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The Laura Effect

By: krr1957



This story deals with themes of coercion in a lesbian setting. If you think you might be offended please find yourself another story. 

*

Chapter 1

She sat arrogantly and her eyes conveyed an unspoken challenge. At eighteen years old she was my junior by fifteen years but, for her, it counted for nothing; I represented authority in name only. 

She wore her blonde hair in a pony tail scraped back severely from a face that had a natural beauty which she seemed determined to disguise with crudely applied cheap cosmetics. It seemed perverse, therefore, that she was dressed in a manner that was guaranteed to draw attention.

When she walked in the room her skirt was so short that it threatened to reveal her underwear with every step she took and a blue lycra top strained to hold her ample breasts in check. I could have taken issue with her and cited the dress code but I did not want a confrontation before we had even started. She was my very first and I was determined to get it right. 

I kept my expression impassive but my heart was beating fast and I looked down at my paperwork to hide my momentary anxiety. After a count of three I looked up again.

"Laura, you've been told how this works. This will be the first of five or six sessions after which I will make a determination about your future. Perhaps we can start today by you telling me what happened in your own words."

She said nothing for a few seconds and I sensed that she was weighing me up but I held her stare as I had been trained to do and waited for her to break the deadlock.

"It's on the file. Why do you need to hear it again?"

"I've read the file and I've reviewed the court transcripts but I want to hear it from you."

"And if I co-operate? What's in it for me?"

"Laura, I won't lie to you. You are going to serve a custodial sentence but the length and nature of that sentence will depend on the outcome of these sessions." 

There was another silence as she contemplated her choices. She had already seen off two case officers and it had been made clear that I represented her final option. For a few seconds I feared that she was going to get up and walk out and it was to forestall that outcome that I prompted her.

"She was a teacher, but she was only a few years older than you..."

Laura smiled very slightly at that. I had been not been allowed to speak to Miranda Coombes but I had read her testimony and had seen her on television throughout the trial. She was a stunning redhead and the cameras had loved her; so much so that she had left the teaching profession and now worked as a news anchor. 

Laura would still not be drawn and I tried a slightly different tack. 

"You say she accused you of cheating...."

Her eyes hardened just a little and then, after a long pause, she spoke.

"I beat her blue-eyed girls and she couldn't take it."

Ironically, in light of later events, it turned out that, despite being dyslexic, Laura had an above average IQ and there was no reason to believe that her score in the disputed non-verbal reasoning test was anything other than genuine.

"Do you think that justifies what you did?" 

"She put me down in front of the whole class. She got what she deserved."

Miranda Coombes' ordeal had lasted for three days. Laura had followed her home to her flat and, having discovered her address, she turned up on the following morning with her two accomplices. 

They had never been found. Coombes had given a detailed description; two women in their early twenties one blonde, one dark, both of medium build with better than average looks. She said that they had distinctive northern accents but Laura had consistently refused to reveal their identities.

"The police report says that you kept her naked the whole time and that she was spanked repeatedly, all three of you taking turns over three days."

Laura smirked at that. 

"The silly bitch should have done what she was told."

I was edging into new territory. Much of the court evidence had been given 'in camera' and was not in the public domain but, in the end, this had proved counter-productive and had lead to much lurid speculation in the press. 

"What did you want her to do Laura?"

She gave an evil smile.

"You read the papers, what do you think?"

It had been very difficult to tell fact from fiction. What was not in dispute was that Laura had pretended to be Coombes and had phoned in sick. It had also come out that Coombes had spent much of the time handcuffed to her own bed.

"Was it an apology? Is that what you wanted?"

"Oh she was ready to apologize as soon as we ripped the clothes off of her."

"But you must have known that you wouldn't get away with it."

"She wasn't going to tell anyone, you can be sure of that. It was just unlucky that her boyfriend turned up."

I have to admit that, for a moment, my interest was more than purely professional and Laura seemed to pick up on the nuance. 

"Do you want to hear me say it? Would that excite you?"

My mouth was a little dry but I did not want to admit to it and I left my glass of water where it was on the table. Her smile widened fractionally, as if she could read my thoughts.

Her two previous case officers had both been men. Laura had goaded them with sexual innuendo to the point where it was deemed inappropriate for them to carry on. That was why I had been drafted in. My inexperience counted against me but female case officers were currently in short supply.

As I watched she casually pulled down on her top to straighten it but, as she did so, her nipples began to stiffen. I kept my eyes locked on hers but they were there at the edge of my vision and they just continued to grow. 

My own nipples are fairly prominent when I am aroused but they bore no comparison to Laura's. The long teats looked set to tear through the flimsy blue material. 

"It's a little cold in here don't you think?"

The fact was that the room was comfortably warm but I was suddenly feeling somewhat hotter. When I walked into the room I was determined that I would not be fazed and I was comforted by the fact that the interview was being monitored on CCTV but the unseen audience only seemed to spur her on.

"It's very simple really. I wanted her to kiss my ass."

"Literally or metaphorically?" 

As soon as I said it I wish I had not. The cardinal rule was to keep the language simple. The girls must not think that they are being spoken down to but Laura was not fazed.

"Well I guess you could say both. Metaphorically, she was going to beg for my forgiveness but, in order to do that, she was literally going to kiss my ass."

"Coombes says that you beat her, that you made her do it."

She laughed softly before she replied.

"We slapped her backside a couple of times, that's all it took, She was a total wimp."

"She says that you made her kneel."

"How else was she going to take down my jeans?"

My pulse quickened just a little. This was something new, something that was not available to me in the transcripts. 

"What do you mean?"

"It's very simple. I bent over the arm of the chair. She took down my jeans and panties and then she begged."

At that moment I was shocked. I had read the papers but even they had not embellished the story to this extent. I tried to get the interview back on track.

"She did as you asked, and very quickly by your account, why didn't you let her go? It would have been your word against hers; you could have pleaded guilty to assault and avoided the kidnapping charges".

She did not reply for a second or two, almost as if the question had not occurred to her

"She gave in too easily. She spoilt the fun so I made her beg my friends as well."

"Tell me about your friends."

"Don't be a stupid bitch. I told the police nothing and I'm certainly not going to tell you."

I let the insult pass. It was my own fault, I thought that she was opening up to me, but I had misread her. 

"Okay so you made her beg your friends as well. Did they undress?"

I hope I appeared clinical, as I tried to understand the ritual, but I sounded slightly awkward even to my own ear. Laura looked at me as if I had asked a stupidly obvious question. 

"So what happened next?"

For the first time since she walked into the room she looked slightly on edge.

"Are you a lesbian?"

I blinked in surprise.

"No, I'm engaged."

Without thinking I showed her the expensive solitaire on my ring finger.

"It's just that you look like that actress...Portia something"

"Portia de Rossi?"

"That's her."

I could see that there might be a facial resemblance to the lesbian actress but she probably went a couple of dress sizes smaller than me. It was just intriguing that Laura should think that, because we looked a little like one another, we might share a common sexual orientation. 

There was an awkward pause before she continued.

"I'm not a les but seeing that bitch kissing ass made me as horny as fuck. I decided to see how far I could push her."

I tried to keep my expression neutral but I felt a frisson. She was revealing more than I dared hope but, in truth, it was not just my professional curiosity which was roused. 

"We had to spank her a little but she got the message. She wasn't that good, she cried the whole time, but what a fucking power trip. She just kept licking until I told her to stop and you better believe that took some while. In the end I came like a train".

I hoped that I projected my disgust. She was clearly out to shock me but I wanted her to believe that I had heard worse. I said nothing and simply waited for her to continue.

"After that the others wanted some attention. We found some booze and made ourselves comfortable."

I tried to imagine the scene and the fear that Coombes must have felt. I wondered how I would have reacted. I told myself that I would take a beating, that nothing would make me degrade myself in that way, but, then again, I had no real idea what they might have threatened her with.

I was lost in these thoughts for a moment or two but then my nostrils twitched. The room had a slightly stale, institutional, odour but I was now aware of a new smell, something vaguely familiar. I breathed in again, trying to place it, and then, with a shock, it registered. My eyes opened a little wider and I saw the amusement in hers.

She had her hands beneath the table and I realized that I had made a mistake. The rules called for her hands to be in plain sight at all times and I had not enforced it. My immediate reaction was to snap at her but to do so then would have been to admit my error and might be construed as a show of weakness.

I decided to maintain a professional demeanour and ignore it but I found myself looking at her arms checking for signs of movement. 

She slouched a little lower on her seat and picked up where she had left off. 

"Well you must know, a sexy woman like you, once is not enough for us girls. We all took another turn and it seemed to go on from there. We didn't even have to leave the place to eat. We just helped ourselves from the kitchen."

Her arm was flexing, barely noticeable, but just enough and the smell grew more redolent. I should have told her to stop but I was desperate to hear how her story panned out. 

"You've seen her, how beautiful she is, can you imagine her down on her knees in front of you? Her mouth was really hot and her face was so smooth and delicate, not like a man's."

She was trying to provoke a reaction and, outwardly, I refused to rise to it but, for a few brief seconds the picture she painted was emblazoned on my mind. I could see myself looking down at that mane of, now famous, red curls with my fingers entwined and I could almost feel her tongue. 

I shifted in my seat and pulled myself together.

"Let's just stick to the plain facts."

Laura gave a knowing smile and then I heard it, almost imperceptible, but there was no doubting. It was the sound of the soft suck of moisture.

In spite of myself I felt my cheeks begin to redden. She was sitting there, less than a metre in front of me, with her hand inside her panties. I should have stopped the interview right there and then but I did not and from that moment the course of my life changed forever.

I chose to ignore it, to pretend it was not happening, but Laura knew exactly what effect she was having. She also knew, as I did, that the watching camera was situated behind me so that she was only visible from the waist up. 

Giving in, I took a much needed sip of water but, as I put the glass back down on to the table, I glanced furtively at her chest. Her nipples were still obscenely erect and, seen in outline, they were commensurately large. The heavily dimpled areolae were inches across and they seemed to have a maturity which was somehow inappropriate for one so young. 

I took a deep breath and looked her in the eyes once more but she was still smiling knowingly. 

"Like what you see? You only have to ask."

With that she used her free hand to lift her top and, for a couple of seconds, her breasts were totally revealed. Without thinking my eyes dropped but I looked up again almost immediately. 

"Cover yourself up."

She slowly pulled her top back down into place but the after image lingered. Her breasts were heavy orbs crowned with dusky pink nipples so large that they seemed to melt into the surrounding skin but what stayed in my mind were the teats themselves standing proud enough to cast shadows. 

She sat silently, almost sulky, and I tried to draw her out again.

"You stayed in her flat for two nights wasn't that a little reckless?"

"Maybe, but she was getting better and better with practise. Just think about it. She was there to be used; when we woke up, after meals, even when we were watching her TV."

I should have felt abhorrence, not least because of the casual nature of her cruelty, but to my eternal shame I felt a familiar tingling between my legs. 

"Why did the other two leave?"

"They had to get back but I was greedy. We had her handcuffed to the bed, totally helpless, and I couldn't resist one last time...and that's how her boyfriend found us, with me sitting on her face."

"And he arrested you?"

"I reckon he took his time about it. I think the bastard watched until I was finished."

"A little unlucky that her boyfriend was a policeman."

"She wouldn't have pressed charges, she didn't want it coming out, but once he knew what was going on he couldn't turn a blind eye."

I decided to wind things up and reassert my authority.

"Well Laura, I think that's enough for now. I would like to thank you for being so candid with me but I have to say that your description of your victim's ordeal and your obvious lack of remorse inclines me to feel less well disposed towards you right now."

She looked at me coldly, as though she had expected no other outcome, and then she slowly got to her feet.

"A couple of things you ought to know. We didn't take the handcuffs with us, we found them in the flat after we got there...and, yes, we made her beg but she was still begging long after the spankings stopped"

I sat stunned and, as she held her hand out to me, I shook it without thinking.

Chapter 2

She knocked at the door and, after the guard came in and escorted her away, I gave her a moment and followed her out. I quickly turned towards the ladies room and then stood still at the sink. 

For a few seconds I looked down at my hand like Lady Macbeth but instead of thrusting it under the tap I tentatively brought my fingers to my nose. I could smell her from inches away, and my first thought was that the scent was surprisingly like my own. 

I caught my reflection in the mirror and blushed. I was a trained professional supposedly doing my job and here I was loitering in the lavatory like a guilty schoolgirl.

The room had two stalls, both empty, and I slipped into the nearest one.

I do not know what possessed me. I had never before entertained fantasies of sex with another woman but, having locked the door behind me, I slowly and deliberately eased my hand down into my panties. It seemed so perverted, almost as if I were rubbing myself against her, but the immediate sexual charge was almost overwhelming.

It was wrong on so many levels. I enjoy a healthy sexual appetite and had probably had more than my fair share of partners prior to getting engaged but I had never got so close to orgasm in such a short time. It was made worse because I knew that it was fuelled by a combination of Laura's outrageous behaviour and the story she had told. 

I was not even using my fingers. The warmth of my hand and the knowledge that it had been tainted by her touch was enough of itself. I desperately tried to conjure an image of John, currently working two hundred miles away, but all I could think of was that young harlot and, more particularly, her remarkable breasts. 

I was jolted back to reality when I suddenly heard a door opening and then the sound of someone occupying the adjacent stall. I quickly rearranged my clothes, flushed the bowl, and walked out. This time I did wash my hands scrubbing them more vigorously than necessary but I convinced myself that the whole thing was a temporary aberration. There had been no harm done and it would certainly not happen again. 

Now I wanted to get home and have a shower. After that I would write up my case notes and get my relationship with Laura Simmons back onto a totally professional footing.

I looked at my watch and was surprised to find that only a few minutes had passed since the interview ended. I went back down the corridor, the way I had come, and walked into the observation room where I had left my coat and bag.

"Are you okay?"

The girl sitting at the monitor did not look much older than Laura herself but the fact that she had drawn this duty meant that she was at least one year post qualified. It seemed an odd question for her to ask but I answered politely. 

"Yes, I'm fine thank you." 

I found myself checking the monitor which showed the empty interview room and, whilst I had seen it before, I now noted just how clear an image the camera relayed. 

"You could have used the chicken switch."

She was referring to the panic button on the underside if the desk which would have brought the guard running.

"I think I had it under control."

She smiled but I thought I detected a faintest hint of condescension. I then noticed that she was not wearing her clip-on tie and had undone the top buttons of her blouse. This would not have seemed out of the ordinary were it not for the new governor's insistence on a strict adherence to the uniform code. 

Only then did it occur to me that she too might have been affected by Laura's display. She turned round and ejected a DVD from the machine putting it carefully into a case. 

"Do you want a copy?"

She kept her expression neutral but that was just something about the way that she said it and I replied tersely.

"I am not entitled to a copy."

She gave a tiny shrug of the shoulders.

"I thought she came out with stuff that didn't come out at the trial."

"Even if she did, it's strictly confidential. She's already been tried and convicted. The purpose of these interviews is simply to assess her suitability to join one of the new rehabilitation programmes."

She looked taken aback by my harsh tone and I felt a little guilty. In the scheme of things she was way down the scale compared to my exulted status but the job she and her colleagues were doing was both demanding and draining. If she was earning a third of what I was getting I would have been surprised.

It was very easy to see the uniformed staff as drones but it had to be remembered that they too had had to qualify to do their jobs. In fact, I found it interesting, from a professional point of view, to see the lengths to which they would go to to assert their individuality.


The Laura Effect



This young woman had obviously adjusted the darts on her standard issue white blouse to emphasis her attractive bust line and her skirt had been shortened so that it was probably just on the wrong side of regulation length. 

I also noted that she was wearing make up. This too, whilst not strictly prohibited, was discouraged but hers was very subtle. She had beautiful blue eyes which she had pointed up with a light mascara and a very pale grey eye shadow. I found myself checking out her full lips. If she had not used lipstick then she had certainly used a clear gloss. 

"I'm sorry I didn't mean to snap."

She smiled genuinely.

"There's no need to apologize, I guess she got us both a little hot under the collar."

I did not know how to reply. It seemed important to repudiate her assertion, even if it held a strong element of truth, particularly as she was now looking at me conspiratorially.

"She's very young. She was just testing the boundaries. She'll come into line."

"Young or not did you hear the things that they made that woman do?"

For reasons I could not explain I found myself mounting a defence. 

"She also suggested that there was some give and take."

She was silent for a second or two and appeared lost in thought. She idly toyed with her hair, which, whilst kept to the proscribed length, was cut in a rebellious elfin style. 

"Do you believe her?"

"It's possible. All else apart, some people have a naturally dominant personality and others are perceived as innately submissive. There are innumerable case histories of manipulative personality types influencing others do their bidding". 

"But do you think that she could make someone do that?"

I was beginning to find her questions both impudent and a little intrusive and my reply was more sarcastic than I intended. 

"How would you react if I asked you to come over here and get down on your knees?"

I hoped that my rudeness would bring an awkward conversation to an abrupt end but she looked neither angry nor aggrieved. Instead, her expression was odd, hard to read, and there was a long pause before she replied. 

"Is that what you want me to do?"

She was not replying in kind. She said it quietly and I was shocked to realize that she was framing it as a genuine question. In the next few seconds my thoughts crowded in on one another and my heart began to race. My conscience screamed professional integrity but there were darker forces at work deep in my psyche. 

"Lock the door."

The words came from my mouth but it was as if it was not my voice. There was no hesitation on her part. She rose from the chair, turned the key in the lock, and then waited. 

I could see now that she was some inches shorter than me, perhaps five feet four, but she had a slim build and her body was perfectly proportioned. I knew that I had to act quickly before I lost my nerve.

"Come here."

She took half a dozen steps to close the gap between us and I noted that she was no longer looking me directly in the eye; instead, she kept her eyes downcast at the level of my neckline. 

She stopped in front of me and I sensed that she was awaiting instructions.

"Kneel down"

I held my breath, wondering if this was a step too far, but she slowly dropped to her knees.

In seven years of psychology training nothing could have prepared me for this. Had I been asked I could have given an analytic appraisal citing character traits, natural urges perhaps even suggestion techniques but that all seemed a world away. 

"Lift my dress."

This was the moment. My panties, already partly soiled by my activities a few minutes earlier, had become appreciably damper in a matter of seconds and I was inviting this young stranger to witness my arousal.

She reached forward, almost reverently, and took hold of the hem of my dress. She paused for a heartbeat and then slowly lifted it 

Almost at once I could smell myself and, for an instant, some deep seated sense of propriety made me feel a little ashamed, but then I saw the look on her face. 

My panties had started the day a pristine powder blue but they were now visibly discoloured by a damp patch that was still slowly expanding and, as I looked down, she leaned inwards.

That which, only a moment ago, had seemed sordid now became shockingly compelling.

"Get closer. I want you to smell me."

For the first time she appeared to hesitate, as though she might be entertaining second thoughts, but I could not stop now. 

"Do it."

My tone was a shade harsher and it brought the required response. She inched forward until her tip of her nose was almost touching and then I saw her chest swell as she breathed in deeply.

Only a quarter of an hour earlier I had hesitantly experienced the scent of another for the first time and now here I was demanding the same of someone else and I found it thrilling.

"Keep breathing."

She was holding the breath that she had drawn but I wanted her to keep filling her lungs; driven by some previously untapped inner arrogance I was determined that she would never forget me. 

She breathed slowly through her nose and the simple act of watching was enough to make me hotter. 

"Take them off…"

I was tempted to add the word "slowly" but it proved unnecessary. She gently took hold and peeled them delicately down to my ankles allowing me to step out of them and leave them where they lay. 

She returned to her station and her eyes were wide with excitement, and perhaps a little trepidation.

"Take off my skirt."

I turned my hip a fraction, revealing the side zip, and she slowly worked the fastening. As the dark material slid down my legs I pushed it aside impatiently with my foot. 

I now stood with my legs a little apart and she knelt before me gazing at my sex. In truth it was a little untidy. John liked me to have regular waxings but when he went away for any length of time my rebellious streak kicked in. 

My protuberant labia now emerged from a young dark growth which, to my mind, conveyed a rightful sense of maturity. We remained frozen in place but the stillness of my body was not matched by the beat of my heart which was pounding ever faster.

I was going to make her lick me, I knew it, she knew it, and the sense of power was intoxicating. I could feel my sex swelling, opening just a little, and then the prickling of a single bead of moisture as it traced its way down my inner thigh. 

Her eyes slowly dropped following its slow sinuous progress and then, for the first time since she went down to her knees, she looked up at me. I made her wait for a silent count of three and then I smile indulgently.

She needed no further encouragement. She bowed down and touched her tongue to my knee and then slowly worked her way upwards following the silver trail. 

Her tongue was hot and the touch slightly ticklish but I almost swooned with the pleasure of it and she, for her part, gave a deep purr as she lapped the taste of me from my skin but as she drew closer to my sex she paused as though again unsure. Her tongue lingered in the crease than formed the border of my mons and her nose nuzzled at the undergrowth with a soft rasping. 

I tolerated it for a moment or two but I was, by now, almost breathless with anticipation. I brought my fingers to my sex and eased myself open presenting the heat and wetness. My own scent was stronger than I had ever known it and it must have wreathed about her face with an almost tangible thickness. 

She seemed almost frightened by it but there was no way I was going to stop now.

"Look at it."

Again there was an unaccustomed edge to my voice but it had the desired effect. She moved away just a little and stared at my open maw and I could feel myself oozing beneath her gaze.

"Don't keep me waiting. 

I looked down on her as she put out her tongue once more and, for a second or two, my knees threatened to buckle but then she eased forward and I felt the first hesitant touch. 

No confirmation was needed; I could tell that this was her first time. She kept her tongue still as she experienced the warm softness and the raw taste before she began to gently probe testing the resistance of my labia.

The ease with which she was able to slip inside seemed to take her by surprise and I moaned as I felt her tongue swelling within but I needed to retain control.

"Not yet…I want you to lick me."

She reluctantly withdrew but immediately began to use the flat of her tongue in a series of broad sweeps from the bottom to the top of my sex. 

Her technique left much to be desired but the fact that she was a woman and the knowledge that she would do anything I asked was enough to bring me to the edge. Realizing this, she moved a little higher seeking out my clitoris.

"Take your time."

I could have surrendered to an orgasm right then but I wanted to savour the moment. I knew that my interview was the last booking of the day and there was little chance of us being disturbed. 

She looked up at me with a hint of petulance in her eyes but she hunched lower and picked up the rhythm once more.

I placed my hand lightly on the top of her head and, for the next few minutes, I continued to direct her.

"A little slower…"

"Harder…"

"Inside…"

"Taste me…"

She followed each new instruction without demur and seemed gripped by an inner calmness but I knew that I could not hold out much longer. I let my hand slip a little to the back of her head and then gave one last command.

"Now…"

Her neck was, by now, a little stiff but she ignored the discomfort and adjusted her stance. I guessed that my clitoris was no larger than average but, just then, it felt as if it had swollen to twice its normal size and she found it unerringly.

That first touch was electric and my whole body shivered with the pleasure of it. I had reached a climax whilst standing on many occasions but this was like no other. She was licking with a new found ardour and I found myself grinding my sex against her face. 

Desperate for relief I gave up any pretence at control but my body refused to let go. It was as if it knew that a few more seconds of exquisite tension would bring a reward beyond measure.

I looked down at her again but her eyes were fixed as she licked ever faster. Her face was red with exertion, her forehead glistening with perspiration, and only then did it occur to me that she too was close. 

The thought that she could come without touching herself, simply through this act of devotion, was the final trigger. My body stiffened and then shook as jolts of pleasure coursed to every extremity. They radiated from my sex and then surged back to collide with even more powerful tremors so that I was caught in a quaking ecstasy. 

It was as quick as it was violent and this was just as well. I could not have taken much more and I recognized that the desperately muted screaming that I could hear was my own. 

As my body finally began to relax I realized, guiltily, that I had held her pressed hard against me throughout and, as I released her, she gasped for breath. 

Having assured myself that she was okay I slumped down into her chair but, even now, my body was still shaking slightly. As I tried to compose myself I wondered idly if she had managed to come herself. She looked totally washed out, convincing me that she had, and this sparked a new train of thought.

I wanted to know, now that it was over, if she felt embarrassed or perhaps guilty. I was surprised to find that I felt neither but I was mischievously determined to find out. I opened my legs revealing the sodden mess that my sex had become. A mix of saliva, perspiration and arousal had matted the dark growth and my labia were lewdly relaxed.

She was still looking at the floor, gathering herself, but my spoor was in the air and it finally caught her attention. She turned towards me and, as she did so, I stroked a finger over my pubis.

"Come and clean me up."

She appeared disconcerted, as though she misunderstood, and then she looked aggrieved and, for the first time, it occurred to me that she might have expected me to return the favour. The fact that I was going to disappoint her was oddly exciting but I knew that it was important to reassert myself.

"Over here…"

I could see, in her eyes, an internal struggle being waged but I could almost feel her bending to my will. Slowly but surely her body began to move and, without getting up from her knees, she came towards me.

No further words were necessary. She began to lick at the salty residue on my inner thighs and then she began to groom my pubis itself. As she did so she made a soft sucking sound and I felt a growing twinge. 

I did not think that I would be capable of more but hearing her as she diligently went about her task was threatening to bring me back to the boil. She understood what was happening and began to exploit her advantage. 

Her tongue roamed over my pubis, sometimes returning to my thighs, but she avoided my labia and very soon I was squirming. This went on for some time but finally I could take no more and I whispered under my breath.

"You little bitch…"

She looked up at me from between my thighs and smiled broadly and then in one movement she clamped her mouth to my sex and sank her tongue deep inside. I was taken by surprise but then I tensed my muscles and held her in. 

Once again she must have had difficulty breathing but she made no attempt to free herself and as I looked down at her worshipful eyes and her buried nose seemingly fringed by my pubic hair I felt myself start to come for a second time.

This time it was not so intense but I made it last longer as I rode it out and the whole time I was aware of her swallowing down my offering. 

When it was over I was breathing hard and I remained slumped in the chair with my eyes closed. When I opened them again she was standing in front of me proffering my clothes. For a space of time we had suspended reality but now it was back with a brutal harshness. 

She had cleaned herself up as best she could and was now anxious for me to get dressed. I became aware, once more, of the background noises that marked out the building as a storehouse of misery and I put on my clothes without a word. We both knew that, had we been caught, we could have said goodbye to our careers and we parted in conspiratorial silence. 

Chapter 3

As I left the room the insanity of what I had just done came home to me and I knew that it must never happen again but that thought brought with it a rueful realization that it had been one of the most exciting moments of my life.

Later I returned to my apartment and took a long shower but, even having had something to eat, my mind was still buzzing with the thrill of it and I desperately wished that John was with me. 

It was a warm evening and I sat on my bed dressed in a short nightdress whilst I browsed the case papers for the following day. It took about an hour and I knew that I was simply avoiding the one job that needed to be done.

Finally, I could put it off no longer. I picked up Laura's file and began to think about the case notes. In due course I would receive a transcript of the interview, and I was mildly amused at the thought of what some poor young secretary was going to be obliged to type up, but for now I had to jot down my impressions and initial conclusions. 

For the first time in my career I found it hard to remain dispassionate. Her seeming lack of remorse counted against her but she had thrown out the tantalizing hint that her victim was not totally coerced. My immediate inclination was to not put her name forward for the rehabilitation scheme but I was convinced that, given time, I could work with her. 

Unfortunately, when writing up the notes, it was difficult not to picture her in my minds eye and that, in turn, brought me back to my own subsequent outrageous behaviour. This remembrance brought with it a growing heat between my legs that was becoming harder to ignore.

Taking a pragmatic approach I put the file to one side and settled back into the piled pillows. Opening the bedside cabinet I took out my trusty vibrator and switched it on. I would treat myself to one orgasm and then I would get back to work. 

I was surprised to find that I needed little teasing and I was able to slip the simple white shaft deep inside almost from the outset. I tilted it slightly to touch it against my clitoris and it was at that moment the telephone rang. 

I switched it off but left it inside as I grabbed for the phone. I was surprised to hear John's voice and only then appreciated just how late it was. He was back in his hotel room having entertained clients for dinner and he proceeded to tell me about his latest deal.

I loved him but, in truth, I could have done without hearing the minutiae of his business affairs. I understood how lonely it could get on the road and that sometimes you just needed a sounding board. From time to time I filled in with details of my day but, for the most part, he did the talking. 

I must have done it without thinking because, as I continued to listen, I felt the vibrator buzzing deep inside and, before long, I was slowly pushing it in and out. 

Lulled by the sound of his voice I slid a little deeper into the pillows and started to raise my hips to meet the movements of my hand. 

I was no longer paying attention to what he was saying but I tried to picture his naked body. The problem was that as I grew more excited it was not his image that came to mind but that of Laura teasing me with her breasts. 

I tried to dismiss it but my efforts were only half-hearted and each time I surrendered once more I felt myself getting ever nearer to a climax. At some point the phoned slipped from my sweaty grip but instead of retrieving it I used my fingers to caress my nipples which had grown painfully distended.

It took very little longer. I was soon pistoning the vibrator in and out of myself in an uncontrolled frenzy and squeezing my breasts. I tried to stay quiet but what started as a stifled groan became an uncontrolled shriek as I clawed my way to the pinnacle.

It was over quickly but then there was the sublime moment of knowing that there was to be no softening, that my loyal little friend would carry on untiringly until I decided otherwise. 

I eased it out slowly but let the tip of it rest against my pubic bone from where the vibrations were transmitted to my still excited clitoris. I knew, from experience, that it would take a long time to come this way but I also knew that my patience would be rewarded with a second slow, drawn out, climax, which would leave me completely drained and ready for sleep.

As I surrendered to the pleasurable sensations I guiltily reached for the phone again but, in dropping it, I must have disconnected the call because all I could hear was a dial tone. I was not worried; John would phone back and I would apologize for accidentally cutting him off, but in the meanwhile …

I managed to tease myself for nearly an hour, occasionally varying the pressure to bring myself closer only to ease off at the critical moment but, throughout, I was still plagued with images of Laura and of the other young girl who had brought me so much unaccustomed pleasure earlier that day. 

When I finally came I almost cried with the intensity of it and when it was over my body was sheened with perspiration. I decided to rest for a few moments before showering once more but I must have drifted off.

By the time I awoke the sun was well risen and I had to rush to get ready. Only as I was going out of the door did it occur to me that John had not phoned back but that would have to wait. 

The day was particularly busy and passed quickly and once back at home I tried calling his mobile. When that failed I tried the hotel switchboard but he had requested not to be disturbed. I was not unduly worried figuring that he would phone as soon as he was able.




The Laura Effect



I cooked a meal and watched a little TV and, as he had still not called, I tried phoning again with the same results. Only then did it occur to me that perhaps it had not been me that had cut off the previous days call after all. More worryingly, if he had heard the noise I was making, it was not a great stretch of the imagination to see what conclusions he might have drawn.

I was now seriously worried. At worst he might think I was with someone else but even if he could be made to believe that I was alone it did not say a great deal about my interest in his conversation. I tried calling, on and off, for the remainder of the evening but to no avail. I even considered telling the hotel it was an emergency but, even now, my pride would not allow me to appear quite that desperate. 

At worst, I figured that I could pay him a surprise visit at the weekend; he would not be able to stay angry for long once he saw me in the flesh. With that thought I went to bed for an early night. I had a long drive the next day and I wanted to be fresh. 

My journey took me eighty miles west for a meeting with Nicola Stoke-Marnes. I was a little peeved that I could not meet her in chambers, which would have involved a short walk across town, but she was still recovering from illness and was only in the office two days a week. 

Stoke-Marnes, a junior barrister, had been appointed as Laura's defence attorney. In retrospect it was probably too much for her but, at the outset, the case had been seen as fairly routine with an almost inevitable outcome. Only later, as details started to come out, did the media frenzy begin and she suddenly found herself involved in one of the most high profile cases in recent years. 

Having looked at the transcripts she had clearly done the best she could but the strain must have gotten to her. 

I was headed for her weekend retreat, a mill cottage which proved a challenge even for my upmarket sat nav. When it finally came into view I was immediately envious. It was a fairy tale granite building, dark with age, set in a large garden which graduated from immaculately kept to unkempt meadow.

I recognized her as soon as she opened the door to me but she looked so different. The press had made much of this beautiful, intelligent young woman and poked fun at a judicial system that obliged her to appear before the bench in outdated wig and gown. Now, casually dressed in sloppy tee shirt and baggy jogging bottoms, she looked naturally vivacious. 

The strain was still there to be seen in her eyes but she smiled easily and it struck me that, she too, would have had no difficulty with a media career if that what was she had chosen to do. 

She welcomed me into a living room well appointed with period furniture and offered me tea and cake that she had baked herself. We made small talk for a quarter of an hour and then I tried to get down to business.

"In order to complete my profile I would be grateful if you would let me have your personal impression of Laura."

The enquiry seemed to put her ill at ease and she did not answer it immediately. Instead, she responded with a question of her own.

"This profile, it will determine whether or not she stays in prison?"

"No. She has been found guilty and she will serve a sentence. It's my job decide if she would profit from rehabilitation."

"You mean day release? To sweep the streets?"

I smiled before replying.

"No, this is something new. We are choosing candidates whose school records suggest that they might otherwise have been achievers. We will assess their aptitude and then we will give them tuition."

"What good does it do? Nobody is going to employ them."

"That's what makes this different. The candidates will be guaranteed a job, There will be openings in finance, media even the law but it will be tough. They will receive education and training but they must then take and pass the required entrance exams. There is no feather bedding, they will be competing openly and on the same terms as job market applicants but if they pass they're in."

"And employers are going for this?"

"They have nothing to loose. Its good, cheap, publicity. We will meet the salaries for the first two years, including any promotions; if the candidates turn out to be genuinely unsuitable they can be sacked like anybody else."

She seemed to think about this.

"Why do you think this will work?"

"Simply because, as they perceive it, they will be competing on a level playing field for the first time in their lives. It gives them a chance to get a foot in the door and prove themselves." 

She paused and when she spoke again there was an edge to her tone.

"Laura is not the sort of person you're looking for."

Taken by surprise I tried to explain further.

"Her guilt is not in doubt. What she did was totally and utterly wrong. Now it's simply for me to decide if there is sufficient potential to work with."

"That girl is evil, I don't think you realize how manipulative she is."

I was about to tell her that such a judgment was more in my province than hers when I saw the tears in her eyes. Before I knew it she had leant across the sofa and was sobbing freely against my shoulder.

The professional in me wanted to ease her away but I found myself petting her hair.

"You can talk about it if you want to."

She was probably only four or five years younger than me but I suddenly felt much older. She sobbed for a little while longer and then sat up and dabbed at her tear stained face.

"I'm sorry. You don't know what she put me through."

The fact was, I probably did and for reasons I could not explain I began to feel uncomfortably warm. She collected herself and continued.

"It was my mistake. When she was out on bail we had to keep her in hiding because of the press intrusion and in a moment of madness I suggested the cottage. My boyfriend is abroad at present, finishing his doctorate, and so I thought it would give an ideal opportunity to put her case together."

Her composure broke once more and she started crying again. Without thinking I pulled her to me and stroked her head to try and calm her and in fits and starts her story came out.

"She told me what she had done to that poor woman. Her language was crude as if she was deliberately trying to shock me. I made it clear to her that she was making it nigh on impossible to mount a defence but that only seemed to amuse her.

That night I had dreams. You have to understand that my career has always come first. I have only ever had one serious relationship, and that is with the man I intend to marry, but I couldn't get the picture out of Laura and that woman out of my mind."

Her tears were making my blouse damp but I continued to hold her close. I knew exactly what she had been through but it was clear that she was not as well equipped to cope.

"When I got home the following day I tried to go through it again. I made it absolutely clear to her that she was not helping herself but she didn't seem to care. She wanted to know if her story had turned me on.

By that stage I was ready to give up on her but walking away from my first high profile case would not have looked good. I had trouble sleeping again that night but at least, when I managed to get off, I was able to dream about Justin. 

I dreamt that he was with me, caressing me, it seemed so real….Look I'm sorry…it's hard for me to say this…"

"Take your time. There's no hurry."

She was racked with guilt and desperate to confide in someone and, being a doctor, I guess I was the perfect choice. It also helped that I had met Laura and knew how calculating she could be.

"In my dream Justin wanted me to…to go down on him…he pushed my head down and I didn't like it. He was being too assertive and that's when I woke up."

My immediate thought was that her dream was nothing out of the ordinary. The coercion by her boyfriend might have been an unconscious manifestation of the pressure she was under but it was an otherwise healthy fantasy. 

"She was there, in bed with me."

For a second or two I did not comprehend.

"She was supposed to be sleeping in the spare room but I woke up and found her beside me. I told her to leave but she wouldn't go. I threatened her, tried to push her out of the bed, but she is stronger than she looks and, besides, I have never been in a fight in my life."

Her shoulders shook as she was almost overcome again but she seemed determined to get her story out. 

"She was naked and I was hampered by my night dress. Somehow she got on top of me. She pinned me down. She made me….made me do things."

I think I knew exactly what she was made to do but the fact that, even now, she could not articulate it suggested just how traumatic the experience must have been for her.

I said nothing, waiting to see if she wanted to continue, but she must have taken my silence as condemnation. When she spoke again she was defensive. 

"I tried to struggle but she threatened my face with her nails. I had no choice."

My own feelings at that moment were curiously mixed. On the one hand I felt for her and wanted to see Laura punished but on the other I have to admit that I was faintly, but inappropriately, aroused. 

I tried to set my mind straight.

"Afterwards, you didn't report her, nor did you drop her case."

"I couldn't"

"Did you throw her out?"

"I wanted to…"

I waited for her to complete the sentence but she left it hanging and I have to say that I was intrigued. By now my blouse was extremely damp and she used her fingertips to gently, but guiltily, pull it away from my skin. 

I turned her face towards me and her eyes conveyed a plea to be understood but I was still puzzled. It was then that I felt her hand and, in a moment of blinding clarity, it became obvious. 

Her touch was unsure but she edged her fingers just inside my blouse.

"Oh my God. You enjoyed it didn't you?"

She looked away from me, unwilling to meet the accusation, but she did not take her hand away. 

"It was so… different. I never would have dreamt it."

As she confessed it she was wracked by another bout of guilty sobs.

"You mustn't anguish over it. No one will ever know and you must put it down to experience."

Even as I said it I felt a total hypocrite. Who was I to give advice after my own recent experiences?

"You don't understand. I love my boyfriend but I have never felt that way with him. After that first time she made me do it again and I couldn't resist her."

Her words gushed from her as the dam broke on her pent up emotions. 

"Look, it makes no difference. What's important is, that when it came to it, you acted totally professionally and represented her to the best of your abilities. I've read the transcripts and it was, in part, your defence of her that brought her to the attention of the rehabilitation committee. She was lucky to have you."

For a moment my words seemed to have the desired effect and I could feel some of her self esteem returning but then she gave way again.

"But she's changed me. I see women now…and I look at them…I…I imagine myself."

"Believe me, it's nothing to worry about. It might just be that you're wired that way. You'd be surprised how many people are."

I tried to project a professional confidence but that only encouraged her to open up even more. 

"But how can it be right? Just now, when I opened the door to you, a total stranger, and all I can think about is what a beautiful woman you are."

As she said it her fingertips slowly slid into the confines of my bra cup and I suddenly felt myself becoming a little light headed. 

There was no more pretence. She flexed her fingers to make room for herself and then she gently pinched my nipple which swelled to meet her touch. 

Now was the moment for indignation but I said nothing and allowed her to continue her exploration. She teased me, circling my areola, and I could feel her warm gentle breath against my skin. 

I was now desperate to feel the touch of her lips but I had to be clear.

"Nicola, I can't do this for you…"

I expected her to be disappointed but she simply smiled.

"Don't worry. Just tell me what to do."

It was surreal. Laura's influence was obvious, as it had been with the young woman back at the remand centre, and I could not shake the unnerving notion that she had deliberately set events in motion.

For a second or two I was torn. One part of me wanted to run, to escape the seemingly malign influence, but Nicola chose that moment to run her tongue slowly over her lips and I could no longer resist.

"Where's the bedroom?"

She smiled and, taking my hand as she rose, she led me through to the back of the cottage. Sunlight streamed into the bedroom through a recently installed set of French windows and reflected from yellow painted walls. There were no curtains and there was a view across a field to an isolated copse of trees. 

She sensed my awkwardness and smiled as she began to unfasten my blouse.

"Don't worry, I own the field and no one ever comes by."

Reassured, I stepped back from her.

"Get undressed."

She needed no second bidding. She stripped out of her tee shirt and bottoms to reveal that she was wearing nothing underneath and then stood almost coyly as though waiting my approval. 

She need not have worried. She was blessed with a beautiful figure. Her breasts, large to begin with, were emphasised by the narrow set of her shoulders and she had classic hour glass curves. My eyes dropped to her navel which was pierced and set with a small ruby and I smiled as I wondered what her colleagues in chambers would have made of this seeming act of rebelliousness. 

Her legs were completely waxed and so it was a surprise to see that she maintained a lush, but well groomed, growth of dark hair at her sex. 

In all she was a picture of healthy vitality and I was a little envious but that passed as I saw the look in her eyes as my own body was revealed. 

I have had many men look at me and they have all shared the same lustful expression. They are appreciative of my beauty but only in so far as it serves to fuel their own physical release. 

With Nicola it was different. She made me feel like a goddess and it was clear that her one desire was simply to bring me pleasure. 

She walked passed me, gently brushing my shoulder with her hand, and then she proceeded to arrange the cushions on the bed. There were six of them, covered in gold satin, and she carefully heaped them to form a welcoming pile.

"Come and make yourself comfortable."

I moved unhurriedly, almost theatrically, encouraging her to gaze upon me and then I slinked on to the bed. I reclined against the cushions and, having made myself comfortable, I slowly raised my knees and then allowed my legs to part. 

She looked at me and smiled knowingly before her eyes dropped. Her mouth opened very slightly and the very tip of her tongue touched against her top lip. Her stare was fixed as she came towards me and slowly bowed down to lie between my legs. 

"It's beautiful…"

Her long, dark, hair formed a silky curtain as she paused inches from my sex and I could feel my labia swelling beneath the gentle warmth of her breath. She remained still for some time happy simply to look but then, slowly, she extended her arms and eased them under my thighs.

I felt myself being lifted very slightly before she closed to place a single delicate kiss at the centre of my sex.

"So beautiful…"

After that she continued to kiss, each touch a slow gentle pursing of her lips which whispered against my sex. 

The feeling was amazing. On the one hand I ached for her to lick me but I also felt incredibly relaxed. As the minutes passed she continued to murmur admiringly as she explored the whole of my mons which slowly began to weep its appreciation. 

My body stretched and squirmed deeper into the cushions but she did not miss a beat. She rose and fell with me as she teased my inner labia. With each tiny kiss she drew them gently between her own lips before reluctantly releasing them and moving on. 

I wanted to stay there forever and she seemed only too willing to oblige. Time slipped away but still she remained unhurried and I realized that, if she were to continue, she was going to make me come with this simple act of veneration. 

With this thought I felt my sex grow warmer. I was already leaking profusely but now I felt a fresh outflow and my own scent wafted strongly. As though reading my mind Nicola chose that moment to look up at me for the first time in minutes. Her mouth did not leave my sex but she wanted me to see as she flared her nostrils and breathed in deeply. 

She closed her eyes, held her breath, and then reluctantly exhaled.

"So nice…"

She looked transfixed, as though she had experienced the rarest incense, and it was this look of devotion that took me over the edge. It was not a jolting orgasm. In fact, for a moment, it was not like an orgasm at all. My body stiffened and my back slowly arched. I held myself poised for a few seconds and then I was aware of a tingling deep in my sex. It slowly spread through my body and I dare not move lest it be lost.

"Come for me…"

Nicola was kissing again, barely making contact, but it my heightened state I could feel every tiny touch. 

The tingling grew more insistent and I began to pant as I held myself on a tightrope. To fall was to fail but the longer I held my balance the more intense the sensations became. My body was aching with the effort of it but all the time Nicola continued to coax.

"Now…let me taste it."

Just one touch of her tongue would have released me but those gossamer kisses continued to tease it from me in a drawn out exquisite agony and then, with a final flush of heat across my skin, it began to ebb away. 

I slumped back into the cushions, breathing hard, and tried to come to terms with what had happened. I felt relaxed, as I would after coming, but in some way unfulfilled.

Between my thighs Nicola was still smiling and I wondered at her endurance. Her neck must have ached dreadfully but she seemed unconcerned. She kissed until I was breathing normally once more and then I became aware of a new sensation. 

There was a slight increase in pressure and then she gave a playful growl. She was running her tongue lightly over my mons stopping every now and again to gently suck moisture from my sodden pubis.

"MMmmmm…"

I could feel my labia swelling in eager anticipation but she ignored them as she moved downwards to lick at the declivities of my tensed inner thighs. 

Even as she worked to cleanse my skin I could feel myself welling up once more but she was in no hurry and the effect was wonderfully soporific. The comfort of her arms, as they held me slightly raised, and the warmth of her tongue lulled me into a blissful state of being. 

I closed my eyes and found myself quietly moaning. She was slowly bringing me back to the boil but I felt so languid that it was going to take her a very long time. For a fleeting moment I felt guilty but it quickly passed; if she was tired she would stop but in the meanwhile I decided to lay back and enjoy it.

Half an hour slowly passed and the sun had by now moved across the sky so that we were bathed in its radiant warmth. Her body remained perfectly still, as it had done throughout, and the only movement was the unhurried bobbing of her head as she went about her task.

In the reflected yellow light she was a perfect symphony of curves from the arch of her back to the swell of her neat derriere and the tapered lines of her sculpted legs. She was a thing of beauty and she was mine to do with as I wished.




The Laura Effect



I gave an almost silent sigh of joy and then I gently stroked the hair at the back of her head.

"Now my darling…"

Nothing more was needed. She shifted her head fractionally and then I felt her tongue grazing the very edges of my labia. I shivered in delight as she traced the same path over and over again patiently easing me apart. 

Over the course of the next quarter of an hour she worked her way inwards until her tongue could go no deeper. My whole body felt incredibly hot but it was being stoked by the furnace that my sex had become.

I felt myself lubricating freely and every now and again she would pause to quietly swallow. She continued to dictate the pace and I was happy to let her. I had been growing a little restless, waiting for her to seek out my clitoris, but she had me so aroused that I was going to come without much further stimulation.

Her tongue was moving inside me as if it had a mind of its own and I squeezed it welcomingly. She seemed to find pleasure points that I did not know existed and she started to murmur encouragement. They were not words, simply sounds, but their meaning was obvious.

My body grew tense until I was shaken by tiny convulsions and the whole time she urged me on. Sensing the final onset she sealed her mouth tightly to my sex and moaned one last entreaty. The resonance was the trigger I needed and my body exploded in a glorious liquid release. It seemed to go on and on but she was not deterred. When I finally came down from the pinnacle I was dimly aware that she was still bound tightly to me willing to take all that I had to give. 

At the finish my legs were badly cramped and, recognizing this, she slid her arms away allowing me to straighten them out to either side of her. She did not move but simply looked up at me with a rapturous expression.

"Did you enjoy?"

Her face was covered in my juices and perspiration beaded on her forehead making her hair lank but, even in this dishevelled state she still looked totally desirable. I reached down and touched a finger to her cheek.

"It was wonderful…the best."

Her eyes lit up at the compliment and then she smiled.

"Not yet…the best is still to come"

Without another word she bowed down. I felt her tongue at the apex of my labia and my clitoris stirred in response. I was exhausted and it would be an age before I was ready again, if at all, but she was willing to take as long as it took…

Chapter 4 

The following day I overslept and was almost late for my second interview with Laura. When I got there I was pleased to find that the session was to be monitored by a different warder which saved any embarrassment.

I gathered my papers together and waited for Laura to be escorted in and it was a further relief to see that she was dressed far more soberly than before. I hoped that the rigours of incarceration were finally coming home to her as it was more likely to make her cooperative. 

Her school record indicated an aptitude for maths and intelligence tests suggested that she had well developed problem solving skills. She could be well spoken when she wanted to, as evidenced by her trial, but usually chose to express herself in street argot. 

One of the companies offering training places under the rehabilitation scheme was a large firm of Loss Adjusters. Personally I had my doubts about their motives, their chairman being pretty tight with high placed members of the government, but mine was not to reason why. 

In truth I was leaning towards rejecting Laura but I was still prepared to give it my best. I spent twenty minutes trying to find out from her where her interests lay but she was irritatingly vague. 

At that point I let her have my opinion and gave an almost mechanical presentation of the skills required in Loss Adjusting. To my surprise she showed a keen interest and asked a number of probing questions some of which were beyond my vague knowledge of the subject. 

That we were communicating at all was a big plus and I began to feel the familiar buzz which came with doing my job well. I was just explaining to her that, at the highest levels, the job required character reading skills, to see through the bullshit that was so much a part of insurance negotiations, when the warder entered the room. 

I could not believe that time had passed so quickly but as Laura turned to leave she smiled at me.

"I think I'm pretty good at character reading. You've met Nicola, how did you find her…?"

With that she was gone and I was left to try and decipher her parting remark. Was it a casual enquiry or was she toying with me?

If my professional life was back on track it was more than could be said for my personal life. John had still not phoned and I was angry with him to the extent that we seemed to have become engaged in a childish game of 'you first'.

I had no doubts that it could all be thrashed out at a face to face meeting but, the truth was, I was in no great hurry. The past few days had revealed to me facets of a persona previously unimagined. I had engaged in reckless sex with two women who had been complete strangers to me and it had excited me in a way that my encounters with men had never come close to. 

Had it simply been a case of exploring lesbian sex then I could have dismissed it as one of life's experiences, something to be savoured and then left behind, but this was something different – it was all about control. The thought of going down on a woman still made me shiver but the thrill of having it done to me, and dictating the manner of it, induced a high the like of which I had never known. 

I had a degree in psychology but I could not explain to myself the paradox whereby my yearning to be in control was, by any rational analysis, symptomatic of someone out of control.

For the next few days I threw myself into my work. Laura's was one of only many cases that I was currently running but, for all the wrong reasons, it was the most intriguing. I met her for a third time and this time she was keen to talk. She wanted more information on a prospective placement with a Loss Adjusting firm and I promised to get her some background materials.

By the time of our fourth encounter she was speaking of it as though it was a fait accompli and I felt a little guilty. I was still not entirely convinced of her suitability and, although she did not know it, the best I could hope to argue her sentence down to would be two years and that, in itself, was dependent on one major factor. 

What finally convinced me was her willingness to take a distance learning course during her time in prison so that she could hit the ground running on her release. I reasoned that, if she passed the exams, it would be proof of her ability to reform.

I began to put the wheels in motion. Without my intervention she was probably facing five years. If I put her forward for the scheme it would automatically go down to three but there was one other possibility. 

The government was laying great store by a new scheme called "Face the Victim". As its name implied victim and perpetrator were brought face to face so that the victim could explain the ongoing effects of the offence and the perpetrator had a opportunity to apologize. It was hoped that the scheme would give the victims closure and that the perpetrators, having seen the misery that they caused, would feel suitably remorseful. 

It was a very long shot but I wondered if I could bring Laura together with Miranda Coombes; a positive outcome might just get Laura three years remission. 

In the event Coombes was a very hard woman to contact. She was now of sufficient stature to be represented by an agent and, of necessity, I had to be circumspect in my approach. At first my calls were not returned but then I tried another tack; I submitted the "Face the Victim" scheme not as a personal issue but as a prospective human interest story. 

Later that same day I got a call back. Coombes was prepared to meet me and offered lunch. I accepted but immediately began to have second thoughts. I was not authorized to discuss the scheme officially and if I revealed the true nature of my interest she might have good grounds for seeking my dismissal. 

In the event I went anyway. Looking back, I guess I was motivated as much by self interest as I was by taking the case forward. Laura seemed to exert an influence over people, myself included, and if I could bring all the pieces of the jigsaw together I felt that I might just reach a better understanding.

When she walked into the restaurant I saw that the transformation from teacher to television anchor woman was complete. She wore a charcoal, tailored, business suit the skirt of which emphasised her long legs whilst still maintaining her professional appearance. I also noted that the jacket was cut in such a way that it tempered her large breasts and made them appear more modest without compromising their pleasant shape. 

I hated to think what the outfit had cost but clearly no expense had been spared. Her face was her fortune and her make-up had been professionally applied to highlight her piercing green eyes and the generous proportions of her lips. As she approached I found myself wondering if she had had some work done on her nose; it looked a little neater than I remembered it from the photographs. All in all this vision that sat down at the table seemed a world away from Laura Simmons.

At the outset she maintained a professional demeanour but, as we both worked our way through a salad, she began to open up. I sold "Face the Victim" as a possible documentary and she seemed keen to cement her claim to being a serious journalist. Throughout the meal I made most of the running as she quizzed me on the nature of my job and my thoughts about the scheme.

It was only over coffee that I alluded to her own experiences and in the space of seconds the atmosphere changed. All pretence at friendliness disappeared as she settled the bill and politely, but tersely, said that she would be in touch. As she left I thought that I had failed and that I would never hear from her again.

I was surprised, therefore, when, two evenings later, the phone rang. It was Miranda. She had just finished the early evening bulletin and asked if I would like to meet for a drink. I hesitated for a second or two having just stepped out of the shower and donned my nightwear.

She picked up on my perceived lack of enthusiasm.

"Look, if you don't want a drink can I swing by? I'm in your area and I just need ten minutes of your time."

I was now intrigued and gave her directions to my apartment the address of which she already knew from my business card. I was dressed in scant shorts with a sloppy top and considered getting dressed again but my skin was still damp and I decided that she would have to take me as she found me.

As I let her into the apartment she saw how I was dressed and faltered momentarily but she quickly regained her composure. I invited her to sit on one of the twin sofas and then I sat opposite and offered a glass of wine from the bottle that I had open.

I sipped from my own glass and waited for her to speak.

"I want you to tell me honestly. Was your approach to me in any way to do with Laura Simmons?"

For just a second I considered a lie but there was something in her look, something imploring.

"I'm evaluating her at present."

Her eyes flashed to anger.

"And so our meeting was a pretence?" 

"Look, if you want to proceed with the project, I can put you in touch with the right people. They're anxious to publicise the scheme and your personal experience, whether mentioned or not, will give it an added poignancy."

She considered this for a moment, and seemed to appreciate the merits, before she spoke once more.

"Tell me, in your opinion, does it work?"

"Not in all cases. Some of the perpetrators are beyond remorse but, where they do show it, yes, I think it works. The victims become less fearful and they go on to rebuild their personal dignity. Of course, if you're cynical, you could argue that it gives the victim a chance to gloat but that too can be constructive in terms of rehabilitation."

"Where do the meetings take place?"

"Strictly speaking they should take place in a secure environment, that would usually be a prison, but, if it is not a first degree offence, it could possibly be arranged under guard somewhere of the victims choosing." 

There was another pause and she dropped her eyes. I immediately became conscious of my unfettered breasts and I awkwardly covered them with my arm. Miranda did not seem to notice.

"You know what she did to me?"

Again, I was tempted to skirt the issue, but I felt it best to be honest with her.

"Yes, I do."

She looked at me for a long time and I could see that she was reaching a decision as to whether or not to confide. When she next spoke it was with hesitation.

"That girl changed my life. On the one hand, if it hadn't happened, I would still be a teacher, I would not have been able to fulfil my dream but she has taken something away and I want it back."

I think I had inkling but I waited for her to continue.

"I was engaged to be married, I wanted all the usual things, I still do, but I'm different now. And do you know the worst of it? My whole career is built on image, I'm in the public eye, I can't explore these new feelings, but I need to know what I have become."

The Laura effect. Monica was fighting the same demons as I was but I knew that the influence had worked on her in a different way than it had on me. I framed my next question carefully

"You want to know if it was just her or something more?"

This time there was no doubt. Her eyes roamed over my body flitting awkwardly. My mind was working overtime. She was a victim, as I was, in need of help. The professional in me knew exactly what I should do but there was, of course, another way.  

I rose from the sofa. Outwardly, I remained calm but my heart was hammering.

"Come with me."

For a second she had a look of confusion, mixed with a hint of trepidation, but the natural tone of authority in my voice seemed to reassure her. She put down her glass and got up. 

I led the way and she followed docilely but then hesitated at the threshold of the bedroom.

"Come inside"

She stepped forward, almost mindlessly, and I wished that I had had time to do a little tidying up. The alcove containing my desk and computer was permanently cluttered but I would not normally leave dirty clothes strewn on the floor. 

She did not seem to notice. Her eyes were fixed on the bed with its lazily arranged quilt. She remained frozen and then I remembered something Laura had said. She had commented on Miranda's choice of a pine bed with head and foot boards which made it a perfect choice if bondage was your thing.

Purely by coincidence my bed was of the same type, a king sized model which I had bought from IKEA and constructed myself, but I had chosen it for its elegant simplicity. 

Up to that point I had no clear idea exactly where I wanted to take things but one look at her now made up my mind for me. After an awkward hiatus she turned towards me and I gave the guidance she sought.

"Lie down on the bed."

Her hands moved hesitantly towards the buttons of her jacket.

"Don't undress…"

She looked unsure but then did as I asked lying primly with her hands at her sides.

She was dressed much as she had been at our lunch; another immaculately tailored business suit but this time in a fetching shade of pale grey. As I walked towards the bed her nervousness was made evident by the uneasy rise and fall of her chest but I was about to increase her anxiety. I stooped to pick up a pair of discarded 'stay up' stockings from the floor and her eyes immediately widened. 

"Let me have your arm."

She looked at the stockings and then back to me before half rising from the bed.

"It's your choice. I'm not forcing you."

Even as I spoke the words it occurred to me that it might actually be the duress that she sought and I thought, for a moment, that she would not go through with it but she lay back down and looked at me earnestly.

"No one must ever know…"

"Why would I want to tell anyone?"

She hesitated for a second or two more and then stretched out her arm to me. As I took her wrist I saw that she was no longer wearing an engagement ring and I felt a momentary pang of guilt about John but it quickly passed. 

I passed the stocking around her wrist and tied a double knot before securing the other end to the bedpost. I had no experience but I tied it in such a way that her circulation was not endangered. I then moved to the opposite side and secured her other arm which she extended willingly now that she was reassured that I was not going to be too severe. 

At the outset I had intended nothing more than a symbolic restraint but her helplessness had a greater effect on me than I could have imagined. I opened the drawer in the bedside cupboard and took out a second pair of stockings. She raised her head to see what was going on.

"What are you doing?"

"Shush..just relax…"

She had discarded her shoes before lying down and I now took hold of her ankle and bound it as I had her wrist.

"Wait…I'm not sure..."

I ignored her as I finished and then started on the other.

She raised her knee in a gesture of token defiance but she did not resist as I gently pulled her ankle towards the foot of the bed. Now that I had her fully restrained I felt my heart pounding in my chest. We both knew what must come next but I realized that it was more than just the anticipation of physical release. Just days ago Laura had planted a vivid image in my mind, an image that had guiltily haunted my dreams since, and now it had become reality.

I kidded myself that I was helping her to explore her own darker impulses but I had woven my own design. Laura had abused a frightened, naked, teacher; I had only known the immaculate, professional, journalist and it was that woman that now lay before me.

Almost without thinking I ran my hand lightly along her calf and then a little higher until my fingertips grazed the inside of her knee. She moaned, almost imperceptibly, and shifted slightly so that her skirt rode up fractionally. With a smile I arched my fingers beneath it and could now see that she was wearing traditional stockings and a pair of very expensive looking white panties.

"Were you hoping to impress someone this evening?"

She said nothing, as she lay perfectly still with her eyes closed, and I suddenly understood that she was frightened that I would take my hand away. I was intrigued by this. It had been no part of my intention but I allowed my fingers to drift a couple of inches higher. 

I was now hovering at the darker border of her stocking top and she was breathing with increasing rapidity. My own need was growing more urgent but I held myself in check.

Very slowly, I eased my fingertips upwards onto bare flesh and she hissed a breath through gritted teeth.

Her skin was very warm and I was aware of toned muscles overlain by an incredibly smooth softness. I was used to the hard insensitivity of men's bodies but this was something completely different. I could feel the tiny tremors of her excitement silently exhorting me to explore further. 

Her ankle pulled against it's restraint as I removed my hand but she froze again as she felt me raising her skirt. She lifted her hips a little but I had no intention of removing it altogether. I simply wanted to see the effect I was having on her and I draped it on her stomach to reveal her lower body. 

The tan straps of her suspenders perfectly matched the colour tone of her stockings and I wondered just how much they had cost as I playfully slipped a finger underneath. Her body tensed at this fresh intrusion but I eased away again to continue my journey across her inner thigh. 




The Laura Effect



My fingers moved teasingly and her body began to writhe slowly to the extent that her restraints would allow.

"My, my, who's an eager little slut."

The words sprang to my lips almost unbidden but they only seemed to excite her more. A tiny damp spot had formed on the crotch of her panties and, as I continued to take my time, it slowly began to spread. 

Her skin now felt slightly clammy beneath my fingers as she grew ever more heated and the smell of her arousal was rich in the air. As it assailed my nostrils I was reminded of my first encounter with Laura and those furtive minutes in a toilet cubicle. I had thought her a monster but here I was no better than she.

I edged ever upwards and tentatively allowed a single finger to slide into the leg of her panties. As I had suspected she was completely denuded of hair and enjoyed a smoothness that suggested a lot of professional attention.

"Please…"

She lifted herself to meet my finger but I had other ideas. I slipped it free leaving her squirming in frustration.

For some minutes I continued to caress her upper legs, now and again brushing at the borders of her mons, until her skin was glossed with perspiration and her panties were completely sodden.

"No,…please…"

Now that I had brought her to the boil it was time to address my own needs. I put her skirt back in place and gently, but mischievously, pressed it against her panties. Almost immediately the grey material began to darken. 

"You've had your fun. Now it's time for you to take care of me."

The words sounded alien to my own ears but, even as I spoke them, I felt a pleasing ache between my legs. I stood in front of her and undressed slowly wanting her to be fully aware of what was about to happen. 

As I cast my tee shirt aside I pinched gently at my engorged nipples knowing that hers, still trapped in her clothing, were crying out for the same attention. I taunted her for a moment or two more and then I slipped my thumbs into the waistband of my shorts and slowly slid them down my legs. 

I was surprised to find that I was almost as wet as she was. Until then I had been focused on my mental arousal but now I was desperately in need of a physical release. I stood for a few seconds allowing her to appraise my body and I noted, with detached interest, how her look grew almost fearful as she focused on the dark thicket that dressed my mons.

I could wait no longer. I moved up onto the bed and straddled her chest, uncaring of the fact that her jacket would now be soiled to match her skirt. As I loomed over her she cast an eye at the binding around her wrist and then looked back at me.

"Look…I'm sorry…I can't go through with this…"

"What you do or don't want no longer matters."

It was my road to Damascus moment. There was nothing theatrical in my reply I had expressed a genuine belief. The fact that she was helpless had fired my arousal to new heights and I knew that there would be no turning back. 

She sensed it too, the point at which when any semblance of professionalism finally slipped away, and there was panic in her eyes.

"Please…let's talk."

"Later perhaps..."

I slid forward, pinning her arms with my knees, and for a second or two I hovered over her face. Between my legs she began to shake her head.

"Please…no."

That final, impassioned, entreaty caused my sex to melt. I lowered myself, sealing her in, and, as I came to rest, I was shaken by a climax which was almost painful in its intensity. My body jerked violently and I had to take hold of her head to keep my balance. Somewhere beneath me I was aware of her muffled cries but they were drowned out by the sound of my own keening.

I do not know how long it lasted but when it was over I put my arms out so that I could take some of my own weight and I felt her desperately gasping for breath between my legs.

I was overcome by a confusing mixture of feelings. On the one hand there was a wonderful sense of fulfilment but this was combined with a sudden, desperate, need to understand what had just transpired. 

I needed to clear my head and, ignoring her pleas, I got up and left the room. I picked up a half full wine glass and drained it in one before immediately refilling it. I feared, for a moment that I might face an assault charge, but I as quickly dismissed the thought. Even if it came to it nothing could be proved.

The one thing I did not feel was guilt. I knew, deep down, that if the same opportunity presented itself I would do it again. How ironic that I could now condone the behaviour that I had found so abhorrent when attributed to Laura.

My main source of unease was one that I felt sure that I had in common with Monica. The absence of a ring aside, I was almost certain that she had broken up with her fiancé because of her need to explore her sexuality. Now I too needed to make some decisions. I had convinced myself that this was a passing fad but it had brought me alive like nothing else before.

After about twenty minutes, when the second glass of wine was finished, I went back into the bedroom. I half expected her to scream and yell but she remained quiescent. She looked a real mess; her clothes were damp and dishevelled and her make-up was a long way beyond repair.

As I approached the bed she spoke. 

"Why did you do it?"

"I thought it's what you wanted."

"Let's not kid ourselves, that was hardly for my benefit, I told you to stop."

It was not the tone of anger with which she said it but the suggestion that she was somehow in control of me. I was already in the process of loosening her wrist when I came to a sudden decision.

"What are you doing!"

I tugged the stocking drawing it more tightly around the post and stretching her arm into the process.

"Stop that!"

I tied it off and moved around the bed. As I loosened off the other stocking she started to resist in earnest but she had no leverage. It was all too easy, using both hands, to tug the stocking around the post and to secure it. Her arms were now bound far more strictly than before.

"Let me go or, so help me, I'll call the police."

"Do you think they'll believe you, given your history? Are you going to suggest that I overpowered you?"

This gave her pause for thought and, in the meanwhile, I tightened the bindings around her ankles.

When she spoke again she was a little more conciliatory.

"Look, what exactly do you want?"

"I want to help you. You want to know if you're a lesbian, a submissive or both. Let's find out shall we?"

I could not believe that the simple act of tying her more securely could give me such a charge but I could already feel a tell-tale trail of moisture on my inner leg.

"Please, I can't, not again…"

I was already taking a pillow and putting it lengthways under her head. With that achieved I mounted the bed once more and straddled her face. 

"I'm sorry, about the last time, I lost control. This time all you have to do is lick me."

Seconds earlier she would have refused but now I had presented it as the lesser of two evils and there was a look of relief on her face. She did not respond immediately and so I allowed my weight to settle a fraction more heavily so that her mouth touched my sex. 

"Do it for me…like you did for her."

As I suspected, this was the trigger. As I looked down at her she slowly put out her tongue and made a first faltering contact. Her touch was enough to start a flow which oozed over her chin but she did not demur. Now that she had the taste of me she grew more eager. She started to attack me with broad sweeps of her tongue and my labia swelled in appreciation. 

The pillow ensured that her neck was not unduly strained and she adopted a leisurely, lazy, tempo. Her technique suggested hours of practise as she licked with just enough pressure to bring me pleasure but not enough to break the seal; then, every few minutes, she would press her tongue inwards and would swallow the dammed up reward of her labours. 

After the intensity of my first climax the second took a long time to build but she was tuned in to my natural rhythm and knew just when to increase the pace. Her tongue began to work deeper, giving me that delicious feeling of being filled, and she seemed to make it swell at will.

I moaned my approval and she arched the very tip to caress a spot just behind my clitoris. 

I do not know if she had been taught this, or if it was her own discovery, but the sensation was amazing. I kept my body still so that I could focus on that single breathtaking pressure point but the tension made me tremble. I had wanted to hold off from orgasm but it was too much to resist. As she strained to the utmost she moaned hot breath deep into my sex and then my muscles were no longer mine to command.

I came in a series of frenzied shudders but I managed to hold station as juices seemed to boil inside before exploding into her waiting mouth which she now sealed tightly to my sex. I literally saw spots before my eyes but, as I breasted the summit and started my gradual descent, I was again aware of her soothing tongue as she slowed to a gentle halt.

It took an effort to disengage from her and I flopped exhaustedly by her side. My body was damp with perspiration and it took some time for my breathing to return to normal. I guess I must have dozed because, when I next became aware, I found my face pressed to hers. 

"Was it good?"

Her question took me a little aback. 

"It was wonderful."

She smiled and, notwithstanding her ruined make up, she still looked incredibly beautiful. I immediately felt my heart soften a little and I suppose I must have looked a little guilty but she read my mind.

"Don't worry, I don't expect anything from you. I got what I wanted."

I eased away from her and stood up. I stretched expansively and then started to unfasten her wrist. As soon as it was free she reached down beneath her skirt and gave an almost feral groan as thrust her hand into her ruined panties. 

In spite of all we had been through I felt a little awkward watching her but then she looked at me imploringly.

"Would you…?"

Given our understanding I stood there uncertainly but then realization dawned. With a smile I slinked back onto the bed. For a third time I straddled her face but this time facing down body.

As soon as I was settled I felt her tongue once more but this time there was no subtlety. She licked like an animal; my thighs, my sex whatever she could reach and her fingers began to work frantically. I could hear the squelch of moisture as she drove them deep inside herself and then saw her frustration as she tried to lift her knees and open her legs wider only to be frustrated by her bindings. 

She gave, what might have been, a scream of irritation but she was now vigorously rubbing her clitoris and she was not going to hold out for much longer. 

Laura had had me imagine that mane of red hair down between my thighs but, watching her like this, driven out of control simply by the taste and smell of my sex was taking arousal to a new level. As she clawed her way to her inevitable climax I slowly relaxed and let my bodyweight press her head deep into the pillow. A fresh scream of protest, of perhaps of ecstasy, but I did not care as I came on her face for a third shattering time.

Chapter 5

Over the next two days I was tormented by personal anguish. In terms of sex I had never felt so exhilarated but I was allowing it to seriously cloud my professional judgement. 

I was rapidly coming to the conclusion that I might have to make some serious changes in my life. I knew that I should no longer represent Laura and that led me to re-examine my whole career strategy. More than once recently I had looked at opportunities in Australia. They were crying out for qualified professionals and the salaries reflected their desperate need. 

If I made the move I could afford the house of my dreams, complete with swimming pool, for less than I was paying for my apartment. The stumbling block had always been my relationship with John. I had touched on the subject once or twice but he was lukewarm. His career prospects would be seriously prejudiced and he was not a fan of warm climates.

The big difference now was my whole attitude towards my engagement. John had finally caved in and called me leaving two messages on my answer phone. He sounded hurt and genuinely sorry but I had still not returned his calls. 

More tellingly, I had surfed the net checking the criteria for Australian visas and then, guiltily, tried to find some websites which would tell me what the attitude was towards gay women. 

I was actually drafting my request to be taken off Laura's case when the telephone rang.

"Hi, it's me Miranda, can you talk?"

"Yes, of course"

I was a little bemused. I had not expected to hear from her again.

"I've been thinking over what you said, about meeting Laura Simmons, can you arrange it?"

I had exceeded my authority in broaching the subject in the first place but such was the current enthusiasm for the scheme I was sure that something could be done. 

"Yes, it shouldn't present a problem."

"Where would the meeting take place?"

"It's up to you. Some people choose to meet in prison others opt for their own home."

"I don't want that bitch to know where I live now!"

The fierceness of her reply caught me by surprise.

"It might be possible to set up a neutral venue."

There was a long pause before she spoke again.

"How many people have to be present?"

"At the meeting itself? There would be three; you and she plus a mediator. In Laura's case there would have to be at least two guards but they could wait outside."

"Could you act as mediator?"

"In theory I'm qualified but I have had no specific training besides which I am not sure that it would be entirely appropriate."

It seemed surreal to be having a conversation of this manner given the nature of our most recent encounter but when she spoke next there was a hint of desperation in her voice. 

"I have to get her out of my head and I want you to help…you owe me." 

I was uneasy with the whole prospect but she was right, I felt that I owed her something. I also wanted to do the right thing by Laura. She was no longer going to be my responsibility but if I could be influential in getting her custodial sentence reduced, and help her long term career prospects, I would feel better about myself.

It took a lot of string pulling to bring it together but the date for a meeting was finally set. The venue proved problematical. Miranda was not prepared to visit the prison and her home was out of the question but it was she who finally came up with a solution. Her company sometimes used a particular hotel suite for their more prestigious interviews. It had the benefit of being both very central and very secure and, in presentation terms, the spectacular views across the city, with all the well known landmarks, afforded a stunning backdrop. 

It was booked by the day and she found a day when filming would be completed in the morning leaving it free for the afternoon. I arrived early but was surprised to find Miranda already there. She was modestly attired in a fetching blue sun dress and she had a drink in her hand.

"We will need to dispense with the alcohol before they arrive."

She looked at me blankly and quickly drained her glass. I took it from her and set it to one side before joining her at the small conference table. I spent a few minutes outlining the various 'do's and don'ts' and then there was a knock at the door.

Laura stood there flanked by two smartly, but informally, dressed female guards and I could not help but stare. In preparation for the meeting she had been granted access to a hairdresser and she was allowed to wear her own clothes. She looked simply breathtaking. She was wearing her thick blonde hair in a flowing shoulder length style that softened her features and her make-up was subtly applied to highlight her clear blue eyes and a smile that would be the envy of a Hollywood starlet. 

She had chosen to wear a dark, off the shoulder, a-line dress. She must have bought it from a chain store but she made it look haut couture. She had lost a little weight whilst on remand, and her tan had completely faded, but that only added to the allure of her svelte figure.

Strictly speaking the guards should have remained outside the door of the room in which the meeting was taking place but the suite was enormous and they did not protest when I suggested they make themselves comfortable in the kitchen. There were some magazines on the small dining table and I told them to help themselves to coffee. I then led Laura through to the living area and closed the door behind us for privacy.

As soon as she walked into the room the atmosphere was charged. I saw that the change in her appearance was as much of a shock to Miranda as it had to me. I invited Laura to sit at the opposite end of the table to Miranda whilst I sat to one side between them.

I opened the proceedings by explaining the purpose of the encounter and made it clear to Laura that I would bring the meeting to an immediate close if Ms. Coombes was in any way uncomfortable. I did not mention the word 'apology' but I trusted that Laura had sufficient good sense to see that the ball was in her court and that she had a lot to gain.

I then invited Miranda to speak. She had her eyes downcast, staring at the table top, but she raised them slowly to meet Laura's steady gaze.

"I just want to know why you did it."

"You know why, you accused me of cheating."

Miranda seemed lost for words for a moment but then regained her composure.

"You could have lodged an official complaint. What you did was immoral."

"Would they have believed me?"

The conversation was not going the way I had envisaged. I had expected Miranda to take the high ground with Laura showing, at least, some contrition. Looking at Miranda I could see that she was getting agitated as she sat with one hand clasped almost painfully around the other. 

Laura, by contrast, had her hands resting in her lap but I noticed that she had leaned forward just a little causing her breasts to bulge very slightly against the bust line of her dress. I was immediately transported back to our first meeting and her inappropriate behaviour and, for reasons I could not explain to myself, I cast a furtive glance towards the large bed visible through the door to the adjacent room. 

I mentally shook myself and tuned back in to what was being said. I had missed Miranda's next remark but caught Laura's reply. 

"But surely that's worth an apology."

"Look, I admit, I may have misjudged you but nothing can condone what you did to me."

Laura paused before replying, and as she did so she leaned even further across the table. She spoke conspiratorially, almost in a stage whisper. 

"If you tell me honestly, that there was no part of it that you actually enjoyed, then I will apologize."

This was Miranda's cue for high dudgeon but, instead, she looked at me almost beseechingly. 

I tried to retake control.

"Laura, don't be ridiculous. Your actions amounted to an assault, tantamount to rape. If you cannot see that then I see no point in continuing here."

Laura turned to meet my stare. 

"If that's the case then why did you get so turned on when I told you about it?"

I did not look but I could now feel Miranda's eyes boring into the side of my head as I replied.

"I find your remarks very offensive and you are certainly not helping your case here"

Persistent liars get away with what they do because they are so glib, they can live the lie and almost believe themselves. The rest of us always give ourselves away. It might be a tiny facial gesture or an almost imperceptible change in our tone of voice but somehow we betray ourselves.