Chain of Command

by Nicole Dere

  ‘I’m not that well-endowed,’ she offered uncertainly, when Liz maintained her silence while she studied her. Jill spoke partly from her genuine embarrassment at such a prolonged exposure to another’s gaze, and partly in provocation.

  ‘Big isn’t always beautiful, my dear,’ Liz said, standing at last. ‘And I like what I see.’

  ‘So can I put my clothes back on?’ Jill asked hopefully, feeling vulnerable.

  ‘Tell me,’ Liz went on, apparently without hearing the girl’s request. ‘Do you like women, Jill? I mean, do you really like them?’

  Jill caught her breath, felt the tension and the heat rising in her neck. She cleared her throat, her heart racing again. ‘Um, yes,’ she whispered. ‘How did you know...? There was a girl at college. We were very close.’

  ‘This close?’ Liz reached out and very slowly and gently slipped her arms around Jill’s waist, drawing her close. Then she delivered the softest of passionate kisses, to which Jill responded, parting her own lips, allowing her tongue to flicker in response to the tensely erotic embrace.

  When the kiss ended Liz moved her lips close to Jill’s ear and bit lightly at the exquisite little lobe. ‘I’m not really very butch.’ She gave a low, sexy laugh. ‘And I don’t think you are either, are you, darling?’ Jill shook her head, and Liz moved her face back to stare questioningly into her eyes. ‘I only asked about boyfriends, but what about girlfriends? Do you have anyone special now?’

  Jill shook her head. ‘Not now, no,’ she said. ‘Not since Sharon, the girl at college.’ She prayed that Liz would attribute her blush to a natural reticence and not to subterfuge.

  ‘That’s excellent,’ Liz purred. ‘Nor me. I’m currently as free as a bird, and I think we’re going to get on famously.’ One arm was still around Jill’s waist and she steered her towards the door. Jill glanced down uncertainly at her discarded clothing. ‘Just leave them for the moment,’ Liz said, anticipating her thoughts. ‘Come upstairs with me now, to my office.’ She chuckled. ‘I want you to meet a few of my friends. They’re very influential people. Potential punters, even.’

  Instinctively Jill stopped, stiffened in alarm. ‘What, here?’ she gasped. ‘They’re here now?’

  ‘Don’t look so worried,’ Liz soothed, stroking Jill’s naked arm. ‘It’s the wonders of modern technology. You can strut your stuff in absolute privacy.’ Still keeping a firm hold on Jill’s waist she guided her upstairs to a bedroom, in which a double bed filled almost the entire floor space. There was a pile of large brightly coloured cushions, and a pristine white sheet over the deep mattress. There was no other bed linen, but the thing that caught Jill’s immediate and wholehearted attention was a large TV screen, along with various other pieces of equipment, on a boxlike arrangement of open shelves on the wall opposite the foot of the bed. Liz went over and competently manipulated several switches, and suddenly the screen was filled with a clear image of the room and the vast sprawl of the empty bed. Liz turned and playfully pulled Jill down onto the white sheet beside her.

  Instinctively Jill drew up her knees and crossed her arms over her breasts as she saw herself on the screen. Liz settled beside her, with one arm draped possessively across her bare shoulders. ‘This is my new friend, Jill Crystal,’ she announced, raising her voice a little and staring at their images on the TV screen. ‘She’s new and she’s gorgeous, as you can see. She’s also very bright, just down from university and raring to go. We’re going to be very close friends; I can just tell we are.’ She chuckled seductively. ‘And here’s a little preview of just how close we’re going to be.’

  Jill had already observed the tiny red eye on the small camera fixed to the top of the set, and then she saw only the white ceiling and the tasselled lampshade as Liz pushed her down on her back and kissed her with intense ardour.

  Chapter Seven

  Events seemed to be moving at bewildering speed for Jill, from the hectic moments when the red-haired woman had spread her back amongst those cushions and toyed with her, while somewhat bizarrely remaining fully clothed herself, except for the open sandals which she had eased off before beginning her amorous assault. Jill was all too aware of that tiny, unblinking eye focused mercilessly on all that was taking place on the bed. Yet she could not deny the undoubted arousal which Liz Grant’s accomplished lips and tongue and fingers were creating within her submissive body, somehow enhanced by the knowledge that there were unknown and untold pairs of lascivious eyes fixed on her spread-eagled vulnerability and the tall redhead’s free use of it.

  Her concerns faded, then died away altogether as she responded to the gentle, then wonderfully aggressive lovemaking, which ceased just as Jill was approaching that magical, critical moment when thought disintegrated altogether in consuming sensations. She gaped, flat with disappointment, when Liz suddenly withdrew with a gusty sigh and gazed down at her.

  ‘That’ll do for an appetiser,’ Liz said dreamily, and once again turned towards the red eye. ‘Show’s over for now, gentlemen. Though you might say it’s hardly begun. Watch this space. I was about to say you’ll be seeing a lot more of Jill Crystal...’ she gave a deep, suggestive laugh, ‘but I guess you’ve already seen a fair bit.’ She reached out and switched off the apparatus. The TV screen blanked and darkened.

  ‘And now we’re all alone again, young lady...’ She slowly undid the lemon blouse and slid it from her shoulders. She was wearing a skin-tone bra beneath, through which the dark nipples and their surrounds showed, before she reached dextrously behind her and unclipped it. She unzipped the front of the white slacks and eased them down off her long legs, sitting on the edge of the bed to drag them from her feet. The sole remaining garment was a plain white thong, whose triangle fitted snugly over her mound. She left it in place as she stretched out beside Jill, who had moved over accommodatingly, her pulse beginning to quicken once again at the realisation that the heady session was not over after all.

  ‘So weren’t we alone before?’ Jill asked, feigning extreme innocence.

  ‘Well, just us and God only knows how many randy voyeurs,’ Liz giggled.

  Their bodies moulded together, but slowly, sensually, with less urgency, and their mouths nibbled on light kisses. ‘Every decent working girl has to have her own website these days,’ Liz murmured between kisses. ‘We’ll get one set up for you.’

  ‘But isn’t that a bit dangerous?’ Jill sighed distractedly. ‘I mean, what about the law and things?’

  ‘Good grief, you really are a beginner, aren’t you?’ Liz mocked. ‘Such innocence. It’s really very sweet... and sexy. But don’t you worry your pretty little head about those kinds of details. I reckon half the wankers drooling over us are coppers with their choppers in their hands anyway.’ She waved carelessly towards the equipment on the shelves. ‘Better this than the poor kids out dragging their arses on the streets for the pervs in their cars.’ She coiled her long legs and arms around Jill, and they fitted snugly together with mutual delight. ‘No, you’ll be perfectly safe with me, darling. It’s a good set up here. And I’m in with all the right people. We’ve got it made. You’ll be on to a good thing, I guarantee. You’ll have that stash put away in no time at all, but in the meantime, how’s about a bit of pure private pleasure?’

  When they broke the long kiss, both slightly breathless, Jill giggled and reached down to hook a finger in the scrap of cloth over Liz’s pudenda. She saw the carefully narrowed line of silky red curls. ‘You’re a mite overdressed,’ she giggled.

  ‘Well, why don’t you put that right, darling?’ She released her hold on Jill and lay back, folding her hands beneath her head. ‘I told you I’m not butch either. In fact, I can be awfully shy at times. That’s why I’ve kept my knickers on. You’ll be amazed at the places I’ve got freckles. Why not take a peek and see for yourself?’

  ‘So that’s her site, eh?’ Jackie stared eagerly at the full length
still shot of Liz Grant on the screen. She was wearing an abbreviated leather basque, all laces and belts and shiny buckles, which left her breasts bare, hugged her sex like a sturdy shield, and cut away steeply at the hip. There was a narrow black headband around her brow, over which the rich auburn hair spread in carefully arranged abandon. A pair of high boots in soft, supple material, reached up to her widely parted thighs, which stood out statuesquely in her flaunting pose. She was also wearing buckled wristbands and soft black gloves. Her left hand was angled across her crotch, the right held a wicked-looking riding crop. The heels of the boots were slender spikes, five inches high, the toes pointed. ‘And you reckon she’s not butch, eh?’ Jackie murmured with a cynical grin.

  ‘No, definitely not.’ Jill’s cheeks tinged with pink but her words rang with conviction. ‘I said I’d move in there tomorrow. That’s all right, is it?’

  ‘Hm?’ Jackie was still staring absently at the image on the screen. ‘Yeah... yeah, that’ll be fine. You’ve done good, kiddo. Nothing doing at the moment though.’ She logged off and sat back.

  A sudden disturbing thought rose in Jill’s mind as she recalled Liz’s cynical observation. She pictured her colleagues like the all too aptly named Chopper Harris sitting in the CID room glued to the television. ‘It’ll be kept secret, won’t it? I mean, what I’m doing under cover, and the website... and everything?’

  Jackie smiled, clearly in tune with the direction of Jill’s thoughts. ‘Well, there’ll have to be a few in on it. The Super, for one. But don’t worry; we won’t let the pricks in the office know about it. Not for a while, anyway.’ This last remark did little to ease Jill’s anxiety, but she pushed it aside as her superior continued.

  ‘I’ve fixed you up with a car, by the way. Sort of in keeping with the image, bright young college girl with an eye for making quick money, that kind of thing. It’s a nice Mini, but don’t prang it for fuck’s sake. They’ll be doing their nut over the budget as it is.’

  She turned to face Jill, her trousered legs stretched out, and held her arms open. ‘So, come and park yourself on my knee, you little slut. I’m losing you tomorrow to that ginger bitch, and I’m getting just a bit jealous already. Tell me the truth now; was it really all girlie girlie stuff?’ While she spoke her hand was moving up Jill’s nylon clad leg, pushing up the short skirt until it clung in a tight band about her hips and the tops of the stockings were exposed, and the slender black ribbons of the suspenders, which Jackie’s competent fingers unsnapped before slipping the sheer stockings down to cling in little rolls about her ankles. Jill’s feet were still encased in the elegant heeled shoes.

  Those skilful fingers moved on, persisted against all difficulties in unzipping the skirt and manoeuvring it down off the squirming hips and wriggling legs. The tangled straps of thong and suspender belt followed, guided over the feet so that still the shoes were not removed before the frail webbing of the underclothing was dropped on the carpet with the skirt. Jill’s blouse and deep-plunge bra followed until, for the second time in that eventful day, Jill lay back naked in another’s arms, except for the oddly titillating little adornment of the rolled down stockings and shoes.

  Critically, Jackie carried out a leisurely but minute inspection of Jill’s body, depositing her among the cushions of the sofa and turning her about and opening her up to do so. Then suddenly she dumped Jill unceremoniously on the floor at her feet. ‘I’ll show you what you’re going to miss now. Fetch me my hairbrush.’

  Jill knelt up quickly and put her hands beseechingly on Jackie’s knees. ‘Oh no, please, don’t make my bum all sore and covered in bruises again. She’ll see it tomorrow. She’ll think, you know, that I’m into kinky stuff like that. She’ll think that’s part of what I do.’

  ‘And it isn’t?’ Jackie seized her chin and lifted the blushing face, forcing Jill to meet her gaze.

  Jill’s eyes lowered, she could not endure that mocking look or the knowledge that lay between them. ‘No,’ she muttered sulkily, ‘I’ve never... nobody’s ever spanked me... like you do.’ She gave a small cry of alarm as Jackie suddenly released her and gave her shoulders a vigorous shove that sent her tumbling backwards to land inelegantly on her back, her heels waving in the air.

  ‘I suppose you’re right though, damn you,’ Jackie pondered. ‘We can’t have her seeing your cute little arse looking like a rainbow. But stay right where you are; don’t move a muscle till I get back.’

  Jill obeyed, and stayed sitting on the carpet by the sofa, knees drawn up. She looked at the rolls of stocking above her shoes and moved to take them off, then stopped herself from doing so. Jackie had told her to stay there and not to move. Would she notice and be angry if Jill took off the stockings and shoes? Better to not risk it. Jill felt the hot shame and anger well up within her yet again at this acknowledgement of the older woman’s despotic rule over her. She felt a surge of defiance, which withered even as her hands made their first move towards her foot. And also, even more shameful than the weakness of surrender, was that throbbing pulse deep in the pit of her tummy at the thrill of her subservience.

  Mistress and acolyte? Owner and slave? However perverse, she could no longer deny her own complicity in it, for she had had plenty of opportunity already to break free, to walk away from it. So why hadn’t she? It was a question she couldn’t properly answer. She had tried convincing herself it was all an elaborate game, something she still exerted control over, accepting her role in a spirit of participation. But the harshly painful event of the spanking, that fatal instant when she had submitted herself, bent over the chair, her backside blazing, to accept the rest of her punishment; that was a seminal moment she could not get her mind round. She continued to stare down at her pale shin and slim ankle with the roll of stocking around it.

  Sandra Roberts leaned her blonde head back against the accommodating thighs and soft stomach of Detective Chief Superintendent Sharp, and crossed one shapely bare leg over the raised knee of the other. Her dainty little foot waved in the air, the arch more pronounced as she wiggled her painted toes, both in response to what was happening on the TV screen, and to the gently fondling hand of her lover on her bare left breast. Moira had undressed her down to her knickers, which were of a diaphanous pillar-box red, with a double frill of pleated lace in the same colour about the legs. They were what were now known as ‘shorts’, a rather unattractive name, Sandra considered, for what was a very sexy item of underwear, and one she far preferred to the thong. Her partner seemed to find them equally fetching, which was why she had left them in place, having removed every other article of clothing from her willing victim.

  As though in tune with Sandra’s thoughts, Moira Sharp’s other hand slid across Sandra’s flat tummy and beneath the thin elastic of the panties. The fingers played among the neat little fuzz of pubes, before searching lower, parting the soft upper folds of tissue to progress within the clinging, damp outer lips of the furrow and its unfurling treasures.

  Sandra gasped sharply and her thigh muscles tightened. Her behind squirmed a little more vigorously on the cushions of the sofa. Her hips and belly lifted a little to assist the invader in the exploration. She leaned back with decadent luxury against the warm bare skin of her companion. Moira had undressed too, as far as bra and pants of black, which though femininely silky, were much plainer and more substantial than Sandra’s frankly provocative scraps of underwear.

  The events on screen were harmonious with the growing storm of arousal Moira’s stroking fingers and nibbled kisses were creating. ‘God, I’d never have thought it of her!’ Sandra breathed, staring avidly at the intertwined, undulating and totally nude bodies of Liz Grant and Jill Christie, in all their twenty-eight inch, coloured glory. ‘I could never do that! Not for a million pounds!’ She felt the belly under her head tremble with Moira’s quiet laugh.

  ‘You little liar. You’re all icky just at the thought of it.’ The fingers i
n the narrow fold waggled expressively.

  Sandra let out a squeal of outrage and clamped her own hand fiercely over the misty intruder beneath the transparent red cover. But instead of pushing it from her, Sandra pressed it convulsively to her and squeezed it between her thighs, while her behind lifted from the sprung cushions in excitement. She leaned back, rubbed her brow like a nuzzling puppy against the underside of Moira’s black satin cups. ‘Not with somebody I’ve only just met, a perfect stranger.’ She thought of that fleeting but wild embrace with Jill in the toilet at the station, and the heat of her imaginings since. ‘Not on the net like this, with hundreds or even thousands watching.’ She sounded scandalised, which she was, she thought, as well as close to coming, but she could blame that on Moira’s dextrously delving fingers and their mutual desire.

  ‘She’s doing it for a lot less than a million,’ Moira said, her eyes fixed on the images, deeply aroused herself by their antics, even though they were blatantly theatrical and not for real. At least, certainly not on the part of the willowy redhead, and she was already transferring her expertise to her tenderfoot partner, orchestrating their passion with that exaggeratedly slow-motion writhing, the angles at which she displayed their writhing flesh to expose their undulating backsides, their rising tits, their balletic caresses of hands across their glistening cunts. ‘Pure porn,’ she breathed, and felt the corresponding damp throb at her own crotch. ‘We could do them for this, no bother, and have them sent down for it.’ She chuckled wickedly. ‘She’s certainly devoted to duty, is our naïve little Jill. Listen to all that moaning and the heavy breathing. Anyone would think she really meant it.’

  ‘I think she does. I wonder if DI Barlow is watching this,’ Sandra said snidely. ‘I hope she’s not too upset by it. I’d hate to think what she might do to poor DC Christie when she next gets her hands on her. I’m certainly glad you’re not rough with me, Superintendent.’