Jessie Palmer Ch. 01

But when she tried to step past the strong guard, Monika's large hands grabbed her and pushed her back against the wall.

"Ya go when I say," she snapped, grabbing both of Claire's wrists in one hand.

She dragged her arms up above her head, holding them against the wall as her free hand reached for the front of Claire's blouse, squeezing one breast and then the other through the material.

"No," she gasped, trying to pull her hands away from Monika's strong grip.

It was an impossible task. The woman was much too powerful for her. When she dipped her head forward as if she was going to kiss her, Claire jerked her head to one side, away from hers.

"Playin' hard to get?" Monika teased, her mouth only a fraction away. "Or do ya just like it a bit rough?"

She forcefully squeezed one breast again, making Claire wince. And yet the sensation as she ran her thumb back and forth over her prominent nipple through the material elicited a moan. Oh God. The feeling went straight down between her thighs.

"You can't do this," she gasped, almost pleading.

There was nothing but amused contempt in Monika's gaze. She had Claire under her control and she knew it.

"I can do anything I want," she snapped back. "For a start, I can show the other guards what ya got up to in the toilets. They'd like to see that. So why don't ya be a good girl while this black woman checks just how much Laura got to ya."

Claire closed her eyes and thought about screaming as she felt the woman push a dark hand under her skirt. But what good would that do? She would probably cover her mouth with her palm to quiet her. Then what? Hurt her?

Besides, she couldn't afford for anyone to find out what had happened in the ladies. Her chance to progress the story would be gone. She'd be ridiculed.

Her heart was practically leaping through her chest as Monika worked her thick fingers inside her thong. Her face was so close to Claire's that she could feel her hot breath on her cheek. To her shame, when the woman stroked her probing fingers across her wet labia, she let out a little whimper.

"Now lookee at that," the guard triumphantly breathed. "All nice and wet. Gagging for it..."

It was insane, but Claire realised the woman was half-right. She was straight—she had always been straight—and yet there wasn't any doubt that the fear she was feeling was tinged with arousal.

Monika stroked her one final time before pulling her hand away and holding up her juice-covered fingers in front of Claire's face. One by one, she slowly sucked each of them into her mouth.

"Tastes real good," she said, flicking her tongue across her thick lips. "Wanna see how wet Monika is?"

Even as she asked the question, her fingers were flicking open the top button on her uniform trousers. Grabbing Claire's wrist again, she pulled the reporters hand inside the gap, covering it with her own as she worked it down inside her panties.

"Don't move your hand," she snapped, as Claire tried in vain to pull her fingers away. "Or else. Ya understand."

Claire nodded weakly. She asked herself what choice did she have? And yet, it was impossible to deny that there was something undeniably thrilling about touching another woman's sex. Especially under duress.

"Can ya feel how wet I am, Jessie?" Monika asked.

Claire nodded again. The woman was dripping. Because of what she'd watched on her monitors? Or could it be the arousal of the moment? Then it hit her that the guard had called her Jessie. That meant she had definitely listened to her conversation with Laura. Maybe that was a way of coping with the situation? Play the part? Take on the role of the actress?

What was her name again? Jessie ... Palmer?

"Do exactly what my hand tells ya to do," Monika told her, the words coming out in short breathy gasps.

Her dark hand was moving on Claire's now, forcing her fingers to caress her sex. Her hips were moving in a gentle backwards and forwards rhythm and her breathing was a tad heavier. Then she was curling her hand, coercing the reporter to do the same, lining up two of Claire's fingers and pushing them inside her.

"Oh fuck ... that feels good. Ya want this, ya little white bitch, I know ya do."

No. No, no she didn't. It was the last thing that Claire wanted. And yet there was no doubt about it. The sublime feeling of Monika's strong internal muscles as they clenched around her fingers was unbelievably erotic.

"Look into my eyes," Monika told her, gripping the back of Claire's long hair with her free hand. She roughly tugged her head around as she began to move her hips faster on the reporter's fingers. "Look into my eyes..."

As Claire obeyed, the aroused look on the guard's face was another unexpected thrill. Her eyes were narrowed. Her half-open lips were curled and her breath was definitely coming faster. Was she going to cum? That thought set off a bewildering series of electric-type tingles between her own thighs.

Monika had moved her own hand now, still holding Claire's wrist but allowing her captive's fingers unencumbered access to masturbate her.

Claire thought about stopping, pulling away, but what was the use? Monika would only force her hand back again. Moreover, as much as she hated to admit it, the thought of taking the guard to an orgasm was beginning to overwhelm her senses.

She curled her fingers inside the woman's dripping wet black sex, moving them faster and meeting every forward pump of Monika's hips with a thrust of her hand. From the changing expression on the guard's face, it was clear she was close. Very close.

Her eyes had nearly closed. Her tongue was flicking across her thick lips. Heated moans were escaping her mouth, and her hips were thrusting back and forward like pistons.

"Oh shit ... oh shit..."

Claire felt the woman's insides grip her fingers as her climax suddenly consumed her. Monika's whole body had arched back before going rigid and her eyeballs were rolling in their sockets.

Claire bit her lip as her own body trembled. Was she cumming, too? Without even touching herself? No, that was impossible. But as amazing as it was, the sensations created by taking this woman to an orgasm felt good. So fucking good.

Then suddenly she was free. Monika had let go of her hand and was still panting as the after-shocks reverberated around her tattooed body. She twisted away and grabbed her bag before rushing towards the door without even a backward glance, hearing the cackle of laughter behind her.

"Make sure ya come back and see Monika any time," she heard the guard mockingly shout as she made her escape.

THE NEXT DAY

Daniel Moseley picked up the dirty mug next to him and took a sip of lukewarm coffee while he stared at Claire. It was one of those stares that made her fear the worst.

"So, that little nose of yours has sniffed something out?"

She wondered if she looked guilty under her editor's appraising gaze. Rumour had it he could read his reporters minds.

"Instinct tells me there's something more to this," she said, hoping it was the kind of thing an experienced reporter would say.

"Instinct," he repeated, chuckling to himself as he slurped more coffee from his mug. "Fucking instinct..."

She'd briefed him on her meeting with Laura—the condensed version, of course. The teenager's masturbation in front of her, her own indiscretion in the ladies room, and her subsequent encounter with Monika would remain her secret forever.

Nor had she made him aware that Melissa Rhodes paid Laura for sex. Allegedly. If he got so much as a sniff of that he'd give the investigation to a more experienced reporter.

She had to walk the fine line between keeping him interested enough to let her stay with it without disclosing the true nature of the story. And the way to do that was to suggest there may be more to what had happened between Laura and Melissa Rhodes than met the eye. She just needed more time to prove it.

For a newspaper, the chance of uncovering anything where a politician was concerned was too good to pass up...

"So what does Miss Instincts propose?" he rasped, his tired eyes staring at her over the top of his glasses.

Claire's heart pounded faster. The question suggested he was going to let her stay with the story. For the time being anyway.

"I'll speak to the guy whose number Laura gave me," she enthusiastically said. "Leroy. See what comes of that."

"And then?"

Claire hesitated. She didn't have a next step. Or did she?

"Maybe get an interview with Melissa Rhodes," she suggested, carefully watching Moseley's eyes to gauge his reaction. "I could mention Laura and see what sort of response I get."

The editor laughed out loud and then pointed his gnarled finger at her again.

"You don't fucking go near Melissa Rhodes," he snapped. "Geez, you think I'd let a cub reporter loose on her? Follow up your lead, see what you come up with, and then come back and talk to me. Then we'll decide if there's a next step."

----------

Making contact with Leroy hadn't been easy. Claire had telephoned him several times and left a couple of messages before he'd unexpectedly returned her call.

"Tonight," he'd simply said. "Come to the Fat Pussycat club in West London. Ten o'clock. I'll give ya half an hour."

So here she was, nervously entering the nightclub and wondering what she was letting herself in for.

It had occurred to her on the way there that that Leroy hadn't even asked why she was interested in meeting him. The only conclusion was that he'd spoken to Laura, or got a message from her. Why else would he be so willing to meet?

But on the other hand, she'd asked for Claire to keep her name out of it. It was another fine line she was treading.

She knew nothing about the guy; except that Laura had told her he 'knows everything' and 'looks after the girls'. What exactly did that mean? She'd already worked out that the Olivia woman must be running a prostitution ring, and that meant she was entering dangerous territory. But how could she not follow up something as potentially sensational as this?

Laura had said it was up to her to get him to talk. 'My advice is to wear something sexy when you meet.'

After half a dozen changes of mind, she'd eventually settled on her tight black dress. The only question she asked herself was whether it was too sexy. Right now, she was wishing she'd worn a bra.

She asked one of the bartenders to point out 'someone called Leroy' and he gave a weird kind of grin before glancing towards the end of the bar. The African guy watching her was distinguishable by his thick, bushy black hair and he shot Claire an off-centre smile before turning away.

Keep your nerve, she told herself as she meekly walked behind him through to the back of the club. She thought they were going to some kind of room, but to her surprise he pushed through an exit door and into a dimly lit courtyard.

"My office," he grinned, speaking for the first time. There was a distinct Caribbean lilt to his voice. "We won't be disturbed here."

Claire felt another shiver pass through her as she glanced around the tiny area. It was clear he wanted the meeting out of the public eye and that gave her hope that he might have something to tell her. At the same time, she instantly realised how isolated she was...

"So, Laura tells me ya want to see Leroy," he said, letting the exit door close behind them with a heavy thump.

Claire hesitated. She was supposed to be keeping Laura's name out of this.

"What did she say?" she asked.

The question was met with a quiet chuckle.

"I'm the one who asks the questions, Missy," he told her. "What did she tell ya about me?"

"She said that you looked after Olivia's girls," Claire truthfully answered. "That you might tell me something about what's going on."

"Goin' on?" he repeated, chuckling a little louder. "We jus' make people's lives a little happier that's all. Ya thinkin' about joinin' the clan?"

"Excuse me?"

"Ya know," he drawled, his gaze eventually rising from Claire's unfettered tits to her face. "Ya askin' about Olivia's girls so ya either wanna be one, or pay for the use of one. Which is it?"

Claire hesitated, wondering what Laura had said about her. The teenager had told her to tell him she was interested in getting in the business. But that was a step too far, wasn't it?

"Let's just say I'm interested in all aspects," she non-committedly said, refusing to meet his eyes.

Not that it mattered. He seemed to be talking to her tits half the time. Her nipples were prominent through the thin black material and she wished she hadn't dressed so provocatively.

"Is that right?" he murmured, the words coming from the corner of his mouth in true gangster style. "A few girls start out that way, testing things out before joinin' the clan. Ya realise that if I do help ya, we do this on my terms, or not at all. This is my territory. Understand?"

Claire nodded, feeling a surge of relief flood through her. Whatever his terms were, she would have to find a way of getting Donald Moseley to sign off the payment. That could be difficult, but she wasn't going to back down now. She felt as if she was moving closer to getting what she wanted.

"Okay," he slowly said, as if he'd just come to the decision. "So what if Leroy gives you access to one of the other girls. That would help?"

Claire nodded eagerly. Was it really going to be this simple? The story was going to make her name. She could feel it in her bones.

The African smiled at her enthusiastic reaction and pulled what she thought was a cigarette from his top pocket. But when he lit it, the noxious odour of blueberry headies told her it was anything but. When he took a long rag on the joint, the tip shone bright orange in the semi-dark.

"I could do that, Missy," he said, undressing her with his narrow eyes again as he took another drag on the joint. "But ya know, in my work I have to be very careful..."

Claire could smell the aroma floating in the air between them. The smell wasn't that unpleasant.

"Ya understand I can't put myself in a vulnerable position. I have a lot to lose if ya not what ya say ya are."

Shit. She should have known it couldn't be as easy as it seemed. He didn't know her. Why should he trust her? She played the only trump card she had.

"I thought that Laura had vouched for me?"

His thoughtful smile didn't touch his eyes.

"Laura said ya'd prove yaself," he countered, the words coming from the corner of his mouth again. "Ya think ya can do that?"

"Prove myself?"

Pin pricks of frustration ran across her body. What was he looking for? The only ID she had on her would show she was a journalist and she couldn't show him that.

"That's what I said," he drawled. "The thing is, what if ya a cop?"

Claire shook her head disdainfully, but she could feel the blush tinge her cheeks. Thank goodness it was semi-dark out there. The idea was absurd, but how could she prove that?

"Do I look like a cop?" she asked, speaking more confidently than she felt.

"Cops come in all shapes and sizes, Missy," he said, with a shrug. "I've had a few."

He'd had a few? What exactly did that mean?

"Look, I'm not a cop, Leroy," she repeated, trying to control the heavy beat of her heart.

It occurred to me that if she had been a cop, this was probably exactly how she'd have gone about setting him up. She couldn't show him her ID so he had to take her at face value. Stay calm, she told herself. Stay cool. Use her connection with Laura.

"Laura knows I'm not with the police," she blurted, trying to keep the desperation out of her voice. "You have my word that I'm not."

He took another drag of the joint before laughing.

"Your word, Missy?" he said dismissively. "Ya think someone's word counts for anything around here? And Laura's a good girl, but she's been known to make a few errors of judgment. So how about this..."

He plucked the joint from his lips and held it out.

"Take a hit."

Claire stared at him. She'd never done drugs of any sort in her life and despite the circumstances, wasn't going to start now.

"I don't," she said, shaking her head.

Leroy's gaze didn't flicker.

"Ya misunderstand me," he said, still holding the joint out. "It's not a request."

Claire stared at the joint before meeting his eyes again. She didn't do drugs. This wasn't her.

"Look—" she began, trying to find the right words.

She needed to find a way out, a compromise. But the hard stare Leroy was giving her brooked no argument.

"It's simple," he told her, cutting off her protest before it got started. "If ya not a cop, then I need ya to prove it. If ya don't, this conversation is finished."

Claire hesitated for a few seconds more and then boldly reached out to take the cigarette from his fingers. She was in danger of compromising every single one of her principles, but if she was to gain access to the information she needed, what choice did she have?

"That's it," he told her, taking advantage of the indecision written all over her face. "Show Leroy ya on the level. Take a hit."

She closed her eyes as she placed the joint between her lips. If this was what it took, so be it. She could return to her principles tomorrow. But when she took a drag, the acrid smoke filling her lungs sent her into a sudden coughing fit.

Leroy just stood there, watching her with an amused grin on his face until she was able to recover a little.

"Slowly," he told her, nodding at the joint between her fingers. "Inhale slowly, let it out slowly. Try again."

Claire's eyes were watering, but despite her reservations she followed his instructions. Good journalists did what they had to do. Take another drag to prove she wasn't a cop, and then get the fuck out of there.

"That's better," he drawled as she exhaled.

She gave a sigh of relief as the second drag was much easier than the first. Better, even. A warm feeling was slowly descending, engulfing her mind as well as her body.

Leroy grinned at her as he took the joint from her fingers and flicked it into gutter beside them. Her head was hazy. Everything seemed brighter now.

"One more thing, Missy," he drawled. "I jus' wanna make sure ya not wired, okay?"

Claire nodded slowly but her head was becoming fuzzier by the second. It wasn't easy to think straight. Is that what cannabis did to you? She'd only had a couple of drags.

Even as she tried to clear her head, his dark hands were on the shoulder straps of her dress. With a rough tug, he yanked them downwards, exposing her breasts to the cold night air. She gasped as her nipples hardened further. Then his hands were on her, taking each of her breasts in his palms and sampling their shape and firmness as if he was handling two pieces of ripe fruit.

"Nice tits," she heard him drawl. "Nice and perky. Real nice..."

Part of her knew that she should have objected. He hadn't needed to do that, had he? Surely he could see she wasn't wired? But the feeling in her head was so fluffy. When his thumbs flicked over her erect nipples, she even had to choke back a moan.

"Okay..." he quietly said.

His voice seemed a long way away and that Caribbean accent sounded even thicker than before.

"Ya not wired and ya not a cop. I'll set up a meeting with another one of the girls. But first Leroy wants his payment. Understand?"

No. No, she didn't. She hadn't brought much money with her and couldn't pay him. Besides, they hadn't agreed an amount.

"Sure ya do, Missy," he soothingly murmured, unfastening the belt of his trousers. "I told ya, this is my territory, and my rules. Always remember that..."

----------

Everything was happening so quickly that Claire didn't have time to think, let alone resist. Leroy's hands were on her shoulders, pushing her downwards before she could fully appreciate what was happening. Before she knew it, she was on her knees, confronted by the most wonderfully large black cock.