Controlling the Detectives (The Magic Remote Book 3) (2 page)

She landed in bushes, and crouched down, making sure she had her radio ready.

Heather lived for caution over anything else, these days. She was an old veteran now, with over seven years of service as a detective. But years ago, she had been kidnapped and shot in the line of duty during her very first few months of service.

It was a dumb thing. She had rushed inside of a room without back-up, and got knocked out from someone hiding around the corner of the door. Thirty minutes later, she was tied up, hoping for rescue. Six hours later, she had been rescued in a rather bullet-filled operation.

Those six hours had completely rearranged everything Heather had ever felt about sex. But of course, she let no one know about this. Her feelings on sex were her own, and no one else's.

She moved up through the bushes, coming to a long line of hedges sprouting beautiful lavender flowers. The house had been constructed with enormous windows in front of the living room without curtains or shades. Heather didn't want to even imagine what the heating bill must have been like in the winter.

Through the large collection of windows, she could see Monica and Carmen talking with the tan girl who had come in with Carmen, earlier.

Why was Monica there? Was she helping the sorority with something?

Was there some sort of drug or prostitution ring that she was helping to lead, like Russell said?

They were sitting on the couch, all of them smiling. From her years of watching people from a distance, Heather had developed a keen sense of detecting the moods of others without being near them. She could tell Tracy was somewhat uncomfortable—that her smiles were only sprouting because Monica and Carmen's were so persistent.

On Heather's smartphone, there was a file full of the known associates of everyone involved in the case.  She searched through it for a minute or two, trying to keep her view on the insides of the house as well.

After some searching, she found it—the beautiful short-skirted girl's name was Tracy. She went to the same college as Carmen did, and had been shortlisted to be a potential pledge earlier in the year. She was nineteen years old, and was apparently denied pledge status because her gymnastics career would have her traveling too often.

When she looked back in the house, she saw Tracy getting up from the couch to go somewhere—presumably the bathroom. Monica and Carmen got up to watch her leave. They each had their gaze firmly attached to Tracy's behind.

Heather found this somewhat disturbing.

Through the tall windows, she could see a young man stepping down the tall, spiral staircase in the center of the house. He held a thick, silver remote of some kind in his hands, and a golden crown on his head. Boxer shorts and a fluffy blue robe were the only clothing he had on, besides a pair of slippers.

The girls each saw him, breathing in deep when they did, as if sighing with purest pleasure.

Heather recognized him, she thought, but she couldn't say from where.

Carmen stepped over to Monica and unzipped her long gray dress. The scintillatingly hot blonde stepped out of it, decked out entirely in bright green lingerie.

Then, Monica turned Carmen around, and unzipped her stepdaughter, who was dressed in similarly fashioned purple lingerie. Each girl had on lacy stockings, frilly garters, and hot push-up bras that put their fantastic tits on perfect display for the man who had come down to the room. The contrast between their outside outfits and their lingerie made it seem like they had committed to being just decorations for him, and only for him.

The young man moved over to the couch, sitting down and watching their display with a small smile on his face, as if he was used to this show. As if he was watching something he had arranged himself.

Monica walked to a desk table against the wall and opened a drawer, pulling out a pair of long green gloves, perfectly matching her outfit. Heather felt herself squirm for some reason as she watched the gorgeous woman slip on the gloves and then slip down in front of her man, wrapping her slender body around his leg.

The radio at Heather's belt crackled. “Key?” came Sandra's voice. “Any updates?”

Heather didn't answer, transfixed with the scene unfolding before her.

Strutting gracefully in her towering heels, Carmen also pulled out her own matching pair of gloves out of the drawer, putting them on, admiring her decorated arm in the sunlight with a smile and a giggle.

One of the man's hands was busy guiding Monica's head as she started to suck his cock, her tongue wrapping lovingly around the head. With his free hand, the man gestured, saying something, and Carmen moved behind the door of the bathroom. The smile still on her face, so happy to obey.

Tracy stepped out of the bathroom. Suspecting nothing, she walked back over to where Monica was just beginning to suck on the man's cock, eagerly licking his balls and stroking the shaft with her gloved hand.

Tracy said something, holding her hand up to her pretty face. She made for her purse on the couch, but Carmen stepped out from her hiding place and grabbed Tracy's arms. The sexy brunette seemed to whisper something in Tracy's ear.

Held in this chicken-wing position, Tracy could only squirm, tits shaking in her flimsy shirt. Carmen's smile so gleeful, almost orgasmic. Heather could see pussy juice sliding down her stockings.

Outside, a hundred feet away, Heather could hear the muffled version of Tracy's screaming and yelling as it traveled through the glass and brush. And yet, she did nothing.

Well, she did nothing to help Tracy. Her fingers had already started to work on her crotch through the tight fabric of her pants. It felt automatic—instinctive, really—to do this.

As Heather's hot stroking continued, she just watched Monica happily sucking her man's cock. She watched Tracy struggling to get away, face turning red from the effort. And she watched the man in question clearly becoming excited by all of it. His hips bucked harder into Monica's mouth. The thick, high heels of Monica slid through the carpet as the hot young babe's legs became overwhelmed with pleasure.

The two of them, Tracy and the man, seemed to be conversing. Tracy's responses seemed somewhat hysterical.

Heather's radio was right there. She could call Sandra. She should tell her partner what was happening, that she could see Tracy screaming and crying for help. But she didn't. Instead, her hands went down to her jeans, unbuckling them. It was so easy to slide her fingers into her panties.

The man picked up his remote and aimed it. Tracy's arms went limp. Heather watched Carmen's fingers slide up between Tracy's fingers. A bright, purple light seemed to be present in Tracy's eyes. It faded more and more as time went on.

The man would say something, and Tracy would respond, nodding. As if she was in class, as if she was receiving some grand lecture. Shiny wetness could be seen running down Tracy's legs, running down from her skirt. Carmen slipped some of it up and licked it, nodding at her man and emoting enthusiastically.

“Key?” Sandra asked again, the radio crackling. “Heather? Is everything all right?”

Tracy started to smile at the man. Her nods became more enthused.

The man pointed at the floor in front of himself, and Tracy hesitated.

Inside of Heather's panties, her fingers were working happily.

God, how had that happened? She didn't care. It felt so good.

She already knew what was going to happen before it did. She knew the next step, and all she wanted was to watch it. To watch the girl's mind slip away from her.

Oh god, what was
wrong
with her?

The purple light filled the small room again. The man said something, and Tracy began to nod, and nod again. Carmen moved away from Tracy, who now stood in a happy daze.

Carmen crawled toward the man and knelt in front of him beside her stepmother, sucking him gleefully. The two traded kisses and licks for a time, sometimes rubbing their tongues and mouths up and down his shaft together, their lips forming a perfect vacuum along his thick meat.

The purple light seemed to exit from Tracy's eyes. The man said something and Tracy nodded happily.

Ripping off her shirt, Tracy fell to her knees. Her entire demeanor bespoke of a female consumed with lust, with need, with the desire to serve. She was staring at the man with adoration in her eyes, with unrestrained envy at Monica's place on his lap.

Only moments ago, Tracy had been filled with desperation and fear.

Heather's fingers were deep in her cunt, now.

Why wasn't she
stopping
this?

She had her radio, right there. She could call Sandra and have her bust down the door within seconds. With her experience, she knew exactly what to say to Sandra that would have a whole SWAT team come within minutes, busting down the doors and not even putting themselves at risk for whatever the device was that the man held.

But Heather did not call anyone, nor did she formulate plans of going in herself to somehow save those girls.

Clearly, they wanted to be there now. Whether they had started that way or not, an enormous amount of happiness had been bestowed upon them.

Forced upon them, she supposed would be a better word. Constrained around them. Tied to them, like hot, controlling ropes.

The thought left her pussy sopping wet as she watched. So much power, delivered to those girls from that man.

Tracy masturbated herself furiously in front of the young man. Heather could see hot phrases of worship leave her mouth, the hot gymnast's eyes heavily lidded with lust.

The purple light filled the living room one more time. The man said something, and, purple-eyed, Tracy crawled forward erotically and slid up between the man's legs. Monica and Carmen, smiling, moved over to let her in. Their own eyes all purpled over. All the girls being brought further until control with each new wave of the purple light, even if it was only really intended for Tracy.

The hot, young lovely breasts of all three happy women filled his lap. His hands roaming through their thick mass of hair, their young, pert breasts that were presented to him so eagerly.

Monica and Carmen were saying something over and over as he fucked Tracy's face.

Reading lips had never been a strength of Heather's, but she had learned some from years of watching others. Fuck her, Master. That was what they were all chanting.

Fuck her, Master. Fuck her, Master.

He was their Master.

It did not seem as though he had any intention of making them wait for the seed they all so desperately wanted. His load shot out in fountains, first spraying Tracy, then Monica, and then Carmen, and then Tracy again. Each of them dripping wet with his cum, running down their faces in hot streams.

Tracy seemed to get the most attention—the lucky one who was allowed to swallow the most cum straight from the source. Monica licked the hot spray off of the new girl's flawless tanned skin, even as Tracy licked Carmen.

The whole scene was one of the most jaw-dropping situations Heather had ever seen.

Heather could not do anything to stop it. She could not do anything at all except touch herself and wonder why oh why couldn't she not do anything except be hornier and hornier about what she saw.

Feeling completely helpless to do anything else, she came, her orgasm rushing over her body. She writhed on the ground in the lawn where anyone could see her, not caring. It was so fucking hot.

Her radio crackled again. “Heather? Heather? That's it, I'm calling for back-up.”

“N-no!” Heather grabbed the radio, shouting into it. “Belay th-that. I'm fine. Don't worry. Everything is totally fine. I'm coming out now.”

She got up and pulled her pants up as clandestinely as she could, and then hopped back over the fence.

Sandra eyed her critically as she made her way back to the car. Heather was sweaty, every part of her as dirty as she felt, getting off to the enslavement of that girl.

“What the hell happened to you?”

Heather took a breath. This would take some explaining.

* * * * *

L
ate Wednesday afternoon, Heather waited in her office, expecting Mr. Russell to arrive for the meeting they had scheduled.

Her office was of a decent size, on the third floor of the police station. It was filled with multiple filing cabinets, the floor sporting soft green carpet that matched the drapes over the wide, open windows. Her desk was cluttered with various papers and photos—all the evidence she had gathered so far about Russell's unusual case.

The meeting was at three o'clock. It was now three thirty, and to take her mind off what was keeping him, she reviewed the evidence before her as she waited for him to arrive.

The gorgeous women lived in the sorority house. More than twenty of them. When they walked out, they dressed conservatively—incredibly so. But when they were inside, they de-clothed to put on hot, skimpy lingerie.

After entering the door of the house, that one girl, Tracy, had gone from angry—irate, even—to a smiling cocksucker in less than ten minutes. How did that happen?

It all had to do, obviously, with whatever that little remote was that the young man had. She had, after searching through her list of possible suspects, deduced that he was Jared Plinkton, the neighbor who Russell had said was behind the dissolving marriage.

Clearly, whatever effect the remote that Jared had somehow had affected Heather as well. That was why she had been unable to stop herself from fingering her hot cunt until she came right there in the yard, and why it had been a struggle ever since to not give herself a sequel to that hot showing.

Yes, that was it. The remote was affecting her. It had nothing to do with anything at all that she wanted. It was all the remote, and that was why she had to talk to Russell and discuss a plan of action.

She was looking forward to Russell coming in for more reasons than just discussing plans. She hoped, offhand, that she could seduce him into fucking her. This is why she had on the outfit she did as she sat nimbly on the front of her desk, her long legs crossed.