The thing about sex traffickers is that they keep their brain between their legs and they think everyone else does, too. Judging by the amount of money they pull down, a lot of people certainly do. But not everyone. Some of us have a job to do. Some of us make it our business to take people like that
down.
My name's Felicia Fletcher. I work for the government. I put people like Madame Justyne, a.k.a. "The Seductress," behind bars. While the high-flying heroes of the Libido League get all the glory, it's hard-working law enforcement officers like me that bring down the
real
criminals.
However, just at the moment, I didn't have a case. I had coincidence. I had circumstance. I had years of them. Dozens of girls who vanished. Dozens more who ended up where they should never have been, remembering nothing of how they'd gotten there. And Madame Justyne at the center of it all, just getting richer every day.
If we didn't get some hard evidence soon, the boss was gonna pull me off the case. Madame Justyne would go on her predatory ways, devouring innocent young women and spitting out brainless bimbos for the sex trade. Protocol at a time like this was to drag her down to the station, lean on her a bit. Get her out of her comfort zone. Make her nervous. Let her slip up.
But it had been tried before by better interrogators than me and Madame Justyne never broke a sweat. She knew how people thought. She knew that if we were desperate enough to drag her downtown, we had nothing. And so she gave us nothing. Dragging her out of her comfort zone only made her guard go up. And we came away empty handed, looking like fools.
Not this time. Not on my watch. The key to Madame Justyne was not to try to intimidate her. She didn't scare. I'd seen tape of her yawning at a US attorney threatening the death penalty.
No, she needed to be lured out. She had to feel safe, and secure, and in control. She needed to think that she was winning. And what was the thing that Madam Justyne spent her time trying to win over? Sexy young women who were a little unsure of themselves. They turned her on to no end. She lusted after them. She let her pussy do the thinking when a hot little number fell right into her trap. She stepped across the line.
And that is how I was going to catch her. I was going to present her with the most alluring bait of all: A petite, fresh-faced Federal agent, green around the gills, eager to prove herself, with more talent than experience, in trouble with her superiors, on the outs with her boyfriend, and coming in without backup. I was going to offer
myself,
let her underestimate me, and when she'd tipped her hand, I'd slap the cuffs on those dainty little wrists and lock her up for so long, her great-grandchildren would be wearing prison orange. I'd locked away dozens of straight men using the same honeytrap, some lesbian slaver would be no different.
Of course, I couldn't tell my over-cautious boss or my over-protective partner about this. It wasn't strictly illegal, but was highly unorthodox. I couldn't deal with either of the two of them man-splaining to me why it was too dangerous. I had preparations to make.
It started at the spa with a mani-pedi and bikini wax and a trip to the stylist. With makeup flawless, I added white stockings with lacy tops that would just barely peek past the bottom of my just-shorter-than-regulation but not-at-all-slutty blue silk skirt. White garters were a must. I finished with a backless, white silk halter with the barest slit of an opening showing a hint of cleavage. The pale silk contrasted nicely with my dark skin. With my blue blazer on, it seemed a more conservative blouse, but I knew that a woman of Madame Justyne's taste would enjoy the reveal when the blazer came off. Neither bra nor panties for this mission. I attached my holster to the back of my skirt—resting comfortably at the small of my back—and my badge at my hip. I set the voice-activated micro recorder built into my purse to
record.
I looked at myself in the mirror. Beautiful. Irresistibly sexy for any straight man or any lesbian domme like Madame Justyne. Exactly what an up and coming, eager Federal agent would look like to please her boyfriend for a quickie on the lunch hour.
For the final touch, I wet a cloth with a few drops of pepper spray, and brought it near my face. The fumes alone made my eyes water and my nose run. I cried for several minutes, until my flawless makeup was a dripping mess. I cried exactly as long as a trusting young woman would cry if she surprised her boyfriend making out with another woman on his lunch hour. Putting the pepper spray away, I cleaned myself up as best I could using only the makeup kit I carried in my purse. My nose was still a bit red. My eyes were a bit bloodshot and rough around the edges. My makeup was good enough, but not flawless. I looked exactly as I intended. I drove to Madame Justyne's estate exactly thirty-six minutes late for my appointment.
The estate was massive. Two female security agents, both over six feet, escorted me to the lush garden. On a small patio surrounded by tall plants, Madame Justyne reclined on a chaise, her black bikini stark against her flawless, alabaster skin. According to her file, she was twelve years older than me, but still in fantastic shape. "You're late, Agent Fletcher. I did not agree to meet with you just to be put off." She didn't rise.
Time to play the role of the insecure rookie. "I'm terribly sorry, Madame Justyne. Something came—I mean, I had a personal emergency and arrived as soon as I could. I know you're very busy but would greatly appreciate any time you could spare."
She looked me over from behind her sunglasses and nodded to the chaise next to her. I perched uncomfortably on the edge and clutched my purse. Madame Justyne said, "I can't imagine that your superior approves of this sort of tardiness, Agent Fletcher."
Time to lay it on thick. "I don't imagine he would, ma'am. Particularly considering the way he talks to me. But he doesn't even know I'm here. He was insistent on bringing you downtown for a full interrogation. But since we just have a few questions that will help us find the lost girls, I thought it would save everyone time if I just came down here on my afternoon off and spoke to you in person." I said in tone dripping with
I'm
just
a
helpless,
trusting
girl
without
backup.
Talk to me, Madame. Gloat to me.
Her interest piqued, Madame Justyne took off her sunglasses. Her eyes were actually
violet.
They were so beautiful. Like nothing I'd ever seen. "That is certainly very thoughtful of you. I appreciate everything you do to help me, Felicia." Her eyes held mine and I let several moments pass before I reached for my purse.
"It shouldn't take long, ma'am. But after being so late, it would be rude to be disturbed." I made a little show of turning off my cell phone and putting it back into my purse—cutting myself off from outside help and seemingly not recording anything. Taking out a notebook and pencil, I began. "Starting with the recent disappearances, let's work backwards. Zelda Zedge the reporter was the most recent disappearance. Can you tell me what you know about her?"
Madame Justyne just looked at me for a long moment, as if I were a helpless bird already within striking distance of the snake. "It's perfect that you bring up Zelda first, Felicia. She came to me, much as you did. Eager to do her job well, notebook in hand. Pretty eyes that showed the cost of her career. Eyes tinged red with tears. A man had betrayed her. She sought to push the pain aside and focus on the job. I helped her. I helped her to focus on what was
truly
important."
That was a detail she hadn't confirmed before. It was minor, but a start. My plan was working. "You say you met with Zelda." I broke eye contact for just a moment to jot down a note. Couldn't let her think I was depending on the hidden recorder. "What can you tell me about the last time you saw her?"
Madame Justyne's eyes twinkled. "I can tell you more about the first time I saw her. So much like you. So dedicated. So frustrated. So disappointed. So willing to go to any length to succeed. She came to me. Made an appointment, like you. Was late, like you. Took notes, like you. It was a hot day. A day like today. So hot, so humid. Her jacket clung to her skin. It was close and uncomfortable, like rules that no longer matter. She tried to focus on her questions. She tried so hard. She had them all planned out. She knew how she was going to learn all about me. She had a plan. But it was so hot. The jacket was so stifling. It was so hard to think. So hard to stick to the plan. How are you feeling now, Felicia?"
I hadn't noticed how warm the weather had turned. It was legitimately stifling out here. No wonder Madame Justyne looked so much more comfortable in a bikini. "I'm, uh, I'm a bit warm, Madame. I wonder if you would mind if I removed my jacket?"
Madame Justyne smiled. "Of course not, Felicia. Take your jacket off ... for me."
Unbuttoning the front, I remembered myself enough to slide it off the one naked shoulder first, giving her a glimpse of my warm, brown skin that she seemed to devour with her gaze. As I took it fully off, I made certain to arch my back and thrust my small, firm breasts out invitingly. The look of lust on her face was unmistakeable. If playing along with her suggestions would get her to let down her guard and admit what she'd done, I was doing very well. The cool air on my arms and naked back was so refreshing, so pleasant.
Madame Justyne was nearly drooling. "You are so beautiful, Felicia. Such exquisite features. The sort of deeply feminine beauty that a man cannot truly appreciate. And I'm certain they don't, do they, Felicia?"
There was her nibble. I had to set the hook. "No, Madame. They certainly don't." I said with a hitch in my voice, then a momentary sigh before struggling back to professionalism. "We should get back to Zelda Zedge."
