Lapdancing Girlfriend Ch. 04

She did not mind the occasional fondle over the ruffled panties on her ass, or even her breasts being grabbed, as she was still dressed and could distance her mind from fondling through her clothes. Not so earlier when she had become aroused when Agent Geiger had felt her up the last set, the hot palms of his hands on her bare flesh. Being grabbed through her halter was more than tolerable, she reasoned.

In truth, her body was becoming more and more aroused, as her most sensitive areas were touched—even through her clothing. Once again her body reacted apart from her brain.

It was not until 'Pour Some Sugar On Me' began playing that she lost control of herself, her body's arousal overcoming her common sense. Thinking back to that moment, she could not believe how she had sprayed herself with Sprite, allowing two agents to lick it the moisture off her breasts. It served her right for them to take things another level and rip off her halter.

Losing one's control in such situations was not uncommon, and one of the main reasons most dancers took a bouncer or friend to such engagements. The other person was a good sounding board to stop any potential escalations and abide by the dancer's rules. Unfortunately she had no such 'back-up,' and as her body's desires overcame her mind's reasoning, she let the agents fondle her to their hearts' content.

As she pondered her actions, Jen adjusted the uncomfortably wet, sticky top as she still stood outside the branch chief's office, attempting to gather her wayward thoughts. She briefly wondered why she had put the sticky halter top back on instead of her sports bra, but the fat agent had told her to waste no time, and she had worn worse.

Resuming her introspection, she reflected how her final dance had been the most blatant display of wanton lust and 'slutiness' she had ever done—even compared to the previous week when drugged and actually had an excuse.

Letting the fat agent get her off while two other agents sucked her tits in front of the crowd was both humiliating and the most erotic thing she had ever done. Even now her body continued to be aroused, aftermath of the incredibly intense orgasm she had experienced. Her entire body had gone rigid as she came from the fat man's ministrations, his thumb thrumming her clit madly as the orgasm fully overwhelmed her.

How the hell could she have let that happen?

The entire day's events had compounded together—getting fingered by the computer geek, fondled during her sets, the drinks she had—all of them had cumulated to her going wild and losing control.

After the fact she was ashamed at her behavior in front of not only a group of strangers, but actual federal agents. She knew what this meeting was about, preparing to get her ass chewed out by the branch chief for getting the agents so riled and herself so out-of-hand. The way Agent Geiger had talked about his chief left no doubt the man was a hardass, and she felt humiliated and embarrassed in herself now that she had to meet him.

Steeling her nerves and attempting to calm her mind, her body still feeing desire from the lustful high of her intense orgasm, she entered the room.

Surprisingly Agent Vogel was there alone, sitting at a wooden desk. Jen looked around bewilderingly, wondering what was going on as he looked up at her and smiled.

"Come in Diamond, sit down," the large man told her.

Confused, Jen walked into the room, the "clunk-clunk-clunk" of her platform shoes echoing in the room. Immediately she felt chilled, the room being as cold as the computer room she had been in earlier. The already damp halter top drew the coldness to her chest, the frigid embrace causing her nipples to bud instantly.

There was a metal folding chair by the desk which she sat down in, wincing as the cold metal hit her bare ass. Crossing her legs she looked up at the large man as he got up, coming around the desk. She noted even in the cold room he had a thin sheen of sweat on his face, as if the act of getting up had winded him.

She looked up at the man as he spoke. "I feel like we haven't been properly introduced," he told her. "Sam Vogel, branch chief of this investigation for the Special Crimes Division," he told her as she looked up at him in surprise. He continued saying, "I first wanted to thank you for your cooperation in this investigation. And a particularly special thanks for your performance. I know you volunteered to do the routine tonight in order for Nick to calibrate the equipment, being as you are flying out to DSA HQ tomorrow, but I also know you gave it a more special effort than usual," he told her grinning.

The branch chief's gaze centered on her chest, her nipples hard and clearly visible through the damp halter top as Jen felt her body flush, her pulse speeding up at the recognition only a few minutes ago the man had his finger inside of her, bringing her to climax in one of the most intense orgasms ever. The mixture of humiliation, arousal, embarrassment, and confusion put her completely off-guard in the presence of the man.

"Speaking of Nick," the branch chief said, as if the computer guy had walked into the room. "Are we secure Agent Gastinov?"

Jen started at the thrill running up her back as the tattoo crawled beneath her skin, nodding to the man in front of her, "He said yes, but I don't understand," she said.

"I wanted to talk to you alone," the large man said, his gaze roving over her body.

She saw him looking at her feet wearing the 7-inch black platforms, his gaze then moving up her legs. He smiled briefly as she wondered if he were thinking of her ass on the metal chair raising his eyes back to her chest. She again felt her body revolt against her mind, a flush of desire coursing through her as she tried to calm her mental state.

The circumstances were unusual no matter how she thought about it. She was sitting with a branch chief of the FBI discussing a federal investigation, dressed as a trashy schoolgirl. She was a stripper asked her to be an informant against a criminal, drug lord, and downright bad person. She should be professional—not in terms of her stripper profession, but business professional—and yet her body was getting aroused.

She felt her cleft moisten as she involuntarily looked at the man's hands, particularly his finger, knowing it had been inside her less than 15 minutes ago. In fact, she had sucked off her own juices after he had brought her to orgasm.

In her arousal she hoped she would not leave a wet spot on the chair, trying to regain her composure and focus back on helping the investigation and her presence in front of the man.

"I still don't understand," she said to him.

He explained, "In cases where there is a couple who are both working in our interests, they inevitably begin acting out-of-character because they are trying to appease their other half, possibly doing something above and beyond what they would normally do in the interest of protecting them. It is human nature, but when people are working for us they get an inflated sense of bravado. In this case it is particularly important, as Charles DeWight is unaware of your involvement with Mr. Jeffries. As such, there needs to be a mental separation for both of you—you cannot afford to act as a couple as you can betray each other trying to act or speak differently in order to appease what the other person is thinking or wanting.

"To prevent this from happening on my own team I am conducting our surveillance between the two of you as two separate investigations--your contract with Charles DeWight and Mr. Jeffries' possible employment as DSA's real estate broker. I have split the team into two groups, each one handling you separately to avoid cross contamination," he told her.

"As such," the man explained, "I wanted to discuss this case separately; I will be having a similar discussion with Mr. Jeffries tomorrow. What Agent Gastinov has just informed me was Mr. Jeffries is not privy to this conversation. I am confident in Agent Gastinov's discretion, and he is an enterprising and smart man, so I am going to assume Mr. Jeffries is currently driving our surveillance van while Nick adjusts the surveillance feeds," he said.

Jen once again jerked as the tattoo crawled beneath her skin—would she ever get used to that sensation, she wondered—as she told him, "He said yes."

She had completely forgotten the surveillance gear she had on—and the main reason she had performed her routines in front of the agents.

"Good," the large man said, walking around her to his desk. "Agent Geiger has discussed with me at length the circumstances of your and Mr. Jeffries involvement with Charles DeWight," the rotund man told her, "as well as staked his career on your assistance and willingness to do what it takes for this investigation to succeed," he told her.

Jen nodded. She was not sure where the discussion was going, but the man had said nothing she disagreed with.

"I'm not convinced," he suddenly told her. "In fact I have serious reservations concerning your involvement in this case at all," he said.

Looking at him, she once again saw his gaze upon her, looking at her body, not at herself.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Can you follow orders Diamond?" the man asked suddenly, holding up his hand before she could reply.

Picking up a folder the man moved nearer. "I want you to understand the seriousness of this investigation," the man elucidated. "You know Charles DeWight as a boss, possibly even a rapist based upon Agent Geiger's talk with you, or maybe he's just somebody who manipulates people to have his way with them," he told her.

Jen silently nodded as the man walked closer to her.

"Let me show you the Charles DeWight I know," he said.

Jen was startled as the man slapped a photograph on the table. Looking at it Jen saw a woman, obviously dead, her face bruised and battered.

She looked up at the man in shock for an explanation.

"This was the last woman to piss off Charles DeWight...that we know of," he told her. "This woman was a dancer in one of his clubs, and you want to know why she was killed?" he asked. Before she could answer he continued. "It wasn't for breaking a contract, it wasn't for narking to the police about illegal activity," he said to her as he continued. "It wasn't that she was a bad person, or even defied him in some way. No, what Miss Alice Bounds—aka Scarlett—died for, was a cold," he said.

Jen looked up from the morbid picture perplexed.

"Yes, a cold," the man told her. "You see, Miss Bounds was a dedicated dancer at one of DSA's clubs in Phoenix. In fact she was such a hard worker that when she caught a cold, she still went into work. I'm sure you have danced when you were sick, so you know what an effort it took for her to dance a full shift," he told her as she absently nodded. "Unfortunately she gave her cold—actually a low-grade flu—to not only several patrons, but to the entire staff at the club who became much more ill than she, having to call in sick, he explained.

"As a result the club was closed for 2 days," he told her, "while the staff convalesced. This woman died because she was a dedicated worker, not wanting to take a sick day. She has no record of previous arrests, just a girl working her way through college. She was a nice American couple's daughter," he said looking directly at her. "Charles DeWight had her beaten to death for the two days of lost revenue she caused," the agent told her.

Jen looked at him in shock as he placed another photo on top of the first. This picture was of another woman in a hospital bed, alive at least at the time of the picture.

"Suzanne Maher—aka Misty," he said as Jen stared at the photograph. "She was the last woman to take Charles DeWight to court. She was countersued for breach of contract, forced into bankruptcy," he told her. "Unfortunately she is alive," he said.

Seeing her stunned face the large man nodded. "You see, she was pushed into heavy traffic one day walking on the streets of Miami. Witnesses identify Charles DeWight to have been present, some claiming he was the one who actually pushed her into the traffic; however, Miss Maher has refused to press charges, saying she fell off the sidewalk due to a new pair of shoes she was trying to break in," he told her as she looked at him in shock. "She claims Charles DeWight did not push her, but was in fact trying to catch her fall," the fat man explained.

"If she had died, we could have pursued the investigation, maybe even brought charges against him; however, as it stands, her being alive has completely cock-blocked any charges," the man said, "as we cannot pursue the investigation without an actual complaint."

He threw down another picture, this one of another dead victim; the main difference was the person was male. The cause of death was obvious, the gruesome bullet hole in the man's forehead almost making Jen sick.

"This one's fresh," the large man said, "Emery Phelps," he stated.

Jen looked up at him in shock, recognizing the name.

"Yes, this is the former real estate broker for Divine Silk Attractions, Incorporated who disappeared a few months ago. He was found yesterday by one of our junior agents trolling through national John Doe morgue reports," he said. "This is the man your fiancé is replacing, the obvious lethal termination of his employment caused by him skimming money from Charles DeWight," he told her.

She jumped, started as the branch chief threw down the rest of the folder, several ghastly photos spilling out which she turned her head away from, refusing to look at any more of the photos.

"This folder is full of victims of Charles DeWight. This is the Charles DeWight I know. A murderer, a crime lord, a man who uses people like toilet paper, flushing them after they are used; this is the man you work for, that you slept with, that you have agreed to help us put into jail," the agent told her forcefully.

"Make no mistake, lives are at stake. Not only my agents', not only your's or your fiancé's, but other people's, people we may not even know about. I have already lost one agent in this investigation, and I'll be damned if I lose another, even an informant. One simple slip and somebody could die," he told her. "So I ask again Diamond, can you follow orders?" he repeated.

Sobered from the reality of the situation, she quietly answered him.

"I didn't hear you," he said as she repeated her affirmative louder. "We'll see," he told her," walking and leaning against the side of his desk.

"One order I have is I want your pledge, your vow, your word that if there is ANY indication of Charles DeWight aware of your involvement in this case, you contact us immediately. There will be an agent on surveillance duty at all times and all you have to do is speak; so I repeat, if there is any indication of Charles DeWight aware of what is going on, I want you to pull out, no questions asked," he told her. Before she could speak he continued, "And that goes for the flip-side as well. If you receive any notice from us—I know Nick has already explained the long thrill of your ink is a 'Get out now' message—you leave, no questions asked," he said. "Is that understood?" he asked her.

"Yes," Jen said, still sobered at the gruesome photographs he had shown her. "I understand."

"Good," the large man said. "Now, pinch your nipples," he said unexpectedly.

"What?!" Jen replied incredulously, both at the abruptness of the command as well as the impropriety.

"You told me you followed orders, and I just gave you one. You need to follow any order given to you by me or by any agent on the team. In your role as a DSA spokesmodel Charles DeWight is going to order you to do things you would not normally do, as will his underlings. Sometimes it will purely be for the shock value of seeing your response such as the order I just gave you. It is exactly something Charles DeWight would order, and you questioned me," he told her, shaking his head.

"Again," he continued, "I have serious reservations about your involvement in this case," he told her with apparent regret.

Jen looked at the man, understanding his reasoning as she apologized, "I'm sorry, you just took me off guard," she said to him.

"That is exactly the point," the branch chief told her sharply. "You may be asked to do the most unusual things at the oddest of times, and you need to listen and obey. I know it's a shitty deal, but that's how it is," he told her. "Now, as I said, pinch your tits," he said to her crudely.

Knowing this was a test, aware of lives being at stake if she refused, she reached up, slowly tweaking her nipples beneath the halter top.

"No, no, no, no, no," the branch chief said angrily. "Not only are you going to have to follow orders, but you're going to be expected to do them willingly, going above and beyond the call of duty," he said moving behind her.

"Like this," he said to her.

Jen gasped as the man's hands plunged beneath her halter top, grasping her breasts. She was shocked at his brazenness as he began fondling her chest. Shocked at his bluntness, she was also surprised to note although the room was freezing, the fat man's hands were actually warm, moist against her skin as she recalled his sweating face even in the cold room.

"Ow-ooh!" she said loudly as the man's fingers suddenly clamped down on her teats, forcefully crushing her nipples.

She was ashamed to realize although her yell was first of pain her second utterance had been due to being overcome with her body's response, finishing the cry in arousal.

As quickly as he had grasped her chest, Vogel pulled his hands away from her and moved back to his desk.

Her halter had been pulled to the sides, her breasts hanging out at the chief's assault. Reaching up she was about to adjust it when the branch chief's voice came at her forcefully.

"Leave it," he commanded.

Jen identified this as being another test of her ability to follow directions, obediently lowering her hands back to her lap. Being topless was not a big deal; she had been a stripper for years, her job to be topless most of the time, so she was not worried about his order.

What did bother her was her body's response at his handling, still obviously feeling the effects of his diddling her.

Although the branch chief smiled, he told her, "I'm still concerned. Not only are there lives at stake, but resources."

Remembering her discussion with Agent Geiger, she replied, "I understand. You have been on this investigation for four years and have had over a dozen agents involved. If it fails, they will have wasted those years," she told him, letting him know she understood what he meant from her talk with Agent Geiger.

"I don't give a fuck about the men working this case," he told her unexpectedly as she looked up at him in surprise. "These are FBI agents, if they aren't working this case they're going to be assigned another one. There are enough assholes out there to keep them all busy for their entire careers. The problem is not people but the amount of money we have spent on this investigation, as well as the new investment towards you," he explained. "For example, the surveillance gear you are wearing," he said, nodding at her. "You have over $150,000 of the Bureau's funds in your possession, and that's not counting the surveillance van and its equipment, the equipment in the Comms Room, relocating Mr. Jeffries, and so forth," he said to her.

Her expression was one of shock. She never thought about how much the gear cost, being too fascinated and excited at the 'James Bond' feel of everything going on around her.

"I see you now comprehend," he told her. "If this investigation goes nowhere, I might as well seek an early retirement because I won't be assigned another case due to how much money will have been wasted on this investigation. My entire career, and that of my agents, is resting upon your ability to blend in; to follow orders without hesitation, even willingly. The more opposition you bring to the table the more Charles DeWight is going to notice you and be aware of all your movements. You need to not only jump, not even inquire how high, but to jump as high as you can," he said to her.