Secret Sins Ch. 05

"Well, that is great," I enthused, putting my own Bible on the table before asking, "So, you two just came over and...?"

"Yeah," Donna cheerily answered before they could, "they came over to ask about the shield out front, and we got to talking. Next thing I knew, we were talking about our Saviour. One thing led to another, and..."

She finished her explanation by holding her hand out, palm upwards in a gesture that center staged the two former Muslims who were nodding and smiling once again.

And I hadn't a clue as to how to deal with this. Was I supposed to offer the Rahmans milk and cookies now?

"I think we should get a picture," Donna said, closing her Bible and getting out of her seat, Debesh's eyes falling on her perfectly rounded hips as she faced me, asking, "Got your phone, Lieutenant?"

I admit that a lot of my concerns evaporated right there. The fact was that, at my meeting with Major Hurdle the next day, the one where I'd be exposing myself for him, this would go over better than the Bennetts volunteering their time. This was truly golden and, however Donna had accomplished this for me, it really didn't matter in light of how it would help to propel me to the rank of Major before age thirty.

Donna assembled the cooperative Rahmans in front of the two-by-four cross in the front room with me between them and, with my smartphone, snapped a few shots. Still elated with Donna's/my sudden success, I didn't have to manufacture the smile my face displayed any more than did the Rahmans, but the real smile came when I saw the pictures.

There we were, standing in front of that cross against the stark, white background of the freshly painted wall, sunlight slashing in across us like God's divine light itself. It was, in a word, perfect. It couldn't get any better, and that grinning shot of me on the cover of Salvationist magazine suddenly seemed all the more real. All thanks to Donna Liski, assistant, friend and sexual delight. Looking at that picture and all that it would mean in Hurdle's office the next day, it seemed totally absurd that I was only minutes ago worrying about the hows and whys of Sumitra's and Debesh's conversion.

Late Friday afternoon, the same slimy Booth Attendant buzzed me past the Waterston Centre's security area and into the administration section. He greeted me politely, professionally and with an underlying flirtatiousness that could never be pointed out at an employee evaluation.

I liked it.

Walking that corridor towards the office alcove, I was nervous about my imminent meeting with Major Hurdle, but also strangely giddy. It was like I was of two minds, the one represented by my uniform and all it stood for being the nervous one, and the 'supersexual' one who was suddenly obsessed with sucking cock being the giddy one. They fought for supremacy in the battleground of my gut as it cramped with my anticipation.

From one of the doors along the corridor emerged Alessa Hurdle, giving my uniformed persona the edge as she closed the door behind her, a package of printer paper in her hand. She saw me almost immediately, issuing a surprised smile as her eyes performed a quick inspection of me, her resulting expression suggesting that I'd somehow failed as she spoke.

"Why, Lieutenant Watts, is it Friday again already?"

"The weeks fly by," I said with a smile that was much more believable than hers. "How are you, Major?"

"Doing very well," she replied as we came face to face in the corridor. "And yourself?"

"Couldn't be better."

Though her black slacks weren't particularly snug, her round hips and ass still looked very good in them, as good as her proud melons looked in her white Martha blouse because she had a body that would look good even if it were dressed in a burlap sack. Her regulation heels added to her natural height, effectively proportioning out her curves, and her blonde hair and makeup, done in almost a fifties, pinup style, helped her to look subtly sexy as hell while still coming off as totally decent. Judging by his wife and his obvious attraction to me, it was easy to see that the Major liked his women tall, blonde and fully developed.

When it came to that, I myself had to brush away a sudden mental image of myself going down to my knees, pulling her slacks down and burying my face between her legs as I squeezed her tits until she squealed my name out in orgasmic ecstasy.

"So, how are things in North Central?" she asked, the barest smirk implying that my position there was laughable compared to hers.

"That's what I'm here to talk to your husband about," I cheerily replied, sticking my chest out ever so slightly.

Her smile faltered at that, and I mentally kicked myself. It wouldn't help me to make enemies in the ranks. Yes, she already disliked me, but there was no need to exacerbate that situation. Still, what was done was done, and I couldn't help taking pleasure in the older woman's sudden jealousy of me just the same.

"Is he in his office?" I asked.

"I don't know," she said with a forced smile. "I suppose you'll have to knock and find out. Good day, Lieutenant Watts."

With that less than subtle and pointless reminder of my place, she walked around me. I turned, watching that tush rock and roll down the corridor, exiting through the red security door through which I'd just entered.

Turning with a self-satisfied little smirk of my own, I continued on down to the office alcove, again imagining myself pulling her slacks down, my hands all over that yummy posterior as Donna pulled her boobs out of her Martha blouse and bra to begin sucking at her nipples.

Entering the alcove, I blushed slightly at this lurid fantasy, giving my head a subtle shake, yet smiling guiltily as I hissed under my breath, "supersexual..."

The Major's door was open, the only one in the alcove that was, and I stuck my head in while softly knocking on its surface with a nervous smile. There he was, behind his desk in his shirtsleeves, poring over something with a scowl that spoke either of concentration, or dissatisfaction. Probably the latter. He looked up with irritation, this expression changing to a warm smile the instant he saw me.

"Lieutenant, please come in," he graciously invited without getting out of his chair. "Close and lock the door behind you."

Securing the door behind me as he'd instructed, I began removing my jacket almost without thinking as I approached his desk.

"How've you been?" He asked while eying my bust line.

"Very good," I replied, my tone shaky as my nerves sped my heart. "And you?"

"Excellent," he said as I placed my jacket neatly on the back of the chair in front of his desk.

And that's where I hesitated, my face reddening as I inwardly asked myself if this was really happening, if the two previous meetings I'd had in this office were really just dreams, and if I was about to commit a horrible mistake. It all seemed so unreal.

"You know what to do, Lieutenant," he said, reaffirming the past for me.

With a jerky nod, I reached for my collar to begin unbuttoning my blouse. He watched as I went down the front of it, my face flushing despite the fact that it wasn't nearly as hot in there as it was the previous Friday. When I reached the waistband of my skirt, having undone the last button that wasn't tucked in, I paused again.

"Take it right off, Lieutenant."

I pulled my blouse out of my skirt and undid the last button with trembling fingers before pulling the front of it wide open, exposing the top of a very sexy, black lace merrywidow. My boobs were practically bursting from its extremely low cut, inadequate little bodice, their weight straining its tiny shoulder straps as I removed my blouse and draped it over the back of the chair.

Now he was breathing harder, his eyes glued to my upper body as he instructed, "Now your skirt."

I was only a bit surprised at this, but nodded, so horny now and so under the spell of the situation that I would have done almost anything as I reached behind myself to lower the zipper at the back of my skirt. Then, shrugging my shoulders and thrusting my barely covered boobs, I hooked my thumbs in its waistband, slowly pushing my skirt downwards for him as I seductively wiggled my hips until it fell to the floor. The bottom of my Merrywidow only just covered my bellybutton, its connected garter straps adding strain to the shoulder straps as they kept hoisted my black stockings. In sharp contrast, my bright red, French cut, lace panties magnetized his attention as I took the waistband in my fingers, pulling them up as I stepped out of my skirt. Standing there with my feet slightly parted, I waited, the only thing left to my uniform now being the little black bowler hat with its red shield on the front, my blonde hair neatly up underneath it like that of a proper female Officer of the Salvation Army.

As he stared in awe, one of my shoulder straps fell down my upper arm, the strain from my garters immediately pulling it to my elbow to fully expose one of my boobs. As he helplessly ogled my young body, my heartrate climbed even further and I sucked in a sharp breath of surprise before debating as to whether or not I should fix this. I dared not to as my hormones clawed at my senses.

"Ohhh, Major," I toned in a small voice, partially begging him for mercy, partially telling him how turned on I was while wondering if his cock was hard.

This seemed to snap him out of his little trance. Still looking at my body, he cleared his throat twice before addressing me in a voice that was heavy with his desire for me.

"So, uh... what have you to report for this week, Lieutenant?"

I couldn't believe this. As much as I hate to use this recently way overused word, the only way I can describe the moment is as being totally surreal. My clitoris was so erect and hard that it could have competed with my nipples, one of which he could clearly see as my full globe hung out for his inspection. My pussy was already moist and a wave of tingles broke out along my inner thighs as I replied from my standing position in front of his desk.

"(Ahem) Uh... actually, I-I had a very good week, Sir."

"Tell me about it," he encouraged, licking his lips as he stared at my bared breast.

"Well, I got out. I mean, I went out and interacted with some of the locals as you instructed. I actually met quite- (ahem) - quite a few of them on my morning walks."

"And how did that go? How did they respond to you?"

"Good for the most part," I informed. (abomination) "They, uh... well, a lot of them are... It's hard to describe..."

"Take your time, Lieutenant," he allowed with a leering grin at my midsection.

"(Giggle!)" I helplessly reacted before stammering on with, "Well, most of them, especially the aboriginals there, are, uhhh... acclimatized, I guess you could say."

"Acclimatized?"

"Yes," I confirmed, taking a deep breath before nervously clarifying with, "They seem stuck there. Their circumstances define them. When I leave the North Central area, I run across other people, obviously more successful people, whose demeanors are befitting of their circumstances. They're happy, friendly and polite. Those in North Central walk with their heads down, often without greeting others unless they know them. Of the ones I've met, I've encouraged them to drop by the Mission on Rae Street but, while they're outwardly friendly enough, that invitation is most often met with suspicion and sometimes apathy. It's as though they no longer even care about whether or not they're happy, like they've given up on the possibility."

"Hopelessness," he put in, actually looking at my face now.

"Yes," I agreed. "Hopelessness. A lot of them have grown up there, as did their parents and relatives, and the idea of a life outside North Central, or even living in a cleaner, safer North Central isn't even within their ideological grasp."

"I see. So, what about those who weren't born there? The immigrants who are just starting out in this country, for example?"

"Oh, they have hope," I relayed. "A lot of them come from countries that are a lot worse than Canada. I mean, this is one of the choice countries of the world to live and, obviously, they didn't leave their own countries because things were good there, so they tend to be a lot more hopeful. In fact, even in 'the hood', as it's called, they seem to feel that they're better off than they were in their home countries. For example, I've been told by one East Indian couple that, where they're from, one could easily be murdered for the change in their pocket, so..."

"I understand," Hurdle said, taking another good look at my lower curves before asking, "So, should some of them show up at the Mission, what would be waiting for them there?"

"Uh... well, it would depend on who it was. For example, if it were somebody new to Canada, I'd help them by talking about our culture, possibly helping them with their English skills if they needed it. Maybe all they'd need is encouragement, or someone among a city of total strangers who would take an interest in their lives and in what they're trying to accomplish for themselves. Of course, I'd be using scripture as precedence and support, but..."

"But?" he prodded.

"Sir... to be totally honest with you, the immigrants aren't the ones who have the real problems there. Again, they have hope. They have drive and, for the most part, they'll eventually move on to better lives. No, it's the aboriginals who need our help. As an example, I met a prostitute on my first little walkabout who was only a little older than I am, and the first thing she said to me was an offer to suck my pussy for five Dollars."

The moment this thoughtless choice of words left my mouth, I cringed, inwardly kicking myself, but he didn't seem phased. In fact, he raised a curious eyebrow, asking, "And what did you say?"

" ... I... Of course, I refused," I replied, surprised at his question, though perhaps I shouldn't have been at that point. "I introduced myself, told her of the Mission on Rae Street and invited her to come by any time she liked if she needed someone to talk to, or just a safe place to rest, but she only asked if we had clean needles there. I had to tell her no, and that was it. I was of no use to her, so she just walked away. She's completely owned by her addiction, by the lifestyle that if forces, and stands as the proverbial posterchild for hopelessness. North Central grips these poor people so tightly, I sometimes wonder if we even can help them."

"Of course we can't," he said.

" ... E- Excuse me, Sir?" I asked, again surprised.

"Lieutenant," he sighed, leaning back in his reclining office chair, once again speaking to my body, "The fact is that we can't help anybody. Not really. People have to help themselves, have to have the will to help themselves. Now, we can help with that, talking to them, encouraging them, helping them to get involved with the programs that can support their efforts to clean up their lives, but this is a mountain that they themselves must climb. Only they can decide that they want to change their lives, only they can take the action that will bring that desire to fruition, and only they can guard against backsliding to the pits of their former despair. If we tell them they need to change, they resist out of the feeling of persecution. If we carry them up that mountain, they'll only fall back down to the base once we put their feet back on the ground because they haven't learned to keep their balance on their own. All we can do is guide them, Lieutenant."

"I understand," I said, nodding to this wisdom, somehow no longer much noticing that I was standing half naked before my supervising Officer.

"But, you've done well," he complimented. Very well. Is there anything else?"

"Yes, Sir," I replied with an excited smile, having saved the best stuff for last. "A family from next door, the Bennetts, have been helping out at the Mission, lending us..."

The other strap of my slutty little merrywidow fell from my shoulder, slipping to my elbow as the first one had to allow my other boob out into the open. I looked down at them, reminded of the surreal situation I was participating in, suddenly so horny that I could barely think straight.

"Uhh..." I mewled. "My fuckin' titties..."

I have no idea why I'd said that. I could only look back at him, fearful of what his response to this might be, but he didn't seem to mind. In fact, going by his reaction, I'd say he loved it.

"(Ahem!) Uh, maybe you should, um, get on with your report?" he suggested, shifting in his seat as though he were uncomfortable.

I very much liked his momentary loss of composure, the sudden feeling of control that I perceived just then, becoming once again more comfortable with the situation. So, with both boobs now bared, a slutty little smile on my lips, I arched my back a little and continued.

"As I was saying, Sir, the Bennett family has been visiting and donating their time by helping out around the property, lending tools and donating materials. They're very nice people," I added, remembering how nice Joel's cum felt blasting the insides of my mouth two days before.

"That's great, Lieutenant," he enthused, though I strongly suspect that he was more enthused by my 'fuckin titties'. "Did you get pictures?"

"Oh, yes Sir," I practically gushed, beginning to actually enjoy the situation now. "I have them here in my purse on a data stick for you, but that's not the best part."

"Do tell, Lieutenant." He pressed.

That's when I hit him with the Rahman's conversion. Of course, I'd had to tell him a slightly fictitious story that included my involvement, but he was delighted and, to his almost begging question as to whether or not I'd gotten pictures, I nodded my affirmation with a decidedly leering smile.

"Outstanding, Lieutenant, outstanding," he verbally applauded. "You've done very, very well this week, a real credit to your uniform. Uh, I did notice another large deduction from your account though. Drywall and such..."

"Oh, yes," I replied with an apologetic smile. "Well, you see, there's no privacy door between the main, public level of the house and my upstairs quarters, which makes me a little uncomfortable. So, I ordered the supplies so that I could have Donna and Mr. Bennett build an office at the foot of the stairs, something else that I actually need. In addition, this also cuts off access to the basement from the main level and, considering some of our visitors and their unfortunate circumstances, I think that's a practical decision."

I was relieved when he nodded, saying, "So do I. So, how are you and Miss Liski making out?"

Managing not to giggle at his very appropriate double meaning, I replied, "She's been instrumental in getting things done around there. You've hired a really great employee in Donna, Sir."

"That's good to know, but I asked how you two are making out together."

"Good," I told him. "We get along very well. No problems at all."

"Well, I hope you're keeping in mind my advice to you about underlings."

"Yes, Sir."

"And it goes without saying that she shouldn't be told about our, uh... about the details of our little meetings?"

"Of course not, Sir."

"Good. ... She's got very remarkable eyes, doesn't she?"

" ... Yes, she does."

"Hm," he commented thoughtfully before instructing, "Turn around, Lieutenant. Show me that beautiful ass."

"Yes, Sir," I complied, turning around, but looking back over my shoulder at him as I left my three inch heels spread on the floor, sticking my horny tushie out for him. He only sat there, taking in for several moments the bare view of a tushie that so many men have commented on in the past before he spoke.