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Getting Even with Gemma and Jane

By: MrPinkerton



© Mr Pinkerton 2008

One

My name's Jack Waters, and I work for the police. Not in some glamorous, lights-and-sirens, armed response vehicle capacity; not even in a more down-to-earth, kicking-down-doors, chasing-kids-through-underpasses, 'you're nicked, matey!' role. More of an I-can-authorise-stationery-invoices-up-to-a-value-of-one-thousand-pounds kind of gig.

I'm not a police officer, you see -- more a bureaucrat who just happens to work for the police. Assistant Deputy Manager, that's me. Of a unit of forty or so staff. Mostly women. Better not say which force -- in part to protect the innocent, but more to protect the guilty. Shouldn't even say what kind of unit, though, as it's relevant for the purposes of this story, it does involve a fair amount of looking up vehicle registrations on the Police National Computer.

Lots of spreadsheets, lots of meetings. It doesn't even pay very well, and it's not the kind of job that pulls the girls. 

Pretty dull, as jobs go. 

At least it was for a long time. Then, a few weeks ago, everything changed.

Two

It was a crisp February morning, and I was in one of the storage-cupboards of the conference-room, rummaging through a tangle of wires and broken keyboards and printer-driver CDs, looking for a mouse that worked. Cuts to our IT budget were getting beyond a joke. Unable to find anything, I was just going to storm out of the room and back to my office to phone Accounts and tell them just what I thought of them when I heard the outer door to the conference room open. A mobile phone rang a couple of times before it was answered.

The conference room wasn't off-limits, or anything, but there was no real reason for anyone to go in there, so I decided to stay where I was for a minute.

'Hello?' said a voice I recognised. It was Jane, one of the clerical assistants. A strange girl -- slim, and pretty, in a mousy, wouldn't-say-boo-to-a-goose kind of way. Tended to blush for no reason at all, and did small-talk in a stilted, self-conscious kind of way, like it was something she'd learned from a set of audio CDs. 

'You shouldn't ring me here, Gemma,' she went on, after a pause. Another pause, and then: 'Yes, I'll get the address for you. I can't do it until tomorrow -- the Police National Computer's down today.' A longer pause, and finally: 'This will have to be the last time. I could lose my job.'

My mind slipped into overdrive. What the hell was Jane up to? Whatever it was, it obviously wasn't legal, and if the Gemma she was talking to was who I thought it was, it probably involved Jane's sister, the Deputy Manager of the Unit, and my line manager. Gemma had started off as a clerical assistant, and had been promoted over my head, something she never let me forgot. She was pretty much the dead opposite of Jane -- big and busty, with a predilection for plunging necklines and mid-thigh length-skirts. Before her promotion I'd asked her out for a date. She hadn't even tried to keep the amusement and contempt out of her voice when she turned me down. Ever since then I'd got the impression she was dangling herself in front of me. Her unfriendly smile said 'you can look, Jack, but you'll never get to touch!' To add insult to injury, she'd given me a bad annual appraisal the last two years running. The latest round of assessments were only a couple of weeks ago, and I was pretty sure she was going to go for the hat-trick.

After a couple more pleasantries, Jane rang off. I heard the door open and close. I gave her a couple of minutes, then slipped back to my office. I closed the door, leaned back in my leather, swivel-chair, and thought things through. Jane was going to look up something she shouldn't on the PNC, and misuse of that was a sackable offence. What I needed was some way to catch her in the act. Fortunately, because of not-uncommon problems with our IT, she couldn't do anything until the next day, which gave me a bit of time.

Suddenly, I had an idea. I picked up my phone and dialled a number.

'Sue? It's Jack.'

Her tone was less than enthusiastic.

'I'm pretty busy, Jack.'

'This won't take long,' I said, keeping my voice bright. 'I need a favour, but there's something in it for you.'

'You only ever ring me when you want something, Jack,' she said.

'It's about your friend Gemma,' I said, knowing that Gemma and Sue were anything but friends. Gemma had pretty much stolen Sue's fiancé away from her, and Sue was the kind of girl who knew how to carry a grudge.

'Please tell me she's been hit by a truck,' said Sue, not bothering to disguise the bitterness in her voice.

'Better than that,' I said. As quickly as I could, I outlined the conversation I'd heard.

'Seems a bit thin to me,' said Sue, but I could tell she was interested. 'So where do I fit in?'

'I need to borrow some of that high-end surveillance gear you look after,' I said. Sue was a PC with ten-years of so experience in one of the Area Surveillance Teams.

'You've got to be kidding,' she said. 'If anyone ever found out, I'd lose my job.'

I smiled to myself at hearing that same phrase twice in one morning. 'Then again,' I said, ' if this works you'll have Gemma at your mercy. A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to settle some old scores.'

Sue thought it over for about one and a half-seconds.

'What do you need?'

I gave her a list, most of which she thought she could get her hands on, and we agreed that she'd be over some time after five-thirty, once everyone in the office had gone home. 

'You owe me big-time, Jack,' she said.

'I think you might get something out of this,' I said. 'I really do.'

The rest of the afternoon seemed to drag. I messed around rather unproductively with a couple of spreadsheets, drank several cups of coffee, glancing over towards where Jane was sitting as I came back from the coffee-machine in the staff-room. She looked to be hard at work. She had her hair up, which was a look I quite liked, and was wearing one of her usual slightly shapeless jumpers and an ankle-length paisley skirt. Back at my desk, I closed my eyes for a moment and imagined Jane standing in front of me, peeling the jumper up over her head, or lifting the front of her skirt up above her waste. I wondered what kind of underwear she wore, and whether her nipples were large or small.

If I played my cards right, I'd soon find out.

Three

It was almost six o'clock when Sue arrived, and I was starting to wonder whether she'd turn up.

'Don't ask!' she said, her mood obviously not much improved since earlier. 'The traffic was awful.' She was carrying a black pilot's case in one hand and a lap-top case in the other. She put them both down on my desk and sat down in one of the visitors' chairs.

Sue was an attractive woman, though I wouldn't call her beautiful or even pretty. She was slightly overweight, and had a prominent nose, but her eyes were big and brown behind black designer glasses, and her lips were full and inviting. She had a loud voice, and swore a lot and laughed a lot. If she liked you, you were OK, but she wasn't the sort of person you'd want for an enemy. We'd been friends for some years, but somehow it had never got beyond that. Maybe she scared me a little.

'What have you got for me?' I asked, as Sue shucked off her red, woollen coat to reveal a red, roll-neck jumper and black boot-cut trousers. Even without a hint of cleavage, I couldn't resist a glance at her generously proportioned breasts. I glanced away before she caught me looking.

Sue took some items out of the pilot's bag:

'A couple of pinhole cameras and mikes -- one can go above her desk, the other can go in the conference room.' She picked up a USB-stick and held it up. 'On here I've got a key-logger, and some other stuff to load onto her PC.'

'How about one for in here?' I asked.

'OK,' said Sue. 'I've got a spare in the bag.'

I nodded towards the laptop. 'And that?'

'Very hi-tech,' she said. 'Can pull mobile-phone conversations out of the air. I'll set it up in the office. All you need to do is turn it on when you get in tomorrow. Do you know Jane's mobile number?'

I nodded again. 'I got it from Personnel.'

'Good,' said Sue. She turned to leave the office, gear in hand, then stopped and turned back to face me. 'We need to get one thing clear, though, Jack.'

'Which is?'

'If this works, you can have your fun with Jane, that's up to you. But I want some time with Gemma. Nobody steals my boyfriend and gets away with it.'

'Sure,' I said. 'But I've got a few scores to settle with her as well, so we'll have to share.'

Sue stared at me for a moment, then nodded, smiled, and left the office.

Like I said, sometimes Sue scared me a little.

Four

I was in early the next morning. I hadn't slept a wink, of course, but I felt energised and raring to go. I turned on the laptop, and keyed in Jane's number, as Sue had instructed me.

Before I could do anything else, the phone rang.

'Jack,' said Gemma. Even her voice set my teeth on edge. Smug, somehow. Tinged with fake empathy. 'Just wanted to make sure you hadn't forgotten the appraisal meeting on Friday.'

I had forgotten, as it happened, but I wasn't going to tell her that.

'Looking forward to it,' I said.

There was a pause. 'Really? You do surprise me, Jack.'

I was going to surprise her, alright, if things went according to plan. I closed my eyes again, and pictured Gemma bent over my knee, her short grey, business-skirt tugged up to reveal what I imagined to be tanned, toned buttocks. I guessed she was the sort of girl who wore the kind of underwear you wouldn't want to get run over in - stockings and suspenders, maybe and a thong. (I'd seen seams running up the back of her legs, but maybe you could get seamed tights, I wasn't sure; as for the thong, well, the skirts were pretty tight, and I'd never seen even a hint of VPL). In my mind, I was running my hand over Gemma's stocking-tops, my slim fingers edging slowly towards the taut satin between her legs. I wondered if she'd beg for mercy.

Gemma's voice brought me back to the real world. I shifted in my seat. I had a hard-on that could punch a hole in a plate-glass window.

' ... I mean, there are some issues, Jack. With your performance. We have discussed this.'

I smiled to myself.

'Then I guess it'll be up to me to change your mind,' I said.

Gemma gave a sharp little laugh on the other end of the phone.

'Always the optimist, Jack,' she said. 'Always the optimist. Anyway, don't forget, my office, nine o'clock Friday.'

She rang off, and I spend thirty seconds or so making V-signs at the phone.

About nine-thirty, the lap-top pinged. By twelve o'clock, I had everything I needed. I thought out what I wanted to do, then dialled Jane's number and asked her to come to my office immediately. I kept my voice neutral, but when Jane came in she was looking nervous.

'Jane,' I said. 'Close the door behind you.'

Jane gave me an anxious look as she did so. I gestured towards a chair and she sat down.

I sat and looked at her for a moment or two, my hands interlaced on the desk in front of me. She met my eye for a moment, then looked away, her fingers brushing a loose lock of hair back behind her ear. Today she was wearing a dark brown, ankle-length skirt and a thick, cream-coloured blouse. For once I could see just a hint of the shape of her breasts, but she wasn't particularly well-endowed. Below the skirt, her ankles were sheathed in dark tights (in her case, I'd put money on them not being stockings). Her shoes were black, nubuck, Mary-Janes. She looked like a novice nun on a day-trip. Hard to believe that she and Gemma were sisters.

'Why did you want to see me, Jack?'

I looked at her a little longer, then said.

'I'm afraid there's a problem, Jane.

She stared at me and blinked a couple of times. 'A problem?'

I sighed, as if I felt awkward somehow. I tried to get a little regret into my voice.

'Before we go on, Jane, I'd like you to examine these document.'

I slid a couple of bits of paper across the desk to her. 'Can you read out the title of each document?'

Jane's face reddened ever so slightly, and she fiddled again with the hair over her ears.

'The Data Protection Act 1998,' she said. 'And the Computer Misuse Act 1990'.

She glanced at me, something like horror dawning in her eyes. She did some more of the heavy-duty blinking, then looked down into her lap.

'And whose signature is that at the bottom of each page?'

For a long time she didn't say anything, just kept on staring into her lap. She looked like her whole body was quivering slightly.

'Jane? Whose signature is that?'

She looked up at me again, her eyes moist.

'Mine,' she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.

I nodded and retrieved the documents and slid them into a manila folder.

'Do you know why you're here?'

Eyes downcast again, Jane didn't move for the longest time. Then she shook her head again, quickly, like a child trying to deny something in the face of all the evidence.

I glanced down at my note-pad. There was nothing relevant written there, but it made the lie easier somehow.

'Then I'll tell you. At 09.03 this morning, you carried out a PNC check on vehicle registration .... ' I read the registration from the screen. 'This was a flagged vehicle, and your search set off an alert at the PNC Bureau. They phoned me at 09.27 this morning to ask the reason for the search.'

When I looked up at me, Jane was huddled down in her chair, staring at me with a caught-in-the-headlights expression to melt the hardest of hearts. Her eyes were moist.

'I'm sorry,' she said. 'I know ...'

I cut her off. 

'That isn't the half of it,' I said. 'At 11.17 this morning three armed, masked men in a stolen transit van pulled into the drive of the address registered to the vehicle and burst into the house.'

'Oh Christ!' whispered Jane, her hand flying to her mouth.

I looked back down at my imaginary notes. 'The occupant of the house was an Iraqi exile, under police protection. Because of the alert from the PNC Bureau, he'd been moved out. A team of armed officers had been left to watch the house. There was a gun-battle between them and the intruders. Two of the intruders were killed, the other surrendered. One of the police officers sustained a serious gun-shot wound to the neck. He's in intensive care.'

I pushed the papers away from me and leaned back in my chair. I studied Jane, worried for a moment that I'd over-egged the pudding with talk of gun-battles and wounded officers, but I needn't have worried. From the look of it, Jane had believed every word. 

She was sobbing now, her head buried in her hands, her mousy blond hair falling forward over her face. I just sat there, idly wondering to myself what colour underwear she had on (as you can guess, I've got a bit of a lingerie fetish!), wondering if she'd go for what I was going to propose.

The sobbing continued, at varying levels of intensity, for two or three minutes. Then she wiped her eyes and tried to compose herself. I pushed a box of tissues across the table to her. She blew her nose, loudly.

'I'm so sorry,' she said. 'I didn't think ...'

'Clearly not,' I said, cutting her short again. Keep her on the back-foot, that was the important thing.

'The policeman,' she asked, tears still rolling down her cheeks. 'Is he going to live?'

'He's in the ICU,' I said. 'Apparently it's not looking good.'

Jane leaned back in her chair and put her hand over her eyes and gently shook her head.

'What's going to happen to me?' she asked.

I shrugged and shook my head, going with fifty percent regret, fifty percent disappointment.

'I'll phone Complaints & Discipline. You'll be arrested and charged. Apart from the lesser offences, there's probably a few terrorist-related charges you're in line for ...'

This time she cut me short with a gasp.

'Terrorist? But I don't know anything about terrorists!'

I shrugged again. 'The guys in the ski-masks, they weren't selling encyclopaedias, you know! Anyway, if the cop dies, you're in the frame for accessory to murder.'

Jane started sobbing again, her whole body shaking. I sat and waited for her to cry herself out.

'Will I go to jail?' she asked, when she was able to speak again.

'Without doubt,' I said. 'As will your sister.'

Jane recoiled as if she'd been struck.

'There's no use trying to protect her,' I said. I tapped a key on the laptop, and Jane and I listened to the recent conversation she'd had with Gemma.

'Oh God!' said Jane. 'Oh God!'

'I'm sorry,' I said. 'Really I am. I like you, Jane. I always have.' Laying the ground, giving her a bit of sympathy when she needed it most. 'I hate for this to happen to you.'

'Our mother!' whispered Jane. 'It will kill her!'

'I don't think you really knew what you were doing, did you?' I said, leaning forward towards her.

Jane seized onto my words as if they were a lifeline.

'I didn't,' she said. 'And Gemma didn't either. She just said she needed some money, that she was about to lose her house. She met some bloke down the pub.'

'It's always a bloke down the pub,' I said.

'It's true!' said Jane, leaning forward in her turn. 'Gemma said he said he was a private detective, just needed the addresses for divorce work.'

'Do you have a name for this private detective?'

'Mr Marlowe,' she said.

I gave a harsh laugh. 'Yeah, right!' I said, and reached for the phone.

'What are you doing?' asked Jane, her voice thick with fear.

'Phoning Complaints and Discipline,' I said.

'Please!' said Jane. She stood up, and leaned forwards over for my desk, trying to grab my hands in hers. Her smallish breasts pushed against the material of her blouse as I moved back out of her reach.

'What choice do I have?' I asked.

'I'll give you money!' she said, as I started to dial. My home phone number, as it happened, but she didn't know that.

I covered the mouthpiece of the phone with my hand.

'Don't make things worse than they already are!' I said.

'How can they get any worse?!' She almost screamed the words. I wondered if anyone in the main office could hear her.

'Bribery's a serious offence in itself,' I said. 'And besides, I don't want your money.'

'You can protect me!' she said, staring at me with earnest, pleading eyes. 'You can if you want to.'

My own voice on my home answer-phone clicked in. I listened for a moment, then said, 'Hello, can you put me through to Inspector Chandler? Thank you.'

'Please!' said Jane. 'I'm begging you.'

I listened to my own voice for a moment longer, then said. 'Hello, Inspector. This is Jack Waters. We spoke this morning. Can you call me back when you get a chance?' I replaced the receiver. 'Voicemail,' I said. Jane was staring at me with horror in her eyes.

Jane came round the desk towards me, stumbling slightly, blinking through her tears.

'Please!' she said again.

I stood up, tried to step back. Her hand grabbed for me, caught hold of my upper arm.

'Don't do this to me, Jack,' she said, her voice barely audible.

'I don't have any choice,' I said.

She stared up at me, still clutching my arm. Her face was close to mine, and tears were cascading down her cheeks. She looked young and alone and quite defenceless.

'Unless ...'

It was pitiful how quickly hope flared behind her eyes.

'Yes,' she said. 'I knew you could do something.'

'I could lose my job,' I said.

'But you could do something. You could protect me?'

I wondered what she thought I could do if she really had been involved, however innocently in a terrorist attack. I wondered how she thought I could expunge the computer record, how I could unsay what I was supposed to have said to the fictitious Inspector Chandler.

'Why should I?' I asked. Now it was my turn to grasp her, gently but firmly, by her upper arms. As I moved her away from me I could feel her whole body shaking.


Getting Even with Gemma and Jane Ch. 02



Eight

I turned up early outside Gemma's office for my appraisal. She kept me waiting for half an hour, but I didn't care. I was showered and shaved, in my new Jaeger suit and a pair of polished black brogues. I had my briefcase containing documents and a CD and a few other useful bits and pieces, and all was right with the world.

'Sorry to keep you waiting, Jack,' said Gemma, once her secretary had finally led me into her office. Gemma was leaning back in a huge leather swivel-chair, behind a desk large enough to play tennis on. Her jet black hair was sculpted into its usual bob, her lipstick was letterbox-red, her blue eyes wore an expression that was half pity, half amusement. She was wearing her police uniform, her crisply pressed white shirt open to show a hint of cleavage, the Inspector's pips on her epaulettes gleaming in the light from the open window behind her.

'No problems, Gemma,' I said, giving her my brightest smile as I sat down in the visitor's chair. Lower than hers, of course, and less comfortable. Gemma was anything but subtle. I put my briefcase down on the desk and leaned back and crossed my hands behind my head.

Gemma pursed her lips.

'You're looking very cheerful, Jack. Surprisingly so, under the circumstances.'

I shrugged and kept smiling.

'I guess I'm enjoying life at the moment.'

Gemma made a big deal of looking through the pile of papers in front of her.

'I'm afraid you may not enjoy what I'm going to say to you,' she said. 'Though, under the circumstances, I don't see how it can come as any surprise.' She clasped her hands together on the desk in front of her and leaned forwards. The glimpse of extra cleavage she gave me was no accident. 

I did her the favour of looking, and her lips twitched slightly. She glanced deliberately at my crotch. Nothing would turn her on more than giving me an erection at the same time she was breaking my balls.

'Let's give it a try, shall we?' I said. 'You say what you've got to say, and I'll see if I'm surprised.'

'I'd advise you to take this seriously, Jack. This is your career we're talking about. You do realise that?'

I pretended to look puzzled.

'What, you mean you're not going to give me a high grade? I was hoping for "Exceptional".'

Gemma stared at me.

'You can't be serious?'

I leaned forwards and tapped my briefcase.

'I think once you see some of the documentary evidence I've brought with me, you'll have no choice but to agree.'

For a second, Gemma's eyes darkened with confusion. Then she leaned back, hear hands on the arms of her chair, and looked me in the face, and launched into a five-minute litany of my failings -- overspent budgets, unmet performance indicators, staffing problems, pretty much everything she could think of. 'Please believe me, Jack,' she said, in conclusion. 'It gives me no pleasure to have to tell you this.' But the silky tone of her voice suggested quite the opposite.

'You left out a couple of my mistakes,' I said. 'How I'm responsible for global warming, and how I haven't yet found a cure for cancer.'

'This isn't a joking matter, Jack.' She pursed her lips. 'I'm afraid I'm going to have to give you a grade of '"Insufficient". This will, of course, have an impact on your pay award. I'll also be instituting a performance management plan -- if you fail, over the next 3 months, to reach the required standard then you will be dismissed.'

She watched my face, eager to drink in my reaction. Maybe she expected anger, or fear; tears, even. Maybe she expected me to beg. What she didn't expect was for me to nod calmly a couple of times and smile.

Her eyes narrowed slightly.

'Jack, do you understand your situation?'

'Completely,' I said. 'I wonder if you understand yours?'

I reached forwards and took out the CD from my briefcase and slid it across to her.

'Whatever it is, Jack, it's not going to change anything.'

'Humour me,' I said.

She sighed, and took the CD out of its case and slipped it into her computer.

'There's only two files on there,' I said. 'Just double-click on the first one for the moment.'

Shaking her head, she did so. There was a pause for a moment or so, then a recording of the phone conversation in which Jane had illegally passed details from the Police National Computer to her sister. I had discounted playing the terrorism angle as Gemma was a whole lot less gullible than her sister.

Gemma's face went white.

'Where did you get this?'

'Does it matter?'

Gemma leaned back in her chair, the colour returning to her face as she steepled her hands in her lap. One thing you had to admire, she recovered quickly. 'I don't quite see the relevance,' she said.

'I think you do.'

She forced a thin smile.

'You think this is evidence of wrong-doing, Jack, is that it? You think you can use this to make me give you a good appraisal?'

'It sounds so ugly when you put it like that,' I said.

Gemma brushed a non-existent strand of hair out of her eyes.

'You're such a loser, Jack,' she said. 'You know that?' Her voice was laced with contempt.

'Maybe if you got to know me better,' I said.

'Like that's going to happen,' she said.

'We'll see,' I said. 'But for the moment, let's talk about my appraisal,' I said.

'I could explain that conversation away,' she said, confidence returning to her voice. 'I'd get a reprimand, maybe, but nothing more. But you, Jack -- blackmail's a pretty serious offence. You could go to jail.'

'Maybe you're right. Maybe you're not,' I said. 'If it'll make things any easier, take a look at the second file.'

Gemma rolled her eyes and shook her head and clicked a couple of times on her mouse. She watched three of four seconds of the video montage of Jane that I'd put together, then clicked it off and launched herself to her feet.

'You little shit!' she hissed. 'If you've hurt her!' She strode round the desk towards me. For a moment I thought she was going to physically attack me.

'You recognise her, then? You really should watch a bit more, though -- I mean, the spanking's quite sexy and everything, but the blow-job is a real triumph.'

'You fucker!' she said, again, glaring down at me. She reached into the inside pocket of her jacket and took out her mobile.

'Don't phone her!' I said.

'Fuck you!' said Gemma, pressing buttons on her phone.

'OK, I'll rephrase that. You phone her, and I leave this room right now, and, within one hour, little sister's tits and arse show is on the internet, mailed to everyone in the department, mailed to everyone you know. Mailed to your mother.'

Gemma stood rooted to the spot, the phone half-way to her ear. For the first time ever, at least as far as I was concerned, she'd lost her poise, her veneer of impregnability.

'And your mother's not too well, so I hear,' I added.

'You wouldn't do it!' hissed Gemma. 'You'd go to jail.'

'Maybe,' I said. 'And maybe Jane wouldn't kill herself or have a nervous breakdown. Maybe your mother wouldn't die of a broken heart.' I shrugged again. 'Depends if you want to play the odds.'

Gemma stared at me, then lowered the phone to her side and went back round the desk and sat down in her chair.

'I guess I'll be getting that "Exceptional" rating after all,' I said, very softly.

Gemma put the mobile down on the desk in front of her, spinning it slowly round and round with nervous fingers. Without looking at me she said:

'On condition that you give me all the copies of this, and give me your word not to broadcast it on the internet, or mail it to anyone, or use it in any way.'

I laughed.

'I'm not sure you're in a position to make conditions, Gemma.'

Gemma took a deep breath and thought for a moment.

'OK, Jack,' she said, flashing me the most friendly smile she could manage. 'Maybe I haven't been quite fair. Maybe you deserve an "Exceptional" rating after all.'

'Thank you,' I said. I took my completed appraisal form out of the folder and slid it over to her for her to grade and sign. After a moment's hesitation, she did so with an extravagant flourish of one of those fountain-pens that costs the same as a small family car.

Still wearing the forced smile, Gemma said: 'And now, if there's nothing else?'

'I'm afraid there is something else, Gemma.'

She went for calm, slightly world-weary.

'I've given you what you wanted,' she said.

'That's for me to decide, wouldn't you say?'

She hesitated, as if not wanting to ask the question:

'So what do you want?'

'I want to own you, Gemma.'

She stared in disgust, like I was something she'd scraped of the heel of her shoe.

'You don't own me, Jack. You'll never own me.'

'Stand up,' I said. 'And come round this side of the desk.'

She hesitated, then got to her feet and walked slowly round the desk and stopped in front of me. Her black-trousers had creases as sharp as knife-blades, and her flat, black shoes somehow managed to look functional and elegant at the same time.

'You want to fuck me, is that it, Jack?'

I shrugged.

'Are you making me an offer?'

She studied me through narrow eyes.

'Is this the only way you can get sex, Jack? By using blackmail? Because if that's the case, I pity you, I really do.'

'One of the ways,' I said. 'Not the only way. I mean, there's rohypnol, and chloroform. Or there's even paying for it.' I stared back up at her from my seat, noting how the material of her trousers clung to her thighs, how her heavy breasts thrust against her blouse. 'But blackmail's my favourite, I think.'

I stood up. We were face to face, barely a foot or so of space between us. I expected her to back away, keep her distance. But Gemma wasn't her sister. She looked me right in the eye, and what was showing in her face wasn't fear, it was anger.

'Take your trousers down,' I said.

Gemma actually laughed. A short, harsh bark of a sound, but a laugh none the less.

'You are kidding,' she said, her hands on her hips, her face hard and cold.

'Let me be more specific. Take your trousers down, or I'll do that thing I said before about e-mailing those pictures of your dear little sister to everyone I can think of.'

Gemma just looked at me. I could see her mind whirring behind her cool blue eyes.

'I'll give you the grade you want in your appraisal,' she said. 'And I could probably run to a couple of grand in cash. But that's all you're getting. Take it, Jack. You don't want me as an enemy, believe me.'

I gestured towards her belt.

'In your own time, Gemma,' I said. 'I'll help you, if you want.'

When she didn't move, I nodded.

'I thought you'd be a harder nut to crack than your sister,' I said. I turned, and clicked my briefcase shut and picked it up and walked to the door.

'You've made the right decision, Jack,' said Gemma.

My hand on the door-handle, I turned back to face her. Columbo would have been proud. I nodded.

'Which of your mum's e-mail accounts should I use? Her Hotmail, or AOL?'

Gemma kept her face blank. She wasn't someone you'd want to play poker with.

'I thought we had a deal, Jack.'

I nodded.

'We do,' I said. 'And it involves you doing what I tell you to do.'

Anger flashed in Gemma's eyes.

'You're bluffing, Jack.'

'About your mother,' I said. 'Office gossip says she's suffering from severe depression. Terrible thing, depression -- I know, believe me. Not sure it's going to be helped by seeing her younger daughter starring in her own porn movie, but who knows?' I nodded towards Gemma's computer. 'You can keep the disk -- I've got plenty of copies.'

My hand moved on the door-handle. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. The door opening towards me, my shoes moving over the faded beige carpet.

'Wait!' said Gemma.

I turned back to her, and time went back to normal.

'Five thousand pounds,' she said. 'I'll give you the grade you want, and five thousand pounds.'

'All I want is for you to do what I tell you,' I said. The door was still ajar, my hand still on the handle.

'Don't do this, Jack,' said Gemma. 'You do this, and I'll make it my life's work to get even. I can hold a grudge, Jack, believe me, and you don't want to be on the receiving end.'

'Trousers down, Gemma,' I said. 'Last time I'm going to ask.'

Gemma stared at me for a moment, contempt radiating from every pore in her body. 

'Close the door,' she said.

'Ask nicely.'

'Please close the door.'

I pushed the door shut.

Gemma took a deep breath, then slowly unfastened her wide, black leather belt. She hesitated, her fingers toying with her trouser button.

'Don't do this, Jack,' she said. 'Don't make the biggest mistake of your life.'

I walked over towards her and moved the visitor's chair until it was lined up with her. Then I sat down, my case at my side. She was near enough to touch. I sat there for some moments, saying nothing, watching her as she shifted her position slightly, moving her weight from one foot to the other. 

'In your own time, Gemma,' I said.

Her eyes locked unflinchingly on mine, she unbuttoned her trousers and, stooping forward slightly, pulled them down to her knees. She straightened up and stared me right in the eye. She wasn't blushing, or shaking, or doing any of the hundred other things her sister had done. Not yet, anyway.

She was wearing a pair of low-rise bikini briefs. Pale blue satin edged with white lace. I guess she got off on that whole 'business-like on the outside, sexy underneath' kind of thing. It certainly worked for me.

'Very nice panties,' I said. 'Let's see how they look round your knees.'

Just for a second, her composure wobbled. Then, her face devoid of expression, she dipped slightly and slid her panties down to her knees.

I smiled and leaned back in my chair. Tilting my head to one side I studied her neatly trimmed bush for some while.

When I shifted my gaze to her face, her eyes once again met mine.

'If this is your idea of psychological warfare,' she said, her voice unwavering, 'it's not working.'

'Turn round,' I said. 'And bend over your desk.'

She shook her head slightly, then, slightly hampered by the fact that her trousers and panties were round her knees, she shuffled round and leaned forwards until her upper body was bent forwards ninety degrees, her elbows resting on the polished pine of her desk

'Spread your legs as wide as you can,' I said.

She hesitated for a moment, then moved her legs further apart until the material round her knees would allow her to go no further. I moved my chair forwards slightly, I had a perfect view of buttocks and pussy, and she had to know it.

'Reach back, Gemma,' I said. 'One hand on each buttock'

Her hands moved slowly back and came to rest, fingers splayed, on the beautiful cheeks of her arse. Her long, perfectly manicured finger-nails gleamed with pale pink varnish.

She had to know what I was going to ask her to do, but I made her wait.

'How am I doing now, Gemma? On the psychological warfare front?'

She turned her head to look back at me, and her hair fell across her face in a gleaming veil.

'Just do what you're going to do,' she said.

'Actually,' I said. 'It's more a case of what you're going to do. And right now, you're going to spread your arse for me. And you're going to keep looking back at me while you do it.'

I stared at Gemma's long fingers, watching as they tightened slightly over the skin of her buttocks. She hesitated for what seemed like a long time, then, still looking back at me over her shoulder, she slowly pulled her buttocks apart. 

I stared into the cleft between her buttocks, at the puckered pink bud of her anus. Then I got up, moved up close behind her. I felt her flinch for a moment before I bent forward and, reaching, swept her hair out of her face. Our eyes locked and, for the first time, she flushed.

I smiled, then stepped back a pace and slipped a finger suddenly into her pussy. Her body spasmed for a second, then grew still. I slid my finger in and out of her a few times, then slipped in a second finger, sawing gently back and forth over the hot, damp heart of her.

'Eyes on mine, Gemma,' I said. 'Keep those buttocks apart.'

She was trying to stop her body reacting, trying to deny me the satisfaction of making her come, against her will, on my prying fingers. But her flesh betrayed her, and she started moving slightly at my touch. I kept working my fingers in and out of her, varying the rhythm, the depth, the pressure. Her finger-nails dug into the flesh of her buttocks, her whole body was rocking back and forth, and all the while her cold blue eyes were locked on mine, until she finally gave a half-stifled groan and fell still.

I walked round the side of the desk and patted her gently on her head, like you would a child, then went over to stand by the window and look out. Not much of a view. A packed car park, and beyond that a building sites where blocks of ugly flats grew higher with each day.

Behind me, I heard her stand up.

'Before you get dressed again,' I said. 'Look in my case. There's an article of clothing I'd like you to put on.'

I turned back to face her and watched her go to my open brief-case. She hesitated for a moment, then took out an article of highly polished leather.

'What is it?' Her face was flushed, her upper leap moist with sweat. She was breathing heavily. Her hair had got that bed-head look. It suited her.

'An early Christmas present,' I said. 'Leather panties.'

She examined the gift, then looked up at me.

'With some kind of built-in dildo,' she said, her lips curling in distaste.

'You're wasted in uniform,' I said. 'You should be a detective.'

She stood there, the leather panties clutched tightly by her side.

'You've had your fun, Jack,' she said. 'You've taught me a lesson, seen my arse, fingered me. Leave it there.'

'Put them on, Gemma,' I said. 'You know you will in the end, so why prolong the agony?' She hesitated for a moment, wiped her face with the back of her free hand, then reached down and removed her trousers and panties. Hesitating for a moment, she pulled the leather panties on. When they were half way up her thighs she paused.

'They're too tight,' she said.

I shook my head and moved towards her.

'They're meant to be tight,' I said. 'I'll help you.'

Gemma shook her head.

'I'll manage.'

She took a firm grip of each side of the panties and edged them upwards. When it got to the stage where she had to steer the dildo up inside her she paused and looked at me, as if hoping against hope that I wouldn't make her go through with it. I said nothing, so, adjusting her position slightly she gave one last tug. She gave a grunt as the panties -- and the dildo -- slid onto place.

I moved towards her, holding up thin metal belt with a built-in lock. She let me thread it through tiny loops round the top of the panties and turn the lock with a tiny silver key which I replaced in my pocket.

'What if I need to go to the toilet?'

'The meeting's only an hour,' I said. 'You'll just have to hold on.'

Her eyes widened as she remembered the meeting with the Superintendent and a group of local councillors.

'I'll be coming along,' I said.

Gemma started to protest, then thought better of it. Reaching down she pulled on her trousers and did up her belt. Every now and then she'd bite her lip, or stifle a groan.

'Looks like your new present's pretty well designed,' I said. 'Apart from the dildo there's some ribbing, or nodules or something, can't quite remember what. Stimulates the clitoris, so it said on the box.'

Gemma stared at me with hate-filled eyes, then did up the buttons on her blouse and pulled on her tunic. Taking a mirror from her bulky, black handbag she touched up her make-up and rearranged her hair.

'Ready?' I said. 'Then let's go and meet the local community.' Gemma and I left her office and walked towards the lift. She was walking gingerly, as if she had injured her foot. By the time we reached the Superintendent's office, she was red in the face and breathing heavily.




Getting Even with Gemma and Jane Ch. 02



We were ten minutes late, something which Superintendent Stornaway registered with a long look at his watch.

'We started without you, Inspector,' he said, indicating the half a dozen people sitting round the conference table. He gave her a closer look and noticed her bedraggled appearance.

'Are you alright?' he asked.

Gemma nodded. 'I'm fine, Sir. A bit of a stomach upset overnight, that's all.'

Stornaway looked less than convinced, but turned his attention to me and hesitated. 'And you are?'

'Jack Waters, Sir,' I said. We civilians don't have to call the uniforms 'Sir' or 'Ma'am', but sometimes it didn't do any harm. 'Gemma's deputy.'

Stornaway nodded, then turned back to Gemma. He did the introductions. I can't remember any of the names. Four men, two women. Two of the men were Asian, one of the women was black. They were all middle-aged, and smartly-dressed and looked like they enjoyed the sound of their own voices.

Gemma moved towards a laptop that had been set in front of an empty chair. She sat down, grimacing as she did so. Stornaway raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. I sat down next to Gemma and watched as she attached a USB-stick to the laptop. She opened a Powerpoint presentation and, taking a deep breath, launched into her spiel. Something about neighbourhood policing, though I wasn't listening too hard. Instead I was watching her. Watching the tightness of her face, watching as she tried not to squirm in her seat. Listening to her voice, usually so confident, now uncertain and stumbling. She was losing her audience. Stornaway, in particular, was looking unhappy.

After five minutes or so, Gemma seemed to find her feet. Her presentation became slicker, her voice calmer. She even managed a couple of jokes.

Time for phase two.

Reaching into my pocket, I took hold of a small remote-control unit and clicked it onto it's lowest setting.

Gemma gave a sharp cry, and half rose from her seat as the vibrator inside the dildo inside her pussy sprang into life.

I clicked the remote off.

She turned to look at me, eyes blazing, but before she could say anything, Stornaway interjected.

'Are you alright, Inspector?'

Gemma hesitated, then sat down.

'I'm sorry, Sir. Stomach pains.'

'I hope you're fit to continue, Inspector. Some of our guests have travelled a long way to be with us today.'

Gemma nodded, and resumed her presentation. I gave her a couple of minutes, then flicked the remote back on. She shuddered, blinked a couple of times, and kept on going, one hand operating the computer-mouse, the other dipping below the table-top and into her lap. Quite what she thought she could do, I'm not sure. Her voice became more and more shaky, and her body twisted in its seat, and sweat beaded on her face. Every now and then she'd glance towards me, imploringly at first, and then with increasing desperation.

'Inspector!' hissed Stornaway. 'What the hell is going on?'

I glanced round the room. The councillors were all staring at Gemma, their faces wearing expressions of varying alarm, concern and disgust.

I flicked the remote onto its highest setting.

Gemma tipped back her head and gave a loud groan.

I heard one of the councillors say something to one of her colleagues. It sounded like 'I'll have what she's having!'

'Inspector!' 

Stornaway's face was red. He was staring at Gemma with an expression of disgust. His eyes were fixed on her hand as it snaked below the table and down into her lap, trying, in vain, to end the torment.

He thought she was masturbating!

Gemma tried to stand, then collapsed back into her chair, giving herself over to the enforced ecstasy that was flooding through her. Her hands were clasping the edge of the table, her mouth was rounded into a scarlet 'o', from which an unending, broken moan was filling the room.

We sat, spellbound, watching as the unseen vibrator brought the uniformed police inspector to a devastating, relentless, public orgasm.

Gemma slumped forwards over the desk. Everyone was staring at her wide-eyed. I turned off the remote.

Stornaway was on his feet, terminating the meeting, apologising for his colleague's 'indisposition', ushering the stunned visitors from the room. Before he followed them out, he turned to Gemma.

'My office, Inspector! Ten minutes sharp!'

I sat and waited for Gemma to come to her senses. After a while, she sat up straight. Her breath was still coming in ragged gasps, her face was scarlet and wet with sweat. She looked like she'd run a marathon.

I got to my feet.

'If it's any consolation, Gemma,' I said. 'That was the best Powerpoint presentation I've ever seen!'

With a last smile in her direction, I left the small, silver key on the desk in front of her and slipped from the room.



Getting Even with Gemma and Jane Ch. 03



NINE

On my way back to my office, I bumped into Jane in the corridor. She had a cup of coffee in one hand and a ream of copy-paper in the other. When she saw me, she dipped her head, muttered hello, and tried to move by me.

'Back to your old clothes again,' I said, nodding towards her brown, calf-length corduroy skirt and olive-green long-sleeved t-shirt.

'I'm late for a meeting,' she said, risking a glance in my direction.

'I'm guessing you're back in the old underwear as well.'

'You said this was over. You said if I ... if I did what you asked, you'd leave me in peace.'

I toyed with the idea of taking her back to my office, showing her the footage of me spanking her pert young buttocks, of her brown eyes widening as my cock slid in and out of her mouth. Instead I said:

'Tell me if you're wearing the underwear, and I'll leave you in peace.'

She hesitated, her eyes casting round as if looking for help.

'I threw them out,' she said.

'Shame,' I said. 'Dave would probably have enjoyed them as much as I would.'

'Please don't do this,' she said. 'Please just leave me alone.'

With that, she dodged past me and walked quickly away.

I continued on my way back to my office, but at the last moment I took the stairs up another flight and went to Gemma's office instead. Catherine, her secretary looked up from her computer-screen.

'She's not in, I'm afraid, Jack. Was here about five minutes ago, then dashed straight out again. Had to go and see the Super.'

Catherine was in her late fifties. Thin, with a spiky blonde hairstyle that was about twenty years too young for her. Smoked French cigarettes and had the husky voice to prove it.

'I know,' I said. 'She phoned me. Asked me to go in and wait for her.'

Catherine gave me a long look, then shrugged.

'If that's what the lady said ...'

I gave her a smile, then went on in. I sat down in Gemma's oversized leather chair and put my feet up on her desk. There were some framed photos on the opposite wall. Gemma and the rest of her class at Hendon. Gemma receiving a commendation from the Chief Constable. Gemma meeting Paddy Ashdown. If things went according to plan, there'd soon be a few new photos of Gemma, though none she'd want on the wall of her office.

Suddenly, the door of the office flew open and Gemma came storming into the room.

'Get out of my chair!' she said.

I swung my feet down off the desk but remained seated.

'Maybe you should close the door, Gemma,' I said, in a stage whisper. 'Unless you want Catherine to join us.'

Gemma pushed the door to with her foot.

'That stunt you pulled in there ...,' she said, almost apoplectic with rage. She shook her head, unable to continue.

'I'm guessing the Superintendent wasn't sympathetic.'

Gemma stared at me, eyes like gun-muzzles.

'I'm getting a formal reprimand on my file, and I'm being referred for psychological counselling.' She took a step towards me, hands on her hips. 'Now get out of my fucking chair!'

I nodded slightly and stood up.

'You still wearing the dildo-pants?' I asked, as I moved round and sat down in one of the visitors chairs.

Gemma just snorted and went to sit down behind her desk.

'Wait!' I said.

Gemma hesitated for a moment, then sat down anyway.

'I owe you an apology,' I said.

'Just get out of here, Jack' said Gemma. 'Before I do something I'll regret, like break your bloody neck.'

'I rushed things this morning,' I said. 'Going straight for your pussy like that. I'm sorry, I really am. I know how important foreplay is, how a guy needs to play the game, do things in the right order.'

Gemma shook her head.

'You fucking blackmail me into letting you finger-fuck me, and then you give me a fucking orgasm in public -- in front of my fucking boss -- and you want to apologise?!' She was spitting out the words like they were stones she was throwing at me. Her eyes were wild, and her finger jabbed at the air like a knife.

'I don't apologise for doing those things,' I said. 'I apologise for not doing other things first.'

Gemma came to a sudden stop.

'What the fuck are you talking about?'

'Stand up!' I said.

Gemma shook her head.

'No!' she said. 'This ends here.'

'Maybe we should get Jane in here, see what she thinks.'

'Fuck you, Jack!'

I got up, reached for the phone on her desk.

'Leave Jane out of this, Jack! I'm warning you!'

'Or what, Gemma? What will you do? What can you do?'

Gemma took a couple of deep breaths. When she spoke again, her voice was softer, under control.

'OK, Jack, so what's it going to be? You want to fuck me on my desk, is that it? If that's what it takes, then let's do it. Then you can crawl back under the fucking stone you came from and let me and Jane get on with our lives.' She glared at me, uncowed, unabashed. 'Is that what you want, Jack?'

'What I want is for you to stand up, Gemma.'

She took a couple more breaths and got to her feet.

'Good girl,' I said, moving round behind her. 

Gemma twisted her head to follow me.

'Eyes front!' I said. 'And hands on your head.'

Gemma paused for a moment.

'You're a sad little shit of a man! You know that?'

'Do as I say, Gemma!'

After a moment's hesitation, Gemma face forwards and crossed her hands on her head. Her blouse tightened over her shoulder-blades. I could see the straps of her bra through the material.

I moved up close behind her. She smelled of soap and coffee and fabric conditioner. I put my hands round her waste.

'You see,' I said, ' there's a kind of mating ritual. An order in which things should be done. A guy shouldn't just plunge in, so to speak. And I did. And I'm sorry.'

'You're one sick fuck!' hissed Gemma.

I moved my hands slowly up over her ribcage. The material of her blouse felt smooth beneath my fingers.

'You know how it goes. You go for a cup of coffee, maybe. Then you go for dinner. Maybe the pictures. At some stage you'll let him hold your hand, or put his arm round your shoulder.'

'I'm guessing you never got any!' said Gemma. You had to admire her for it.

'And then,' I said, my hands moving to cup her large breasts, 'sooner or later he'll try and cop a feel of your tits.'

Her body stiffened slightly as I adjusted my grip. I waited until her body relaxed slightly, then squeezed. Hard. She grunted, half tried to move away, forced herself back into stillness.

I relaxed my grip.

'Of course,' I said, my mouth close to her ear, my voice low. 'Usually, when he makes a grab, you can decide whether to let him or not. You can either go with the flow, or knee him in the groin. Here, of course, you can't. You just have to stand there and take it.'

I moved my hands over her breasts in small circles, more gently now.

'How am I doing, baby?' I murmured. 'How is it for you?'

Gemma just stood there, statue-still, eyes facing front.

I took her nipples between my fingers and thumbs. Gently at first, then harder.

'What's it like, baby?' My voice was barely audible now. 'To have no control. To just have to stand there and let me do what I like to you? You, a woman who's used to being in control. Who's used to giving orders, being in command.'

She was breathing heavily now, but still she said nothing.

Abruptly, I released my grip and moved back to one of the low chairs in front of her desk. I looked back at her. Her face and neck were flushed, her expression stony.

'Is that the best you can do?' she asked, her voice slightly uneven.

'As if!' I said.

'So what now?' Her voice was dripping with content.

'Now you strip.'

The words hung there in the air between us.

'Here? You've got to be fucking kidding!'

'Each time you fight me,' I said. 'And each time you know that in the end you'll obey.'

'What if someone comes in?'

'Catherine will stop them,' I said. 'Always reminded me of Cerberus, that woman.'

Gemma gave a couple of deep breaths and ran her hand back through her hair. It gave her that slightly tousled look. Bed-head, I think they call it. It looked good on her.

'In your own time,' I said.

Gemma started to unbuttoned her blouse and took it off, then removed her shoes and socks and trousers. She stood there in front of me, in the pale blue panties I'd seen earlier in the day. A matching balconette bra strained under the weight of her breasts.

'In the words of Ralph Waldo Emerson, that's quite a rack you've got there.'

Gemma crossed her arms in front of her. I studied her. She had an all-over tan, a tattoo of a dolphin just above her belly-button, and a few too many pounds on her hips. Her legs were a little on the plump side and not as good as her sisters. But up-top, Gemma had all a girl could need.

'What size are your tits?' I asked.

Gemma glared at me.

'Don't make me come up there and look at the label,' I said.

'38D,' said Gemma.

'Little sister's not so big,' I said. '36B. Did you know that?'

'Get on with this,' said Gemma. 'Do what you've got to do.'

'It's what YOU've got to do,' I said. 'If I'd meant "strip down to your bra and panties" I would have said so.'

Gemma stared at me for a moment, a vein in her forehead beating out a murderous tattoo. Then she reached behind her and unclipped her bra. Her breasts tumbled free. Formidable. Fleshy. A bit of sag, but not much. Even tan. Nipples the size of ten-penny pieces. Without waiting, she reached down and slid her panties down and stepped out of them.

Gemma stood there in front of me. Naked. Angry, and powerless and sexy as hell.

I made a point of not looking at her too hard.

'Sit down,' I said. 'In your chair.'

With a look of slight surprise, Gemma did as instructed.

'Where's your duty belt?'

'On the hook by the door.'

I turned, took down the heavy leather belt. It had a side-handle baton attached, and CS gas, and a small Maglite in a loop. And handcuffs.

Gemma's eyes widened.

'You're not fucking handcuffing me!'

'Each time you fight me.' I walked slowly towards her, the cuffs by my side. She squirmed slightly in the chair. When I reached for her right hand she resisted for a moment, then let her arm go limp.

I slipped the cuff round her wrist, then pulled her hand gently round the back of the seat.

'Other hand,' I said.

For what seemed like the longest time she did nothing. Then she moved her hand backwards and allowed me to cuff her wrists together.

I swung the chair gently round so that its back -- and hers - was to the desk. She squirmed slightly under my gaze. Her heavy breasts hung forward, begging to be touched. Her legs were jammed tightly together, but I could still see the triangle of gleaming black hair.

'Legs over the arms of the chair, Gemma,' I said.

For the first time, Gemma looked really scared.

'Please, Jack,' she said.

'Legs over the arms!'

She shook her head.

I took hold of one of her legs. I could feel her resisting. I got to my feet, went over and took Gemma's baton from her belt.

I extended the baton to its full length. It was maybe two feet long, made of light metal, with a short cross-bar just above the handle. The handle itself was quite a lot wider than the baton, cross-hatched for an easier grip, with a kind of pommel on the bottom that was wider still.

I know my Freud. Sometimes, a cigar is just a cigar. And sometimes, a baton is just a baton. And sometimes it's not.

'And each time you know that in the end you'll obey,' I said, moving towards her, the baton by my side. 

Gemma thrashed in the chair.

'Jesus!' she said, keeping her voice low. 'What are you going to do!'

I stood in front of her, stooping slightly, positioning the tip of the baton against her pubic mound.

'Open your legs, Gemma,' I said, in a conversational voice. 'Or I'll open them for you.'

She hesitated.

I applied a little pressure with the baton.

Gemma closed her eyes and opened her legs and allowed me to lift them upwards and outwards so that they hung over the arms of the chair. Taking a couple of cable-ties from my pocket, I secured her ankles to the outside of the arms.

Gemma was now slid forwards slightly in her big leather chair, arms behind her back, legs spread, pussy and anus on display. Her eyes were wide with alarm. I could see the blood beating in the artery in her neck, the ragged rise and fall of her breasts. 

'What are you going to do, Jack?' she asked, with just a glimmer of panic in her voice.

I pulled up a chair and positioned it near hers.

'I'm going to bring you to orgasm again,' I said. 'With your own baton. Don't you just love the symbolism?'

I slid the baton into Gemma's defenceless pussy. I could see the muscles in her thighs and arms tighten vainly as she tried to escape from her bonds. She shook her head from side to side, pulled her upper body slightly away from the chair, only to sink back, breasts bouncing, a groan of frustration spilling out from her mouth.

I moved the baton back and forth.

The symbolism might have been great, but the baton itself wasn't really wide enough. Real life's a bitch.

I withdrew the baton, reversed it, and slid the handle into Gemma up to the cross-bar.

This time she made a sound halfway between a cry and a groan. The pommel and the cross-hatchings on the handle were having more of an effect. 

I began to fuck her with the baton-handle, moving it in and out with long, slow thrusts.

She groaned and closed her eyes.

She was just starting to move her hips clumsily backwards and forwards when the phone rang.

I stopped moving the baton.

'Your phone's ringing,' I said.

She fought to regain her breath.

'Answer it,' I said. 'I'll put it on speaker phone.'

She shook her head wildly.

'No,' she said. 'I can't. Not like this. Not with you doing that. They'll know.'

I pulled the baton out of her and positioned the tip (not the handle, please note - I'm a reasonable man) against her defenceless anus.

'Answer your phone, or I'll sodomise you with your own baton.'

'Please, Jack. Don't ...'

She cried out as I pushed on the baton, twisting it slightly to right and left.

'Alright!' She said. 'Please stop! I'll answer the phone!' 

I reached forward, pressed the speaker button on the phone. I kept the tip of the baton gently pressed against Gemma's anus.

'You end the call before I want you to,' I whispered, 'and all bets are off!'

Gemma cleared her throat a couple of times.

'Inspector Conway,' she said. 

'Hi, Boss!' said a voice from the speakerphone. Scottish. Business-like. Young rather than old would have been my guess. 'Sergeant Taylor here. You wanted to talk about crime-figures on the Howerton estate.

'Yes,' said Gemma, still struggling for breath. 'That's right.'

There was a pause. Then Taylor said:

'You alright, Boss? You sound a bit strange.'

'I'm fine,' said Gemma. 'I'm coming down with something.'

'There's a lot of it about,' said Taylor. Then he launched into a long and complicated explanation of why just about every class of crime had gone up on the patch he was responsible for. Every now and then Gemma would say something, or ask a question, or murmur an acknowledgement. And all the time her eyes were locked on the tip of the baton as it rested against her anus.

I reversed the baton and placed the tip of the handle against Gemma's pussy. She shook her head frantically and mouthed the word "No!", but I pushed it into her all the same.

She gave a loud moan.

The speakerphone fell silent.

I gave Gemma half a dozen quick, hard strokes.

She cried out through gritted teeth. Moaned. Groaned. Did everything but sing hallelujah.

I stopped moving the baton.

'You sure you're OK, Boss?' asked Taylor. He sounded unsure of himself. Embarrassed.

'I'm fine,' said Gemma, still gasping for breath. 'Keep going.'

So Taylor ploughed on, reeling off statistics and staffing-levels and performance indicators and God only knows what. And every time Gemma had to say something I'd move the baton in and out, or twist it inside her. And she'd let out a long whimper, or cry out, or bite back a scream. And Taylor would hesitate on the other end of the phone, fumble for his words. And I'd stop moving the baton and Gemma would gasp out a question, or a suggestion. Taylor even offered to phone back, but I shook my head and Gemma said no, she'd rather continue.

Her face and breasts and belly were wet with sweat. Her hair was plastered to her forehead, her eyes half-closed.

Taylor was fumbling his way to some kind of conclusion.

I increased the pace, pumping the baton in and out of her relentlessly

Her eyes clicked open. Her mouth widened in a silent scream, and then the scream was out loud, like glass breaking.

'Jesus!'

The silence was as sudden, broken only by Gemma's rasping breath.

'I should be going, Boss,' said Taylor, softly. Without waiting for a reply, he rang off.

There was a knock at the door.

'You alright in there, Inspector?' It was Catherine's voice. It was insistent. Curious. Knowing.

I pulled the baton out of Gemma and went to the door and opened it a crack.

'She's fine,' I said. 'We were moving the filing-cabinet and she got her hand caught.'

Catherine stared at me in obvious disbelief.

'You sure you're alright, Inspector?' she called, trying to see into the office.

'I'm fine,' said Gemma, in a voice that was anything but.

I gave Catherine a smile, which she repaid with a surly scowl, and pushed the door shut in her face.

I went back over to Gemma pulled her slightly more upright in the chair and sat and watched as her breathing slowly returned to normal.

'How was that?' I asked.

She appeared slightly dazed.

'Bastard!' she muttered. 'Fucking bastard!'

I got to my feet and undid my fly. 

'You've had your fun,' I said. 'Now it's Uncle Jack's turn.'

My cock was hard as a length of lead pipe. I thrust it into Gemma's mouth, holding the back of her head with one hand. Her movements were listless, her mouth slack. I got the tip of my cock down her throat a couple of times, and she gagged but I kept on going. I came quickly, withdrawing at the last moment to come in her face and hair and on her still-quivering breasts.

I zipped myself up, and straightened my tie.

'Thank you,' I said.

Gemma seemed to be rapidly returning to normal. She blinked a couple of times as come slid into her eye.

I backed away a couple of steps and took a small digital camera from my pocket.

'One for the album,' I said. 'I think I'll call it "Line Manager Relaxing". Say cheese!'

'Fuck you!' said Gemma.

I picked up the baton from the floor and, once again, placed the business-end against her anus. She didn't react, so I started pushing and twisting. Even before I'd got in half an inch, she was begging me to stop.

'You're hurting me!' 

'That's the general idea.'

I pushed a little harder.

'OK,' she said, hurriedly. 'I'll smile for your fucking photo!'

I withdrew the baton, and backed away. I got a couple of photos of her, tears in her eyes, face spattered with come, her beautiful mouth twisted in a rictus of a smile.

When I was satisfied, I took a knife from my pocket and cut the cable-ties. I unfastened the handcuffs and helped her lift her legs down from the arms of the chair.

'One last little treat,' I said.

Gemma looked at me blankly.

I took a couple of nipple-clamps from my pocket and reached down and, before she knew what was happening, clipped them in position.

Gemma squealed and reached up to remove the clamps, but I held her hands by her sides.

'You can get dressed now, Gemma, but you'll keep the clamps on until I tell you you can take them off. Is that clear?'

Gemma grimaced, but managed a nod.

'I'll be back in some time later to check. And woe betide you if you've taken them off.'




Getting Even with Gemma and Jane Ch. 03



I straightened and walked to the door. 

'You'll regret this, Jack,' said Gemma. 'One day.'

I turned back to face her. She was still slumped in the chair, her body heavy and wet with sweat and come.

'Each time you fight me, Gemma' I said. 'And each time you know that in the end you'll obey.'

I left the office, pulling the door shut behind me.

I gave Catherine a big smile as I walked past.

TEN

I'd just got back to my office when my phone rang. It was Sue.

'What the fuck are you playing at, Jack? We had a deal.'

'Could we do this again?' I asked. 'Only slower, and with subtitles. I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about.'

'I got a call from a friend in C Division. She knows my history with Gemma. Says she's heard from someone who heard from someone that Gemma was having sex while she was on the phone to some sergeant or other.'

'Sergeant Taylor, that would be,' I said.

'We had a deal, Jack. I'd help you set things up, and in return, you'd let me have some fun with Gemma. Teach her what happens to someone who steals my fiancé from me.'

'The deal's still on, Sue,' I said. 'I was just going to ring you. Suggest you come over this evening. I'll invite Gemma, we can make an evening of it.'

'Sounds like you started without me, Jack.' Still angry, but downshifting from angry to pouty.

'Just softening her up,' I said.

'Always an answer,' she said.

'You on for this evening?'

'Sure,' said Sue. 'But make it my place rather than yours. I've got a few bits and pieces that might turn out to be useful. Seven o'clock. Don't be late.'

She rang off. I thought for a minute, then dialled Gemma's number. 

'It's Jack,' I said. 'You're invited to a party. This evening.' 

Gemma started to protest, but I cut her short.

'Seven o'clock,' I said. 'Don't be late.' I gave her Sue's address. 'Oh, and one last thing. I want you to wear a French maid's outfit.'

I put the phone down before she could reply. Spent the rest of the afternoon tinkering with an Exel spreadsheet. 

For some reason or other, my mind wasn't on my work.



Getting Even with Gemma and Jane



'I'll do anything,' she said. From someone else it might have sounded coy, or indecent. From her it just sounded innocent. Innocent, and out of her depth.

I looked her in the eye for a moment, then sat back down in my chair. She was standing just a couple of feet in front of me now, no longer separated from me by the desk.

'Anything, Jane?' I asked. 'Do you really mean that?'

She stared down at me blankly for a moment, and then suddenly, understanding dawned. She flushed and her mouth fell open.

'Do you mean ...?' Unable to even finish the sentence, she backed away a step. The look of horror in her eyes wasn't what you'd call flattering, but I knew I'd cope.

I shrugged.

'I mean that you need to be punished for what you've done, Jane.'

I watched her, amused by the expressions that flitted across her face as she wondered whether she'd misinterpreted me.

'What do you mean, Jack?'

'Before we go any further, Jane, I think it's more appropriate for you to call me Mr Waters. Or Sir.'

'But everyone uses first names,' she said. I almost laughed. Talk about getting side-tracked by the unimportant. What name she called me by was going to be the least of her problems.

'Nonetheless, Jane, you will use my surname or call me Sir. Is that clear?'

She hesitated for a moment.

'Yes,' she said, finally.

'Yes, Sir,' I said.

Another hesitation, then:

'Yes, Sir.'

'Good girl.' I leaned back in my chair, swivelling slightly from side to side. 'So,' I said, my voice as soft as silk. 'Which way are we going to do this -- the official way, or my way?'

Jane looked at me for a moment.

'Don't do this, Jack ... Sir,' she said. 'Please don't do this.'

'Which way, Jane? Your choice?'

Jane took a couple of deep breaths and glanced back at the closed door as if she were thinking of making a run for it. Then she looked back at me.

'Your way, Sir,' she said, her voice almost inaudible.

'Good choice,' I said. For the first time, I gave her a smile. 'Give me a moment, and we'll get going?'

'Going?' she said, her voice taut with alarm. 'Where are we going?'

'Bennetts Department Store,' I said, logging out of my computer and setting my voice-mail. 'For a cup of coffee. If you're good, you can have a cake as well.'

Five

Bennetts was pretty empty. Hardly surprising, on a mid-afternoon, in the financial wasteland between the New Year sales and the summer holidays. That was one of the reasons I'd chosen the place -- that, and their surprisingly extensive lingerie department. 

I'd cleared Jane's absence with her team-leader by saying I needed her help with some spreadsheets at our satellite office, and we'd driven into town. Jane had been silent and white-faced during the journey, but I'd chatted away amiably enough, and she'd relaxed a bit. Now, sitting at a table in the store café, with a couple of cups of over-complicated, over-priced coffee in front of us, she'd even risked a comment about the weather.

'I love the sunshine, Jack,' she said. 'Don't you?'

I gave her a friendly smile.

'You forget to call me Sir one more time, Jane, and I will punish you. Is that clear?'

Jane stared at me in horror, like I'd committed some sort of betrayal.

'But I thought ...' she said. Her voice tailed off and she glanced around her.

'What did you think, Jane? That I was kidding around? That I didn't mean what I said in the office? That you're not in danger of going to jail for a very long time, and taking that stuck-up sister of yours with you?'

'Please,' she said. 'Please, Sir.'

'I'm doing you a favour, Jane. But you need to wise up. You need to understand the situation you're in.' I took out my mobile phone and put it on the table next to my half-empty coffee-cup. 'You do what I say -- exactly what I say -- without hesitation, without argument. Or your life, as you know it, comes to an abrupt end. Is that clear.'

She blinked at me a couple of times in a short-sighted way that made me wonder if she needed glasses, and fiddled with the hair over her ears. She looked about fifteen years old.

'Yes Sir. It's clear.'

'Good,' I said, softening my voice. I took out tiny tape-recorder, placed it on the table between us, and turned it on. 'First of all, I'd like to know a few things about you.'

Jane kept on staring at me, as if hypnotised. Her hands were interlocked on the table in front of her, her knuckles white. She nodded.

'First question,' I said. 'What's your favourite colour?'

Jane's eyes widened. Her expression suggested she thought I was mad.

'Pink,' she said, after a while.

'Answer in a full sentence, please, Jane. "My favourite colour is pink". And louder. For the tape.'

She licked her lips.

'My favourite colour is pink.' 

'Good girl, Jane,' I said, moving the tape-recorder a few inches towards her. 'Another easy one. Apart from Gemma, do you have any other brothers or sisters.'

'No,' she said.

'Full sentences, Jane,' I said. 'That was your second and last warning.'

Jane was staring at the tape-recorder the way you'd stare at a poisonous snake.

'No,' she said, her voice barely audible, her eyes locked onto the recorder. 'I don't have any other brothers or sisters.'

Keeping my tone the same, I said: 'Are you wearing underwear?'

Jane's whole body jerked. Her gaze flew from the table-top to my face and back down again.

I waited, saying nothing. After a moment or two I reached out for my phone. Before I could pick it up Jane said:

'Yes, I'm wearing underwear.'

'I'm wearing underwear, Sir,' I said. 'Last warning.'

'I'm wearing underwear, Sir.'

'Describe it to me,' I said, keeping my hand on the phone.

Jane hesitated.

'I don't know what you mean, Sir. Describe them how?'

'It's not rocket-science, Jane. Full back panties, or a thong; tell me what colour they are; are you wearing tights, or stockings; is your bra underwired, or half-cup, or whatever.'

Jane's hands shifted so that she was grasping the edge of the table. Her grip was so hard I thought she'd either splinter wood or bone. She was breathing in and out very rapidly. Christ, I thought. She's hyperventilating. Don't faint on me girl!

'Don't make me wait, Jane. And sit up straight and look at me when you're talking.'

I let Jane do a bit more of the breathing. After maybe thirty seconds or so, her body became still. She sat up straight, loosened her grip on the table and looked me in the face. Her eyes were grey-green, and a lock of hair had fallen over he forehead. As I moved to pick up my phone, she started talking. Quickly, almost incoherently, her words tumbling out, her eyes locked on mine.

'I'm wearing a matching bra and knickers, Sir' she said. 'Proper knickers, not a thong. Pink, with little bits of red ribbon. The bra's underwired. I bought the set here last week. I'm wearing tights, not stockings.'

She stopped speaking, seemingly unable to free her gaze from mine.

'Bra size?' I asked, staring very obviously at her breasts.

Her mouth dropped open for a moment. She gulped a couple of times, sat back in her chair, made to cross her arms.

'36B, Sir.'

'Did I say you could cross your arms, Jane?'

'No, Sir,' she said. Lowering her arms to her sides again, she sat forwards.

'36B, you say,' I said, still looking hard at her chest.

'Yes, Sir.'

I scowled. 'A bit smaller than I like, but I suppose they'll have to do.' I thought for a moment. 'You ever given anyone a tit-fuck?'

Jane gave a gasp that would have done a Mother Superior proud.

'You do know what that is, I take it? The guy sticks his cock between the girls tits and basically fucks her cleavage. He ends up with a nice warm glow, and she ends up with a face full of cum.' I gave her my friendliest smile. 'Ever done that?'

Jane was rocking gently back and forth, her arms straight down by her sides, grasping the sides of the seat of her chair.

'You can't ask me questions like this,' she whispered, a single tear sliding down her cheek.

'I can ask you what the fuck I like,' I said. 'I can do to you what the fuck I like. Or I can make a phone-call. The choice is yours.'

Jane closed her eyes for a moment, shaking her head ever so slightly from side to side, as if by sheer force of will she could just make me and my questions go away; or as if she were trying to wake from a nightmare. Of course, the nightmare was real, and it had hardly yet begun.

'Well?'

Jane's eyes opened.

'No, Sir,' she said. 'I've never done that.' 

'Say it, Jane.'

She gulped. 'I've never ... I've never given anyone a tit-fuck.'

By now I had a hard-on fit to bust its way out of my trousers and knock the table on its side. I shifted slightly in my seat.

'OK, Jane,' I said. 'Good girl, well done. Enough of the questions for now. How about a little practical exercise?

Jane eyed me warily.

'What kind of exercise, Sir?'

'The kind where you go to the little girls room, take off your bra and panties, put them in your handbag, and come back here.'

Jane's eyes widened and her cheeks flushed very red.

'Please, Sir,' she said. She'd started weeping again. 'Don't make me do that.'

I yawned very deliberately, and glanced at my watch.

'I'll give you three seconds,' I said. 'To do what I've told you to do, or face the consequences. Starting ... now.'

'Please, Sir. Don't make me do this. I can't do this.'

'Three -- two -- one,' I said.

She didn't move, and, just for a moment I wondered if my scheme hadn't foundered before it had begun. I half-heartedly reached for my mobile. Before I could pick it up, Jane got up, clutching her handbag, and walked away. She didn't look very steady. The toilets were on the far-side of the sales floor, out of sight of where I was sitting. I sat there, still looking at my wrist-watch. Maybe she had just gone down the escalator and left the store. Maybe she'd phoned the police.

Almost ten minutes later, when I'd almost given up hope, I looked up to see Jane walking slowly towards me. Her face was as tight as a mask but her eyes were dry. She sat down, clutching her handbag in front of her with both hands.

'Jane,' I said, in languid tones. 'I'd almost given up on you.'

She stared down at her handbag, avoiding my eyes.

'Look at me, Jane, when I'm talking to you.'

Jane raised her head to look at me. Her face wore a slightly dazed expression.

'Are you wearing your bra and panties, Jane?' I asked.

She shook her head, like a child who's been caught out.

'Answer properly, Jane. With a full sentence, like I told you.'

'No,' she said. 'I'm not wearing my bra and panties.'

'Where are your bra and panties, Jane?'

'My bra and panties are in my handbag, Sir,' said Jane. 'Like you told me.'

'Show me, Jane!' 

Jane gasped, and pulled her handbag back against her chest.

'Open your handbag, Jane,' I said. 'And take out your bra and panties and put them on the table.'

'Please don't make me do that here, Sir,' she said.

'Why not?'

She glanced round the almost empty café.

'People will see, Sir.'

'And why is that a problem, Jane?'

Jane bit her lip, and shook her head and looked down at the table-top.

'Look at me Jane,' I said. I waited for her to comply, then repeated: 'Why is it a problem?'

'People will think I'm ...' Her voice tailed off, and her gaze dipped for a second until a stern look brought her face back up.

'They'll think you're a slut? Is that what you mean?'

Jane nodded.

'You're sitting in the Bennetts and Sparks café, Jane. Naked under your skirt and blouse. Maybe you are a slut -- have you ever considered that?'

'Oh God,' whispered Jane, half to herself.

'Underwear on the table, Jane! Now!'

Jane hesitated, her hands twisting back and forth on the slim leather strap of her handbag.

'Three seconds, Jane. You know the drill.'

Just a couple of seconds later, Jane's fingers were struggling clumsily with the clasp of her bag, scooping out two small bundles of material which she placed on the table in front of her and covered with her hand.

I looked at her. Her arm was quivering, and her face was still flushed. My eyes moved down to her breasts. I thought I saw a hint of nipple pressing up against the pale fabric of her blouse.

'Hands off the table, Jane,' I said.

With a last-panic stricken glance round the café, Jane obeyed. We both stared at her underwear, watching as the pale pink fabric slowly unbundled itself. I reached out, picked up the bra, and examined it. Full cups, underwired. Thin pink cotton, edged with burgundy coloured ribbon. I spread the bra carefully out on the table in front of me, then turned my attention to the matching panties. I picked them up, turning them in my hands.

'Pretty,' I said. 'Though pretty's not really my thing.' I raised the panties to my face and breathed in the smell of her. 'Slutty's more my line.' Her eyes shot me a look of pure revulsion. I laid the panties next to the bra, then called to a youth in a dowdy-looking green uniform who was clearing a nearby table.

'Excuse me, mate!'

'Don't, Sir!' hissed Jane. 'Please!'

I ignored her, of course.

The youth shambled over. He was in his late teens or early twenties, with long, thinning hair and acne you could have used to pebble-dash a house. Her was wearing a faded plastic name badge that said 'Brian'.

'Yeah?' he said. Then he saw Jane's underwear on the table. He glanced at her, and she flushed and looked away and seemed to shrink back on her chair. His gaze yo-yoed back and forth between her face and her underwear.

'My friend's not feeling too well, Brian,' I said.

Brian grunted, but it was clear he wasn't really listening.

'Feeling too hot,' I said. 'So hot she had to take her bra and panties off.'

This time he heard me, and it was his turn to flush, though with exhilaration as much as embarrassment.

'Right,' he said, his glance flicking momentarily towards me before latching back onto Jane.

'Perhaps you could dispose of the underwear for her,' I said.

He stared at the underwear, reached out towards it, then hesitated.

'Don't worry,' I said. 'She wants you to take her bra and panties. Don't you, Jane.'

She gulped a couple of times, then started to speak. She had to clear her throat and start again.

'Yes,' she said. 'I want you to take my bra and panties.'

Brian gave her a last look, then reached out and snatched up the underwear from the table. He looked at me as if seeking confirmation.

'All yours,' I said. 'And they're still warm.'

The youth gave me a baffled grin, stuffed the underwear in the pocket of his uniform trousers and backed away. Picking up the tray of empty crockery from the next table he walked quickly away, glancing back over his shoulder a couple of times.

'You've made a young man very happy,' I said. 'I'm guessing he'll be wanking into your panties for the next week and a half.'

Jane shook her head and muttered something.

'What was that Jane? I didn't catch what you said.'

She cleared her throat again.

'This is perverted! You're perverted!'

I picked up my coffee-cup and took a sip.

'Drink your coffee, Jane,' I said.

She glared at me, but I held her gaze until she sighed, reached down, and drained her cup in one go.

'And now,' I said, 'we're going shopping'.

1

Six

The lingerie department was one floor down. For such an staid-looking store, some of the lingerie was pretty racy, which suited me just fine. Jane trailed along in my wake as I made my way between the racks of bras and panties. Every now and then I'd stop and reach out and run my hands over satin or lace or silk. Jane would just stand there, glancing nervously around her, hoping not to see anyone she knew.

Once we'd done the circuit a couple of times, I stopped.

'OK, Jane. Do you want some underwear, or are you getting used to going commando?'

'I'd like some underwear, Sir,' she said, keeping her voice low and her eyes downcast.

'Say please,' I said.

'Please,' she said. 'Sir.'

'OK,' I said. 'As you've been so good, I'll treat you.'

'Thank you, Sir,' she said, regarding me cautiously. Not without reason, she was expecting some kind of trap.

'What would you chose?' I asked.

Jane looked around her, then led me over to a rack of white underwear. Boyshorts, with just a hint of lace. Matching bra. Five pounds off if you bought the pair.

'Remember what I said about the kind of thing I liked?'

She reached out and picked up one of the bras.

'This is what I'd like, please, Sir,' she said. Out of nowhere, a hint of defiance had crept into her face. Her chin jutted and her lips were tightly set. Actually, it was more desperation than defiance.

'What did I say I liked, Jane? Don't make me punish you right here and now.'

'Slutty,' she muttered, her chin still jutting.

'I can't hear you, Jane.'

'You said you liked slutty underwear,' she said, louder than she'd probably intended. A gray-haired woman in a ski-jacket that was a couple of decades too young for her threw us a glare and stomped off towards the till, clutching a flesh-coloured girdle that looked like it would protect the wearer from small-arms fire.

'I'll show you more the kind of thing I had in mind,' I said. Reaching out I took hold of Jane gently by the upper-arm. For a moment she recoiled from my touch. Then, her body quivering slightly, she let me lead her over to the aisle furthest from the till.

'Dah-dah!' I said, indicating the range of lingerie with an expansive sweep of my arm.

Jane stared in horror at the racks which held a selection of what was obviously the most provocative underwear she'd ever seen. Row after row of half-cup bras and thongs and suspender-belts; an unholy blend of sheer lace that left nothing to the imagination, and taut satin that shone like polished metal. Every colour of the rainbow, though with a preponderance of scarlet and black.

'From the Callgirl range,' I joked.

'You want me to wear that?' asked Jane, her face twisting with disgust.

'It'll do for now,' I said.

'Oh Christ!' she murmured. 'Oh Jesus Christ!'

I reached out and started to take items from the shelves.

'34B, did you say?' I asked. As if I'd forget.

Jane nodded, looking at the underwear in my hands as if it were a writhing mass of venomous snakes.

'What about panties?' I asked, looking her up and down. 'I'd say you were a 12.'

Jane nodded, still staring.

'I was thinking a thong,' I said. 'For the way that thin strip of satin cuts up between your buttocks.'

'Please, Sir,' she whispered. 'Keep your voice down.'

'You ever wear a thong, Jane?' I asked.

'Please,' she said.

'How about stockings and suspenders?' For the first time since I'd made her ditch her underwear, I glanced down at her ankles. She'd put her tights back on. I thought about making her lift up the front of her skirt, so I could see how her pussy looked under a thin layer of sheer nylon, but I resisted the temptation. Slowly does it, Jack.

'I asked you a question, Jane,' I said. 'In fact I asked you two questions. Don't make me repeat myself.'

She glared at me, then moved in closer so she could lower her voice.

'I don't like them,' she said. 'Thongs, or suspenders, or stockings.'

'But you have worn them?'

She hesitated.

'Dave bought me some lingerie a couple of Christmases back.'

'Dave?'

She hesitated, as if she'd revealed something she shouldn't have. To coin a phrase.

'Dave's my boyfriend,' I said.

I filed the information away for future use.

'Go on,' I said. 'Back to the underwear Dave bought you. Describe it for me.' 

She sighed. 'Bra and knickers and suspender-belt,' she said. 'Red silk with black lace trim. And black fishnet stockings.' She shuddered.

'A classic of the genre,' I said. 'You didn't like it?'

'No,' she said. 'It made me feel cheap.




Getting Even with Gemma and Jane



'But you wore it? Just the once.'

Jane flushed.

'Two or three times.'

'Even though it made you feel cheap?'

'I did it for Dave,' she said.

'He liked it?'

She nodded.

'He liked you looking cheap?'

'That's not how it was,' she said. 

'That's how it sounds.' 

'I love him. I did it to make it happy,' said Jane, softly.

I turned my attention back to the tangle of underwear that I was still holding. 'Dave sounds like an interesting guy.'

'Leave Dave out of this,' said Jane, with a sudden flash of feistiness. She took half a step forwards, then saw my expression, and all the fight seemed to go out of her. 'Please, Sir. Please leave Dave out of this. He doesn't need to know.'

'As we speak, he's probably sitting at work with a hard on like a length of lead piping, thinking about you in your cheap underwear, thinking of what he's going to do to you tonight.'

'He's in Germany,' said Jane. 'On business.' She blinked a couple of times and her eyes became wet. Probably wondering if things would ever be the same between her and loverboy.

'What kind of things does Dave like to do in the bedroom, Jane? Apart from dressing you up in underwear that makes you feel like a cheap hooker? He like to spank you, Jane? He like to tie you to the bed?'

'Please, Sir. Don't make me answer these questions. I'll wear the underwear, whatever you want. I just want to buy it and go.'

'You don't get to chose, Jane,' I said. 'I want to, I'll make you wear the lingerie, perform a handstand, and tell me if you've ever had anal sex. Is that clear?'

Instead of replying, Jane stared over my shoulder. I turned to see a young, blonde girl. Nineteen or twenty, perhaps, with a face just too bland to be pretty, and hair just to blonde to be natural. She was wearing a store uniform and a name-badge.

'Can I help you Sir?' she asked. She glance at Jane, and something sly flitted across her face. 'Madam?'

'We're fine,' said Jane, hurriedly.

'My friend said you were feeling unwell,' said the girl, staring at Jane. 'Too hot,' he said. 'So hot you had to take some of your clothes off.'

Jane's face flamed red, and her hand flew to her mouth.

I glanced at the newcomer's name-badge. 'Shannon,' I said. 'Nice to meet you. Would your friend's name be Brian?' I asked. 

'It would,' said Shannon. Still looking at Jane she said: 'You made quite an impression on Brian, Madam.'

Jane's face was burning, and she was blinking with increasing speed. For a moment I thought she might make a run for it, but she seemed rooted to the spot. 

'I can understand you being too hot, Madam,' said Shannon. 'Heating's on the blink again -- you could grow orchids in here.' She took something from her pocket and made a big thing of dabbing at her forehead with it. She let the material hang in her hands for a moment. From the horrified gasp that Jane made, she recognised her panties about the same time I did. Shannon gave Jane a grin, and slipped the panties back into her pocket.

'Maybe you could help us, Shannon,' I said.

'If I can, Sir,' said Shannon, her eyes bright with mischief.

'I'm trying to buy some new lingerie for my friend Jane,' I said. 'Something sexy. Something that will get her excited just by wearing it, and get me excited just by looking at it.'

Shannon thought for a moment, then held out her hands towards me.

'May I, Sir?' she asked.

I nodded, and passed her the tangle of underwear that I'd selected. I glanced at Jane. She was wearing her best baby-deer-caught-in-the-headlights expression.

Shannon looked at Jane.

'What size are Madam's breasts?' she asked.

Jane actually seemed to stagger slightly, as if she'd been hit. She shook her head from side to side. 'You can't ask me that!' she exclaimed. 'You just can't!'

'Answer the nice lady, Jane!' I said.

Jane stared at the floor, still shaking her head slightly.

'36B,' she murmured.

'And she's a size 12, if it helps,' I said, giving Shannon an apologetic look. 'To speed things along.'

Shannon nodded, and started to work her way through the selection of underwear I'd selected her.

'Just one set, Sir?'

'For the moment,' I said.

'There's a few options,' she said.

'You choose, Shannon. I trust you.'

Shannon gave me a smile that was almost sweet, and discarded the items of underwear one by one until she was left with what she wanted.

'Then I'd suggest this, Sir,' she said, holding up each item in turn. 'A balconette bra in high-gloss, completely sheer black nylon embroidered with exquisite floral detail. It will really lift up Madam's breasts, push them out, give her a cleavage to die for.'

'Sounds great,' I said.

'It is,' said Shannon. 'I've got a couple of these myself. The way Madam's nipples will pucker against the material, you just won't believe it.'

'What do you think, Jane?' I asked.

'Fine,' she said, hurriedly. Clearly she'd decided that all she wanted to do was get out of the shop and away from Shannon.

'Matching thong panties,' said Shannon, holding them up for my inspection. 'Madam really won't have any secrets from you when she's wearing these, Sir. And a matching suspender belt.'

'We'll take them,' I said.

'Stockings?' asked Shannon.

'The sheerest you've got,' I said. 'Black, with a seam. Nothing too fancy round the stocking-top.'

Shannon nodded, moved to a nearby unit, and came back with a pair of stockings. 

'Anything else I can help you with, Sir?'

I glanced at Jane, tilting my head to one side. She shrank back under my gaze.

'A skirt,' I said. 'Something short. And a blouse.'

'I'm guessing low-cut, Sir,' said Shannon, her voice like silk, her eyes dancing with amusement.

'You guessed right, Shannon,' I said.

'Follow me, please,' said Shannon. She turned and walked away. I nodded to Jane to follow. She gave me a doleful look, then trudged after Shannon. I followed along behind her, picturing her wearing her new lingerie.

'Size 12, you said, Sir?' asked Shannon.

I nodded.

'Maybe a size smaller', I said. 'So she gets that busting-out-all-over look.'

Shannon nodded, and led us between racks of blouses and skirts. After a bit of umming and ahhing, I decided on a thin, grey check skirt that would barely come half way down Jane's thighs, and a butter-soft, pale yellow silk blouse with a deeply-scooped neck.

'New shoes, maybe?' asked Shannon.

'Maybe later,' I said. 'The day is young and all that. For the moment, let's pay for this lot.'

'Sure,' said Shannon. 'Follow me over to the till.'

At the till, Brian was waiting. As he was one of the cleaning staff, I wasn't sure if this was a promotion, or just a one-off special treat.

'I'll leave you with Brian, for the moment,' if that's OK, said Shannon. With a long, last, lingering smile at Jane she handed her the lingerie and turned and walked away.

Jane almost threw the lingerie onto the counter, studiously avoiding looking at Bryan. But she, like me, couldn't have failed to have noticed the way his fingers lingered over the material as he clumsily folded up the bra, panties, and suspender-belt, having first scanned them onto the till

'These should keep you much cooler, Madam,' he said, trying unsuccessfully to keep the excitement out of his voice. Then he folded up the short skirt and the shiny cream-coloured blouse and slipped all the clothes into a bag.

I gave Jane a handful of notes, and made her pay Brian.

'Say thank you to the nice gentleman, Jane.'

Jane muttered something that was probably a thank-you of sorts and picked up the bag.

'One last thing, Madam,' said Bryan. 'If you'd like to try on the new outfit now, you're welcome to use the changing room.'

Jane started to shake her head but I cut her short.

'Good idea, Bryan,' I said.

He pointed us towards the nearest changing-rooms and I steered Jane in the right direction.

'Please,' she said. 'Don't make me do this! Not here, not in public!'

'I want you to put on a show, right here, right now,' I said. 'And that's what you're going to do.'

Shannon was waiting by the changing-rooms, pretending, not very convincingly, to be tidying up a display of boot-cut jeans.

'Jane can't wait to get home to try out her new purchases,' I said, apologetically.

Shannon raised her eyebrows.

'Quite the little minx,' she said. Then, turning to Jane, she said: 'All the cubicles are free. Pick the one you want.' As an afterthought she added: 'One thing -- have you worn stockings and suspenders before?'

Jane stared at her but didn't answer.

'A couple of times,' I said. 'For someone else.'

Shannon nodded to me and turned back to Jane. 'Just wanted to remind you to put the stockings and suspenders on first, then pull your panties over the top.' She gave me a brief, understanding smile. 'Makes it so much easier if the gentleman gets the sudden urge to bend you over a desk, or the dining table or whatever. He can just tug your panties down and take you from behind. No need to do a lot of unfastening.'

Jane gave a strange, choking sound.

'A useful reminder, Jane.' When she didn't move, I added: 'Well, get started. We haven't got all day.'

Jane gave me a last, lost look, then turned and walked slowly into the nearest cubicle. The bag of clothes looked heavy in her hand, like an oversized school-satchel in the hands of a small-child.

Shannon stared after her for a moment, something like hunger in her eyes.

'Pretty girl,' I said.

'She is,' I said.

Shannon went back to rearranging the jeans and I sat down on a small leather-topped bench and waited.

And waited.

Ten minutes later, I was getting bored and Shannon was running out of ways to rearrange a pile of clothes.

'I'll go and see if she's alright, shall I?' she asked.

'If you wouldn't mind.'

Shannon went into the cubicle. A couple of minutes later she came out, leading Jane by the hand. 

Wow!

The skirt was even shorter than I'd thought it would be, not even coming half-way down her thighs and revealing surprisingly shapely legs which gleamed and glistened under the smoky grey nylon of her stockings. The blouse, deeply cut at the front and, as I'd intended, slightly too small, showcased her pale breasts. Jane would never have the kind of cleavage you could park a bike in, but what she did have was displayed to best effect. Like Cosmo says, it's amazing the difference the right bra can make.

Jane had obviously been crying again. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her face flushed. With one hand she was fiddling with her blouse, with the other she was trying to tug down her skirt.

'Doesn't she just look good enough to eat, Sir?' said Shannon.

'Turn and look at yourself in the mirror, Jane. See if you agree.'

Reluctantly, Jane turned her back on me, staring sightlessly into the full-length mirror on the wall. As she did so, the seams on her stockings, and the reinforced heels, came into view. I smiled to myself. There was no way anyone was going to think she was wearing tights.

I got to my feet.

'You look great, Jane. Apart from the shoes. Mary-Janes just don't cut it with that outfit. You need some high-heels.'

'My thoughts exactly, Sir,' said Shannon. 'Ladies shoes are on the next floor up. Follow me.'

I made Jane walk in front of me so I could look at her legs. As we went up the escalator, I got my first glimpse of stocking-tops. As we went up, I saw a middle-aged man on the floor we had just left glance up and then do a double-take as he obviously got a look right up Jane's skirt. I nudged her and pointed. She gave a look of horror, jammed her legs tightly together as if she were standing at attention, and held her skirt tight against her body at each side. That wasn't so bad though, as it just served to outline the contours of her buttocks.

I glanced back down at the middle-aged man. He gave me a wink and a wave and walked off.

At the top of the escalator, I hooked my arm through Jane's and steered her over to the footwear department. A middle-aged sales assistant was trying to convince a man old enough to get a free TV licence that he looked good in red suede ankle-boots, but apart from that, the sales floor was empty. I sat down on a stool and motioned to Jane to join me. She did so reluctantly, keeping her knees tightly together. I peered sideways down into her cleavage.

'Push your shoulders back, dear,' I whispered, my mouth close to her ear. The smell of her perfume was thick in my throat. 'Try and push your shoulder-blades together.'

She hesitated, then did as I asked. A good sign, I thought, keeping my gaze on her breasts. Maybe I'd broken her already. Her new position lifted her breasts and made them jut forward. I got a glimpse of the thin black strap that joined the gauzy cups of her bra, and just a hint of nipple through bra and blouse.

I was slightly surprised, but not very, to hear a familiar voice from behind us. Before either of us could turn round, Brian hove into view.

'Shannon said that you were looking for some shoes for madam,' said Brian, looking at me but wanting to look at her.

Jane cried out in horror and closed her eyes for a moment.

I nodded. 'Black high heels,' I said. 'Maybe patent leather, something like that.'

Brian nodded. 'What size would madam be?'

I glanced sideways at Jane.

'Six,' she whispered. 

Brian nodded again and walked away, returning in a couple of minutes with a couple of boxes. He knelt on the floor in front of Jane, and reached out towards her. She recoiled, tried to stand, but I quickly slipped an arm round her waste and held her in place.

'Let Brian take your shoes off, Jane.'

Jane let Brian take hold of each leg in turn and slip off her shoes, but kept her knees jammed together.

'Legs apart, Jane,' I said.

I felt her body recoil as if she'd been shot. Brian was staring up at me.

'Brian can't do his job unless you let him, Jane,' I said.

Jane shook her head and looked at me.

'I can't,' she said.

'Spread your legs for the nice gentleman, Jane,' I said, still holding her tight round the waste as I nuzzled at her ear. 'I won't ask you again.'

She was breathing heavily now. For a moment I thought she might faint. But I just shrugged, moved away from her slightly and pulled out my mobile phone. Jane stared at the phone, then at my face, which I'd set in my hardest expression. Then she turned face-forwards, staring over Brian's head, and moved her legs slowly apart.

In a dress as short as she was wearing, there was no way Brian wasn't seeing everything. Stockings-tops and suspenders and pale, pale thighs; and best of all, the thin, merciless layer of nylon clinging to Jane's pussy.

His mouth hung open. 'Shit!' he said. 'Holy smoking shit!'

'The shoes, Brian?' I said. 'If it's not too much trouble.'

Still staring up Jane's skirt, he fumbled with the boxes. Somehow, he managed to get the shoes onto her feet, handicapped only slightly by the growing erection visible through his crumpled black trousers.

I leaned back in towards Jane. Tears were sidling slowly down her cheeks as she continued to stare into the distance. I wondered where she was trying to imagine herself to be.

'This making you wet, Jane? Putting your charms on display for some spotty kid you've never met before.'

I had to repeat the question.

'No!' she hissed. 'That's a disgusting question! You're a disgusting person!'

Jane tried to close her legs, but Brian, still kneeling, held them gently but firmly on either side of his knees. She struggled half-heartedly for a second or two, then relaxed.

'Open your legs a little wider, I think, dear,' I said.

Without resisting, Jane let Brian move her legs apart. He was breathing heavily now, his eyes as wide as dinner-plates. 

'I'm not sure I believe you, Jane,' I said. 'All this butter wouldn't melt in your mouth crap. I think you're probably wet down there, wet enough to float a boat.'

Jane shook her head but said nothing.

'Maybe I should slip my hand up your skirt -- what there is of it -- and check. Stick my hand down the front of your panties and see if my fingers come away wet.'

'No,' she said. 'Please. Not here.'

'I've got to tell you,' I said. 'I'm pretty tempted.'

She gave me the briefest of glances. The light in her eyes seemed to dim and go out.

'OK,' she said, in a toneless voice I hadn't heard before. 'I'm wet.'

Brian gave a groan and stood up and walked hurriedly away.

I laughed. 'Never take a young lover, Jane,' I said. 'No staying power.'

I called over the middle-aged sales assistant and she took over where Brian had left off. From the disapproving set of her thin lips, I got the impression she'd been watching the whole show.

I bought Jane both pairs of shoes. Like the advert says, she's worth it.

Seven

We walked back to my car, Jane first, at my instructions. She was wearing one of the pairs of high-heels, which only served to emphasise the length of her legs and the sheerness, shine and seam of the stockings. As we stood waiting to cross the road to the carpark, a gust of wind caught the fabric of her skirt. Jane thrust her hands down to her sides.

'Leave it,' I said.

She didn't even try to go against me any more. Just stood there, hands loosely by her sides, as the breeze whipped at her skirt. I got a momentary glimpse of pert buttocks split by a taut, white strip of satin. An Asian kid in an old BMW slowed as he went past, leaning on his horn and waving.

*

The journey back to my flat was uneventful. Jane sat next to me, all gleaming legs and gaping cleavage, or so it seemed to me. I passed her my door-key and let her lead the way into the hall.

'Go through,' I said. 'Sit down.'

I slipped into the kitchen and poured myself a glass of Chablis. When I went into the sitting-room, Jane was sitting bolt-upright on the end of the sofa.

'Sit on the coffee-table,' I said.

Jane stared at me for a moment, then got up and did as I asked. The table was made of heavily-oiled dark wood, and was so low that it forced he knees up higher than her crotch.

I took her place on the sofa so that we were facing each other, about four feet apart. She was breathing deeply again, knees locked together, hands interlocked in her lap.

I took a sip of my wine and leaned back.

'Spread your legs,' I said.

I thought I'd broken Jane, and expected her to obey. Instead she stood up and walked to the window and looked out over the bay.

'I can't do this any more,' she said.

I stared at her back. The seams of her stockings were both slightly crooked.

'Then I'll make that phone-call,' I said.

Jane said nothing, just looked out of the window. Maybe she nodded slightly. It was hard to tell.

I got up and went to the cordless phone and picked it up and dialled a Sue's number. I got her voice-mail. Not that it mattered.

'Inspector Chandler, please,' I said. I paused for what I thought was the right length of time.

'Harry!' I said. 'It's Jack.' Another pause. 'It's not a social call, I'm afraid. I've got a couple of people I need you to deal with.'

I heard a gasp from behind me.

'All sorts of things,' I said. 'Breaches of Data Protection right through to aiding and abetting terrorism.' Another pause. 'Yeah, I know. Anyway, two individuals are involved. Jane Conway and ...'

'Please!' hissed Jane, coming round into view. She was very close. 'Leave Gemma out of this!'

'Hang on, Harry!' I said. I put my hand over the phone and looked at Jane.

'Don't ruin two lives!' said Jane. 'I've been stupid, and you can punish me, but please don't do anything to Gemma.'

'All or nothing, Jane,' I said. 'Either you both stand, or you both fall. Your choice.'

She stared into my face for some moments, as if she were looking for something there. Then she nodded.

'You win,' she said.




Getting Even with Gemma and Jane



I put the phone back to my mouth.

'Let me phone you back, Harry. I may have got hold of the wrong end of the stick.'

I replaced the receiver in its cradle and sat back down on the sofa. Jane made to sit back down on the table.

'Wait!' I said.

She froze, looked up at me.

'Over my knee,' I said, tapping my thighs with the fingers of my right hand.

Jane seemed to stumble slightly, then walked towards me. Standing to one side of my outstretched legs she took a deep breath and hesitated for a moment, as if hoping that I'd change my mind.

'I'm waiting, Jane,' I said.

She swallowed a couple of times, then lowered herself clumsily until she was draped over my legs, hands and feet touching the ground. Her body was heavy against me, and I could feel the beat of her heart.

I moved my left hand gently up to the nape of her neck, my right down to the backs of her knees. Her skirt had ridden up slightly and I could see her stocking tops and the clips of her suspenders. Her body was as stiff as a girder, and quivering like a tuning-fork.

With my left hand I gently caressed her hair against her neck. At the same time, I gently slid my right hand up her thighs, pausing once I hit the naked flesh between stocking-tops and buttocks. She squirmed slightly on my lap, and choked back a cry.

'What do you think I'm going to do to you, Jane?' I asked. 'Take a wild guess.'

She moved her head slightly as if trying to evade my caresses.

'Don't make me ask again, Jane. Don't make things worse.'

I heard her gulp.

'You're going to spank me, Sir,' she said.

'You ever been spanked before, Jane? Sexually, I mean?'

She hesitated, seemed to quiver slightly more.

'Don't tell me dear old Dave put you over his knee?'

'Once,' she said.

'How was it for you?'

'I laughed,' she said, softly. 'We both laughed.'

'Then Dave wasn't doing it right,' I said. 'You won't laugh this time, Jane, believe me.'

I slid the fingers of my right hand along the taut black strip of her thong, then back down across her buttocks, spreading them gently with fingers and thumb.

'Please,' she whispered.

With my left hand, I released the nape of her neck, and reached down and took hold of her thong where it crossed the bottom of her spine. I pulled tight, so that the shiny fabric cut down between her spread buttocks.

'Spread your legs a little, my dear,' I said. To my surprise she did so.

'I'm going to slide my hand down between your legs, Jane,' I said. 'So that I know what to expect, how would you describe yourself? Dry, damp, wet or soaking?'

When she hesitated I delivered a sharp slap to her right buttock. She yelped, then whispered: 'I'm wet, Sir'.

I let my right hand glide down between her buttocks and onto the tight material that covered her pussy. 

'Either you've wet yourself, my dear,' I said, ' or this is turning you on quite a bit.'

I felt out the groove of her through the satin, and moved my fingers gently to and fro. She groaned, tried to close her legs, then immediately loosened them again. I kept on working her for a few moments, flexing my fingers against her pussy, then stopped abruptly. Without thinking, she tried to push down onto my swiftly withdrawing hand. She turned her head to look up at me, her eyes wild; then, suddenly, her body fell still, and blood rose to her face.

'Like that, do we, my dear?' I shifted my body slightly beneath her and placed my left hand gently but firmly in the small of her back.

She turned her face away from me again and said nothing.

'And now, Jane, the main event.'

I felt her body stiffen in anticipation.

'You have disobeyed me more than once today. If you disobey, you get punished. Is that clear?'

'Yes, Sir,' said Jane, twisting her head round to face me, 'but ...'

'Don't make it worse for yourself, Jane,' I said. 'I am going to spank your creamy white arse. Six strokes. And when I'm done, you're going to thank me. Is that clear?'

She hesitated a moment, then nodded once and turned her face to the floor.

'Lift your body up slightly, Jane,' I said. 'I'm going to pull your panties down.'

'Please don't, Sir,' she said. 

I smiled to myself, wondering why she was so concerned. It wasn't as if the thong left much to the imagination, or if it would deaden the impact of the spanking I was about to deliver. 'Three seconds to do as I say, Jane. Or I fuck you in the arse with a dildo the size of a baseball-bat. Your choice. Three -- two - ...'

She levered her waist away from my thighs, and I tugged her thong down until it was wrapped around her legs just below the knees.

'Hold tight,' I said. 'It's going to be a bumpy ride.'

I raised my hand and delivered a short, hard smack to her bottom. Her buttocks quivered beneath my hand. She gave a yelp of pain.

'One down,' I said. 'Five to go.'

I spanked her five more times, increasing the ferocity of the blow each time. After number three she was sobbing, struggling to free herself but helplessly pinned over my lap.

'What do you say, Jane?'

'Thank you, Sir,' she said, her words almost indistinguishable between he sobs.

I left her over my lap for a few minutes, running my hands gently over her reddened buttocks. When she'd stopped crying, I told her to stand up.

Clumsily, she rolled off my legs and onto the floor where she lay on her side, looking up at me through uncomprehending, tearful eyes.

'Why are you doing this to me?' she said.

'Because I can,' I said. 'Get up!'

She struggled to her feet, reaching down to pull up her thong as she did so.

'Did I say anything about pulling your panties up?'

She froze in position, still half squatting.

'No, Sir,' she said.

'Then leave them,' I said.

She stood up, facing me, the thong stretched tight between her knees.

'Go and stand in the corner,' I said. 'Facing the mirror.'

Jane looked at me for a moment, then, hobbled by her half-masted panties, shuffled into the corner. She reached down towards her tender-buttocks and peered nervously over her shoulder at me.

I got to me feet.

'Hands on your head,' I said. 'Eyes front.'

Reluctantly, she did as she was told.

I walked over to her and placed my hands gently on her hips. Her body shuddered and she gave a tiny sob. I looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her face was wet with tears. I reached round her and unfastened the buttons on her skirt and let it fall around her ankles.

'Step out of the skirt,' I said.

She raised each foot in turn. I pulled the skirt away and tossed it to one side. I moved back in closer, reaching round her to the front of her blouse, my fingers moving dextrously to undo each button. She was crying again now, arms still locked together on her head, her whole body quivering.

'Arms down,' I said. She complied, and I tugged the blouse from her shoulders. 'And back on your head again,' I said.

She shook her head slightly, and for a moment I thought she was going to resist; but when I gently took hold of her elbows, she once again assumed the position I had assigned to her.

I went back to the table and picked up my glass of wine. A little too warm, but I could barely taste it in any case as I stared at Jane, drinking in the sight of her. Perfection. My eyes slid up her body, drinking in the vulnerability of her, moving from gleaming high-heels up the seams of her stockings, past the tight, knee-high cross-bar of her tightly-stretched thong, to the stocking-tops, pulled out of true by the relentless tug of her suspender-belt; over the pale thighs to the inviting curve of her reddened buttocks; onwards and upwards, over the waist-band of the suspenders to the harsh, dead-straight line of her bra-strap that seemed to cut into her quivering shoulder-blades.

Draining my glass, I moved in towards her. Standing right behind her, I laid my hands gently on her hips. She gasped. I leaned forwards slightly, stooping, whispered in her ear.

'Good girl, Jane,' I said, sliding my hands forwards and round over the curve of her belly.

I studied her reflection in the mirror, my eyes drawn to my first glimpse of her pussy. Neatly trimmed, but nothing excessive. Her tits, supported, but barely concealed by the sheer fabric of her bra, hung like fruit for the picking.

'Where would you prefer me to grope you, Jane?' I asked. 'Tits, or pussy?'

She said nothing and shook her head and started crying again.

I released her for a moment, and went over to a drawer and took out a shiny white dildo about twelve inches long and 2 inches around. Then I walked back to Jane and reached round and put it on the floor just in front of her feet.

'Tits or pussy, Jane? Or I'll ream out your arse with Ol' Faithful?' I put my hands back on her hips. 'Three -- two - ...'

Her gaze flickered down to the enormous dildo, then back to meet my gaze. 'My tits,' she whispered, her face full of horror.

'What about your tits?'

'I want you to grope my tits, Sir,' she said.

I slid my hands slowly up over her ribs, then cupped her breasts. I moved my hands back and forth, kneading her flesh like it was dough.

'Look at me, Jane!' I said. 

In the mirror, her gaze locked onto mine. Her eyes were wide with terror, with disgust, and maybe with something else I couldn't quite place. Desire, maybe. The draw of the forbidden. 

I shifted my attention to her nipples, pinching and rubbing them through the slick material of her bra. Her nipples were small and dark and hardened instantly beneath my touch. She gave a groan, and pushed herself back slightly against me. She was taking short, sharp breaths. Fuck! I really hoped she wasn't going to have an asthma attack.

In the mirror, I held her gaze as I released her breasts and slid my hands slowly down over her writhing belly, positioning my outspread fingers at the top of her thighs, an inch away from her pussy.

Her body went tight.

'Please, Sir,' she said.

I left my hands where they were. 'You don't want me to finger-fuck you, Jane?'

She shook her head, her eyes caught in my gaze. A tiny drop of blood gleamed on her lower lip. She must have bitten herself.

'No, Sir,'

'I could make you let me,' I said.

She licked away the blood and just stared at me in the mirror with her clouded, puppy-dog eyes.

I leaned forwards and drank in the smell of her hair, kissing her on the nape of her neck. Then I moved back to sit down on the sofa.

'Turn to face me,' I said. 'Arms down by your sides.'

Jane turned round, her right hand sliding over to cover her exposed crotch. The thin material clenched tight against her, her pubic hair a dark, obscene smudge.

'Can I pull my panties up, please, Sir?'

I thought for a moment.

'You can, Jane, if, in exchange, you pop your tits out of the cups of your bra.'

Now it was Jane's turn to think. It wasn't long before she nodded and reached down and pulled up her thong. Then she took a deep breath and, with fumbling fingers, pulled the cups of her bra down and back under her breasts. Her nipples were still erect; her small breasts, dusted with a light sheen of sweat, jutted forwards, half invitation, half challenge.

I left her standing there and went to the fridge and poured myself another glass of Chablis. Then I came back and sat down again on the sofa.

'I have a proposition for you, Jane,' I said.

In spite of herself, something like hope flickered momentarily across her face.

'I was going to string this out, keep you on the hook for weeks or months. But I don't think I will.'

Jane nodded eagerly, her breasts bobbing slightly.

'I think you've almost learned your lesson. I think you've almost suffered enough.'

The hope in Jane's eyes went out like a snuffed candle.

'Almost?' she said.

I nodded.

'Do one last thing for me, and I'll let you go. I'll phone Inspector Chandler and say I made a mistake. I'll destroy all the recordings. You'll be home free.'

Jane took a deep breath.

'One last thing?' I could see her mind working.

I nodded. 'I'll let you choose,' I said.

'Between?'

'Straight sex, or a blow-job.'

Jane took a step back, stumbling as if she'd been struck. Surprised me slightly, as you'd have thought she'd have seen it coming. A shopping-trip, however kinky, a spanking and a grope were hardly enough. She stood there, slightly cowed, her back against the mirror, one hand covering her breasts, the other her pussy. A bit late for modesty, I thought.

'Please, Jack,' she said. When I raised my eyebrows, she corrected herself. 'Please, Sir. I've done everything you've asked.'

'You have, Jane,' I said. 'And now you just have to do this.'

'I can't,' she said, through a sudden flurry of tears.

'Why not?' I asked. 'I take it you're not a virgin?'

She shook her head, unable to speak.

'And do you ever give dear old Dave a blow-job?'

Jane sank to the floor, a tangle of white limbs and black satin. She lay there, her face buried in the carpet, sobbing. I waited and drank some wine. When she was calmer I said:

'Well? Get up! And answer the question! Do you suck him off?'

Jane's face was scarlet as she struggled to her feet.

'You can't ask me that,' she said.

I put down my glass, got to my feet and picked up the dildo. Sitting back down again, I smacked the end of the dildo gently against the palm of my left hand.

'You know I can,' I said. 'You know the drill by now, dear. Three - ...'

She barely let me get started on the count.

'Yes,' she whispered.

'Yes what?'

'Yes, I suck Dave off sometimes.'

'Do you enjoy it?'

Jane shook her head.

'But you do it anyway?'

'Yes.'

'Because you love him?'

'Yes.'

'Dave's a lucky guy,' I said.

Jane said nothing.

'So which is it going to be, Jane?' I asked, doing the tapping-the-dildo-in-the-palm-of-my-hand thing again. 'Fuck or suck?'

Jane hesitated. I was just about to do the countdown again, when she said something, so softly I couldn't hear.

'Louder, Jane,' I said.

'Suck,' she said, her voice devoid of all expression. 'I'll suck you off.'

I put the dildo down next to me on the settee, adjusted my position, and unbuttoned my fly. I nodded towards the floor in front of me. Dragging her feet like someone on the way to their own execution, Jane moved towards me, modesty quite forgotten now, her breasts and pussy exposed. She paused in front of me, still standing.

'If I do this,' she said. 'Will that really be the end of it?'

'I give you my word,' I said. First thing tomorrow, I'll erase everything from the hard-drive. You can watch, if you want.'

'And you won't tell anyone? You won't tell my sister?'

I thought of the network of hidden cameras I'd set up in the room, ready to capture Jane's every indignity.

'I won't tell anyone,' I said, stressing the word ever so slightly.

Jane stared at me for a moment, trying to read my face. Then she knelt down and shuffled forwards between my spread legs. Reaching down, I freed my erect cock from my trousers. Jane just stared straight ahead, with a dead expression on her face.

'In your own time, my dear,' I said.

Jane gingerly reached forwards to take hold of me.

'No hands!' I said.

Jane gave me a puzzled look.

'I want a hand-job, I'll ask for one. Hands behind your back!'

Jane hesitated, then did as I'd instructed. Her breasts thrust forwards slightly. She shuffled forwards slightly, then opened her mouth. Her teeth were very white against the smudged pink of her lipstick. I reached down and steered my cock into her mouth. She grimaced, closed her eyes, but did not recoil. Rather clumsily, she started licking and sucking the very tip of my cock. 

'Eyes open, Jane,' I said.

She opened her eyes, and though they were red with tears she didn't close them again. She had a distant look on her face, and I wondered where she was trying to imagine she was, or who she was trying to pretend I was. I let her struggle for a minute or two, then said.

'You're not very good at this, Jane, are you?'

Jane stopped licking. Keeping my eyes locked on hers I reached round and gently took hold of the back of her head with both hands. Panic flickered in her eyes, and her hands came round to her front.

'Hands behind your back, Jane,' I said. 'Unless you want me to dildo your arse until it bleeds. I won't warn you again.'

Jane clasped her hands behind her. She let her lower jaw hang low trying to breathe around the end of my cock, her eyes wide with fear.

Tightening my grip slightly on her head, I pulled her slowly but surely onto my cock. She gave a muffled squeal of alarm. I withdrew slightly, letting her gasp in a breath, then thrust into her mouth once more. Her eyes were wild now, like those of a startled animal, and she was making the muffled noise again as I slipped into a rhythm, thrusting in and out of he mouth, fucking her face. Soon I was hitting the back of her throat with the tip of my cock, and each time I did so she'd squeal, and blink and try to pull back, but I could control her head with my hands. I kept expecting her to unclasp her hands, try to fight me off, but she didn't. Maybe she really believed that this would be an end to the nightmare, if she could just see it through to the end.

The only sound in the room was the slurping sound of Jane's mouth moving over my cock, interspersed with desperate gulps for air. Saliva was drooling out of the corner of her mouth, her face was as pillar-box red and slick with sweat.

I came in her mouth. Copiously. She tried to pull away, but I held her on me.

'Swallow, Jane!' I said, pumping slightly with my shrinking cock. 'Every drop!'

She blinked a couple of times, then swallowed several times. 

I released my grip on her head and she slipped backwards into a sitting position on the floor, her head in her hands, her body wracked by huge sobs.

'Good girl!' I said.

She tipped her head forwards and tried to spit onto the carpet.

I stood up, reached down, and pulled her gently to her feet. I steered her to an armchair, passed her skirt and blouse, and went upstairs to the toilet.

When I came down she was still sitting in the chair, but she was fully dressed.

'Can I give you a lift anywhere?' I asked, as if she'd just been over to play cards.

She stood up, shook her head, avoided my gaze. She moved towards the front door.

'Did you mean what you said?' she asked. 'Am I off the hook?'

I took a step towards her to lay a hand on her arm, but she recoiled, so I just said:

'Yes, Jane. You won't hear anything more about your unauthorised computer use. You have my word. I shouldn't do it again though, if I were you.'

She risked a glance at me, nodded, then turned and left the flat.

I had a long, leisurely shower, then spent the rest of the evening editing together the footage from the half-dozen web-cams I hidden round the room, making sure that you could see more than enough of Jane, but nothing that could identify me.

I hadn't lied. I wouldn't bring up the disciplinary matter again. The footage, though -- that was another matter. Then again, I'd probably be giving Jane a bit of a rest. Time now to turn my guns on her sister, Gemma.

This was going to be one annual appraisal I thought I'd really enjoy.