Power of Suggestion

POWER OF SUGGESTION CHAP 3

Mike sighed, half asleep, as he felt Queenie's mouth slip over his already hard penis. He felt her tongue moving up and down and around as he drifted in and out of sleep. The bed shifted and he felt a weight, then a hot wetness engulfed his cock. She'd no sooner sunk all the way down onto his shaft when she started moving her hips up and down.

Mike struggled awake, blinking in the dim morning light, only to see it was Darla squatting above him, not Queenie. His head flopped back down onto the pillow with a grunt.

"Expecting somebody else?" she asked. Almost all of her weight was on her feet and hands as she moved up and down, her big-lipped pussy milking his cock. Her hair was disheveled from sleep, the mascara around her eyes smudged. Mike watched her tits swinging as she pumped her hips.

"Actually, yes," he said.

She didn't get upset, just kept working her hips. She never liked to let morning wood go unused. After a while she settled down onto her knees and began grinding her smooth mound against him. His big dick made sloshing sounds inside her wet folds, which made her smile. He reached up and pinched her hard nipples, which got her hips moving faster. It was then she looked over and saw Queenie standing beside the bed.

"Hello," she said in surprise, her hips slowing but not stopping. Mike looked over.

"Queenie, Darla. Darla, Queenie."

"Hello," Queenie said. She was dressed in a tan blazer and slacks and seemed unsure what to do since Mike was already awake and she couldn't get to his cock.

"Queenie's my alarm clock," Mike told Darla, as her hips continued to churn.

"Yeah?" She could just imagine how the well-dressed woman woke Mike up.

Mike watched Queenie stare at Darla's thrusting hips, trying to catch a glimpse of the thing that was supposed to be in her mouth. He decided she'd paid enough dues for being rude.

"You don't have to come around anymore," he told Queenie. "Just head on to work."

"O-Okay," she said, a little hesitantly, still staring at Darla's nude, thrusting body.

"I'll see you around," he told her.

"Umm, okay. Goodbye." Queenie, a confused look on her face, disappeared through the bedroom doorway.

"What do you suppose that was?" Special Agent Fred Grimes of the FBI asked his partner.

The two agents sat in their car four doors down from Mike's house and watched the woman climb back into her minivan. She'd hardly spent two minutes inside the house.

"Don't know. Maybe he's not home, and she's checking on his cat."

"If he's a single man and has a cat instead of a dog, he's probably gay," Grimes said.

Their radio crackled. "That vehicle comes back to a Sarah McQueen, 424 Raldo Lane. No wants or warrants. One speeding ticket three years ago."

"Ten-four," Grimes told the dispatcher. He looked at his partner. "So we've got a soccer mom from the suburbs dropping by at seven-twenty in the morning, and the junker parked in the drive's registered to another woman entirely, down off White Trash Central. You sure this is the right house?" All the garage doors on the huge house were closed, and no other vehicles were visible. They'd been sitting on the house since six a.m., so if he'd already left for work it had been damn early.

"His driver's license comes back here, plus the cars we pulled up, and all the utilities are in his name."

"A Mercedes and a Hummer H2, plus two women from opposite sides of the tracks. Well, I'm intrigued. Shall we?"

"Yeah? Who the hell is it?" Mike yelled at the door. He'd been damn near ready to come when the pounding started.

"Mr. Curtis?" It was a man's voice.

"Yeah?" Mike had pulled on some shorts and was nearing the front door when he heard "FBI."

"FBI?" He peered through the spyhole in his front door. The man who'd spoken had his ID up and open so it was visible. "Cool," Mike said. "This should be interesting." He swung open the door.

"Mr. Curtis? I'm Special Agent Grimes, this is Special Agent Murphy, we'd like to ask you some questions." Grimes put away his badge wallet and stood looking Mike up and down. This kid was not what he'd been expecting, even though he'd seen the date of birth on the records check.

Mike looked at Grimes, in his boring grey suit, and then at Murphy, a pretty green-eyed blonde in a black business suit, and smiled.

"Sure, come on in," he said with a smile. He stepped aside so they could come in and he shut the door, taking the opportunity to eyeball Murphy's tight little ass. She looked about thirty and didn't seem too friendly. She made a point of not staring at him, dressed only in a pair of shorts. Mike smiled inwardly. This would be fun.

Mike led them into the house, heading for the living room. As they passed the wide curving staircase there was Darla, dressed in a pair of men's jockey shorts, pulling on a white tank top about two sizes too small.

"This is Darla," Mike told the agents. "Darla, say hello to the FBI."

Darla's eyebrows went up, but all she said was "Hello."

Grimes couldn't take his eyes off her bouncing tits as she came down the stairs. "Ma'am," he managed to get out finally. White trash, all the way, but she still had a body.

"Have a seat. You want some coffee? Darla, you know where the pot is?"

"I'll find it," she said, pulling her hair back and fixing it into a short ponytail with a rubberband.

Mike sat on the couch and the agents positioned themselves on chairs.

"So, what's up?" Mike asked them, making no effort to hide his appraising looks at Agent Murphy's body. She shifted uncomfortably, and glanced surreptitiously at Darla as the half-naked woman disappeared into the kitchen.

Grimes pulled out a notebook. "Mr. Curtis, were you in the Third National Bank on Lemon Street last Thursday?"

Mike smiled at them. So that's it , he thought. "Thursday? I think so," he told them. "I've got a checking account there."

Out of sight in the kitchen Darla was making as little noise as possible so she could hear what was being said.

"Were you aware that there was a robbery attempt while you were in the bank?" Grimes asked him.

"Yeah," Mike answered simply.

"Why didn't you report it?" Grimes asked him.

"Now, I know the tellers had to have called the cops," Mike said.

For the first time Murphy spoke. "Why didn't you stick around and wait for them to show up?" she asked sharply.

He shrugged. "I guess I didn't want to get involved."

"But you got involved," Murphy told him. "You spoke to her."

Mike shrugged again. "She was in line in front of me. I heard her telling the teller she had a gun and wanted some money and I just told her that was a bad idea."

Grimes consulted his notebook. "The teller says you told her to go down to the police station and turn herself in."

"Yeah, it was something like that."

"Are you aware that's exactly what she did?"

"Really? I know she turned around and walked out, I thought she'd already gotten the money. Wow."

"Don't you think that's odd?"

"What, robbing a bank? I don't know," Mike said. "You're the experts. Maybe she just realized how stupid robbing a bank was, sticking your hand in your pocket and telling everybody you have a gun."

"She had a gun," Murphy told him. "She turned it in to the desk sergeant."

"Well I'm glad nobody got hurt," Mike said. "Now, what exactly can I help you with?"

"Had you ever met the suspect before that day?"

"The robber? Not that I'm aware of. Why?"

"We just find it odd that she walked out without any money and walked two and a half miles in the rain to turn herself in to the police."

"People do crazy things," Mike agreed. "Maybe she had an epiphany."

"As a witness to a crime you have a responsibility to come forward and assist the police," Murphy told him.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know. I thought you guys had it under control."

The three of them went back and forth for several minutes, until Darla came out of the kitchen with several steaming mugs of coffee. She hadn't put on any more clothes and Grimes cleared his throat uncomfortably. Murphy just stared at her disapprovingly, especially when she sat next to Mike on the couch and curled her legs under her.

"This is a beautiful house," Murphy told him. "What do you do for a living?"

"Freelance consultant."

"What do you consult on?"

"Streamlining. I'm an efficiency expert."

"I see."

After another ten minutes the agents realized they would get nothing more out of him. They had nothing to begin with, only a grainy video of him talking with the suspect for four point four seconds, but her actions still had not been fully explained, even by her. They asked him about Sarah McQueen, and for a second he forgot that was Queenie's full name. He told them she was just a friend stopping by.

Grimes set his empty cup on the table in front of him and put his notebook away. "I'm sorry, but do you have a bathroom I could use?"

"Sure," Mike told him. "Down that hall, second door on the right."

"Thanks."

Murphy hadn't touched her coffee, and regarded Mike and Darla uncomfortably. Mike waited until he heard the bathroom door close.

"Tell me," he said to the FBI agent, "do you think I'm involved?"

"I don't know," she said.

"Believe me," he told her, "I'm not."

"Okay."

"What's your first name?"

"Kelly."

"Kelly," he said with a smile. "Well, Scully, I want you to keep me apprised of any investigations of me."

The stiff-backed FBI agent, hands clasped firmly in her lap, nodded once. Darla, sitting next to him on the couch, snuggled closer.

"You single?" he asked her. She nodded. Boyfriend?" She shook her head. "Lesbian?" She again shook her head. Mike could hear Darla breathing, and feel one of her tits against his upper arm.

"Excellent. Keep it that way. You masturbate?"

The Special Agent nodded her head. "Once in a while."

"At least there's that," Mike said. "I was beginning to think you were frigid. From now on, I want you to masturbate for half an hour every day before bed, or until you come, whichever is longer. Unless you're working, of course. You need to relax. Get a little wild and crazy, buy some sex toys off the internet, watch some porn. You like porn?" She shook her head. "You do now," he told her. "All of it, especially the freaky stuff. Whatever used to disgust you now turns you on, you'll be amazed. And if you have to wear underwear, wear a thong, your ass is too nice to be spoiling it with those pantylines. Shave your pussy, or better yet go to one of those laser hair removal places, make it permanent, that's the only way to make a thong look good. And don't wear a bra when you're not on duty, your tits aren't big enough or saggy enough to need one."

She nodded brusquely. The three of them heard the toilet flush, and nothing else was said. When Grimes rejoined them Murphy stood up and the two agents made ready to leave. Grimes gave Mike his card and said to call if he remembered something else about the robbery that might be useful, then the two agents headed out to their car.

"Man, he's up to his neck in something dirty, but I'll be damned if I know what," Grimes said after they were back in their car. "A kid that age, with that house? What do you think?"

"I think he's clean," Murphy said, looking him steadily in the eye.