Author's note: I thought I'd done with Charlotte and the Masters and Acolytes of the Circle but during my travels whilst on sabbatical I noticed a gathering in a graveyard in small English town; mostly well-dressed women obviously 'of substance' and the scene piqued my imagination. So here is my offering. One more chapter to follow... please tell me what you think.

The attractive, elegant women stood huddled in small groups; it was obvious to any observer that they were grieving and were comforting each other, bound by their loss and a common sense of purpose.

Their nationalities varied but they were all beautiful, most under thirty but a few older; although they all wore black they all wore it stylishly, figure-hugging dresses, or skirt and jacket suits, expensive hosiery, plenty of Jimmy Choo and Christian Louboutin high heels. Their hair and makeup was perfect and despite being dressed in funereal finery, they exuded sexuality.

The women all wore discreet gold rings shaped in the form of a serpent swallowing its tail on their wedding ring fingers.

The men were also very well dressed in expensive tailored suits and they exuded a sense of upper class entitlement, refinement and affluence; they too were gathered in small groups. They surveyed the women in the same way a horse racing syndicate might survey their stable of mares; appraising the particular features of each creature. Many of the men would be instantly recognisable as peers of the realm, leaders of industry and commerce, politicians and public servants, military men, academics and artists. They were older than most of the women; not one of the men was younger than forty.

The men all wore black onyx and gold rings on their right ring fingers, the band of which was fashioned into a serpentine design.

Of course there was no one outside of this distinguished group of men and women to recognise any of the mourners; they were a closed society and the funeral was a private service.

The just completed internment had taken place at the family crypt inside the hallowed grounds of Chelmsford Hall. Lord Edward Tilsbury’s funeral service had taken place prior to his internment in the Chelmsford Hall chapel. The chapel could not accommodate all of mourners; and anyway few of them were religious so most had elected to pay their respects at the graveside service.

Now that the service was over and marks of respect had been rendered the groups of men and women began to merge, no longer divided by their sex. The few mature women were confident and assured of their status; the younger women more supplicant and shy.

A woman of uncertain age but likely in her forties stood on a small knoll observing the ceremony under the shade of one of the few remaining healthy Elms in England. She was stylishly dressed in Dior and Louboutin. A black suit consisting of a knee-length tight pencil skirt with a kick pleat clung to her buttocks and thighs; the equally tight jacket over a white satin blouse delineated a modest but pert decolletage. Her blonde hair was exquisitely coiffed, ironed straight, the nape rested on her shoulders her fringe cut perfectly straight across her eyebrows.

Her makeup was heavy but impeccable, dark eyes, rouge defined high cheekbones, ruby-red full lips; she had accessorised with modest gold jewellery, as befitted the occasion.

She sensed the presence behind her but did not turn her head when she spoke.

“You remain devoted to him even now he’s gone,” the woman rummaged in her purse for cigarettes.

“I loved him,” the other woman, of similar age and equally elegantly presented, replied.

“All of us Acolytes of the Circle loved him Mary,” the woman placed a cigarette in her lips.

Mary took a step forward and flicked her gold lighter and placed the flame under Charlotte’s cigarette.

“When was the last time we met?” Mary lit her own cigarette and blew smoke over her shoulder.

“Oh I think it was at that thing at Dickie’s place in Kensington, just before I went to America, must have been at least ten years ago,” Charlotte scrutinised the filter of her cigarette, picking off a stray skerrick of lipstick.

“Yes; that was it. You do look good,” Mary smiled.

“You got fat,” Charlotte replied; a whimsical grin crossed her lips.

Mary smiled and turned down her lips; she knew that she had not put on a single ounce since they had last met. She had a voracious appetite but her exercise regime was the equal of any Olympian athlete. She refused to rise to the bait.

“Well. As I said, you look good. You've kept your figure and you have the arse of a twelve-year-old boy,” Mary replied.

“I used to be a twelve year old boy,” Charlotte smiled and turned to face Mary.

“But some jumped up shopgirl, turned cigarette-hawker in a men’s club gave me a few pointers a few years ago and now you see what you see,” Charlotte dropped her cigarette and crushed it into the grass.

She pulled Mary into a warm embrace and kissed her on the lips.

“How have you been darling? It’s so wonderful to see you,” Charlotte smiled warmly and tenderly rubbed at Mary’s lip where she had smudged her lipstick.

“All the better for seeing you,” Mary smiled back and held Charlotte at arms-length and appraised her.

“Those tits are new,” Mary’s eyes scanned Charlotte’s decolletage.

“Well… I had to have those fucking silicone granulomas removed but lucky for me the plastic surgeon was able to remove them without too much damage and he gave me a nice set of implants,” Charlotte patted her chest.

“Yes, well back then all they had was silicon injections to enhance breasts. How about… I mean… you know?” Mary glanced down at Charlotte’s mid-section and raised her brows inquiringly, blushing as she did so.

“Oh that?”

“No she’s still tucked away between my legs and neatly gaffed. Never saw the need for a prosthetic vagina; besides, what do the French say? Vive la diffėrence? There’s plenty of the Masters used to like my toy; as did you if I recall correctly,” Charlotte sniffed.

Mary blushed a deeper red until Charlotte began to chuckle and then Mary laughed with her and the two beautiful women fell into each other’s arms and kissed again.

“Is it awful? Laughing during a funeral I mean?” Charlotte dabbed at the corner of her eye with a handkerchief.

“Well technically the funeral and interment are over so no; not really,” Mary smiled wanly.

“Come. Let’s walk the gardens and go down to the Hall and get a drink,” Mary took Charlotte gently by the elbow.

“I have so many questions; so much has changed,” Charlotte said.

“And so much has remained the same,” Mary said, a little bitterness in her voice.

“I see you got your ring,” they were holding hands and Mary squeezed Charlotte’s left ring finger.

“Yes,” Charlotte self-consciously twisted the ring on her finger.

“Edward introduced them not long after you left for America. Turns out some tosser was passing himself off as a Master of the Circle and was shagging Acolytes like a randy dog, mostly young ditzes who had been Novices only weeks earlier. He never came to any of the Meetings of the Circle of course, just found Acolytes outside of the meetings and demanded his right as Master of the Circle by invoking the Master’s command,” Mary began.

“I have need of your service,” Charlotte whispered the command that bound Acolytes to their Masters.

“Precisely. Anyway, one of the old hands found him out and Edward had Sargent Pitt sort the tosser out if you know what I mean? Problem was that membership of the Masters of the Circle was getting too big to properly oversee. So Lord Chelmsford introduced the rings as a means of identification,” Mary explained.

“Sort of ‘no tickee-no-washee’,” Charlotte grinned.

Mary playfully punched Charlotte’s arm and smiled back.

“Exactly!”

“Speaking of ‘no tickee-no-washee’, I notice a few other changes too,” Charlotte raised her brows inquiringly.

“Oh yes. It’s the nineties dear; the Circle is an equal opportunity employer. We have black women, Asians, ladies of all nationalities…we even have a few more of your sort,” Mary teased.

“Not really,” Charlotte sniffed.

She was well aware that there were a few other transsexual Acolytes but they had all undertaken gender reassignment surgery.

“But the Masters are still all British upper-class?”

“Yes; well that’s because potential Masters are only invited to join the Circle by the current crop of Masters so of course the candidates tend to come from their own gene pool so to speak. Besides, the selection and indoctrination process for a Master takes nearly as long as it does for a Novice. We have to ensure the utmost discretion and that secrecy is maintained,” Mary answered.

“As you are aware, at twenty-five the Acolytes can leave the Hall and live freely in society, but are still bound by their commitment to the Circle. Most of them soon marry and leave the Circle; sometimes a Master will even marry an Acolyte he’s fallen in love with.”

“Can’t imagine being married to a woman who has had more pricks in her than a second-hand dart board. But then I’m not a man,” Charlotte sniffed.

“Well you used to be and you know better than to speak about us like that! You’ve been away a long time but you still wear your ring. You’re still sworn to the Circle!” Mary let go of Charlotte’s hand and crossed her arms angrily.

“Keep yer knickers on; you know I was only joking,” Charlotte sidled up to Mary and put her arm around her waist.

“Second-hand dartboard indeed!” Mary scoffed as they kept walking towards Chelmsford Hall.

“There are disturbing things happening within Society of the of the Order of the Circle, Edward was trying to get to the bottom of them when he was taken from us,” Mary abruptly changed the subject.

“Really. What things?” Charlotte’s interest was piqued.

“Well I told you about the imposter using our Acolytes. Also many of our younger Acolytes have resigned from the Circle,” Mary continued.

“Yes Mary but many do. They become attached to man or they decide the lifestyle is no longer for them,” Charlotte replied.

“Yes, but so many more than usual and some of them have simply disappeared, never heard from. And even more disturbing too many of our Novices are withdrawing from Society of the Circle prior to graduation. We have always had a few that were not suitable or who decided that devotion to the Circle until the age of twenty-five was not for them; but we are losing too many for it to be a coincidence,” Mary said.

“Intriguing. Have you any idea at all what’s causing our Novices and Acolytes to relinquish their devotion to the Circle?” Charlotte asked.

“Not really but Lord Tilsbury thought he was close to solving the mystery,” Mary sounded melancholy and more that a little lost.

Charlotte took Mary’s hand as they continued to enjoy the gardens.

Charlotte and Mary completed their walk around the grounds and arrived at the Hall to find a crowd of Masters and Acolytes clogging the main entrance as they made their way to the extravagant wake that awaited them in the main hall.

“Let’s go in through the conservatory,” Mary smiled and dangled a key.

“So you never left Chelmsford Hall? You stayed and worked for Edward all these years?” Charlotte touched Mary’s arm briefly.

“I never wanted anything else. I am content to be an Acolyte of the Circle and was gratified with my role as Edward’s personal assistant,” Mary sighed.

They made their way through the conservatory and Mary led Charlotte to Lord Tilsbury’s private quarters where both his office and his bedchamber were located. Mary invited Charlotte to sit in one of the beautiful antique chintz armchairs while she poured them both a drink.

“I heard you had a child,” Charlotte lit cigarettes for both of them.

“Yes; Tiffany. Edward is her father, she’s away at finishing school in Paris. She knows nothing of the Circle nor will she,” Mary said determinedly.

“But it’s good enough for her mother? You’ve devoted your life to the Circle,” Charlotte countered.

“I gave my up daughter not long after she was born. A good friend of mine who married well and relinquished her Acolyte status adopted Tiffany. I’ve been fortunate that I have been able to watch her Tiffany grow up into a beautiful intelligent young woman; visiting the family regularly, I’ve still been part of her life,” Mary put down the drinks on the table and took the proffered cigarette.

“It must be hard. What about Edward?” Charlotte picked up her drink.

“The one thing we never agreed on. He didn’t want me to have the baby but I insisted. Now it doesn’t matter anymore,” Mary wiped at her eyes and forced a smile.

“Enough of me; what about you? I’ve heard you’re a world traveller and entrepreneur?”

Charlotte reached into her purse and handed Mary a matte black business card embossed with silver script: ‘Something Special - Charlotte's Web’ with an international phone number discreetly inscribed on the bottom right corner.

“A callgirl agency?” Mary could not keep the disappointment out of her voice.

Charlotte stiffened.

“Not at all! It’s like the card says… something special. Membership to an elite club that gives members unfettered access to a pool of gorgeous, articulate ladies who are artisans as well as companions,” Charlotte reproached.

“Callgirls,” Mary repeated herself.

“No!” Charlotte slapped her palm on the table.

“Charlotte’s Web is modelled on the Circle, but is a commercial venture. Men pay an exorbitant monthly stipend for the privilege and the girls are well paid for their services. They also get to keep whatever extra remuneration the members bestow upon them,” Charlotte calmed herself as she spoke.

“I see,” Mary didn’t sound convinced.

“Charlotte’s Web has franchises in most of Europe, Singapore, Japan and Australia. I’ve lived in Australia for the last seven years; made it my base of operations so to speak.”

“But you went to America first?” Mary frowned.

“I tested the business model there but the Americans just don’t get it. They couldn’t appreciate the privilege of belonging to an exclusive clique with a clearly defined dictum and principles. They treated the girls like hookers; passing them on to non-members, they didn’t treat the women with respect,” Charlotte began.

“Americans like to deride the British upper-classes as stuck up and antiquated, whilst secretly being jealous of our formality and social propriety. Just like their addiction to junk food and shopping malls, everything needs to fast, ‘to go’ and disposable. They do not comprehend the subtlety of the Acolyte and Master relationship; they just wanted ‘wham bang thank you ma'am’ sex; the Circle model never worked there. But I learned a lot about running a commercial venture; then I shut down my enterprise in America and reopened in Australia with a refined business model.”

“And now it’s a roaring success,” Charlotte beamed.

“So you stole the whole premise and tenet of the Masters of the Circle and turned it into a grubby commercial business?” Mary finished her drink and took their glasses to the bar to refill them.

“You don’t approve?” Charlotte crushed out her cigarette.

Mary didn’t answer but asked another question.

“You still wear the ring of an Acolyte; does that mean you still abide by the dictums of the Circle?” Mary bought the drinks back to the table.

“It’s who I am. I won’t ever forget where I came from and what Sir Edward Tilsbury did for me. I will always be an Acolyte of the Circle,” Charlotte said solemnly.

“So… Speaking of the Late Sir Edward, is it true that that jumped up little twerp nephew of his Barnaby will inherit the title?” Charlotte sipped her gin and tonic.

“Edward’s is one of the few remaining hereditary peerages in England. He has no son and as Barnaby is the legal benefactor and heir decreed in Edward’s will, Barnaby will inherit the Earldom, but there is likely to be some pushback from the peerage; he’s not well liked,” Mary explained.

“I’ve heard he’s a right little shit,” Charlotte looked over the rim of her glass at Mary.

“Let’s just say he’s not in favour with most of the Acolytes; he can be a bit forceful and boorish at times. Some of the Masters are not at all pleased about him becoming the Grand Master; they don’t think he has the acumen, diplomacy, nor the intelligence for that matter to oversee the Society of the of the Circle,” Mary said as diplomatically as possible.

“So if I can decode your English vernacular, he’s an idiot with power and is heir to a title who likes to treat his women rough,” Charlotte smiled.

Just then the door opened without being knocked and Barnaby Tilsbury strode into the room.

“Speak of the devil,” Mary whispered, her eyes crinkled in a wicked smile.

“And he will appear,” A smile also crossed Charlotte’s lips but she quickly suppressed it.

“Thought I’d find you here Mary; we need those god-awful Novices to get their act together. We’re running out of champagne and the caviar is getting warm and… well hello! Who is this ravishing young woman?” Barnaby came to an abrupt halt beside the two women, made an effort to bow, and gave them both a lecherous sneer.

Both Charlotte and Mary cringed inwardly at Barnaby’s clumsy attempt at decorum and humour.

“I’m hardly a young woman sir. I’m forty something but thanks for the compliment,” Charlotte rose to her feet in deference to Barnaby’s status as a Master and offered her hand.

Mary rose with her and politely nodded.

“May I introduce Ms Charlotte Beason,” Mary said.

Barnaby kissed the back of Charlotte’s hand and Charlotte curtsied in reply.

“Delighted to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you from Uncle Edward,” Barnaby grinned insipidly.

“Yes. Charlotte was one of Lord Edward’s early foundlings and the first of our special Acolytes, I was her mentor,” Mary explained while Barnaby kept hold of Charlotte’s hand.

“Yes; of course she’s a trans…er as you say special,” Barnaby corrected himself and Charlotte’s ire began to rise.

Barnaby twisted Charlotte’s hand.

“I see that you wear the ring. That you are bound by the convention of the Acolytes of the Circle,” Barnaby’s grin became malicious.

“Yes sir; you see…” Charlotte never got to finish her sentence.

“I have need of your service,” Barnaby hissed.

“But Sir! Today is Lord Tilsbury’s funeral; it is not expected that Acolytes will be performing their duties during the service nor the reception. Perhaps we can arrange something when the guests have departed,” Mary interjected.

Charlotte paled. She tried to retract her hand but Barnaby held it in a vice like grip.

“Shut up you jumped up strumpet! Whatever standing you thought you had disappeared with the death of my uncle,” Barnaby snapped back at Mary.

“Now, Ms Beason. I have need of your service!” Barnaby growled, squeezing Charlotte’s hand and glared at her defiantly.

Charlotte remained frozen until Barnaby shook her.

“Acolyte! Perform your duty!” he bellowed.

Charlotte regained her composure. Her demeanour changed from being overwhelmed to resolved.

“Of course Master. Perhaps we could retire the bedroom?” Charlotte said resignedly.

“I have no time for that you ditz; I have guests awaiting for me in the main banquet hall. This will do just fine,” he pulled Charlotte over to Lord Tilsbury’s huge oak desk.

“Drop your skirt and bend over,” Barnaby demanded.

“I’ll give you some privacy,” Mary began to make her way over to the adjoining bedroom door.

It was quite common for Masters and Acolytes to pleasure themselves in front of each other; in fact the Masters of the Circle met monthly in the great hall at Chelmsford House for what was essentially an orgy. But Masters and Acolytes also often met for discreet encounters if the Master so deemed.

“No need to leave Miss Pilson; in fact I’d be delighted if you stay,” Barnaby grinned.

Mary blushed and bowed her head.

Charlotte unzipped her skirt and pulled it down her thighs and when it pooled around her ankles she picked it up and smoothed it over the back of the chair. She bent over the desk as directed; presenting herself to her Master.

“What the bloody hell are those awful things!” Barnaby had positioned himself behind Charlotte and was unzipping his flies.

One of the dictums mandated to the Acolytes of the Circle was that they were always to wear stockings. The Masters had decreed this when pantyhose, or tights as they are known in the UK, became popular in the 1960s. The reasons being because stockings are far more sexier than pantyhose, but also they facilitate easy access to an Acolyte’s vagina and anus. A dispensation was made to allow the wearing of hold-up stockings when it is impractical to wear a suspender belt. The wearing or slacks or jeans is strictly forbidden; Acolytes are always to wear skirts or dresses when they wear their ring.

Charlotte was bent over the desk seething with anger. Her magnificent derriere being offered to her Master was sheathed in sheer-to-the-waist, seamless pantyhose with translucent, gossamer thin panties worn over. Charlotte had worn the garments so as not to spoil the lines of her tight pencil skirt.

“But Master, I was not expecting to have to provide Acolytic service to a Master today because of the solemnity of the occasion,” Charlotte explained.

“There are no exceptions to the rules whilst you wear the ring; I bloody well hope you are prepared!” Barnaby growled.

When Charlotte was a Novice all those years ago Mary had taught her how to douche and then lubricate inside her anus as all Acolytes were required to do in the event that a Master wished to use their bottom.

“Charlotte is right sir. There was no reason for her to expect to have to render service today,” Mary offered her support to Charlotte.

“If you wear the ring then you abide by the dress code and are always prepared,” Barnaby unbuckled his belt, he had taken off his jacket and was in the process of dropping trow.

“I am prepared Master, but I am not lubricated,” Charlotte felt colossally humiliated having to explain this whilst bent over the desk supplicating herself.

“You do have magnificent arse,” Barnaby slapped Charlottes buttocks and she flinched.

He positioned himself behind Charlotte and began to rub his rather well equipped manhood in the crevice of her behind, leaving silvery streaks of pre-ejaculate on her transparent panties. He gripped her hips and ground himself against Charlotte’s buttocks.

“I have to admit that does feel rather good,” Barnaby purred.

“Put some effort in old girl!” Barnaby goaded Charlotte and spanked her left buttock.

Years of supplication to Masters too numerous to count and adherence to her Acolytic training engendered Charlotte to comply and maximise the pleasure of whoever was using her for his satisfaction. Accordingly Charlotte began to rotate her buttocks and push back against Barnaby’s thrusting member.

“Mmm; that’s better,” he droned

“Now let’s just see what we can do about this,” Barnaby chuckled wickedly.

He pulled aside the gusset of Charlotte’s knickers and hooked a finger into the seamless gusset of her translucent pantyhose. He snagged his nail into the flimsy fabric and tore a hole.

Charlotte whimpered at the indignity and Mary turned away; not wanting to see her friend degraded.

Barnaby nestled the glans of his penis into the puckered bud of Charlotte’s sphincter and began to massage the bulbous head of his penis in her cleft.

Charlotte gripped the desk tightly and shuddered. She tensed as she felt the crown of Barnaby’s penis pushing at her entry.

“As I said Master; I am not pre-lubricated but I do carry sachets of lubricant in my purse,” Charlotte attempted to reach for her pocketbook but it was out of reach.

“Sorry old girl; you should have thought about the consequences when you decided not to be adequately prepared,” Barnaby smirked.

He spat, dripping spittle on the head of his phallus and into the crack of Charlotte’s anus.

“This will just have to do,” he grunted as he thrust forward.

Charlotte refused to scream as the pain as Barnaby's huge phallus renting her anus surged through her. Instead she gasped and gritted her teeth.

“My god you’re tight for an old hag,” he gripped Charlotte’s hips and pushed himself all the way inside her until his groin pressed against her buttocks.

Mary couldn’t help but look when she heard Charlotte’s cry; she could see the pain on Charlotte’s face, and witnessed her gritted teeth and grimaced countenance. Charlotte’s fingers raked at the desk and then she gripped it tightly whilst Barnaby assaulted her derriere.

Barnaby enjoyed the feeling of having his cock deep inside this attractive, elegant trans-woman; her anus clenched his cock because it was inadequately lubricated. He could barely move his erection it was so tightly wedged in her back passage; Charlotte’s obvious discomfort only served to heighten his pleasure.

Mary stumbled over to the desk and snatched up Charlotte's purse.

“Here Master; allow me to lubricate your shaft so that you might better enjoy your Acolyte,” Mary feigned supplication.

“She is rather tight,” Barnaby extracted his penis from Charlotte’s rectum and Charlotte sighed with relief.

Mary tore open the sachet of KY Jelly and applied it liberally to the shaft of Barnaby’s penis and to Charlotte’s crinkled fissure. She finished her task and made to walk away when Barnaby snatched at her wrist.

“Don’t leave us dear; I have need of your service also,” Barnaby smirked.

“Please relocate my manhood back into his creature’s bottom.”

Mary did as she was told and took Barnaby’s engorged manhood and guided the glans into Charlotte’s puckered entrance. Barnaby pushed forward and this time his cock slid easily all the way into Charlotte’s back passage. Charlotte grunted as he did, but at least there was no pain; just a sense of being filled.

Barnaby began to thrust slowly in and out of Charlotte’s anus enjoying the tactility of her tight channel as he fucked her. Charlotte could now easily accommodate Barnaby’s member and she began to push back against him and wriggled her buttocks to enhance his enjoyment, the motive being to intensify his pleasure and invoke his climax as quickly as possible.

Charlotte couldn’t help her physical response to the stimulation of Barnaby’s cock as it triggered the sensitive nerves in her anus and massaged her prostate. She began to feel pleasure. Despite being a bounder, Barnaby was an accomplished lover and he worked his penis expertly in and out on Charlotte’s channel, stimulating her sphincter and ensuring his glans caressed her prostate.

Barnaby grinned when he moved a hand from Charlotte’s hip and reached between her legs and found her engorged penis tenting her pantyhose and knickers.

“Help her,” he commanded, taking Mary’s hand and guiding it between Charlotte’s legs.

Mary was a little surprised to find Charlotte erect but given that Charlotte was now purring with desire and rutting against Barnaby as he fucked her, she was obviously enjoying being pleasured regardless of whether it was against her will or otherwise.

“Oh yes!” Charlotte moaned as Mary began to stroke her penis through the silky layers of pantyhose and panties.

She writhed with pleasure and Barnaby gripped her hips tightly and fucked her with long hard strokes as she bucked against him. Her tight anus gripped his cock and he felt his orgasm approaching.

“That’s it you slut; take my cock! You tranny whore!” Barnaby groaned as he pulled Charlotte back against him; pushing his groin hard against her buttocks.

Charlotte arched her back and shuddered as Barnaby ejaculted deep inside her and her own climax was wrested from her, triggered by the sensation of Barnaby’s scalding semen flooding her back passage, his cock thrusting against her prostate and Mary milking her turgid phallus through her panties.

Hot ejaculate permeated through Charlotte’s pantyhose and panties, coating Mary’s fingers with a coagulative plashet of sticky semen.

Barnaby ground against her buttocks emptying himself inside Charlotte as his orgasm wracked his body. Charlotte fell down supine on the desk, exhausted and sated; letting Barnaby finish his assault on her derriere. Mary removed her hand from under Charlotte and wiped it clean with tissues taken from a box on the desk. She took another handful and dabbed at Charlotte’s crotch.

Fully gratified, Barnaby extracted his deflating manhood from Charlotte’s distended sphincter and grinned as he observed some of his issue dribble out of her and soak into her pantyhose gusset. He pushed away from her and began to dress while Mary helped Charlotte stand up and handed her tissues so that she could clean herself as best she could before dressing.

As Charlotte struggled to pull up her skirt Barnaby turned to Mary.

“You may leave now Acolyte; I have further business with this woman,” he instructed.

Mary looked at Charlotte inquisitively but Charlotte just shrugged her shoulders and looked bemused.

Mary left the room and pulled the door closed behind her while Charlotte finished arranging her clothing. Barnaby smoothed out his jacket and grinned at Charlotte.

“So how was my performance Ms Beason,” he grinned stupidly.

Charlotte slapped him across the face with such force that the blow rocked him on his feet.

She wound up and slapped him again; this time with such intensity that Barnaby staggered back.

“You lecherous moron! What the fuck did you think you were doing!” Charlotte roared.

“You fucking impertinent imbecile!” she screeched at him as he cowered away from her.

“But you instructed me to behave as if we have never met and to demonstrate my authority, power and domination over you in front of Mary; to demean you. That way she won’t suspect that we are allies and conspirators,” Barnaby sounded like a sulking schoolboy as he gingerly rubbed at his reddening cheeks.

“I didn’t instruct you to molest and violate me!” Charlotte hissed at him so violently that Barnaby took a step back.

“But it was the ultimate display of power; and you know that I have desired you since I first met you,” Barnaby whined.

“And I told you that I might let you have me when we have achieved our objectives,” Charlotte snatched up her cigarettes and lit one.

“So how are we progressing?” Charlotte drew on her cigarette.

“It’s all going to plan. My uncle’s last will and testament will be read in five days and I fully expect to inherit all of his estates and titles,” Barnaby grinned.

“After which I expect to be inaugurated as the Grand Master of the Circle by the Privy Council.”

“Then, you and I will have full control of the Society of the Masters of the Circle and we can complete what you have started,” Barnaby grinned.

“What about the Sisters of the Web? Are we still meeting our commitments to our Arab friends?” Barnaby began to feel empowered now that they were conversing as equals.

“Of course! The Novices are fetching phenomenal prices; Saheed is brokering for us in the Middle East, whilst Tiffany is facilitating the movement of our new girls from the UK to Australia, Singapore and Japan. The women who insist on remaining in the UK are servicing our clientele here and supplementing our stock in Europe when needed,” Charlotte blew smoke at the ceiling.

“And Mary has no idea about the Sisters of the Web? Even though her daughter is involved?” Barnaby asked.

“Mary knows nothing and if she tries to stop us we will just have to take care of her,” Charlotte crushed out her cigarette.

To be continued