Domination Inc.

by Drusilla Leather

  Helen blushed. ‘You should try it on for size. It’s a shame your friend’s not here, too. I’m just having to guess what will fit him.’

  ‘Ah, well, he doesn’t exactly know I’m here,’ Warren said. ‘And he’d probably kill me if he did,’ he added quietly.

  ‘Just what are you planning here, Warren Keating?’ Helen asked. ‘I mean, I wouldn’t put it past you to have some kind of bizarre strippogram business going, seeing as I haven’t seen your name on many credits recently.’

  Warren knew there was only one way to distract her from asking questions. He began to undress, letting his battered old jacket fall to the floor before slipping off his boots. He pulled his T-shirt over his head, then unfastened his jeans and stepped out of them to stand before Helen in nothing but a pair of black jersey jockey shorts. He was aware that she could not prevent her gaze from straying to his crotch, and was suddenly conscious of how the jersey material was clinging to his cock and balls, outlining them for Helen’s appreciation.

  He reached out and took the supposedly police issue trousers from Helen’s suddenly trembling fingers. She had picked out a pair which fitted him perfectly, and when he buttoned up the crisp white shirt and the jacket with its shining silver buttons and insignia, he began to feel the adrenaline rush which always suffused him in the moments before he stepped in front of the cameras and began to act. Helen handed him the cap, and he set it smartly on his head, subtly altering his stance to that of an arresting officer.

  ‘D’you have a mirror anywhere around here?’ he asked.

  ‘Come back through to the shop,’ Helen said. He followed her out, and found himself staring at his reflection in a full-length mirror. He had not, as yet, played the part of a policeman and, as he appraised himself, he decided it was a gap on his CV which needed to be filled. There was no denying that the uniform suited him, and Helen seemed to think so, too, judging by the hungry way she was staring at him. He was beginning to understand what people meant when they talked about the aphrodisiac qualities of a man in uniform.

  He would never know quite what devil took hold of him at that moment, but he turned to Helen and snapped, ‘Very careless of you, wasn’t it, letting a man into your shop on such a flimsy pretext?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she stammered. ‘I don’t quite know what you’re—’

  ‘He told you he was an actor, I believe you said, Miss Jeffreys. Rather strange behaviour for an actor, isn’t it? Surely his costume department would organise an outfit for him, rather than him calling for it himself. Didn’t it occur to you that he might have some ulterior motive?’

  Helen seemed to have realised that Warren was playing a game with her, for she quickly responded, ‘I honestly don’t know what it could be. I mean, there’s no money in the till, not on a Sunday. Although he could have taken just about anything in the shop while my back was turned.’ She glanced meaningfully at Warren. ‘And I mean anything. I was very distracted once he started undressing, officer. You see, he had a very good body.’

  ‘That’s quite enough of that kind of talk,’ Warren replied. ‘I’m supposed to be conducting an investigation here, and you’re wittering on about the suspect’s body.’

  ‘But perhaps that could be it,’ Helen replied. ‘He might not be a thief at all. He might just get his kicks out of undressing in front of strange women. You know, like a flasher.’

  ‘Did you actually see his penis, Miss Jeffreys?’ Warren asked.

  There was almost a note of regret in Helen’s voice as she said, ‘No, I didn’t. Well, only the outline of it through his boxer shorts. He looked as though he was quite well-endowed, if that’s any help.’

  Warren shook his head. ‘I’m afraid it isn’t.’ He wandered around the shop, conscious of Helen’s eyes on him as he moved. ‘You see, at the moment I can’t see where a crime has been committed. Nothing appears to be missing from the shop, and this man didn’t actually expose himself to you. You realise I could quite easily charge you with wasting police time, Miss Jeffreys.’

  ‘Oh, please don’t do that,’ Helen said quickly. ‘If my boss finds out I let someone into the shop on a Sunday, I’ll be in terrible trouble. I could even lose my job.’

  ‘Well, perhaps we could come to some kind of compromise,’ Warren said. ‘If you were to accept some kind of… physical chastisement, then I’d say no more about it.’

  Helen’s face flushed as she asked, ‘What sort of physical chastisement?’

  Warren glanced round, and saw a crook-handled cane displayed prominently alongside a headmaster’s mortarboard and gowns, and a tarty-looking schoolgirl’s uniform. ‘I think a good old-fashioned six of the best,’ he said, walking over to pick up the cane. He gestured towards the cash desk. ‘I’d like you to bend over that, Miss Jeffreys, and raise your skirt.’

  ‘Do I have to?’ Helen asked, feigning reluctance.

  ‘I don’t think you have a choice,’ Warren replied. He watched as she obediently went over to the cash desk and bent over, one elbow resting on the counter top while the other reached behind her to flip her skirt up and into the small of her back. Beneath it, she was wearing functional navy blue cotton pants and tights in an unappealing tan colour.

  Warren carefully tucked the hem of her skirt into the waistband, so there was no chance of it falling back into place while he caned her. Helen waited, her head resting on her folded arms. He tapped her bottom with the cane, measuring his swing, and then brought the thick bamboo down smartly on her fleshy cheeks. Though she had been expecting the stroke, she still could not prevent herself from rising up and rubbing her bottom.

  ‘Any more of that behaviour and I’ll double your punishment,’ Warren warned, as Helen leaned forward over the cash desk once more. Again the cane fell, parallel to the first stroke, and this time Helen made the considerable effort to stay where she was. A third blow followed in quick succession, and then Warren paused.

  ‘Your tights, Miss Jeffreys,’ he said finally. ‘Take them down. And your pants, too.’

  ‘Are you sure this is necessary?’ Helen asked. ‘I mean, it’s not as though I’ve actually done anything wrong.’

  ‘You’re currently obstructing an officer in the course of his duties,’ Warren retorted. ‘Now take them down or I’ll be forced to do it.’

  After a short pause, Helen did as she had been told. Warren’s cock pulsed in his trousers at the sight of her plump, naked bottom, the marks the cane had already left a dull red against her white skin. Helen had only pulled her pants and tights down as far as the crease of her buttocks, and Warren used the tip of the cane to push them further down her thighs.

  ‘Now, spread your legs for me, Miss Jeffreys,’ he demanded.

  This time, Helen did not question the order. She must have known as well as he did that as she parted her thighs he would be able to see the hair-fringed contours of her sex, pouched between her legs, and the rosy pucker of her anus.

  Ruthlessly, Warren brought the cane down swiftly on Helen’s arse once more, angling it so that it fell across the lines he had already imprinted on her flesh. This time, he could see the crimson mark that sprang up in its wake. Pleased with his handiwork, he added a second, crossing from the other side. As his final trick, he planted a stroke squarely at the junction of her bottom and her thighs, eliciting a howl of anguish from her.

  Even though her stated punishment was over, Helen stayed where she was, her bum stuck out temptingly towards him. He was about to free his cock from his uniform trousers when he noticed the time. He had less than ten minutes before he was due to meet Joe. Choking back his frustration, he patted Helen tenderly on her caned cheeks.

  ‘Sorry, but I’m going to have to go.’

  She stood up, pouting in disappointment. ‘Are you not at least going to tell me what this is all about?’

  ‘When I bring this stuff back, I promise.’ He went to pick up the
second uniform, which she had placed in a suit bag for him.

  ‘Close the front door behind you, then,’ was all she said.

  When he turned back after closing the door, thinking to blow her an apologetic kiss through the glass, he saw that she was sitting on the floor, back pressed against the cash desk, her fingers buried deep in her pussy as she brought herself to the climax of which Warren’s precipitous departure had deprived her.

  ‘I hope you’ve got a good explanation for why you’re bringing the force into disrepute,’ Joe said, as he climbed into the passenger seat of Warren’s four-wheel drive.

  ‘I thought it rather suited me,’ Warren replied, indicating to turn out of Soho’s snarled-up maze of streets and into Piccadilly Circus. ‘You’ve got one, too. It’s in the bag on the back seat.’

  ‘You’re joking.’ Joe reached over and picked up the suit bag. He shook his head in disbelief as he realised what it contained. ‘Please, Warren, enlighten me.’

  ‘It’s the perfect way to get into Lawson’s house. We turn up, say we’ve had reports of a disturbance – I don’t know, someone trying to break into the building – and could we check that everything’s okay? He’s not going to refuse what looks like a visit from two genuine members of the Old Bill, now is he?’

  ‘I can’t do it,’ Joe replied. ‘I can’t put a uniform on again, not after what happened to me.’

  ‘You haven’t got any choice,’ Warren said. ‘Not if you want to make sure Laurel and Cindy get out of that place in one piece.’

  Joe sighed. ‘He told me specifically not to involve the police.’

  ‘But you’re not involving them. Trust me, Joe. We can make this work. Now, why don’t you grab some shut-eye while I drive us down to the New Forest?’

  Against his better judgement, Joe relaxed back against the seat’s padded headrest and closed his eyes. Soothed by the car radio, he drifted into an uneasy sleep.

  Warren brought the four-wheel drive to a halt a couple of miles down the road from Lymington, having taken the address of Lawson’s house from Laurel’s desk diary. He shrugged on the uniform jacket, which he’d taken off to prevent suspicion from passing motorists as he drove, and indicated to Joe that he should get into the back of the vehicle and change his own clothes.

  ‘I’m not happy about this,’ Joe said, unbuckling his seat belt reluctantly. ‘Just looking at that sodding uniform brings back too many memories.’

  ‘I know, and I’m sorry, but I can’t think of any way we’re going to get into the house. I mean, we could hardly turn up as jobbing painters and decorators, or Jehovah’s Witnesses, not late on a Sunday evening, now could we?’

  Joe quickly stripped off his jeans, denim jacket and baggy jumper, and reached for the suit bag. A shiver went down his spine as he looked at the uniform Warren had picked out for him. Instantly, he was reminded of the many mornings when he had stepped into just such an outfit before being sent out on patrol. The camaraderie of the squad room; the thrill of making an arrest; the nerve-wracking moments waiting to give evidence in court... It all came flooding back, along with the frightening sight of the tree looming up before them, seconds before the patrol car had ploughed into it.

  He was aware of Warren watching him impatiently, and at that moment he could have cheerfully strangled his friend. It was a stupid thing they were about to do, and he wanted no part of it. And yet he didn’t want to hand over the agency deeds that were inside a plain brown envelope in his jacket pocket. He had dealt with blackmail cases several times in his police career, and it was a nasty, cowardly crime, made even worse in this instance by the fact that Roger Preston was intent on using the safety of two helpless women as his bargaining tool.

  Knowing that he had no other real choice, he began to dress. Whoever had supplied these clothes had made a fair stab at guessing his size, and though he had filled out slightly since he was invalided out of the force, everything seemed to fit well enough. This was how he had been dressed the first time he had met Laurel, and he wondered how she would react on seeing him in uniform again.

  ‘Fantastic,’ Warren said approvingly. ‘Let’s go.’

  Navigating the last mile or so from the elderly road map Warren kept stuffed in the glove compartment, they soon found themselves at the bottom of the drive that led to Garside Hall.

  ‘We’d better get out and walk from here,’ Joe said. ‘Otherwise it’s going to look more than a little suspicious if two uniformed policeman are spotted getting out of a Jeep with a cartoon rhino on the spare wheel cover.’

  Joe and Warren made their way up to the house, their boots crunching on the smooth gravel. Lights were burning in a couple of the windows, and Joe wondered which room Laurel and Cindy were being kept in. Well, he thought, they would find out soon enough.

  Warren paused for a moment to adjust his cap before ringing the doorbell. At first, the two men thought no one had heard them, but as Warren went to ring the bell once more, the door was opened by a tall, elegant-looking woman in a black leather bustier and short, tight-fitting suede skirt. Her expression showed clear annoyance at being asked to answer the door late on a Sunday evening.

  ‘Mrs Lawson?’ Warren asked.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’m PC Challoner, and this is my colleague, PC Jeffreys,’ he improvised. ‘We’ve had reports of a disturbance on your property.’

  ‘A disturbance?’ The woman was staring closely at them, and Joe was certain that their cover was about to be blown at any moment.

  Warren continued blithely, ‘Yes, apparently a motorist driving past saw someone trying to climb over the wall at the bottom of your garden. They were worried someone might be trying to break into your house. We’d like to come in and check that everything’s all right.’

  ‘We’re fine. There’s no one here except my husband and I. Now, if you don’t mind…’ Louisa Lawson tried to shut the door, at which point Joe and Warren sprang forward, pushing her into the hall.

  Joe’s swift hand over her mouth stifled any cry she might have made to alert the others in the house, and Warren used the handcuffs which Helen had thoughtfully provided with the uniform to secure Louisa’s hands. In her panicked state, he knew it would never occur to her that these were anything other than genuine police-issue cuffs, even though they were designed to spring free without the use of keys.

  ‘Now, show us where the girls are,’ Joe hissed in Louisa’s ear. He let her stumble forward into the drawing room, where they were confronted by the sight of Cindy wriggling on Clive Lawson’s knee as he used a heavy rubber paddle on her backside. The red blotchy patterns that already marked her skin indicated that this punishment had been going on for some time.

  By the time Lawson looked up, registering the unexpected intrusion, Warren had locked the door, preventing his and his wife’s escape.

  ‘What the hell is going on here?’ he asked. Cindy took advantage of his confusion to scramble off his knee and fling herself into Warren’s arms.

  ‘Thank God you’re here!’ she exclaimed.

  ‘These men are animals!’ Louisa said, finally shaking off Joe’s grip. ‘They turned up at the door spinning some cock and bull story. They must know what’s really going on here, Clive.’

  As she spoke, Clive Lawson was making a break towards the French windows at the far end of the room, but Joe was quicker. He launched himself at the fleeing man and rugby-tackled him. Lawson fell heavily to the carpet, catching his head against a table leg in the process. He lay, moaning groggily, the fight knocked from him.

  Joe hauled him, unprotesting, over to where his wife stood meekly, hands cuffed.

  ‘Cindy, could you get her clothes off?’ he asked.

  Cindy, happy to see the rôles reversed, began to divest Louisa Lawson of her bustier and skirt. ‘Strip her husband, too,’ she said. ‘I’ve got a plan.’

  When the couple were na
ked, Cindy went rooting in the drawer from which Louisa had produced so many punishment implements over the past twenty-four hours, emerging triumphant with a couple of coils of rope and the leather olisbos with which she and Laurel had been made to pleasure each other.

  She presented one end of the phallic object to Louisa’s mouth, intending her to suck it, but Louisa kept her lips stubbornly clamped shut.

  ‘Either you lick it, and lick it well, or I’ll stick it where you know it’s going unlubricated, and I don’t think you’ll enjoy that,’ Cindy warned her. Reluctantly, Louisa opened her mouth, and began to apply a generous coating of her own saliva to each end of the olisbos in turn.

  When Cindy was satisfied, she took the dildo. ‘Now spread your legs, bitch,’ she ordered Louisa. The other woman parted her thighs enough to give Cindy access to her sex. Cindy licked her finger and ran it along Louisa’s furrow. ‘You don’t know how much I’m going to enjoy this,’ she said, positioning one end of the olisbos at the entrance to Louisa’s vagina and thrusting it home.

  Louisa gave a groan as the saliva-slick length lodged inside her, but Cindy had not yet finished. Now she turned her attention to Clive, who was being held by Joe. ‘On your hands and knees,’ she told the man. ‘I want to see that arse of yours sticking up in the air.’

  The formerly dominant Lawson could do nothing other than obey, as Joe began to manoeuvre him into the required position. When Cindy was satisfied she again licked her finger, and used it to circle Lawson’s tightly-puckered rear hole.

  ‘Oh, you like that, don’t you?’ she said, as she pushed against the resistance of Lawson’s muscular ring, and felt it yield. ‘Maybe my two friends here should take it in turns to bugger you, eh? Maybe you should be made to lick their cocks first, so they’ll enter you nice and smoothly…’

  To Lawson’s obvious chagrin, his cock pulsed and stiffened slightly at Cindy’s words. She reached beneath him and gave his shaft a few contemptuous rubs. As he hardened and grew more excited beads of pre-come formed in the eye of his glans. Cindy scooped it up with her finger and used it to lubricate his anus.