The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Man alive, look at all the people,” exclaimed Special Agent Jackson, surveying the crush of people around them. “This place is a mob.”

“Charles de Gaule is the busiest airport in Europe,” Special Agent Harrison replied, “Even Heathrow doesn’t come close. This is a weekday. On weekends you can expect twice as many people.”

They were standing in the lobby of the departure level, surveying the warehouse-sized building alive with travellers. An electronic notice board the size of an upended bus announced arrival and departure times. Harrison surveyed their surroundings with even detachment, coolly considering the situation.

Her partner looked her over covertly. She was compact and curvaceous, with a deceptively young-looking face and expressive eyes that shone with intelligence. Her blue-black jacket and pants outfit was both stylish and functional. It did not completely succeed in its mission of disguising the womanly figure beneath. Her blonde hair, as always, was braided tightly on top of her head—a device, Jackson suspected, to make her look taller.

The expression on her face was one of scowling intensity. Special Agent Harrison had a reputation as a tough, relentless detective; so tough, in fact, that her partners seldom lasted more than a few months. It was pity, really. Jackson figured Lana Harrison could be a beautiful and captivating woman if she would let up a little.

He looked around in frustration. “It’s like a needle in a haystack,” he complained. “We’ll never find him in all this lot.”

“We’ll find him,” Harrison responded sharply. She turned to the third member of the Special Abilities Division, a petite, pretty woman in a long flowing skirt. “Are you getting anything, Viola?”

Special Agent Viola McMichaels had a perpetually distracted look about her, as if part of her attention was always somewhere else. With her long black hair, coal-dark eyes, and sweeping, silk clothing, she reminded Jackson of a young Gypsy fortune-teller. He wondered sometimes if she deliberately played up that look. There was no denying the reality of her talent, though.

“He’s been here,” she said, “very recently. He’s still in the airport somewhere.”

“Can you get a direction?”

The younger woman said nothing for several seconds. Then: “This way, I think.” She pointed down the main concourse that stretched away before them.

“Lead on.”

They made their way through the throngs of people, dodging handcarts stacked with luggage and confused passengers studying the arrivals/departures screens. Agent McMichaels stopped several times. She concentrated, saying nothing for a few seconds or up to half a minute. Each time she started off again, the other agents following.

Jackson took advantage of the opportunity to enjoy the scenery. “You know,” he said conversationally, “this place has more than its fair share of head-turners. I should drop by here on a day off and watch the world go by.” He smiled at an attractive business woman passing by, deliberately adjusting his tie. She smiled back.

“Don’t you ever think about anything besides women?” Harrison snapped.

“Of course. Sometimes I think about food. And sleep. Though to be honest, I generally think about women while I’m eating, and dream about them while I sleep.” He grinned at her boyishly.

Harrison glared back. He was goading her, and she knew it. She bit back her sarcastic reply. She had worked with Jackson long enough to know he was much sharper than he pretended to be.

Abruptly Viola stopped walking. “I’ve lost him. I’m sorry. All these people...” She shrugged helplessly.

Agent Harrison swore. “Dammit, we’re so close. We know he’s in the building somewhere, we can’t lose him now!”

Jackson snatched a seat on a bench before a young woman could get to it. “Lana, let it go. We already have lost him. We never really had him. Hell, we don’t even know what he looks like.”

“We’ll find him! We are not going to leave this airport without making an arrest. I have spent three solid months tracking down this degenerate. He is not going to slip through my fingers at the last moment.” She glared down at her junior partner, daring him to disagree.

To her amazement, he did. “Three months that could have been spent chasing real criminals,” he countered. “Doing what we are trained to do. We could have been catching smugglers and kidnappers and crime lords and money launderers, instead of wasting our days on a small-time, non-violent prankster.”

Harrison rounded on him instantly. “Jackson, this man is responsible for ravishing at least 13 women in the London area alone. He is wanted on warrants in France and the Netherlands as well as U.K. God knows how many other women he has attacked that we don’t even know about.”

“Wait a minute,” Agent McMichaels interjected. “The subject is a molester? Why wasn’t I told that?”

“Technically, you’re still a civilian, Viola,” Harrison explained. “Notwithstanding the “Special Agent” tag. Interpol has strict regulations about divulging information about investigations.”

“Which you just breached,” Jackson added, enjoying the dig.

“Look, Jackson, I’ve had about enough of your—”

“I can sense him again!” McMichaels interrupted. “He must be using his influence on somebody. He’s down this way. Come on.”

The trio elbowed their way down the crowded airport. Moving through the crowds was like negotiating an obstacle course. As he watched Special Agent Harrison’s attractive behind weave through the crowd, Jackson reminded himself that Lana was the three-time obstacle course champion at the annual police games. Not to mention a perennial contender in the martial arts championships. Why did she drive herself so hard?

“Now that the subject has come up,” Viola said, “perhaps someone could tell me about the suspect’s assaults.”

Jackson said, “Assault is perhaps too strong a word. It’s more like seduction. The man has had... spontaneous sexual relations of various kinds with young women. He apparently uses his mental abilities to calm the women and convince them that the affair is pleasurable. The standard M.O. is to enter the woman’s home in the early morning, talk her into having sex with him, then blur her memory of the event before he leaves. He even stays for breakfast sometimes. Some of our less sensitive officers have come to call him the Cereal Rapist.”

“Those women were violated,” Agent Harrison said bitterly. “I don’t care if the man is polite and never hits anybody, it’s still wrong when the woman can’t give consent. Using mind manipulation to persuade her not to resist is no different than using drugs or alcohol.”

“You mean there’s something wrong with using alcohol?” Harrison asked in mock surprise. Lana glared bullets at him.

He went on more seriously: “Lana, who’s to say they didn’t consent? None of the women has a clear memory of the encounter. What’s the difference between a man with alleged mind control powers and a chap who’s just very persuasive?”

“All the difference in the world! If the woman can’t make an independent decision to engage in sex then it’s not consensual. This man forced himself on his victims, no matter how you try to disguise it!”

“Lana, it’s not that simple! That’s—”

“Hey! You people!” Viola broke in. “Could you stop bickering for a minute; you’re distracting me.”

“Agent Jackson,” said Harrison dryly, “has divergent views on some subjects.”

Viola said, “Well, when you’re through arguing, he’s been here. At that check-in counter.” She pointed toward the line-up for international flights.

Harrison was off like a shot. She muscled her way through the crowd of travellers waiting in line and confronted the young ticket clerk. “Interpol,” she said curtly, flashing her ID. “We’re looking for a man, he checked in here...” She looked at Viola.

“About five minutes ago,” the smaller woman supplied.

“He would be travelling by himself, probably with very light luggage. I expect you would remember him as... charming.” She spoke the last word as if it hurt.

The woman’s face lit up. “Oh, yes, I know who you mean.” She had a lilting French accent. “He was just here. What a splendid man; a perfect gentleman. So smooth, so refined, so...” She said something in French that Harrison didn’t understand. Her eyes took on a dreamy, starry-eyed look.

“She says he would be the perfect lover,” Jackson translated.

“God, it’s like she’s madly in love with him,” said Viola, gaping at the swooning ticket agent.

Agent Harrison spoke to her sharply. “Listen to me. The man you are describing is a dangerous criminal. We need to find him. Can you remember what he looked like?”

“A criminal? Oh, that’s not possible. A man like that would never ever—”

“Describe him!”

“Oh! Oh, yes, of course. He was young, tastefully dressed, and so very very handsome.” She sighed happily.

Jackson said, “Could you be a little more specific?”

“Oui, certainment, he had.... that is, he was... he had a sort of... je ne sais quoi.” A confused frown clouded her pretty features. “It is odd, no? I can’t remember... it’s all so... fuzzy.” She brightened. “But he was such a splendid man.”

Agent Harrison said, “Can you at least tell us which flight he was boarding?”

She thought for a moment. “I can’t remember. But it must have been flight 1163 for Rome. That’s the only flight open on my ordinateur, er, my computer, right now.”

“Come on,” Harrison shouted, dashing down the corridor. Jackson and Viola followed as best they could. Jackson felt like a hunter whose best dog had slipped the leash.

Lana stopped in front of a television screen announcing departure schedules. “There, flight 1163. Gate 72C. It’s not leaving for another twenty minutes. That gives us a little time.”

They continued on their way through the crowds toward the security gates. “He definitely came this way,” Viola said. “The sensation is getting stronger.”

Lana said: “We should interrogate the security guards. One of them might remember him. Maybe we could get a description.” She shoved her way through the line-up, brushing passengers aside rudely. Somebody said something angry, in Italian.

“It’s a hunch, of course,” Jackson suggested, “but I would try that guard, over there.”

He pointed off to the side, where one of the security guards, a brown-haired young woman, was leaning against the wall. She was staring at nothing while she idly stroked her metal-detector wand against her skin, down inside the throat of her uniform. Another guard was pleading with her to come to her senses.

Lana approached the two women. “Special Agent Harrison, Interpol,” she snapped. “What’s the problem here?”

“I, I don’t know what is wrong with her,” the second guard said. “She is acting so strangely. I am not sure that she hears me. Do you think she has a drug problem, perhaps?”

“What’s her name?”

“Nicole.”

“Nicole,” Jackson said in French, “listen to me. We’re police officers. We’re here to help you.”

The woman’s brown eyes flickered. They found Jackson’s face. She dropped her metal detector. “Oh, where have you been, my love!” she breathed. She launched herself forward, flinging her arms around his neck. Before he could react she was burying his lips in a slow, hungry kiss.

Jackson was caught by surprise. He flailed about uselessly as the sex-crazed woman kissed him, flexing her body against his. She made lustful moaning sounds. She pressed her hands against his cheeks, turning her head this way and that, exploring his mouth with her tongue. Jackson put his hands on her gyrating hips, perhaps intending to push her away. He was slow getting around to it.

“Cut that out!” Harrison cried, grabbing the woman by one arm. “Good lord, get a grip on yourself.” She pried the woman off her partner, and forced her gently back against the wall.

The young guard was breathing hard. “Ohhh, tu es tres belle cherie,” she cooed, seeing Harrison for the first time. She reached out for her, eyes lidded with desire. Harrison held her off awkwardly. “You could have resisted a little harder,” she said over her shoulder. The guard began kissing Lana’s fingers.

Jackson looked sheepish. “I didn’t want to, uh, traumatize her,” he said.

“I’ll hold her,” Harrison said tersely. “You talk.”

Jackson slipped back into French. “Nicole, listen to me now. We are looking for a man. He passed through here a few minutes ago. You probably remember him. He would be a nice man, a very likeable man. Do you recall anyone like that?”

Nicole drew a deep sigh. “Oh yesss,” she whispered. “Of course I remember him. A wonnnnnderful man.” She giggled suddenly. “I did him with my wand.”

“Now listen, this is very important. Can you tell me what the man looked like?”

Nicole licked her lips. “Like a dream come alive,” she enthused. “Tall and rugged. Bedroom eyes. Smile that made me want to kiss him all over... all over... and lick him, everywhere....”

Harrison frowned. “What’s she saying?” She batted aside Nicole’s hand, that kept reaching for her breasts.

“She doesn’t remember anything,” Jackson replied. “She’s been given a false memory.”

Nicole stroked Harrison’s arm. She said something to Jackson, long and sensuous.

“Uhh, not today, thanks,” he replied, looking uncomfortable. “I’m on duty.”

“Well, it’s not all lost,” Lana decided. At least we know our man has come through here.”

Nicole moaned sharply, loud enough for passers-by to notice. She curled up against Lana, jerking spasmodically.

“She’s having some sort of seizure,” Lana cried, alarmed.

Viola pressed forward. “No, it’s all right.” She put her hand gently on the other woman’s forehead, who was quivering and sighing in Lana’s arms. “It’s some sort of temporary mental command. Works like a post-hypnotic suggestion. She’s been conditioned to orgasm when she hears the word “come.”

Nicole gasped. She grabbed Lana, convulsing in ecstasy again.

“Sorry,” said Viola.

Lana handed Nicole back to her companion. They got her sort of standing, sort of leaning against the wall. She looked dazed and sated.

Jackson said, “This gives us a bit of information about the suspect when you think about it.”

Lana raised an eyebrow. “How that?”

“It means he’s unilingual. It’s an English pun. He made her respond to c—uh, that word, but not the French equivalent, “venez.”

Behind him, Nicole cried out in delight again. Her eyes rolled back in her head. Her knees buckled. Her co-worker caught her before she fell to the floor.

“Uh, never mind,” said Jackson.

“Good grief, she’s even getting me turned on,” Viola blurted. “Let’s get out of here.”

Lana nodded. “Good idea. We have him cornered in this departure lounge, let’s not lose him now.” She turned to the security guard, who was half-supporting a panting, blissful Nicole. “She’ll be all right in a few minutes. Stay with her until she—uh until she feels like herself again.” She turned back to her companions. “I want this bastard,” she said bitterly, “come on, let’s find him.”

They headed off into the departure area, ignoring the cries of orgasmic rapture rising from behind them.

The departure wing was the size of large auditorium, shaped like an enormous triangle and made almost entirely of glass. The high ceiling swooped down above them to meet the point of the triangle in the distance. The boarding areas for a dozen aircraft were distributed neatly around the long sides of the triangle. It was awash with people.

“That was a cruel joke he played on that woman,” Lana opined. “Still think this guy’s not worth our time?” She glared at Jackson pointedly.

“Look,” he retorted, “I’m not saying he’s not an ass and I’m not saying he doesn’t deserve to go to jail. What he did to Nicole was mortifying, sure, but she won’t remember much and her colleagues will understand. Privately, some of them may envy her. I’m just saying he’s a small-time miscreant and not the butcher of Lyons, that’s all.”

“He stands accused of assaulting at least 13 women!”

Jackson turned to face Lana, blocking her way. “Lana he didn’t assault any of them, not in the narrow sense. Of those 13 women, he had full intercourse with five. Four of the others engaged in oral sex, three did nothing more than heavy petting, and the other one, well, who knows.”

“What happened to the last one?” Viola interjected.

“Apparently, nothing. Evidently he just wanted some company while he ate breakfast.”

Lana had her fists on her hips. “Jackson, I can’t believe you are defending this creep. So he only penetrated five women, not thirteen. It was still sexual assault, dammit—”

“Wait a minute. The mind manipulation was sleazy, I agree, but it’s legal status is uncertain. It could be argued he did nothing worse than seduction. All of the women were, uhm, physically receptive to his advances. There was no discomfort. In fact, the women invariably reached orgasm. The women he had full sex with had several orgasms. Even the women that only serviced him had orgasms. Shucks, it looks like the woman he merely talked to had an orgasm. We’re going to have a helluva time making a case. Especially with those women as witnesses.”

“What does he mean?” Viola again.

Lana turned to her with a heavy sigh. “Several of the victims have been... altered in some way. Like Nicole back there, but more subtle. And more permanent.

Jackson said, “They’ve experienced some sort of sexual awakening. They have become more, well, sensuous is the best word. Friends say they’ve changed the way they talk, the way they dress, even the way they move. They are all poised and self-confident, even the ones that were formerly shy and mousy. They seem to have shed all their sexual inhibitions.”

“They have been offered therapy—” Lana interjected.

“—and all of them turned it down,” Jackson finished for her. “The transformation of these women is remarkable. They ooze sex appeal. They can be irresistibly seductive. Several investigating detectives reported that the victims attempted to seduce them. After a couple of, uhm, embarrassing incidents, it was decided that only married, female officers could conduct interviews.”

“It’s the suspect’s defense ploy,” Lana said, offended. “He’s manipulated his victims to cover for him. That is so twisted I—”

“You know what I think, Lana,” Jackson said suddenly. “I think this chap offends you so much not because of his crimes, but because you personally hate the idea of losing control. That’s what this vendetta is really about, isn’t it? Those women willingly surrendered control to somebody else, and enjoyed it, and that really bugs you.”

“Jackson you are out of line! My personal feelings have nothing to do with this. This man is a criminal of the worst order and so help me—”

“Hey!” Viola called sharply. “Hello! Maybe we could postpone the debate until after we catch the bad guy?”

Lana took a deep breath, regaining her composure. “You’re right, Agent McMichaels. This is not the time for argument. Let’s get to the gate for that flight to Rome. We’ll work our way out from there. My guess is he may not hang around the gate until the flight is called—harder to spot that way.”

The trio made their way down the wide corridor. The wing was laid out with departure lounges for each flight around the outside, and a long row of stores and amenities along the centre. Most of the seats in each lounge were occupied with travellers waiting for their flights with varying degrees of impatience. Others stood around chatting or wandered through the airline shops to kill time. Flight announcements in two or three languages boomed through the public address system every few minutes.

At length they came to Gate 72C. An attendant was standing behind the check-in counter, tapping away at her computer. The lounge was about half-full already.

“Viola? Anything?” asked Lana.

She paused for a moment. “He was here. Very recently. But he’s not here now. You were right; he dropped by to find the gate, then wandered off somewhere.”

“OK, he won’t come back here until the flight is called. Viola, can you home in on him?”

“Yes, if he uses his ability. I’m pretty sure he went this way.” She gestured toward the shops.

The three agents walked over toward the line of boutiques and confectionaries. Jackson’s cop instincts were on high alert. He found himself watching everyone with unnatural keenness, looking for variances in behaviour. Here, a young couple were billing and cooing while they waited. Jackson admired the girl’s legs for a moment.

In one of the shops a sophisticated woman in a designer dress was debating which of several pairs of shoes to buy. A bored young woman was serving her. They passed a cafe, where travellers were sipping overpriced drinks and nibbling on sandwiches. A waitress in a brief skirt and heels was waiting on them insolently.

“There’s something I don’t get,” Jackson said, watching a pretty teenager saunter by. “That business with the security guard. And the check-in clerk earlier. They don’t fit the suspect’s M.O.”

Lana was interested. “We missed something?”

“Well, think about it. The bloke must have guessed the police were after him, why else would he be leaving the country so quickly? Yet he’s making no serious effort to cover his tracks. He’s manipulating new victims, right here in the airport, in public, where we are sure to notice. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Unless,” Lana said thoughtfully, “he thinks he’s invulnerable.”

Viola said, “I helped assemble his psychological profile. He’s probably under thirty, but he’s had his ability for a long time, maybe since puberty. He has grown accustomed to persuading other people to see things his way, and that has retarded his emotional development. He’s never had to do much for himself, so he may not be especially clever or resourceful.”

“Well, that’s something to work with, at least. Is he nearby? Are we getting close?”

Viola concentrated for a moment. “He was here,” Jackson answered for her. “Maybe he bought a newspaper.” He pointed with his chin toward a magazine kiosk a few metres away.

There was an island in the centre where the cash-registers were, and two employees working the tills. One was an older man with a driver’s cap on his head. The other was a cute girl, probably still in her teens, dressed stylishly in a red T-shirt and flared jeans. She had long black hair pulled back in a ponytail.

The man and the girl were standing very close together, arm in arm. They were whispering to each other, and trading long kisses.

Jackson approached them, determined to beat Lana to the punch for once. He held up his badge. “Excuse us, please,” he said formally. “We’re with the police. Interpol. Can you tell us—”

“This is my best employee,” the man interrupted. “My favourite. My most dedicated girl. She’s the absolute best!” He beamed at her.

The girl blushed. “Oh, Gaetan, yesterday you were going to fire me.”

“That was yesterday. This is today. Today I realize what a beautiful woman you are. You make an old man feel good!”

She snuggled up to him. “You think I am beautiful? Really? What part do you love best?”

He kissed her gently on top of the head. “Your hair. And your eyes. Your cute little nose. And those lips...” He was kissing his way downward as he spoke. When he arrived at her lips the kiss became slow and ardent. The girl slipped her other arm around his neck. She was at least thirty years younger than him.

Lana rapped on the countertop with her knuckles. “You can do that later,” she snapped. “Right now we need some information.”

The clinching couple broke the kiss long enough to look her way. They seemed mildly surprised that the three agents were still there.

“A few minutes ago you served a customer,” Lana continued. “A man, probably young. We want to know what he looks like. It’s important.”

The older man shrugged. “Perhaps you served him, my lovely?”

“Oh, Gaetan, you know I serve no other man but you!” She tittered at her lover’s joke, then bounced up on her toes for another intense kiss.

He had both his arms around her now. “You are so beautiful, my little gem. Such a loyal employee. I think I will give you a big rise.”

“I think you’re already giving me a rise,” his companion murmured, snuggling up close. She slid one hand down between them. Gaetan twitched suddenly.

“Geez, they’re practically oblivious,” Viola said.

“Cut it out!” Lana snapped. “Unless you want an arrest for public lewdness. Now answer our questions.”

“Come back later,” Gaetan said carelessly, still kissing and nuzzling the much younger girl. “We’re closed for a while.”

He made a gesture with his head toward the back of the kiosk. His companion nodded her head eagerly. Without another word they bolted away from the till, holding hands. They disappeared through a door in the back into what looked like a stockroom. The woman was pulling on Gaetan’s clothes before he even got the door closed. Jackson, Harrison and McMichaels watched blankly.

Jackson arrived at a conclusion. “He’s taunting us,” he decided.

Lana frowned. “The old man?”

“No, not him, our suspect. He’s doing this deliberately, these public spectacles. He’s thumbing his nose at us.” There were cries and giggles from the stockroom, and a sound like boxes falling over.

“That certainly would fit the psych profile,” Lana replied. “Viola, what do you think?”

Agent McMichaels was standing very still. She had her head cocked to one side, as if listening to something far away. “Jackson’s right,” she said at last. “He’s having fun. He doesn’t think we can catch him.” She paused, then smiled slightly. “He doesn’t know about me.”

Lana didn’t smile. “Can he sense you?”

“No.”

“Good. He’s getting careless. Maybe he’ll make a mistake.”

A cultured female voice sounded through the speakers in the ceiling. “That’s his flight,” Lana said crisply, “let’s go!”

The three trotted back toward gate 72C. As they passed the cafe, Jackson’s girl-watching instincts caught a glimpse of the waitress, sitting in a customer’s lap, legs high in the air. They were gulping beer straight from a pitcher, laughing and spilling beer all over. Her blouse was plastered wetly against her braless breasts.

There was another distraction in the shoe store. The rich customer was still there. She was slumped drunkenly in her chair, playing with a pair of mirror-black pumps as if they were sex toys. She rubbed one shoe against her face and the other down her cleavage. She kissed the narrow heels. She ran her tongue and lips along the shiny leather.

The woman’s expensive dress was rucked up around her hips, exposing her stockings. The shop clerk was on her knees between her legs, with her head buried in the other woman’s crotch. Her blouse was unbuttoned and her slacks were bunched around her knees. As she earnestly pleasured the panting customer, one of her hands was busy between her own legs. Other customers in the store ignored them both.

“Shit,” Jackson said under his breath.

They arrived back at the departure lounge for Gate 72C. Jackson noted that the amorous young couple was still there, necking and dry humping as vigorously as ever. It took him a moment to realize that the girl was not kissing the same man as before.

“They’re starting to board,” Agent Harrison said urgently. “Come on!”

“He’s here!” Viola almost shouted. “I can feel him. He’s somewhere in this crowd.”

The boarding lounge was as affectionate as a Valentine’s day dance. Everywhere couples were whispering to each other, or kissing and petting while they waited for their chance to board. A man had his hand high on his companion’s leg; another man was licking his partner’s ear, making her giggle and squirm. Many of the couples had apparently just met. Not all of them were of opposite sexes.

“Viola, what’s going on?” Agent Harrison demanded. She looked about nervously. Beside her, a middle-aged woman was making no objection as a young man she was kissing began to work his way into her blouse.

Agent McMichaels frowned for a moment. “It’s spillage of some sort,” she answered. “He has very poor self-control. I think... oh good lord.”

“What?”

“I think he’s drunk.”

“Are we in any danger?”

“Not if we keep moving. He can’t get a fix.”

There was a line-up of people waiting to enter the plane. They were all groping and kissing like horny teenagers who had discovered an unlocked liquor cabinet. The ticket agent had to remind some of them to get out their tickets.

Near the head of the line three figures were walking arm in arm. The man in the middle had an attractive woman on each side. One of the women wore the uniform of a flight attendant. They were laughing and giggling at whatever the man was saying.

Viola drew up short. “That’s him!” she shouted. Heads turned in surprise.

Lana forced her way through the line-up, pushing passengers aside impatiently. She had her gun down and locked before Jackson had even cleared the holster. “Stop! Police officers!” she called.

The trio ahead stopped and turned. The man’s eyes went wide. The women looked dazed.

“You are under arrest by authority of the International Police Agency,” Lana said coolly. “Put your hands over your head and kneel on the ground.” Behind them, people drew back, shocked and frightened. Lana’s gun never wavered.

Jackson looked the man over. He was indeed under thirty, short and kind of pudgy. His suit was expensive-looking but wrinkled. He had a mop of black hair and an ill-kept goatee. He looked terrified.

“Tall, dark and handsome indeed,” Jackson said, drawing out his handcuffs.

“Officers,” the man said, his voice unsteady. “You can’t mean... there has to be some mistake... I... you can’t want me.” Nevertheless he raised his arms meekly.

Viola came up behind them. She carried no gun. “Watch it people, he’s sending!” she said urgently.

Lana menaced him with her Glock. “Stop it!” she ordered. “Agent McMichaels is a Sensitive. She can tell when you are using your mental ability. Any attempt on your part to influence us will be met with force.”

The suspect looked at Viola as if his best friend had turned into a vampire. He opened and closed his mouth but no sound came out. Lana nodded her head at Jackson. He advanced with the handcuffs.

The suspect was trembling visibly. As Jackson reached for his arm he moved suddenly. Jackson’s reflexes took him forward but the man jumped clumsily sideways, grabbing the young stewardess and roughly shoving her toward Lana. “No! No I won’t go!” he screamed.

The man used the momentary distraction to dash away down the loading ramp toward the plane. Lana put up her gun, swearing, but she was already moving. She faced the ticket agent, who was rapidly regaining her composure. “Interpol,” Lana said. “That man is a violent offender. Alert airport security. We’re in pursuit.”

The agent looked at her ID. “Oiu, of course” she said efficiently. Go right through. I will telephone the captain and tell him to close the plane.”

Agent Harrison bolted toward the boarding ramp. The ticket agent stepped in front of her, barring her way. “Attendez!” she said sharply. “You cannot enter the plane this way. It is not safe.”

“What! What are you talking about? We’re police agents for godsake, and you have a wanted felon on your plane. Now get out of the way!”

“Not until you comply with safety regulations,” the other woman said. “I can’t let you enter the plane wearing shoes and shirts. It’s for your own safety.” She folded her arms across her chest.

Lana glared daggers. “Bloody bureaucracy,” she cursed, kicking off her shoes without unlacing them. She grabbed the buttons for her jacket. It too came off in a moment. Her shoulder holster looked incongruous against the white of her plain bra. The cups of her brassiere were large and well-filled.

Very well-filled.

She looked at the ticket agent defiantly. The woman shook her head. Angrily, Agent Harrison set her Glock on the ticket counter and shucked off the holster. She reached around to undo the three hooks on the back of her bra, then bent forward gracefully to ease the cups off. A moment later her magnificent mounds were set free.

Shirtless beside her, Jackson stared in astonishment. “Lana, I, I had no idea,” he stammered. “I always thought... the bulge... maybe your shoulder holster....”

For the first time since he had known her, Lana looked shy. “I didn’t think anyone would take me seriously, you know, if they knew how... endowed I am. Men are so easily distracted by big tits. I wanted to be remembered for my ability, not for my body.” She hefted her huge hooters in each hand, holding them up for inspection. “You, you don’t mind, do you, Jackson?” she implored.

He swallowed. “Lana, they’re... you’re beautiful.”

“Hey, come on!” cried Viola, pattering up beside them. She had discarded her soft flats and silk blouse. “We can’t let him get away.” Her own breasts were smaller than Lana’s, but perky and well-proportioned.

Apparently satisfied now, the agent stood aside to let them go by. Holding her gun up to one side, Agent Harrison trotted barefoot down the corridor, the other agents close behind. Her heavy chest bounced energetically as she ran.

Viola shouted to her companions in front of her. “Watch out! He’s sending! I’ve never felt—oh god!” She staggered for a moment, like she had been punched.

The first passengers were already well down the passageway. If the lounge had been a make-out session, the passageway was a love-in. Bags and suitcases lay abandoned where they were dropped. Couples and threesomes were grappling in the corridor, or leaning against the wall. They were kissing and fondling and grabbing at each other’s clothes. “Please, cherie, tell me your name,” a man pleaded, as he slid his partner’s dress up over her hips.

Lana dashed forward, jumping over discarded luggage and darting around amorous couples. Jackson did his best to keep up, mostly so he could admire her bounteous bouncing boobs. They were marvels of symmetry, with the areolas and nipples forming a mesmerizing set of perfect concentric circles.

“He can’t get away now,” Lana exalted, without breaking stride. “There’s nowhere to go. Where the hell is Viola?”

“She’s right behind us,” Jackson replied, looking over his shoulder. “just a little slower.”

Viola at that moment was picking her way through the growing crowd of lovers in the passageway, many of whom were now on the floor. Clothing was joining the discarded luggage. She had to defend herself against groping hands from both sexes.

She stopped for a moment. A woman had thrown off her shoes. They were slender pumps, robin-egg blue, and the latest style. Intrigued, the slender brunette bent over to look at them. She never wore heels. The owner was half-naked, moaning as she discovered the hardness of the man on top of her.

Viola slipped her left foot into one of the shoes. Not bad. A trifle tight, but very pretty. She put the other one on. Smiling, she hurried on down the corridor, rather slower now, but feeling oddly contented.

Farther up the corridor, Jackson and Harrison came to a halt. A full-blown orgy was underway on the floor in front of them. There were at least a dozen men and women involved, paired off indiscriminately, screwing wildly. One of the women wore the cap of a flight attendant, but nothing else. She was astride a pot-bellied man who kept shouting things in German as he fucked up into her. The woman leaned back and over to kiss another woman who was riding a much younger man. He was thrusting into her clumsily, perhaps because he was distracted by the kneeling, naked beauty who kept kissing him on the face while a maintenance man in half-undone coveralls fucked her from behind.

“Holy shit,” Jackson muttered, staring at the writhing mass of bodies.

Lana was round-eyed with astonishment. “What the hell... I didn’t know he could do anything like this.”

Jackson glanced her way. He returned for a longer look. Lana’s nipples were erect. Delicious little cones of red, they stood out boldly against the paler colours of her areolae and then her pneumatic knockers, one perfect circle within another, drawing the male eye like a hypnotist’s spinning spiral.

Jackson imagined kissing them.

He would use just his lips at first. He would hold up one heavy breast like a chalice. Then, lowering his head, he would purse his lips around one nipple, slowly, almost reverently, but a little too long to be chaste. He would draw back for a moment, blowing gently, letting the cool air and drying moisture send little shivers up Lana’s spine. Then he would descend again, aggressive this time, needful, locking his lips softly around her peaks, feeling his chin embed in the billowy softness of her boob, while his tongue danced and licked around her teasingly. Lana would gasp, hold his head against her chest, while his hand slipped around her naked back, the other rising thoughtfully to tickle and tweak and tantalize her other breast. Then he would switch sides...

The click of heels against the tile floor brought him out of his reverie. Viola arrived, topless and breathless. “Don’t stand still,” she warned urgently, “it’s dangerous! He’s sending like mad, I can feel—good lord!” She stopped when she saw the mindless debauchery in front of them.

“Viola, what the hell is this?” Agent Harrison wanted to know. Somebody climaxed, loudly. A woman began shouting, “yes, yes, YES!” Moans and sighs of sexual bliss arose from the throng.

“He’s panicking,” Viola explained. “He’s never had to fight back before. This is all he knows how to do. Now MOVE you people. It’s dangerous to stay here.”

“Right,” Lana snapped, “Let’s finish this.”

She was already in motion. She danced nimbly through the sea of writhing bodies, her partners close behind. Jackson’s gun was up, pointed at the ceiling. It wouldn’t do to have it go off prematurely.

They cleared the orgy and pressed on down the hall. There wasn’t much farther to go. Lana was in front again.

“There he is!” she shouted, “Stop. Police!”

Their quarry had reached the end of the corridor. The door to the airplane was closed. The flight attendant had called ahead. The suspect stopped, arms flailing. He looked back at the rapidly closing officers, then backtracked a few steps and bolted past a barrier into another tunnel.

The Interpol agents were right behind him. Lana turned adroitly and darted after him, Jackson hard on her heels. Viola tottered along behind as fast as she could in her borrowed shoes.

When she caught up with them a few seconds later, it was all over. The corridor ended at a steel wall. The suspect was standing against the wall, hands in the air, chest heaving, sweat pouring down his face. He stared, terrified, at the two cocked, locked Glocks pointing at his chest.

“Is he sending?” Lana demanded tersely. A fine sheen of perspiration glistened on her glorious chest.

“Not any more,” Viola replied. “But he pulled out all the stops there for a while. No wonder all those people went nuts.”

The man spoke in a wavering voice: “Please, I... I didn’t mean to hurt anyone... I, don’t shoot me.”

“You can add resisting arrest to your list of charges,” Jackson said drily. “Get down on your knees and put your hands on your head.” He reached around with one hand for the handcuffs on his belt.

The suspect clasped his arms on top of his head and sank to his knees, looking miserable. Special Agent Harrison relaxed her arms. “Well, finally, we got the creep,” she said, relief informing her voice. She drew a deep breath. Was it Jackson’s imagination or did she arch her back a little? He tried not to stare at her tits, and failed.

His partner didn’t seem to mind. “I don’t know about you,” she said cheerfully, “but I feel like celebrating.” Lana’s smile was all the more striking because it was so rare. She set the safety on her gun and tossed it to Viola. “Here,” she said easily, “if he moves, shoot him. If he even thinks, shoot him.” But she was looking only at Jackson.

Viola caught the gun awkwardly, “Uhm, Lana, I’m not sure...” she demurred.

Lana ignored her. She thrust out her chest. “You haven’t been able to take your eyes off these since I took my top off, have you Jackson,” she teased, advancing toward him. “Admit it, you’ve never seen a pair of whoppers like these before.” Fixing him with a smouldering look, she hefted her jumbo jugs in both hands like a grocer presenting a pair of ripe melons.

Jackson swallowed, staring. “Geez, Lana. They’re... spectacular!” His gun hand wavered unsteadily.

“That’s not even the best part,” his partner cooed. Without breaking eye contact she reached up with both hands and pulled apart the braids holding her hair. The tight bun fell apart like waves of golden sunlight rolling down a mountainside. Then she unfastened her pants and let them slip into a silken pile around her feet. She wore nothing underneath but bikini panties in black lace. The rest of her figure was as lush and round as her chest.

“How’s this?” she whispered, fluffing out her yard-long blonde tresses.

Jackson was awestruck. “Lana... my god.” His dour and efficient partner had transformed before his eyes into a sex bomb. It was like watching a drab caterpillar pupate into an especially dazzling butterfly.

Lana stepped forward and slid her arms around his neck. Arching up on her toes, she kissed him, long, hard and thorough. Jackson made surprised noises and flailed his arms about. In the interest of safety, Viola took his gun from his outstretched hand. She said something worried, but Lana wasn’t listening and Jackson was far too pre-occupied.

“I’ve always wanted to do that,” the blonde goddess purred, when she finally pulled her lips from his. “I’ve wanted you since the day you walked into the squad room.”

Jackson put his arms around her bare back. “But, but, Lana... everyone says... you’re a complete ball buster, I don’t—” She was kissing him again, silencing his tongue with hers. Jackson could feel the warm balloons of her tits pressing against his chest.

“The other men,” Lana whispered, between kisses, “bunch of cowards. Intimidated. By a strong woman. Mmmmmmm. But. But you. Stood up to me. Wouldn’t let me... push you ‘round.” She trailed wet kissed across his cheek and down his chin. “Now get your pants off and fuck the hell out of me.”

For once Jackson and his partner were in complete agreement. He let go of Lana long enough to shuck off his trousers, then his boxers. Lana was delighted, but not surprised, to see he was already hard. She knew how men responded to the fuckable ripeness of her body.

In a moment she was in his arms again. She could feel his rod pressing insistently against her belly as they kissed, a battering ram knocking at her door. She lifted up on her toes to embrace him. She felt her feet leave the floor for an instant as Jackson drew her over backwards, then gently guided her down onto the floor. “Oh, cold!” she cried, giggling. But the heat in her loins more than compensated. Peripherally she heard Viola say something, but she was too involved in the moment to be distracted.

Jackson raised himself on his arms for a moment. They had neglected to remove Lana’s panties, but these were designed to encourage intimacy, not prevent it. Lana pulled the fabric to one side with one hand, snared Jackson’s hard cock with the other and drew him down into her wet, waiting pussy. “Screw me, Jackson,” she whispered.

Viola watched, wide-eyed, as her partners went at it on the floor beside her. Her arms ached from keeping both guns pointed at the suspect. He was still kneeling on the ground, not moving or transmitting, but watching the proceedings with perplexity.

Viola’s nipples were pointy and hard. “Geez, you people, you’re getting me all turned on,” she complained. Deciding she didn’t need two guns, she crouched down to set one on the floor. She used her free hand to pull up her skirt so she could get at her demanding lovenest.

A few feet away from her, Lana was gasping and groaning as Jackson pistoned into her. Her colossal chest bounced and heaved. Jackson leaned down to kiss her, without breaking his rhythm. Lana lifted both legs and wrapped them around his back. “Oh god, Jackson, yes, yes, more, please Morrre!” she babbled.

Viola sat down on the floor with her back against the wall. Her panties were off. Her fingers were flying in her pussy, making little slurping sounds that combined with the noises Lana and Jackson were making. She set down the other gun so she could fondle and squeeze her titties. The sensation was so exquisite she cried out.

A few feet away, Lana was fast approaching orgasm. Her hips were bouncing off the floor as she flexed up to meet Jackson’s downward strokes. Her breathing was coming in short, panting gasps. She started to shout something but the orgasm caught her in the middle of it. All that came out was a long, strangled cry as her body stiffened in a rictus of delight.

Incredibly, Jackson hadn’t come yet. “Lana... almost. Almost... there,” he gasped, thrusting faster than ever.

“Come on my tits!” Lana blurted, still riding the last waves of her climax. “I want you to. Come all over my giant titties.”

Jackson slowed his fucking, then carefully extracted himself from his partner. Viola gasped when she saw his length, hard and glistening. He shuffled forward on his knees until he was kneeling over Lana’s chest. She pushed her tits together to make a tunnel for him to thrust into. At once he began sliding his prick back and forth between them, lubricated with her own juices.

“Oh god oh fuck oh god,” he muttered endlessly.

His new position brought him much closer to Viola. She leaned forward, hands still busy above and below, and kissed him wet and sloppy on the lips. He managed to free one hand to help her lavish attention on her boobs. In the midst of all the action someone else passed by, excusing himself politely, but all three police officers were too busy to pay attention. Jackson made a deep, guttural sound, stiffened and began to ejaculate all over Lana’s mountainous mammaries as she tit-fucked him and whispered words of encouragement from beneath. The sight was more than Viola could stand. He hadn’t even finished before her own climax obliterated the outside world entirely.

“What I can’t understand,” the captain said crossly, “is how you fools could have the suspect at bay, subdued, arrested, and still manage to lose him.” He tossed the officers’ report on his desk in disgust.

“He threw us a few curves,” Lana responded, eyes twinkling, “but it’s a temporary setback. We’ll have him again soon.” She was standing in front of the captain’s desk, along with Jackson and McMichaels. They were standing close together, with Jackson in the middle.

The captain glowered at her. “And what leads you to such sunny optimism, Agent Harrison?”

Lana smiled at him. He clearly wasn’t expecting that. “We know what he looks like, for one thing. And where he lives, when he’s in this country. He has ability, but little skill. He inadvertently planted a bunch of personal information in Agent McMichael’s m-mind.”

She stumbled a little on the last word. No wonder. Behind her back, Jackson had eased down the zipper on her drum-tight leather skirt. He slipped his hand onto her nearly bare ass. Right in front of the captain! The gall of that man! She thrust her bum out a little against his hand.

The captain turned his attention to Viola. “This true, Agent McMichaels?”

“Absolutely, Cap’n,” she replied. “We know where he banks so we can freeze his bank accounts. Disguise it as a bank error. That should bring him back here in short order. Then we just have to stake out his country place until he shows up.”

She shivered a little. Jackson’s free hand was on her bum now too. He was running one finger up and down the crack. He couldn’t get inside like he had with Lana, but she could still feel it nicely through the thin silk of her dress, especially since she was wearing nothing underneath.

“And when he comes back, you three morons will bust in on him and walk into another mind trap,” the Captain responded. He pointed a finger at Viola. “You are supposed to be a Sensitive. And you”—the finger switched to Lana—“are supposed to know better.”

He paused for a long moment. Special Agent Lana Harrison’s low-cut sweater showcased a pair of boobs that had already become legendary throughout the division. They peaked out coyly from between the locks of luxuriant blonde hair tumbling over her shoulders. Her black leather skirt was long, sleek, and as tight as the sweater. Smouldering sensuality radiated from every flawless curve and sweep of her top-heavy figure.

“Are you absolutely sure,” the Captain said, “that this stupid misadventure hasn’t had any permanent effects?” He tore his eyes away from Lana’s stupendous cleavage when he realized he was staring. Again.

Looking at Viola McMichaels didn’t help. She was clearly braless beneath the flowing silk of her dress. Her nipples were standing out. Both women were smiling faintly, and gently swaying at the hip in a manner the Captain found most disconcerting.

“I feel f-fine, Captain”, Lana said. “Agent McMichaels will come first—will confirm—that the effects are temporary.” It was getting hard to talk. Jackson had his hand on her thong and was slowly tugging the lycra fabric across her pussy. He liked doing that in places where she couldn’t complain, like crowded elevators. “Isn’t, isn’t that right, Viola?”

Agent McMichaels had her own distractions to deal with. “Hmmmm?” she murmured, eyes half closed. “Oh, yes, yes, certainly. Very temporary. We’re completely back in whore-mode—I mean, back to normal—now.” She gave the Captain a smoky look that nearly set his cigar on fire.

Agent Jackson spoke up: “I can vouch for the health of both my partners, Captain,” he said. “So don’t worry. Agent McMichaels is confident she can block his mental transmissions, now that we know a little more about him.” He gave the bums in his hands a little tweak, making both women start.

The action made Lana’s chest stand out against her straining sweater. The Captain’s attention was diverted once again. The Interpol agent was studying him beneath her long lashes, lips moist and slightly parted.

The Captain had never realized before how beautiful that woman was. The sway of her hips was hypnotic. Abruptly he decided to sit down. “Very well, here’s the situation,” he said gruffly, trying to avoid eye contact with either foxy female or the grinning agent between them. “You know I have no direct authority over you. This case is an Interpol affair; we’re just the host police force. But one bad word from me and I can still have you pulled out of here so fast your heads will spin. So get out of my office and get back to work. Don’t show your faces again until you make an arrest.”

“Great, Captain, we’ll get right on it,” Jackson replied, to cover the sound of a zipper being pulled up. “Come on, troops.” The three agents turned and left the office, leaving the Captain to stare at Lana’s leather-covered ass wiggling on one side and Viola’s swaying under silk on the other.

They walked through the squad room to a door marked, “Interpol: Special Abilities Division” and stepped inside. Jackson locked the door, then sat down at his big desk. “Well, that wasn’t too bad,” he pronounced, “I was expecting a rougher ride from the Captain.”

Agent Harrison reached around with one hand to unzip her skirt, then flounced down in Jackson’s lap. “If you feel me up in public one more time, I swear I’ll come right on your hand.”

“I dare you,” Jackson replied, and kissed her. He rested a hand casually on one half-bare tit.

Viola kicked off her shoes. She reached under her desk and came up with three more pairs, all with far higher heels. “Which ones?” she asked diffidently, looking at Jackson.

“The red ones, I think. Matches the skirt. Viola honey, can you really block the suspect’s mental transmissions?”

“Course I can,” she replied, stepping into the crimson slides. She tossed the other shoes under her desk with the rest. “He’s terribly sloppy. It should be easy to tune him out, the way we learn to tune out music in the background.”

“I’ve already put things in motion to freeze his bank accounts,” Lana said. She nuzzled happily against Jackson’s neck. “I figure we can bring him back into the country inside a week.”

Viola wiggled over to where Jackson was sitting, carefully negotiating her five-inch stiletto heels. She sat down on the arm of his chair, across from Lana. She threw her legs over hers. “And with the way he broadcasts mental energy,” she concluded, “I’ll sense him the moment he steps off the plane.”

Lana turned sideways a bit, bringing her marvellous hooters a few inches from Jackson’s face. She stroked his hair. “So, super-stud,” she said conversationally, “what do you want to do in the meantime?”