Chain of Command

by Nicole Dere

  Moira kept insisting that Derek hadn’t a clue about their relationship. ‘He’s so innocent,’ she assured Sandra. ‘He’d never believe it even if he caught us in bed together!’

  Sandra wasn’t sure whether to feel insulted by this assertion. It made Derek sound pretty defective. There were times when she wondered if he might have an inkling of what was going on; she certainly devoted enough time to inventing spurious reasons for leaving him alone while she enjoyed long intervals with her lover. It might even be that he got some kind of kinky thrill from it - and why not? She did, she couldn’t deny it. There were times when, tired and sore, her body marked with love bruises from Moira’s amorous attacks, she derived an extra degree of thrill from coming back to his apparently unknowing presence.

  Whether he knew or suspected or was as innocent as he appeared, he certainly seemed happy with the way things were. He even took part enthusiastically in the sexual role plays she dreamed up for their delectation - his as well as hers, she consoled herself as she prepared to do her own noble duty and make her own sacrifice to the wellbeing of their marriage. This was for her the least satisfying element of their fantasy, but needs must.

  ‘Still awaiting me, my faithful little slave?’ she murmured sensually, turning towards him and kissing him playfully on the brow before springing upright. ‘Into the middle of the bed!’ she commanded forcefully, while she delved into the drawers of the cupboard at her side. ‘Hands out, there’s a good boy.’ He stretched his arms out obediently, and she bound his wrists loosely to the corners of the bed-head with two tasselled crimson cords of twisted silk. Occasionally she gave way to some latent streak of sadism and tied him so tightly that he whined and protested, and afterwards she felt guilty at the red marks left on his skin.

  ‘Legs,’ she commanded, and again he obeyed, parting his limbs wide so she could bind his ankles with similar restraints to the bottom corners of the bed. Spread out like a star he gazed up at her, humbly and with some apprehension, never entirely fabricated for his pulse did indeed quicken with an edge of titillating fear at his captivity.

  Delicately she raised the satin nightdress sufficiently to allow her to rest one knee on the edge of the mattress. The other foot remained on the carpeted floor as she leaned over him. In her right hand she held another cord of the same colour and material. She let the tasselled threads at one end trail lightly over his nipples, and watched the tiny teats harden on the smooth, hairless chest.

  He shivered as the tickling caress of the silk moved down to his concave stomach, played over the navel, then lower, down to the parted white thighs, finally honing in on the delicately darker penis and scrotum. His prick had shrunk again and lay coyly in its folds, in the crease of thigh and belly. The helm was half exposed and the tiny slit gleamed with moisture. It quivered, and then stirred like a little animal at the brush of the silk over its diminutive length.

  ‘Princess...’ he whispered, staring up at her.

  ‘Are you my devoted slave?’ she whispered thickly, her hand waving so that the tassel frotted more vigorously back and forth. The prick moved again, swelled a little and the pink, shining helm emerged fully from its collar of foreskin.

  ‘Yes, Princess,’ he groaned, his head moving tormentedly to and fro on the pillow. His hips and belly lifted slightly, responding to the rousing strokes, and Sandra began to increase the rhythm and to change the teasing caresses to light blows. The blows became harder and struck across the tops of the thighs while the brown penis stirred and flipped and uncoiled further, like a snake, growing thicker and longer and harder, though not yet erect.

  ‘Stand for me, slave.’ She was striking harder still, swatting blows that stung and rocked the prick back and forth and made her victim gasp with pain. The column had grown to about four inches, and the helm stood out from its darker shaft. He gave a shrill yelp as a sudden blow stung the sensitive skin, and then whimpered as she quickened the rate of her strikes.

  ‘You... you’re hurting me!’ he blurted.

  ‘Of course I am, slave,’ she snapped. ‘I ordered you to stand. Why won’t you obey and stand up to attention for me?’ He yelped louder and she saw the muscles tense in his legs, saw the tug as he jerked against the bonds holding his ankles. She felt the rekindled beat of her own excitement, the sudden urge to really hurt him, to whip the helpless and feeble male. She threw aside the cord and seized his prick in an ungentle grasp, thrilling to the heat of it and the wild pulsing which throbbed through its length. She felt the stiffening sinew and muscle at once and jerked roughly, down the shaft to the dark curls at its base, and then up to the swelling mushroom of its head, almost purple now, its mouth shining with tears of pre-cum.

  ‘Oh, Christ!’ He sounded as if he was weeping. His body was arched, his head thrown back against the bed. She eyed his throat, the prominent jut of the Adam’s apple. She had a fierce desire to spread herself once more over that screwed up face, feel his mouth working against her streaming flesh. But just as fiercely she resisted it, and then resisted another yearning too, to keep jerking him off until the throbbing prick erupted in her grip. Instead she let go and scrabbled frantically in a drawer again, grabbing the contraceptive, tearing it from its flimsy packaging. Still there was guilt. She knew from past experience how strong the possibility was that he would wilt before she could slip the soft barrier over his penis and then fail to get a hard-on again. She knew she ought to let him fuck her unsheathed, but shuddered in fastidious distaste at the thought of that messy consequence.

  With swift skill, working two-handed, she smoothed the rubber onto him, and then clutching him all the while swung a leg across him, straddling him and feeding him up into herself. She felt the cold slipperiness at her labia and the cool silk sliding up on her hips as she let her knees spread and forced him up into her ready fissure. The prick buckled and he yelped loudly as her fingers fumbled, then he slid into her and she sank onto his heaving groin with a sob of profound relief.

  ‘Fuck me!’ she hissed, bouncing animatedly, pounding his thighs, her weight driving him down into the springy mattress. He softened, as she always feared he would, but her own muscles spasmed, clenched desperately and she felt the great throb of his ejaculation, held on as his head stretched back, jammed against the headboard, and he yelled at the force of his release.

  The house reminded Jill of her childhood drawings, with its central front door and the small sash windows positioned symmetrically at either side. The new brightness of the paintwork, the door in Chelsea blue, the frames and the woodwork of the windows and their stone sills in white, together with the chintzy new curtains and concealing white nets, made it stand out in contrast to its neat enough neighbours. She swallowed hard and rapped on the brass miniature lion’s head knocker. You’re an actress now, she urged herself, taking a few rapid deep breaths. You’re Jill Crystal: smart young girl, bright young thing, and totally amoral as far as your body and what you’ll do with it is concerned.

  She recalled Jackie’s voice as she lay in her arms last night. ‘You’re a tart with attitude. You’re touting your silk-wrapped goodies for high bidders only, and ready to fuck your way to fortune. You’ve got to impress this Grant bitch that you’re just like her; discriminating in who does it to you but not what they do to you! With a bit of luck she’ll turn out to be like a lot of prossies, lez for pleasure, in which case you can speed things up a helluva lot by laying out your sweet bod for her to sample. You have my full permission to swing low with her. In fact, consider it an order to swing low with her, DC Christie. You spread your sweet meat out for her to feast on at the earliest opportunity, you hear?’

  Jill had been shocked, but she could not deny the small shiver of excitement she experienced at the wicked thought. It was after all on her superior’s command, and it was something she could at least contemplate, unlike the fearsome notion that she might be called upon to give her body up to some rutting m
ale animal, even in the line of so-called duty.

  ‘Hi, you must be Crystal, yes? Come on in.’ The woman was striking, at least four inches taller than Jill, while the high mane of deep red and flame-flecked hair made her seem even taller. The face was long, the forehead high, the eyes green, outlined with careful drama. The dark lashes were opaque and swept upward, fluttering theatrically. The features were strong and even, a faint scatter of freckles showing beneath the make-up across the brow and the nose; the make-up skilfully applied with light deftness of touch. The lips were a vivid, shining red, a perfect shade for the hair and complexion.

  She was wearing a light shirt of linen in the palest of lemon and simply cut, with short sleeves, narrow cuffs and a generous collar with deep points. The two top buttons of the shirt were unfastened, and showed a perfectly decent expanse of throat and chest, also dusted, a little more visibly, with freckles, as were her forearms. The shirt hung outside a pair of immaculate white slacks, which clung tightly to the svelte frame, which Jill had time to admire as the girl, after a gesture ushering her in across the threshold, turned to lead her through the dimness of the tiny vestibule and narrow passage. The lower curves of the tight buttocks showed, the two rear patch-pockets undulating attractively. Despite the skin-tight fit of the trousers there was no hint of a panty line.

  She led Jill past the first door on the left, and the stairs which ascended against the wall on the right. At the end of the passageway, straight ahead, Jill could see a small kitchen with modern fittings, but the girl opened a door on the left and guided Jill into a small room which, like the rest of what she’d already seen, appeared to be newly decorated and bright with the sunlight which spilled in from a French window in the rear wall. It opened onto a narrow yard with high whitewashed walls. The paved yard extended no more than four metres from the window, to a securely locked and bolted outer door, painted in the same bright blue as its more substantial companion at the front.

  ‘I’m Liz,’ the woman eventually introduced herself. ‘Liz Grant. You want some tea or coffee? Or a cold drink, perhaps?’

  A few minutes later Jill was sitting primly on the edge of the two-seater settee, sipping at the refreshing iciness of a Budweiser and wondering if Jackie’s choice of Jill’s dark business suit had been a wise one after all. She had slipped off the jacket, at Liz’s invitation. Underneath she was wearing a sleeveless white blouse, whose neckline opened to the midpoint between her breasts. These were generously and barely on offer, held brazenly by the deep-plunge bra, the delicate cups of which crossed the pale rounds diagonally at about nipple level. Already regretting the eagerness with which she had divested herself of the jacket, Jill resisted the urge to tug again at the hem of the skirt, which was riding disastrously high; probably showing the tops of her stockings and those dreadful suspenders, for yes, Jackie had insisted she wear the tiny array of thin straps and black triangle created by the belt and thong.

  Jill dipped her nose into the beaded glass once more, glad of something to do and praying that her face was not glowing with the embarrassment she could feel churning unpleasantly away inside.

  ‘I expected someone older looking.’ Liz’s firm voice was cool and neutral. ‘You look very young. Fresh, even,’ she amended. ‘But that’s no bad thing.’ She smiled enigmatically to herself. ‘That’s the way it goes these days.’

  She was leafing through the portfolio Jill had handed to her, spreading the glossy photos over the low coffee table between them. Jill steeled herself to look at the representations of herself staring up, the blatantly pornographic nature of the poses. ‘These are very good,’ the redhead murmured, nodding in approval as she cast her critical eyes over them. ‘Very good indeed. Who did them for you?’

  ‘A chap called Leo Palliser. He was recommended to me.’ Jill had been instructed to use the photographer’s real name. He was well known and had a growing reputation in the world of erotic photography.

  Liz nodded. ‘Yes, I’ve heard of him. So what have you done in the porno market so far?’ She gestured at the pictures scattered between them. ‘Any mags, films, anything like that?’

  ‘No, I haven’t done much else.’ Jill stuck carefully to her story. ‘I just want to get started, really. I just left college a few months ago and I want to start earning some serious money.’ She saw at once the renewed interest. It showed in the life reflected in the green eyes as they fixed on her. She spun her CV, painstakingly prepared, a fiction with a few grains of truths and half-truths for corroboration. ‘Yeah, I want to make some real money as quick as I can. I have some ideas, business ideas, of my own. But this seems to be the best way of raising some decent cash quick time.’ She smiled modestly, tried to look a little bashful. It wasn’t difficult for her. ‘So I’ve kind of got started in a slightly different direction.’ She nodded at the pictures. ‘And there are one or two men... clients, I suppose you’d call them. Trouble is, I haven’t got a place of my own. Nowhere I can... meet people. You know what I mean?’

  Liz gave a conspiratorial, admiring chuckle. ‘Well, you really are the goods. You look like a sixth former, as though you’re scarcely past your first fuck. It’s a great gimmick. You might well make that fortune you’re after. Well now, as far as that place you’re looking for is concerned, how about here? Where are you staying at the moment?’

  ‘Oh, miles away.’ She named a neighbouring town which was almost thirty miles distant. ‘But this would be great, and especially if I could find some cheap digs too. I’m going to look around today. That is...’ she glanced up in shy enquiry, ‘if we can fix something up...’

  ‘Well, I’m sure we can, and you could maybe move in here. I wouldn’t charge you much rent, not till you get on your feet. Say forty quid a week? And for your clients, how about twenty-five percent? Does that sound fair to you?’

  Jill’s heart was racing and she felt a great rush of adrenalin. She’d cracked it! She’d pulled it off! She pretended to consider the proposal for a short while, and then gave a nod. ‘That seems OK to me,’ she said, smiling at the woman whilst trying to calm her racing pulse. ‘When can I - ?’

  ‘Just a few things to settle first,’ Liz said, curtailing Jill’s excitement just a little. ‘What about boyfriends? Have you anyone serious hanging around?’

  Jill’s eyes widened, then she shook her head. ‘No,’ she said decisively, ‘nothing like that. There’s no one in the frame. I’ve got too many plans to be thinking about boyfriends for quite a while yet.’

  ‘You’re completely independent then, right? Nobody running you? No sugar daddies going to be sticking their nose in where it’s not wanted, causing problems? No pimps or hangers-on wanting a piece of your action?’

  ‘No, absolutely not.’ Jill shook her head firmly, giving her most winning smile. ‘It’s just little old me.’

  ‘Well, that sounds great.’ Liz’s smile was returned. ‘There’s just one more thing before we have a deal, then.’ Jill waited expectantly, eyes shining, smile still firmly in place. ‘Take your clothes off, if you please.’

  ‘Take my...?’

  ‘Your clothes. Take them off please. Needless to say I like to see what I’m getting for my money. I can cut you in on quite a few profitable little deals, but I need to know you’re the genuine article.’ She picked up one of the glossy prints, waved it a little and then let it fall back on the table. ‘These look really good, but there’s nothing like seeing it in the flesh. Strip for me, darling, and if I still like what I see we’re in business.’

  Jill stood nervously, prayed that the blush she could feel waiting to erupt was not visible. ‘What, right here, now?’ she asked uncertainly.

  Liz nodded confidently. ‘Right here, now,’ she confirmed, then stood too and moved to the French window, closed it, and pulled the light summer curtain across. ‘Just in case any of the neighbours are peeking,’ she said.

  The light which
filtered through the thin material was still quite strong, but cast a more intimate hue over the small room. Fearful of losing her nerve, or of giving the game away by her hesitancy, Jill hastily unfastened her skirt and slid it down her hips. Liz had pushed the table back to give her more room.

  She sat down in the armchair again and gave an enigmatic nod of appreciation at the sight of the black thong and suspender belt, and the sheer dark nylons.

  ‘Hmm, you’ve certainly come dressed for the part,’ she murmured her approval, and feeling thoroughly decadent yet shamefully aware of the increasing beat of excitement stirring within, Jill unbuttoned the blouse and dropped it on top of the discarded skirt, then slipped off her heeled shoes. If the redhead flagrantly scrutinising every inch of her body wanted a strip show, she was going to get one!

  Jill posed sexily, unclipped the suspenders, rolled a stocking teasingly down her leg and removed it, then did the same for its companion. Unhooking her bra she bent forward and freed her breasts of their delicate cover, dropping the garment aside to join the others. She knew now, could sense the atmosphere, almost smell the sharp scent of the woman’s aroused interest, and quivered with excitement in response to it. It was all going exactly to plan; this was exactly what Jackie had hoped for.

  She stood before the seated Liz, caressed her breasts briefly before her hands dropped to her sides. Her thumbs hooked in the thin straps at her hips. Her mouth was dry and her throat was tight and she had to swallow before she could ask huskily, ‘Do you want me to carry on?’

  Liz nodded again, her self-assured poise leaving Jill in little doubt that the woman was to be obeyed. ‘Oh yes, all the way, darling.’

  The thumbs moved, there was a soft rustle as the elastic slid down, and the triangle fell from the small patch of curls and the swell of the mound. She unhooked the belt and let it fall, too, then with a great effort at nonchalance she placed her hands on top of her head, fingers clasped, elbows jutting, in a saucy parody of a classical sculpture. She could almost feel the seated figure’s lingering glance over every inch of her nakedness as she slowly turned, to give a comprehensive view.