Getting Even with Gemma and Jane Ch. 03byMrPinkerton©
On my way back to my office, I bumped into Jane in the corridor. She had a cup of coffee in one hand and a ream of copy-paper in the other. When she saw me, she dipped her head, muttered hello, and tried to move by me.
'Back to your old clothes again,' I said, nodding towards her brown, calf-length corduroy skirt and olive-green long-sleeved t-shirt.
'I'm late for a meeting,' she said, risking a glance in my direction.
'I'm guessing you're back in the old underwear as well.'
'You said this was over. You said if I ... if I did what you asked, you'd leave me in peace.'
I toyed with the idea of taking her back to my office, showing her the footage of me spanking her pert young buttocks, of her brown eyes widening as my cock slid in and out of her mouth. Instead I said:
'Tell me if you're wearing the underwear, and I'll leave you in peace.'
She hesitated, her eyes casting round as if looking for help.
'I threw them out,' she said.
'Shame,' I said. 'Dave would probably have enjoyed them as much as I would.'
'Please don't do this,' she said. 'Please just leave me alone.'
With that, she dodged past me and walked quickly away.
I continued on my way back to my office, but at the last moment I took the stairs up another flight and went to Gemma's office instead. Catherine, her secretary looked up from her computer-screen.
'She's not in, I'm afraid, Jack. Was here about five minutes ago, then dashed straight out again. Had to go and see the Super.'
Catherine was in her late fifties. Thin, with a spiky blonde hairstyle that was about twenty years too young for her. Smoked French cigarettes and had the husky voice to prove it.
'I know,' I said. 'She phoned me. Asked me to go in and wait for her.'
Catherine gave me a long look, then shrugged.
'If that's what the lady said ...'
I gave her a smile, then went on in. I sat down in Gemma's oversized leather chair and put my feet up on her desk. There were some framed photos on the opposite wall. Gemma and the rest of her class at Hendon. Gemma receiving a commendation from the Chief Constable. Gemma meeting Paddy Ashdown. If things went according to plan, there'd soon be a few new photos of Gemma, though none she'd want on the wall of her office.
Suddenly, the door of the office flew open and Gemma came storming into the room.
'Get out of my chair!' she said.
I swung my feet down off the desk but remained seated.
'Maybe you should close the door, Gemma,' I said, in a stage whisper. 'Unless you want Catherine to join us.'
Gemma pushed the door to with her foot.
'That stunt you pulled in there ...,' she said, almost apoplectic with rage. She shook her head, unable to continue.
'I'm guessing the Superintendent wasn't sympathetic.'
Gemma stared at me, eyes like gun-muzzles.
'I'm getting a formal reprimand on my file, and I'm being referred for psychological counselling.' She took a step towards me, hands on her hips. 'Now get out of my fucking chair!'
I nodded slightly and stood up.
'You still wearing the dildo-pants?' I asked, as I moved round and sat down in one of the visitors chairs.
Gemma just snorted and went to sit down behind her desk.
'Wait!' I said.
Gemma hesitated for a moment, then sat down anyway.
'I owe you an apology,' I said.
'Just get out of here, Jack' said Gemma. 'Before I do something I'll regret, like break your bloody neck.'
'I rushed things this morning,' I said. 'Going straight for your pussy like that. I'm sorry, I really am. I know how important foreplay is, how a guy needs to play the game, do things in the right order.'
Gemma shook her head.
'You fucking blackmail me into letting you finger-fuck me, and then you give me a fucking orgasm in public -- in front of my fucking boss -- and you want to apologise?!' She was spitting out the words like they were stones she was throwing at me. Her eyes were wild, and her finger jabbed at the air like a knife.
'I don't apologise for doing those things,' I said. 'I apologise for not doing other things first.'
Gemma came to a sudden stop.
'What the fuck are you talking about?'
'Stand up!' I said.
Gemma shook her head.
'No!' she said. 'This ends here.'
'Maybe we should get Jane in here, see what she thinks.'
'Fuck you, Jack!'
I got up, reached for the phone on her desk.
'Leave Jane out of this, Jack! I'm warning you!'
'Or what, Gemma? What will you do? What can you do?'
Gemma took a couple of deep breaths. When she spoke again, her voice was softer, under control.
'OK, Jack, so what's it going to be? You want to fuck me on my desk, is that it? If that's what it takes, then let's do it. Then you can crawl back under the fucking stone you came from and let me and Jane get on with our lives.' She glared at me, uncowed, unabashed. 'Is that what you want, Jack?'
'What I want is for you to stand up, Gemma.'
She took a couple more breaths and got to her feet.
'Good girl,' I said, moving round behind her.
Gemma twisted her head to follow me.
'Eyes front!' I said. 'And hands on your head.'
Gemma paused for a moment.
'You're a sad little shit of a man! You know that?'
'Do as I say, Gemma!'
After a moment's hesitation, Gemma face forwards and crossed her hands on her head. Her blouse tightened over her shoulder-blades. I could see the straps of her bra through the material.
I moved up close behind her. She smelled of soap and coffee and fabric conditioner. I put my hands round her waste.
'You see,' I said, ' there's a kind of mating ritual. An order in which things should be done. A guy shouldn't just plunge in, so to speak. And I did. And I'm sorry.'
'You're one sick fuck!' hissed Gemma.
I moved my hands slowly up over her ribcage. The material of her blouse felt smooth beneath my fingers.
'You know how it goes. You go for a cup of coffee, maybe. Then you go for dinner. Maybe the pictures. At some stage you'll let him hold your hand, or put his arm round your shoulder.'
'I'm guessing you never got any!' said Gemma. You had to admire her for it.
'And then,' I said, my hands moving to cup her large breasts, 'sooner or later he'll try and cop a feel of your tits.'
Her body stiffened slightly as I adjusted my grip. I waited until her body relaxed slightly, then squeezed. Hard. She grunted, half tried to move away, forced herself back into stillness.
I relaxed my grip.
'Of course,' I said, my mouth close to her ear, my voice low. 'Usually, when he makes a grab, you can decide whether to let him or not. You can either go with the flow, or knee him in the groin. Here, of course, you can't. You just have to stand there and take it.'
I moved my hands over her breasts in small circles, more gently now.
'How am I doing, baby?' I murmured. 'How is it for you?'
Gemma just stood there, statue-still, eyes facing front.
I took her nipples between my fingers and thumbs. Gently at first, then harder.
'What's it like, baby?' My voice was barely audible now. 'To have no control. To just have to stand there and let me do what I like to you? You, a woman who's used to being in control. Who's used to giving orders, being in command.'
She was breathing heavily now, but still she said nothing.
Abruptly, I released my grip and moved back to one of the low chairs in front of her desk. I looked back at her. Her face and neck were flushed, her expression stony.
'Is that the best you can do?' she asked, her voice slightly uneven.
'As if!' I said.
'So what now?' Her voice was dripping with content.
'Now you strip.'
The words hung there in the air between us.
'Here? You've got to be fucking kidding!'
'Each time you fight me,' I said. 'And each time you know that in the end you'll obey.'
'What if someone comes in?'
'Catherine will stop them,' I said. 'Always reminded me of Cerberus, that woman.'
Gemma gave a couple of deep breaths and ran her hand back through her hair. It gave her that slightly tousled look. Bed-head, I think they call it. It looked good on her.
'In your own time,' I said.
Gemma started to unbuttoned her blouse and took it off, then removed her shoes and socks and trousers. She stood there in front of me, in the pale blue panties I'd seen earlier in the day. A matching balconette bra strained under the weight of her breasts.
'In the words of Ralph Waldo Emerson, that's quite a rack you've got there.'
Gemma crossed her arms in front of her. I studied her. She had an all-over tan, a tattoo of a dolphin just above her belly-button, and a few too many pounds on her hips. Her legs were a little on the plump side and not as good as her sisters. But up-top, Gemma had all a girl could need.
'What size are your tits?' I asked.
Gemma glared at me.
'Don't make me come up there and look at the label,' I said.
'38D,' said Gemma.
'Little sister's not so big,' I said. '36B. Did you know that?'
'Get on with this,' said Gemma. 'Do what you've got to do.'
'It's what YOU've got to do,' I said. 'If I'd meant "strip down to your bra and panties" I would have said so.'
Gemma stared at me for a moment, a vein in her forehead beating out a murderous tattoo. Then she reached behind her and unclipped her bra. Her breasts tumbled free. Formidable. Fleshy. A bit of sag, but not much. Even tan. Nipples the size of ten-penny pieces. Without waiting, she reached down and slid her panties down and stepped out of them.
Gemma stood there in front of me. Naked. Angry, and powerless and sexy as hell.
I made a point of not looking at her too hard.
'Sit down,' I said. 'In your chair.'
With a look of slight surprise, Gemma did as instructed.
'Where's your duty belt?'
'On the hook by the door.'
I turned, took down the heavy leather belt. It had a side-handle baton attached, and CS gas, and a small Maglite in a loop. And handcuffs.
Gemma's eyes widened.
'You're not fucking handcuffing me!'
'Each time you fight me.' I walked slowly towards her, the cuffs by my side. She squirmed slightly in the chair. When I reached for her right hand she resisted for a moment, then let her arm go limp.
I slipped the cuff round her wrist, then pulled her hand gently round the back of the seat.
'Other hand,' I said.
For what seemed like the longest time she did nothing. Then she moved her hand backwards and allowed me to cuff her wrists together.
I swung the chair gently round so that its back -- and hers - was to the desk. She squirmed slightly under my gaze. Her heavy breasts hung forward, begging to be touched. Her legs were jammed tightly together, but I could still see the triangle of gleaming black hair.
'Legs over the arms of the chair, Gemma,' I said.
For the first time, Gemma looked really scared.
'Please, Jack,' she said.
'Legs over the arms!'
She shook her head.
I took hold of one of her legs. I could feel her resisting. I got to my feet, went over and took Gemma's baton from her belt.
I extended the baton to its full length. It was maybe two feet long, made of light metal, with a short cross-bar just above the handle. The handle itself was quite a lot wider than the baton, cross-hatched for an easier grip, with a kind of pommel on the bottom that was wider still.
I know my Freud. Sometimes, a cigar is just a cigar. And sometimes, a baton is just a baton. And sometimes it's not.
'And each time you know that in the end you'll obey,' I said, moving towards her, the baton by my side.
Gemma thrashed in the chair.
'Jesus!' she said, keeping her voice low. 'What are you going to do!'
I stood in front of her, stooping slightly, positioning the tip of the baton against her pubic mound.
'Open your legs, Gemma,' I said, in a conversational voice. 'Or I'll open them for you.'
I applied a little pressure with the baton.
Gemma closed her eyes and opened her legs and allowed me to lift them upwards and outwards so that they hung over the arms of the chair. Taking a couple of cable-ties from my pocket, I secured her ankles to the outside of the arms.
Gemma was now slid forwards slightly in her big leather chair, arms behind her back, legs spread, pussy and anus on display. Her eyes were wide with alarm. I could see the blood beating in the artery in her neck, the ragged rise and fall of her breasts.
'What are you going to do, Jack?' she asked, with just a glimmer of panic in her voice.
I pulled up a chair and positioned it near hers.
'I'm going to bring you to orgasm again,' I said. 'With your own baton. Don't you just love the symbolism?'
I slid the baton into Gemma's defenceless pussy. I could see the muscles in her thighs and arms tighten vainly as she tried to escape from her bonds. She shook her head from side to side, pulled her upper body slightly away from the chair, only to sink back, breasts bouncing, a groan of frustration spilling out from her mouth.
I moved the baton back and forth.
The symbolism might have been great, but the baton itself wasn't really wide enough. Real life's a bitch.
I withdrew the baton, reversed it, and slid the handle into Gemma up to the cross-bar.
This time she made a sound halfway between a cry and a groan. The pommel and the cross-hatchings on the handle were having more of an effect.
I began to fuck her with the baton-handle, moving it in and out with long, slow thrusts.
She groaned and closed her eyes.
She was just starting to move her hips clumsily backwards and forwards when the phone rang.
I stopped moving the baton.
'Your phone's ringing,' I said.
She fought to regain her breath.
'Answer it,' I said. 'I'll put it on speaker phone.'
She shook her head wildly.
'No,' she said. 'I can't. Not like this. Not with you doing that. They'll know.'
I pulled the baton out of her and positioned the tip (not the handle, please note - I'm a reasonable man) against her defenceless anus.
'Answer your phone, or I'll sodomise you with your own baton.'
'Please, Jack. Don't ...'
She cried out as I pushed on the baton, twisting it slightly to right and left.
'Alright!' She said. 'Please stop! I'll answer the phone!'
I reached forward, pressed the speaker button on the phone. I kept the tip of the baton gently pressed against Gemma's anus.
'You end the call before I want you to,' I whispered, 'and all bets are off!'
Gemma cleared her throat a couple of times.
'Inspector Conway,' she said.
'Hi, Boss!' said a voice from the speakerphone. Scottish. Business-like. Young rather than old would have been my guess. 'Sergeant Taylor here. You wanted to talk about crime-figures on the Howerton estate.
'Yes,' said Gemma, still struggling for breath. 'That's right.'
There was a pause. Then Taylor said:
'You alright, Boss? You sound a bit strange.'
'I'm fine,' said Gemma. 'I'm coming down with something.'
'There's a lot of it about,' said Taylor. Then he launched into a long and complicated explanation of why just about every class of crime had gone up on the patch he was responsible for. Every now and then Gemma would say something, or ask a question, or murmur an acknowledgement. And all the time her eyes were locked on the tip of the baton as it rested against her anus.
I reversed the baton and placed the tip of the handle against Gemma's pussy. She shook her head frantically and mouthed the word "No!", but I pushed it into her all the same.
She gave a loud moan.
The speakerphone fell silent.
I gave Gemma half a dozen quick, hard strokes.
She cried out through gritted teeth. Moaned. Groaned. Did everything but sing hallelujah.
I stopped moving the baton.
'You sure you're OK, Boss?' asked Taylor. He sounded unsure of himself. Embarrassed.
'I'm fine,' said Gemma, still gasping for breath. 'Keep going.'
So Taylor ploughed on, reeling off statistics and staffing-levels and performance indicators and God only knows what. And every time Gemma had to say something I'd move the baton in and out, or twist it inside her. And she'd let out a long whimper, or cry out, or bite back a scream. And Taylor would hesitate on the other end of the phone, fumble for his words. And I'd stop moving the baton and Gemma would gasp out a question, or a suggestion. Taylor even offered to phone back, but I shook my head and Gemma said no, she'd rather continue.
Her face and breasts and belly were wet with sweat. Her hair was plastered to her forehead, her eyes half-closed.
Taylor was fumbling his way to some kind of conclusion.
I increased the pace, pumping the baton in and out of her relentlessly
Her eyes clicked open. Her mouth widened in a silent scream, and then the scream was out loud, like glass breaking.
The silence was as sudden, broken only by Gemma's rasping breath.
'I should be going, Boss,' said Taylor, softly. Without waiting for a reply, he rang off.
There was a knock at the door.
'You alright in there, Inspector?' It was Catherine's voice. It was insistent. Curious. Knowing.
I pulled the baton out of Gemma and went to the door and opened it a crack.
'She's fine,' I said. 'We were moving the filing-cabinet and she got her hand caught.'
Catherine stared at me in obvious disbelief.
'You sure you're alright, Inspector?' she called, trying to see into the office.
'I'm fine,' said Gemma, in a voice that was anything but.
I gave Catherine a smile, which she repaid with a surly scowl, and pushed the door shut in her face.
I went back over to Gemma pulled her slightly more upright in the chair and sat and watched as her breathing slowly returned to normal.
'How was that?' I asked.
She appeared slightly dazed.
'Bastard!' she muttered. 'Fucking bastard!'
I got to my feet and undid my fly.
'You've had your fun,' I said. 'Now it's Uncle Jack's turn.'
My cock was hard as a length of lead pipe. I thrust it into Gemma's mouth, holding the back of her head with one hand. Her movements were listless, her mouth slack. I got the tip of my cock down her throat a couple of times, and she gagged but I kept on going. I came quickly, withdrawing at the last moment to come in her face and hair and on her still-quivering breasts.
I zipped myself up, and straightened my tie.
'Thank you,' I said.
Gemma seemed to be rapidly returning to normal. She blinked a couple of times as come slid into her eye.
I backed away a couple of steps and took a small digital camera from my pocket.
'One for the album,' I said. 'I think I'll call it "Line Manager Relaxing". Say cheese!'
'Fuck you!' said Gemma.
I picked up the baton from the floor and, once again, placed the business-end against her anus. She didn't react, so I started pushing and twisting. Even before I'd got in half an inch, she was begging me to stop.
'You're hurting me!'
'That's the general idea.'
I pushed a little harder.
'OK,' she said, hurriedly. 'I'll smile for your fucking photo!'
I withdrew the baton, and backed away. I got a couple of photos of her, tears in her eyes, face spattered with come, her beautiful mouth twisted in a rictus of a smile.
When I was satisfied, I took a knife from my pocket and cut the cable-ties. I unfastened the handcuffs and helped her lift her legs down from the arms of the chair.
'One last little treat,' I said.
Gemma looked at me blankly.
I took a couple of nipple-clamps from my pocket and reached down and, before she knew what was happening, clipped them in position.
Gemma squealed and reached up to remove the clamps, but I held her hands by her sides.
'You can get dressed now, Gemma, but you'll keep the clamps on until I tell you you can take them off. Is that clear?'
Gemma grimaced, but managed a nod.
'I'll be back in some time later to check. And woe betide you if you've taken them off.'