to do things the other prostitutes wouldn’t, things that even now made Carol’s stomach churn. Services that the owners could charge a premium for, that made the risks worth it. That she did have some limits reassured the brunette, but then she frowned, thinking about what Laura and Karen might be going through as she waited.

The minutes dragged by, Carol reluctantly returning to her chair. Conti was obviously making her wait. Maybe he was annoyed that Mrs Bowen hadn’t come herself. Maybe he was just using an obvious negotiating trick. Carol didn’t mind. She was used to waiting. Hands clasped in her lap she made herself relax. Her feet, in their high heels, were placed firmly on the floor, knees primly angled to the left. She wanted to be ready when the time came. Let Conti think she was at a disadvantage. If he thought she was some simple whore, put off by waiting and in awe of the brothel owner, maybe she could use that. If nothing else came of this she could stick with the cover story about charging Patrick more. If she managed to get Conti on side with that then she could impress Mrs Bowen. Although after Wainwright’s raid, Conti’s opinion on anything wouldn’t matter much.

Carol frowned. After the raid why should I care about Mrs Bowen’s opinion? The girls would be free, and she’d told herself that she’d leave the brothel. A couple of days now, at most. The madam’s opinion would only matter if she was intending to stay. And I’m not, the brunette insisted to herself. She was going to give up whoring, without any help from a certain fractured piece of her own mind. No matter what that piece had tried to convince her of the other night. Allowing herself to become Stephanie was dangerous, she’d shown that with Brenda. Carol forced the memories away. She was a policewoman, she was here to do her job, and she was never sinking that far into her role as Stephanie ever again.

From her vantage point Carol saw women walking back and forth, deeper into the brothel with customers on their arms, returning to the front after the men left. Part of Carol, a large part, was jealous, she knew what the women, the whores, were doing with those men. She wished she could as well. She wanted to be fucked, fucked for money. She could feel her pussy, empty and needy. With difficulty she fought the urges down. She wasn’t quite ready to give up, she’d be able to whore tomorrow night, safely out of the way while Wainwright carried out his raid. Carol didn’t want to think about after that. Didn’t want to think about she’d said as Stephanie, that whoring was more important than being a policewoman. For now she had things to do, and some of them were for her madam. The brunette tried to ignore all the contradictions in her head. She wanted to be here now, Mrs Bowen wanted her here, and Stephanie would do what the madam wanted. It was enough.

Lost in her thoughts, Carol almost didn’t recognise one of the women drifting past the door. Her clothes were very different from the last time Carol had seen her. No party frock this time, but a billowing creation of lace and gauze that left very little to the imagination despite its volume. Carol could see the signs of hastily reapplied makeup, flushed cheeks. She knew what the woman had been doing. But then, what woman, apart from her, wasn’t here to whore? And the woman was a whore. They’d met at Patrick’s party.

“Tabitha!” Carol called out, pulling herself up straight in the chair. The blonde started, obviously surprised. She stopped and looked into the small room where Carol waited, smiling. A whore’s smile, soft, welcoming. Did she think Carol was a customer? Or was it just Tabitha’s automatic reaction?

“Do I? Oh, hang on, Patrick’s party, umm, it was?” The girl hung at the entry to the alcove. She looked toward the entrance, perhaps seeing whether she was going to be summoned there. Then she stepped in, far enough to be out of sight of the bouncers.

“Jewel.” Carol said, hoping the girl remembered her.

Tabitha’s smile changed, it didn’t disappear, but now it was more open, honest. Not something designed to entice a customer. There was a recognition in her look. She’d known what Carol was, everyone who’d been at Patrick’s would. But there was a guardedness to Tabitha’s attitude. The two women exchanged greetings, cautiously.

“I’m here to see Conti,” Carol said.

Tabitha flicked a strand of hair out of her face. Where in another woman it might have been a casual gesture, the blonde made it something more, it hinted at sex and desire and of what else she could promise. Carol doubted the gesture was natural for the blonde, even if now it was second-nature. It must be something Tabitha had worked at. Learnt and trained, Carol thought, then pushed away the vision of her cell on Copeland’s boat.

“You looking for a job?” Tabitha frowned. Carol thought she might be worried about the competition. The brunette allowed herself a soft laugh.

“Hey, no. I’m here to deliver a message to your boss from Mrs. Bowen. But if you or Mandy ever need another place, just let her or me know. She’s alright to work for.”

The blonde shook her head. “Really? Umm, thanks, but no, we’re okay here.” Carol could see a nervousness in Tabitha’s eyes. Mrs Bowen had said Conti wouldn’t let his girls go lightly. He’d probably made that clear to them as well.

“You sure?” Carol asked, using the time to fish around in her purse. “Here, take this.” She reached up and handed Tabitha a business card with the number of Mrs Bowen’s brothel.

Tabitha looked around, uncertain, as if Conti might jump out of the shadows if she even entertained the notion of defecting.

“Come on, you never know,” Carol urged. She didn’t add that all the girls here would need another option after Wainwright’s raid. With that coming she felt no need to push the idea on the blonde. With luck Tabitha and Mandy would follow it up when they found themselves in need of a new place.

Tabitha swallowed visibly before replying. “Okay.” She took the card. It disappeared somewhere in the lace and gauze.

Carol briefly considered asking about Laura and Karen but quickly discarded the notion. Tabitha appeared nervous enough as it was. But she didn’t want to discard the chance completely.

“Where’s your room? Maybe I’ll say hi again when I’m finished with Conti.” If the brothel owner let nothing slip about the missing girls she’d be doing more than saying hello to Tabitha.

The blonde shifted her weight uneasily from high-heeled foot to high-heeled foot. Carol had thought the other woman was in her mid-twenties, but the uncertainty on her face made her look younger.

“We don’t have our own rooms. I’m usually on the second or third floor.” She pointed up, one delicate finger raised. “But if the doors are closed, you know, ….”

“Sure,” Carol just had time to say as Tabitha hurried away to find another customer. Carol soon saw her on the arm of a middle-aged man, heading back into the brothel. Neither of them spared her a glance.

After that Carol didn’t have to wait long to be taken to Conti. The owner’s office was on the ground floor, at the back. Further down the corridor Carol saw another entrance, two more bouncers guarding it. Altogether there was far more security here than at Mrs Bowen’s. Part of it would be due to the paranoia of the owner. Patrick had warned her about that. Even then it seemed excessive and the men would have to be paid. But girls as valuable and as risky as Karen and Laura would justify extra precautions. Carol knew her instincts had been correct, they were here. She also knew the raid wouldn’t find it as easy to get in as they might like. She’d seen the thickness of the front door, the ways it could be secured. The back door looked the same. All information Wainwright would value, Carol told herself as she was led along. She hoped it would be enough to make the captain forgive her for being here at all.

Conti was a small, thin, man, dark hair greased so close to his head it looked painted on. His bone-coloured suit was sharply pressed and expensive, almost, Carol noted, as good as those Patrick wore. Although the Irish mobster would never have worn the shirt Conti had on. Its purple geometric design eye-gouging and the top buttons were undone, half the Italian’s chest exposed, a large gold medallion nestling amongst his ample chest hair. Carol may not have liked the outfit, but she could tell it wasn’t cheap. That was no surprise, she was used to criminals flaunting the proceeds of their law-breaking. And his outfit matched the description that Patrick had used, the mobster calling the brothel owner a “strutting peacock”. Conti took his time looking Carol over, then waved the bouncer away. Carol turned a little, just enough to show the length of her legs, almost entirely visible in the short dress that she wore. She knew she’d fuck him if he offered her money. She also knew that she’d bargain hard to get what Mrs Bowen wanted. It was an odd contrast.

Conti sat straight in his chair. Carol could see suspicion in the Italian’s eyes. She wasn’t worried. She guessed it was his natural look.

“So what’s this deal the old bat was talking about?” Sharp and pointed the words slipped between his lips. With a quick jerk of a hand he indicated a chair for Carol to sit in. Carefully Carol arranged the skirt of her dress as she sat down, flashing nothing more than the length of her legs.

“Mrs Bowen,” Carol began carefully, a veiled disapproval of his reference to her madam, “wanted us to talk about how much Patrick pays for the girls at his parties.”

Conti smiled, the way a fox would smile, if it could, as it examined the hen house. “Patrick’s parties hey? Jewel, right? I heard about you.”

Carol’s throat tightened. He knew. He knew what she’d done. What she was. Then she stopped herself. Of course he did. Even if Tabitha or Mandy hadn’t told him how she’d performed for Patrick, she was here representing her madam. She was young and pretty and in a too-short dress. Someone like that, here for Mrs Bowen, what else could she be but a prostitute? So Carol let herself act like one. She smiled at Conti, her expression fluttering with an exaggerated shyness. She could tell that would appeal to the Italian’s ego, saw how his eyes played over her. She twisted her body as she sat, just a little, to show off her chest, maybe even give him more than a glance down the tight, low cut, neckline. She was a whore, so let him think of her as one. Make him over-confident.

“Yeah?” she breathed, layering promises into the single word. She smiled Stephanie’s smile, refusing to think about the girl.

Carol could see desire misting in Conti’s eyes. “Oh, yeah, you’re good.” Conti took a deep breath. The brunette shifted again in her chair, sinuously, waiting for Conti to speak. The brothel owner took his time, his eyes lingering over her body, before he asked, “So, what’s this deal?”

“Mrs Bowen thinks,” Carol began, “that Patrick doesn’t pay enough for the girls at his parties.” As she spoke she uncrossed then recrossed her legs. One finger slowly ran up her thigh, brushed the short hem of her dress, teasing it just a fraction higher. “Sure, he pays for the weekend, but not for any time off to recover. He could, you know, throw in a little extra in for that.”

Carol could see Conti’s eyes following the motion of her finger, watching as it played across her upper leg. “Hmm, yeah, so why doesn’t she just ask for more?”

“Mr Conti,” Carol trying to make herself sound young and naive. She was trusting her instincts, and that was what they were telling her Conti liked. Respectful, vulnerable, but a hint of temptation. Stephanie approved. That’ll pull the sucker in. Carol started, tried to squash the thought. It was the first time her mind had betrayed her, slipping into that role, since the argument the other night. Bile rose in her throat. The bitter taste reminded her of when she’d come back to herself, retching into the gutter in the alley behind the brothel. She didn’t need Stephanie now. She didn’t need her ever.

“She knows Patrick would cut out anyone who tried that by themselves. But if you all demanded it…” Carol had let her hand rise, from her leg, leaving the hem high up her thigh, now her finger played across her ruby painted lips, batting her eyelids on the second last word.

“Yeah, not a bad idea, I’ll give her that. Maybe. She give you some ideas on numbers?”

Mrs Bowen had, and Carol knew just how to use them. She made her opening bid, her mind flashing back to George playing poker. Negotiating with Conti wasn’t all that different to playing cards. Know when to bid low, know when to jump it up to surprise the opponent. Look for his tells, try to learn when he was bluffing. Conti tried to play disinterested, but in the end Carol knew that she had him, a light of something almost like respect in his eyes.

He asked for a few more questions. Carol could tell Conti was suspicious, wondering if Mrs Bowen was trying to get one over on him.

“How do I know she won’t stab me in the back? I go to Patrick, demand more, she sticks with the old price and I’m screwed.” Conti asked, glaring at Carol though narrowed eyes.

“You all meet him together.” Mrs Bowen hadn’t actually agreed to that, but it wouldn’t matter much what Carol promised. Conti was going to be behind bars before any possible meeting with Patrick.

The Italian rubbed his chin for a moment. “Yeah, okay,” he said at last. “This might work. We could get enough of the others to agree, screw some more out of that Irish fuck. He’s got enough.”

Carol smiled.

“Of course,” Conti added. “I haven’t said yes yet. Maybe I don’t the need the extra cash. Maybe I just don’t give my girls any time off. The old bat always was a bit soft.” Carol let a worried expression slip onto her face. “Of course, maybe I do. And if I do go with this the girls’ll want their cut. Less of the extra for me then. And you’re asking me to risk putting Patrick offside. He’s no two-bit thug. I don’t know if the money I’ll get will be enough to make it worthwhile.” Conti leant forward, leant his chin on the steeple of his hands. “You got anything else to offer, Jewel?”

Carol froze as she felt Conti’s eyes roaming over her body. She knew what he meant. Maybe this was why Mrs Bowen had agreed to Carol doing the negotiating. Maybe Mrs Bowen had manipulated her while Carol thought she was manipulating the madam. Mrs Bowen had known what Conti would want, what it would need to get him over the line. Carol wasn’t being offered money, not directly, but it was no different, not really. If her madam wanted to offer Carol as an extra inducement in a business deal, then that was okay with her.

She’s the madam, what she says goes. Those words were echoing in Carol’s head. She had to do what the madam wanted. And along with those words were all the others, all the ones Copeland had put there.

I love being a prostitute.

This was a chance to whore. Maybe her very last chance. She wasn’t going to miss it for anything.

Conti was approaching her, a leer on his face. He must have risen from his seat behind the desk. Carol hadn’t noticed, her mind misted over with thoughts of being used. She rose to meet him, his smile telling her all she needed to know. A tiny voice in her head, one she almost didn’t recognise, was telling her not to do this, that she didn’t have to do this. She thought about listening, but the voice’s arguments made no sense to her. She was a whore. She wasn’t getting paid, but a whore did what her madam told her to do. That Conti wouldn’t matter after tomorrow’s raid made no difference. Carol knew what she had to do. She draped her arms loosely over Conti’s shoulders, her hands meeting behind him as his hands ran roughly up her sides. He took the time to thoroughly maul her breasts.

“So,” Carol whispered, “do we have a deal?”

“We don’t,” Conti smiled at her, “but Bowen and I do. You’re just a way to sign it.”

Conti broke Carol’s loose embrace, pushing her towards his desk. She didn’t resist, didn’t want to. She felt herself being pressed down until she was lying on the flat surface, feet in her high heels being pushed apart by Conti’s expensive imported shoes. She could feel an eager tremble in Conti’s hands as they pushed her short dress up her hips. Despite her own rising need, Carol lay there, still, not making a sound, as Conti reached under the hem of her dress and pulled her panties down to around her knees. She heard the flimsy garment tear, stretched beyond its limits, as Conti yanked at it, felt it pulled away from her. Carol told herself that she was a whore, that she’d do what her madam wanted. That she wanted a man to take her. Conti would do as well as any other. She was already wet, waiting to be entered. At least he used protection, making Carol wait while he put it on, muttering about how he couldn’t trust Bowen’s whores to be clean, the derision in his voice only heightening her arousal.

Conti wasn’t gentle or patient, he took her hard, from behind, the force of his hips ramming her painfully into the desk. Carol clawed at the papers scattered under her and swallowed her cries. She remembered Gabriela telling her that Conti liked his partners to keep quiet. It was hard maintaining her silence, it felt so good, being used, being fucked. She resisted the urge to push back, something more Gabriela had told her. Instead, she just lay there, back arched, let herself be fucked. She felt herself tense as Conti spent himself. He’d been quick, even aroused as she was there’d been no time for her own orgasm, and that almost never happened. Much as she’d have liked to come it didn’t matter. Her pleasure wasn’t important, but Carol was content. She’d been used like a whore, because she was a whore. She didn’t move as she heard Conti fix his clothing, waited until she was told to stand up, all part of what she knew he wanted. It was only then that she pulled her dress back down. Her panties were a torn and ruined scrap of cloth on the floor. She’d have to go without.

Her eyes flicked back to Conti. Carol knew that tomorrow he’d probably be in jail, finished. But for now she was his whore and she’d do what she was told. She smiled softly at Conti as he went back around the desk, watching him and waiting for any opening that might let her ask about the missing girls.

Carol’s planning was disrupted by the sound of running feet in the corridor outside. The door was thrown open by a big man, Carol recognised him as one of the bouncers she’d seen at the back door. He bent over, nearly double, as Conti glared at him. Despite his muscle the bouncer obviously wasn’t used to moving fast, it had only been a few yards that he’d covered.

“What do you want?” Conti spat at him.

“Cops,” the bouncer paused between each word, gulping air, “boss, cops. It’s a raid. What do we do?”

“Cops.” The word rang through Carol’s head, she stumbled, her free hand catching hold of the desk to steady herself. She felt her stomach lurch, nausea threatening her remaining balance. Wainwright must have lied to her, to make sure that even if she wanted to be part of the raid that she’d turn up on the wrong night. Now she was in the middle of it and she could feel fingers of panic picking away at her.

Fear and confusion were making her light-headed. Something moved in her mind, her indecision pulling at her. She could sense Stephanie, how easy it would be to slip into that role, the girl screaming at her to get out, to not get caught by the cops. Carol ignored it. She had to find the girls.

I can get Conti to tell us where they are. There was a slyness to the thought. She’d seen the way the brothel owner had looked at her. She was a good whore. But Carol wasn’t sure whose thoughts those were. Didn’t know who she’d be if she listened to them. Good whore or not, she doubted Conti would take the time to listen to anything she said.

Desperately she forced her roiling emotions back into something like calm, tried to ignore the roaring of voices in her head. She was here now and she had to make the best of it. She was in control, not some image of a whore she’d made up as a cover. Carol needed to know what Conti and his men would do. She looked at the bouncer, the man blocking her route to the rest of the brothel, so large he was filling the doorway like a cork in a bottle. There was a faint sheen of sweat on his face. She wasn’t sure if it was the exertion or nerves. Probably both Carol thought, as she saw the man’s eyes darting about.

“Well keep them out.” Carol could see anger colouring Conti’s features.

The big man shook his head, “Don’t know how long the door will hold.”

“As long as you can,” Conti snarled, bending over to reach for one of the desk’s drawers. Then he looked up, his expression a storm of anger. “Why are you still here, idiot? Get moving.”

The bouncer paused for a moment, obviously torn between who he wanted to face less, then he turned and left. Carol could hear him lumbering back down the corridor. Further off, from the front of the brothel, she could hear a deep bang. Probably the raid trying to get the door down. The bouncers at the front appeared to have more initiative than those at the back. Or maybe they didn’t have the time to contact Conti. But the brothel owner knew what was going on and had time to react. Wainwright’s plan had dissolved within moments of the raid starting. They probably hadn’t been prepared for the strength of the doors.

Conti returned his attention to the desk, muttering about useless meatheads. Hastily the Italian ripped open a drawer. Carol watched as he retrieved a gun, a 9mm automatic. Conti rammed a magazine home, continuing to mutter under his breath.

“Stay here,” he said curtly, then hurried out of the room.

Part of Carol wanted to do as she was told. Stephanie would, if she didn’t just run. For all her attitude Stephanie wouldn’t want to get mixed up with the cops and guns. The girl had done what her madam had ordered. If she found herself in the middle of a raid Stephanie would probably hide. Maybe if Carol did that she could sneak out in the confusion and Wainwright would never know she was here. It was tempting, just act like Stephanie and keep herself safe. Carol shook her head. She couldn’t do that. If she gave in to Stephanie at all she didn’t know where it would end.

Briefly the brunette wondered where the brothel owner had gone, he couldn’t be thinking of taking on the police with a pistol. That much bravado didn’t fit, even for Conti. So what else could he want with the gun? The girls. Karen and Laura, the thought striking Carol like lightning. Conti would know he couldn’t avoid being identified as the owner of the brothel. But the presence of two kidnapped sex-slaves was another matter. He might be trying to get rid of the evidence. Conti had a gun and people with guns tended to think of very direct and simple solutions. Solutions that were messy and painful for everyone else. What he intended to do with the bodies Carol didn’t know, but she couldn’t let it get that far. Desperately she looked around, trying to think what to do. Facing Conti unarmed didn’t appeal.

She could see the desk drawer was still open, the edge of it poking into view from where she stood. Perhaps it would hold some clues. She hurried around to the other side of the desk. In the open drawer another automatic lay waiting. It glistened in the artificial light, offering its own solutions. Carol seized it, rammed a magazine home. She was trained, had often handled guns. She knew the type, had lost count of the number of times she’d fired ones like it. She could strip it down in the dark, reload it without looking.

What am I doing? She was just a whore. Whores didn’t use guns. Whores just did what they were told. And fucked.

I’m a policewoman, she told herself, tightening her grip on the weapon.

Would a policewomen have done that? Her eyes had fallen to her ruined panties where they lay on the floor. A policewomen wouldn’t have just bent over a desk and let someone like Conti fuck her. That’s what a whore would do. A needy little whore.

Carol’s hands were shaking. She looked from the ruined garment, evidence of what she’d done, to the gun. I have to do this.

Why? the thought came back. Just get out of here. Her thoughts, her voice. But not her thoughts. Carol felt like a busted record, the needle jumping grooves, the same voice but different songs.

Because I promised. Even whores can keep promises.

Those other thoughts had no answer to that.

Forcing her hands to be steady Carol headed out into the corridor. Looking left and right, she couldn’t see any sign of Conti. Loud bangs echoed from both the front and back of the brothel as the police continued their assault on the doors. She could see that the back door still held. The bouncers looked at each other nervously. Carol didn’t know how long it would take for the police to force their way in. She was tempted to make Conti’s thugs open it. But even armed she wasn’t sure how long it would take to convince the bouncers to co-operate. Karen and Laura may not have that long. Instead she headed to the stairs, reasoning that the girls were held somewhere above her. She shot up the stairs, as fast as her heels would allow.

There was no sign of Conti as she reached the second floor. Carol wasn’t surprised. He was a small man and he had a lead on her. The corridors weren’t clear, people poured out of the rooms, whores and their johns, most naked or desperately trying to drag on some clothes. She could hear shouting and yelling, people crying that the cops were here. Faces peered fearfully out of open doors. Some were obviously on the edge of panic. Carol ignored them. She didn’t have time to waste calming them down.

From beneath her she could hear cries, the sounds of a struggle. The police must have finally broken down the doors, but it would take them a few minutes to secure the building. Minutes Karen and Laura might not have.

On the next floor Carol wished she’d bothered to look at how many stories there were before she entered the building. Over the chaos in the halls she could see yet another flight of stairs. A gap in the throng opened, and she hurried across it, then stopped. She was face to face with Mandy and Tabitha. The two girls were holding on to each other, their eyes wide.

“What’s going on?” Tabitha asked, fear strangling her voice.

“It’s a police raid, just get in your room. It’ll be okay,” Carol tried to sound reassuring. Anyone she could get out of the corridors would make it easier for the police to reach her and the girls.

Mandy looked doubtful, Carol could see the other woman shaking, “You sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Carol ground out, forcing herself not to scream. She needed to keep going, reach Karen and Laura before Conti did anything. “Hey, do you know where Karen and Laura are?”

Tabitha frowned, “Who?”

“Don’t play dumb with me,” Carol hissed. “The two girls like my friend Janice, that the professor had.”

Tabitha’s eyes darted around then grew wide as she noticed the gun Carol was carrying. “They’re, they’re upstairs, top floor, but what are you going to do?”

“Make sure they’re okay. Now get in a room and stay there. Conti’s finished.” She started pushing the girls towards an open door, then she added, “Remember what I said about Mrs Bowen.”

Carol didn’t know why she added that, or why it still mattered to her what the madam thought.

Tabitha’s lips had formed a thin line, a calculating look in her eyes. The blonde called to Carol as the crowd separated them. “It’s two floors up, head left at the top.”

Carol nodded, then pushed her way to the stairs.

The crowd thinned noticeably as she rose through the building. It made sense. The girls would use the first available rooms, the customers not wanting to wait. Carol couldn’t work out what was happening below her. She could hear cries and screams, the occasional thud that might be a fight or a breaking door. She didn’t know how far behind her the police were. She couldn’t wait for them.

Don’t I mean the rest of the police? Carol refused to think about that.

She turned left at the top, thankful for Tabitha’s directions. A man was standing outside an open door, a confused look on his face. At first Carol thought he might be a customer, but then she reassessed him. Tight black tee-shirt, muscles. He was another bouncer, maybe even a guard over Karen and Laura.

Carol pointed the gun at him and demanded, “Where’s Conti?”

The man hesitated, obviously weighing up his chances. The distance between them was enough that Carol knew she could easily get off a shot if he lunged at her. By the indecision on his face it seemed the bouncer agreed.

Carol could feel the seconds ticking away. Any moment she might hear shots from the room ahead. “Don’t waste my time. That’s the cops you can hear. Want them to know what you’ve been doing?” Maybe it was wrong. He was obviously part of keeping Laura and Karen here, must have known what was going on. But if giving him the chance to escape meant she could get to the girls quicker, then Carol was prepared to let him go.

The man eyed her up and down. Part of her wanted to throw the gun down, turn around and flee. She felt like a rookie, the first time staring at a criminal down a gun barrel. Or like a college drop-out whore who’d never used a gun. Carol fought to keep her hands still as she pointed the gun at the bouncer, kept the nervous fear she felt away from her features. It must have worked. The man jerked a thumb at the room.

“He’s in there.”

Carol waved the bouncer away from the door with the gun, watched him as he edged to the side. She wasn’t taking any risk of him jumping her. As soon as she was nearer the door than he was she ordered, “Get out of here.” She watched the man run for the stairs until he was far enough away that she felt safe, then she cautiously edged over to the door. She couldn’t hear anything, but with the noise from below she didn’t trust that.

Carol peered into the room. What little light there was came from two lamps, their thick shades casting a dim red glow that Conti probably thought was erotic. Carol thought it simply made the room look dingy. She couldn’t see anyone. The furnishings were too sparse to provide anywhere to hide, Or to conceal a body, she noted, trying to keep her fears at bay. There were two doors, one to either side. She sprang around the corner of each one, gun held level before her. The side rooms were as empty as the central room. There were beds in each one, but Carol could see that they provided no concealment either.

Back in the main room Carol was at a loss. She didn’t know where Conti or the girls had gone. Perhaps the bouncer had lied to her. It was too late now to chase him. She didn’t have the time and finding him was unlikely anyway. The police probably had him by now and she if ran into them she’d never get away. Carol shivered, then wondered where the cold had come from. She looked at the open window and then berated herself for not noticing it earlier. It was worse than a rookie mistake. Shaking her head she hurried over to it. There were boards that were meant to go across it, locks to hold them in place. Always closed, to stop the girls from signalling anyone, or see where they were, trapping them in these rooms as they’d been trapped in the cells in Copeland’s boat. Carol shivered at the thought. The words sprung into her mind.

I want to be a prostitute.

I want to be used sexually.

The same words would have gone through the girls’ heads as they suffered in these rooms.

I’m happy to be a prostitute.

Really? Well, you won’t want to stop then.

“Go away,” Carol growled. She didn’t need Stephanie. Didn’t need her at all and certainly not now.

Carol turned her attention back to the window. It hung open, the locks undone, a cold wind entering the room. It couldn’t be open by chance. The girls wouldn’t have had the keys to the locks. Carol looked out the window, she could see a fire-escape, the dull metal just visible in the dark. She pulled herself over the window ledge, thankful that her short dress didn’t restrict her legs. And that there was no-one to notice her pantie-less flash.

Outside Carol had to hang on to the railing. It must have started raining after she’d arrived and the metal was slippery. She looked down. At the bottom she could see policemen, arresting anyone who was using the fire-escape to flee the building, but none of the officers were coming up that way. They were obviously content to let people come to them. It made sense. If they came up, then people on the lower floors might be able to get out behind them. Far easier to wait and not risk the slippery metal in the dark. It was unlikely that Conti was down there, he’d have spotted the police as easily as Carol had. There were girls down there but it was too far to make out their features. If Conti wasn’t there it was likely that Karen and Laura weren’t either.

That only left up, though Carol had no idea how Conti could hope to escape from the top of the building. Regardless, she started climbing the fire-escape, careful not to slip in her heels, cursing as the metal rung under her footsteps.

As she hauled herself over the edge of the building Carol could hear a noise she didn’t understand. It sounded like the grating of metal over something else. There was little light on the roof, only weak moonlight and the faint glow from the streetlamps and neon lights down below. It was just enough to show the pools of water left by the rain and the dark shapes of the building’s ventilation system. Wind whipped at Carol’s hair as she cautiously crept towards the source of the noise.

Peering out around a ventilation duct Carol could see two girls, huddling against each other for protection from the cold wind. Even so they were shivering, all they wore were sheer babydoll negligees. Carol’s heart leapt, it had to be Karen and Laura. She wondered why they stood out in the open and didn’t seek shelter, limited as it was, by one of the big metal stacks. Another grating sound drew her attention away from the girls and she edged further around the duct.

She could see Conti. He grunted from exertion as he struggled with something heavy, metallic. Carol squinted in the dark and saw what looked like a long sheet of metal. On one side of it was a railing. Conti was edging the whole thing out over the top of the low wall around the roof. In the dark Carol could just see that the other end of the structure had almost reached a neighbouring building. She realised it shouldn’t be a surprise that someone like Conti would have an escape plan. The structure was a portable bridge, able to provide access to the roof of the other building. The police wouldn’t know about it, it was unlikely that it had been in place during their surveillance. And even if they’d managed a clear view of the roof, they probably wouldn’t have realised what the odd structure was, in amongst the other fittings. Assuming there was no was way to get between the two buildings they wouldn’t be guarding the other one. In the dark they wouldn’t see anyone cross, might not even look up. Conti was about to get away, with the girls, and they’d be back to square one. Unless Carol stopped him.

With a grating sound that set Carol’s teeth on edge the bridge reached the other building. She could see Conti straighten up and grin. He pulled the automatic from a pocket in his jacket and waved it in the direction of the girls. “Okay you two, move it.” The girls released each other but didn’t move. They looked numbly from each other to Conti. “Now,” he shouted. “Get moving.”

Karen and Laura, for Carol was sure it was them, started edging hesitantly towards the bridge. Carol knew she had to stop Conti. Her limbs were filled with lead, fear gripping her. She didn’t understand where it was coming from, but she couldn’t deny the icy fingers wrapping her heart.

You’re going to get yourself killed. It would be so easy just to stay hidden and let Conti get away. It was a Stephanie thought. The whore would just think of herself, wouldn’t care about the other girls. But Carol couldn’t do that. She’d promised to do whatever it took to rescue Karen and Laura.

Carol looked at the girls. They didn’t look afraid. They were beyond that. They were beaten, cowed, wide-eyed, no visible emotion showing at all. She was reminded of Janice and their escape from Copeland’s boat. How it had been so hard to keep the redhead moving. She could see the same look of dazed incomprehension in the faces of the girls here. Yet these girls weren’t being rescued. They were being taken away from safety. And where it had been difficult to keep Janice moving Conti had only had to tell Karen and Laura once. They did what they were told. Carol realised that was all their life had been, for months. Be ordered, obey. Fuck him. Suck him. Smile sweetly and thank the man. Carol knew that life, had lived it, almost. But not quite, not like this. No will, no choice. Carol realised it could have been her. This was the existence she would have had if Copeland had finished with her, broken her completely. Something started eating away at her insides, moistening her pussy as it hollowed her out. In the darkness she imagined first Karen, then Laura, then both of them with her features, her face. That it was Carol, out, there, wet, cold, broken, only existing to be fucked. Not wanting it, because you can’t want something when you didn’t know, couldn’t conceive, of any alternative. She could feel her heart, its beating sending a matching throb through her pussy. Her pussy was empty, it was slick and wanting and needy. She could slip her fingers in. She could slip the gun in. She could ram the metal into herself and her other hand could grab her tits through her dress and…

No. Carol pushed the thoughts away. Copeland may have bent her, but he hadn’t broken her, not completely. She wasn’t going to give in, not to Copeland, not to Stephanie, not to anyone. It would be her choice what she did. Right now, she had to rescue Karen and Laura. And then she was going to give up on whoring, without any help from some twisted piece of herself, because she was going to make that choice.

Carol pulled herself to her feet, walked as calmly as she could from her hiding spot, gun held before her. When she was close enough Carol called out “Stop.”

The girls halted immediately, looked blankly from Carol to Conti.

“What the fuck Jewel, what do you think you’re doing?” Conti shook his head. “You want out? Come with us, cops’ll never know you were here.” His arms were outstretched beside him, a welcoming gesture, gun still held in one hand.

“The girls are staying here with me,” Carol replied, gun pointed straight at Conti, hoping the nerves she felt didn’t show in her voice.

“You think you can get them out? Did Bowen send you here to get them?” Conti yelled, anger clear in his features. “Did she arrange all this, sell me out to the cops? I’ll kill the bitch.”

“The raid has nothing to do with her.” Carol replied evenly, hoping he could see she was telling the truth.

“Like fuck,” Conti spat. “She’s got her grubby paws all over this.”

“Believe what you like, the girls stay with me.” Carol was edging around, trying to get between Conti and the girls, the gun still pointed at him.

“I’m not letting her have them.” The weapon didn’t seem to faze Conti. Maybe he didn’t think Carol would use it. Maybe he just didn’t care.

“She doesn’t want them. They’re going to be free.” Carol aimed the last statement as much at the girls as at Conti. She hoped they understood.

“What?” Incomprehension was clear on Conti’s face. “What the fuck do you care? You’re just a whore, like them. What does it matter to you?”

Carol shook her head. She wasn’t like them, she got paid, she’d chosen this, as much as Copeland had left her any choice. Karen and Laura had no choices, no future, unless she gave them one.

“Just get out of here Conti. It can’t be long before the police make it up here.” As if to emphasise Carol’s point a rattling could be heard from the door that led back into the building.

Conti looked between Carol and the door, weighing his chances. “No way. I’ll need them, what I can get for them, they’re all I’ll have if the cops get hold of my accounts. No stupid whore is going to stop me.” The gun, which he’d held loosely in one hand, started to rise. Carol could see it swinging in her direction. She didn’t know if he’d shoot her, but she could see fury in the Italian’s eyes. It didn’t matter what happened to her, what happened to Conti. She had to make sure Karen and Laura were safe.

Just get out of here. Run away.

Carol had to fight to stay where she was, the urge to flee so strong. No, she told herself.

God, no. You’re going to get shot. There was panic in the thought, genuine fear. He’ll shoot me. I don’t want to die.

Carol gritted her teeth. She had to do this. If she didn’t then it had all been for nothing. Worse than nothing, it would have all been because of what Copeland had made her.

Conti’s gun was pointed at her now. She could hear Stephanie still crying out, telling her to get out of there, that Conti was going to kill her.

“Get on the bridge girls,” the Italian ordered. “Move it.”

Behind her Carol could hear Karen and Laura start to respond to Conti’s instructions.

“Stop,” she called out. Conditioned to obey, the girls did as she said.

“Fuck,” Conti swore, his features colouring red, as he looked to the dark sky. “Stupid fucking whores. One more word out of you Jewel and you’re dead. Girls, get over there, now.”

Carol swallowed, was sure Conti meant what he said. It didn’t matter. “Karen, Laura, get over to the door.”

No, no, no, you stupid bitch you’ll get us killed, Stephanie wailed.

Shut. Up. Carol ordered.

Conti’s voice was a snarl, “I warned you, I fucking warned you.” Carol could see his finger tightening on the trigger. But he was slow, for all his bluster Conti obviously wasn’t used to doing his own dirty work. She could see his lips, pursed tight, anger flashing in his eyes.

Carol’s vision was going black at the edges. Stephanie was struggling to take control. She could feel the girl’s fear, the whore wanting to throw down the gun and run. Carol could hear Karen and Laura moving, feel the wind in her hair and scattered drops of water on her skin. Her vision held only Conti and the gun she pointed at him. Could feel her finger on the trigger, Stephanie fighting her. Death hung in the air, moments from claiming a victim. Carol decided it wasn’t going to be her. She pulled the trigger. The bang reverberated in her skull, pain lancing through her. She was sure she could hear other noises, loud, deafening. Her balance deserted her as her vision swam, she pitched forward, falling onto the roof as blackness took her world.

(To be continued)