Palmer Ch. 09

Strut, darling. Strut,Erin had coached her that morning.Show attitude. Work it. Own it.She had. The narrow platform was her new home and she loved it.

"Perfect, babe," Brooke whispered, when Kelli returned backstage from the second rehearsal. "You look like you were born to be here!"

"That's how I feel, Brooke," she whispered back. "I don't feel like the new girl at all. I love it here."

"Okay, for the final rehearsal, make sure you take more notice of the photographers pit at the end of the runway. Pretend they're there. Those photogs can make or break you. Develop a haughty look designed to tease and tame. Attitude, baby. Attitude is everything!"

"How many will there be?"

Brooke gave a gurgling laugh. "Two to three hundred I would think. They set their cameras up in 'AI Servo' mode so they can take continuous bursts of us as we glide along the catwalk. You do that so well, honey. But when you get to the end, always remember. Hand on hip, haughty look. Something special. That's what gets you noticed."

Kelli's eyes sparkled. "Got ya. I'll think of something."

The young raven-haired model nodded. "You pick up stuff so quickly, Kelli. A girl with beautyandbrains! There aren't many of us around with that combination."

Both women burst out laughing, and then Brooke's hand was snaking around her neck, drawing her into a kiss. Kelli returned it, once again enjoying how soft another woman's lips could feel against hers.

The raven-haired woman's eyes widened mischievously. Her head scanned the corridor, settling on a small changing room to the side.

Her voice growled as she pulled the blonde along behind her. "Come with me."

Inside the small area, she pushed Kelli back against the wooden panel. Instantly attacking her, she practically mauled the blonde's face as they kissed. Her right hand laced through the wavy, golden tresses as she stood on her tiptoes and pushed her mouth harder against the novice model.

"Just time for a little, much needed relief," she murmured into the blonde's open mouth.

Their tongues swarmed and devoured one another with an intensity born of the situation and the moment. Brooke pulled Kelli's hand inside her robe, jamming it down the front of her delicious little pair of boy-shorts.

"Oh fuck!" she moaned, feeling the blonde's fingers find their way inside her pussy for the very first time. When Kelli curled them, she cried out into the blonde's mouth as she succumbed to an unexpectedly instant orgasm.

"Geez, girl, you're good," she moaned, quickly recovering.

Her own hand moved now, dipping inside Kelli's thong, and sliding them across her sensitive mound. It was the first time that anyone but her had touched the smooth skin since she'd had it waxed bare, and Brooke seemed to know exactly what to do. The knowing fingers homed in on the pink nub of Kelli's naked clit. When she pinched it, the blonde's entire body rocked; a mini-orgasm crashed through her.

Panting heavily, the two women stared at one another as they recovered. Remarkably, their needs had been attended to in the first sixty seconds. But that was just the first round.

"One all," Brooke's teasing voice purred as Kelli tried to come down from the high. "Let's see who can make it two."

She slid two fingers along the blonde's deliciously wet slit, her relentlessly invading digits going straight to work. Kelli arched backwards against the wooden panel, supporting herself while her hips danced to the tune Brooke was playing.

Then she got in on it, too. "Bet I can get you there first," she moaned teasingly into the short and curvy female's ear.

Brooke gasped in surprise as Kelli's fingers returned to her sex. The blonde pulled on the scorpion piercing that hung off her clit, nearly driving her over the edge. "You're one sexy bitch for such an innocent," she purred, biting down on the blonde's earlobe.

Kelli smiled through the aroused haze. Yes, she was learning fast. She corkscrewed three fingers into the raven-haired model's fleshy well, feeling the telltale response as Brooke began the up-and-down momentum of her delectable hips. Keeping up the pressure, she twisted them. Once, twice, three times.

When she thumbed the pocket dynamo's exposed clit, Brooke simply exploded. "Ngh! Kelliiiiiiii. Fuuuuuuck!"

The blonde's free arm supported the shuddering body against hers. Yes, she was learning fast.

When Brooke had recovered, she gave Kelli a long kiss of gratitude before whispering seductively into her ear, "Looks like you win round two..."

Before the blonde had to ask what she won, Brooke was lowering herself to her knees, taking the other woman's thong with her. Grinning at from the floor, the brunette positioned Kelli's leg over one shoulder, opening her sweet, pink lips before her luminous eyes.

At first she teased and toyed, curling the blade of her tongue up along the blonde's moist labia, licking it like a twist of soft-serve ice cream. Her wet touched swirled just off of the girl's swollen clit, dancing on the skin where her blonde landing strip once sat.

Kelli rocked her hips forward, using the leg draped over Brooke to try and get leverage. It almost worked. For a second, clit touched lips and she gasped. Brooke quickly pulled away, just out of reach.

"Naughty girl," she clucked. "You know what we do with naughty girls?" As she said it, she rammed two fingers into Kelli's sweet cleft. The blonde nearly lost it.

When Brooke swept her tongue along her throbbing, pink button, she did.

***

As he regained consciousness, Palmer couldn't decide which part of his body ached the most. It took him a short time to realise his hands were bound. And his feet! He slowly opened his eyes. Pain flared across his forehead. Nausea swum around his head. The slow rocking of the floor suggested he was on a boat.

He had to close his eyes again. For a few moments he lay still. It was like he was on a boat, only the dizzy rocking was inside his head.

He allowed his senses to return. Slowly. Opening his eyes again, blinked. It was like watching a snow covered world through the labouring paddles of a windshield wiper. Grey. Everywhere, he saw grey... concrete?

Concrete. Yes. A cold, concrete floor and... a wall behind him. Tall enough to disappear into the darkness. Rafters were up there. A corrugated ceiling?

With great effort, he turned his head, looking right. He was in a large, dirty looking space. Full of concrete blocks. Disused warehouse, perhaps? How'd they get him out Roxanne's without alerting Ted Jobson?

He looked left, coming face-to-face with a short, bald-headed man, squatting low and watching him.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," Toby Parkinson sneered. "For a short time anyway."

The voice was high pitched, unsuited for the pitbull of a man. His laugh was a cackle. It hurt his throbbing head, although Palmer wouldn't have liked it under normal circumstances.

Focus, Palmer, focus.Everything was important now. Everything around him. Hear what he's saying. Look for a way out.

"It needed two of you to take me out?" he provoked, with more bravado than he felt. His eyes flicked over to the nearly identical looking man sitting on a small, concrete block. He'd seen lots of thugs like these two in his career.

"Oh, yes," Parkinson smirked. "Didn't want to take any chances with a tough cop." There was that cackle again. "How rude, let me introduce ourselves. I'm your soon-to-be executioner. On my left is my brother. He's the one you thumped in the balls. He'll be repaying the compliment before you die."

Die? Palmer's body shuddered as the word ran through him. If they were willing to take out a cop in cold blood, whatever he and the Vice team had stumbled on was even more serious than he'd imagined.

"Get a seat for our guest," the pitbull told his brother.

The thinner version grinned as he languidly rose to his feet, wandering the short distance to what looked like the shell of an office. He returned with a rickety, wooden chair in need of varnish.

"Here, make yourself comfortable," pitbull snarled, grabbing Palmer by the lapels of his short, leather jacket and roughly yanking him onto the worse-for-wear chair.

The thug untied the rope around his wrists, but before the young cop could react, his right hand was secured to one arm of the chair. Then his left. The young cop's vision wobbled with each motion, bile hitting his throat. The room went in and out of focus.

"You can't avoid death," pitbull continued, happy with his work. He lit a cheroot as he spoke. "But you can save yourself a lot of pain. One simple question. Where's the woman?"

When Palmer didn't reply, Parkinson smiled at his brother. It was an ominous smirk. The thinner man covered the short distance and applied pressure to the nerves just above Palmer's right elbow. Pain fired down his arm, stopping only when it hit his fingertips.

"A simple exercise to demonstrate what's in store," pitbull sneered, scratching his large, baldhead with a thick, grubby hand. "We can make this as easy, or as painful as you want, my friend. You decide."

Palmer didn't answer. His eyes flicked around the room, looking for something, anything, that would offer him some hope.

"No?" Parkinson nodded his brother again.

The thug pressed a forefinger into a nerve beside Palmer's left eye. The cop nearly passed out from the instant, excruciating pain.

Pitbull took a deep draw from the cheroot, as if he was having a casual conversation with a friend. "We have all day. This is only the start. Believe me, sooner or later you'll tell us. It's just a matter of time."

A throbbing darkness threatened to engulf Palmer. He couldn't speak, even if he wanted. It was difficult getting his brain to function through the pain. He dragged the vision from his good eye back to the brothers. They were grinning.

"The longer the better," Parkinson continued, taking another long puff. "More pain that way, you see. Tommy enjoys inflicting pain." He laughed. "Or rather, you don't see. Not out of one eye, anyway."

Responding to another nod, Tommy's hand returned to the nerve beside his left eye. Palmer screamed this time, instantly vomiting onto his now grubby clothes.

"Dear me," the pitbull's voice said. In the hazy darkness in front of his eyes, he could no longer see the thug. "Quite a mess. And we're only just starting. Let me ask again. Where is Roxanne?"

The young detective remained silent. He couldn't answer. He was retching again, hovering on the very edge of consciousness.

The sudden burning pain in his hand halted the onsurge of woozy darkness, somehow jerking him back to the present. It took a good few seconds to realise that the pitbull had stubbed the stogie into the back of his right hand.

The burning pain helped him find his voice again, even if the words did come through gritted teeth. "Fuck you..."

With a soft smile, Parkinson repeated the exercise, the stench of burning flesh suddenly reaching Palmer's nostrils as he fought to stifle another scream.

"Everyone loves a hero, don't they, Tommy?" pitbull grinned at his brother.

The thinner man returned the smile. He pulled out a gun, waving it with a flourish before jamming it against the side of Palmer's head.

The young detective closed his eyes, waiting for the sound of the bullet. The sound that would tell him everything was over. Any second, now. At least he hadn't told them a damn thing.

It didn't come. Instead, he caught sight of a flailing arm. The butt of the gun crashed down on the fingers of his left hand. His grunt of pain echoed around the large, empty space. When the thug repeated the action on the back of his hand, his scream of pain replaced the grunt.

It filled the air a brief second before the blackness overtook him again.

***

This was it. All the models were lined up. Ready to take their turn to strut as soon as the lights went down. The music was already blaring, a low, bassy throb. To Kelli, it was like the roar of an engine, starting up. It was mere seconds before the show commenced.

All crammed together, Kelli stood immediately behind Brooke. Her closeness to her raven-haired friend helped. Gave her some comfort. She closed her eyes, attempting to focus. Attitude, she told herself.

Her mind jumped back to the last couple of hours. Even backstage, she'd had to be alert. Apparently, the photographers were allowed to roam free, or so it'd seemed. They blended into the background unnoticed until they pounced like predators, capturing the particular shot they wanted.

It hadn't been a time for complacency. Brooke had warned her. Erin had, too. Stay on your guard. They'd print the worst of shots, as well as the best, if it would sell magazines. Stay on your toes at all times.

The whole process had been truly amazing to watch. The wide-eyed blonde had no idea the whole backstage process was such a massive undertaking. A bit like trying to herd and corral cats. The teams of models, hair stylists, makeup artists, stylists, and dressers all fought for position.

Each time a model emerged late for rehearsal, out of breath, a team descended upon her. As many as five at a time, all working on the girl to get her ready. What surprised Kelli the most was how at home she felt. She fitted into this world.

Then there was Brooke. That session had helped her enormously. Not just by taking off the edge of her burning arousal. Making the curvy model cum a second time helped her own feeling of belonging. Letting the girl eat her out was like a free pass into this world. That's what world famous models did. She was one of them now.

The music changed, pulling her back to the present. It was closing in on her cue. Brooke was approaching the far end of the catwalk, sauntering forward in her sexy, little boy-shorts and matching cami top. When the brunette turned, it would be Kelli's turn to push herself out into the flashing lights. She gave the deepest of deep breaths. The couple lines of blow Erin had given her helped. She was buzzing. She was ready. This was her future!

Attitude, she told herself as she stepped out, one long stride in front of the other. In time with the heavy beat. Attitude!

She was hot. She knew it. The cameras knew it. That confidence raced through her. The bra only just covered her full breasts, allowing them to bounce seductively as she walked. Even standing still, her cleavage bobbled over the top. Her thick, pink nipples were proudly pointing upwards through the flimsy material.

Hot, baby, hot!

Her oily smooth pussy was already aroused, protected only by the skimpiest of matching thongs. The lacy thigh highs completed the sexy picture. Blacksocomplimented her long, wavy, blonde locks.

With each long stride, her sparkling, brown eyes focused ahead. A hint of mischief was evident in her otherwise no-nonsense look. She strutted down the runway like she it was hers, one hand glued to her hip while the other danced in time with the music.

This was easier, better, more sensual, than she could ever have believed. Even the continuous flashing from the photographers failed to faze her.

From somewhere, Brooke's earlier words came back to her.When you get to the end, always remember. Hand on hip, haughty look. Something special. That's what gets you noticed.

Her mind whirled. Dare she? Even as she debated, her hands went to the back of her bra, unleashing the clasp and whipping off the garment with one hand. Instantly, her free arm teasingly covered her bouncing, naked breasts. The gasp that filled the room was electric.

At the very end of the runway, she paused.

Her bold stare into the photographer's pit allowed them complete access to her near nudity. With a sensuous nod at the flashing blackness in front of her, she draped the bra over her neck and down her back. With her arm constantly moving across her tits to offer the merest hint of nipple, she posed with one leg forward, then the other.

Without warning, she bent forward and the bra cups were covering her breasts again. Provocatively arching her back as she fastened the clasp behind her, she gave a final flick of her blonde locks.

Her sultry look was of a woman wanting to take you to bed. Executing a perfect pirouette, she swung around to begin her model's stride back down the catwalk. She felt the eyes on the firm globes of her buttocks. Felt the flash bulbs capture every shimmering curve.

Her journey back was just as scintillating as her march in.

The deafening cheers filled her ears.

Body tingling, she put an extra wiggle in her hips, taunting the cameras with her almost naked ass. She'd never been more confident in her life than she did as she confidently strutted away. One long step in front of the other. Work it, baby, her mind screamed. Work it, and then work it again!

***

Pain and the shaky desire to pass out were all that Palmer knew. They overwhelmed everything. He could smell the vomit on his clothes. He could feel the searing pain on the top of his burnt hand. He could practically feel the thumb marks on the edges of his eyes.

But all he could really focus on was the pain.

Focus on it. Focus. Palmer, focus. Use it, he told himself as he slowly began to recover. Use the pain. Clear his head. Work something out. There had to be an opportunity to get himself out of this situation. Think positive. Think Roxanne!

He eased one eye open. The right. He still had a clear vision in that one. Keeping his head still, playing unconscious, he took in as much as he could.

For the longest moment, he saw nothing. Was he alone? Where had the pitbull with the cackle gone? There was movement in the office shell maybe twenty feet away, accompanied by the sound of laughter. The brothers enjoyed their job!

Slowly he began to rotate his wrists. The rope around his right was a little looser than the left. It took a good five minutes, but centimetre-by-centimetre, he worked his hand under and free. His wrist burned with every movement.

That was good. Use it, he repeated through gritted teeth. Use the pain.

It took a few painful seconds for his free hand to unfasten the rope binding his left. The swelling and throbbing was a different sort of pain from the burn marks in his right hand. It was broken.

His eyes closed for a few seconds. It allowed the wave of nausea to pass. Focusing was so difficult. Think. What had the thug said? What could he remember? What could he use?

From nowhere, words came into his mind. Not the words he expected. Where'd they come from? Why now, in his current situation? The man Roxanne had entertained that night had spoken them.I'll remember tonight for ever, but I have to say goodbye.

Fuck! That was it! It suddenly made sense. He was saying goodbye to Roxanne.Goodbye! With his fuzzy brain, it was a surprise Palmer could think logically about anything. But the more the words reverberated around his mind, the more certain he became.

The man on the tape was behind this.Dominic!

His hands went to the ropes at his feet. Hampered by his broken bones, he'd only worked them half free when Tommy returned to the room. Damn! A few more seconds and he'd have been free.

Palmer kept his hands in position on the arms of chair, as if he was still fully bound. The thug glanced across at him.

"Awake, huh?" he sneered. Flicking a piece of gum into his mouth, he casually sauntered across the floor. "When Toby's finished his call, we'll put ya to sleep again. This time for good."

Palmer swung his head from side to side. "Help," he moaned.

The thin brother's laughed as he stepped closer. "Help?" His face was a sneer. "You thumped me in the balls, sucker. See this," he grinned, pulling out and waving his gun. "I'll blow your fucking brains out before we're finished."