Chapter Eight

Beth stood in the dimly lit living room of her handler, Warren Skinner’s, safehouse, her heart still pounding from the revelation that her latest client, James, with his Texas driver’s license, might be the Texas Toymaker. Her provocative ensemble clung to her transformed body like a second skin, a red vinyl crop top straining against her enhanced E-cup breasts, its plunging neckline teasing the swell of her curves. A matching micro skirt barely concealed the degrading ‘Barbie Cumdump’ tattoo etched above her bald pussy, and her 5-inch black stilettos forced her hips into a seductive sway that started to feel entirely natural to the undercover cop. Her platinum blonde curls cascaded over her shoulders, framing a face painted with bold eyeliner and glossy red lips that shimmered in the glow of the evening lamp. The air carried the musky scent of Warren’s cologne, mingling with the stale warmth of the room, as Beth’s blue eyes darted nervously, her mind racing with the weight of her discovery.

As Warren sat on a nearby stool at the dining table, studying what he’d written down after I recited my story, a faint buzz broke the tense silence, vibrating from a half-open cabinet in the corner. Beth’s breath caught as she recognized the sound of her old phone, the one from her cop life as Bethany Shaw, before this damn mission and Warren’s conditioning transformed her into Bambi.

The blonde rushed to the cabinet, her stilettos clicking sharply against the hardwood floor, and fumbled with the handle, gently pulling it open, to reveal her old cell. The caller ID glowed with Melanie Sach’s name, her best friend and colleague, a connection to the world that felt like a distant memory in her mind. Beth bit her plump lower lip, her fingers trembling as she reached for the phone.

“Shut the drawer and focus on the mission, Bambi,” Warren commanded in a low growl that cut through the room’s tense stillness. He leaned forward on the stool, his rugged frame clad in a tight black tank top that defined his broad chest, paired with faded, ripped jeans that traced his sturdy, aging legs. His graying hair fell messily across his forehead, and a sly grin curled his lips, his eyes glinting with calculated amusement as he watched his charge struggle.

Beth’s obedience conditioning seized her, her body betraying her will as her hands slammed the drawer shut, silencing the phone’s buzz as the call slipped to voicemail. Her impressive chest heaved with frustration, her enhanced breasts straining against the vinyl crop top. “Like, Daddy, my friend’s calling, it’s totally important!” she squealed, her enforced dialect twisting her desperate pleas into a sugary whine. The blonde’s conditioning blocked her from saying Melanie’s name, the word ‘friend’ a hollow substitute that sounded far less urgent than she intended.

Warren’s grin widened, his gaze lingering on the undercover cop’s provocative form with deliberate slowness. “Your friend can wait, doll,” he said, his tone dripping with condescension as if she were a teenager wanting to gossip about boys and shopping. The man rose from the stool, his boots thudding softly against the hardwood as he approached Beth. “We’ve got a killer to catch, don’t we, doll?”

Beth’s fist clenched, her impractical, glossy red nails digging into her palms as she pivoted, the stilettos clicking furiously against the floor. “Like, Daddy, we gotta tell the boss about this Texas guy!” she squealed, frustrated at her bumbling dialect as she attempted to speak seriously. Her conditioning trapped her words, forcing her to substitute ‘the boss’ for Captain Vance’s name, which refused to form in her mind.

Warren leaned against the dining table, glancing down at his notes as his muscular arms crossed over his chest, the tank top accentuating his rugged frame. “You’re jumping the gun a bit there, Bambi,” he said, his voice calm but laced with authority. “A Texas driver’s license isn’t enough to blow our cover. We need hard evidence to make this stick, something that’ll hold up.” He tilted his head, his grin sharpening as he studied the frustrated blonde. “Do you even remember the guy’s name, doll?”

Beth’s heart thudded in her chest, her blue eyes locking onto Warren’s with a flicker of defiance as she recalled the name in her mind. “Yeah, like, I totally saw it on his license,” she said, her tone trembling with the weight of the revelation, the Fort Worth address and the client’s smooth southern drawl flashing in her mind like a warning. “His name is, like, James Day. He’s totally our guy, Daddy. I, like, know it!”

The former detective’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of intrigue crossing his weathered face as he processed the name. He stepped closer, the musky scent of his cologne intensifying, overwhelming Beth’s senses. “James Day,” he repeated thoughtfully. “That’s something, Bambi, but the name doesn’t ring any bells, and we need a lot more than that and a license from Texas to nail the asshole. We can’t go storming the precinct and blowing our cover over a hunch.” He paused, his grin returning with a calculated edge. “We need proof that’ll nail the bastard down. Now, let’s discuss this seriously and develop a plan. Bambi is a smart bimbo.”

Beth’s mind cleared as the trigger released her from the sugary valley-girl dialect, her articulate voice returning, though the enforced “Daddy” compulsion lingered like a bitter aftertaste. She straightened, her vinyl top clinging to her curves, and glared at her handler. “You’re enjoying this too much, Daddy,” she accused the man, her voice sharp with frustration. “I’m risking everything, including my life, to catch this damn killer, and you’re treating it like some sick game. That asshole is our lead, and we need to act now before he slips away and kills again.”

Warren’s grin softened slightly, but his gray eyes remained sharp, assessing his charge with a mix of amusement and calculation. He stepped back, resting his hands on the edge of the dining table. “You’re not wrong, Bambi,” he said steadily, carrying a rare hint of sincerity in his voice. “That James fella could be our man, but we need to be smart about this. If we move too fast and spook him, he’ll vanish, and we’ll be back to square one with more bodies piling up.” He paused, his gaze locking onto Beth’s, the intensity making her skin prickle in the warm air. “We need to confirm he’s in Vegas, find out where he’s staying, and get eyes on his movements before we make a move.”

“Fine, Daddy,” Beth replied, her tone clipped, the forced endearment grating on her nerves. “So what’s the plan? How do we track him down without tipping him off? I’m not just going to keep working the streets while you sit here and do nothing.” Her pretty blue eyes sparked with defiance, her conditioning unable to entirely suppress her determination to catch the Toymaker.

Warren chuckled, almost mockingly, as he pushed off the table and began pacing slowly, his boots thudding rhythmically on the hard floor. “Oh, I’m not sitting around, doll,” he said, his voice laced with condescension. “I’ve got connections all over this city, people who owe me favors from back in the day. I’ll start making calls to every major hotel on the Strip. If there is a man staying in this town under the name of James Day, we’ll know about it.” He stopped, turning to face the blonde, his grin returning slyly. “Someone like him, with his tastes, won’t be slumming it in a dive like your motel. He’ll be in a high-end joint, probably Caesars or the Venetian. I’ll start there.”

The undercover cop’s jaw tightened, her glossy red lips pursing as a surge of indignation flared within her. “You’ll start there?” she snapped sharply. “What about me, Daddy? I’m the one who found this maniac. I deserve to be part of the investigation!” Her enhanced breasts strained against the top as she raised her voice. She stepped closer to Warren, not prepared to back down from her stance.

Warren’s eyes narrowed, his grin fading into a cold, steely glare that sent a shiver down the undercover cop’s spine. “I think you’ve forgotten who calls the shots around here, Bambi,” he growled commandingly, each word dripping with authority. He stepped closer, towering over the woman. “You’re going back out there to work the streets and earn me some money. You keep up this ‘whore’ act while I play detective, or we risk this whole operation falling apart.” His gray eyes bored into hers as he leaned in, his breath hot against the blonde’s cheek. “Do you understand me, doll?”

Beth’s heart pounded with fury, her fists clenching tighter as her glossy red nails bit into her palms, the sting grounding her against the wave of anger surging through her. However, her conditioning gripped her like a vice, compelling her to nod despite the defiance blazing in her blue eyes. “Yes, Daddy,” she said submissively against her will, the forced endearment tasting like ash on her tongue.

Warren’s smile returned as he stepped back, his gaze raking over her vinyl-clad curves with unabashed satisfaction. “Good girl,” he purred in a mocking tone that made Beth’s skin crawl. “Now stop wasting time and get back out there. Keep those johns happy.” He paused, his eyes glinting with amused delight as he delivered the final blow. “Bambi is a dumb bimbo.”

Beth’s mind jolted as the trigger snapped her articulate thoughts back into the silly valley-girl dialect, her voice morphing into a high-pitched whine that grated against her soul. “Like, oh my gosh, Daddy, you’re, like, so totally mean!” she squealed, her plump lips pouting as the conditioning forced a flirty toss of her platinum curls. Her heart burned with rage, but her body betrayed her, her stilettos clacking seductively as she turned towards the door, each step a swaying invitation that clashed with the desperation to catch the Texas Toymaker and end this nightmare. The safehouse door slammed behind her, the Vegas heat enveloping her as she strode back towards her motel, begrudgingly obeying her handler’s obnoxious command.

❖

Beth perched on the edge of the sagging mattress in her motel room at the Desert Inn, her heart heavy with dread as she awaited her next client. Her semi-transparent red latex bikini set clung to her transformed body, the glossy fabric barely containing her enhanced E-cup breasts, their taut nipples visible through the sheer material. The bikini bottoms hugged her hips, a thin strip of latex teasing the curve of her humiliating tattoo that lay scrawled above her shaved pussy. Her 6-inch platform heels, glossy red and sparkling under the flickering lamp, forced her legs into a provocative pose, and her blonde curls spilled over her shoulders in seductive waves. She was ready for her next session, although her eyes burned with loathing for the man she knew was coming.

Carl, a regular who delighted in pushing her boundaries, had booked her again, and Beth despised every moment with him. His cruel demands and sadistic pleasure in her discomfort eroded her pride, each session a fresh wound to her spirit. The undercover cop’s conditioning forced a sultry lilt of her head as the door creaked open, revealing Carl’s paunchy frame in a garish Hawaiian shirt, unbuttoned to expose his hairy chest, paired with sagging khaki shorts. His beady eyes raked over her, a leering grin spreading across his stubbled face as he tossed a worn duffel bag onto the grotty carpet; Carl always liked to bring his own toys.

“Well, damn, Bambi doll, you’re looking like a proper whore tonight,” Carl said, his voice dripping with sleaze as he stepped closer. His gaze lingered on the sheer latex that did all but conceal the blonde’s curves, his grin widening with anticipation. “I’m glad you put on the outfit I requested. I’m craving something extra nasty today, baby. You ready to give me the full ride?”

The undercover cop’s stomach twisted, but her conditioning compelled a forced smile, her bright red lips curling as she tossed her platinum hair with a practiced flirtation. “Like, totally, sweetie,” she chirped in her valley-girl dialect, the dumb bimbo trigger warping her voice into a silly, sweet lilt that continued to grate against her soul. “I’m, like, super ready to make you happy.” Her heart pounded with revulsion, but her sensual demeanor showed no sign of her internal anguish, her hips swaying as she slid off the bed to meet him.

The john’s grin sharpened, his eyes gleaming with mischievous intent as he reached into his duffel bag, pulling out a pair of gleaming metal handcuffs. These were no ordinary handcuffs, as they consisted of four cuffs linked by a short chain. “Oh, you’re gonna love this, Bambi,” he said menacingly as he stepped closer, the scent of cheap whiskey on his breath overwhelming the blonde’s senses. “Strip. All of it, except those heels. Then get back on that bed, on your knees, ass up. Do it now, whore.” He dangled the cuffs, his fingers twitching with anticipation as he motioned towards the bed.

Beth gasped as her conditioning compelled her to obey her client despite the bile rising in her chest. She peeled off the red latex bikini set, the glossy fabric sliding down her curves with a soft creak, leaving her naked except for the bright red platform heels that accentuated her long, toned legs. Her enhanced tits jutted unnaturally as she climbed back onto the sagging mattress. She positioned herself on her knees, her ass raised high, and waited for her regular’s next move, her blue eyes burning with suppressed rage.

Carl’s laughter echoed through the cramped room, a cruel edge to his voice as he stepped behind Beth, his rough hands grazing her exposed curves. He snapped the metal cuffs around the blonde’s wrists, linking them tightly to her ankles with the short chain, ensuring she was stuck in a humiliating bent-over position, her ass high and vulnerable. The cold steel bit into her skin, locking her in place, her enhanced chest pressing against the mattress as her body trembled with dread. “Like, be totally careful, sweetie!” Beth squealed. “Like, last time, I walked funny for like a week.”

The man’s chuckle deepened, a sadistic glee in his voice as he grabbed Beth’s discarded latex bikini bottoms from the floor, the fabric still damp with her nervous sweat and involuntary pussy juices. “Oh, don’t worry, Bambi. I’ll make this read memorable for you,” he said, his tone thick with cruelty as he suddenly forced the panties into the bimbo cop’s mouth, the taste of her own musk overwhelming her senses. Before the blonde could react, he pulled out a roll of red, glossy tape from his duffel bag. He placed a strand over her lips, rolling it around her blonde-haired head again and again, until her lower face was covered in the red tape, sealing her lips shut and trapping the humiliating fabric inside. Beth’s muffled protests vibrated against the tape, her tongue pressed against the intrusive material as her blue eyes watered slightly with shame.

Carl’s laughter grew louder as he stepped back to admire his handiwork, his gaze fixated on Beth’s vulnerable, bound form. He reached for her glossy red lipstick on the cluttered dresser, his fingers brushing the tube with deliberate slowness. “Let’s make you unforgettable tonight, Bambi,” he said sadistically as he leaned over her exposed ass. With cruel precision, he scrawled “WH” on her left ass cheek and “RE” on her right, her asshole forming to “O” to spell “WHORE” in bold, capital letters that shone under her dim, flickering lamp. The pudgy man stepped back, chuckling darkly, and softly bit his lower lip. “Now that’s a work of art,” he murmured, his tone dripping with satisfaction as he savored the humiliating display.

Beth’s client’s fingers lingered on her curves, tracing the bold lipstick with a possessive caress that sent shivers of revulsion through her bound body. She had no idea what he had written on her, but knew it was enough to amuse the sadistic man. Carl’s breath grew heavy as he unzipped his khaki shorts and lowered his underwear, his rough hands gripping the blonde woman’s hips, the heat of his touch searing into her skin.

With a slow, deliberate thrust, he entered the undercover cop’s ass, the slick warmth enveloping him as Beth’s muffled, gagged moans vibrated against the taped panties, her body trembling under the sensual action. Each measured stroke was a calculated torment, his cock gliding in and out with a rhythm that teased her sensitive flesh, drawing out her conditioned arousal despite her inner anger.

Carl’s hands tightened on Beth’s hips, his fingers digging into her soft curves as he deepened his thrusts, easy sexual plunge sending waves of unwanted pleasure through her bent over body. The slick heat of her ass gripped the man tightly, her muffled moans of pleasure growing louder against the soaking wet taped panties, the taste of her own musk a constant reminder of her degradation. His rhythm quickened as his cock slid with precision, teasing her sensitive nerves with each slow withdrawal and forceful reentry, her enhanced breasts pushing up against the mattress. Beth’s eyes clenched shut, her mind trying to echo out the violation despite her body reacting to the ass-fucking, betraying her with a trembling heat that made her flush under the intense action.

The john’s groans filled the small room, his breath hot against Beth’s bare back as he leaned forward, his hairy chest brushing her skin. “Fuck, Bambi, you’re so damn tight,” he rasped lustfully as he pounded harder. His hands roamed to her ass cheeks, tracing the lipstick-scrawled WHORE with a sadistic chuckle, his fingers squeezing her tender flesh as he drove himself deeper, each thrust a sensual assault that pushed Beth to the edge of orgasm. Her muffled cries were barely heard through the tape, and her body shuddered with a mix of pain and forced pleasure.

With a final, guttural moan, Carl reached his climax, his hot release flooding Beth’s ass, the warmth overwhelming her senses as he held her hips firmly in place. He lingered for a moment, savoring the sight of her bound, trembling form, the bold “WHORE” still shimmering on her skin. Pulling out, he reached into his sagging khaki shorts and retrieved a wad of bills before counting $150 with a cruel grin. “I added an extra $50 in for you, darling,” he mocked as he stuffed the cash into her cum-filled ass, the paper sticking out from her orifice. “Maybe it’ll help you pump up your ass as big as those delicious fake tits of yours.”

Carl stepped back off the bed, zipping his shorts and grabbing his duffel bag. “You’re worth every penny, doll,” he grinned as he turned around. He paused momentarily, turning his head to look back at the bound, gagged, and humiliated blonde on the bed. “Your pimp’ll get you free, babe. That’s his job, after all.” The client laughed to himself as he walked out the door, slamming the motel door shut behind him, leaving Beth alone, helpless, on the sagging mattress.

The room echoed with the sounds of muffled moans, Beth’s blue eyes glistening with tears of shame as she writhed against the tight cuffs, the cold metal continuing to bite into her wrists and ankles. The tape sealing her damp panties in her mouth stifled her cries, as the humiliation of what she must look like dug into her mind. She struggled again, but knew it was impossible to break the cuffs in her current predicament. She needed to wait for help; she had no other choice.

❖

An hour had passed since Carl left Beth bound and humiliated on the dirty mattress of her motel room at the Desert Inn. Her naked body remained locked in the degrading position, wrists cuffed tightly to her ankles by the four-linked metal chain, her ass raised high with the bold “WHORE” scrawled in her own glossy red lipstick across her cheeks, her asshole forming the cruel “O.” The $150 in crumpled bills protruding from her cum-filled anus, a mocking testament to her degradation. The red tape sealing her wet panties in her mouth stifled her tired whispers, the taste of her own juices now mixed with saliva. Her platinum blonde hair clung to her sweat-slicked face, and her blue eyes glistened with rage and defeat, her plastic E-cup breasts pressed against the mattress as she writhed futilely against the cuffs.

The motel door creaked open, and Warren strode in, his large frame filling the doorway. He wore a black blazer over a snug gray shirt that stretched across his broad chest. A sadistic grin spread across the man’s weathered face as he took in Beth’s hilarious and helpless form, his gray eyes gleaming with delight as he stepped closer.

“Well, damn, Bambi, you’ve outdone yourself this time,” Warren said, his voice dripping with mockery as he knelt beside the bed, his gaze raking over her naked curves. He chuckled darkly, his fingers brushing the bills protruding from her ass. “Nice tip, doll. Looks like Carl had a real good time.” He pulled the $150 free with slow enjoyment, the paper crinkling as he wiped it down with a cloth and tucked it into his blazer pocket, savoring his charge’s humiliation.

Beth’s muffled protests vibrated against the tape, her eyes filled with fury as she glared at Warren. The man’s grin widened as he noticed her stare, his fingers moving to the red tape wrapped around her head, peeling it away with a slow, teasing tug that pulled at her sensitive skin. The tape fell away, and the conditioned cop spat out the damn panties, gasping for air as the taste of her own musk lingered on her tongue. “Like, seriously, Daddy! Don’t be a total creep!” she squealed in her dumb, bimbo dialect that completely clashed with her rage. “Get me out of these cuffs, you jerk!”

The former detective laughed, a low, amused sound that echoed in the small room as he reached for the cuffs, his fingers grazing her wrists and ankles with a possessive caress. “Oh, Bambi, you look so delicious and perfect like this,” he said gleefully as he unlocked the metal restraints, the steel clinking as they fell to the mattress. Beth collapsed forward, her body aching from the strain, her hair splaying across the stained sheets as she rubbed her sore wrists.

Beth stumbled to her feet, her legs trembling as she clutched the edge of the dresser for support. Her eyes stared back at her in the dressing table mirror as she glared at Warren through the reflection. “Like, you’re totally loving this, Daddy!” she squealed. “I’m, like, degrading myself for this mission and you’re totally laughing at me!” She turned towards the bathroom, her steps unsteady as she intended to shower off the degradation and shame she had just endured.

Warren leaned against the door frame as he watched the blonde with a smug grin. “Hurry up, Bambi,” he called after her, his voice carrying a mock urgency that irritated the cop. “I got some big news to share when you’re done.” He took the collected money from his pocket. He counted the $150 with a flourish before his eyes turned back to the bathroom, sparkling with amusement at Beth’s distress.

The undercover cop emerged from the shower, her skin flushed from the steaming water, the humiliating “WHORE” label now scrubbed away. She had slipped into a silver mini-dress that clung to her luscious curves like all her outfits did these days, the shimmering fabric barely grazing her thighs and accentuating her breasts with a daring neckline. She had reapplied her makeup in the bathroom: a new layer of foundation, blush, bold eyeliner, and glossy pink lips. A fresh mist of jasmine perfume masked the room’s stale musk as she faced her handler, her blue eyes narrowing with a mix of resentment and reluctant curiosity.

Warren straightened from the door frame and stepped closer toward the blonde. “I’ve got good news, doll,” he said, his voice low and deliberate, carrying a rare hint of focus. “I made those calls while you were busy with Carl. I found a guy by the name of James Day staying at the Bellagio, who matched the description you gave me.” He paused, his gaze locking onto hers, the weight of the revelation making the woman’s skin prickle. “We’ve got some investigating to do, babe. Get those heels on tight, we’re heading out now.”

The blonde’s heart surged with a mix of hope and dread, her glossy pink lips parting as she processed Warren’s words, the possibility of catching the killer igniting a flicker of determination beneath her recent humiliation. “Like, you totally found him, Daddy?” She grunted, embarrassed at how her words of optimism were translated into a vapid string of deference.

The blonde’s mini-dress shimmered as she slipped on her 6-inch silver stilettos, the heels clicking softly against the grotty carpet. Her hips swayed sensually as Beth followed Warren to the door, the Vegas night beyond the motel beckoning with promises of the answers she’d been looking for.

❖

Beth strutted down the Las Vegas Strip, her silver mini-dress shimmering under the glow of the towering casinos, the fabric clinging to her enhanced curves, and every man she passed couldn’t help but stare in awe and lust. Warren walked beside her, standing confidently beside his busty blonde ‘whore’, a pair of aviator shades on to block out the glare of the artificial light.

A slurred shout cut through the Strip’s buzz, halting Beth mid-step. “Hey, Sweetlips! Where have you been, baby?” a drunk finance bro called out, stumbling toward her from a nearby casino. Beth continued walking, but the young man hastened his pace, weaving through the crowd, and eventually caught up with the blonde undercover cop and her handler.

The drunk, Matthew, reached his target, his crumpled suit jacket hanging over to reveal a shirt stained with spilled beer, his flushed face breaking into a leering grin. He slapped Beth’s ass with a sharp smack that echoed along the Strip, his hand lingering on the fabric of her dress. “Been missin’ you, Sweetlips,” he slurred, oblivious to the mistaken identity. “You’re lookin’ hotter than ever, babe. How ‘bout we sneak off for some fun?”

Beth’s stomach twisted, her conditioning forcing a sultry smile as she turned to face the man. “Like, oopsie. I’m, like, not Sweetlips, sweetie,” she chirped in her dumb dialect. She tossed her platinum curls with a practiced flirtation, her sensual demeanor making the gesture provocative as though she was advertising herself. Her blue eyes darted nervously toward Warren for support.

Matthew’s grin widened, undeterred by his mistake, his bleary eyes wandering over Beth’s slutty dress as he stepped closer and leaned in, the stench of beer on his breath assaulting her senses. “Don’t matter who you are, babe,” he slurred, his hand reaching out again, brushing the blonde’s hip with a clumsy grab. “I got fifty bucks burnin’ a hole in my pocket. How ‘bout a quick ride, huh?” His voice dripped with sleaze and insistence, as if he was a man who wasn’t used to the word ‘no.’

Warren stepped forward and placed a possessive hand on Beth’s waist, his eyes narrowing on the intruder. “Easy there, pal,” the former detective said, his tone smooth but laced with authority as he pulled a business card from his blazer pocket. “This one’s mind. Her name’s Bambi, and she’s not available right now, but you’re in luck. Call this number tomorrow evening, and I’ll hook you up with a sweet discount. You won’t regret it.” Warren smiled at the man, his fingers tightening around Beth’s waist, reinforcing his control as he handed the card to the drunk.

Matthew’s eyes lit up, his drunken grin stretching wider as he snatched the card, his fingers fumbling with the glossy paper. “Hell yeah, you’re a real stand-up guy!” he said drunkenly, pocketing the card with a clumsy flourish before stumbling back into the busy crowd, his laughter echoing as he headed into another nearby bar. Beth’s heart pounded; the revelation of being mistaken for Sweetlips—a known victim of the Toymaker—reinforced just how much Warren had transformed her.

Beth rounded on Warren, her eyes narrowing beneath the bold eyeliner, her fists clenching as her impractical nails dug into her palm. “Like, Daddy, that was, like, totally so gross!” she squealed. “He, like, thought I was her, and you just gave him your card? You’re, like, pimping me out to creeps!” Her enhanced chest strained against the dress as she gestured wildly.

Warren’s grin sharpened, staring at the busty blonde through his sunglasses. “Yes, Bambi, because that’s what I am, your pimp,” he said in an amused tone. “Now keep walking, we’ve got some investigating to do.” His words left no room for argument as his fingers squeezed Beth’s waist, guiding her forward as the Bellagio’s opulent facade loomed ahead.

Beth heaved with suppressed rage, her pink lips pursing as her conditioning compelled her to obey Warren’s commands, her silver stilettos clicking provocatively against the pavement. The memory of Sweetlips’ fate chilled the cop’s blood, amplifying her desire to catch the psychopath before others, including her, suffered the same fate. Her lips gently parted as the huge casino & hotel stood before the pair. Warren grinned widely, patted Beth on the ass, and led her inside, the cop hopeful that this lead would take them straight to the killer.

❖

Beth followed Warren into the Bellagio’s majestic lobby, her silver dress shimmering under the chandelier’s glow as her heels clicked along the polished floor. The imposing, former detective approached the front desk, his confident swagger contrasting with the receptionist’s prim demeanor. The young woman, her auburn hair pinned neatly, eyes the approaching couple, noting Warren with professional skepticism as the man leaned in. “Good evening, darling,” he said, flashing a grin. “I’m afraid I’ve lost my key for room 1215, registered under James Day. Could you issue a replacement?” His fingers tapped the counter, his gray eyes filled with charm.

The receptionist’s lips pursed, her fingers pausing over the keyboard as she checked the system. “I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t issue a key without proper identification,” she said, her tone firm but polite. “Hotel policy. You’ll need to provide a photo ID matching the guest’s name.” Her eyes flicked to Beth, lingering on her provocative dress with disapproval, before returning to Warren.

Warren’s grin faltered as he forced himself to blush slightly. “Well, you see, this is a little embarrassing,” he told the woman behind the desk before leaning in to whisper. “I didn’t register the room under my legal name.” He glanced over at Beth before turning his attention to the auburn-haired woman. “I wouldn’t want the wife to find out what I’ve been up to. I’m sure you understand,” he winked at her before sliding his calloused hand up Beth’s frame and squeezing her barely clad fake breast, prompting the blonde undercover cop to moan softly. His words were laced with suggestive mischief as he fabricated his story.

The receptionist’s expression hardened, her lips tightening into a thin line as she ignored the former detective’s plea. “No exceptions, sir,” she said, her voice clipped with finality. “Step aside, please.” She gestured to the next guest, dismissing Warren with a cool glance. Beth’s heart sank, her bright pink lips parting as she wondered how else they could gain entry into that room.

Warren’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing as he pulled Beth away from the desk, his hand still firm on her waist. “Plan B, Bambi,” he muttered in irritation as he steered her toward the elevators. The elevator door slid open, and the pair stepped inside, the mirrored walls reflecting Beth’s slutty curves and Warren’s tense posture as he pressed the button for level 12, his mind already shifting to his next move.

The elevator dinged at level 12, and the doors parted to reveal a plush corridor adorned with golden accents and soft lighting. Beth’s heels sank into the thick carpet awkwardly, her heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and dread as she was unsure what Warren had planned next.

The former detective scanned the hallway, his eyes locking onto Maria, a maid he’d shared trysts with in his younger detective days and a woman he knew still held a soft spot for him. Her petite frame was clad in a crisp navy uniform, her dark hair swept into a tight bun, and she pushed a cleaning cart with practiced ease. Warren’s grin returned, his swagger restored as he approached her, his voice dropping to a husky purr. “Maria, you’re looking as gorgeous as ever,” he said, leaning close, his hand brushing the olive-skinned woman’s arm. “I need a little favor, darling. Your skeleton key for the floor, can I borrow it for an hour or so, for old times’ sake?”

Maria’s brown eyes narrowed, her lips pursing as she stepped back, clutching the key card tightly against her blue uniform. “Warren, you know I could lose my job for this,” she said, her voice firm but tinged with hesitation. “I need this gig, and I’m not risking it, even for you.” Her gaze flicked to Beth, her expression softening with curiosity at the blonde’s provocative dress; Warren always did have a thing for working girls, the maid thought to herself.

The man leaned closer, his grin softening into a seductive smirk as he brushed a stray lock of hair from Maria’s face, his finger sliding along her cheek. “Come on, Maria, just this once,” he murmured, his voice a velvet caress as he tilted her chin up, planting a soft kiss on her neck that made her shiver.

The maid’s resolve crumbled, her cheeks flushing as she pressed the card key into his hand, her fingers trembling slightly. She rued her own lack of self-control, but Warren always knew the right buttons to push. “You better not get me in trouble, Warren,” she whispered, her tone a mix of surrender and playful warning as her eyes sparkled with rekindled affection.

Warren pocketed the key and winked at Maria. “You’re a star, sweetheart,” he said charmingly before he turned to Beth, his hand reclaiming her waist with a possessive grip. “Let’s move, Bambi.”

Beth’s stomach twisted, her conditioning forcing a vapid smile to the maid despite her disgust at Warren’s predatory flirtation, as they stepped in the direction of her former client’s room. She hated how disgusted that made her feel, but Warren had achieved his goal, and she should be grateful for that, Beth surmised. As Warren walked up to room 1215, he pressed the key card into the receiver, smiling as the card activated the lock, and the door swung open, revealing a luxurious suite bathed in soft amber light. The moment the pair stepped into the room, however, they knew they had hit the jackpot.

Beth’s heart pounded furiously in her chest as her stilettos sank into the red carpet, her blue eyes widening at the chilling sight before her. A sleek, oak table held an array of ropes, leather gags, and polished daggers. Warren approached the table further as Beth tottered into the adjacent bedroom. The former detective raised an eyebrow as he discovered a bottle of embalming fluid on the edge of the table.

Warren’s gaze hardened as he approached a corkboard on the wall pinned with blonde prostitutes from across the state, including the recently deceased Sweetlips, and various other women the Toymaker had claimed. Beth’s own image, wearing a latex red dress and standing on her traditional corner, stood prominently in the center of the board. As the older man studied the image, he heard Beth’s bimbo voice straining through the bedroom door. “Like, Daddy, come here. You totally have to see this!” she shouted out in alarm.

Beth’s voice trembled with panic as Warren strode into the bedroom. He found Beth standing in awe and horror before a rose-petal-covered, four-poster, king-sized bed, the scarlet petals contrasting with the pristine white sheets. At its center lay a letter in bold, mocking script: “Nice Try, Officer Shaw.” Her soul almost leapt from her body as the undercover cop reread her real name. She couldn’t even recite her name, and yet she now saw it clear as day written on a card as a mocking jest. However, it was the item she found beside the card that truly horrified the blonde.

A Polaroid lay next to the letter, its image searing into Beth’s mind: Melanie Sachs, Beth’s best friend and closest colleague, naked, hogtied with soft red nylon rope, a red ball gag stretching her lips, her eyes wide with terror, clearly photographed in the same rose-petal-strewn bed. The cop’s blood ran cold, her heart shattering as the sight of her best friend in mortal danger tore through her. Why had the Toymaker targeted Melanie? She didn’t fit the victim profile at all. The bastard must have used her friend as a tool to get to Beth, and now Melanie was in danger. “Like, Daddy, my friend’s in trouble!” the blonde undercover cop cried, unable to say Melanie’s name under Warren’s conditioning, her voice quaking with desperation as tears welled in her blue eyes.

Warren’s face hardened as he removed his shades, his gray eyes narrowing as he read the letter and studied the Polaroid image; his usual sadistic grin was replaced by a grim intensity. “Well, I guess we’ve found our man, Bambi,” he said gravely, the weight of the discovery settling over him. “But that bastard knows exactly who you are. You have to stay out of this while we deal with it.” His fingers tightened on Beth’s arm, his grip a warning as he pulled her closer.

Beth’s chest heaved with panic, her enhanced breasts straining against the silver dress as she yanked free from Warren’s grip. Her pink lips trembled, tears steaming down her cheeks as the Toymaker’s taunting letter and Melanie’s terrified image burned in her mind. “Like, no way, Daddy, I’m saving her!” she squealed, her valley-girl dialect mangling her resolve as she stormed toward the suite’s door, ignoring Warren’s shouts to wait, her heart driving her into the corridor to rescue her friend before the Toymaker struck again. If Warren or the LVPD wasn’t prepared to act, she’d take care of that bastard herself.

❖

Beth tottered pacily toward the elevator, her stilettos pressing furiously against the Bellagio’s corridor carpet, her plump pink lips trembled as the Toymaker’s taunting letter and Melanie’s bound image burned in her mind. Her heart pounded with terror, the chilling realization that the Toymaker had known her true identity as a cop all along, amplifying her fear that she might be too late to save her best friend. Her enhanced curves continued to sway provocatively despite her panic, her conditioning forcing a sensual demeanor that she was unable to shake even in her urgent rage.

Suddenly, a heavy hand clamped onto the blonde undercover cop’s shoulder, spinning her around and pinning her against the corridor wall with a jarring thud. Beth had never seen the man before, but she knew a plainclothes police officer when she saw one, and the man twisted her arms behind her back with a jarring amount of force. “Don’t struggle!” the man warned. “You are under arrest for solicitation, and breaking and entering,” he barked, his voice rough as he began frisking the plastic blonde. His hands roamed over her curvaceous figure with clinical precision, lingering briefly on her plastic chest. The cold wall pressed against her back, her heels slipping slightly as she struggled against his grip. She didn’t have time for this!

Beth panicked, her enhanced chest strained against the silver mini-dress as she strained against the officer’s iron grip, her eyes blazing with desperation. “Like, officer, it’s totally a big misunderstanding!” she squealed, her bimbo dialect not doing her any favors. “Like, you gotta believe me, my friend’s in danger!” She chirped, unable to tell him her job, her name, or the names of the chief or Melanie; she was stuck.

The officer ignored her bimbo-laden pleas and turned her around, snapping cold metal cuffs around her wrists, the steel biting into her skin even more furiously than her latest session. She turned her head to call out for Warren. “Like, Daddy, help me!” only to find the corridor empty, his absence a gut-punch of betrayal that left her reeling, her heart racing with fear for Melanie as the plainclothes officer shoved the blonde into the elevator, the doors closing with a final ding. How was she going to break free of this dilemma and save her best friend?

End of Chapter Eight