Street Justice: a Detective Lisa Benson Story
Caution: This Mind Control Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Mind Control, Heterosexual,
Desc: Mind Control Sex Story: Chapter 1 - A beautiful Detroit detective discovers a secret world of evil mind controlling bastards. A world that she is uniquely equipped to deal with.
Harold pulled into his driveway, his brows furrowed as he shut off the car. He looked at the bag of money and tried to remember why it was so important. After a few seconds, he was overwhelmed with the feeling that the reason didn't really matter – it just mattered that it was indeed important, the most important thing in his life. So important that he'd killed his wife's best friend to get it.
He felt a little bad about killing Sylvia, not because of the actual killing of Sylvia, for some reason that didn't bother him as much as he thought it would have, it was just that his wife would be unhappy and miss her quite a lot.
Sylvia just hadn't taken his declaration that he was robbing the bank seriously. That was slowing down the robbery and anything, or anyone, that slowed down the robbery had to be dealt with, or eliminated. Like that stupid manager who had resisted opening the vault ... well, for a few seconds. Harold wondered if he would ever again walk correctly, the bullet must have destroyed the whole joint along with the kneecap.
Grabbing the bag, he went into the house, not at all surprised to see his friends, Freddie and Tommy waiting for him. He had forgotten all about them, until he saw them sitting in his living room. He wondered again if they were father and son. They didn't look much alike, but the age difference seemed right.
"Harold, Buddy, so how did it go?"
"Well enough, I was in and out in four minutes, just like you said. I had to kill Sylvia, she was a teller there, my wife is going to be upset about that, and I had to shoot the manager in the knee before he would open the vault, but I got the money."
Tommy took the bag and stood behind Harold.
"Did you wear a mask, Harold?" Asked Freddie.
"Why, no, you didn't say anything about wearing a mask."
"But that's just basic bank robbery, isn't it? They do have all those cameras you know. Plus, don't you go there all the time? Everyone there knows you, don't they?"
"I didn't think..."
"I guess you didn't think, but you're thinking now, aren't you? You're thinking that you are going to be arrested, and because you killed someone, you'll be going to prison for the rest of your life. Your wife, will no doubt be so angry with you that she won't even come and visit you in prison."
The disturbing little thoughts, the ones that had been scrabbling ineffectually at the back of Harold's mind, the ones that hadn't even begun to attract his slightest attention, suddenly burst through the rapidly degrading mental barrier, flooding his mind with guilt.
"Oh my God, what have I done?" He moaned.
Tommy, still standing behind Harold, narrowed his eyes as he concentrated.
"Gosh, Harold," Said Freddie, his eyes focused in concentration as well, "I guess there's only one thing left to do, only one way out of this mess. But wait until we've left, won't you?"
Harold's eyes had gone a bit glassy.
"Yes, sir." He said, flatly.
Freddie and Tommy walked out to their car. Tommy handed the older man the bag and got behind the wheel.
As soon as the front door had shut, Harold had pulled out his brand new .44 Magnum revolver and stared at it for a few seconds. Then, knowing his friends were right, he did the only thing he could.
The cold steel barrel tasted of gun oil and spent gun powder.
A shot rang out as Tommy started the car. He looked at Freddie and they smiled.
"The perfect crime," chuckled Freddie, patting the bag of money, "dead men tell no tales. Hey, stop by Costmart on the way home, would ya? I gotta pick up some stuff."
"Costmart!" Snorted Tommy, "If you'd break out some of that cash, we wouldn't have to shop at fucking Costmart."
"We've been over that. You know that the feds will be looking for these serial numbers. When we got enough we'll find another fence and trade it for clean money."
"Yeah, at sixty cents on the dollar."
"Okay, I'll admit I didn't do as well as I thought I would in Miami, but I underestimated how fucking greedy that bastard was, still, he has never given more forty cents before, so it was kind of a victory."
"Why are you even worried about the cops? With our combined powers we could walk away from anyone trying to arrest us – and leave them blithering idiots while we do it."
"And what happens if they tag us while we're separated? This is the smart way. You come with me next time. I figure we can get seventy-five or eighty cents on the dollar without the fence freaking out later on and trying to hunt us down."
Tommy watched Freddie walk into the Costmart, he had decided to wait in the car and do some girl watching. He was looking for an acquisition, truth be told. They already had two sex slaves back in their apartment, but he figured there was room for at least a few more."
Curiosity flashed across his face as Freddie came back out of the store, walking quickly.
"Watch me," he said, bending to the window Tommy rolled down, "when I make my move, come pick us up. You're gonna like this." He added with a grin.
She exited the store with a confident stride, her dark red hair flowing thickly down her back. The warm summer weather had her dressed in tight denim cut-offs and a short t-shirt that highlighted, more than hid, her statuesque figure and toasty olive skin.
"Fucking, arrogant cunt." Said Freddie as he moved out to follow her.
Tommy couldn't have agreed more. However, she wouldn't be arrogant much longer. They would have her crawling on her hands and knees, begging for cock and cum.
As long as they worked together.
They'd teamed up almost a year ago down in South Beach, Tommy mused as he watched Freddie stalking their prey, he had drifted down there, looking for bikinis and rich fuckers he could run his cons on. At twenty five, he was still a horny little bastard and was quickly working his through those bikinis and rich fuckers – mainly the bikinis.
But that part was always a little unsatisfying. He could cloud a woman's mind and make her suggestible enough that she would fuck his brains out, but unless he tossed them out before going to sleep, they would eventually gather their wits and wonder what the fuck they had thought they were doing, usually out loud, while hastily gathering their clothing.
Then he met Freddie while running a game on some Greek shipping muckity muck. Freddie had been working for the guy, playing a long term scam, worth just over a hundred thousand dollars – a hell of a lot more than Tommy was trying for, but requiring patience the younger man didn't have.
Freddie had spotted another con-man, gotten Tommy alone and confronted him. They had each tried using mental coercion and that's when they discovered the others' secret, since the ability didn't work on one who had it.
The cat out of the bag, they had soon discovered that, by combining their powers, they could affect someone far more profoundly than either could alone. They teamed up and took the old bastard for half a million dollars.
They'd stuck together afterward, making their way through the money and honing their newly discovered power on quite a few of the bikinis.
Rather than the one night stands they had both been used to, by combining their powers they could completely subjugate a woman's will and make her a devoted sex slave. By repressing knowledge of her identity and her life before her enslavement, they could make her willing to joyfully do things which would have normally horrified her.
They had almost lost a few of the initial women when they hadn't realized that they needed to reinforce the conditioning on a regular basis, at least at first. It seemed the longer a woman had been enthralled, the more infrequent the booster sessions needed to be.
Danni, their current cum bucket, had come from Florida with them and had been their slave for six months. The lithe ballet instructor with shiny black hair and tits that were unbelievable for a dancer could go almost a whole month between boosters.
Tommy's cock swelled thinking of the slim, busty, raven haired goddess, as well as the tiny Asian beauty they had enslaved shortly after arriving in Detroit. His rock hard member gave a twitch as he watched Freddie trail that remarkable ass through the parking lot.
The woman stopped at the door of her car and fumbled through her purse for her keys.
Suddenly, she couldn't remember what keys looked like, or what she would do with them if she did find them. All she knew was that the guy walking towards her was cute, in his own way, and he seemed like someone she should obey.
Freddie smiled as he threw out his power, wrapping the bitch's thoughts in a wet blanket.
"Hi there, sweetie," he said as pleasantly as he could, "You want to come with me now."
"Yes, I want to come with you." Her face somewhat blank, but not as blank as her thoughts.
Tommy pulled up and Freddie shoved her into the back seat, following her.
"Good score!" Said Tommy.
"I spotted her at the checkout as soon as I walked in, couldn't believe my luck. Now don't move, bitch, let me check out the merchandise ... Holy fuck, you aren't going to believe this, these big fucking tits are fucking real," exclaimed Freddie, his hands sliding the brief t-shirt up as he fondled the large breasts. "I can't wait to get her back to apartment and finish conditioning her."
Detective Lisa Benson looked across the interrogation table at the two time loser and the ends of her long thick honey blonde hair twitched from the sad shaking of her head as she tried to reconcile her feelings. Despite the fact that he was total scum and had been breaking laws since before he knew what laws were, when he said that he didn't know anything about the mugging, hadn't shot anyone and had never before seen the gun allegedly found in his car, she believed him.
She had always been very good at reading people, especially when it came to being able to tell if someone were lying or not. The scumbag wasn't lying.
And that sucked.
Because it meant the patrol cops who busted him and found the gun in his car 'were' lying.
"Thank you, Mr. Baker," she said, noting that the scumbag's eyes didn't follow hers as she stood, but instead roved over her voluptuous curves, no doubt saving the image in his mental spank bank for later. "that's all I need for now."
"You see that, Benson?" Observed Sgt. Fielding, "He's sticking to his bullshit."
"Yeah," added the rookie, Patrolman Murphy, "We got him dead to rights and he's still trying to claim he's innocent. Pretty typical, ain't it Benson?"
"That's Detective Benson to you," she reminded the rookie with just enough bite in her voice to let him know she wasn't happy with him, "and I would like to ask you a very pointed question Officer Murphy." Her icy blue eyes fixed the young officer in place as firmly as if she had driven an iron spike through his chest and pinned him to the wall.
"Uh, what's that?"
"Where the fuck did that gun come from?"
"I don't know what you're getting at, Benson" interrupted Sgt. Fielding.
"And don't give 'me' that 'Detective Benson' crap because..."
"I wouldn't dream of it, Sergeant. I respect you. I learned a lot from you when I was coming up and that's why I know you're a better cop than this."
Sergeant Fielding usually sported a pretty good poker face, but the implication cut a little too close to to the quick. Lisa caught the look of chagrin that flashed across his face before he resumed his usual stony countenance.
"I should have known this wasn't gonna work, not with you."
"Sarge, what are you doing..."
"Can it, Murphy. Benson is as close as they come to being a human lie detector. You do what you want, I'm not gonna try to take this any further."
He turned back to Lisa, "We planted the gun. We knew that we were never going to find the guy who actually committed the murder, and since we found the gun near the scene I thought I would try and stick Baker with the rap. I know it was wrong, but God damn it! That bastard has been slipping through my fingers for the last fifteen years. I know he's done some major shit but all we can ever get him for is the minor crap. In and out of jail and prison every couple years ... I just thought I could finally put him away for good."
"Oh, shit." Sighed Murphy, leaning against the wall, "We are so fucked."
Lisa reached out and put her hand on Fielding's shoulder, "I know it's frustrating, but this asshole will fuck up and we'll get him, but we'll do it the right way." She turned to look through the glass at their former suspect. "As for this ... Haskell's on vacation so your reports haven't gone any further than my desk at this point. Why don't I accidentally feed them into the shredder, which means you have to rewrite them."
"What about him?"
"Go in, tell him you believe that he hadn't seen the gun before and get a list of people who have had access to his vehicle lately. Give him some doubts as to whether or not we planted the gun. Then we just let this die."
"Thank you, Detective!" gushed Murphy, "You have no idea how much I..."
"This is completely personal," said Lisa, cutting off the rookie brusquely, "If Fielding hadn't been involved I would've let you fry."
"Yes ma'am," muttered Murphy, "thanks just the same. I'll go get started on the reports."
"You're not the only one who can read people, Benson, ' said Fielding as they watched the younger cop walk away, "you would've given him the same chance regardless of whether or not I was involved."
"Yes, but would he have been smart enough to take it? Now, Sergeant, what really happened? I think you've left something out."
"How the fuck ... Okay, the kid fucked up the fingerprints on the gun when he found it. Since it was useless as real evidence, I thought ... shit, I'm ashamed of myself. I've never done anything like this before. And you know I wouldn't try telling you something like that unless it was true."
"I know." She smiled up at the veteran cop. "We all have a little lapse in judgment, it's human nature. So, do you think Murphy will make it?"
"He has the makings of good cop, and it's going to be a long time before he forgets the way his asshole puckered when he thought he was busted. That should keep him from trying to skirt the rules." He winked at Lisa, "At least until he's seasoned enough to know which rules can be skirted safely."
"Still getting free pie from Joyce, eh?"
"Yep, and one of these days she's gonna agree to go out with me."
"You gotta ask her first," chuckled Lisa, "But now I gotta go take my medicine for those bank robberies."
"I've been in on some of the canvases on that case, nothing but dead ends as far as I could find."
"You and everyone else, including yours truly. My first real solo investigation and I've made nothing but a mess of it."
"They don't expect you to clear every case, Lisa."
"They don't ... but I do."
"This is the third robbery in so many months and you're telling me you have no leads?" asked the grizzled police captain of the greater metro Detroit task force.
"I'm sorry sir," replied Lisa, "it just makes no sense. Three men have robbed banks, returned to their homes and killed themselves. As far as we can tell, there are no connections between them and there has been no sign of any the money they've gotten away with. I ran the MO and there were a couple of similar robberies in Miami and Ft. Lauderdale. The detectives there have nothing more than we've got."
"There has to be some connection. Just because you haven't found it doesn't mean it's not there. I stuck my neck out for you, recommending you for detective. It wasn't just that your father was one of my best friends on the department, you had all the indications of a good detective. I certainly hope my confidence in you hasn't been misplaced. Now get back out there and find out what the fuck is going on."
Captain Moore watched her leave and felt a twinge of guilt. It really wasn't her fault. This case would have had the most seasoned veteran spinning. When he assigned it to her as her first solo case it looked to be open and shut – a previously law abiding guy robs a bank, kills a teller, goes home and commits suicide. The only thing to investigate had been what happened to the money, which would have explained why the guy had done it. It should have been a simple matter of following the paper trail to some bookie or loan shark and that would have been that. Unfortunately, it kept happening and there were no paper trails, no money, no sense of any of it. If he reassigned her now, or put a more senior detective on the case with her, it would make her look bad and shoot down whatever confidence she had. He wished he could figure out what to do.
Lisa left her superior's office feeling chastened and more than a little frustrated. She had dreamed of being a detective ever since joining the force and had redoubled her efforts two years ago when her father, a highly decorated detective and her primary role model, had been killed in a shootout just three months before his retirement. Despite her efforts, it had been one frustration after another.
She had finely gotten her shot, with the help of Captain Moore. Her first year, assisting other investigators, had gone well and she'd made a good accounting of herself. Then, for her first solo assignment she had drawn this fucked up case.
She sat at her desk and tried to figure out what to do. Everything she had tried had come to nothing and she was at a complete loss. The look of disappointment on Captain Moore's face came back to her and she felt like crying. All her hard work over the years was about to be wasted if she couldn't figure out what was happening. Her dream of following in her father's footsteps and being a police detective could come and go before she ever turned thirty.
Lisa looked up to see a tall, good looking man, wearing a grey suit, standing in front of her desk.
"Yes, what can I do for you?"
"I was lead to believe that you are working on the three suicide bank robbery cases."
"Yes, do you have some information for me?" She tried to keep the desperation out of her voice but was afraid she'd failed. As she caught his eye, she was suddenly overwhelmed with the feeling that he was a man whom she could trust implicitly.
"Perhaps." He said, sitting down on the wooden chair next to her desk. "First, why don't you tell me what you know, just the basics for now.
Department protocols came to mind but she could think of no reason not to trust this man and give him the information he wanted. She realized that she would usually identify a person before sharing case information, but if he could help, well, she could always identify him later. She began handing him the files, one at a time, giving him a brief overview of each one.
"Well, at the end of March," She didn't need to consult the files, every detail of the three horrendous crimes were burned into her brain. "Jacob Phillips, age forty three, an accountant from Brighton, with no criminal record – shit, he had never even gotten a parking ticket – wakes up one morning and walks into the bank branch he usually does business with, pulls out an antique colt revolver and demands money. When the employees don't react fast enough he shoots a teller through the head to let them know he's serious. Obviously they ID him immediately and patrol officers are sent to his house only to find he'd stuck the barrel of the gun into his mouth and blown away the back of his head. There was no trace of the money he'd stolen."
As she spoke, a little voice in the back of her brain tried warning her that something was wrong and she shouldn't be telling this man anything. But she trusted him, so she found it easy to ignore the voice.
"About a month later, Xavier Lopez, age fifty-six, from Sterling Heights, former Marine and an executive for Striker Personal Security, also with an impeccable record, strolls into his bank branch and shoots the manager twice in the guts with a forty-five before demanding money. Again, patrols sent to his house found an apparent suicide and none of the money.
The voice of protest grew stronger, but still couldn't override the feelings of trust she had for the man. She continued.
"Then we have Harold Jackson, age thirty-eight, from Pontiac, auto mechanic and little league coach who, as far as any background check would be concerned, had never met a law he didn't love. Which is why his application for a handgun purchase permit was approved without question. Three days ago, just over five weeks after the last robbery, he picked up his new gun and went straight to his usual branch of the First State Bank and emptied their vault, wounding the manager and killing a teller. Once again, patrol officers sent to his house found his head half gone and the money all the way gone."
The nagging voice had turned into alarms bells and she was finally beginning to notice.
"Have you looked into their whereabouts and movements in the days leading up to the crimes?"
"Uhm ... Before I tell you any more, maybe you should tell me who you are."
His eyebrows shot up and he looked at her, startled.
"I'm gonna need to see some identification." She said.
He stood up. Lisa suddenly found herself paralyzed by bewilderment.
"I'm going to write an address on this piece of paper," said the man quickly, "at eight o'clock tonight, you will come to this address, alone, and I will provide you with answers. I can tell you how these crimes are being committed. As for who is doing it, well, that we will have to figure out together."
By the time Lisa's head cleared, the man was gone and she was left staring at the address he had written.
Going alone would be insane, she thought, but he did promise to give her more information than she currently had. She spent the rest of the day struggling with what to do. She checked on the address and found it was well within a residential area so it was almost assuredly a house. The mailing address was linked to a Walter Henderson, but there was no file on him in the computer so she couldn't match the name to a photo of the man she had spoken with earlier. An inquiry to the DMV database showed a picture that looked a lot like the guy she had spoken with – but those pictures always sucked. Finally, just before the end of the day, she made her decision.
"Captain, may I come in?" she asked, pausing at the already open door.
"Yes, come in, detective."
"I have a meeting with an informant on the bank robberies. He insists I come alone and I don't want to spook him, so I'm going." She handed her superior an sheet of paper. "I've written down the location of the meet along with some information on the informant, just in case."
"Are you worried about this meet, Lisa?" Asked Captain Moore, concerned. Despite the dressing down he had given her earlier, his friendship with her father made him think of her as family – like a favored niece. "I can arrange a back up team and you could wear a wire."
"Not that worried. Just being careful. There's something odd about this guy, shit, everything about this case is odd, but I don't think he's dangerous. I just wanted you to know where I'm going, in case I'm wrong."
"Does this informant have a name?"
"Tentatively, that's there as well, I hope to confirm it tonight."
"Okay, I trust your instincts," said Captain Moore as Lisa turned to go, "but ... Lisa," she stopped just inside the door and looked back, "be careful. That's an order."
She gave him a smile. "Yes sir."
She rode down in the elevator with a couple detectives from missing persons.
"I suppose it could be just a case of cold feet." One of them was saying as they got on.
"Probably. It was, what, a week before the wedding?"
"Yeah, but her parents and fiance won't believe she'd run off like that, and it is odd that she only took her purse – she left her car at Costmart."
"Let's see that picture again ... yeah, she's a real looker, I've always liked red hair ... maybe there was some foul play, have you looked into the fiance? It's always the fiance ... or husband."