New Order, New Opportunity Pt. 03

Counsel for the Prosecution was starting her summing up. She was obviously confident. The evidence was solid, the witnesses sound. Stearns looked across to the dock where the four defendants sat. From their faces she knew that they had no illusions about avoiding conviction but, thought Catherine, they deserved a fair trial. Counsel for the Defence barely managed to suggest that they might not have been responsible for the plot from the evidence that she had been able to present. She hadn't been able to cross examine the members of the security services, of course and it was difficult to question the accuracy of the telephone intercept transcripts without access to the ways in which they were obtained. She had done what she could, though, thought Catherine. The men should feel that they'd been treated reasonably although, of course, subversives never did. Counsel for the Defence sat down. Justice Stearns turned to the twelve women of the jury and asked them to consider their verdict. They didn't bother to retire for long. They were back in court again ten minutes later. The forewoman stood, ready to deliver their view of the charges. Catherine thought they would have taken a little longer but, after all, it was almost happy hour and there were plenty of bars in the Strand where they would be hoping to relax after their judicial efforts.

"Guilty as charged," the forewoman said.

Catherine Stearns turned to the defendants in the dock. She didn't really have much discretion at this point in proceedings, the sentence for subversion was mandatory even if the other offences didn't demand a custodial sentence. "The four of you have been found guilty of acts that threaten the stability of our society and the elected administration. On the charges of conspiracy you are each sentenced to three years; for concealment of identity, eighteen months and on the charge of subversion as part of a proscribed organisation fifteen years corrective detention without the benefit of consideration for parole. Sentences will run consecutively. I will make a recommendation to the prison authorities that in view of the nature of these offences the defendants should be retained in a high security environment without the benefit of visitors or communications with the outside world. I hope," Justice Stearns said, turning to the public gallery where a few members of the press were sitting, "that these sentences will be seen by any that might consider engaging in such acts, that our society will not tolerate those that wish to disrupt our society." She turned to the court bailiffs. "Take them down." she said. The men were lead away without a word of protest, they had expected no better. Haste watched them go. This would count to her targets this month. The Inspector Of Judiciary would be pleased. She looked around. "Court is dismissed."

"All rise," the court's usher called and Catherine Stearns left the court, heading for her chambers.

She sank down into a large armchair. These cases were always difficult, she thought. Even though the evidence was usually straightforward there was always the risk that the prosecution would slip up and miss something. She tossed her judges wig onto the desk and range for her chamber boy who appeared, scuttling in with her anticipated scotch on a tray and a collection files under his arm. "Tomorrow's case files, your honour," he announced putting the drink down with one hand while he juggled the files with the other."

Catherine sighed. Another group of subversives no doubt. There seemed to be no end to them. "Thank you, Lewis," she said, waving him away. "I'll deal with them later." She downed the scotch. It was a start, she thought but I need more than that to get over the day.

She slipped off her robes, Lewis could see to putting them away. As she stood up she caught sight of herself, reflected in the glass of a picture of the Lady Chief Justice that hung on the wall. A streak of white hair showed on her temples, somehow she looked was less imposing without her wig and robes, more, well, ordinary. But, of course, she thought, that was the idea. Her overcoat was hanging on the door. She pulled it on, grateful for its enveloping anonymity as she turned up the collar grabbed her brown fedora hat and headed out into the street.

Her tread was measured. She knew exactly where she was headed; out of the Law Courts, along Carey Street, across Bell Yard and Chancery Lane, through Rolls Buildings and finally, she allowed herself a laugh, into Fetter Lane.

The door was unremarkable; wooden, painted in black gloss paint, just one of many like it in the street. A press of the button at the side of the door was followed by the distant sound of a buzz from inside. It was always the same. By the time she got here her mouth was dry, her breathing shallower. The door clicked and she knew it would open when she pressed it. Inside it was warm and darkly opulent; deep red carpet on the stairs, lamps bright enough to show the way but little more. At the top the small room where they always greeted her. Nevin, the slim, dark lad with green eyes sat behind the desk gave a smile of recognition as she put her coat alongside the others on the hooks on the wall.

She always thought of him as Puck. There was something slightly sinister behind Nevin's smile, something mischievous, something disordered. "Bad day? I'm sure we can help," he said and disappeared through a curtain behind his desk. Moments passed. Catherine grew tenser with anticipation and the fear of someone else arriving; someone that she recognised or, worse still, that recognised her. Nevin reappeared holding aloft the two keys that she craved. She took the fifty pound notes from her purse and pushed them toward him with one hand, snatching greedily at the keys with the other. "Tut, tut," Nevin chided, "so eager."

Catherine narrowed her eyes. Nevin relented. Catherine sometimes wondered whether he was truly, as reputed, a eunuch. An entire male would never be allowed such liberty. She took the keys.

"Number four," said Nevin holding back the curtain for her. More dark red carpet, more muted lamps, each door with a single key hole and a single number. Catherine took the larger key and unlocked door number four. Inside the room was darker still, smelling of incense and there in the corner was what she had come for. The male stood silent against the far wall. As was always the case here his eyes were covered with a leather pad that made sure he knew nothing of those he so ably served. His wrists were shackled behind his back. Nevin knew she preferred things that way. He was naked apart from the leather pouch secured in place covering his genitals with two small brass padlocks.

Catherine ran her hands across his muscled, oiled chest, savouring the sensation of his firm and warm flesh. She let her finger drift across the muscles of his neck and steered him towards the couch, all the time her pulse rising and her breathing becoming deeper as her own expectations aroused her. It was hard to tell whether he was responding to her touch and he said nothing but Catherine cared little. He followed her lead, lying down on the couch as her hand pressed him gently back.

As he sank back against the cool brown leather of the couch, Catherine's tongue ran across her lips, she fumbled with the smaller of the two keys, first of all failing to fit it into one of the two padlocks then succeeding and springing the hasp of the lock free allowing her to pull it clear of one of the studs that held the man's black leather cod piece in place. The second key slid into the second lock with more certainty. As she pulled the leather aside the man's cock, it folded out to meet her, already stiff, already swelling. She looked at it, greedy for the taste, greedy for the sensation in her mouth, caring not at all for what any would think of her for indulging in what was coarsely called 'prick-sex'. His cock and balls were hairless, oiled and scented with cinnamon. As she knelt beside him, a position, no woman would normally consider acceptable these days, she stroked and caressed the man's member. It stiffened and grew further. Eventually she could contain herself no more and bent her head towards it hungrily, licking sucking and filling her mouth with the sensation of the man's rigid flesh.

He grunted, pushing forward against her, pressing his cock deeper into her mouth and throat. Sometimes she even liked to have the man hold her head here, stopping her from taking it away. Today though. with his wrists shackled, she could enjoy the sensations without the sense of guilt that always came if she allowed herself to be forced in any way. As she worked her mouth she could feel the man coming close to orgasm. Her rational mind told her that his performance was drug enhanced but her irrational feelings didn't care. She licked sucked and caressed his cock all the more, finally being rewarded with the spasm or orgasm and the squirt of jism into her mouth. As he came she pulled her head back letting his cum smear across her face, streaking his cock with her mascara as she wiped his pulsing member over herself. The man grunted but said nothing, lying back as Catherine sank onto her haunches beside him, pushing her fingers up beneath her skirt driving them into her own sex in the quest for her own orgasm. Her whimpered climax left her sated for a short moment as she sat on the floor but then the sense of satisfaction gave way to a post-orgasmic chill as she felt the cooling of the man's cum drying on her face, and her own sweat soaking out from her body and into her clothes, perfuming her with the scent of dissoluteness. She closed her eyes for a moment but then the sense of calm was gone and she wanted to be gone too.

She closed up the man's cod piece, fastened the padlocks once more and left him. There was a small washroom at the end of the corridor where she took a minute to wash her face, comb her hair and reapply her makeup. She checked her appearance. Once more she was the professional woman, the calm and conventional pillar of society. She left the washroom and followed the corridor around to the where it passed the rear of the reception room. She could hear Nevin talking to another customer on the far side of the curtain. The exchange between them sounded like the words that she and he had exchanged such a short time ago.

Nevin, sensing she was there came back through the curtain. She handed him the keys. "Satisfactory, your ladyship?" he asked.

Catherine never knew whether this form of address was sarcasm, politeness, or recognition. But that was Nevin; a feast of contradictions and confusion. As she left him, she was wondering when next she would feel the need to be back here.

Chapter 9 : The Hot Tub

Tanya Charles was entertaining two of her most helpful contacts. She had long known that success in selling to the public sector came from cultivating a network of those that could influence or inform as much as those that actually made the decisions. Chief Inspector Adrienne Costa and Maggie Forbush from the Ministry of Internal Affairs had been happy to take advantage of Tanya's invitation. After all it wasn't often they got the chance to visit the sort of places that Tanya's expense account could afford.

They had met up in Green's Oyster Bar in St James to kick the evening off but then they had moved on to The Hot Tub. Built in the style of a Roman Bath, The Hot Tub offered a bathing and clubbing experience like no other. In the columned central hall of the club the three women were immersed, each in their own personal spa bath. The brass trimmed, teak clad tubs and marbled walls gave the place an opulent feel. The staff of the club were some of the most attractive boys that could be found in London, oiled, tanned and shaved smooth. Clad in short Greek style costumes that barely covered their private parts, they wound their way between the tubs serving drinks and otherwise bringing the members whatever they required.

The club had a reputation for a steamy atmosphere, as much for the goings on between the clientele and the staff as for the temperature and humidity inside.

"I owe you a thank you," Tanya said to Inspector Costa as the two of them took sips of champagne that was quickly giving up its chill to the warmth of the tub room.

"For what?"

"Leonard," Tanya said. "James Leonard." Adrienne Costa looked blank for a moment. "The solitary, your people were interviewing him..."

"Oh, yes. I'd forgotten. Don't worry about it. We didn't really have anything much on him. A couple of my team were a bit pissed to be called off -- they'd put some effort in to setting him up -- but they'll get over it. I'm sure they'll find another way of meeting their arrest quota. Besides," she lounged back, took another swig from her glass and the opportunity to fondle a passing waiter, "I'm always happy to do you a favour Tanya."

Tanya smiled and thanked her. She turned to Maggie Forbush. "How does this compare with the Ministry Club?"

"Let's just say it's rather more comfortable." Maggie emptied her glass. "And with a better class of distraction." Almost before she had put it down a bronzed waiter was at her side offering to refill it. The steam wafted up from the tubs and hung in a cloud across the room. Maggie had long since given up the task of trying to keep her spectacles clear, but with all the champagne she had drunk, she wasn't sure that the view would be very much clearer if she had. The towel that she had wound turban-style around her head lurched to one side. Maggie giggled involuntarily and pushed it back into place.

"And how is the Minister getting on with her 'demonstrator'? Has she shared him around the department?"

"You are joking! She seems to be happy enough but the best we can do is a fumble from one of the Government Facilities Service bunch. There's no way that a civil service pay packet can let you fund your own sponsorship programme. We have to make do with what we can get."

"Poor thing," Tanya sympathised. "Is it as bad in the police?"

"It is if you want to stay away from the customers! We don't even have males around the stations these days -- viewed as a security risk. I can understand it but it's no fun!"

"That's what I thought. It's why I've got us some places in the Sweat Box."

Maggie and Adrienne both gave Tanya a look that said, "We're impressed!"

"All right, I know. I've just got some good contacts. I'm, looking forward to this as much as you. Shall we go down now?"

The other two nodded eagerly, looking forward to the experience. The chance to visit one of the capital's most exclusive pleasure centres wasn't one to be delayed. Tanya stood up to climb from her tub. Without anyone uttering a word, three of the Hot Tub attendants appeared with towelling robes to drape around the three naked girls. Tanya led the way towards the stairway the led down between two great marble columns at the far end of the hall. All three women enjoyed the mixed looks of envy and admiration that they received from the others in the hall as they were allowed through onto the staircase down to the Sweat Box. Almost at once their anticipation was rewarded. Two TV personalities, renowned for their raunchy treatment of topics, and repeatedly mentioned in the popular press for their licentious behaviour, edged by them on the stairs.

The Sweat Box was well named; hot and dark, it gained its name as much from the sexual tension generated inside it as from the effect of the hot dry air within it. A bar ran the length of the long side wall, clusters of couches and comfortable chairs spread around the rest of the room. There were two rules in the Sweat Box. You left your own man or men at the door (if you brought them) and you never talked about what went on to anyone that was not there. In return you had the opportunity to engage in almost any socially acceptable sexual pursuit and, for a woman in the world of New Order, that meant almost anything.

Tanya, Maggie and Adrienne took themselves off to one of the clusters of couches. Almost at once three Sweat Box attendants appeared. "Any preferences?" asked Tanya.

The three young men, perhaps only twenty two or three years old stood quietly by the couches. Each was naked from the waist up apart from the leather harness that criss-crossed their chest. Each waited for their instruction.

"Well I'm old fashioned," said Adrienne, "a few years of walking the beat means I'm always glad to have my feet pleasured. Perhaps this young man could oblige me." She beckoned the first of the attendants to her side. Knowing what was expected of him, he commenced a careful and thorough foot massage combining the skills of his fingers, his lips and his tongue on Adrienne's feet.

"I think my one can start a little higher up," Maggie smiled with anticipation. As her choice knelt beside her she parted her towelling robe and guided his head towards her crotch. As she spread her legs his tongue darted forward in search of her sex.

Tanya watched as the two women surrendered themselves to the delights of their Sweat Box attendants. She took her own by the hand and guided him until his lips were on her breasts, sucking and kissing and nibbling at her nipples.

The conversation between the three women became intermittent. They even lost interest in the comings (if that was the word) and goings of the Sweat Box's celebrity clientele. A film actress, a well known multi-millionairess, a member of the upper parliament, each were hosting their own group enjoying the amusements on hand in the Sweat Box.

Maggie gave a whimpering snort as her attendant burrowed deeper into her sex with his tongue. His rhythmic lapping was serving to drive her closer and closer to orgasm as she stretched herself back pushing her hips forward to press her sex against his face. Adrienne, seeing the amusement that Maggie was deriving, gripped her own attendant by the back of the neck and pulled his head upwards, directing him towards the same activities. Tanya, taking care to make sure that her guests were enjoying things as much as they could, paused in her own amusements. She pulled her attendant closer to her, pulling him away from her nipples and pressing his face into her cleavage. She looked across to where Maggie and Adrienne were both groaning with pleasure.

Tanya's attendant gave a muffled gasp from between her tits, half suffocated by being held into her cleavage. Tanya giggled and released the man. "I have to go to the girls' room," she whispered to him. "You make yourself busy with my friend Maggie. Get your tongue up between her arse cheeks and help her up a step or two." The man began to move across towards the other two women. "Good boy," Tanya said, as she stood up. "If my friends have a really good time, they'll be little extra in your tip."

By the time Tanya got back, Maggie and Adrienne were sprawled in post orgasmic dissipation; the three attendants beside them. With Tanya's return, the three rolled across to her couch. Looking at her two guests, she waved the men away. They had done all that was needed of them for the evening. Tanya was pleased; she earned a few favours from the other two tonight but there would be time enough to discuss that another day. She poured herself another drink and stretched out on her couch. It had been a productive evening.

***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** *****

Geoff, Zak and Pete had finished fixing the leak in the ladies shower room down in the gym complex. It had been a long job -- or at least they'd managed to make it so -- but luckily Kath wasn't chasing them, so they were taking their time to get their tools together.

"Things working out all right, you and Kath?" Zak asked Geoff. He and Pete half hoped that Geoff's involvement with their boss might in some way provide some protection for the rest of them.