Gillian's Justice Ch. 03

Chapter Three - Cecelia Flick

The oak-panelled courtrooms had been purposely designed to look imposing and foreboding to those appearing before the Justices at the Old Bailey but Gillian Dixon confidently strode into the dock looking like she owned the place.

"Any chance you're going to show a little respect and servitude?" her barrister Brian McCaffey hissed into her ear before he moved to the front benches and took his seat.

Gillian just stood and stared ahead, waiting for proceedings to commence.

"All rise," the usher bought the court to order.

Justice Sir Bradley Smithe QC took his seat at the bench wearing his red robe trimmed with white fur with the flap of black silk hanging just below his neck.

All of the legal arguments had been heard and the jury sworn in, each juror taking an oath to render a true verdict. Brian McCaffey had exhausted all of his ploys to delay the trial and the judge called for the prosector to make her opening remarks.

Annabelle Creighton was an imposing figure even in her black barrister's gown and white wig. Beneath it she wore an Armani suit, her long legs sheathed in sheer taupe nylons but her expensive shoes were low-heeled in reverence to the court. She was a tabloid favourite because of her good looks and sex appeal and her propensity to prosecute the most provocative and scandalous of cases.

"My Lord," it was Annabelle's opportunity to outline her case to the jury.

"This is an awful case involving the gruesome murder of one of our peers of the realm but it is also a simple case. The prosecution will prove that the transgendered woman in the dock, Ms Gillian Dixon..."

"Milord please!" Brian McCaffey interrupted.

Objections relating to evidence and procedural matters in British courts are usually argued before the prosecution opens their case. Annabelle Creighton had wanted to portray Gillian Dixon as a transsexual Madame, a brothel-keeper and woman of low morals. Brian was aware of the ploy and had appealed to the Justice to keep Gillian's gender out of evidence. Justice Smithe didn't understand why a man would ever want to become a woman but he didn't need to; he knew the law and had ruled that Gillian being transgendered could only be introduced into evidence if it became relevant to the facts of the case.

"My learned colleague, you are treading on very thin ice already and this only your opening statement," Lord Smithe admonished Annabelle Creighton who bowed her head to the Justice in apology.

"The jury will refrain from any making any connotations relating to the defendant's gender. Continue Ms Creighton," Lord Smithe waived his hand dismissively.

"Bitch!" Brian hissed under his breath.

The damage had been done. Although there was no way of knowing if any of twelve jurors or the three alternates had any gender bias, one could reasonably expect that out of the fifteen citizens randomly selected from the electoral roll, at least one would undoubtedly be transphobic. As there is no 'voir dire' process in the British court system, Brian had no way of knowing what prejudices the jury held. He could only be guaranteed that none of jury knew the defendant personally or had been recently charged or found guilty of a crime in the last ten years.

Gillian kept her composure and held her head high, totally aware that a newspaper sketch artist was drawing her likeness for one of the tabloids.

"Milord, let me proceed. This is an awful case involving the gruesome murder of one of our peers of the realm but it is also a simple case. The prosecution will prove that the woman in the dock, Ms Gillian Dixon stabbed Lord Edward Beaumont repeatedly with a letter-opener causing his death. The murder occurred in Ms Dixon's private office in the Fleur de Lis Gentleman's club," Annabelle cleared her throat and took a sip of water, pausing for dramatic effect.

"Police constables responding to a nine-nine-nine call found the door to Ms Dixon's office locked when they arrived. When they entered they found Ms Dixon covered in blood and Lord Beaumont dead at her feet. There was no one else in the building," Annabelle Creighton finished her opening and sat.

The case outlined, it was time for the trial proper to begin. Brian McCaffey would not be able to address the jury until his closing speech.

"The court calls Senior Constable Shane Ridgley," the court crier announced.

Gillian's mind began to wander. She knew exactly what the procession of prosecution witnesses were going to say over the next few days. She glanced down at the assembly and saw Cecelia Flick gazing at her with adoration. Cecelia smiled when Gillian met her gaze; Gillian remained stone-face and looked away.

***

Cecelia Flick was dressed in a tight black leather corset, black seamed stockings and thigh-high black leather boots. She was wearing garish eyeshadow, heavy eyeliner and mascara and blood-red lipstick. Her short jet-black bob and heavy makeup accentuated with her creamy white skin.

The skin on her back was crisscrossed with raised red weals and she gritted her teeth as the man behind her struck her again with the whip. Tied to the X-shaped whipping post she was tempted to use the safe word but the pain felt so good. Lord Edward Beaumont, wearing a black leather bodysuit a black leather mask and thigh-high boots was really laying into her today.

The crotch of his bodysuit was unlaced and he was sporting a huge erection which Cecelia could only see if she twisted her neck painfully to one side. But she wanted to see it badly. She was wet and aching, the pain from the whip was delicious and she was peaking, she wanted release; but only when her master decided she could have it.

Lord Edward dropped the whip after striking Cecelia one last time so hard that he drew blood.

"Red! Red!" Cecelia howled the safe word.

Edward stepped into Cecelia, gripped her cunt and panted into her ear.

"You want me to stop now?"

"No! No, master," Cecelia shook her head vigorously.

The pain radiating from her cunt and combined with the raw pain throbbing from her back and the burning pain in her wrists where she was tied to the rack. It was exquisite, it was wonderful, it was divine; the pain gave her meaning. It reinforced to her that she could only take pleasure at the behest of her master. She needed to be controlled, dominated, punished and she loved that she did.

"Do you want my cock?" Edward Beaumont squeezed her vulva viciously.

"Yes master, I want your cock. Please give me your cock. Give your undeserving slave your cock... please!" she begged.

Lord Edward Beaumont thrust his cock into Cecelia's sodden minge; he could smell the stink of her, she was desperate for it.

Cecelia felt Edward fill her with his long thick cock and begin to fuck her violently. He gripped her hips and rammed his throbbing phallus in and out of her. The agony of his cock smashing into her bruised vagina connected with the pain radiating from the rest of body and Cecelia moaned with lust.

She thrust back against Edward so that his cock pushed against her vulva. She was close to peaking; the pleasure and the pain combined bringing her close to the edge. She moaned and writhed against her bonds.

"No you don't you bitch!" Edward hissed into her ear and pulled her hard against him and ejaculted inside her.

"No! No! No!" Cecelia was close but hadn't climaxed.

His cock was deep inside her and her clitoris was tingling but Edward deliberately ensured that he did not stimulate her hypersensitive button and trigger an orgasm. He pulled out and sprayed the remainder of his seed over her buttocks.

Cecelia sobbed. She was so close to a colossal orgasm but Edward had not allowed her to come.

"Next!" Edward gasped, staggering away from her, exhausted by his efforts.

One of the two masked acolytes sitting on a bench watching the proceedings leapt to his feet. He was naked except for his leather mask and his cock stood out proud and throbbing.

The acolyte slammed his cock into Cecelia's sloppy minge and held her still while he fucked her hard and fast. He bought her to the brink just as he orgasmed but failed to tip her over.

The second acolyte took his place and Cecelia screamed as a massive orgasm raged through her whole body. She shook and shuddered as the third man held onto her and discharged his load deep inside her.

Cecelia sobbed, moaned and groaned like a wanton whore as the intense pleasure wracked her body. She peaked so high that she passed out.

When she came too she was being untied from the rack by Mandy, one of the other hostesses, who led her to the opulent bathroom and assisted her into a steaming hot bath. Mandy gently bathed her sister-in-servitude and then assisted Cecelia out of the bath and helped her fix her makeup and to dress.

"Are you sore Cecelia?" Mandy asked.

"Deliciously so," Cecelia shivered with delight.

When she was young Cecelia Flick was a 'rolly-poly little bat-faced girl' as Neil Simon sang in his song. As a child her parents thought she was ugly and ungainly and kept her hidden away. At school she was the fat girl who was the last to be picked for sports teams, made to paint scenery for the school play, had no friends, and was never invited to parties nor invited to dances.

Something happened to her during her eighteenth year and when she enrolled in college she had transformed from an ugly duckling into beautiful white swan. Her face was still round but now it was pretty with prominent cheekbones, she had dyed her hair jet-black and had it cut into a short black bob. Someone had shown her how to use makeup and she used it to emphasise her big blue eyes, her adorable nose and full red lips.

Cecelia had shed weight and although small framed she had long legs and large breasts, which she showed off to full advantage with a new chic wardrobe.

The boys flocked to her but she didn't know how to deal with her new-found adoration. The girls joked that she would 'show you her knickers for a bite of your toffee apple' and that she'd be 'buried in a Y-shaped coffin'.

Cecelia found that giving away her virtue made her popular with men. But popularity came with a price. She was handed around, used and discarded and other women despised her for being so loose.

Something changed when she met an aristocratic young man who taught her the exquisiteness of being totally controlled by another person.

David Cashmore came from a very good family and was used to getting what he wanted when he wanted it. He saw the potential in Cecelia Flick and made her his girlfriend.

"Let's try something different," David said to her one day in his bedroom.

He had already insisted that she dress a particular way for him. Short dresses and skirts, occasionally skin-tight leggings, blouses and tops that flaunted her ample bosom, high heels; and she must always wear hosiery, preferably stockings but pantyhose were allowed if her skirt was micro-mini.

He taught her how to pleasure him, to become subservient to his needs not hers.

"Put this on," David had laid out a schoolgirl uniform on the bed.

The uniform was accompanied by a pair of sheer-to-the-waist pantyhose, white ankle socks, and translucent white nylon knickers. The high heels accompanying the schoolgirl uniform were so high that she couldn't stand. He put a ball-gag in her mouth and put her over his knees and spanked her until her buttocks were red and she was crying and struggling to break free.

David was worried that he had gone too far when she kicked, writhed and sobbed and he took the ball-gag out of her mouth and began to comfort her.

She pushed him away angrily.

"Why did you stop? Please master; I deserve to be punished. Maybe you have a cane you can use?" Cecelia begged.

David was astonished at her response but incredibly excited.

He spanked her harder and listened to her howl but he soon came to realise that her squeals of pain masked cries of ecstasy.

"Ok bitch; get on the bed," he pushed her off his knees and she scampered onto the bed.

He was ready to fuck her but she had other ideas. She produced two pairs of stockings and had David tie her to the bedposts in a kneeling position.

"I've been naughty master. I'm a very naughty girl and very dirty girl and I need to be punished," Cecelia goaded him on.

He found a wooden spoon in the kitchen and put it to good use on her buttocks, which he could see through her transparent panties were now red and inflamed. He felt her cunt; the gusset of her knickers was sodden and he could smell her sex.

David tore out the crotch of her pantyhose and pulled her knickers aside and fucked her viciously. Cecelia enjoyed every second of it and encouraged him with obscenities.

When he finally climaxed inside her she howled with pleasure at the amalgamation of his jackhammering cock thrusting viciously inside her and the pain radiating from her bottom.

He fell on top of her. They were both out of breath.

"Did you really like that?" David gasped in her ear.

Cecelia nodded vigorously.

"We need to take it further; to see what my limits are," she espoused.

"But we need a safe word so I don't go too far," David countered.

"Also master; my anus is virgin and needs to be explored," she whimpered.

David grinned. He'd found just the girl he was looking for.

By the time Cecelia was twenty three she was immersed in the world of sado-masochism. She had dropped out of university and was living comfortably offering her services to wealthy, discrete clientele. One day one of her regular punters, a man she vaguely recognised from the society pages of the newspapers, dropped a business card on her hallstand when he had finished using her in the well-appointed dungeon that she had created in her second bedroom. It was gloss black with gold lettering that read 'Fleur de Lis' with the stylised heraldry embossed in gold. There was a telephone number on the back.

The card changed her life forever.

Amanda Grayson recognised Cecelia's special talents immediately. Several members of the club had requested girls who specialised in discipline and bondage or sado-masochism and a few of the hostesses had agreed to participate but none of them had the talents that Cecelia had. She was a true bottom and a requisite subservient with the right amount of acquiescence, docility, compliance but she was also intelligent, eloquent, and uniquely beautiful. She also knew how to 'top from the bottom' if necessary, to lead those who were still acolytes along the road to becoming domineering masters.

She was also the perfect personal assistant. Amanda treated her like a menial, a chattel, a servant at her beck and call, which suited Cecelia perfectly. She had her dream job. She worked like a slave for her supervisor and was treated like a slave by her employers. And... she was received an astounding financial reward. Besides Amanda, Cecelia was the highest paid woman at Fleur de Lis.

When Gillian Dixon arrived it changed the dynamic at Fleur de Lis and Cecelia found this both confusing and exciting. Amanda Grayson was a domineering overseer who was very demanding on her staff but Gillian Dixon had stood up to Amanda from the start. Gillian kept her powder dry so to speak, she spent her first six months at the club understudying the women who supervised the hotel services, food and beverages, housekeeping, bookings and appointments, finance and bookkeeping desks until she had grasp on how the Fleur de Lis functioned.

Gillain was required to work three nights a week as a hostess; more often if an appointment was made for her services by any of the members. As a hostess she worked in the bar and lounge, keeping the members happy and content. This often just meant looking beautiful, making small talk, fetching drinks and generally entertaining the clientele. But it sometimes meant taking one of the members up to one of the entertainment suits and providing sexual services.

Every encounter was recorded and the member was charged accordingly. At first she was very popular, being the new girl and with unique talents, but after a while she found a niche clientele who particularly liked her services and who mostly made appointments to see her during the day. Sometimes, but not often, the member might pay for a friend, an invited guest, to sample her wares.

She continued to see Alfonso Carlotta but as she expected visits to his houseboat and his compunction to take her out to events as arm candy diminished, she became 'one of Alfie's girls'; just one of the stable of beautiful women whom Alfie kept on hand for his pleasure.

Inevitably her Uncle Andrew visited the club one evening when she was on hostess duty.

"There's my pretty young niece, I heard that you were working here. Now that you have used me to your own ends you never come to see your favourite uncle," Andrew sidled up to her at the bar.

Gillian was wearing a blue satin evening gown, she was braless, her perky breasts and tight buttocks pushing out the fabric of her gown in all the right places. She was wearing thong panties so as not to spoil the drape of her dress and her uncle's hand drifted to her bottom and stroked it.

"Sorry Uncle Andrew, I've just been so busy," she smiled at him with those luscious red lips and her twinkling blue eyes and all was forgiven.

"You're a naughty girl but then you always have been," he chuckled, squeezing a buttock.

"Don't call me uncle at the club just call me Andy, let's keep this informal. Let's get a table," Andrew picked up their drinks off the bar and Gillian put her arm through the crook of his and led him to quiet corner.

"How are things with Alfonso Carlotta?" Andrew beamed, his eyes locked on her thighs.

She was wearing nude sheer hold-up stockings and silver high heels; her dress had opened when she sat down and she made no effort to close the split that exposed one leg right up to the top of her stocking.

"Cooling," she looked over the rim of her glass at him as she sipped.

"That's how things go with Alfie. He becomes infatuated with a girl and then he adds her to his stable and moves on to the next conquest," Andrew patted her knee.

"Do all his girlfriends end up working at the Fleur de Lis? Is he just a high class pimp?" Gillian asked, but she already knew the answer.

"Au contraire, my little angel. I hear you are being groomed for a higher calling. Amanda Grayson's star is waning whilst yours is just about to bloom," he grinned at her.

"You're mixing your metaphors Andy," she stroked the back of his hand.

"You seem to know a lot about Alfie's business interests," Gillian leaned into him and he inhaled her perfume.

His eyes moved from her thigh to her breasts which were pushing against the fabric of her gown.

"Alfonso and I share many business interests my dear. This is his club but I'm a prime investor," his eyes never left her breasts.

"Then why didn't you offer me a job instead of Alfie?" she leaned back and pulled her dress closed, deliberately teasing her uncle.

"So I'm to offer my sister's daughter a job as a high-priced prostitute? Really?" he seemed a little miffed.

"My parents disowned me when I changed my gender. They don't care what I do and I'm sure you know they despise you, so why should you care?" she picked up her drink and took another sip.

"Besides, I'm not just a high-priced prostitute, I'm understudying the manager of this fine establishment," she thawed and offered her uncle a smile.

"I think your parents disowned you when the police kept coming around asking questions about you allegedly selling drugs on campus and blackmailing your humanities professor," Andrew smiled back at her.

"Oh pish," Gillian waved her hand dismissively.

The professor in question had finally been divorced by his wife and sacked by the university because of his predilection for seducing pretty young students. In a fit of pique he made allegations to the police against Gillian which at first was substantiated by her jilted lover Peter Hosking until he was paid a visit by Terry Belkin. Peter recanted his testimony.