sweetlyliz:maitresserebecca:“Well, Detective?”Marcia Towers let the slackened tie tu
sweetlyliz: maitresserebecca: “Well, Detective?”Marcia Towers let the slackened tie tumble through her fingers and sag against her chest, her eyes blinked once and snapped off the spot on the wall where they’d been so utterly focused just a moment ago. Her head hurt. She glanced down and saw that her notepad had become a tightly wound, series of dark, concentric circles that her left hand was busy etching additions to across the bottom line of the page. “I’m sorry, Mr. Trainor, I was just about to ask you…” She flicked back through the notepad with one hand, bringing her eyes up to the short, slender man sitting opposite her. “About…?” Mr. Trainor raised both eyesbrows, a slight grin half-formed on his face. She swallowed, and a rush of acid felt like it was building in the back of her throat. She coughed once to clear it and continued, “About the eye-witness who saw you and Gabrielle Faretti getting into a car together on the night Ms. Faretti disappeared.” “Ah yes, your eyewitness, Sandra Mayhew; quite an unreliable sort. Word is she has a drinking problem,” Trainor smiled, then mimed a phantom swig from an imaginary bottle. Detective Towers furrowed her brow, “I don’t recall telling you the witnesses name.” Trainor gave a dry, rasping chuckle, and rubbed his worn knuckles together, “Well, no you wouldn’t. You told it to me when you were hypnotized, and I had you unbuckling my trousers.” Towers stopped dead in her tracks, her head tilting to the side, “I…what?” “Sleep, Detective,” Trainor commanded simply, and the Detective obeyed, sagging forward in her seat and feeling her pen tumble from her fingers. —————————————————————————————————– Marcia Towers let the notepad fall through her fingers and tumble to the ground. She grabbed for it, then blinked as she glanced down and realized the table had been moved; pushed up flat against the wall. “I’m sorry, Mr. Trainor, I was just…” She blinked, stopped, then coughed; she could taste salt and warmth at the back of her tongue. Mr. Trainor twisted her tie between his fingers and raised an eyebrow, “Oh, no need to apologize, Detective Towers, after all you’ve been more than accommodating…” He pursed his lips and nodded downwards, with a wry, cheeky smile that made Marcia’s blood slip cold and numb through her veins. She followed his gaze down and noticed, for the first time, that his flagging, half-stiff cock was draped down the inside of his thigh; staining his trousers with what looked like the after-birth of a particularly energetic orgasm. “I…Mr. Trainor…” The Detective began. “Sleep, Detective,” He smiled again, and she obeyed. ——————————————————————————————————Marcia Towers blinked, and pulled the patrol car into a neat, precise stop. “Should I…” She swallowed, focused on her knuckles, wrapped tight around the steering wheel and tried to focus on why exactly they were here. The thought eluded her, slipping and twisting through her mind like a half-forgotten password, or a misplaced set of keys. “No, I think I’ll be able to handle Mrs. Mayhew and her layabout husband perfectly fine by myself, but thank you, Detective,” Mr. Trainor smiled to her from the passenger seat, his thinning gray hair wafting gently in the cold stream of the car’s air-conditioning. “I really don’t think…” The Detective began, then slapped her mouth shut glumly. She’d been intending to object to having a suspected criminal meet with the witness accusing them, and without a police official present, but the word ‘think’ had given her so much trouble, she gave up on the objection before it could even fully dawn on her. “Oh, that’s alright,” Mr. Trainor patted her bare thigh and she glanced down across her petite, freckled breasts to the flat, bare stomach beneath and the growing, dripping mess between her thighs. “I really don’t think you’re dressed for this weather anyway, Detective. Now, while I’m upstairs, I’d like you to climb into the back, there’s a can of aerosol paralytic there that I need you to ingest. As much as you can, please.” She began to fumble with her seat-belt, “Of course, Master.” “Good, good,” Mr. Trainor pushed open the car door and sunk one foot out into the slipping, dripping mud-water rushing down the drainage. The imagery caused a short, sharp thrill of electric pleasure to shoot through Marcia’s body. That was her brain, she realized dimly, rushing away with the flood-waters, dribbling down into her cunt. “We’ll be taking you direct to my surgeon, it really won’t do to have a Detective driving me about for long, in this car, no less….” The car door slammed shut, and Marcia got comfortable in the back seat, clipping the seat-belt home before dipping one hand between her thighs and pressing the aerosol inhaler to her lips. Her fingers began to dance as she breathed in deeply. One of the hottest things I’ve ever read, period. Mmmm, happy to hear it. -- source link