Seduced In The Name Of The Law

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."

Madame Justyne grinned. "Yes, of course. She had a similar sort of quality to her. And a similar sort of neglect from men: from her inept superiors, from her greedy lovers. She ached for touch. She had given up so many chances at happiness, at pleasure. And for what? For a man? For a good grade? For a job? For a promotion? When she sat where you're sitting now, she could feel her body yearning for more. Yearning for happiness. Yearning for touch. Yearning for focus. Yearning for pleasure. Yearning. Yearning."

Throughout this monologue, Madame Justyne had very slowly sat up on her chaise, until she was perched on the edge, just like I was. With her legs daintily crossed, just as mine were, she was mirroring my posture exactly. It came as no surprise that our crossed legs began to bounce slowly in unison. Had she started it, or had I? Who could say? Each bounce gently squeezed my thighs together. Each bounce produced a tiny pulse, a tiny tingle between my thighs. Somehow, the bounces fell into perfect rhythm with Madame Justyne's speech, her words now

felt

as good as they

sounded.

"Her yearning built and built. The tension of her whole life building up inside of her. Overwhelming her control. Too much for her pretty head. Too much to bear on her own. Every muscle going tense." I was trying to take notes, but I knew Madame Justyne would want me staring at her. I could feel the pencil digging into the notebook, digging harder, digging deeper.

SNAP! I let out a gasp as the pencil point broke. Madame Justyne cocked a predatory grin. "Oh, poor, sweet Felicia. You are

so

tense. You must allow me to help you relax. You simply

must.

I cannot answer your questions when you are so very tense. You

will

let me relax you, won't you, lovely Felicia?"

She was going to try to indoctrinate me! And I was going to record every moment of it and nail the bitch to the wall with it. I opened my mouth to speak, but no sound came out. My mouth was so dry. Madame Justyne licked her lips and my tongue followed suit. "Yes, Madame. I could relax a bit ... for you."

"Of course, Felicia. You are so tense. So desperate, so hungry for relaxation. You will do as I say and we will both feel so wonderful. You will learn so much from me. That is why you came here, to listen to my voice. To learn. Now, take your fingers to your temples, Felicia. Yes, just raise them up." Madame Justyne took the notebook as it fell from my lap. I touched my temples. "Good girl. Now slowly, gently, begin to caress your temples. Feel the warmth of skin touching skin. Each stroke rubbing that stress away. Each pass eroding just a bit of that tension. Feel it. Feel the heaviness in your eyelids. Feel the tension leaving your eyes. Feel your eyes begin to droop. Feel how heavy they are. Feel yourself trying to fight to keep them open, but you cannot. They are too heavy."

I played along with this easily enough, fluttering my eyes as she suggested. "Feel that the more you fight, the heavier they get. Fight harder. Do all that you can to keep those heavy, heavy lids open." I let out a grunt of effort as I fought to keep my eyes open. "Feel yourself losing. Feel the weight become too much. Far too heavy to lift. Far more relaxed with your eyes closed, but still seeing my eyes in your mind. Still seeing my beautiful, commanding eyes in your mind." This wasn't getting me good evidence right now, but I knew it was leading somewhere. I had to play along. I imagined her beautiful, commanding, violet eyes before me. They seemed so much bigger in my imagination. So much more beautiful.

"Good girl, Felicia. Your hands have caressed all the tension from your head. Let them trail down your neck. Rubbing the tension from your neck. It feels so good. It feels so relaxing. Your head feeling too heavy to keep up. Feel it slumping toward your chest. Feel how you struggle to hold it up. Feel how it is too heavy. Feel how all your strength is not enough. Feel yourself fight and feel yourself lose." I nodded and fought, but soon my chin was resting on my chest. She thought she had me. Her eyes were so beautiful in my mind. They would be even more lovely behind bars. Had to keep her talking. Had to play along.

"Good girl, Felicia. Feel your hands trailing lower. Feel them resting on your beautiful breasts, your sexy breasts, your sensitive breasts. Feel your hands caress your breasts. Feel the tingle of every stroke. Feel the warmth of every squeeze. Feel nothing but your hands kneading your hot flesh. There is no sensation but your hands and your nipples straining against the silk of your blouse. That yearning, burning pleasure rising within you. Nothing but that feeling and my voice." God, my nipples were stiff. Madame Justyne had walked behind me. I caressed my tits wantonly, carelessly. I had to make her believe I was helpless. Was something tugging at the holster at the small of my back? No matter, I had to ignore it. Just like I would if I were feeling

only

my tits. My sexy, hot, wanton tits. Oh god. This was getting intense. My leg was bouncing faster, squeezing my thighs together tighter with every squeeze of my tits. Nailing this slaving bitch to the wall was going to feel

so

good.

"Good girl, Felicia. You are feeling so hot, so helpless, so aroused, so relaxed. You can feel how you want to deny this heat. You want to keep this desire in control. You want your questions to be more powerful than your passion. But your passion is bigger. Hotter. More powerful than you can stop. It is bigger than you can keep inside. You can feel it erupt through your voice. You can feel every moan and sigh making you feel so much hotter. So much better. You can hear nothing but my voice and your own desperate moaning."

Oh god. I'd had so much rotten sex in my life where I'd had to keep quiet—in the back of cars, in tiny dorm rooms, even in FBI broom closets—it felt so good to let it out. To moan. To be loud. To hear my groans and her words and nothing else. To ignore the metallic clicks behind me. To just moan all the louder. I knew I'd sound like a wanton slut on the recording, but I had to sell it. I had to make her believe she had me in her power.

"Good girl, Felicia. Are you relaxed for me, Felicia?"

"Oooh. Yes, Madame."

"Good girl. Are you aroused for me, Felicia?"

"Aaah. Yes, Madame." I ignored another movement at my holster. Felt only my breasts.

"Good girl. Do you hunger for more pleasure, Felicia?"

"Yes, Madame."—

moan

—"

Please,

Madame."

"Good girl. Your desire is too great to fight. You can feel your hands trail down your breasts, down your abs, down to your thighs. You can feel your fingers caressing your thighs, feel them pulling your thighs apart. Your legs struggle to stay closed, to stay nice and snug and hot and sexy. But your hands are powered by your desire, and that desire is too strong. You can feel your legs parting, feel the cool air kissing your hot thighs. Hear yourself groaning with the effort of the struggle, and moaning louder with the pleasure of losing that fight. Of giving in. Of succumbing. It always feels better to fight and to lose." Oh god. I pried my thighs apart with my own hands. My legs trembled with the effort to stay closed, and somehow the fight made my pussy feel so much wetter. So much hotter. My fingers ran over my stocking tops and my garter straps and grasped the inside of my thighs. Squeezing the delicate erogenous zones inside my thighs, I pulled my legs wide open. I could feel my short skirt riding up my hips. I knew I was showing my naked pussy to Madame Justyne, but I knew it was the bait that would draw her in. She would fight to keep control, but her desire for me would be too much. She would fight, but she would lose. It always feels better to fight and to lose. I was too hot, too sexy. I was irresistible.

"Good girl, Felicia. You are so hot, so aroused. My words have brought you this far, Felicia, and my words will bring you even greater pleasure. You want nothing more than to obey my words. Obedience makes you hot. Obedience makes your pussy twitch. Tell me which hand you masturbate with."

"My left hand, Madame." My pussy spasmed as I did as I was told. "Oh god." My voice sounded so high-pitched, so needy, so wanton.

"Good girl. Your left hand is desperate to touch your hot, dripping pussy. Your left hand wants to do my bidding. Every ounce of desire is pouring into your left hand. Your right hand is full of doubt. Your right hand still remembers why you came here. Your right hand knows the questions you wanted answered. Your weak right hand is still an agent. Your weak right hand wants to fight me. Your strong left hand wants to obey. Your weak right hand is here on a mission. Your powerful left hand is here to cum. To obey. Now, Felicia, let your hands do their work."

I

needed

to touch myself. I was so hot, so boiling with desire. I slid my left hand along the delicious, soft skin of my inner thigh, toward my aching, needy slit, just as I had numberless times before—in the privacy of my bedroom rather than on a slaver's patio. But I was still here on a mission. Madame was displaying some of her talents but she hadn't confessed anything yet. I couldn't give in so easily. With my right hand, I grabbed my left wrist, stopping it with my fingers mere inches from my desperate, horny, dripping pussy. Oh god. I had done as she commanded again! Obeying her made me so hot, but I had a mission. I cried out in lust and frustration.

"Yes, Felicia. You are strong. Your devotion to the mission is not ready to break yet. You

need

to touch yourself for me. You ache for the feel of your pretty fingers in your dripping cunt. Your desire is powerful and it makes your obedient left hand strong. Your right hand has nothing left but a handful of secrets. If you give me those secrets, your right hand will have nothing, and obedience will win. You will cum. You will be mine. What is your

real

mission, Felicia?"