Annabelle Creighton and Brian McCaffey both gave their closing remarks to the jury.

Annabelle summarised the case against Gillian. Gillian was found at the scene of the murder locked in her office with Lord Edward Beaumont’s body on the floor, stabbed repeatedly in the back. She was covered in his blood and had his semen was inside her and on her underwear. The building was deserted apart from the accused and the dead body. Gillian had refused to talk to the police to offer any form of alibi. Nobody else had come forward to alibi Gillian but witnesses had stated that Gillian and Lord Beaumont had been seen arguing quite heatedly on several occasions and that they had an acrimonious relationship.

Annabelle concluded her address with the statement that Gillian Dixon had the motive, the means, and the opportunity for her to murder Lord Edward Beaumont and had done so brutally for reasons that they would never know but obviously related to their animosity to each other exemplified in their public arguments.

Brian McCaffey was frustrated that Gillian would not offer a defence. He tried to make the case that all of the evidence against Gillian was circumstantial and hypothesised that the semen found inside his client may have been put there without her consent and that Lord Beaumont had assaulted her and that she had retaliated. He knew that he was drawing a long bow and that the jury would want to know that if that was the case, why Gillian hadn’t taken the stand and said so. It didn’t help that Lord Beaumont was stabbed in the back; they were obviously not defensive wounds.

Justice Sir Bradley Smithe QC then addressed the jury to give them directions and offer them the alternative less serious offence of manslaughter. On conviction for manslaughter sentencing is at the Justice’s discretion, whereas life imprisonment is mandatory on conviction of murder. He also directed them to ignore any bias that they may have regarding Ms Dixon’s being transgender and that it should only be considered in the context of the other evidence presented. Discreetly inferring to the semen found in her anus.

The jury took less than one day to convict Gillian Dixon of murder.

Brain McCaffey hung his head and sighed but he knew the guilty verdict was inevitable. Annabelle Creighton would have taken a victory lap around the court if she were allowed to do so and was already thinking about touching up her makeup before she faced the press who would undoubtedly be waiting outside the Old Bailey.

Cecelia Flick broke down and had to be escorted from the court. Andrew Dixon was livid and angry but knew there was nothing he could do to save his niece now; all he could do was to try to make her stay in prison more comfortable.

Gillian Dixon remained stoic, standing in the dock wearing her Armani skirt and jacket, Louboutin heels, perfect hair and makeup.

What happened next shocked the court, the gallery and later, the public and the press.

Justice Sir Bradley Smithe QC spoke gravely.

“For the first time in my service as a Justice to the crown I am going to set aside the jury’s verdict,” he began.

“I do not take this action lightly but I find jury’s verdict unsafe and unsatisfactory and these are my reasons for making my decision,” he went on.

“The murder weapon was never found. The prosecution would have us believe that this is some sort of locked room mystery but the fact that the letter opener was not found at the scene nor during repeated police searches is of concern.”

“The description of Doctor Stephenson’s examination of the defendant, finding semen inside her and wounds that may or may not be consistent with sexual assault cannot be discounted and would mitigate the actions of the defendant.”

“The fact that whilst there is undoubtedly circumstantial evidence that Ms Dixon killed Lord Beaumont, it is just that, circumstantial.”

“And finally, the unwillingness of the defendant to make any statement to the investigating officers or to take the stand and offer testimony is of grave concern to me if I am to convict her of murder and impose a life sentence.”

“In this matter, I find the defendant, Gillian Dixon guilty of manslaughter and sentence her to ten years imprisonment in Her Majesty’s Prison Bronzefield. Take her down,” the judge concluded.

The court was silent, the only sound being that of Gillian Dixon being escorted from the dock by two correction officers. Pandemonium broke loose as soon as the justice retired to his chambers.

Gillian didn’t mind doing porridge, British slang for serving time in prison, what she minded was not having her wardrobe, her shoes, her accessories and makeup. Having to dress in coveralls with cheap cotton underwear underneath them every day was awful and demeaning.

But Gillian was Gillian. She ingratiated herself with prison staff and through manipulation and bribery was soon released into general population with the grade C prisoners. Andrew and Alfie used their connections to smuggle in money, drugs and luxuries and before long Gillian was running the prison’s underground rackets.

She allowed Andrew to visit but refused to let Cecelia visit her whilst she was in prison. Cecelia was heartbroken but on Gillian’s recommendation Cecelia was made manager of Fleur de Lis and kept busy. Cecelia and Gillian wrote to each other every day, long love letters telling each other how their day had been and how much they missed each other. Gillian would not talk to Cecelia on the phone either; she wanted Cecelia to remember her exactly as she was before she went to prison.

Gillian made the most of her time and outwardly she was a model prisoner. She worked hard at getting herself recommended for early release.

Gillian served five years of her ten-year sentence. When she came up for parole some of the highest placed persons in government, the peerage, and even the judiciary provided references. She knew way too many secrets about too many people and it was in their interests to keep on her good side.

“Hello darling,” Andrew leaned in and kissed Gillian.

She still looked good; she had used the prison gym every day to work out and hadn’t had to eat the stodgy prison food. Some of the women in prison became despondent and let themselves go but not Gillian. She had used the time to get a business degree, worked her network of corrupt correction officers and inmates hard to her own advantage and being one of the few inmates with a cock had her pick of the prettier girls in prison. Gillian had made the best of a bad situation; the only thing she really missed during her time in prison besides her wardrobe was spending time with Cecelia.

“Hello uncle,” Gillian kissed her uncle and slipped into the passenger seat of his BMW.

“Where to?” Andrew put his hand on her knee.

“First to your place so I can wash this prison stink off me, then to the hairdressers, I’ve made an appointment, then to the beauty salon and then home. Did you bring the clothes I wanted?” she removed his hand.

She wanted to look her best when she met Cecilia.

“You know she’s really angry that you wouldn’t let her pick you up,” Andrew put the car in gear.

“I’m not letting her see me like this. I’m dressed like a bag lady and I smell of manky prison food and dyke lady-farts,” Gillian opened the glovebox and reached for the vial of cocaine that she knew Andrew kept there.

“I told Cecelia that our relationship was on hold while I did my time. It’s like those space movies where they go into stasis in those pod things and wake up five years later only it seems like no time as passed,” Gillian lit a cigarette.

“Well some things have changed. The best thing you did was advise Alfie and I to put Cecelia in charge of the Fleur de Lis. We both thought that she wouldn’t have the balls to run the place properly, she might be a demure little thing with a black bob on the outside, but inside she’s tiger. I wonder where she learned that from?” Andrew grinned.

He put his hand back on Gillian’s knee and this time she didn’t take it off.

“I’m the woman with the balls Andy, literally,” Gillian joked.

“You sure do. This is first time I’ve ever felt you barelegged,” he slipped his hand higher up her thigh.

“Not for long and don’t think I’m giving you a shag when we get to your place. I’m having nothing to with nobody until I’m showered, changed, coiffed, had my makeup done and put on some real clothes,” Gillian patted his hand.

“So I’m a nobody then?” Andrew laughed.

“You’re my Uncle Andrew who I love dearly and throw the occasional shag. But until I see Cecelia I’m not interested in anybody else,” Gillian reclined the seat and looked out the window.

It was good to be free.

Gillian stood on the bottom step of her Mayfair apartment. Tall, elegant, long-legged, beautiful and fiery haired she could be a fashion model. She was wearing a cream suit, crimson silk blouse and red high heels. Underneath she was wearing sheer flesh-toned hold up stockings and a red satin bra and panty set. It felt divine to be wearing real lingerie again.

She set her resolve and walked up the sandstone stairs and put her key in the lock. She half expected Cecelia to throw open the door and embrace her but the apartment was quiet except for some classical music playing in the background. If there was a surprise party planned someone was going to get their block knocked off; she hated surprise parties.

And she didn’t get one.

Cecelia sat curled up on the couch hugging her knees. She was wearing a little black skirt, a white blouse, and black opaque tights and was barefoot. Her mascara had run and she was softly weeping.

Gillian put down her purse and sat down beside her.

“Hello Cecelia,” she whispered.

“Hello Cecelia! Hello Cecelia. Five fucking years and all you can say is hello Cecelia!” she turned to Gillian, her eyes filled with rage.

Cecelia flung herself at Gillian and pummelled her with her fists. She beat Gillian around the arms and shoulders, sobbing with anger and rage.

“You fucking bitch! I hate you!” she wailed.

Gillian did nothing to defend herself; she let Cecelia vent.

“Bitch!” she slapped Gillian across the face.

“Cunt!” she slapped her again.

Gillian just took it. Tears ran down Gillian’s cheeks, not from the pain but because she hated herself for what she had done to Cecelia.

“I fucking hate you!” Cecelia shook Gillian by the shoulders.

“I love you,” Cecelia cried.

She put her arms around Gillian and sobbed against her shoulder. Gillian comforted her, holding her close. She so loved the familiar feel of Cecelia’s body against hers, the smell of her hair, the warmth of her body.

Gillian let Cecelia cry it all out while she held her. Cecelia lifted her lips and pressed them against Gillian’s, softly at first and then needy. Gillian wiped away Cecelia’s tears and Cecelia wiped away Gillian’s.

“You look like a panda,” Gillian said to break the tension.

“You look beautiful, as always,” Cecelia replied and this time there was genuine passion in their kiss.

“You’ve ruined this jacket. I’ll never get your makeup out of it,” Gillian said unaffectedly.

“I’ll buy you a new one,” Cecelia smiled through her tears.

“Come on,” Gillian stood and leaned down and picked Cecelia up, putting her arms under Cecelia’s knees and the small of her back.

She carried her like you would a small child.

Cecelia snuggled up to her, putting her face into the hollow of Gillian's neck and mewed.

“I love you, you know,” Gillian said and kissed Cecelia’s hair.

She carried Cecelia to the bedroom and lay her on the bed. Cecelia lay still and watched Gillian take off her suit, blouse, bra and heels. Gillian climbed onto the bed and Cecelia snuggled up to her.

They kissed, ever so softly. Both scared that if they let their passions loose they would not be able to contain them.

Gillian got to her knees and slowly unbuttoned Cecelia’s blouse, she traced her fingers along her creamy skin and slipped them inside Cecelia’s bra. Her nipples were hard already. Gillian caressed them and then unclasped her bra at the front.

Gillian moved a little further down the bed and tugged at Cecelia’s little pleated skirt. She helped her out of her blouse and tossed away her bra.

“You’re wearing tights. I leave you alone for five minutes and you start dressing like a schoolgirl,” Gillian teased her.

She put her fingers in the waistband and pulled down Cecelia’s tights and panties together. Now she was naked.

Cecelia sat up and tugged at Gillian’s panties. Gillian let her pull them down to ankles and then she shucked them off; her cock sprang free. It was fully engorged and dripping pre-ejaculate.

“Is that for me?” Cecelia smiled lecherously.

“Not yet,” Gillian pushed Cecelia and she fell on her back.

Gillian pounced and put her face between Cecelia’s thighs. Cecelia gasped as Gillian used her lips and tongue on the creases where her legs joined her body, then she moved up to Cecelia’s flat belly and then licked her way all the back down her body, along one leg to her knee.

Cecelia was writhing on the bed, she had her hands on Gillian’s head, trying to guide Gillian to her sex. Gillian teased her, licking and nipping Cecelia’s delicate flesh but deliberately staying away from her sex. She could smell Cecelia; that mixture of sweetness and muskiness that she had missed so much.

She licked Cecelia’s labia with the flat of her tongue and Cecelia moaned. Then she opened her lips like the petals of a flower and lapped at the pink centre, she drank Cecelia’s nectar and finally used her tongue on Cecelia’s clitoris.

Cecelia tangled her fingers in Gillian’s hair, holding her head in place as she arched her back, driving her cunt into Gillian’s face. Her orgasm was earth shattering. Cecelia’s whole body trembled and shook as Gillian lapped at her clitoris and buried two fingers in her vagina.

Cecelia reached down and put her hands under Gillian’s arms, dragging Gillian up her body until Gillian’s cock nestled at the entrance to her sex. She smiled up at Gillian who smiled back and caressed Cecelia’s cheek. Then she lowered her lips to her lover’s mouth and slid inside her all the way.

Cecelia wrapped her legs around Gillian’s back and encouraged Gillian to fuck her, she rose to meet every thrust, grinding her pubis against Gillian’s, feeling Gillian’s cock deep inside her.

They crushed their lips together and drove their tongues into each other’s mouths, gasping for breath, pawing at other. Their breasts pressed together, their nipples tender and inflamed, Cecelia held Gillian to her, her legs and arms wrapped around her beloved. They ground against each other until they could no longer contain their climax.

They came together, Gillian filling Cecelia’s hot wet cunt with her scalding issue. They writhed and wriggled like snakes in a mating ball, gasping, groaning and moaning and whispering terms of endearment.

For the next two days they only got out bed to get food and drink and to use the loo and to shower together.

Cecelia woke early on Sunday morning and kissed her sleeping partner on the forehead. She put on a robe and padded downstairs.

It was till dark when Gillian awoke and found the bed empty. She crept downstairs and found Cecelia sitting crosslegged on the couch. She was transfixed, staring at the coffee table. Gillian sat beside her.

On the coffee table was Lord Edward Beaumont’s Sig Sauer P365 Micro Compact pistol and beside it the bloodstained letter opener.

“You took it,” Gillian touched the letter opener with her fingertip.

Cecelia nodded.

“And you were the one who sent Justice Sir Bradley Smithe QC that video clip of him dressed enfemme being fucked with a strap-on by one of our girls at the Fleur de Lis,” Gillian whispered.

“That video and the threat of its release might have had a bearing on the Justice directing the manslaughter verdict instead of murder I suppose,” Gillian said.

“How did you know about that?” Cecelia came out of her trance and turned to face Gillian.

“It doesn’t matter. I love you,” Gillian stroked a stray locket of hair from Cecilia’s eyes.

“Really?” Cecelia snuggled up to Gillian.

“I’d do anything for you,” Gillian stroked her hair and kissed the crown of her head softly.

“I know,” Cecelia sighed.

Five years earlier Gillian was working alone in her office waiting for Cecelia to finish work; everyone else had left a long time ago. It was very late, way past closing time but Lord Edward Beaumont had insisted on being entertained.

Through the silence Gillian heard what she thought was a cry and then another. She ran down the corridor to the dungeon room and opened the door.

Cecelia Flick cowered in the corner, naked except for high heels and tattered stockings. She was crying, trying to protect herself as Lord Edward Beaumont, naked as the day he was born, lashed at her with a riding crop. The sound of the crop against Cecelia’s soft pale flesh was sickening. He threw the riding drop away and snatched a cane off the rack on the wall and began to lay into Cecelia again. He was deliberately trying to hit her face.

He slashed at her thigh and when she moved her hands to protect herself he whipped her face. He had drawn blood and it was obvious that Cecelia was in agony, begging him to stop.

“Red! Red! Red!” she screamed the safe word but he ignored her.

“You useless little strumpet; you’ll be bleeding red form your cunt when I fuck you!” Edward was so enraged that he was literally frothing at the mouth.

“That’s enough thank you Lord Edward,” Gillian had quietly entered the room.

She snatched the cane from his grasp.

“You fucking tranny harlot! You fucking minion! You arse-fucked cocksucker! Don’t you ever tell me what to do again,” Lord Edward was livid.

He bent down to pick up the riding crop and Gillian lashed out at him with the cane, clipping him across the wrist.

Edward’s rage was uncontrollable, his face violet with indignation.

“How dare you; you fucking trollop. Let’s see how you like a bit of discipline shall we?” he raised the riding crop and lashed out.

Gillian easily stepped aside and hit him on the buttocks with the cane.

Edward’s rage boiled over into madness. He dropped the riding crop and bolted over to his clothes where they hung in the wardrobe next to the ensuite bathroom. Gillian made the mistake of turning her back on him to tend to Cecelia who was cringing in the corner, sobbing and trembling in fear and agony.

Gillian felt the muzzle of the pistol in the small of her back and froze.

“Leave that useless, cowering piece of woman-flesh where she is. It’s about time someone put you in your place you pompous, conceited, self-important piece of trash,” Edward poked her with his Sig Sauer P365 Micro Compact pistol.

“I keep this on me just in case some low-life scum ever accosted me. That just about sums you up you bitch. Let’s see how important and aloof you remain when I bend you over your desk and fuck you up the arse,” Edward was panting with rage.

“I want to do it right there in your office, where Alfonso will come in tomorrow to sack you. He’ll put you back on the streets and I’ll make sure you suffer,” he sniggered.

Gillian had no choice but to comply when Lord Edward pushed her out the door and forced her to walk ahead of him down the long corridor. The administration centre was deserted; the office girls had long departed. Edward poked her again with the pistol, forcing Gillian into her office.

“Don’t do this Lord Edward. We can put this all down to a misunderstanding on both our parts,” Gillian tried to reason with him.

Lord Edward’s response was to roughly push Gillian towards her desk. She stumbled in her high heels and the tight pencil skirt she wearing and she had to put out her hands to break her fall. Edward quickly stepped in behind her and put the small pistol to the side of her face.

“If you make any untoward moves Ms Dixon this pistol is likely to go off,” he grunted as he tugged at her skirt.

He managed to get her skirt down to her knees and then he pulled her panties down her thighs. She was wearing hold-up stockings and her pert white buttocks were unprotected.

“I’m going to enjoy this,” Lord Edward grunted as he kicked her heels as far apart as far as her skirt would allow and began to push his engorged cock against her sphincter.

Gillian had not expected to service any clientele today so she was not lubricated and Edward had difficulty trying to enter her. He kept the gun on her as he spat on his hand rubbed spittle on his bloated penis.

Gillian screamed as he thrust his way inside her; it felt like she was being ripped apart.

And then Lord Edward Beaumont screamed just as loud. Gillian had felt him ejaculate and thought that the scream was a cry of pleasure but then he screamed again and his cock slid out of Gillian’s anus and he dropped the gun and fell on top of her.

Gillian felt every blow as Cecelia Flick repeatedly stabbed Lord Edward in the back with the silver letter opener that she held clenched in her fist.

Lord Edward’s body fell to the floor and Cecelia leapt on him, raising the letter opener to stab him again.

Gillian caught Cecelia’s wrist in a vice-like grip and prevented her from doing so.

She prised the weapon from Cecelia’s fingers, which had now become pliant and limp. She pulled Cecelia to her feet.

Cecelia was in shock; almost comatose. Gillian shook her and slapped her face to bring her around.

“Take the gun. Go back to your workroom and shower. Do it quickly. Get dressed. Put the gun in your purse and go home and hide the gun somewhere safe,” Gillian said succinctly and evenly.

“Do you understand?” Gillian shook her again but not as violently this time.

“Do it. Do it now. Don’t say a thing to anyone understand?” Gillian used her authoritative tone.

Cecelia responded to her mistresses’ voice.

She nodded.

“Say it!” Gillian shook her again.

“Yes mistress,” she said meekly.

Gillian handed Cecelia the gun.

“You have fifteen minutes,” her tone was soothing.

Gillian adjusted her clothing, closed and locked the door, and poured herself a gin and tonic. She watched Cecelia leave through the front door on the security camera. She drank two more gin and tonics and smoked as many cigarettes until she was sure that Cecelia was well clear of Fleur de Lis. Then she picked up the handset and dialled nine-nine-nine.

“You had better send the police to the Fleur de Lis Club on Gloucester Road in Kensington. There has been an incident,” Gillian hung up the phone and lit another cigarette.

The End

Author's Note I hope you liked my little tale. Please, please, please take the time to leave a comment.

Yours always,

Michele