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.