The Laura Effect

My fingers moved teasingly and her body began to writhe slowly to the extent that her restraints would allow.

"My, my, who's an eager little slut."

The words sprang to my lips almost unbidden but they only seemed to excite her more. A tiny damp spot had formed on the crotch of her panties and, as I continued to take my time, it slowly began to spread.

Her skin now felt slightly clammy beneath my fingers as she grew ever more heated and the smell of her arousal was rich in the air. As it assailed my nostrils I was reminded of my first encounter with Laura and those furtive minutes in a toilet cubicle. I had thought her a monster but here I was no better than she.

I edged ever upwards and tentatively allowed a single finger to slide into the leg of her panties. As I had suspected she was completely denuded of hair and enjoyed a smoothness that suggested a lot of professional attention.

"Please…"

She lifted herself to meet my finger but I had other ideas. I slipped it free leaving her squirming in frustration.

For some minutes I continued to caress her upper legs, now and again brushing at the borders of her mons, until her skin was glossed with perspiration and her panties were completely sodden.

"No,…please…"

Now that I had brought her to the boil it was time to address my own needs. I put her skirt back in place and gently, but mischievously, pressed it against her panties. Almost immediately the grey material began to darken.

"You've had your fun. Now it's time for you to take care of me."

The words sounded alien to my own ears but, even as I spoke them, I felt a pleasing ache between my legs. I stood in front of her and undressed slowly wanting her to be fully aware of what was about to happen.

As I cast my tee shirt aside I pinched gently at my engorged nipples knowing that hers, still trapped in her clothing, were crying out for the same attention. I taunted her for a moment or two more and then I slipped my thumbs into the waistband of my shorts and slowly slid them down my legs.

I was surprised to find that I was almost as wet as she was. Until then I had been focused on my mental arousal but now I was desperately in need of a physical release. I stood for a few seconds allowing her to appraise my body and I noted, with detached interest, how her look grew almost fearful as she focused on the dark thicket that dressed my mons.

I could wait no longer. I moved up onto the bed and straddled her chest, uncaring of the fact that her jacket would now be soiled to match her skirt. As I loomed over her she cast an eye at the binding around her wrist and then looked back at me.

"Look…I'm sorry…I can't go through with this…"

"What you do or don't want no longer matters."

It was my road to Damascus moment. There was nothing theatrical in my reply I had expressed a genuine belief. The fact that she was helpless had fired my arousal to new heights and I knew that there would be no turning back.

She sensed it too, the point at which when any semblance of professionalism finally slipped away, and there was panic in her eyes.

"Please…let's talk."

"Later perhaps..."

I slid forward, pinning her arms with my knees, and for a second or two I hovered over her face. Between my legs she began to shake her head.

"Please…no."

That final, impassioned, entreaty caused my sex to melt. I lowered myself, sealing her in, and, as I came to rest, I was shaken by a climax which was almost painful in its intensity. My body jerked violently and I had to take hold of her head to keep my balance. Somewhere beneath me I was aware of her muffled cries but they were drowned out by the sound of my own keening.

I do not know how long it lasted but when it was over I put my arms out so that I could take some of my own weight and I felt her desperately gasping for breath between my legs.

I was overcome by a confusing mixture of feelings. On the one hand there was a wonderful sense of fulfilment but this was combined with a sudden, desperate, need to understand what had just transpired.

I needed to clear my head and, ignoring her pleas, I got up and left the room. I picked up a half full wine glass and drained it in one before immediately refilling it. I feared, for a moment that I might face an assault charge, but I as quickly dismissed the thought. Even if it came to it nothing could be proved.

The one thing I did not feel was guilt. I knew, deep down, that if the same opportunity presented itself I would do it again. How ironic that I could now condone the behaviour that I had found so abhorrent when attributed to Laura.

My main source of unease was one that I felt sure that I had in common with Monica. The absence of a ring aside, I was almost certain that she had broken up with her fiancé because of her need to explore her sexuality. Now I too needed to make some decisions. I had convinced myself that this was a passing fad but it had brought me alive like nothing else before.

After about twenty minutes, when the second glass of wine was finished, I went back into the bedroom. I half expected her to scream and yell but she remained quiescent. She looked a real mess; her clothes were damp and dishevelled and her make-up was a long way beyond repair.

As I approached the bed she spoke.

"Why did you do it?"

"I thought it's what you wanted."

"Let's not kid ourselves, that was hardly for my benefit, I told you to stop."

It was not the tone of anger with which she said it but the suggestion that she was somehow in control of me. I was already in the process of loosening her wrist when I came to a sudden decision.

"What are you doing!"

I tugged the stocking drawing it more tightly around the post and stretching her arm into the process.

"Stop that!"

I tied it off and moved around the bed. As I loosened off the other stocking she started to resist in earnest but she had no leverage. It was all too easy, using both hands, to tug the stocking around the post and to secure it. Her arms were now bound far more strictly than before.

"Let me go or, so help me, I'll call the police."

"Do you think they'll believe you, given your history? Are you going to suggest that I overpowered you?"

This gave her pause for thought and, in the meanwhile, I tightened the bindings around her ankles.

When she spoke again she was a little more conciliatory.

"Look, what exactly do you want?"

"I want to help you. You want to know if you're a lesbian, a submissive or both. Let's find out shall we?"

I could not believe that the simple act of tying her more securely could give me such a charge but I could already feel a tell-tale trail of moisture on my inner leg.

"Please, I can't, not again…"

I was already taking a pillow and putting it lengthways under her head. With that achieved I mounted the bed once more and straddled her face.

"I'm sorry, about the last time, I lost control. This time all you have to do is lick me."

Seconds earlier she would have refused but now I had presented it as the lesser of two evils and there was a look of relief on her face. She did not respond immediately and so I allowed my weight to settle a fraction more heavily so that her mouth touched my sex.

"Do it for me…like you did for her."

As I suspected, this was the trigger. As I looked down at her she slowly put out her tongue and made a first faltering contact. Her touch was enough to start a flow which oozed over her chin but she did not demur. Now that she had the taste of me she grew more eager. She started to attack me with broad sweeps of her tongue and my labia swelled in appreciation.

The pillow ensured that her neck was not unduly strained and she adopted a leisurely, lazy, tempo. Her technique suggested hours of practise as she licked with just enough pressure to bring me pleasure but not enough to break the seal; then, every few minutes, she would press her tongue inwards and would swallow the dammed up reward of her labours.

After the intensity of my first climax the second took a long time to build but she was tuned in to my natural rhythm and knew just when to increase the pace. Her tongue began to work deeper, giving me that delicious feeling of being filled, and she seemed to make it swell at will.

I moaned my approval and she arched the very tip to caress a spot just behind my clitoris.

I do not know if she had been taught this, or if it was her own discovery, but the sensation was amazing. I kept my body still so that I could focus on that single breathtaking pressure point but the tension made me tremble. I had wanted to hold off from orgasm but it was too much to resist. As she strained to the utmost she moaned hot breath deep into my sex and then my muscles were no longer mine to command.

I came in a series of frenzied shudders but I managed to hold station as juices seemed to boil inside before exploding into her waiting mouth which she now sealed tightly to my sex. I literally saw spots before my eyes but, as I breasted the summit and started my gradual descent, I was again aware of her soothing tongue as she slowed to a gentle halt.

It took an effort to disengage from her and I flopped exhaustedly by her side. My body was damp with perspiration and it took some time for my breathing to return to normal. I guess I must have dozed because, when I next became aware, I found my face pressed to hers.

"Was it good?"

Her question took me a little aback.

"It was wonderful."

She smiled and, notwithstanding her ruined make up, she still looked incredibly beautiful. I immediately felt my heart soften a little and I suppose I must have looked a little guilty but she read my mind.

"Don't worry, I don't expect anything from you. I got what I wanted."

I eased away from her and stood up. I stretched expansively and then started to unfasten her wrist. As soon as it was free she reached down beneath her skirt and gave an almost feral groan as thrust her hand into her ruined panties.

In spite of all we had been through I felt a little awkward watching her but then she looked at me imploringly.

"Would you…?"

Given our understanding I stood there uncertainly but then realization dawned. With a smile I slinked back onto the bed. For a third time I straddled her face but this time facing down body.

As soon as I was settled I felt her tongue once more but this time there was no subtlety. She licked like an animal; my thighs, my sex whatever she could reach and her fingers began to work frantically. I could hear the squelch of moisture as she drove them deep inside herself and then saw her frustration as she tried to lift her knees and open her legs wider only to be frustrated by her bindings.

She gave, what might have been, a scream of irritation but she was now vigorously rubbing her clitoris and she was not going to hold out for much longer.

Laura had had me imagine that mane of red hair down between my thighs but, watching her like this, driven out of control simply by the taste and smell of my sex was taking arousal to a new level. As she clawed her way to her inevitable climax I slowly relaxed and let my bodyweight press her head deep into the pillow. A fresh scream of protest, of perhaps of ecstasy, but I did not care as I came on her face for a third shattering time.

Chapter 5

Over the next two days I was tormented by personal anguish. In terms of sex I had never felt so exhilarated but I was allowing it to seriously cloud my professional judgement.

I was rapidly coming to the conclusion that I might have to make some serious changes in my life. I knew that I should no longer represent Laura and that led me to re-examine my whole career strategy. More than once recently I had looked at opportunities in Australia. They were crying out for qualified professionals and the salaries reflected their desperate need.

If I made the move I could afford the house of my dreams, complete with swimming pool, for less than I was paying for my apartment. The stumbling block had always been my relationship with John. I had touched on the subject once or twice but he was lukewarm. His career prospects would be seriously prejudiced and he was not a fan of warm climates.

The big difference now was my whole attitude towards my engagement. John had finally caved in and called me leaving two messages on my answer phone. He sounded hurt and genuinely sorry but I had still not returned his calls.

More tellingly, I had surfed the net checking the criteria for Australian visas and then, guiltily, tried to find some websites which would tell me what the attitude was towards gay women.

I was actually drafting my request to be taken off Laura's case when the telephone rang.

"Hi, it's me Miranda, can you talk?"

"Yes, of course"

I was a little bemused. I had not expected to hear from her again.

"I've been thinking over what you said, about meeting Laura Simmons, can you arrange it?"

I had exceeded my authority in broaching the subject in the first place but such was the current enthusiasm for the scheme I was sure that something could be done.

"Yes, it shouldn't present a problem."

"Where would the meeting take place?"

"It's up to you. Some people choose to meet in prison others opt for their own home."

"I don't want that bitch to know where I live now!"

The fierceness of her reply caught me by surprise.

"It might be possible to set up a neutral venue."

There was a long pause before she spoke again.

"How many people have to be present?"

"At the meeting itself? There would be three; you and she plus a mediator. In Laura's case there would have to be at least two guards but they could wait outside."

"Could you act as mediator?"

"In theory I'm qualified but I have had no specific training besides which I am not sure that it would be entirely appropriate."

It seemed surreal to be having a conversation of this manner given the nature of our most recent encounter but when she spoke next there was a hint of desperation in her voice.

"I have to get her out of my head and I want you to help…you owe me."

I was uneasy with the whole prospect but she was right, I felt that I owed her something. I also wanted to do the right thing by Laura. She was no longer going to be my responsibility but if I could be influential in getting her custodial sentence reduced, and help her long term career prospects, I would feel better about myself.

It took a lot of string pulling to bring it together but the date for a meeting was finally set. The venue proved problematical. Miranda was not prepared to visit the prison and her home was out of the question but it was she who finally came up with a solution. Her company sometimes used a particular hotel suite for their more prestigious interviews. It had the benefit of being both very central and very secure and, in presentation terms, the spectacular views across the city, with all the well known landmarks, afforded a stunning backdrop.

It was booked by the day and she found a day when filming would be completed in the morning leaving it free for the afternoon. I arrived early but was surprised to find Miranda already there. She was modestly attired in a fetching blue sun dress and she had a drink in her hand.

"We will need to dispense with the alcohol before they arrive."

She looked at me blankly and quickly drained her glass. I took it from her and set it to one side before joining her at the small conference table. I spent a few minutes outlining the various 'do's and don'ts' and then there was a knock at the door.

Laura stood there flanked by two smartly, but informally, dressed female guards and I could not help but stare. In preparation for the meeting she had been granted access to a hairdresser and she was allowed to wear her own clothes. She looked simply breathtaking. She was wearing her thick blonde hair in a flowing shoulder length style that softened her features and her make-up was subtly applied to highlight her clear blue eyes and a smile that would be the envy of a Hollywood starlet.

She had chosen to wear a dark, off the shoulder, a-line dress. She must have bought it from a chain store but she made it look haut couture. She had lost a little weight whilst on remand, and her tan had completely faded, but that only added to the allure of her svelte figure.

Strictly speaking the guards should have remained outside the door of the room in which the meeting was taking place but the suite was enormous and they did not protest when I suggested they make themselves comfortable in the kitchen. There were some magazines on the small dining table and I told them to help themselves to coffee. I then led Laura through to the living area and closed the door behind us for privacy.

As soon as she walked into the room the atmosphere was charged. I saw that the change in her appearance was as much of a shock to Miranda as it had to me. I invited Laura to sit at the opposite end of the table to Miranda whilst I sat to one side between them.

I opened the proceedings by explaining the purpose of the encounter and made it clear to Laura that I would bring the meeting to an immediate close if Ms. Coombes was in any way uncomfortable. I did not mention the word 'apology' but I trusted that Laura had sufficient good sense to see that the ball was in her court and that she had a lot to gain.

I then invited Miranda to speak. She had her eyes downcast, staring at the table top, but she raised them slowly to meet Laura's steady gaze.

"I just want to know why you did it."

"You know why, you accused me of cheating."

Miranda seemed lost for words for a moment but then regained her composure.

"You could have lodged an official complaint. What you did was immoral."

"Would they have believed me?"

The conversation was not going the way I had envisaged. I had expected Miranda to take the high ground with Laura showing, at least, some contrition. Looking at Miranda I could see that she was getting agitated as she sat with one hand clasped almost painfully around the other.

Laura, by contrast, had her hands resting in her lap but I noticed that she had leaned forward just a little causing her breasts to bulge very slightly against the bust line of her dress. I was immediately transported back to our first meeting and her inappropriate behaviour and, for reasons I could not explain to myself, I cast a furtive glance towards the large bed visible through the door to the adjacent room.

I mentally shook myself and tuned back in to what was being said. I had missed Miranda's next remark but caught Laura's reply.

"But surely that's worth an apology."

"Look, I admit, I may have misjudged you but nothing can condone what you did to me."

Laura paused before replying, and as she did so she leaned even further across the table. She spoke conspiratorially, almost in a stage whisper.

"If you tell me honestly, that there was no part of it that you actually enjoyed, then I will apologize."

This was Miranda's cue for high dudgeon but, instead, she looked at me almost beseechingly.

I tried to retake control.

"Laura, don't be ridiculous. Your actions amounted to an assault, tantamount to rape. If you cannot see that then I see no point in continuing here."

Laura turned to meet my stare.

"If that's the case then why did you get so turned on when I told you about it?"

I did not look but I could now feel Miranda's eyes boring into the side of my head as I replied.

"I find your remarks very offensive and you are certainly not helping your case here"

Persistent liars get away with what they do because they are so glib, they can live the lie and almost believe themselves. The rest of us always give ourselves away. It might be a tiny facial gesture or an almost imperceptible change in our tone of voice but somehow we betray ourselves.