There was no response from behind the door. She tried again, thumping harder this time. Waiting still, she straightened her back. She wore a modest brown pants suit, perfectly acceptable attire for a newly-crowned police detective, even one as short and busty as her.
You’re super cool. You’re in control. You’re the cop. It’s just an interview. He’s probably innocent. You’re just asking friendly questions. Friendly questions about assault and robbery.
Well...questions, anyway.
“All right,” she heard after another round of thumping on the door. “All right, all right. I’m coming.”
The voice was followed by a series of giggles—high-pitched, breathy, feminine. The man who answered the door was tall, with long loose dark hair sliding around his brow and shoulders. A number of gloved female hands tugged at his shoulders, his arms—Catherine counted four in all, with three of them belonging to different women.
Catherine tried valiantly to hide her distaste. What had she interrupted?
“Warren? Mister Warren Aldretti?” She showed him her badge. As she did, her cross-bearing bracelet jingled just slightly, hanging down. “A few questions for you.”
“How can I help—oh.” He coughed and turned to the side, face becoming sharp, authoritarian. “Ladies, take a break.”
The chorus of replies was clear. “Yes, Master.”
He turned back to the detective, a sheepish smile on his face. “Sorry about that, Officer. We were just uh...rehearsing. I'm a showman. A hypn—er...magician, you know.”
His body slid further into the door, revealing the entirety of his broad shirtless chest. A manly swath of dark hair gathered from the middle of his pecs and trailed down to his boxer briefs. Catherine noticed, trying her damnedest not to notice, that the tip of his cock was just visible through one end of his boxer shorts, half-hard and dripping precum to the floor. The sight gave her an unexpected and undeniable thrill.
“Detective.”
“Me? No, I’m a magician. Didn't I just say? Illusions. Sleight-of-hand. That sort of thing. Did someone tell you I was a detective?”
“I am a detective, Mister Aldretti. I am Detective Catherine Autenberry. Do you understand?”
He laughed nervously, suddenly shifting his boxers so that his perching manhood was more covered. “Yes. Of course. Sorry.” He cleared his throat. “Detective. Of course. I didn’t know they made them quite so...pretty, these days.”
Catherine rolled her eyes, bright blue orbs tilting to the sky. Lord, give me strength with this fool.
Aldretti wouldn’t be the first man to discount her because of her looks. She was short, slender—tiny, really. Her body was eminently toned by a quasi-religious dedication to her boxing classes, and as a result her relatively modest 36C breasts looked positively enormous on her tight, slight frame. It did not help that her upbringing had her rather convinced that a single woman ought not to cut her hair overmuch, and so her voluminous red locks trailed far down her back in a bright, neatly arranged ponytail.
Normally, she wore a braid or a bun, but this was supposed to be a quick task on her half-day before getting back to the office. As a result, the finely tailored edges of her luxurious hair shook just slightly above the halfway point of her toned back, like an arrow leading down to the upward tilt of her sculpted young buttocks.
And this man drank it all in. Leering at her openly. She was rather scared to look downward again to the teeming mass of his hardness; with the way his eyes gleamed as he took her body in, objectifying her totally, she was rather sure he was gathering his hard-on to full strength.
She cleared her throat, hoping to adjust his gaze upward. But now, he just leered at her face, pretty and pale.
“I have some questions for you,” she said finally.
His grin widened. “All right. I am single, before you ask. Recently so.”
She frowned. She was well aware of that. Before arriving here, she had gone to his house and had a brief chat with his wife. They were separated now, by the wife’s statement. She seemed rather amused that her husband was under suspicion of crimes. Pleased with herself.
“Yesterday, at City Grounds, a woman made a complaint that a vandal had come in and left her shop in disarray. But, when pressed, she couldn’t remember anyone coming in.”
“That’s a shame.”
“A bank manager reported something similar. Her office left in complete disarray. Actions she didn’t quite remember taking.”
“Actions?”
“She said she couldn’t account, at all, for the hours between noon and two o’clock, Mister Aldretti.”
He frowned slightly.
“Why don’t you come inside?”
She did not want to. There was a visceral aroma of sex and alcohol from beyond the threshold of the doorway. It was unbecoming of a woman—even a detective—to enter such an abode. She wasn’t there to search Mr. Aldretti’s space, after all.
But then there had been that short incident with his wife.
Is this about his loans? I knew they weren’t legit. I knew it. I should have hung him out to dry long ago.
Distasteful though it might be, a lead could come from anywhere, and it was foolish to turn down a suspect's invitation to enter his home. An invitation was a nice workaround for a warrant, in most cases.
“Very well.”
Inside, the office looked rather tidy, actually. Some disarray. Papers stacked messily underneath a few paperweights. Some books on finance serving as coasters. But not quite the drug-laden din of sin she realized she had been expecting. Perhaps she had been too hard on him.
And then a woman entered from the back room. Her tall heels clicked smartly on the concrete floor. She was tall, dark-haired, and enormously busty. For a moment, Catherine mistook her for Andretti’s wife—but she wasn’t quite as pretty, her eyes slightly smaller, and her nose more royal than regal. She had on a tight, tiny show girl outfit—the kind with sparkling sequins in the front, feather-tail in the back, and sexy-as-hell smoky black fishnet stockings wrapping around long, completely beautiful legs.
“Is there anything I can fetch you, Master?”
He smiled. “No, Belle. We’re doing well. Miss Autenberry, would you like anything?”
“I told you, it’s not Miss, it’s—”
“Right.” He slapped his head. “Officer. Of course. Would you like anything?”
In his hands, he toyed with some metal object, sitting back on the desk. She couldn’t quite make out what it was.
Her mouth was firm. “No. Some more clothes for the two of you, perhaps.”
Belle looked confused. “Master?”
“Go back,” he said. “Show Katie how to do that thing with your tongue that you did earlier, with Tasia. That was great.” As she exited, his dark face admired her ass with a somber smile. “I’ll have to remember to get them to stop calling me ‘Master’ in front of guests.”
It did not seem like he was speaking to Catherine. He barely seemed to register that she was actually there.
Whatever. She didn’t want to be there any more than he wanted her there. It would be over soon enough. She just needed his responses to these questions.
“As I was saying, Mister Andretti, the bank manager was unable to—”
“I know what you said,” he interrupted. “I’m not sure how I see the connection between the two incidents. Other than that they each might be closeted blackout drunks.”
She frowned slightly. “We have security footage of you entered the bank at eleven forty-five AM. There’s close-circuit footage of you entering City Grounds just before the barista reported her own incident. This is all coincidence? Are you telling me you didn’t see anything out of the ordinary?”
He seemed to notice something behind his desk. His cock hardened. Catherine watched the growing meat now, somewhat transfixed by his brazenness. God, help me, she thought. The sight of it made her pulse quicken so strangely. That he would be so open about it. So easy and
confident, so sure of her role in submitting to whatever he might want or say...
What he and his assistant said to one another, it didn’t seem like rehearsal or even roleplay. It seemed...more real than that. Catherine struggled. He stepped around the desk, shuffling paper around with one toe.
“If I may, how were you able to connect these two cases?” he asked.
“I...sit at the desks, most of the time. I heard the two reports come in, and I investigated. You know, like a detective?”
“I’m just sort of impressed, that’s all.”
She approached now. She told herself it was to see what he was poking at—but really, in her heart of hearts, she knew it was to see one more glimpse of that hardening, cum-coated cock. The cock that had, apparently, inspired three beautiful women to call him “Master.” What sort of luck did she have to land in such an insane parlor of perversion?
She licked her powdery lips, cunt quivering. God, it smelled like eighteen hours of nonstop sex in here.
Not that she would know for sure what that smelled like. Catherine was a lifelong virgin.
She peeked over the desk and saw the paper he had been pushing his foot through. It was cash. He was toeing at a huge pile of cash.
All that time at the bank. The time lost. He was blackmailing them somehow. Creating a net of control. Maybe he paid off the barista, too. She had stumbled onto the plot. She had to call someone...had to...to...
The object in his hands dangled down. A pocket watch. That’s all it was. Not a weapon.
“Mr. Andretti, you’re under arrest for suspicion of...of...”
“Yes?”
He held up the watch higher, smiling. Waiting.
“What are you doing? Didn't you hear me?”
“Nothing. Just checking the time, that’s all.”
She started to laugh, despite the circumstances. “A pocket watch? Don’t you have a cell—”
There was a flash of light.
* * * * *
This was the best fuck Catherine had ever had in her life.
It was also the first fuck she had ever had in her life. Her virginity absolutely obliterated by the incredible power of this beautiful mating. But that wasn’t nearly as important. She felt somehow aware of every possible configuration of coitus, every last position and time and ability that had been enforced and employed, every single pair of people that had joined with one another in such a complete and loving manner each one passing through her mind in the instant just before her God’s cock had shoved inside of her.
None of it—no other couple, no other position, no other fuck—had ever been as good as what Catherine felt now. The second He entered her, she shuddered with a mindblowing orgasm, her voice rapidly hoarse from her screams of writhing, hot pleasure.
It had been a rather simple epiphany, really. She had been in a church—somehow. She remembered arriving at the workshop of the hypnotist, but then just as suddenly as she was there she was somehow in a church. She went every Sunday, knelt and prayed for guidance and love and acceptance from her God. And as she knelt down, praying, an angel descended. A beautiful woman with jet black hair and caramel skin, her body gorgeous and naked, every inch of angelic flesh divinely attributed. And the angel whispered in her ear.
“Everything you knew about God was wrong, my darling. But I will show you the truth.”
And Catherine could only coo, mind melting in warm lakes of lust, in response. This being spoke to her—favored her. Showed her the light, the way! It was glorious. Zealous fervor filled her heart.
Somehow she knew her new God knew about Catherine—her firm belief in the Church. Her firm beliefs in the old God and her savior. And He had taken all of that and turned it on its head, let her know how completely false every last belief she had held was. For all of those beliefs, all that mythology, had never mentioned the true God, the true savior, that powered into her willing, dripping hot no-longer-virgin cunt now with his world-ending cock.
She stared up at His magnificent, divine body, moaning in rapture, biting her lips to stop from screaming His name. That would be sacrilege.
She had never been so full, so completed. God was inside her. But not the old, traditional god—the one she had learned about in church. No, this was some new, improved version. A modern testament of all that was manly and hot, all that deserved to feel her incredible feminine curves and flesh thrumming in need for his masculine instrument.
She was a vessel for His will, and His will was perfection.
“Give me your child!” she moaned, voice near delirium. “Please, my God! My God! Your child, please! In my body! Let me be the vessel! Let me, oh please, let me please!”
He turned her on one side, fucking her from a new angle. His Blessed Cock plowing deeper still into her fertile fields. His hands grabbed roughly at her tits, using them as handles to drive into her cunt. She moaned, more orgasms developing, as if on some cosmic assembly line, pushing out of her in droves.
As her eyes tried to focus somewhere, she noticed at the far end of the Temple, there was a woman watching from the window. A devastatingly beautiful woman, dark hair and green eyes, a face like a model’s, easily one of the most gorgeous Catherine had seen in her entire life. Catherine found herself attracted to her, deeply. Was that wrong?
No. Nothing was wrong. The voice had told her so. Nothing in the world could be wrong right now. Was the watcher an angel? Did she know of the Holiness of her new God? Probably. How could someone not? Catherine screamed as another orgasm shuddered through her body. When she looked back at the window, the watcher was gone.
Just as well. Her God was approaching His orgasmic zenith. She could feel His balls slapping against her ass, so full of His Divine Will in hot, intense semen form. His hands were so rough and hot on her tits, pulling her closer to him and using those thick, hot pillows as grips.
“Fill you,” He grunted. “Give you my fucking glory, get you fucking pregnant on the first fuck, oh shit...”
“Yes!” Her mind was adrift with pleasures and possibilities. Caring for this God's young would fulfill all her purposes as a woman. “Please, yes!”
And all around them both, a chorus of angels, other perfect servants of His, calling out his praises and begging for Him to cum in this newest of worshipers.
“Cum in her, Lord!” they moaned. “Cum in your disciple! Cum in her body! Oh God, she needs it from you, Master!”
His thrusts became quicker and quicker, jackhammer-like, his entire being trembling and shuddering as He came inside her. It was indescribable. The warmth of divinity filling her, and so much of it! Her body trembled again and again with orgasm; it felt never-ending. She did not know where her thoughts went to.
When she returned to herself, such that her self even was anymore, her God was above her. His Holy Rod still dripping down cum on her thighs. She felt so fertile. She was certain she was pregnant.
“Oh please, have you blessed me, my Lord? Have you given it to me? My virgin body, made just for you, just for you...”
He simply smiled and shook His head. His angels at His side kissed His naked hips and ass, and one slid over His cock, cleaning Catherine's juices off from His Holiness.
“I think I may have overdone it a little with you,” said God. “It was that cross on your wrist. The bracelet. I got inspired.” He pulled out a watch. It looked strangely familiar, though she knew she had never seen it before. “Here. Watch this very closely, all right? This is my command.”
And she watched, her body finally unclenching itself from the rigid firmament of her faith, her thoughts slowly pooling into a completely peaceful, happy puddle.
* * * * *
There was nothing Joan wanted less than to give Warren the satisfaction of finding her waiting for him at her own home, like she was his secretary or some other horribly demeaning, objectifying thing.
Warren was no mystery to Joan. No mystery at all. No men were, really. They were all brutes, concerned solely with fucking
and hurting, holding inane pissing contests and engaging in long philosophical discussions about the size of their members. They were auxiliary to her, outside of her purposes in every way except for how they somehow had managed to smarten up enough to know that they needed all the money and power in the world to keep holding their stupid pissing contests and cock conversations.
Cockversations?
She pushed the thought aside. Joan normally went for any old portmanteau in a storm, but that wasn’t pressing now.
As she didn’t want to give Warren the luxury of seeing her waiting on her, she made up a list of items she suddenly needed at the grocery store at one forty-five in the afternoon, even though she was set to meet with Warren at two. That ought to show him.
Of course, the grocery store was full of pigs as well. It always was. Joan wasn’t even dressed up for their piggish attention, but it hardly mattered. She was, she knew all too well, too good-looking to be ignored by their infernal gazes like she wanted to be. She wore tight jeans and tall wrap-around suede boots, as well as a tight flannel shirt to fight off the incumbent cold. And she wore it all for her, not for them—even if the jeans made her ass look fantastic, and even if the tightness of the flannel around her supple young breasts had been making Edith drool all day long.
Joan and Edith worked largely from home. Twice a week they pitched in at a local donation center, and though they were on the payroll and picked up a few extra hundred dollars a month, really the reason they did the work was to give back to the community. They made it a point to spend whatever profits they made at that place back on the community—supporting small local shops, making charitable donations to city magazines or journals, and buying from farmer’s markets on the weekends.
Returning home near forty-five minutes after the scheduled time with Warren, she had a smile on her face. That would show Warren for trying to get her to be somewhere just because he asked.
Taking Total Control: A Mesmerizing Bundle Page 23