Baker and Jones Ch. 03

"It's not... not the same," Annette pants.

"Mmmm, you like how positively forbidden I am, don't you, dear?"

"Yes!" Annette throws her arms across Samantha's back, trying to maintain her composure while her body quickly heats up.

"I'd be forbidden either way," Samantha whispers into her ears. "You're defiling a Lady, Annette... how scandalous."

Annette's head rocks back into the cushions as Samantha's palm lowers from her clit to rub the area below, her fingers teasing her perineum skillfully. She shivers with delight, lifting her hips up to meet the hand and add more pressure to the sensitive touches. She wants more, and she suspects Samantha is deliberately withholding pressure to stroke her desperation.

"Call out my name," the noblewoman commands.

"Samantha..." Annette breathes out.

Samantha quickly kisses her again, relenting from the task of massaging Annette's panties to throw her hands onto the girl's face, hungrily flicking her tongue into her mouth. Annette's hands grab at the straps of Samantha's dress, pulling them down to bring her naked skin to meet her own. Their breasts press together, Samantha's surprisingly smaller than Annette's, but the feeling of the soft skin pushing against one another causes Annette's mind to melt into bliss.

The noblewoman pulls away, simply staring at Annette while she recovers her composure. Annette's chest rises with quick puffs, hardly able to control herself around Samantha and aching for her lips to return. Her attempt to sit up and throw herself at the mercy of Samantha's tongue is halted by the woman lowering a finger to her lips, teasingly pushing her back into the cushions.

"Patience..." Samantha purrs.

"Anything," Annette nods, eager to obey and request. "Anything."

"You're a very excitable kisser, dear."

"You're quite exciting," Annette blushes defensively.

Samantha sits up, lowering her hips to straddle across Annette's chest, grinning ravishingly as she stares down at the collared girl below her. There's a mischievous twinkle in her eyes as she gazes upon her.

"What... what are you thinking?" Annette asks.

Samantha draws a quiet, rumbling sound of satisfaction from her throat. "That I wish you were my collar. I could find plenty of uses for you, dear."

Annette smiles helplessly. As much as she hates the term 'collar,' it rolls out of Samantha's mouth like a promise of divinity. Servitude isn't how Annette pictured her life going... but in service to Samantha? The idea has its charms.

"You'd like it too, wouldn't you?" Samantha ribs. "I can see it in your eyes that you're thinking about it."

"... I, it-,"

"Shhh," Samantha silences, lowering a finger to Annette's lips once more. "Allow me to give you a taste."

Samantha lifts her thighs up, bringing them forward to rest on the sides of Annette's head. Her skirt falls down around Annette's chest and head like a privacy curtain, and Samantha's panties slowly drop towards her mouth. The smell of Samantha's excitement and natural scent fills Annette's lungs and she's more than a little proud to see a growing wetness spread over the surface of the fabric. She raises her lips to the woman's warm undergarment and slides her tongue across it, closing her eyes to savor the delicious taste.

Samantha sighs delightedly above her as Annette dedicates herself to the task, licking and sucking the juices through the soft cotton. "Every night," Samantha exhales, "Every night I'd return home to you... mmph... and I'd bring you alone into my chambers..."

Annette continues hungrily, slipping her tongue underneath her panties and tasting the wet lips beyond, letting Samantha slowly rock her hips against Annette's face. Annette feels her own clit twitch desperately, wishing to be a part of the action.

"You'd be my new chambermaid," Samantha moans, dropping a hand down to the bedsheets to steady herself, slightly increasing her pressure. "You'd help me dress and undress... fuck... and I'd tell you all about whatever when on at that night's festivities..."

Her pressure increases again as Annette turns her attention to the small button above Samantha's lips, sucking it into her mouth and loving the ways the feeling made Samantha's legs tighten against the sides of her head. Little blonde hairs tickle her nose, ever so slightly damp with Samantha's excitement.

"I'd... I'd..." Samantha gasps, taking a moment to steady herself before continuing to speak through labored breaths. "I would have you massage me... ooooohh... tend to every aching muscle in my body. Heels are so wretched for dancing..."

Annette speeds up, throwing her own hands underneath Samantha's thighs to pull her down deeper. Her face grows hot and sweaty, trapped by the heat of Samantha's skirt all around her, and Annette fights to breathe enough without losing any momentum.

"Ah!" Samantha lets out a low groan, "Just like that, dear..."

Annette doesn't relent, her devotion to the beautiful woman pushing her to dig into her own stamina and continue the task with an unceasing fervor. With every heavenly sigh or salacious moan that Samantha lets out, Annette feels a burst of pride and satisfaction.

"You'd be at my bedside whenever I'd need... mmphh... and I have a great deal of... of need!" Samantha shrieks suddenly, hips tightly clenching Annette's head. She leans backwards, arching the muscles in her back and raising her face towards the ceiling. "Don't... don't stop," she commands.

Annette continues happily, her tongue circling rapidly around Samantha's clit like it would provide all of the oxygen she needs to breathe. Samantha's ecstatic gasps cascade across the room, eventually culminating in one final loud moan that fills Annette's ears with rapture. Her body tightens, gripping Annette as though she were a life raft, riding wave after wave of bliss as the feeling consumes her.

When the feeling finally relents, Samantha falls to the side with a satisfied grin. She lays beside Annette, lifting a hand to tuck a strand of the redhead's hair behind her ear and resting her palm on her chin. She pulls Annette to her, kissing her graciously. If the smell or taste of her juices over Annette's mouth bothers her at all, she ignores it.

"You... you are a spectacular gem that I have found, dear," she swoons, pulling away from the kiss and laying back into the mattress.

Annette can hardly reply, still enraptured by the display before her. The smell of sex fills her lungs, and the pink glow on Samantha's face somehow makes the woman seem even more like a goddess. Part of Annette wonders if Samantha would let her return to the task once more, wishing to continue tasting her sweet nectar while hearing her cry out in pleasure.

"I...' Annette lets out a devoted sigh, "I'm restraining the urge to say 'I love you.'"

"Not quite restraining it, are you?" Samantha laughs, her thumb brushing across Annette's cheek. "You're well on your way to earning my affections as well."

"On my way?" Annette raises an eyebrow.

"You should be so lucky to experience what it is like when I've fully smitten."

Annette smiles, nodding and trying to imagine a look of love on Samantha's face. Samantha's hand lowers, slowly trailing across Annette's shoulders, onto her arm, and down towards her waist. Her eyes glimmer as it finds its way to grip Annette's bottom, squeezing it playfully.

"I do believe it's your turn, my dear," Samantha steers, letting her hand wander further. "I can't wait to hear what your noises sound like."

Annette gulps, her mouth falling dry. "I'll endeavor to make it worthwhile."

"Oh, I am quite sure it will be."

- - -

Annette is playfully scratching the feathers around Harold's beak when the loud knock on the door startles her. Harold shakes his wings with a disgruntled chirp, immediately taking off from his perch on the stairs and soaring out the nearest open window. Annette grins as he leaves, slowly growing more fond of the bird as time draws on. She takes a short breath, striding down the main hallway towards the front door, gently gripping the handle and letting the heavy wood pull open.

"Y-you have to help me!" The woman at the door sobs as soon as she sees Annette. She holds a plain handkerchief to her face, dabbing at the tears streaming down from her eyes. "He tried to warn them, he tried..." she mutters, disappearing behind the cloth once more.

"Whoa, whoa," Annette coos, throwing an arm around the woman and leading her inside. "It's going to be okay. It's going to be okay."

The woman is quickly inconsolable as the door closes behind her, loudly crying out into Annette's shoulder as she's led inside. Annette sets her down onto one of the comfortable couches in the conversation room, sitting beside her and trying to help steady her.

"Why don't you tell me what's wrong?" She says softly, taking the woman's hands into her own and squeezing them gently.

"They killed him! H-he warned them and they didn't listen and they killed him and, and, and..." she disappears into another wailing sob, retreating from Annette's embrace and pushing herself deeper into the couch. She's spiraling, increasingly getting louder and louder as the feelings overcome her, and Annette's heart breaks for her.

"Shh, shh," Annette scoots closer, trying to console her, "let's slow down, Miss. Why... why don't you tell me your name, okay?"

It takes a long moment for the woman to steady herself enough to speak again, and when she does, her voice is hoarse and dry. "Mary Rosen," she croaks.

"Hello, Mary," Annette drops her voice low, speaking softly and quietly. "My name is Annette Baker. Can I bring you anything? Some water? Tea, perhaps?"

"Tea," Mary sniffles.

Annette rises slowly, thankful that she had just set the kettle aside after making a cup for herself less than ten minutes prior. The water is still hot, steam rising into the air as she pours a little into a cup. "How do you like your tea, Mary?"

"Anything will do."

Annette nods, adding just a splash of milk and a single sugarcube into the drink. She retrieves a porcelain saucer, plating the cup and carefully passing it into Mary's lightly trembling hands. She sits down again, taking in the older woman while she sips at the hot drink. She's middle aged, with strong wrinkles and kind eyes. She's wearing a dress not much nicer than Annette's, so she must be the wife of a working man, possibly something in industry.

"Thank you," Mary utters after a few steadying sips.

"Of course, Miss," Annette replies sweetly. "Are you ready to tell me what's happened?"

Mary nods slowly, taking another long sip before answering. "It's my son, Henry."

"What's happened to Henry?"

"H-he works at the railyard. He's a mechanic," she explains, pushing away the quiver in her voice and the trembling tear in the corner of her eye. "There was an accident."

"Henry died," Annette guesses.

Mary shakes her head, not in refutation, but in disbelief. "I just saw him this morning," her lip trembles. "He's... I can't believe it..."

"Henry was in an accident..." Annette summarizes, "but you said someone ignored his warnings, that someone killed him."

"They did!"

Annette raises her hands defensively, letting empathy wash across her face. "I'm just trying to understand. Why don't you tell me about the accident?"

"I didn't see it," she confesses, "How could I?"

"Then what do you know?"

"Henry was always complaining about his bosses, saying they were never taking his concerns seriously. The way they run those machines ragged..."

"The locomotives?"

"And more," she nods. "I don't know half the things Henry worked on, but he said they were breaking constantly and no one ever let him do anything about it. He was taking extra shifts just to keep things functional."

"He sounds dedicated," Annette agrees.

"He is... he was..." Mary sighs, looking away for a long moment before continuing. "If Henry's... if he's gone because of an accident at the yard, it's because Mister Bembrook never listened to him. It's his fault!"

Annette stifles a groan at the mention of Wilson Bembrook. He owns a significant amount of the railyards, and his reputation amongst his workers was... not pleasant. Annette had known plenty of folks that worked for him loose limbs and sometimes their lives, and more than a few had sold themselves into service to take the chance to work somewhere else. If Mary's story is true, it's hardly a unique one in Bellchester.

"I believe you," she nods. "It's horrible."

"Henry didn't deserve to die!" Mary exclaims, throwing a hand to her mouth and pushing away the sobs that want to escape her throat. "He was always such a good boy. Loyal, dependable, honest to a fault."

"So how can we help you, Miss Rosen?" Annette nudges.

"Prove that Mister Bembrook caused it! He let my Henry die!"

Annette is quiet for a moment. "That's a tall order... Henry isn't the only person to die in an accident at the railyards. I'm not sure we would be able to prove anything."

"You have to!"

"I want to help," she concedes, "but I'm not sure it's enough to bring a case against him. Do you have anything else that might help us?"

Mary thinks for a few breaths, sipping at her tea as she gathers her mind together. "Henry was a lead mechanic... he'd have to fill out paperwork sometimes. He always hated that. If... maybe he wrote down that the machines needed repairs, you could convince the governor that Mister Bembrook is ignoring safety requests. That's breaking a law, isn't it?"

"I'm not sure, Miss Rosen," Annette purses her lips. "I'll talk to Miss Jones. I'll try and convince her. Do you mind waiting here for me, just for a few minutes?"

"Of course," Mary sniffles. "Of course."

"I'll just be a moment."

Annette rises from the couch, straightening her skirt and ascending the first flight of stairs with a dread in her step. Cordelia liked cases that were interesting and fresh, that might have some unexpected twist. Another railyard death from an incompetant boss wasn't likely to excite her. She's hardly spoken to Annette since the night of Lady Wilva's arrest.

She arrives at the heavy double doors that lead to Cordelia's study and takes a long few breaths, trying to piece together some reason that this case would be worth her time. Annette doubts anything she says will help, and as she knocks lightly on the door a sense of defeat already trickles into her stomach.

"What is it, Miss Baker?" Cordelia grumbles from behind the doors.

"May I speak with you, Miss Jones? A client has come calling."

There's a tense pause, followed a moment later by the sound of Cordelia's desk chair scraping against the floor. One of the doors swings open, and Cordelia leans forward, laying against the wood frame. She's scowling and faintly smells of whiskey, which is a bit early even for her.

"I'm not taking on any new cases," she mutters.

"I think this one could be worth your while," Annette begins, trying to keep her voice exciting, "It could have far-reaching impacts-,"

"I've told you not to disturb me in my study, Annette."

"And normally I wouldn't, but this case is-,"

Cordelia holds up a hand and Annette silences herself. "Go away."

"Miss Jones, this case is-,"

"You never listen," Cordelia cuts. "I've never met a collar who disrespects an owner so fantastically and consistently."

Annette hangs her head, trying to think of any words that could salvage this moment and coming up short. She can feel her frozen frustrations thaw, trying to escape the icy prison she had locked them into.

"You're smug," Cordelia huffs, "and arrogant, and disobedient, and constantly testing my temperament, Annette. And now you've got the nerve to decide which cases I should and should not take upon myself?"

"I'm not trying to-,"

"Enough!" The detective steps forth, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. "You are a constant disappointment."

"Disappointment?" There's something else behind Cordelia's words, though it's difficult to understand.

"Collars are to be seen but not heard, Miss Baker. They are to respect their owners, obey orders immediately and without question, and to be grateful at all times. You successfully complete none of these tasks."

Annette looks at Cordelia's green eyes, piercing through her skin and trying to break her spirit. She remembers the feeling of the detective's grip forcing her to the ground, staring daggers at her and hoping to break her spirit. But she also remembers her amusement that Annette didn't seem to fear her, and the emptiness in her eyes when she realized Annette could be frightened.

"Then remove me," Annette threatens, squaring her shoulders and staring Cordelia down.

"Excuse me?"

"I believe I misjudged you," she continues, trying to muster as much fight as possible. "I had believed that while you were eccentric and strange, at least you were principled. Now, it seems you are simply petulant and hateful. If you are so exhausted by my manners, then remove me now and be done with me."

Cordelia is quiet, her brows lowering and her eyes narrowing. She frowns, letting her gaze drift up and down Annette's form, surveying the servant as though confused she could possess the resolve to strike back. Her arms tighten across her chest, and she sways from foot to foot, shifting her weight as her words fail her.

Annette decides to push her luck, concluding, "I would like to believe my skills of perception to be accurate, and that my initial judgment of you was not a falsehood. If you would wish to keep holding my contract, do so with the understanding that I will only respect you if you live up to these standards."

A tense moment befalls the two of them as Cordelia ponders her words. Her expression fills up with the same uncertain potential that had crossed it the night they quarreled last. She was, and is, capable of anything, and Annette hopes her gamble is worth the risk she's undertaken. Cordelia could just as easily hold onto her contract for its entire duration and spend the next six years harshly punishing Annette.

"Christ, Annette," Cordelia grumbles. "What exactly is this case?"

Annette holds her breath, releasing it slowly and feeling her hands shaking with nerves. She explains the details of the case, hoping to make it as enticing as possible, though Cordelia looks hardly impressed.

"You staked your entire position here for a case of workplace neglect indistinguishable from any other possible death? There's a thousand stories just like Henry."

"Then we should do something about it," Annette pleads. "If anyone is able to put a stop to a miserable tycoon like Bembrook, it's Cordelia Jones."

"You're delusional."

"What is the point of being a detective if not to help people, Miss Jones? So help Mary and the rest of Henry's family."

"This matters that much to you?" Cordelia looks incredulous, raising an eyebrow suspiciously.

"Yes," Annette concedes quietly. "Plenty of kids I knew growing up have been hurt by people like Bembrook."

Cordelia paces away down the hallway, walking back and forth a handful of times. Her face is stoic and neutral, though her eyes are constantly flicking around, trying to piece together her thoughts. Annette steps back, allowing her walk to continue uninterrupted, hoping she hadn't just put herself on the line just to fail.

"If you want me to take on an extra case," Cordelia sighs, "then I'm folding it into your usual duties."

"You want me to help you?"

"I'm requiring you to assist me."

"But you'll take on the case?"

Cordelia nods, shoving her hands into her pockets. "Yes."