Walter Middleton was a mommy’s boy. His overprotective mother smothered him with love and he adored her. She was a socialite who had inherited quite a sum of money when her husband had died young, drunkenly driving his sports car over an abutment. The press played up the fact that there was also a pretty young model in the car with him when it crashed.

Mary Middleton put all her efforts into spending her husband’s legacy and doting on her son. He went to a public school and excelled at everything he did. Walter was fit and handsome and by the time he entered his late teens he was being considered as a potential spouse by a number of well-to-do young women.

Walter suffered migraine headaches for which the doctors had been unable to provide a remedy. When he was younger he would crawl into his mother’s bed and she would close the curtains and turn out all the lights and cuddle him. Her soft body, billowy satin nightdress, her perfume and her soft lips on his brow was the only thing that comforted him.

Mary Middleton was a striking woman with a voluptuous figure, a flaming red mane of curly locks and striking blue-green eyes. The vultures had circled when her husband died but she resisted any temptation to remarry. Not that she didn’t like men, she adored men and Walter hated every man who wooed his mother.

He’d sit outside her door listening to her moan like a slattern while she entertained her latest beau, he would seethe with jealousy and hatred for his mother but the hatred would turn to love as soon as he saw her. His headaches had abated as he grew but returned with a vengeance when he turned eighteen. They were so bad that sometimes he thought he’d die.

Mary found Walter curled up on the floor of her bedroom one evening, sobbing with pain. She knew what worked for him and she slipped out of her dress and took him into her bed and cuddled him. Walter curled up in the comforting arms of his mother, the solace he found having her curvaceous body pressed to his returned. The familiar smell of her perfume, the feel of her satin full-slip against his bare skin, the slippery softness of her nylon stockings against his legs, red lipsticked lips pressing on his forehead dissolved the agony in his head.

Mary felt her son become tumescent against her, something she was quite familiar with but not with her son.

“I love you mommy,” he sighed and Mary felt her love for her boy wash over her.

If letting him cuddle her while she smothered him with devotion bought relief from the demons in his head then that was a small price to pay. She felt him rubbing his erection against her and she knew that it was wrong but she would do anything for her son.

“Here; let mommy,” she kissed his cheek and took his hard penis in her fingers.

She used her fingers with feathery deftness and soon felt the warm ooze of his spend on her hand.

“Lovely mommy,” Walter sighed and snuggled up to her and fell into a peaceful sleep.

Whenever Walter was home from college he seemed to be plagued by migraines, particularly if Mary had a gentleman caller around. His mother knew what they were doing was wrong but she’d do anything for the love of her son. She started wearing sexy lingerie to bed and allowed Walter to rub his body against her and then she would use her hand to bring him relief. Walter would then invariably fall into a deep, comforting sleep.

After a while Walter started using his hands on her, stroking her thighs and squeezing her breasts as he humped against her. She let him ejaculate against her stocking-clad thighs if she was in the mood, knowing it bought him relief. Then one day his hand glided across the front of her tight satin panties.

She slapped his hand away.

“No Walter! You must never touch mommy there, ever! Do you understand?” she scalded him.

Walter nodded, looking sheepishly guilty.

“There, there, my lovely boy; let mommy help you,” her fingers went to his manhood and Walter growled with pleasure.

This thing they had between them became a sick fascination. Mary would get around the house dressed in a satin housecoat, lingerie and heels, letting the garment fly open to reveal her long legs clad in shimmering hosiery and her pubis clad in an ever changing repertoire of underpants: tight satin full-cut panties, see-through nylon French knickers, rayon directoire-knickers, and very rarely bikini panties.

The forbidden area between his mother’s legs fascinated Walter and he became frustrated that she seemed to delight in showing it off to him but any attempt he made to touch her there resulted in his hand being slapped away. One day Mary found a pair of her panties under Walter’s pillow. They were stained with his semen but instead of being disgusted she smiled to herself. He became careless, leaving snails-trails of silver semen in the stockings she left hanging over shower-rail, taking her underwear from the clothes hamper and returning it soaked with his semen, he didn’t care that she knew.

Rather than reprimand Walter she teased him and encouraged him, he was in her bed most nights when he was home from school with real or feigned migraines that needed his mother’s special remedy.

“You never tell anyone what we do together do you Walter?” she would ask and he would always shake his head.

Walter was becoming frustrated, but worse; he was fixated on his mother. Thoughts of her flaming red locks, her emerald-green eyes, her body clad in silk and satin, her long legs sheathed in glimmering sheer stockings but most of all, the deep V of her pubis, filled his every waking minute. His studies began to suffer and he was unable to engage with his friends and dating a girl was out of the question; none of them compared to mother.

Mother and son were both suffering from guilt but were unable to stop. Mary treated her guilt with alcohol but Walter began to have increasing fantasies about fucking his mother whether she wanted him to or not. In fact the images in his head of his mother trying to fight him off while he defiled her began to replace the images of her lovingly soothing him.

But if he did the unspeakable… if he crossed that boundary… if he committed the ultimate sin… no one could ever know. They must never speak of it. He would need to make sure that she never told a soul, not even in one of her drunken soirees.

Walter’s thoughts became darker and dangerous. He was going to fuck his mother, make her scream for not letting him do what she knew he wanted desperately to do, make her regret teasing him and then taking away the prize he desired, longed for, deserved! He’d sniffed it, he’d tasted it, but only when he stole her dirty panties of course; he’d even seen the outline of it through the gauzy nylon and satin. Her cunt belonged to him and he wanted it!

Being an intelligent being Walter took his time and hatched his plan. It would need to be perfectly executed if he was to get away with it.

On the evening he had selected he plied his mother with alcohol, it was easy, she loved to drink. As usual she was wearing her housecoat, stockings and suspenders, panties, bra and high heels. Her makeup was heavy: dark eyes, rouged cheeks, bright red lipstick. She teased him, allowing her housecoat to open so he could see her thighs and the V of her pubis covered in pink satin panties. Walter was hard.

He told his mother that he felt one of his headaches coming on and could they to her room so she could work her magic and sooth the deep pain slicing into his head. This time he didn’t have to fake it, he genuinely had a tremendous headache. He wondered if it was because he knew what was coming; what he had planned.

Walter stripped naked and his mother took off her housecoat and kicked off her heels and held the bedclothes open for him to join her.

“”Come to mommy darling; let me take away your pain,” she whispered through those red lipsticked lips.

Walter slid into the bed beside her and his mother enveloped him in her arms and kissed his forehead as he inhaled her scent. His cock was pressing on her sleek stockinged thigh. He was allowed to do this and he began to hump his mother’s leg. She reached for him, ready to bring him off in her hand hoping he would fall asleep as usual but tonight was different.

When she took her son’s erect penis in her fingers, instead of easing away from her a little so she could stroke him, he rolled on top of her and pinned her to the bed.

“Walter! What are you doing? Stop that!” Mary could feel her son’s cock prodding between her legs.

She slammed her legs shut, but it was too late. All she had achieved was trapping Walter’s hard cock between her legs and he continued to hump her satin-sheathed mound.

“You know you’re not supposed to do that Walter,” she wriggled underneath him but she couldn’t break free.

What’s more, by wriggling and bucking like she was, she was stimulating her son further, his cock was enfolded in her labia, the satin panty fabric stimulating it and she had to admit that she too was aroused. She always was when she did what she did with her son and usually she rubbed out an orgasm when he fell asleep or sometimes she just came when he spurted against her body.

Maybe she would just let him come against her panties; he hadn't penetrated her so they had not yet committed the mortal sin. She actually liked the feel of his hard flesh pressing into her cunt, rubbing on her clitoris through her panties.

Walter had other plans however and he pressed his feet between his mother’s ankles and forcefully opened his legs, forcing his mother’s legs open.

“No Walter! No!” she screamed.

He let her. There was no one in the house to hear her and their house was a walled estate so they had no neighbours.

“Ok mother; here we go,” Walter pressed his lips against hers but she shook her head trying to stop him.

The lapse of concentration as she tried to stop him kissing her meant she stopped focussing on trying to keep her legs together. Walter eased aside the gusset of his mother’s satin panties and entered her.

They both stopped struggling.

He looked down at his mother, her flaming red hair framed her face, fanned out on the pillow like a blazing halo, her green eyes burned with hate or desire, he wasn’t sure which; maybe both. But they had now committed the ultimate sin, even though Mary had tried to resist. Her cunt was his finally. He had the part of his mother that should have been his all along. A single tear rolled down his mother’s face but Walter didn’t care; he liked that she was crying.

He pressed his lips to hers and this time she didn’t resist. She let him kiss her. He crushed his mother’s lips with his, tasting her lipstick and then her sweet breath tinged with gin as he slid his tongue into her mouth. Her cunt was warm, moist and tight; clinging to his cock, he could smell her secretions.

Walter fucked his mother. He pressed himself against her body wanting to feel her breasts against his chest, her silken thighs against his, her lips on his lips. Her vagina clutched at his cock almost like it was reluctant to let his swollen organ leave her wet, warm passage. He’d bring it all the way out and then push it all the way in, delighting in the feel of his mother’s labia opening like the petals of a flower as he pushed himself inside her.

Mary couldn’t help how her body responded to her son’s assault. He may have been a virgin but he was fucking her as well as any of the men she had invited into her bed, maybe better.

She surrendered and wrapped her arms around her son’s body and lifted her legs to his flanks. She slid her tongue into his mouth. Walter loved the feel of his mother’s body against his and her response to his fucking her. But why hadn't she allowed him to do this before? Why had she teased him? Why had she withheld what was rightfully his?

“Oh god Walter this is so wrong but this is so good,” his mother moaned.

Walter fucked her harder, he was close to coming and she was getting wetter and the stench of her cunt was getting stronger. Walter pushed his mother’s head down on the pillow and held her there by her shoulders as he jackhammered his cock in and out of her. He wanted to see her face. He watched her face contort with lust, her eyes light up with wanton lechery. She wrapped her nylon-sheathed legs around him tighter and bucked beneath him. Her sodden panties rubbed against his scrotum.

Mary orgasmed and Walter came with her. Her cunt quivered and pulsed and gripped his cock, expressing the huge load of ejaculate he had saved for tonight. Walter gazed down at his mother’s face; a mask of ecstasy. His cock was on fire, his orgasm incredible, like nothing he had ever felt.

Walter quickly reached beneath the pillow and found the knife he had hidden there. Mary never knew what happened to her. Walter was so quick with the knife that her neck opened like a sluice gate and her blood gushed over her body and sprayed onto Walters face. She was aflame, her red hair glowing her blue-green eyes glittering and Walter spontaneously orgasmed a second time.

When he had finished he cut open her belly wanting to disfigure the part of her that she had denied him for so long; he didn’t know what he was doing but he found satisfaction in it anyway. He removed her panties and the wedding ring from her finger and went to the bathroom to shower.

When he was clean he changed into fresh clothing and took down the small suitcase that he had already packed with his most precious possessions. He put the stolen panties and the wedding ring in the suitcase for safekeeping. Walter went back to the bedroom and drenched his mother’s body with mentholated spirits and tossed a match on her. Her body held no interest for him now that the lights in her eyes had extinguished.

Walter took the suitcase downstairs and smashed all the liquor bottles on the floor and threw some newspapers on top of the puddle of spirits and tossed matches at it until it was ablaze.

He left the house and took his suitcase over to the old barn and hid it in his secret hidey-hole than he sat on the manicured lawn and watched the fire take hold of the house. When it was fully ablaze he ran down the long curving driveway to the road and began to scream.

Walter was a good actor and when a car pulled up the driver was convinced that Walter was absolutely devastated by the fire engulfing his house and was genuinely concerned and distressed that his mother might still be inside. He was inconsolable and incoherent for nearly a week which wasn’t an act. He genuinely missed his mother but when he snuck back to the property and recovered his suitcase from the barn it didn’t hurt as much. When he fondled the ring and sniffed his mother’s panties he missed her not at all because in his mind she was with him.

Mary Middleton was the first of the Flaming Girls. There would not be another one for fifteen years but there would definitely be more.

*****

The doctor removed the bandage from Charlie's throat and looked pleased with himself.

“I’ve done a bloody good job there if I do say so myself,” he inspected the scar and poked at it with gloved fingers.

A pretty young nurse holding the instrument tray cooed and preened, agreeing with the doctor; obviously infatuated with him.

“That big red scar will begin to fade and the lumpiness will disappear leaving just a thin silvery line across your throat. You seem adept at makeup Miss Ringwald, I’m sure you’ll conceal it well,” the doctor actually smiled at Charlie.

Charlie wondered if he realised that he had called her ‘Miss’ or if it was just an instinctive response now that she was able to wear makeup and feminine attire. Today she was wearing a powder blue chiffon teddy and matching nylon knickers of which the doctor got an eyeful when he pulled down the bedclothes to inspect the wounds on her belly. She was deftly tucked and the doctor spent an inordinate amount of time studying her pubic area, obviously wondering where her genitalia had disappeared to.

“That will be all thanks nurse,” he dismissed the pretty little thing and her disappointment was evident.

“I’m leaving the dressing off your throat, you may cover it with a scarf when you go out but I want it to get plenty of fresh air until it begins to fade,” the doctor fussed with her chart.

“I’ve put a lighter dressing on your stomach which is also healing well. The internal injuries will trouble you a little until they fully heal but nothing too painful, just the dull ache you describe.”

“We’ll remove the dressing from your abdomen next week and then you’ll be free to go. You’ll just need to make follow-up appointments with your GP and come back to the hospital if your pain returns but I doubt it will.”

The doctor was smug and full of himself. We walked over to the door and clicked the lock.

“I told you that I’d be releasing you to the public ward as soon as possible and I can longer justify you taking up a private room,” the doctor stood over her.

“You’re putting me in the public men’s ward, even though I look this?” Charlie asked.

“I’m sorry I can’t put you in the women’s ward because you aren’t one; although I must say you are a magnificent creature,” the doctor slid a hand along Charlie’s thigh, onto her hip, along her body and then lifted her chin.

“Quite beautiful,” he stared into her eyes.

“Exactly! What do thing is going to happen to me in the men’s ward!” Charlie said angrily.

“Yes. I can see your conundrum. If only there was a way to keep this private room for a few more days until you are discharged?” the doctor smiled like a crocodile.

Ever since she had been kicked out of home Charlie had faced discrimination and prejudice. Because she was a transvestite every man she met immediately thought that she must be promiscuous. She had turned to prostitution out of necessity, when she wasn’t working the streets she didn’t lie around all day and think of cock.

But she was a pragmatist. She traded her body for money; hell, she had even traded the story of her vicious attack for money. What she was about to do was nothing but trade.

“So I presume that if I provide you with a service, you will let me keep this room. Sort of quid pro quo?” she smiled up at him.

The doctor just nodded.

Charlie eased herself into a sitting position on the edge of the bed and reached out and opened the doctor’s lab coat and unzipped his fly.

“There’s a good girl,” he smiled down at her.

“You are quite the pretty thing,” he sighed.

Charlie freed the doctor’s penis from his trousers and put her lips to it. She used her tongue on the delicate fraenulum and before long was rewarded with a globule of clear sweet pre-ejaculate as the member became fully engorged. Charlie thought the doctor’s penis was rather pathetic given some of the monsters she had dealt with; it was probably why the doctor over-compensated in other areas.

She traced her tongue around the corona of his glans and the doctor groaned and put his hands on her head and encouraged Charlie to take him in her mouth. Charlie obliged and he began to frantically fuck her mouth.

“Take my cock you tranny whore!”

“Suck it you dirty bitch!”

“Swallow my load you slattern!” the doctored howled obscenities which bounced off Charlie like feathers off a carapace.

The doctor plunged his cock in and out of Charlie's mouth viciously. Had he been well endowed she might have choked, but his meagre offering was easy for her handle but she knew that this man craved subservience and deference so she feigned a fearful look and pretended she was choking whilst lashing at his penis with her tongue to invoke his orgasm as quickly as possible.

He pulled her face into his groin and held her there while he ejaculated a sad little puddle of sperm into her mouth. The doctor released her as soon as he had finished coming and Charlie spat his offering into a glass on her bedside table.

Charlie pretended to compose herself, all the while almost feeling sorry for the pitiful little man who man who compensated for his lack of penile dimensions by being an officious, overbearing and a self-centred prick. She looked up him, behaving like a frightened puppy, pretending that he had dominion over her.

“Thank you Miss Ringwald, I’ll see you here the same time tomorrow,” the doctor said as he adjusted his clothing.

“It’s a shame you have that stomach wound otherwise I would have loved to have fucked you up the arse,” he quipped as he unlocked the door.

He looked surprised to see WPC Glenda Savage standing outside the door.

“Afternoon doctor,” Glenda smiled at him but the smile never reached her eyes.

“Afternoon Constable,” the doctor sniffed and moved aside to allow Glenda to enter.

The doctor closed the door and Glenda entered carrying a shopping bag.

“I don’t like him, I think he’s officious and egotistical,” Glenda said looking back at the door.

“He’s ok. He’s a bit rapey but he’s putty in my hands,” Charlie got off the bed and went to the bathroom to rinse with mouthwash.

“He’s a bit what?” Glenda wasn’t sure if she’d heard Charlie correctly.

“Never mind; what did you bring me?” Charlie came out of the bathroom smiling.

“Christ I wish I had your figure. I gotta give up eating faggots, peas and chips and drinking Tizer,” she patted her ample belly.

“Bollocks you’re lovely,” Charlie replied, patting Glenda on the bottom.

“So what’s in the bag?” Charlie asked.

Glenda put the paper bag on the table and produced two bottles of beer, two packets of crisps and a packet of Consulate cigarettes.

“All the nutrition that two good girls need,” Glenda sniggered.

“And heaps better than the bollocks they serve from the hospital kitchen,” Charlie added.

Glenda popped the tops off the beer bottles using the aluminium strip on the edge of the table and handed Charlie one.

“Can I ask you another question? Why do you talk like that?” Glenda took a slug of ale from the bottle.

“Like what?” Charlie sipped her beer.

“You talk like a working class cockney but you come from a posh home and you are well educated,” Glenda commented.

“It disguises my upbringing and keeps me safe on the streets. Can you imagine me speaking The Queen’s English to the other brasses; they’d kick my arse in,” Charlie replied.

“Or talking to the punters with a posh accent: ‘sir, may I interest you in a spot of fellatio or perhaps a little buggery up against the wall’,” Charlie pulled off a perfect British upper-class accent.

“Let’s face it; there’s not many Sloane Rangers working the Chelmsford railway underpass is there,” she giggled.

“There you are; putting yourself down again,” Glenda admonished her.

“Changing the subject… what news of my case?” Charlie asked.

“Well funny you should ask. I’ve asked Ruffe Ingersoll to join us if you don’t mind,” Glenda ripped open the crisps and put a handful in her mouth.

“Here’s today’s Sun by the way,” Glenda said around a mouthful of Smith’s cheese and onion.

Charlie’s story had moved to the inside pages but Ruffe had written a great follow-up, describing life on the streets for London streetwalkers and the perils they faced daily trying to earn enough money to survive. He had included a picture of Charlie posing in the hospital room dressed in her pink rayon baby-doll nightdress. She looked pretty and seductive and next to it was the picture of her lying asleep in the hospital bed, wan and wounded.

He had used the caption: From This to This to make his point.

“I don’t look half bad in those baby-dolls but I look shit in the other picture. I didn't know that prick Ruffe had taken it,” Charlie studied the newspaper.

The Daily Sun had gone to the expense to use coloured ink on the better of the two photographs, the one of her lying in bed asleep they had left black and white to emphasise how peaked she looked.

Ruffe bustled through the door and closed it.

“Good evening ladies; you both look beautiful by the way,” Ruffe gave them his best smile.

Charlie accepted the compliment but Glenda gave him a sceptical look and took another beer out of the shopping bag and handed it to him.

“If I’d known it was going to be a cocktail party I would have bought you both a Babycham,” Ruffe deftly sprang the cap off his beer using the table’s sharp edge.

Ruffe was in fine form. Today he was carrying a small briefcase which he’d dumped on Charlie’s hospital cot. He took a long pull on his beer and popped the locks on his briefcase and took out a sheet of paper.

“Did you tell her?” Charlie looked meaningfully at Glenda.

“Nope; thought the pleasure would be all yours,” Glenda replied.

“Did she tell me what?” Charlie looked at Ruffe and then at the paper he was holding.

Ruffe simply offered Charlie the piece of A4 paper and sat on the edge of the bed and sipped his Whitbread Pale Ale.

The document was a Photostat copy of a handwritten letter. The cursive script was flowing and elegant.

I didn’t know the tranny whore lived until I read your article in the Sun. I thought for sure I’d done for her even though I was disturbed; she looked empty with her pale skin and her guts in her lap, nothing like the Flaming Girl who had burned so brightly when I slit her throat.

Her red hair and green eyes were ablaze when I first laid eyes on her. Never mind, alive or dead she will always be one of my Flaming Girls, perhaps I’ll finish the job, perhaps not. If you see her again tell her to fret not, her knickers are being put to good use by me.

There will be more, there will always be more. So long as there are Flaming Girls out there it is my duty to ensure they burn brightly before I snuff out their fire.

VULCAN

“It’s him,” Charlie said in a shocked whisper and the letter fluttered to the floor.

Ruffe bent down and picked it up while Glenda came to Charlie’s side and led her to a chair.

“It was addressed personally to me at The Daily Sun. The coppers have the original, I made that copy before I gave it to them,” Ruffe dusted off the letter and put it back in the briefcase.

“Scene of Crime Officers have made a preliminary inspection and the Criminal Investigation Division has a copy. They believe there are no fingerprints on the letter or the envelope. The cheeky bastard posted it in the pillar box on the corner of the Chelmsford railway underpass,” Glenda added.

“He went back to the scene of the crime,” Charlie murmured.

“We know it’s him from the details that no one else would know,” Glenda continued.

“Inculpatory evidence,” Charlie summarised.

“Exactly. This is the first time the Essex Slasher has made contact with the news services and you can be sure he’d know that it would wind up in police hands,” Glenda said.

“It’s not unusual for murders to leave notes at the scene or to send messages after the fact; it goes all the way back to Jack the Ripper. We believe it’s likely because you survived and he’s making excuses whilst bragging at the same time. He’s also taunting us; we can’t catch him and he’s going to kill more women.”

“He mentioned my knickers. What do you think he means by putting them to good use?” Charlie asked.

Neither Glenda nor Ruffe answered, the answer was obvious and distasteful.

“He writes well and uses good grammar and prose. CID thinks he’s well educated so that gives them a little more to go on,” Glenda said.

“What about his threat to finish the job? Do you think he’ll come after me?” Charlie shivered.

“Another reason I invited Ruffe to join us. I have a little proposition for you both,” Glenda said and pulled hard on her beer.

*****

The first Woman Detective Constable was appointed in 1973 which was also the year that the separate Women's Department was fully integrated into the Metropolitan Police. Female police officers did not get equal pay with male police officers until 1974 which was when the first Woman Chief Superintendent was appointed to take charge of a subdivision.

Glenda Savage joined the police during this exciting period and excelled during her basic training. She wanted a career in the police; and whilst she was still only a Woman Police Constable, she had set her sights high. She had sat and passed the Sargent’s exam and was just waiting for a position to become vacant so she could be promoted and she had also applied to become a Detective.

Her career had stalled and to make matters worse she was taken off patrolling duties and assigned to the Chief Constable’s Office.

Essex Police is a territorial police force responsible for policing the county of Essex, in the east of England, consisting of over 1.7 million people and around 1,400 square miles and Edward Bard, the current Chief Constable, was responsible for it. He was in his early fifties, handsome, intelligent, articulate, and freethinking and often used progressive, alternative and sometimes radical means to fight crime. He was also the highest ranking black man outside of the Met.

Edward surrounded himself with smart people and at first WPC Glenda Savage was unaware that Edward Brad himself hand selected her for the position, working directly for him as a liaison officer during high profile crimes.

“You’re very intelligent and you have street smarts, you’re going to go a long way Glenda but first just do this one job for me. You will report directly to me and you will be working the most important and high profile cases so you will get valuable exposure to all aspects of policing. When you finish up here I promise you a promotion and an appointment as a detective,” Edward had said to her during the interview.

Edward had sad brown eyes, full sensuous lips and coiffed black hair. He had a way of taking you into his confidence and making you feel almost sorry for him, devoted to him almost.

Glenda took the job and had worked closely with Edward for nearly two years. She was hoping to have been promoted and moved after a year but Edward held onto her. Glenda wasn’t stupid; she knew that he held onto her to keep her close, because he was dependent on her.

Their affair had started late one evening when they were both working late in his office. Glenda had taken off her jacket and was sitting on a hard backed chair with her legs crossed concentrating on a case file in her lap. Edward Bard sat behind his desk also in his shirtsleeves and was contemplating her.

“Is that regulation uniform WPC Savage?” he asked, breaking the silence.

“Sorry, what’s that sir?” she asked.

“Your skirt seems rather short and those stocking surely are not regulation?” he nodded at her legs.

Glenda blushed.

“They are my variation on the uniform regulations which demand WPCs wear black or navy-blue hosiery and skirts may be worn above the knee but are not to be too short,” Glenda quoted the manual.

“My stockings are black and fully-fashioned, my seams are straight so they are regulation,” Glenda had stood and she extended a leg and ran her fingers along the backseam of her stocking.

“And who determines when a skirt is too short?”

“Is this too short?” she pointed to the hemline of her skirt that rested six inches above her knee.

“Or this?” she raised her skirt a couple of inches which showed the dark shadow-welt on her stockings.

“Or this?” Glenda hitched her skirt above the tops of her stockings, nearly but not quite showing her panties.

The Chief Constable swallowed.

“You’re the Chief Constable, you decide,” Glenda sidled up to Edward, getting uncomfortably close.

He breathed the exotic perfume which she always wore and he had to admit drove him a little crazy, his eyes should have been on her blue eyes or her lipsticked cupid-bow lips or the halo of black curls surrounding her pretty face, but they were locked on her thighs.

Glenda took his hand and put it on the hem of her skirt.

“So show me sir, which length is acceptable?” Glenda leaned in, her lips nearly touching his.

Glenda took his hand again and this time she put it under her skirt.

“May be you should check my knickers while you’re at it,” she whispered and placed her lips on his.

Edward pulled her against him with his free arm whilst his other hand pressed against Glenda's black, rayon panties. He could feel the warmth of her sex through the slinky material. He put his tongue in her mouth and kissed her passionately and she responded, opening her mouth for him and pressing her breasts against his chest.

Glenda squeezed him though his trousers and Edward moaned and shivered.

Edward was not a womaniser and he had not selected Glenda Savage to work for him because he’d fancied her or even because of her looks, she was the right woman for the job. But he was in sexless marriage. Not a loveless marriage, he and his wife Alicia loved each other very much but his wife was raised in a strict religious household and believed that now she had given her husband two children there was no need for sex.

On the rare occasion that she had consented Alicia would raise the hem of her nightgown, pull down her plain saggy cotton knickers and lie still while he rutted on top of her. Her single act of participation would be to rub his back and say ‘wonderful Edward’ as she pulled up her knickers and pulled down her sexless linen nightgown when they finished.

She had kept her virginity until their wedding night so Edward had no idea that he was going to be in for a marriage without sex when he married his wife.

Edward’s passion rose at Glenda's display of wantonness. Edward had become attracted to Glenda not long after she had started working with him. They spent a lot of time working together and because of the confidentiality required of a liaison officer, they were often alone. When she’d lean over him to show him something on a document he would breathe in her exotic perfume, her breasts would accidently graze his shoulder, she would sometimes absentmindedly open her legs while she was concentrating on reading or writing something, she exuded a subtle sexuality that he found alluring.

And now he had her in his arms and he was kissing her. They both knew it was wrong but they both couldn’t stop. They craved each other.

Glenda led Edward over to the couch, stopping to lock the door, and pulled him down on top of her. They struggled with their clothing, she unbuttoned her blouse and freed her large pillowy breasts and Edward unbuckled his trousers and awkwardly hitched them down to his knees. He lifted Glenda’s skirt and put a hand inside her panties, he wanted to touch her there, to feel the moistness and heat of her sex.

Glenda moaned when Edward opened her labia, he was obviously inexperienced as he struggled to find the right place or to do the right thing but Glenda guided his fingertip to her clitoris and he soon figured out how to please her as she gyrated beneath him, moaning and sighing.

He wanted to play with her breasts but he was close to coming and Glenda was grinding her pubis against his hand so he thought it would be rude to move it. Glenda took his dark throbbing penis in her hand and guessed rightly by the string of glistening pre-ejaculate drooling from the eye of his cock that he was close to extremis.

She removed Edward’s hand from her labia and guided his cock inside the gusset of her panties and placed it at the entrance to her vagina.

They kissed deeply as Edward slipped his long thick cock inside her. Glenda had never been filled by such a large organ before and it felt wonderful. Edward’s wife was perennially dry when they fucked and to him it felt wonderful to be inside Glenda’s tight, warm, wet, spongy quim.

“I’m sorry,” Edward moaned as he ejaculated.

“Oh god!” Glenda shrieked as she orgasmed, holding Edward’s body against her by locking her legs around him and pulling him close as she kissed him intensely.

Edward kissed her and mauled her breasts as he continued to climax inside this beautiful sexy woman. They stayed locked together kissing and caressing each other and within ten minutes Edward was hard again.

This time he fucked Glenda energetically for nearly an hour, they experimented with multiple positions and explored each other’s bodies; she stripped down to knickers, stockings, suspenders and heels and he fully naked.

They never played up in Edward’s office again. They met surreptitiously at hotels or motels at least once a week; at work they were nothing but professional. Glenda knew all about Edward’s wife and that he would never leave her, it was a relationship of convenience for them both. Edward got regular sex from a woman he cared deeply for but didn’t love and Glenda got the sex which she enjoyed, but she also manipulated Edward ensuring she got her way at work but couldn’t break free of his hold over her.

Glenda was starting to resent Edward. As far as she was concerned he was getting a great deal, shagging a pretty young WPC and then going home to his wife while she was stuck working in the Chief Constable’s office with no sign yet of the promised promotion or detective’s assignment. She had started to become lazy and let herself go putting on weight and she resented herself for it.

The Essex Slasher case might just be the antidote to her recent apathy.

“I want to open a Special Crime Investigation,” WPC Glenda Savage sat across the desk from the Chief Constable.

“Come on now Glenda. This is all a bit much. Not long now and you’ll be promoted and seconded to CID,” Edward smiled patronisingly at her across the desk.

“And will my collateral duties in CID still involve me dropping my drawers for you once a week at some seedy motel. Lying on the bed waiting for you wearing my whore’s makeup and those black stockings and high heels you like so much?” Glenda retorted.

“Shh! Keep it down Glenda, people will hear you!” Edward said in a harsh whisper.

“I’ve formed a bond with Charlie Ringwald. She’s the only victim to survive the Slasher and she knows more about him than she thinks. The Slasher has opened dialogue with Ruffe Ingersoll who has a strange but effective symbiosis with Charlie,” Glenda continued.

“So what are you going to be? The three stooges? Two stooges and a tranny brass?” Edward chuckled and lowered his eyes to a document in front of him dismissively.

“Look sir, I know that the minimum rank to head up a Special Crime Investigation is Sargent, you can second someone from CID. Just so long as they know we will be a collaborative team with equal standing,” Glenda would not be cut short.

“You’re dreaming Glenda,” Edward refused to look up or to be drawn any further into Glenda’s preposterous idea.

“Did you hear about WPC Golding over at Redditch?” Glenda changed tack.

“What about her?” Edward said disinterestedly flicking through the file in front of him.

“She was shagging the DCI but they had a nasty breakup. She started sending the dirty sexy knickers the DCI had bought her to his wife through the post. Apparently it took some explaining but they’re still together, although he’s on a short leash,” Glenda speculated.

“Of course he’s been demoted and reassigned to a boring administrative position up north.”

She had finally got Edward’s attention.

“You wouldn’t!” he hissed.

“Nah, I like my knickers too much. I’d probably send her my laddered stockings… you know the ones with your spunk on them… you do like coming on my stockings Edward,” Glenda smiled at him.

“Keep it down!” Edward hissed again.

“I doubt Alicia will be as forgiving; she’s a very pious woman I’ve been told. Of course my reputation will be besmirched but there’s plenty of WPCs dropping their kit for senior officers, its passé; but a Chief Constable shagging one of his junior aids? That’s not going to go down well at all,” Glenda’s smile widened.

“And the first black Chief Constable, the highest ranking black policeman outside of the Metropolitan Police. There will be some who will be bitterly disappointed and some who will say ‘told you so’.”

“All right Glenda. You know I’m not averse to using alternative crime fighting techniques. You can have your Special Crime Investigation and you can include Ruffe and that tranny in your little band of merry men but I’m putting a proper member of the CID in charge. Your SCI is to hand over anything they find of interest to the CID officers assigned to the Slasher Task Force so that proper policing procedures are followed,” Edward said angrily ceding to Glenda’s request.

“I want someone to keep you steady and ensure you don’t breach police protocols and especially make sure that snake Ruffe Ingersoll isn’t given anything out the investigation to print without my approval.”

“Thank you sir. I’ll head down to Chelmsford public hospital and tell Miss Ringwald, who I have to tell you is not the stupid strumpet you think she is, and who’s life might be in danger if you believe what the Slasher wrote,” Glenda stood up.

“Thanks WPC Savage, another reason to justify why I’ve stood up an SCI, to protect our star witness and the only person who can identify the mass murder,” Edward sighed.

Glenda moved around the Chief Constable's desk and ensuring that no one could see into the office she bent down and kissed Edward on the lips and shoved his hand under her skirt. He did not resist both acts.

“Wednesday; the usual place. You bring the wine and I’ll bring my sexy seamed stockings and those French knickers you like so much,” she whispered in his ear and nibbled his earlobe before moving away, leaving him with quite a prominent erection.

*****

Of course she did not give any of this detail to Charlie and Ruffe, just that she had the Chief Constable’s blessing to form a Special Crime Investigation team and that Ruffe and Charlie could be seconded to it as civilian consultants.

“What’s in for me?” Ruffe asked immediately.

“We collaborate. Anything you get through your sources or if the Slasher writes to you again you share and I’ll share stuff from the CID and SOCO,” Glenda promised.

“And me? I don’t get anything,” Charlie said.

“You get protection and also the chance to participate in the investigation of your own case; almost unheard of,” Glenda countered.

“All right I’m in. I need another story to follow up my story about the Slasher’s letter. Your lot have put a court order on the newspapers printing the letter or transcribing it; but I am allowed to print that I received a letter from the Slasher and that he has for all intents and purposes admitted to all of the murders in the letter,” Ruffe said.

“Plus I’ve got to give sexy-knickers here twenty quid every time I do a story about her, so I’m going broke,” Ruffe playfully mussed Charlie’s hair.

Despite swapping insults their camaraderie was real.

“So I guess I’m in too,” Charlie whipped the beer out of Ruffe’s hand and took a slug.

“There is just one thing. The Chief Constable is going to appoint a more senior police officer to head up the SCI, someone from CID. But we are all going to collaborative and have equal standing when it comes to the investigation,” Glenda paraphrased what she had said to Edward.

“Who’s that going to be then?” Ruffe snatched the beer bottle back off Charlie who gave him the finger in return, but she was smiling.

Just then the door opened and in walked Robin Sparrow. The joviality left the room like a chill wind blowing in December.

“Is this your doing WPC Savage? Are you the reason I’m heading up an SCI comprising of a tranny brass, a conniving scrivener, and a fat policewoman?” Detective Sargent Sparrow eyed each them individually and menacingly.

To be continued