by Sophia Reed
"Up on your hands and knees. Make it pretty."
She went instantly onto all fours, head down, shoulders and ass high, back curved so her ass stuck up high, the wetness between her legs on display.
Then I slapped her with the strap until she started to shake, and then until she dropped onto the bed, her muscles loose, her ass fire engine red. She was crying.
I pulled her into my arms, cradling her as I lay beside her, smoothing her wet hair out of her face. "You're mine," I said. "You're mine, you're mine, you're mine."
I held her until she cried herself to sleep.
27
Cole
In the morning she climbed out of bed and knelt, asking permission to use the bathroom. I allowed it, ordered her back when she was finished, took her over my knee and paddled her until she gasped for air.
Then I ordered her to kneel at my feet. I was hard, the erection jutting out toward her mouth. I stroked myself absently. I wasn't going to take her. I was just morning hard.
"If you go in, if you get an appointment with the judge, what will you do?"
I'd felt her awake in the night, some time between when I held her as she cried and when we woke to the morning sun. I had a feeling she'd been thinking about that.
"Your tech people. Would they be able to put some kind of camera on me? Wire me in a way he won't find?"
I said yes automatically. Of course they could or I'd hire someone who could. That was beside the point.
"Look, his people were really concerned with the girl they thought was underage."
"Of course they were," I said. "They should be. Anyone should."
She nodded, clearly not focusing on that. "Right. Sorry, Sir, I'm thinking."
"Speak freely." It sounded stupid and archaic but was the fastest way to tell her I was only concerned about the topic of the judge at the moment, not her submission.
She nodded, scratched her neck, stared at the floor, and said, "I go in as an oversexed eighteen year old. I agree with you that anyone should be concerned if they think an underaged girl is involved in something like that." She thought, absently rubbing her ass.
I smiled to myself but it was reflex.
"So if he's making a run at the State Legislature or something like that, yeah, you might be a big ticket item."
My eyebrows went up. "Excuse me?"
She nodded, her distant gaze remaining on whatever she was thinking. "He'd be the moral majority good guy who brought down the evil sex-crazed billionaire."
It wasn't funny but I started to laugh. The sun was well up and the day begun. I wanted to go backwards somehow and go for a dawn run with her, watch the sun rise over the desert. That obviously wasn't happening. "What are you thinking?"
She looked up and met my eyes. "He's protesting too much. If he's that up in arms about sex, sure, maybe he is worried about girls getting hurt. Or anyone underage. But he's in Vegas. It's not exactly rural Iowa."
I nodded slowly. "You think he's jealous? He's bringing down anyone who's doing anything he can't because he does have ambitions for something more than judgeship?"
She started to smile slowly, as if the idea was really taking root for her.
"I do," she said.
I licked my lips, thinking about that. "And you intend to -?"
She bit her lip, smiling broadly. "I intend to flatter him and ask him questions and tell him what I've heard about his righteousness and slowly offer up more and more double entendre. Or more and more flesh. Or more and more of whatever it is that gets to him."
"Lip biting," I said, watching as she went back to biting her lower lip.
She looked up at me, surprised, then slowly released the lip and ran her tongue around her lips, her eyes only leaving mine to fall down to my rock hard erection.
"Suck me off, slave," I said, and pretended her head hadn't already been between my legs by the time I finished granting her permission.
We needed to renegotiate her presence in my life.
Later.
28
Annie
Judge's chambers in a courthouse weren't totally outside my normal territory. Before I was undercover, I was a uniformed officer. I had been in court a few times, more often than not in chambers, because it seemed obvious from the beginning I was meant for undercover. And as soon as it became clear I was headed for undercover work, my court appearances were held differently. I couldn't be seen testifying in any kind of official capacity. Still, courthouses were familiar, with their echo-y marble floors, the security guards and the metal detectors, the feeling of something vast and important happening.
The sense of dread. Though this time it was because of what I assumed was going to happen.
If I'd been an actual submissive, I could look at the upcoming session in the judge’s chambers as something my Master was forcing me to do. Or allowing, depending on how subby I was. Maybe there'd be some illicit thrill to it.
But this way, given the confused state I was in anyway - I had an appointment to essentially whore myself out because I wanted to protect a man who had essentially already whored me out himself. What else should I consider him putting me up for auction? Didn't help that it was early days when that happened.
It had happened. Cole St. Martin had done it and he was the same closed off man he was now.
So maybe I considered the seduction and takedown of Judge Conway as my payment to put everything right with Cole – with St. Martin – damn, with Sir – and go back to the world I was building where I didn't dither over what to call a man who routinely spanked me to tears. All this time with him and it was still consensual non-consent from the point of view that I agreed to stay with him, for my good and his, and I went back to him routinely, even when I didn't have to. But at the same time, I never agreed to get strung up and beaten, or ordered to my knees, or told to play with another woman for the entertainment of everyone gathered. I still blushed, I still wanted to fight, I still got wet thinking of it when it wasn't happening and tried like anything to find a way out when it was.
That said, seduction – which was what I assumed was going to happen with the judge – that wasn't outside my purview, either. I didn't have to be terrified of playing that part with the judge. Seduction was part of undercover, at least for me. That's how I'd gotten into the Brotherhood and other gangs. I'd often wondered what Mark thought I'd done to get in, but maybe that was just so far outside his comfort zone – the idea that his fiancée could do such a thing for her job – that he didn't think about that.
I was thinking about it hard. This time. Because this time it wasn't a real assignment. I had no law enforcement backing me up and no legal anything behind me. If the judge pushed it the right way I could find myself in custody facing charges for prostitution or solicitation, which really was illegal in the metro area and Clark County.
The guards at the metal detectors watched me as I unloaded silver crucifixes, rings, key chain, change, metal makeup tubes, which they opened and inspected. Hot Pink, the color declared. The male and female guards exchanged glances, then looked back at me. I was wearing a little plaid skirt and a deeply unbuttonable button-down white shirt, still buttoned because they weren't my target. I looked like Taylor Swift and Britney Spears had been melded together and exploded out of some nerd's wet dream fantasy.
"What's the purpose of your visit?" the female guard asked.
"Extra credit assignment," I said, sounding stupid, vacant, vapid – any of those. When she went on staring at me, I added, "I'm a pre-law student. At UNLV. My grades – they're not great. So I asked if I could do an extra credit assignment."
I let it lie there until the female guard lowered her head in an you are going to finish that, aren't you? gesture and said, "And?"
"Oh!" I said, as if realizing now what she wanted. "I got permission to interview Judge Conway."
I thought she came close to rolling her eyes. Maybe I wasn't the first. Shit, that might make it harder. If he'd been fucking with oth
ers in the lifestyle, I might very well be one of a number of girls coming to fangirl around his feet.
That could go bad in so many ways.
He could let me do my thing – shudder – and then have me arrested.
Or he could have me arrested without having to do anything. Still bad.
Or he could make me disappear. That was a cold thought as I collected my metal bits – I'd wanted very much to be seen entering the courthouse and the display of stupidity at the metal detector helped, as did the outfit.
He could make me disappear because I figured human traffickers would be perfectly happy to have a Britney/Taylor hybrid. They might even make me a blonde.
"Judge Conway is on the fourth floor," the female guard said. "You can take the elevators past the coffee bar." She pointed and lost all interest in me.
That was okay. If I did go missing, she'd remember me. If I went missing, my "mother" would be chosen from a group of people Sir knew, who weren't necessarily known associates of his. She'd come looking, stating I'd been doing the extra credit assignment and if none of my professors knew about that, so what? So I did it first and asked later, and fibbed to the guards. That was pretty mild and could be overlooked. Hell, since she wasn't my "mother," there'd probably be a scene once I was found when I was put over her knee and spanked for my behavior.
Of course, there was also the fact that I was pretty damned sure that if anything happened to me Cole St. Martin would move heaven and earth to find me.
Cold comfort if what he found was a corpse.
With that cheerful thought I took the elevator to the fourth floor.
The offices on the fourth floor just looked like offices. Frosted glass in the doors, the sound of keyboards rattling. The offices themselves were suites, vast and with the outside light coming in from the executive offices.
Judge Conway had a corner office. Books lined the walls of the office I could see right inside. The receptionist looked up without any curiosity. "Are you the girl here to do the interview?"
"I am," I said. "This is so cool!" I didn't specify what was and she didn't ask. I got the impression she wanted to know as little about me and whatever brought me here as possible.
"Let me just tell the judge you're here." And then her eye ran down my outfit and she sighed. There was a pause before the receptionist stood to go back to the Judge's office. She looked like she was in her fifties, with blond hair and a bunch of crows feet around her eyes.
The eyeroll said I wasn't the first. Whether the others were here for similar reasons – there were apparently a lot of subs running around doing their Master's bidding – or for themselves, or because they were hired? I had no idea. Apparently Judge Conway didn't think he needed to hide what he was doing from his staff.
That both made it easier for me and creeped me out.
The camera St. Martin's tech had fixed me up with was in the earrings I wore. I was wired for sound through the unattractive crucifix necklace. The buttons in my shirt were wired for both sound and visual. I wasn't used to wearing a wire and felt like everything I was doing was on display.
Still, I used the time the receptionist was gone to unbutton my shirt down to the middle of my chest. The thing was tight anyway and that made it look like – actually, it looked like something from a pop music video. Lots of boob. I rolled up the sleeves on the blouse, then untucked it and tied it around my waist, wondering how hard the receptionist would roll her eyes when she came back. Hard enough to pass out?
She didn't even blink when she came back. She just said, "You can go back to the Judge's office. Third door on your right." She pointed, looked on the verge of saying something – probably questioning my sanity or if I was sure this grade was that important – and then she just sighed and sat down.
I was torn between giving her a dazzling and dumb smile and thanking her in a sane voice like the one I usually used. Suddenly being thought of as a brainless twit here to seduce a judge for a grade – how would that even work anyway? – was repellant.
I'd asked Cole for the chance to do this.
If this was where being with him again for less than 24 hours got me, maybe the men in my life telling me I needed to rethink things weren't wrong.
29
Annie
Where the receptionist had just sighed a lot, Judge Conway actually got out of his chair and came around the desk to shake my hand, which made me want to wash it, and to tenderly take my elbow to help me to the chair I was to take. As if I were one hundred and eighteen years old and not the eighteen I was claiming.
"My dear, how can I help you today?" The judge deposited me in a chair and moved back behind his desk. He was sixty if he was a day and while he had probably been attractive when younger, time had done that thing to him where his hair looked coarse and oily and bristly, too thick and in the wrong places. His nose had probably been straight once, a Cary Grant nose, but he'd aged and probably drank a bit and it was wide, fleshy and pockmarked now.
Still, had he not given off a very heavy vibe of predator, he would have been clean and boring and a not-that-attractive older man.
Attitude matters. His was enough that if I had been an eighteen year old ditzy student I might have run screaming despite the level of ditzy.
The chair he'd led me to was set up beside his desk. Beside his desk as in touching his desk, like a sidecar on a motorcycle, putting the person sitting in the chair within easy patting distance of the person sitting in the leather executive chair behind the desk.
I glanced down at the plush carpeting and the chair legs were definitely dug into it. The chair hadn't been moved just for my visit. It was always there. There were other chairs on the far side of the desk where people usually sat, like when visiting an attorney or a banker, the desk between the people in the meeting. Those were the "boring people" who weren't here to play seduction games, I assumed.
To me that meant the judge had received info from somebody that the co-ed coming his way for an interview was hot. Intentionally hot. As in wanting something and willing to fuck around to get it.
Or maybe not. Shit. Maybe he knew there was a co-ed coming and so set up all the chairs so he could have his pick of where to place me once he saw me.
Why was I looking for conspiracies? He was the only one I wanted to trap.
"I'm a student at UNLV?" I started in again, all my sentences ending in an uptick as if I wasn't quite sure of my facts. A little breathless. A little giddy.
A little grossed out as the judge checked out my cleavage and rearranged himself a few times to get a better view and probably to accommodate a growing erection.
"So I thought since you stand for cleaning up Sin City, I would interview you!" I said, ending on an upbeat and a definite note. I'd told him about my iffy grades, my need to graduate, my dream of being a paralegal, and he'd paid attention to something the entire time. Might have been my heaving breasts as I breathlessly described that dream.
Please tell me you're getting all this! I thought at Cole's tech. Sometimes buildings like this could be too thick, too much concrete and steel, to transmit. Or there could be dampening devices. Or – bad luck? Of course I should also be recording but bad luck was a possibility there, too.
Only the bad luck was just beginning. Because the judge had just shoved himself forward in his chair so he could put an understanding hand on my leg.
Even as his hand crept up my leg toward the hem of my skirt I was rethinking. When the first finger dipped under the plaid, I made the decision that this would have to be enough to stop him, because I wasn't offering myself up to stop him by going all the way.
It was an odd moment of internal clarity. It had actually been a long time since I'd found myself in a situation where I could actually make such a decision.
I stood, catapulting out of the chair as if burned.
"What are you doing?" I demanded. Like any normal person would. "It's just a grade! All I wanted was an interview!" As if just putting two and two
together, I said, "Is that why you were willing to meet with me in person? I wanted to talk to you about your moral beliefs!" Oh, please let this be transmitting.
The judge stood. He wasn't wearing robes, just the pants to some boring suit, and they were definitely tented. I didn't have to pretend to be appalled because suddenly I was understanding so much more about consent. What Cole did, with women who needed his help, women who he wanted to help but still wanted something from?
There was consent there. It was obtained through intimidation or blackmail or just the fact that he had something they – we – wanted or needed but there was still consent. Because there was still the chance to walk away from the situation. Don't want to be Master's chew toy? Yeah, I got that suddenly, and I understood that this was very different. This man was in a position of authority not because he was rich but because he had law enforcement behind him. He was a judge. His word would be believed before someone who came before him or before an idiot college student who thought she could "charm" her way into an interview but never expected things to go this far.
"I have to go," I said, gathering my notebook and pen, my bag.
"Oh, not yet. I'm sorry if I startled you."
I almost laughed. Anyone would be startled when a man stood up with that in his pants.
"But we have so much more to offer you than an interview."
And I actually did want the fuck out of there – because the judge was moving past me to the door which had a keyed deadbolt.
Stupid! No way I should only be seeing that now it was too late. I stood but he pressed me down again, using his not inconsiderable strength to shove me by my shoulders. When I tried to back away, I hit one of the chairs with the backs of my legs and my knees buckled. Suddenly I was kneeling at his feet.
He was still talking. "…with your incentive, your intelligence and the fact that you did this on your own, I know we can find an internship for you. Would you like that?"