TRANS MADAME ARRAIGNED IN EARL OF BEDFORD MURDER CASE Gillian Dixon, a transgendered woman and alleged Madame of an exclusive London ‘Gentlemen’s Club’ will today stand trial for allegedly murdering Lord Edward Beaumont, Earl of Bedford. No stranger to the criminal courts, Ms Dixon has previously been charged with offences relating to drug distribution, blackmail and solicitation but the cases were quashed when prime witnesses recanted their allegations. This time it would seem that the beautiful entrepreneur and socialite will not be so lucky. Reliable sources have disclosed to this journalist that the DPP has an ironclad case against her.

“What a load of bollocks!” Gillian glanced down at the headline and lead story in the Daily Mirror, a tabloid that fed the masses their daily dose of schlock.

Gillian stood five foot six inches in her stockinged feet. She was an imposing woman with a lithe figure, pert breasts, long legs, shoulder length red hair and alabaster skin. Friends often compared her to Jessica Chastain; her enemies to Jessica Rabbit.

She looked down and nodded her approval at the Saint Laurent navy-blue business suit and white silk blouse laid out on her prison cell bunk. A pair of black, four-inch heeled Christian Louboutin’s were on the floor under the bunk and a small but extensive cosmetics case sat on the bunk next to a packet of Wolford Neon pantyhose and a red satin bra and panty set.

Her lawyer, Brian McCaffey, had wanted her to dress down for her court appearance and had sent her a twinset and flats which remained unopened in the suit-cover bag hanging from the cell bars.

Ignoring the corrections officers who paced up and down the corridor of the remand facility, Gillian removed her prison coveralls and stripped naked. She was being held in the women’s wing of the remand facility but was confined to her own cell because she was transgendered, which suited her. Gillian preferred her own company.

Gillian still had male genitals which she expertly tucked and gaffed before slipping into her pantyhose and lingerie then she opened the cosmetics case and studied her face in the mirror before going to work with the makeup. Satisfied with her face, she dressed and then sat on the bunk to slip on her heels.

“Look at Lady Muck; thinks her shit doesn’t stink,” one of the female officers gawping through the bars chided.

The three prison officers on duty in the wing had gathered outside her cell to watch the performance; one male and two females.

“I’d still give her one,” the male prison officer snickered.

Gillian looked at him contemptuously and repressed the urge to decapitate him with her sharp wit. She had used her wiles to get the Guvnor of the remand facility to grant her special privileges and she had no intention of losing them by setting the guards against her. Besides, the buffoon was not worthy of her attention.

Instead she brushed her hair which she wore straight and parted on the left side, it swept across her forehead and cascaded to her shoulders. Her fiery red locks, smoky eye makeup and bright-red lipstick complemented her luminous porcelain skin superbly.

She heard the clanging of metal doors and the clatter of boots on the linoleum floor and braced herself.

“Gillian Dixon, Rose Appleby and Victoria Edwards standby your cell doors ready for transport,” a craggy voice bellowed down the corridor.

She took a deep breath. This was it. She was off to the Old Bailey, the Central Criminal Court of England, to face her accusers. Gillian didn’t speak to the other women during the ride to the court in the prison van; instead she cast her mind back to how it had all began.

Julian Dixon had never doubted that he was born in the wrong body. He had feelings of dissatisfaction, anxiety and restlessness and developed a preference for feminine clothing and interests during his developing years. Despite the protests of his father, Julian’s mother took him to see a psychiatrist and a medical professional. Both agreed that Julian was displaying the symptoms of gender dysphoria but neither recommended intervention at this early stage. The psychiatrist was more disturbed by Julian’s growing narcissism. Julian was self-centred and manipulative to the extreme.

Neither parent was happy with the diagnosis so they compromised and allowed Julian to present himself to the outside world in whatever gender he felt at the time. Julian grew his hair long and put together an eclectic wardrobe. Sometimes he would present himself enfemme, dressed as girl, and sometimes the polar opposite. As he progressed through school he soon realised that presenting himself totally enfemme created problems that he’d rather not have to deal with. He was called a sissy, bullied and sometimes found himself in fights despite being enrolled at a very progressive public school.

By the time he entered puberty and made the transition to university he had mastered the art of androgyny. He kept his long red locks and wore provocative, ‘alternative’ clothing often favouring lycra leggings and sometimes even wore makeup. He hung with a group who considered themselves alternative, progressive, elite; better than the other students. At home he would dress totally feminine if the mood took him and sometimes he would go out dressed as a girl. He had mastered the art of ‘passing’ and could present as a very pretty young woman. He adopted the name Gillian when in female persona.

But Julian was no sissy. Far from it, he worked out daily; not to build muscle but to tone and shape his body which was slim with an hourglass waist and tight buttocks. He was flat-chested of course but he was not concerned; he sometimes wore a padded bra for definition if the ensemble required it but he planned to remedy that situation permanently in the not too distant future.

He was good at sport and very competitive but was egotistical, ruthless and sometimes vicious. He was banned from the local soccer team for repeatedly fouling opponents and from the university fencing team for the same reason. During a lacrosse match he took to an opponent with his stick when the opponent called him a fag.

Julian’s parents finally relented and allowed Julian to start hormone therapy in the vain hope that his disposition would change as he began to transition.

And indeed his anger and violent tendencies did begin to abate but his narcissism and manipulative leanings grew.

At twenty two years of age Julian had his name changed by deed poll to Gillian and applied to the Gender Recognition Panel for a Gender Recognition Certificate. Gillian presented herself to the world as a transgendered woman. She was the talk of the campus at first, but given her previous history of gender swapping, no one was surprised. Her small circle of elites considered her a prized possession and welcomed her into their clique.

It was at this time that Gillian realised that her good looks and overt sexuality could be used to her advantage.

Gillian had been taking puberty blockers before she started HRT and had shown little interest in sex but her libido became elevated almost immediately when she stopped. She found herself attracted to both sexes but she was particularly attracted to men.

Being concupiscent and individualistic she decided to put her new found sexuality to use for her own gain.

Gillian’s grades had been slipping and she was on a formal warning pending expulsion from college. A highly intelligent person, Gillian could easily have attained the necessary grades if she applied herself but she was too busy with pursuits that served her own interests and vanity.

Peter Hosking was a member of her clique and she was acutely aware that he desired her. The clique feigned only a passing interest in sex but they were victims of their libidos and Peter’s was raging. Gillian invited him around to her house for a study date and engineered it so that they would be alone.

Peter was astonished when Gillian met him at the door wearing a micro-miniskirt, satin blouse, pantyhose, high heels and full makeup. He couldn’t take his eyes off her legs and buttocks as he followed her upstairs, occasionally rewarded with a peek of her purple satin and lace panties.

“Come in Peter,” Gillian leaned against the door to her bedroom seductively.

He walked past her inhaling her perfume trying to hide an erection. Gillian closed the door and when she clicked over the lock it sounded both ominous and provocative.

“You don’t really want to study do you?” Gillian strode over to him and invaded his personal space.

“Would you like some?” Gillian produced a silver vial and put it to her nose and sniffed once into each nostril.

She put the vial to Peter’s face and he took a couple of hits.

“God that stuff makes me horny,” Gillian tucked the vial back into her blouse and smiled seductively.

Peter reached for her and Gillian allowed him to pull her into his embrace. When he kissed her she opened her lips to let him put his tongue into her mouth. She enjoyed the kiss as much as he did. She felt herself becoming aroused but remained in control and allowed Peter to stroke her thighs and put his hand under her skirt.

Gillian caressed Peter’s erection through his jeans and she marvelled the new-found power she had over him when he gasped into her mouth. She smiled. She realised that she liked playing with Peter’s cock but also that she could manipulate him easily because he desired her so intently.

“Gillian I’ve wanted to be with you for so long,” Peter whispered in her ear.

She nibbled his earlobe.

“I’ve wanted you too,” she said breathlessly.

She allowed Peter to steer her to the bed and lower her onto the bedspread. Her flaming red hair spread out like a fan, her legs were parted, her nylons glistening; her skirt high on her thighs. She smiled at him with those bright-red lipsticked lips and sparkling blue eyes and Peter fell in love with her instantly.

“What are you waiting for?” she sucked on a finger invitingly.

Peter sighed and shucked out of his clothes. He was pale lean and rangy and his long thin cock stood out proudly. Peter gasped as Gillian reached out and grasped it. She studied his appendage, feeling its girth, tracing the veins with a long red-lacquered fingernail. She traced the outline of his fraenulum and giggled when he shuddered with lust. She circled his glans with a finger and kneaded a globule of translucent pre-ejaculate which she bought to her mouth and tasted.

Peter fell on her, kissing her deeply, his hands exploring her body. He opened her blouse and removed her brassiere, tossing it aside along with the silver vial of cocaine, and found that her breasts were meagre but he still managed to excite her nipples into tumescence. Gillian gasped when he used his lips, his tongue and his teeth on her nipples. It was a new experience for her and she liked it.

She continued to squeeze his throbbing cock, stopping when she thought he might climax. Then Peter decided to explore her legs. He traced her calves and caressed the little wrinkles in her nylons at the back of her knees. Gillian liked that and she liked it more when he caressed her thighs. She lifted herself off the bed so he could remove her skirt and blouse and lay back down wearing only her pantyhose, purple full-cut satin panties with the lace trim and her high heels.

Peter was besotted by her beauty and he took up where he had left off, tracing his fingers around the lace-edge of her panties teasingly, before he reached inside and freed her penis from between her legs. Her erection tented the gusset of her pantyhose and Peter impatiently ripped a hole in the diaphanous fabric and freed her seven-inch phallus of its silken swathe.

It was Gillian’s turn to gasp as Peter began to stroke her cock, bringing it to full tumescence. He lowered his face to her thighs and kissed them, tracing his tongue along the velvety appendages until his lips found her sex and he took her into his mouth.

“I’ve never done this before,” he removed his mouth from her and gazed up at her from between her legs.

“You’re doing fine,” she smiled down and guided his face back to her cock.

He lapped at her with his tongue and she sighed when her took her back into his mouth and began to suckle her. Gillian encouraged him to swivel around and straddle her so that she could use her mouth on him. He watched her take his penis between her luscious red lips and begin to fellate him. She used her tongue and her lips to good effect and he was soon moaning with lust as he sucked and slathered at her cock.

Gillian sensed his climax approaching and she worked her lips on his shaft and her tongue on his glans as Peter reciprocated and she felt her own orgasm building.

When Peter filled her mouth with warm piquant semen it invoked her own orgasm and a magnificent sense of rapture washed over her as she ejaculated. They both shuddered and moaned as they drained each other and swallowed each other’s issue.

They were both spent and Peter lay beside Gillian and cuddled and caressed her. Gillian allowed him to do so until she descended from post-coital bliss. She had enjoyed the sexual encounter with Peter but now it was time for business.

She extricated herself from Peter’s embrace and began to dress.

Peter lay on the bed and watched her, but he slowly realised what he had done and was beginning to feel post-coital regret.

“Gillian?” he sounded like a schoolboy trying to get the teacher’s attention.

“Yes Peter,” she replied matter-of-factly.

“We should keep this secret,” Peter blushed.

“Why Peter?” her blue eyes were icy.

“Well our parents, our friends, they… well you know; they might not understand,” he stammered.

“Why should we care? We are both over the age of consent and haven’t done anything wrong,” Gillian glared at him.

“Well it’s you know…” his voice trailed off.

“You’re whining Peter. Is it because I’m transgender? Didn’t you like sucking my cock?” Gillian sneered at him as she purposely buttoned her blouse.

“People might not understand,” Peter said feebly.

“Really!” Gillian strode over to her desk and fiddled with her laptop.

“Then how do you think they might feel when they see this?” she looked at him coolly.

Peter became deathly pale and his mouth opened and closed but he was speechless.

Gillian had recorded the whole session.

“Personally I don’t give a fuck if this gets out. Everyone knows what I am. But you… well you do seem to enjoy sucking that cock Peter,” Gillian smiled wickedly.

“Some in our little clique are secretly homophobic and I’m sure you will get hazed by the bullies. And mommy and daddy will be disappointed that their little Petey likes to suck the occasional schlong as our American cousins call it,” Gillian barked callously.

Peter snatched up his clothes and hurriedly got dressed.

“You’re a conniving bitch Gillian!” Peter was angry but he was also fearful.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Gillian ripped his hand from the door lock.

Peter had forgotten that although Gillian might be very feminine, she was also extremely strong. He looked at her questioningly.

“It’s still a study date. My assignments that are due this week are right there on the desk,” she pointed with her chin.

“You expect me to do your assignments?” Peter was flabbergasted.

“Well you don’t have to do them here. Take them home. I want a passing grade on everything I give you from now on. It won’t be hard for you; we are in the same classes and even someone as gormless as you knows to make sure my assignments don’t look like plagiarism,” Gillian studied her fingernails.

Then she looked at him with those cold blue eyes.

“Or should I post that video online and send copies to your friends and family?” her smile was soulless.

Peter stood there shaking with rage, speechless, and stared at her hatefully.

Finally he snatched up the pile of assignments and made his way to the door.

Gillian stood aside for him.

“That was a great blowjob by the way. I want a passing grade, don’t forget. Don’t let the front door hit you in the arse on the way out,” she turned away from him sat down in front of her laptop.

With her academia taken care of it was time to get to work on her next undertaking. Gillian desired two things: power and money. One led to the other.

Her parents were comfortable but not exceedingly wealthy and she had no intention of working for a living when she graduated. Her degree in Humanities would be pretty much useless anyway. She wanted the finer things in life but had no intention of working hard to get them. She had studied the lives of models, actresses, performers and other women who it seemed to her had it easy, but she soon realised that even they had to apply themselves and work hard. She probably could become one of the few transgendered celebrities who were becoming almost de rigour at this point in time but there appeared to be a class of women who seemed to get along very well by just being beautiful and witty. To her they seemed almost parasitic; they lived the high life without having to do anything. They were the socialites; women who seemed to drift through life wanting for nothing but doing very little to earn their good fortune.

Gillian guessed that to become a kept woman one had to at first become accepted in the right circles and that meant having the means to do so. Her uncle Andrew was the family’s black sheep and he moved in those circles but he only did so because he had money and power. She decided he would be her stepping stone into the world of the upper classes and she had an idea how that might be achieved.

Andrew was a handsome man in his mid-forties and he was also a randy goat who was always seen with a beautiful woman on his arm. Her family had excommunicated him but he was always the subject of gossip at family get togethers.

“Did you hear what Andy did? Did you see Andy in the newspaper again? Who was that young debutante that Andy had on his arm at Lord so-and-so’s party.”

But first she needed a ready supply of cash herself. Gillian, like a lot of women her age, had a penchant for alcohol and drugs, the latest gadgets, and of course beautiful clothes. She quite liked cocaine but it was expensive. The provider of her drug of choice had been one of her elite friends but suddenly she had no friends. Peter Hosking had undoubtedly told them about her blackmailing him but that didn’t matter, she didn’t need friends, she needed money, nice clothes and recreational drugs.

On the surface Tony Carlotta was a respectable businessman whose business folios ranged from promoting rock bands, real estate investments, selling new and used cars, and investment banking. His criminal activities ranged from importing stolen gems, importing and selling drugs, prostitution, blackmail, protection rackets and any number of profitable illegal activities.

Tony had settled down and was enjoying retirement having passed the running of most of his businesses onto his nephew Alfonso. Alfonso or Alfie as he anglicised it, had captains who in turn ran dealers selling drugs all over London. Posh schools were a cash-cow for dealers because the students had veracious appetites for drugs and plenty of money to buy them.

Gillian knew her clique’s dealer; she had bought drugs from him herself plenty of times. She dressed down and wore skinny jeans, trainers, and a hoodie and followed the dealer to a pub in Earls Court and watched him get into an intense conversation with a handsome Italian-looking young man who was obviously his supplier, one of Alfie's captain’s. She witnessed the furtive exchange of product and waited for the dealer to leave then slid into the booth beside him.

“Who the fuck are you?” the captain did not sound one iota Italian; he was pure cockney.

“You’re wasting your time with him you know,” Gillian sipped on her cherry cola.

She pulled down her hood and shook out her lustrous flaming locks. The smoky eye makeup she preferred complemented her ice-blue eyes and her full red lips embellished with bright red lipstick. Even dressed as a tomboy she was stunning.

“Once again ducky, who the fuck are you?” the young man looked around the pub to see if Gillian was setting him up.

“Relax. I’m Gillian Dixon. I buy coke from your riffy pal who just came to you for a re-up,” Gillian smiled and her eyes sparkled.

“Look; you might be a lovely looking young lady but if you don’t get to the point soon I’m going to take you outside and do things to you that you won’t like,” he said gruffly.

“Oh! Promises, promises,” Gillian grinned cheekily at him.

His face clouded over and he looked ready to carry out his threat.

Gillian put her hand on his forearm and leaned into him.

“Relax. I’m sorry for being a twat. Look, I study at the campus where your dealer sells. He’s disadvantaged because he can’t get on the university grounds. The security guys and faculty know that he’s a dealer so he has to do business in the park across the road,” Gillian began.

“So what?” the man grunted but he could see that she had piqued his interest.

“So I can deal directly for you on campus. I’ll probably double the take and I won’t rip you off,” she smiled at him again.

“How do I know I can trust you?” the man frowned.

“I told you I’m Gillian Dixon. My uncle is Andrew Dixon… the Andrew Dixon who sometimes associates with Tony Carlotta the father of your boss Alfie Carlotta. Now you know who I am so you can find me any time you like if I fuck you over or Alfie can take retribution on Andrew,” Gillian smiled.

“So I’ve got a posh schoolgirl offering to sell drugs for me on a hoity-toity campus because mommy and daddy won’t give her enough pocket money?” the man scoffed.

“A beautiful posh schoolgirl, who will give you a blowjob every time I re-up,” Gillian batted her eyelashes, mocking him.

“I don’t take blowjobs from schoolgirls,” he finished his drink and put his glass down on the table.

Gillian put her hand under table and squeezed his cock through his trousers.

“I’m nearly twenty three years old; I’m no schoolgirl and I’m prettier than any girl who’s ever blown you before,” she squeezed him again, he was getting hard.

“What about a fuck instead?” the man leaned into her and inhaled her perfume.

“No. I’m saving that, but I give great blowjobs,” Gillian was stroking him through his jeans, he was fully erect now.

“Ok then. Right now. In the bogs,” he nodded towards the toilets.

Gillian didn’t even think about it. She eased herself out of the booth and sauntered over to the corridor that led to the men’s and ladies toilets, swinging her hips and buttocks clad in her tight jeans all the way.

The man left the booth and followed her as Gillian looked around furtively and then ducked into the men’s toilets. She went into a stall, pulled down the lid and sat on the seat. The man crowded into the booth and closed and locked the door. Without any preamble Gillian unzipped him, freed his cock and began to suck it. She tried to put the stench of the toilets out of her mind and concentrated on working her lips up and down the hard cock whilst looking up into the man’s eyes.

The man didn’t last long; his knees buckled and he had to put his arms out to hold onto the stalls as he ejaculated into Gillian’s mouth. She slavered at the man’s cock eliciting every drop of semen from his pulsing dick.

When he had finished he pulled his cock from her mouth and zipped up. He opened the door to the booth just as the door to the gents opened and a customer strode in. Gillian stood up, lifted the lid and spat the drug dealers issue into the toilet bowl and flushed it away. The man who had just entered the lavatory stood gobsmacked as Gillian walked past him to sinks and rinsed her mouth and spat into one of the sinks.

“What’s the matter? Haven’t you ever seen a transsexual woman give a drug dealer a blowjob in the bogs before?” Gillian teased him.

“Come on you dozy bint,” the captain pulled her out of toilets and led her back to the booth.

“I’m Terry Belkin by the way,” he put out his hand to shake hers.

“Bollocks to that Terry, I just blew you in the bogs I’m not shaking your hand,” she leaned in and kissed him quickly on the lips.

“Now… where and when do I get my drugs,” Gillian grinned at him.

Gillian spent her last year at college slinking off from courses and selling drugs. She was probably the most unpopular person on campus being so narcissistic but she had what everybody wanted… party drugs and plenty of them.

She met Terry Belkin once a week to get her re-up and dutifully gave him a blowjob but that’s as far as she would go despite his badgering her for a fuck. She refused to meet him in the pub or any public place as the amount of gear she was shifting grew exponentially. They met at Terry’s flat instead.

Just before graduation one of Gillian’s professors called her and Peter Hosking into his study and accused them of plagiarism and cheating on assignments. Gillian deliberately wore one of her shortest skirts and highest heels and gave the professor, a well-known philanderer, a panty-peek every opportunity she could. She persuaded the professor to let Peter go and used her wiles and her mouth to convince the professor to lay off reporting them to the Dean. Then, as she was want to do, she told the professor that she would be visiting his wife and telling her what had happened if he didn’t excuse her from all future lectures.

The professor compromised, his wife was used to him womanising but he didn’t need the nagging, so they agreed that Gillian would let him feel her up and give him a blowjob once a week.

When she graduated she had about thirty minutes of video on her phone of the professor groping her and her fellating him which she emailed to the professors wife and the Dean of colleges.

When the Dean called her in to substantiate the professor’s claim that she had blackmailed him into giving her a pass she refused, saying that it was a ‘he said – she said’ situation and that unless the university wanted to be dragged into a ‘Me Too’ scandal they had better take her word for it.

Gillian had enough money saved to move out of her parents house and rent herself a very nice apartment in Kensington. She had a stylish wardrobe of designer clothes and shoes. She was ready to move onto the next phase of her life but there was one important matter that she needed resolved.

While the doctors and psychologists at Gillian’s Gender Identity Clinic agreed that Gillian had more than met the ‘social gender role transition’ minimum requirement of living full time as a woman, they still had concerns about her narcissistic tendencies and inability to make friends or to socially interact with others. Also the hormone therapy was taking too long to produce the results she wanted. Although her body was definitely becoming more feminine her breasts were still little more than bumps on her chest. Gillian had undertaken speech therapy as soon as she came off puberty blockers so she presented as a perfectly-formed passable woman, but a flat-chested one.

A trip to the Philippines fixed that problem for her and she came back with an impeccable set of C-cup breasts which she was very proud of. Her doctors at the GIC raged at her for doing so but she told them to go fuck themselves; she had a steady supply of female hormones from other sources and was not thinking of full sex reassignment surgery anyway, she was happy how she was.

With a dwindling supply of punters to sell drugs to now that she was persona non grata on the campus Gillian’s funds were starting to dwindle so she proceeded with the next chapter of her life.

Gillian had been regularly calling on her uncle Andrew at his large apartment in London. Andrew had supported Julian when he was battling with dysphoria and unlike some in the extended family was delighted when Gillian came out. Now that Gillian was a dazzlingly attractive fully-grown young lady her uncle doted on her. It was he who paid for her overseas travel and her breast augmentation surgery.

He was a little ‘handsy’ with her at times, especially after a few libations but even someone with his morals knew better than to try to shag his niece. Andrew was keen to show off his glamorous young niece and Gillian was ready to move up in the world and rub against the upper classes. She’d listened to Andrew’s stories so many times she thought that she knew almost everyone in Andrew’s circle intimately, even though she had never met them.

The event was to be held at Lord Chelmsford’s country home about an hour out of London with about a hundred people in attendance. Instead of taking one of the bevy of young beauties he seemed to have on call for such events, Andrew invited his niece Gillian to attend as his companion.

The pretext of the party was to raise money for some charity or the other for which most of the attendees couldn’t give a toss; it was an excuse to party outrageously outside of the purview of the tabloids and gossipmongers. The guest list comprised of one very minor royal, a few titled lords and ladies, celebrities, businessmen of various pedigrees and of course the socialites who seemed to flock to such events like moths to flames.

Gillian preened for over an hour getting ready for the party much to the chagrin of her Uncle Andrew who paced the downstairs living room floor sipping twelve-year-old scotch and wishing he’d never invited his precocious niece to the event. Andrew had provided her with his charge card to purchase her ensemble for the soiree and even though he was a man of means he choked when he saw the bill.

When Gillian glided down the spiral staircase of Andrew’s London residence all was forgiven. She was wearing a bright red floor-length Saint Laurent slinky satin sheath detailed with spaghetti straps, a ruched waist and dramatic low back; it was split to the waist.

Underneath she was wearing flesh-toned Wolford Fatal 15-denier seamless pantyhose and had forgone panties to eliminate any lines or creases in her dress. She wore a red Vassarette push-up bra with a deep centre plunge to show off her magnificent cleavage and red Christian Louboutin Alminette suede pumps. She’d accessorised with a diamond-studded choker, matching drop earrings and a bracelet care of Andrew’s extensive jewellery collection.

Gillian wore her lustrous hair in her signature style, straight and parted on the left side, sweeping across her forehead and cascading to her shoulders. Her fiery red locks, smoky eye makeup and bright-red lipstick complemented her luminous porcelain skin superbly.

Andrew was nearly speechless. He had seen his niece dressed formally before but tonight she was stunning. One part of his mind was thinking how lucky he was to have such an enchanting young woman to escort to the party whilst another part was crestfallen that the gorgeous young woman was his niece and that he wouldn’t be able to seduce her.

“How do I look?” Gillian pirouetted for her uncle.

Andrew swept her in his arms and smiled at her.

“You are the most beguiling and captivating woman that I have ever had the distinction and prestige to escort to an affair of any consequence,” he let her go and held her at arm’s length studying his niece from top to toe.

“Words escape me. I can’t believe that inside this sumptuous young lady is the little boy I used to pass a rugby ball to in the park,” Andrew beamed.

Gillian was not one to be dismayed when someone reminded her of where she came from. She didn’t go around advertising that she was a transgender woman but neither did she hide the fact.

“Well that little boy is well and truly gone Uncle Andrew. If you would be so kind as to escort this debutante to her first social event,” Gillian picked up her red Céline calfskin clutch which had cost Andrew over a thousand pounds.

Inside was a gold cigarette case and matching lighter, a vial of cocaine, a hairbrush, lipstick, a compact, a spare pair of pantyhose and two hundred pounds cash.

Gillian offered her hand and Andrew took it and led her outside to the waiting Rolls Royce.

Gillian was a long way from being seated in a Rolls Royce; even if she was wearing Saint Laurent and Louboutin. The back of the Black Maria was uncomfortable and she was jostled and jolted every time it drove over a bump. Rose Appleby and Victoria Edwards nattered incessantly the whole way to the Old Bailey mostly about being in the company of one of England’s most notorious Madames.

In the United Kingdom photographing defendants on court premises is illegal and the ‘perp walk’ is almost unheard of but Annabelle Creighton, the prosecutor in Gillian’s case, always had a means of getting her own way. The usual practice is for the prison transport vehicle to drive into a yard at the back of the court and for the defendants to be escorted to the holding rooms until they are called before the court.

The contracted prison services were paid just above award wages and through a third party Annabelle had bribed the officers to stop the van outside the general entrance to the court and for the prisoners to be led through a throng of press and gawkers.

Gillian held her head high and refused to make any comments despite the microphones being shoved into her face. Rose Appleby and Victoria Edwards thought the whole charade was wonderful, they felt like celebrities. Being arraigned on the lesser charges of theft, forgery, and counterfeiting they were not the celebrities that the press wanted to interview but they took some soundbites from them anyway. The vacuous media touts made the best they could of the situation commenting on Gillian’s fashion and her looks.

Much to their delight Gillian stumbled and fell to the ground as she walked under the portcullis and the cameras zoomed in despite the efforts of police and court officials to keep them at bay.

Gillian refused any assistance and regained her composure as she got to her feet and was finally led inside the court grounds and free from harassment from the press.

“Annabelle Creighton! That conniving cunt!” Brian McCaffey ranted.

Gillian paid him little attention, she had taken off her skirt and was changing into a new pair of pantyhose to replace those laddered in the fall. The pantyhose were provided by the other person in the interview room, Gillian’s assistant, Cecelia Flick.

Brian was not at all disturbed by Gillian changing her underwear in front of him, it was nothing new to him, but he was livid at the way Gillian had dressed for court.

“Jesus Gillian, you might as well rub it in their faces dressing like that,” he grumbled.

“I am not presenting myself to the public wearing a house dress,” Gillian countered, pulling down and smoothing her skirt.

“It was an expensive designer twinset!” Brian was furious.

“It was a monstrosity with flat shoes. Enough said,” Gillian pretended to pick lint off the sleeve of her jacket.

“And you, you little harpy. You’re the one who smuggled in her miniskirt and fuck-me shoes I suppose,” Brian glared at Cecelia who ignored him.

“Don’t rant at Cecelia; she was acting as instructed, besides, myself and the Guvnor of the remand centre have an arrangement,” Gillian replied and waggled her fingers at Cecelia.

Cecelia dug in her purse and produced a Marlboro menthol cigarette and lighter. She lit the cigarette and passed it to Gillian who took a long drag and blew the smoke into the exhaust vent.

“Jesus Gillian; there’s no smoking here! When are you going to take this seriously; you’re charged with murder for fuck sake and at this point in time we have no defence,” Brian shook his head, exasperated.

“So it’s just as well one of us has her shit together. Those dim-witted, boneheaded, tabloid schlock dealers will be reporting what I was wearing and how graceful and beautiful I was which will distract the unwashed masses from the fact that I’m accused of murder,” Gillian flicked ash into a saucer held out by Cecelia.

“And yes that cunt Annabelle Creighton did arrange for me to be unloaded outside the courts but I knew about it. Did you like my dramatic stumble? I can see the headline now ‘Beautiful Socialite Stumbled but Regains Her Composure Outside Of the Old Bailey’. The footage of me struggling to my feet unaided should invoke a bit of sympathy and if I showed a bit of knicker that will help my plight too,” Gillian stubbed out her cigarette in the saucer.

Cecelia Flick brushed the cigarette butt and ash into a ziplock bag which she slipped into her purse then she produced a little can of aerosol deodorant and sprayed the room.

Gillian Dixon checked her makeup one last time and pulled down the hem of her jacket.

“Well counsellor; are we ready?” she smiled at Brian McCaffey.

“Not really Gillian; but we’re going in there anyway,” Brian opened the door to the corridor that led to the courtrooms.

To be continued.

Andrew Dixon continued to drink scotch during the one hour drive to Lord Chelmsford’s country home. He became a little handsy with his niece but Gillian she figured he’d paid out thousands of pounds for her breast augmentation surgery and for her wardrobe so she shouldn’t be too annoyed with him. Besides he would usually have one of his trout-pout bimbos accompanying him who would undoubtedly have given up any remaining virtue they had just to be attending such a lavish function.

Gillian would probably have thrown her uncle a blowjob as a reward for his generosity if she hadn’t taken so much time, care and effort with her appearance but there was no way she was going to ruin her hair and makeup in the back of the Roller fellating him. Besides, men were notorious spatterers of semen when they ejaculated and she had no intention of getting any semen, which is notorious for staining, on her Saint Laurent slinky satin sheath.

“If you ladder my nylons Uncle Andrew I’m going to drive my heel into your foot the first opportunity I get,” Gillian removed his hand from her thigh.

“Oh you know me Gillian. It doesn’t matter where I get my appetite as long as I eat at home. Your virtue is safe,” he admonished her facetiously.

“There will be plenty of women at the party happy to compensate an old well-heeled stoat like me,” he chuckled.

Andrew and Gillian made a grand entrance at Chelmsford Hall and Andrew enjoyed leading her around introducing her to the hoi-poli. Tony Carlotta was there, now virtually a bloated old man, and so was his nephew Alphonso ‘Alfie’ Carlotta. At Gillian’s insistence Andrew allowed Alfie to take Gillian away from him so they could have a tété-a- tété.

Alfie took two glasses of champagne and led Gillian to an empty drawing room.

“You are the most stunning woman here tonight,” Alfie offered her a glass.

Alfie was tanned, muscular and very handsome, just like the photographs of him that Gillian had studied.

Gillian didn’t blush at the complement; there were some stunning women at the event but she considered herself amongst the most beautiful.

“Thank you, I suppose,” Gillian looked at him over the rim of her glass.

“I suppose?” Alfie was not used to anything he said being brought into question.

“Well you stated something that is probably bleeding obvious. I am undoubtedly stunning but I’ve had some help from Saint Laurent, Louboutin, Max Factor and Wolford,” she grinned cheekily at him.

Alfie grinned back at her.

“I bet you have, but even without the clothes and makeup I bet you are beautiful,” he countered.

“Oh you’d be surprised what I look like sans clothes,” Gillian knew that he wouldn’t grasp the double entendre but he smiled mischievously at her.

“Anyway I’m surprised that I haven’t met you before,” Alfie smiled back at her.

“Oh I’m a debutante. This is my first social event in these circles,” Gillian feigned modesty.

“Well I hope it’s not your last,” Alfie was quick to complement her.

“So you know who I am then? I mean you know what I do for a living?” Alfie watched her closely for her reaction.

“I know that your uncle Tony used to promote rock bands, has real estate investments, sells new and used cars, and dabbles in investment banking,” her eyes sparkled, indicating that she knew more than she was letting on.

“And?” Alfie leaned his head to one side questioningly.

“And… I suppose you follow in his footsteps. They say you are the heir apparent,” Gillian sipped her drink coyly.

“And?” Alfie’s eyes bore into hers.

“And you make money from other, shall we say, undisclosed sources of income,” Gillian raised her eyebrows.

“Very diplomatically put I must say,” Alfie clinked his glass against hers.

“Well I should know; I actually work for you… well sort of,” Gillian said coolly.

This took Alfie aback. He stared at her suspiciously.

“I deal for Terry Belkin; well I used to. I still do a little but I don’t make anywhere near the money that I used to,” Gillian said candidly.

“Not since I graduated at least,” Terry nearly chocked on his wine.

“You’re the tranny… I mean the… the woman who dealt for him on campus,” he blurted out.

“If you mean I’m the transgendered woman who made you a shitload of cash selling drugs then you are correct,” she corrected him.

“Terry said you were a stunner but you are way out of his league,” Alfie blushed.

“Thanks for the compliment… I think,” Gillian smiled and licked her top lip with the tip of her tongue.

“But you have a degree and your uncle is Andrew Dixon?” Alfie questioned her.

“A degree in humanities; it might as well be a degree in basket-weaving. And Uncle Andrew has given me plenty of money but I don’t want to sponge off him forever,” Gillian replied.

“What do you want to do?” Gillian had finally got Alfie to ask her the question she wanted him to.

“Something where I can use my charm and beauty, but nothing taxing. I want to be well paid of course, very well paid, maybe something in hospitality,” she smiled beguilingly at Alfie.

“From what Terry tells me you are very hospitable,” Alfie grinned at her lecherously.

Gillian threw her champagne in his face and slapped him hard, rocking him on his feet. She spun on her heels and strode purposely out of the room knowing that his eyes would be glued to her smooth ivory flesh exposed by her backless dress, her tight buttocks and long legs. She was smiling to herself.

Gillian made her way through the throng, brushing away the many attempts by people to engage with her. She picked up another glass of champagne from a passing waiter and climbed the wide spiral staircase to the second floor and made her way onto one of the balconies overlooking the grounds. She opened her clutch and took a hit from the vial and opened her cigarette case and placed a filter-tipped Marlboro menthol between her lips.

She put her drink down on the balustrade and turned and faced Alfie Carlotta and leaned forward so he could light it. She had expected him to follow her.

“The last person who spilled a drink on me is still using crutches,” he took a lighter from his dinner jacket, leaned in and lit her cigarette.

Gillian blew smoke in his face.

Alfie pulled Gillian to him roughly and kissed her. She opened her mouth and let him explore her with his tongue. She dropped her cigarette and put her arms around his neck and ground her body against him sensuously.

She gasped when he broke the kiss.

“You know what I am,” Gillian said.

It was statement not a question.

Alfie kissed her again, holding her tight. She could feel the distended protuberance through his tight pants and her dress. He kissed her deeply, passionately, working his hands over the smooth skin of her back. Her nipples hardened and her penis, which she had gaffed tightly so she could wear the sheath, was uncomfortably swollen.

He broke the kiss and took her hand, leading her back inside and down the corridor.

Alfie opened the door to one of the many bedrooms; he had obviously been in the house before and knew his way around. Gillian stepped into the bedroom without any hesitation. Alfie closed the door and locked it.

Gillian was about to make her way over to the bed when Alfie spun her around and pushed her against the dresser. She put out her hands to keep her balance and Alfie kicked her feet apart. She heard his zipper and his heavy breathing, he opened her dress and pressed himself against her and she felt his hot breath on her back and on her neck.

“Please be gentle. I’m a virgin,” she whispered.

Alfie eased himself away from her and put himself away. He gently prised her from her bent over position and turned her to face him. He softly swept her hair from her eyes and gazed into her electric-blue eyes.

“Seriously?” he searched her face.

Gillian nodded.

“I’m no maiden but I’ve never done that… you know… been penetrated by a man,” she looked away from him ashamed.

“But you were willing to let me take you like that. To fuck you bent over like a whore,” Alfie caressed her cheek.

“I wanted the first time to be with a man I respected, a man I desired, a man I felt worthy,” a single tear ran down her cheek.

Alfie collected her tear on his fingertip and put it to his lips.

“You are an enigma Miss Dixon,” Alfie stroked her hair and she leaned into him and sighed.

He kissed her softly and she mewed.

“Do you want to get out of here?” Alfie smiled at her.

“With you?” she asked.

“With me,” Alfie kissed her cheek.

She nodded timidly.

“Fuck the party. Let’s go,” he grinned and took her hand.

Gillian followed him down the staircase, a circumspect smile on her face, the corners of her mouth shaped into a conspiratorial grin. The evening was going better than she had planned.

They drove in Alfie's car to a houseboat be kept in at a secure mooring on the Thames. He asked her about herself and she told him her life story but omitted the parts about her narcissistic tendencies and proclivity for blackmail and seduction for her own gain.

The houseboat was luxuriously appointed and was extravagantly fitted out with all of the modern conveniences. Alfie seated Gillian on a burgundy velour lounge that wrapped around the main cabin. He poured them both drinks and then put a small mirror on the low table and poured a small pile of cocaine onto it, chopping it and separating it into four lines. He produced a minute silver straw and held it out to her.

Gillian bent over and toked up two of the lines, offering the straw to Alfie who inhaled the remaining two lines and wiped up the residue with a finger that he rubbed on his gums.

“Well that’s the preliminaries over, is there anything else that takes your fancy?” Alfie smiled at her.

Gillian felt delightfully high and accommodating; she lay back on the lounge and opened her arms. Alfie ripped off his dinner jacket and kicked off his shoes and socks and fell on her. She scooted up the lounge so that she was lying with her head on the pillows with Alfie poised over her, his weight on his elbows, his face inches from hers.

“Kiss me,” she sighed.

Alfie complied; kissing her softly at first and sensing her need he kissed her harder and used his tongue to excite her. Gillian squirmed underneath him, encouraging him. He struggled to get his hands inside her dress so he could free her breasts.

“Stop! This dress cost me a bomb, let me get more comfortable,” she wriggled beneath him.

She managed to squirm free but Alfie looked disappointed.

His disappointment soon turned rapture as Gillian stood before him and began a slow striptease. She eased the spaghetti straps off her shoulders and slowly lowered the red sheath to reveal her brassiere. She beckoned Alfie with a coy gesture to take off her bra and quickly stepped away as he tried to take her creamy pillows in his hands. She smiled at him seductively and inched the sheath down her torso until it pooled around her heels.

She stood before him, her milky-white flesh taunt and radiant in the lamplight, her pert breasts heaving, her flaming red hair caressing her shoulder blades. She stepped out of the dress and lay it over the back of one of the chairs. Gillian struck a pose. Dressed only in her flesh-toned Wolford Fatal 15 denier seamless pantyhose and red Christian Louboutin Alminette suede pumps she looked magnificent.

She placed her hands in the waistband of her pantyhose ready to peel them off when Alfie reached out and stopped her.

“Leave on the nylons and heels babe, you look magnificent,” he pleaded.

She put a finger in her mouth and pouted; looking as alluring as any woman that Alfie had ever seen.

Alfie stood and reached for her but she stepped back.

“Now you,” she whispered seductively.

“You do it,” Alfie commanded, his mouth dry.

Gillian took her time removing his tie and unbuttoning his dress jacket. She softly raked her nails across his chest and firm stomach, stopping when she got to his belt. She unbuckled it and opened his trousers and unzipped his flies. His pants fell to the deck and kicked them away.

A magnificent large erection was pushing at the front of Alfie’s tight lycra briefs, a wet patch had formed and was growing. Gillian tentatively ran her finger along the girth of his cock and Alfie shuddered. He shucked out of his underpants and kicked them away.

He reached out and hesitantly touched her swollen nipples, softly caressing them with his fingertips. Gillian bit her lip.

A game of attrition ensued as they stood apart and touched each other gently and tenderly, building their desire and need for release.

Alfie conceded and pulled Gillian into his arms; she moulded her body to his, wrapping one leg around his and tousling his hair as she kissed him deeply. She felt the pulse of his cock pressed against her groin, her own penis was swollen and breaking free of the tape holding it in place. Her testes had descended into her scrotum.

Alfie sensed her discomfort but was confused as to why and then it dawned on him. She had a perfectly formed mound in the crotch of her pantyhose and it could only be for one reason.

When he placed his hand between her legs Gillian froze.

“It’s ok darling; it’s ok,” he whispered lovingly and reassuringly in her ear.

His hand snaked inside her pantyhose and gently removed the gaff, he let the tangle of surgical tape fall to the floor and took her in his hand eased her free. Gillian’s cock sprang upright, pressed against her belly, encased in the gossamer fabric of her nylons.

Gillian gasped into his mouth and reached for him. She extracted his manhood from his underwear and squeezed it. Alfie lowered his face to her breast and sued his lips, his tongue and his teeth on her nipples on her until she was shaking with desire. She stroked his penis and caressed his scrotum, she used his pre-ejaculate as a lubricant and she worked her fingers on his throbbing phallus.

Alfie kissed her again and began to ease her towards the main cabin where he lowered her onto the huge bed and lay on top of her, never once breaking the kiss. She wrapped her arms around him and opened her legs and hooked her feet around his calves. They pressed their groins together, Alfie ground his cock against hers feeling her pantyhose become slippery as they both leaked pre-seminal secretions.

Gillian had prepared for just such an encounter tonight and she clean and well lubricated. She was more excited than she had ever been before and was looking forward to being deflowered with both longing and a little trepidation.

With an unspoken affinity between them Alfie lifted his groin away from hers and positioned two pillows under the small of her back and guided his erect penis to her sphincter.

“What do I do about your pantyhose?” he was a little bemused.

“You’re a predominant London villain Alfie; I’m sure you’re not going to let a flimsy piece of nylon xxx you,” Gillian teased him.

Alfie easily snagged a hole big enough for his cock and slid into the crevice of Gillian’s buttocks. He sensed her tense as his glans nudged her sphincter.

“Are you sure,” he looked at Gillian with concern, his rampant cock was fully engorged, long and thick.

Gillian smiled up at him and put her hands on his thighs and encouraged him. His glans slid inside her tight sphincter and she winced. His pre-ejaculate and her lubricant eased the passage of his member as it slowly slid inside her.

At first there was pain; but it wasn’t sharp or biting, it was almost pleasant. As Alfie filled her anus with his tumescent member the pain subsided and pleasure replaced it. The looked up at Alfie with rapture, seeing the delight on his face encouraged her and she wrapped her legs around his flanks and her arms around his neck and kissed him. He filled her aching passage with his cock and remained still while she accommodated him. He waited for her to be ready.

Gillian began to slowly move beneath him, encouraging him to fuck her. She gasped and then moaned as the nerves in her sphincter ignited delightful little sprites delight that’s spread through her anus. His glans pressed on the pleasure centre of prostate and Gillian let out a guttural growl and drove her tongue inti his mouth and writhed encouragingly beneath her.

Alfie’s cock was enveloped in her tight, warm fleshy sheath and he could feel her anus spasm, gripping his cock as he began to slide it slowly in and out of her.

Alfie kissed her passionately; her soft flesh and xxx breasts pressed against him, stimulating him as much as the tingling delight radiating from his cock. They began to fuck. To fuck each other hard and fast, Gillian rising to meet his thrusts, groaning, writhing and encouraging him. Her nails raked his back and her gossamer-clad legs held grazed his flanks, her heels drummed on his back.

The girth of his shaft clinging to the spongy ring of her sphincter and the head of his cock pressing on her prostate was bringing her to extremis. Her cock, sheathed in silky hose, pressed against his tight belly.

Gillian screamed and her body convulsed as she found release. Alfie felt her scalding spend on his belly and he ejaculated, releasing the climax he had been holding back, waiting for her so they could come together. Gillian felt his cock convulse and his hot spend fill her and her climax intensified, she thought she would faint, the pleasure was almost overwhelming.

They clung to each other in a paroxysm of lust, longing, and passion. Their lips crushed together and their tongues slavered as they moaned into each other’s mouths.

They held onto each other for what seemed like an eternity until their orgasms began to subside. With a final gasp, Alfie fell on top of Gillian, almost exhausted, panting and gasping. Gillian held him close, the musky smell of semen mingled with the fragrance of her perfume.

They slowly descended from their apogee, and fully sated, they fell asleep in each other’s arms.

They spent the weekend on the canal boat making love, drinking, and eating. The boat had a well-stocked pantry and bar and Alfie had plenty of pharmaceuticals when they needed a kick. They were either naked or in Gillian’s case dressed in lingerie or wore silk robes when necessary. Alfie made and received a number of business related calls and Gillian eavesdropped whenever she could, trying to determine the full extent of Alfie's business interests both legitimate and otherwise.

They lay in bed Monday morning having just made love; neither of them wanted leave but they had to.

“So you know that you technically work for me?” Alfie began

Gillian propped herself up on one elbow. This is what she had been waiting for.

“Technically; yes. Illegally though,” she said protractedly.

“What if I was offer you a promotion?” he lazily circled her nipple with his finger.

“Promotion to what?” now her interest was piqued.

“A job that you can use your skills at,” he resisted coming to point.

“I’m not going o be one of your whores,” she snatched his hand away from her breast and sat up angrily.

Alfie sat up beside her.

“No, no, no! Not a whore! I wouldn’t do that to you. I meant your personal skills, you have a degree in humanities don’t you?” he put his arm around her and revisited when she tried to shuck it off.

“I own a Gentlemen’s Club and I’m looking for a manager. Well technically I have a manager but syou can be her understudy. You would be her second-in-command so to speak. You would run the place in her absence,” Alfie tried to smooth things out.

“A brothel! You want me to help run a brothel” Gillian was getting angrier.

“It’s a Gentlemen's Club; a bona fide business. The members are all wealthy businessmen or members of the upper class. It’s exclusive, expensive and only available to the privileged,” Alfie explained.

“So it’s an up market knocking shop where I’ll be shagged by rich tossers,” Gillian pretended to sulk.

This was just the opening she was hoping for.

“Look. Why don’t you go and check it out? Meet Amanda, the manager and see what you think,” Alfie lifted her chin

She let him kiss her and the kiss turned into a full-on smooch, which turned into a shag.

Finally they could delay their departure no longer.

Gillian removed her tattered and stained pantyhose and dropped them on the bed.

“You like me wearing them so much, you can keep them as a souvenir,” she teased him.

“I’ll treasure them,” he lifted them to his nose and inhaled and she clipped him playfully around the ear.

She pulled the spare pair of pantyhose from her Céline calfskin clutch and began to put them on.

“Aren’t you the Girl Guide, being prepared and all,” Alfie teased her.

“Well I have to do the walk of shame and all I have is my evening dress,” she’d used her compact and lipstick and brushed her hair doing the best to make herself presentable.

She shimmied into her red floor-length Saint Laurent slinky satin sheath while Alfie lay on the bed watching her.

“I could watch you doing that all day,” he grinned.

“And no lady of mine is doing any walk of shame. I have a car waiting for you dockside, ready to take you anywhere you want,” Alfie sat up.

He rummaged in the drawer and picked out a business card and wrote on the back of it. He handed it to Gillian who studied it. Gold lettering on glossy black back ground read: ‘Fleur de Lis’ with the stylised heraldry embossed in gold.

There was no phone number or address.

“Membership is by invitation only. I have written the address and Amanda’s number on the back.

Gillian turned the card over and smiled.

“Yes. That’s my private number on there too. Only select people have it,” he massaged her feet as he helped her put on her red Christian Louboutin Alminette suede pumps.

“My car will take you home and my driver Alvin will give you his number so you can call him when you have arranged to meet Amanda at the club,” he stood up and helped Gillian to her feet.

He kissed her goodbye.

“One last thing,” he said to her as helped up the companionway.

“You don’t work for Terry Belkin any longer, whether you take the job at the club or not,” he said sternly.

Gillian blushed and looked away.

Alfie lifted her chin and kissed her cheek.

“My girlfriends do not deal drugs,” he patted her bottom and sent her on her way.

“Got him!” Gillian Dixon hissed as she walked down the dock to the waiting BMW.

The Fleur de Lis club consisted of three two-story row houses that had been adjoined, situated off the Gloucester Road in Kensington. The building was redbrick, indistinguishable from the houses either side. Set into the brickwork either side of the oak panelled door above the three wide marble stairs was the heraldry of the Fleur de Lis in gold-leafed ironwork. There were no street numbers or nameplates, nothing other than the plaques to identify it.

Gillian alighted from the back seat of the BMW, the door held open by Alvin. Despite showing acres of stocking-clad thigh and a flash of white satin panty when she ungainly and very unladylike struggled to get of the car, Alvin did not stare but simply offered her his hand to assist.

Gillian was wearing an ivory skirt and matching jacket, black long-sleeved silk Dior blouse and white high heels. Underneath she wore a white satin bra and panty set and shimmering, flesh-toned hold-up stockings. Her jewellery was simple but elegant and she had toned down her makeup but still wore her signature bright red lipstick.

Alvin waited patiently by the car as she pressed the call button and spoke into the intercom. He drove away when she was ushered inside.

“I’m Cecelia Flick, Amanda Grayson’s assistant,” a young woman greeted her and showed her inside.

Cecelia was wearing a simple black skirt, matching jacket, white silk blouse, beige hosiery and black high heels. Her face was round and pretty and framed by a short black bob; she had big blue eyes, a cute nose and full red lips. She appeared childlike but sophisticated, almost like Betty Boop. Her voice was high-pitched but she spoke quietly.

Cecelia gave Gillian time to look around the entrance which was wood-panelled, richly carpeted and aristocratic with several overstuffed armchairs and dark wooden tables. She could see into a bar where a few men wearing suits were drinking and being entertained by elegantly dressed ladies. Doors leading to other rooms on the ground floor were closed. A large staircase with a wooden banister led up to the second floor.

“This is the waiting room where non-members are required to remain until their host collects them. Very few non-members are allowed inside the club and only by special appointment,” Cecelia explained.

Cecelia kept her head bowed and couldn’t keep eye contact with Gillian. He demeanour and body language reeked of subservience; Gillian’s antennae attuned to the woman’s servility. Gillian filed the information away for future use.

“Come,” Cecelia turned on her heels and led Gillian to the staircase.

Gillian followed Cecelia upstairs, impressed by the opulence and grandiosity of the place. Works of art graced the walls, the carpeting was rich and obviously expensive; no expense had been spared on the decor. The long corridor on the second floor was spaced with equally identical doors on either side.

“The girls call them the workrooms but they are conventionally known as the entertainment and relaxation rooms,” Cecelia said softly, noting Gillian’s inquisitiveness.

“I bet there isn’t much in the way of relaxation happening in them,” Gillian said brusquely.

Cecelia blushed, bowed her head and kept walking until they came to a set of double oak doors at the end of the corridor where Cecelia paused with her hand on the doorknob.

“The club’s administration centre and Amanda Grayson’s office are beyond these doors,” Cecelia explained.

She opened one of the doors and politely stood aside so that Gillian could enter before her.

Inside was an open plan office with half a dozen middle-aged women sitting at desks or scurrying around, obviously busy. All of the women were attractive, well dressed, and elegantly coiffed. Most wore business suits, all wore skirts or dresses, hosiery and heels; there wasn’t a pantsuit in sight.

“We have a dress code,” Cecelia explained needlessly.

“Hotel services, food and beverages, housekeeping, bookings and appointments, finance and bookkeeping, Cecelia ticked off each of the desks until they came to a closed door with a secretary station in front of it.

“My desk,” she nodded at the large oak desk guarding a door set with a brass sign with the word ‘Manger’ engraved on it.

She tapped softly and opened the door.

“Ms Gillian Dixon to see you ma’am,” Cecelia said soft-spoken and reverently.

Amanda Grayson rose and came out from behind her desk.

She was a stunning woman in her middle thirties, Gillian guessed. Her shoulder-length, lustrous brunette hair was layer-cut and looked both professional and sexy. Her makeup was heavy, but skilfully applied. She favoured heavy eyeliner and mascara, wore rouge to highlight her cheekbones and had applied matt plum-red lipstick on her sensuous lips. She too wore a business suit; designer label, tailored, with a short skirt and long jacket and a mauve satin blouse. Her long shapely legs were sheathed in expensive sheer hosiery and her heels had to be at least four inches.

Gillian hated her immediately.

“Gillian Dixon; so pleased to meet you Amanda,” Gillian smiled sweetly and extended her hand.

Amanda returned Gillian’s smile and shook her hand. Amanda’s skin was soft and warm.

“Amanda Grayson, manager of Fleur de Lis, so pleased to meet you Gillian,” she flashed perfect white teeth.

“You may go Cecelia,” Amanda dismissed her aid.

Cecelia closed the door behind her while Amanda led Gillian to a comfortable chair with a coffee table set in front of it, Amanda sat opposite, smoothing her skirt under her and crossing her ankles, very ladylike.

“I’ll dive right in shall I?” she did not give Gillian time to respond.

“Alfonso Carlotta for some reason has decided I need an understudy. I can’t for the life of me think why, but here we are,” Amanda patted Gillian’s knee with false affection.

Gillian inwardly cringed but outwardly she patted Amanda’s hand on her knee.

“Maybe because he’s the boss and you have to do what he says,” Gillian smiled sweetly.

Amanda quickly withdrew her hand and her smile vanished.

“Ok. That’s the small talk done. Time to speak candidly. Alfie takes a fancy to a girl now and then although you’re the first of your type he’s been with. Like uncle, like nephew I suppose. Tony had a thing for chicks with dicks too,” Amanda lit a cigarette without offering one to Gillian.

“Usually he just passes them off for me to put to use in the workrooms shagging the punters for money but for some reason he seems to think that you need to feel that you’re special,” her upper-class intonation had disappeared, replaced by a broad Scouse accent.

“I bet he didn’t tell you that you’d have to service the clientele did he? It’s a condition of employment here that all female staff are available to club members if the member should so desire. Most of them stick to shagging the hostesses but some have special requests,” Amanda ashed her cigarette and continued.

“Take that dullard Cecelia Flick. As you’ve probably guessed by now she has a docility about her that some of the punters like. You should see her, naked except for black stockings and high heels, chained to a post in the ‘S and M room’. Her lily-white skin shows the welts from the whip exceptionally well,” Amanda crushed out her cigarette.

“I’m sure there are some members that will want to fuck a tranny, just to try something a little different. Maybe hold onto your joystick while they fuck you up the arse,” she smiled disparagingly.

“What’s your speciality? Are you the one that likes to be shit and pissed on?” Gillian countered, calmly lighting her own cigarette.

Amanda paled then her face screwed up as she became enraged.

Gillian continued before Amanda could interject.

“I’m happy to start outside to see how the place is run. If Alfie wants me to shag a club member or two, well so be it. It’ll be better than giving Terry Belkin his weekly blowjob just so I can deal his coke. I’ll have Cecelia get me sorted with a desk,” Gillian crushed out her cigarette and stood up to leave.

Gillian sat on the corner of Cecelia’s desk outside Amanda’s office listening to Amanda scream at Alfie as they argued on the phone. Finally Amanda came outside looking beaten, her beautifully coiffed hair a little disarrayed.

“Find Ms Dixon a desk to work at and show her how this place works,” Amanda sounded humbled.

To be continued

Author's Note
Little hand thingies and comments and suggestions are always welcome
xxx
Michele

The oak-panelled courtrooms had been purposely designed to look imposing and foreboding to those appearing before the Justices at the Old Bailey but Gillian Dixon confidently strode into the dock looking like she owned the place.

“Any chance you’re going to show a little respect and servitude?” her barrister Brian McCaffey hissed into her ear before he moved to the front benches and took his seat.

Gillian just stood and stared ahead, waiting for proceedings to commence.

“All rise,” the usher bought the court to order.

Justice Sir Bradley Smithe QC took his seat at the bench wearing his red robe trimmed with white fur with the flap of black silk hanging just below his neck.

All of the legal arguments had been heard and the jury sworn in, each juror taking an oath to render a true verdict. Brian McCaffey had exhausted all of his ploys to delay the trial and the judge called for the prosector to make her opening remarks.

Annabelle Creighton was an imposing figure even in her black barrister’s gown and white wig. Beneath it she wore an Armani suit, her long legs sheathed in sheer taupe nylons but her expensive shoes were low-heeled in reverence to the court. She was a tabloid favourite because of her good looks and sex appeal and her propensity to prosecute the most provocative and scandalous of cases.

“My Lord,” it was Annabelle’s opportunity to outline her case to the jury.

“This is an awful case involving the gruesome murder of one of our peers of the realm but it is also a simple case. The prosecution will prove that the transgendered woman in the dock, Ms Gillian Dixon…”

“Milord please!” Brian McCaffey interrupted.

Objections relating to evidence and procedural matters in British courts are usually argued before the prosecution opens their case. Annabelle Creighton had wanted to portray Gillian Dixon as a transsexual Madame, a brothel-keeper and woman of low morals. Brian was aware of the ploy and had appealed to the Justice to keep Gillian’s gender out of evidence. Justice Smithe didn’t understand why a man would ever want to become a woman but he didn’t need to; he knew the law and had ruled that Gillian being transgendered could only be introduced into evidence if it became relevant to the facts of the case.

“My learned colleague, you are treading on very thin ice already and this only your opening statement,” Lord Smithe admonished Annabelle Creighton who bowed her head to the Justice in apology.

“The jury will refrain from any making any connotations relating to the defendant’s gender. Continue Ms Creighton,” Lord Smithe waived his hand dismissively.

“Bitch!” Brian hissed under his breath.

The damage had been done. Although there was no way of knowing if any of twelve jurors or the three alternates had any gender bias, one could reasonably expect that out of the fifteen citizens randomly selected from the electoral roll, at least one would undoubtedly be transphobic. As there is no ‘voir dire’ process in the British court system, Brian had no way of knowing what prejudices the jury held. He could only be guaranteed that none of jury knew the defendant personally or had been recently charged or found guilty of a crime in the last ten years.

Gillian kept her composure and held her head high, totally aware that a newspaper sketch artist was drawing her likeness for one of the tabloids.

“Milord, let me proceed. This is an awful case involving the gruesome murder of one of our peers of the realm but it is also a simple case. The prosecution will prove that the woman in the dock, Ms Gillian Dixon stabbed Lord Edward Beaumont repeatedly with a letter-opener causing his death. The murder occurred in Ms Dixon’s private office in the Fleur de Lis Gentleman’s club,” Annabelle cleared her throat and took a sip of water, pausing for dramatic effect.

“Police constables responding to a nine-nine-nine call found the door to Ms Dixon’s office locked when they arrived. When they entered they found Ms Dixon covered in blood and Lord Beaumont dead at her feet. There was no one else in the building,” Annabelle Creighton finished her opening and sat.

The case outlined, it was time for the trial proper to begin. Brian McCaffey would not be able to address the jury until his closing speech.

“The court calls Senior Constable Shane Ridgley,” the court crier announced.

Gillian’s mind began to wander. She knew exactly what the procession of prosecution witnesses were going to say over the next few days. She glanced down at the assembly and saw Cecelia Flick gazing at her with adoration. Cecelia smiled when Gillian met her gaze; Gillian remained stone-face and looked away.

***

Cecelia Flick was dressed in a tight black leather corset, black seamed stockings and thigh-high black leather boots. She was wearing garish eyeshadow, heavy eyeliner and mascara and blood-red lipstick. Her short jet-black bob and heavy makeup accentuated with her creamy white skin.

The skin on her back was crisscrossed with raised red weals and she gritted her teeth as the man behind her struck her again with the whip. Tied to the X-shaped whipping post she was tempted to use the safe word but the pain felt so good. Lord Edward Beaumont, wearing a black leather bodysuit a black leather mask and thigh-high boots was really laying into her today.

The crotch of his bodysuit was unlaced and he was sporting a huge erection which Cecelia could only see if she twisted her neck painfully to one side. But she wanted to see it badly. She was wet and aching, the pain from the whip was delicious and she was peaking, she wanted release; but only when her master decided she could have it.

Lord Edward dropped the whip after striking Cecelia one last time so hard that he drew blood.

“Red! Red!” Cecelia howled the safe word.

Edward stepped into Cecelia, gripped her cunt and panted into her ear.

“You want me to stop now?”

“No! No, master,” Cecelia shook her head vigorously.

The pain radiating from her cunt and combined with the raw pain throbbing from her back and the burning pain in her wrists where she was tied to the rack. It was exquisite, it was wonderful, it was divine; the pain gave her meaning. It reinforced to her that she could only take pleasure at the behest of her master. She needed to be controlled, dominated, punished and she loved that she did.

“Do you want my cock?” Edward Beaumont squeezed her vulva viciously.

“Yes master, I want your cock. Please give me your cock. Give your undeserving slave your cock… please!” she begged.

Lord Edward Beaumont thrust his cock into Cecelia’s sodden minge; he could smell the stink of her, she was desperate for it.

Cecelia felt Edward fill her with his long thick cock and begin to fuck her violently. He gripped her hips and rammed his throbbing phallus in and out of her. The agony of his cock smashing into her bruised vagina connected with the pain radiating from the rest of body and Cecelia moaned with lust.

She thrust back against Edward so that his cock pushed against her vulva. She was close to peaking; the pleasure and the pain combined bringing her close to the edge. She moaned and writhed against her bonds.

“No you don’t you bitch!” Edward hissed into her ear and pulled her hard against him and ejaculted inside her.

“No! No! No!” Cecelia was close but hadn’t climaxed.

His cock was deep inside her and her clitoris was tingling but Edward deliberately ensured that he did not stimulate her hypersensitive button and trigger an orgasm. He pulled out and sprayed the remainder of his seed over her buttocks.

Cecelia sobbed. She was so close to a colossal orgasm but Edward had not allowed her to come.

“Next!” Edward gasped, staggering away from her, exhausted by his efforts.

One of the two masked acolytes sitting on a bench watching the proceedings leapt to his feet. He was naked except for his leather mask and his cock stood out proud and throbbing.

The acolyte slammed his cock into Cecelia’s sloppy minge and held her still while he fucked her hard and fast. He bought her to the brink just as he orgasmed but failed to tip her over.

The second acolyte took his place and Cecelia screamed as a massive orgasm raged through her whole body. She shook and shuddered as the third man held onto her and discharged his load deep inside her.

Cecelia sobbed, moaned and groaned like a wanton whore as the intense pleasure wracked her body. She peaked so high that she passed out.

When she came too she was being untied from the rack by Mandy, one of the other hostesses, who led her to the opulent bathroom and assisted her into a steaming hot bath. Mandy gently bathed her sister-in-servitude and then assisted Cecelia out of the bath and helped her fix her makeup and to dress.

“Are you sore Cecelia?” Mandy asked.

“Deliciously so,” Cecelia shivered with delight.

When she was young Cecelia Flick was a ‘rolly-poly little bat-faced girl’ as Neil Simon sang in his song. As a child her parents thought she was ugly and ungainly and kept her hidden away. At school she was the fat girl who was the last to be picked for sports teams, made to paint scenery for the school play, had no friends, and was never invited to parties nor invited to dances.

Something happened to her during her eighteenth year and when she enrolled in college she had transformed from an ugly duckling into beautiful white swan. Her face was still round but now it was pretty with prominent cheekbones, she had dyed her hair jet-black and had it cut into a short black bob. Someone had shown her how to use makeup and she used it to emphasise her big blue eyes, her adorable nose and full red lips.

Cecelia had shed weight and although small framed she had long legs and large breasts, which she showed off to full advantage with a new chic wardrobe.

The boys flocked to her but she didn’t know how to deal with her new-found adoration. The girls joked that she would ‘show you her knickers for a bite of your toffee apple’ and that she’d be ‘buried in a Y-shaped coffin’.

Cecelia found that giving away her virtue made her popular with men. But popularity came with a price. She was handed around, used and discarded and other women despised her for being so loose.

Something changed when she met an aristocratic young man who taught her the exquisiteness of being totally controlled by another person.

David Cashmore came from a very good family and was used to getting what he wanted when he wanted it. He saw the potential in Cecelia Flick and made her his girlfriend.

“Let’s try something different,” David said to her one day in his bedroom.

He had already insisted that she dress a particular way for him. Short dresses and skirts, occasionally skin-tight leggings, blouses and tops that flaunted her ample bosom, high heels; and she must always wear hosiery, preferably stockings but pantyhose were allowed if her skirt was micro-mini.

He taught her how to pleasure him, to become subservient to his needs not hers.

“Put this on,” David had laid out a schoolgirl uniform on the bed.

The uniform was accompanied by a pair of sheer-to-the-waist pantyhose, white ankle socks, and translucent white nylon knickers. The high heels accompanying the schoolgirl uniform were so high that she couldn’t stand. He put a ball-gag in her mouth and put her over his knees and spanked her until her buttocks were red and she was crying and struggling to break free.

David was worried that he had gone too far when she kicked, writhed and sobbed and he took the ball-gag out of her mouth and began to comfort her.

She pushed him away angrily.

“Why did you stop? Please master; I deserve to be punished. Maybe you have a cane you can use?” Cecelia begged.

David was astonished at her response but incredibly excited.

He spanked her harder and listened to her howl but he soon came to realise that her squeals of pain masked cries of ecstasy.

“Ok bitch; get on the bed,” he pushed her off his knees and she scampered onto the bed.

He was ready to fuck her but she had other ideas. She produced two pairs of stockings and had David tie her to the bedposts in a kneeling position.

“I’ve been naughty master. I’m a very naughty girl and very dirty girl and I need to be punished,” Cecelia goaded him on.

He found a wooden spoon in the kitchen and put it to good use on her buttocks, which he could see through her transparent panties were now red and inflamed. He felt her cunt; the gusset of her knickers was sodden and he could smell her sex.

David tore out the crotch of her pantyhose and pulled her knickers aside and fucked her viciously. Cecelia enjoyed every second of it and encouraged him with obscenities.

When he finally climaxed inside her she howled with pleasure at the amalgamation of his jackhammering cock thrusting viciously inside her and the pain radiating from her bottom.

He fell on top of her. They were both out of breath.

“Did you really like that?” David gasped in her ear.

Cecelia nodded vigorously.

“We need to take it further; to see what my limits are,” she espoused.

“But we need a safe word so I don’t go too far,” David countered.

“Also master; my anus is virgin and needs to be explored,” she whimpered.

David grinned. He’d found just the girl he was looking for.

By the time Cecelia was twenty three she was immersed in the world of sado-masochism. She had dropped out of university and was living comfortably offering her services to wealthy, discrete clientele. One day one of her regular punters, a man she vaguely recognised from the society pages of the newspapers, dropped a business card on her hallstand when he had finished using her in the well-appointed dungeon that she had created in her second bedroom. It was gloss black with gold lettering that read ‘Fleur de Lis’ with the stylised heraldry embossed in gold. There was a telephone number on the back.

The card changed her life forever.

Amanda Grayson recognised Cecelia’s special talents immediately. Several members of the club had requested girls who specialised in discipline and bondage or sado-masochism and a few of the hostesses had agreed to participate but none of them had the talents that Cecelia had. She was a true bottom and a requisite subservient with the right amount of acquiescence, docility, compliance but she was also intelligent, eloquent, and uniquely beautiful. She also knew how to ‘top from the bottom’ if necessary, to lead those who were still acolytes along the road to becoming domineering masters.

She was also the perfect personal assistant. Amanda treated her like a menial, a chattel, a servant at her beck and call, which suited Cecelia perfectly. She had her dream job. She worked like a slave for her supervisor and was treated like a slave by her employers. And… she was received an astounding financial reward. Besides Amanda, Cecelia was the highest paid woman at Fleur de Lis.

When Gillian Dixon arrived it changed the dynamic at Fleur de Lis and Cecelia found this both confusing and exciting. Amanda Grayson was a domineering overseer who was very demanding on her staff but Gillian Dixon had stood up to Amanda from the start. Gillian kept her powder dry so to speak, she spent her first six months at the club understudying the women who supervised the hotel services, food and beverages, housekeeping, bookings and appointments, finance and bookkeeping desks until she had grasp on how the Fleur de Lis functioned.

Gillain was required to work three nights a week as a hostess; more often if an appointment was made for her services by any of the members. As a hostess she worked in the bar and lounge, keeping the members happy and content. This often just meant looking beautiful, making small talk, fetching drinks and generally entertaining the clientele. But it sometimes meant taking one of the members up to one of the entertainment suits and providing sexual services.

Every encounter was recorded and the member was charged accordingly. At first she was very popular, being the new girl and with unique talents, but after a while she found a niche clientele who particularly liked her services and who mostly made appointments to see her during the day. Sometimes, but not often, the member might pay for a friend, an invited guest, to sample her wares.

She continued to see Alfonso Carlotta but as she expected visits to his houseboat and his compunction to take her out to events as arm candy diminished, she became ‘one of Alfie’s girls’; just one of the stable of beautiful women whom Alfie kept on hand for his pleasure.

Inevitably her Uncle Andrew visited the club one evening when she was on hostess duty.

“There’s my pretty young niece, I heard that you were working here. Now that you have used me to your own ends you never come to see your favourite uncle,” Andrew sidled up to her at the bar.

Gillian was wearing a blue satin evening gown, she was braless, her perky breasts and tight buttocks pushing out the fabric of her gown in all the right places. She was wearing thong panties so as not to spoil the drape of her dress and her uncle’s hand drifted to her bottom and stroked it.

“Sorry Uncle Andrew, I’ve just been so busy,” she smiled at him with those luscious red lips and her twinkling blue eyes and all was forgiven.

“You’re a naughty girl but then you always have been,” he chuckled, squeezing a buttock.

“Don’t call me uncle at the club just call me Andy, let’s keep this informal. Let’s get a table,” Andrew picked up their drinks off the bar and Gillian put her arm through the crook of his and led him to quiet corner.

“How are things with Alfonso Carlotta?” Andrew beamed, his eyes locked on her thighs.

She was wearing nude sheer hold-up stockings and silver high heels; her dress had opened when she sat down and she made no effort to close the split that exposed one leg right up to the top of her stocking.

“Cooling,” she looked over the rim of her glass at him as she sipped.

“That’s how things go with Alfie. He becomes infatuated with a girl and then he adds her to his stable and moves on to the next conquest,” Andrew patted her knee.

“Do all his girlfriends end up working at the Fleur de Lis? Is he just a high class pimp?” Gillian asked, but she already knew the answer.

“Au contraire, my little angel. I hear you are being groomed for a higher calling. Amanda Grayson’s star is waning whilst yours is just about to bloom,” he grinned at her.

“You’re mixing your metaphors Andy,” she stroked the back of his hand.

“You seem to know a lot about Alfie’s business interests,” Gillian leaned into him and he inhaled her perfume.

His eyes moved from her thigh to her breasts which were pushing against the fabric of her gown.

“Alfonso and I share many business interests my dear. This is his club but I’m a prime investor,” his eyes never left her breasts.

“Then why didn’t you offer me a job instead of Alfie?” she leaned back and pulled her dress closed, deliberately teasing her uncle.

“So I’m to offer my sister’s daughter a job as a high-priced prostitute? Really?” he seemed a little miffed.

“My parents disowned me when I changed my gender. They don’t care what I do and I’m sure you know they despise you, so why should you care?” she picked up her drink and took another sip.

“Besides, I’m not just a high-priced prostitute, I’m understudying the manager of this fine establishment,” she thawed and offered her uncle a smile.

“I think your parents disowned you when the police kept coming around asking questions about you allegedly selling drugs on campus and blackmailing your humanities professor,” Andrew smiled back at her.

“Oh pish,” Gillian waved her hand dismissively.

The professor in question had finally been divorced by his wife and sacked by the university because of his predilection for seducing pretty young students. In a fit of pique he made allegations to the police against Gillian which at first was substantiated by her jilted lover Peter Hosking until he was paid a visit by Terry Belkin. Peter recanted his testimony.

“You do have a way of getting what you want,” Andrew put his hand back on her knee and purposely opened the split in her gown.

“As do you Uncle Andrew,” she took his hand and moved it further up her thigh.

“Would you like to come upstairs?” she made her uncle an offer she knew he was unlikely to reject.

“You know I’ve always fancied you. Well… ever since… you know…” Andrew stammered.

“Why don’t you just shut up and follow me upstairs Andy. You can squeeze my arse the whole way if you promise me you’ll stop babbling,” she stood up and offered him her hand.

Which is exactly what Andrew did, he couldn’t keep his hands off his beautiful young niece.

Gillian led him to her allocated ‘entertainment and relaxation room’ which was spacious, well appointed and had an ensuite bathroom complete with jaccuzi.

Gillian allowed Andrew to take her in his arms. It felt strange at first being kissed by her uncle but she was soon enjoying it, and anyway, she would be undoubtedly be cashing in the favour at some later date.

She moved her face closer to Andrew and opened her lips just a fraction. Her perfume was heady and exciting; she could feel him getting hard against her body. Gillian leaned in and kissed Andrew’s warm soft lips and then broke the kiss. They were both shaking a little and breathing heavily. Andrew looked deeply into Gillian's ice-blue eyes and then at her red lips accentuated by her fiery red hair and pulled her into a burning insistent passionate kiss. He held her close, feeling her heaving breasts press against his chest, her nipples ripe and swollen.

He freed them from the confines of her dress and she gasped as he sucked on one nipple and used his finger to manipulate the other.

“Oh yes Andy; that’s so good,” Gillian sighed, genuinely aroused.

She held his head to her bosom; Gillian enjoyed being suckled by her uncle. He put a hand on her leg and stroked it, delighting in the feel of her diaphanous nylons on her firm thighs, but his hand stopped abruptly when he reached her stocking top. Gillian sensed his hesitation and gently disengaged from him.

She took a step back and gazed at him longingly. She raised her arms high in the air and then bought them down to the hem of her dress and slowly peeled it off revealing her perfect alabaster flesh. She stood clad on only in her panties, nude sheer stockings with dark welts, and her silver high heels.

Andrew as disarmed to see his niece naked. There was a vulnerability in her pretty blue eyes that he had never noticed before and found difficult to resist. His eyes travelled from her face to her collarbone, delicate in the subdued lighting, then to her breasts. They were perfect, moulded to her form; her nipples were like dark red berries planted in a blanket of snow. He followed the curve of her hips and diminutive bulge of her flat belly and finally came to her pubis.

Her thong panties were blue satin low-rise with a full-cut front panel that clung to her pubis in a perfect Vee. She was obviously shaved but what amazed Andrew was that there was no bulge, no sign whatsoever that there was a penis inside those knickers.

His eyes continued down her thighs and down her long coltish legs sheathed in the shimmering sheer stockings to her risque silver heels, then they travelled back up to her crotch.

Gillian smiled at her uncle’s astonishment.

“Yes I have a cock inside them. Do you want to know how I hide it?” she said finally exasperated.

Andrew’s eyes returned to her face.

“I don’t want to know the mechanics of it; I just don’t want to see it. If I see it I won’t not be able to remember Julian,” Andrew murmured.

“Oh you’re such an imbecile sometimes Uncle Andrew,” Gillian was infuriated.

“Get undressed,” she said offhandedly, the rapture of the moment was lost.

Andrew quickly undressed, hanging up his suit and shirt in the dresser. Gillian lay on the bed, her legs crossed at the ankles, picking at a loose fingernail.

Andrew approached the bed and she stopped him at the edge of the bed and got on her hands and knees on the satin coverlet and began to fellate him. She improved his erection, expertly using her lips and her tongue to bring it to full tumescence. She cupped his scrotum and gently squeezed it, sometimes licking it, listening to Andrew moan with lust.

He played with her breasts making her nipples harden again and then he stroked her buttocks and thighs managing to bring her some pleasure but it was obvious that he was struggling with how to excite her without touching her cock.

Gillian made it easy for him.

She took a tube of lubricant from the bedside table and lubricated his erect penis and her puckered bud. She turned around offering her uncle her bottom, kneeling on the edge of the bed. She was still wearing her panties and with her penis gaffed inside the full gusset all Andrew had to do was ease aside the string and slide inside her without ever seeing her cock.

Andrew poked and prodded at her crevice, unsure of what to do.

“Oh for fuck sake Andy keep still! You’re hopeless at this,” she admonished him.

Gillian reached behind her and took Andrew’s long, sleek cock in her fingers and, easing aside her thong, she positioned his glans to her sphincter.

“Hold me here,” she took his hands and placed them on her hips.

She pushed back against him, impaling herself on his cock.

“Now, fuck me!” she wriggled her buttocks invitingly.

Andrew Dixon may have been hopeless initially, but he was an accomplished lover and soon got into the swing of things.

He fucked his niece with long slow strokes delighting in the tightness of her sphincter and anus. Gillian rewarded him by pushing back against him and squeezing her internal muscles.

“Wow! This is amazing,” Andrew thrust himself in and out of Gillian's tight hole, moving his hands from her hips to the top of her thighs.

He began to fuck her harder and Gillian found herself responding. She desperately wanted to free her hardening cock but acquiesced to her uncle’s wishes to keep her penis hidden. Her cock was uncomfortably taped to her perineum but continued to harden and started to ooze pre-seminal fluid.

Andrew was fucking her just how she liked to be fucked, gradually building the pace and ensuring his shaft stimulated her sphincter whilst his glans pressed on her prostate.

“Oh yes Andy; fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!” Gillian moaned.

“Oh honey you are so tight, so gorgeous,” Andrew sighed.

Her red hair draped over her back and shoulders accentuated her opaline flesh, her firm buttocks were inciting as he watched his shaft slide in and out of her cleft, her long legs clad in shimmering hosiery demanded his attention and he stroked her thighs.

“Oh god!” his small gestures of tenderness coupled with his expert piercing and erotic assault of her anus was brining her close to climax.

Gillian wailed with lust and ground her buttocks against her uncle, scrunching her sphincter and palpitating her anus, invoking Andrew’s climax.

“Oh yes!” he sighed and held onto his niece, riding her as she wrung every last drop of his semen from his throbbing cock.

Gillian shuddered and came with her uncle. Her constrained cock erupted, flooding her panties.

Andrew fell on top Gillian exhausted, sated and satisfied.

“Well that was worth the wait,” he chuckled, slapping a buttock.

“Get off me you old letch,” Gillian giggled.

She rolled over, shucking Andrew from on top of her. Hot semen dribbled from her wrinkled aperture. She looked up at her uncle as she lay on her back spreadeagled on the comforter. Andrew gazed at the resplendent beauty lying on the bed; she was his niece yes, but she was so sexy and alluring. Then he noticed that the front of her panties were soaked.

“Did I do that?” he asked.

Gillian nodded coyly.

Andrew grinned.

“Next time I might like to see how that works,” he smirked.

“Next time? Who says there will be a next time?” Gillian gave him a bashful grin, seductively putting a finger in her mouth.

“I do,” Andrew smiled back at her, challenging her.

“Well you get this one on the house because you are my uncle but from now on you pay the going rate,” Gillian arose and started to clean herself.

“After everything I have given you, you want to charge me for sex?” Andrew sounded more than a little irritated.

“Hey! You’re the one who told me that you are the prime investor in Fleur de Lis. I’m just protecting your business interests,” Gillian teased him.

“Is that so?” Andrew reached for her but she playfully ducked out of his reach.

“Besides if I am to be a fitting understudy to Amanda I need to ensure that business and profit come before all things,” she took Andrew's hand in hers and began leading him to the bathroom.

“Excellent segue Gillian. You’re having dinner with Amanda myself and Alfonso Carlotta tomorrow night to discuss your future employment,” Andrew stepped into the shower.

Gillian desperately wanted to know why she was having dinner with them; was it some sort of business meeting?

Gillian badgered and cajoled her uncle, even offering him more sex but he remained schtum. He dressed and left Gillian to use bathroom while he went back to the bar. Gillian took a quick shower, changed her panties and hurriedly dressed but by the time she came downstairs he was gone.

The next evening Gillian, Amanda, Andrew and Alfonso sat together in a private booth at one of London’s most exclusive restaurants. It was obvious that Amanda did not want to be there and she pouted and whined all the way through dinner. The men tried to make small talk with the women but it was obvious that they hated each other.

“This bullshit has got to stop, both of you. I selected Gillian to understudy you so that you can take a break when you need to Amanda. You’re working too hard; it’s starting to show at the club,” Alfie played with his dessert fork.

“And you Gillian. You’re well liked by the staff and the clientele but some of them have complained that you are too often aloof and moody,” he went on.

Both women scowled.

“So this is want’s going to happen. Gillian; you are now deputy manager, Amanda is still the boss,” Amanda stuck out her tongue childishly at Gillian.

“Amanda. You are to amend the roster so that you have three days off a week and Gillian will deputise for you,” Gillian did not react but inside she was elated.

“I don’t need three days off a week,” Amanda whined.

“And both of you are to schedule holiday breaks where you will cover for each other,” Andrew interjected.

“Do we still have to fuck the punters? There’s quite a few who like to fuck trannies instead of real women,” Amanda goaded Gillian.

Alfie shook his head; he’d had enough.

“Yes. Both of you. If you’re services are requested by a member you will meet your overriding obligation to keep the members happy,” Andrew answered on Alfie’s behalf.

“We start the new arrangement on Monday. Hold a staff meeting first thing and explain the new arrangement to the girls,” Alfie summed it up.

“And… now I’m going to take my niece out for the evening,” Andrew beamed and put his hand over Gillian’s.

“And you are coming back to my houseboat for the night,” Alfie beamed at Amanda.

Amanda somehow thought that she had won. She was still the boss and Alfie was taking her home with him.

Amanda was stupid.

Amanda did not know Gillian at all.

To be continued

Gillian Dixon’s trial had been running for four days and Annabelle Creighton was steadily building her case. A succession of witnesses provided the jury with evidence that Gillian had the motive, the means, and the opportunity for her to murder Lord Edward Beaumont.

It was alleged that she and Lord Edward were alone at the club and his body was found in Gillian’s office with her in attendance when the police arrived. Gillian had been seen arguing with Lord Edward on several occasions, often quite heatedly. She had the means to commit the murder. Despite the actual murder weapon not being found it was proven that Edward had been stabbed repeatedly with a letter opener of a type identical to those used in the club’s administration office by all the staff. Several witnesses admitted that Gillian possessed the same letter opener which she kept on her desk. It was missing when the police arrived and it was presumed that Gillian had somehow disposed of it.

Annabelle Creighton had her star witness called to the stand and sworn in.

“Doctor Stephenson what can you tell me about the examination of Ms Gillian Dixon?” Annabelle Creighton asked.

“At the police station she was placed in a sterile room and her clothes were removed, bagged, logged and entered into the evidence log,” Doctor Stephenson replied.

“And who did this?” she continued.

“A SOCO. A scene of crime officer removed and bagged the evidence and one of the on-duty police constables assisted by logging and entering the evidence into the log and establishing chain of custody,” he replied.

“Chain of custody ensures that evidence is handled only by authorised personnel, that the movement of the evidence is tracked and that the evidence is not tampered with correct?” Annabelle explained for the benefit of the jury.

“Correct,” the Doctor nodded his head emphatically.

British counsellors are allowed to lead witnesses unlike their American counterparts.

“And what else occurred in the sterile room?” Annabelle Creighton was getting visibly excited.

“Ms Dixon was swabbed orally and anally. Hair samples were taken and any physical evidence was removed from her body by the SOCO,” the doctor squirmed in his chair.

“She was swabbed orally for a DNA sample but why anally?” Gillian could hardly contain her glee at being able to ask the question.

She knew that she had the jury enthralled.

“Please milord,” Brian McCaffey rose from his seat.

“The motion has been ruled on mister McCaffey. The witness will answer,” Justice Sir Bradley Smithe QC said sternly.

“There were traces of what the SOCO thought to be semen in Ms Dixon’s underwear so it was possible that she had recently had intercourse,” Doctor Stephenson replied dryly.

“And?” Annabelle was determined to drag out the smutty details.

“And as the court is aware, Ms Dixon was issued a Gender Recognition Certificate changing her gender to female but she is transsexual. That is she still has a penis and therefore if she had intercourse it had to be anally,” the doctor was visibly uncomfortable with the line of questioning.

“And all of the forensic samples were sent to a laboratory for testing. What were the results?” Annabelle was on a roll.

“The blood on her clothing and body was positively identified as that of Lord Edward Beaumont,” the doctor replied.

“The swabs?” Annabelle was enjoying this; the jurors were leaning forward in anticipation of the answer.

“The anal swab was positive for Lord Edward Beaumont’s semen. The sperm were motive,” he sighed.

“Meaning it was fresh semen, recently ejaculated,” Annabelle was happy when the jurors muttered their distaste.

“Yes,” Doctor Stephenson replied.

“Nothing further of this witness milord,” Annabelle was smirking when she took her seat.

Brian McCaffey arose to begin his cross examination.

“You gave Ms Dixon a thorough medical examination, isn’t that right Doctor?” Brian McCaffey began.

“Yes I did. I gave Ms Dixon a full medical examination,” the doctor replied.

“Can you read the highlighted section of the report that you rendered please,” Brian said.

The doctor put on his glasses and read from the document given to him by the clerk of the court.

“The sphincter shows signs of bruising and the anus presents recent microscopic tearing,” the doctor took off his glasses.

“Indicating?” Brian wanted more detail.

“Indicating recent anal intercourse as I have attested,” the doctor said smugly.

Gillian got to her feet. For the first time in trial she was visibly angry.

“But wouldn’t those attributes indicate that the intercourse was forced? Non-consensual?” Brian was trying to drive home his point.

“Objection your honour!” Gillian called from the dock.

“Please remain silent Ms Dixon. This in not an American TV show. You cannot object,” the justice admonished her.

“But I directed my counsel not to cross examine any witnesses!” Gillian cried.

“Ms Dixon. I am aware of your direction to counsel but the question had been asked and it will answered. You may take up the terms of your defence with mister McCaffey at the next recess. Be seated or I will have a bailiff restrain you in the dock,” Justice Smithe was visibly angry.

Gillian was livid but she sat down, still fuming. She would be having stern words with Brian McCaffey when they next met.

“Please answer,” the justice said to the witness.

“The very nature of consensual anal sex often causes bruising and tearing, sometimes even bleeding, especially if it is vigorous or energetic,” the doctor answered smugly.

Brian McCaffey sat down defeated. He was hoping to at least prove that Gillian had not consented to sex with Lord Beaumont and use the fact as a means of mitigation if she was found guilty, but he had failed.

During previous testimony it was undeniably established that Gillian Dixon was the Manager of Fleur de Lis and that the club offered sexual services to its members and that Gillian was effectively a Madame of a high class brothel.

What was not testified in court was how Gillian became to be the Manager of Fleur de Lis.

“So do I work for both of you now?” Cecelia Flick asked Gillian.

“You work for whoever is on duty at the time. That’s me three days a week and Amanda four,” Gillian replied.

“But you’re the deputy and Amanda is still in charge?” Cecelia looked a little confused.

They were in the manger’s office with the door closed. The new arrangement had been in place for just over three months and as Gillian expected, Amanda was doing her best to undermine Gillian. Amanda would issue counter-directions and re-task the staff after Gillian had given then specific assignments, she’d cancel or amend orders that Gillian placed with the club’s suppliers, amend work rosters after Gillian had supervised drawing them up. Amanda was deliberately trying to prove to Alfie that the new arrangement wouldn’t work.

Gillian stepped into Cecelia, standing very close to her. She looked Cecelia up and down. Cecelia was wearing a navy-blue skirt, matching jacket, pink silk blouse, beige hosiery and black high heels. Gillian reached out and stroked Cecelia’s cheek; her face was round and pretty and framed by a short black bob; she had big blue eyes, a cute nose and full red lips.

Gillian was wearing the same clothes the had worn when they had first met. An ivory skirt and matching jacket, black long-sleeved silk Dior blouse and white high heels. Underneath she wore a white satin bra and panty set and shimmering, flesh-toned hold-up stockings.

“I’m in charge of you when I’m here,” her soft caress turned into an angry grasp.

Gillian pulled Cecelia close, tightening the grip on her chin. Gillian’s beatific smile turned venomous and her red lips curled down in a snarl.

“Do you get it you little cherub? Do you not understand that I am your superior in all things,” Gillian cinched Cecelia’s buttocks and dug in her nails.

“Answer me you simpleton!” Gillian’s mouth was millimetres from Cecelia’s and she squeezed both her face and bottom harder.

“Yes Mistress,” Cecelia whispered.

“I didn’t hear you,” Gillian’s lips were touching Cecelia’s.

“Yes Mistress,” she repeated herself.

Cecelia leaned into Gillian, attempting to kiss her. Gillian pushed her away and she staggered across the room and fell on the couch legs akimbo. She tried to straighten herself up and pull down her skirt.

“Stay like that! Don’t move unless I tell you! You are my chattel, my servant, I’ll do with you as I will,” Gillian had her back to the door to her office.

She locked it and strode over to where Cecelia lay cowering on the couch.

“I can smell your fear, your docility, your willingness to be used,” Gillian leaned over Cecelia.

Cecelia cringed and Gillian bought down an open handed slap on her face. Cecelia gasped with pain and her cheek reddened. She could feel herself becoming wet.

Gillian took a handful of Cecelia’s short black hair and dragged her to her feet. She led Cecelia over to the desk cowering and staggering on her heels and then she pushed Cecelia against the desk, bent her over and raised her skirt.

Cecelia was wearing transparent black nylon panties. Gillian grinned as she bought her hand down hard on Cecelia’s soft buttocks and was delighted to see the red weal through the translucent fabric.

“I’m sorry Mistress. I deserve to be punished,” Cecelia whined.

Gillian spanked Cecelia again, she was beginning to enjoy it. She was becoming uncomfortably erect. She lay into Cecelia three more times, each slap to the buttocks harder than the last.

“Oh! Oh! Oh!” Cecelia snivelled and tried to wriggle free.

The sight of Cecelia’s plump crimson red buttocks through her panties, wriggling and writhing was very stimulating. Gillian quickly ripped away her gaff and lowered her testes into her scrotal sac. She was fully erect and tented her skirt.

Gillian snatched Cecelia’s hair again and dragged her to the couch and forced Cecelia to lie down across her lap.

“You need to know that I am your superior, your magnate, your queen. Amanda is the stray kitten that I kick out of the way when I walk down the street, the insect I crush beneath my heel,” Gillian bought down her hand hard on Cecelia’s buttocks.

The pain flared again and then became a burning throb. The pain. The exquisite pain, the wonderful pain, sensuous seductive pain. Cecelia’s cunt was soaked, her nipples hard.

“You are my queen, my empress, my Mistress,” Cecelia writhed on Gillian's lap.

Gillian’s skirt had ridden up. Cecelia’s thighs were pressed against hers, both of the women were excited by the feel of their nylons rubbing together, the exotic swish of their stockings rasping in the quiet room. Gillian freed her erection from her panties and Cecelia felt it press on her thigh. It felt curiously erotic to feel another woman’s flesh on hers but also extraordinarily arousing to feel to experience a woman with a penis pressing against her legs.

Gillian thrust her hand into Cecelia’s pubis and squeezed her sex through her panties.

“You’re wet you bitch. You like this. You want more don’t you?” Gillian slapped Cecelia’s buttocks again.

“Yes Mistress; please. Give me more,” she begged.

Gillian pushed Cecelia off her lap and stood over her. To Cecelia looking up, the sight was astounding. The tall beautiful woman with the flaming red hair and icy-blue eyes standing over her, her legs spread wide, her white skirt rucked up around her waist and a huge erection poking from her panties.

Without being told Cecelia got on her hands and knees and raised her buttocks invitingly.

Gillian kicked Cecelia’s legs open and dropped between them. Without any preamble she tore off Cecelia’s knickers and thrust her cock deep into Cecelia’s hot, wet cunt.

Cecelia gasped as her first orgasm erupted.

“Fuck me you bitch!” Gillian pulled on Cecelia’s hair and ground against her.

Cecelia rocked on her knees, back and forth, driving Gillian’s cock deep inside her, her cunt clinging to Gillian’s throbbing flesh and then expelling the organ until just the tip Gillian’s penis was nestled in her labia. Cecelia rutted like a whore as Gillian held her hips in a vice-like grip and began to fuck her harder.

Cecelia came again, moaning like a slattern, begging Gillian to fuck her harder. Gillian slapped Cecelia’s buttocks, turning the milky flesh crimson. The harder she slapped the more Cecelia enjoyed it and thrust back against her.

Finally Gillian ground against Cecelia, holding her still, digging her nails into Cecelia’s thighs so hard that she laddered her stockings, her cock erupted deep inside Cecelia’s vagina. Cecelia’s screamed as her third and final orgasm radiated through her body, Gillian bit down on her lip to stop herself screaming. She stuck her fingers into Cecelia’s mouth to stifle her cries.

When Gillian’s orgasm finally subsided, she dismounted from Cecelia’s prone form and walked around in front of her. Cecelia’s head was bowed and she was gasping, still shaking. Gillian lifted Cecelia’s face.

“Clean your Mistress!” she ordered.

Cecelia dutifully took Gillian’s cock in her mouth and sucked and licked it clean.

“So who is in charge? Who is always in charge regardless of whether she is in your presence or not?” Gillian still had her fingers entangled in Cecelia’s hair.

“You are Mistress. You are my queen and I will worship you and always do your bidding,” Cecelia whispered.

“Get cleaned up. Change your stockings. There’s work to be done this morning and Lord Beaumont requires your services this afternoon.

Gillian let go of Cecelia’s hair and kicked her away with her high her heel.

Gillian pulled down her skirt and went to the door and unlocked it and opened it wide. Most of the office girls had stopped what they were doing and had obviously been listening. They peered through the door, incredulous to the sight of Cecelia picking herself up off the floor.

“Back to work ladies; nothing to see here,” Gillian clapped her hands.

Later that night in Gillian’s apartment Cecelia snuggled up Gillian who was softly stroking her hair.

“You know when I used you like I did in the office today, I only did it because you like it,” she leaned down and gently kissed Cecelia’s bruised lips.

“Yes Mistress,” Cecelia mewed.

“Don’t call me that when we are in bed together like this. I know you enjoy it when we make love without the pain and discipline,” Gillian stroked Cecelia’s cheek fondly.

“I like it when you’re tender with me like this too. I feel safe with you, I adore you Gillian,” Cecelia snuggled up Gillian and intertwined her legs with her lover.

They were both still wearing their stockings, nothing more. They had spent hours exploring each other’s bodies, delighting in discovering what made each other happy. They had made love slowly and tenderly. Gillian was very dismayed to find the raised welts on Cecelia’s back and buttocks, inflicted on her by Edward Beaumont. But she knew that Cecelia liked being treated that way and more importantly, it was Cecelia’s job to provide that kind of unique service.

“I like you too Cecelia. It’s different with you. I had never been with a woman before I met you. I like it when I’m the Mistress and you are my chattel but I think I like this more. The softness, the tenderness, the comfort we find in each other,” Gillian kissed her again.

“Me too Gillian. I don’t like being romantic or caring with men, but I feel something special when we make love,” Cecelia sighed.

Gillian snuggled closer to Cecelia if that were possible and purred.

“Of course I like it when you treat me like your dirty little whore who needs to be punished too,” Cecelia giggled flirtatiously.

“Do you?” Gillian said playfully and began to tickle Cecelia.

She extracted herself from Cecelia’s embrace and straddled her, tickling her all over. This of course eventually led to more lovemaking.

The next day they were both dressed for work, both sophisticated and sexy, as they entered the lift to take them downstairs from Gillian’s apartment Gillian spoke.

“What we do when we are in my home, our romantic relationship, that is our secret. At work and in public you my subordinate, my chattel, my toy… understand?” Gillian said candidly.

“Of course Mistress,” Cecelia whispered, keeping her head bowed.

After six months of Gillian and Amanda’s animosity to each other, business at Fleur de Lis was starting to suffer. The staff and the members all preferred when Gillian was duty manager, she was engaging with the members, and direct but courteous with the staff. More importantly she got things done.

Amanda was also aware that Gillian had wrenched Cecelia Flick’s loyalty away from her. Cecelia was still docile and obedient but she referred to Gillian when she had to make a choice. Amanda’s response was to make things harder for Gillian and be damned the ensuing chaos.

Gillian had enough.

“You know you shouldn’t be here,” Terry Belkin said to Gillian Dixon when she knocked on his door.

“Alfie told me stay away from you and he’s the boss. A very vicious boss who takes retribution when his minions don’t do as they are told,” Terry kept his arm across the door to prevent Gillian entering his flat.

Gillian was dressed down wearing a denim micro-miniskirt, tank top, nude sheer-to-the waist pantyhose and ‘fuck-me’ strappy high heels. She was wearing a lot of makeup, lashings of mascara, rouged cheeks and red lipstick. Her red hair draped across her shoulder blades.

It was obvious that she wasn’t wearing a bra but what Terry didn’t know was that she was also sans panties.

“Come on Terry. You said yourself, I give the best blowjobs in London,” she pushed his arm out of the way and strode into his flat.

It was a mess but she ignored it. Empty takeaway curry containers, chip wrappers and lager cans were strewn across every surface of the kitchen.

“I see you’re on a health diet then?” Gillian teased him.

Terry couldn’t take his eyes off her tits and her legs; everything was on display.

“And I can see that for a woman who had climbed the corporate ladder you like to climb down occasionally and dress like a ten pound brass,” Terry traded insults.

“So you came here to give me blowjob did you? What do you want for it? You never gave anything away,” Terry closed the front door behind her and followed her into the lounge.

“I’ve come to give you something that you always wanted but could never get,” she put a finger in her mouth flirtatiously and grinned at him.

“What might that be?” Terry was dressed only in a bathrobe and was barefoot.

He worked late and got up late. His morning erection had returned at the sight of Gillian.

“This,” Gillian bent over the overstuffed arm of the couch and presented herself.

Her micro-miniskirt rode up revealing her exquisite soft white buttocks encased in the sheerest of nylon. Terry could see her puckered bud.

“Well come on. Fuck me,” Gillian snagged a red painted fingernail into the translucent gusset of her pantyhose and tore a little hole.

Terry needed no further urging. He opened his robe, stepped behind Gillian and pushed his cock into her tight anus. Gillian was lubricated but she gasped as his thick phallus filled her back passage. Terry gripped Gillian by the hips and began to fuck her vigorously.

“Come on Terry, give me a good fucking. I need it,” Gillian goaded him on, wriggling her buttocks to increase his pleasure.

Terry’s morning piss-horn refused to give up his seed easily and he fucked Gillian for a good fifteen minutes before he came. Gillian had not come looking for gratification herself but Terry was doing a good job. He pulled off her tank top so he could play with her tits and then kept changing positions. Sitting on the couch with her straddling him so he could kiss her while she rode him. Him lying on the couch and her riding him cowboy, and finally, Gillian lying down on the couch with a pillow under the small of back and him between her legs fucking her missionary, kissing her passionately until he orgasmed.

Gillian came with him, pulling her skirt out of the way at the last minute so it wouldn’t get come on it but she still flooded her pantyhose.

When Terry had finished he dismounted and wiped himself clean with a tea towel which he tossed to her on completion.

“Classy,” she huffed and patted herself dry as best she could and pushed her deflating penis between her legs.

She took a pair of black satin full-cut panties from her handbag and slipped them on, ignoring the squelchy mess in the front of her pantyhose.

“So what do you want?” Terry lit a cigarette.

Gillian rummaged in her handbag and dropped a roll of banknotes on the kitchen table. She snatched his cigarette out of his hand and drew on it, blowing smoke in his face.

“That’s a lot of money Gillian. A fuck-load of money,” Terry picked up the roll of cash, took off the rubber band and fanned the notes.

“I want weight Terry. A fuck-load, as you put it, of weight,” Gillian handed him back his cigarette.

“I told you Alfie said no,” but Terry kept counting the money.

“Fuck Alfie. This is between you and I. Imagine how much money I can make dealing discreetly at the Fleur de Lis. Those rich tossers love nose candy but it’s hard for them to get from a reliable source. If I sell it to them in the club they will be happy because anything they do in the confines of club remains a secret,” Gillian replied.

“I’ll mark it up double what your dealers sell it for on the streets. You give Alfie the going rate, and we split the profits,” Gillian sidled up to him.

“And every time I come to get my stash you get to fuck me. Or anything else you want to do to me,” she reached into his robe and squeezed his prick.

It was becoming hard again.

“I’ll get your weight,” Terry went upstairs and came down a few minutes later with a large bag of cocaine.

“Don’t get caught with that. It’s two to three years in porridge if you’re nabbed with that amount of Class A on you,” Terry said soberly.

Gillian we-wrapped the cellophane bag of cocaine in newspaper and dropped it in her handbag.

“Thanks Terry. Looks like this is the start of a beautiful friendship,” she kissed his cheek and started for the door.

Terry held onto her wrist and swung her around. His robe was open and he was hard again.

“Any chance of another shag before you leave,” he grinned at her.

Gillian rummaged around her bag and produced a small tube of KY jelly.

“Here. Take this; a box of tissues, your laptop, and enjoy yourself,” she tossed the tube of lubricant at him, pulled herself free of his grasp and strode to the front door and opened it.

“There’s spunk on the back of your leg,” Terry called after her, grinning like a schoolboy.

“Like I care,” Gillian waggled her fingers at him and closed the door behind her.

Two days later at three in the morning on the way home from work, Amanda Grayson was stopped for a routine licence check and a cursory search of her car by the constable who stopped her revealed a trafficable quantity of cocaine in her glovebox. She swabbed positive for cocaine use at the scene and the urine sample taken at the police station confirmed that she had used the drug recently.

Amanda claimed that the drugs had been planted by Cecelia Flick, the only other person with a spare set of keys to her car and that Cecelia had enticed her to use cocaine in her office at the Fleur de Lis that evening. Cecelia was interviewed by police and claimed that she was at the residence of Gillian Dixon on the night of the incident which was corroborated by Gillian.

Amanda was sent down for two years and Gillian Dixon became sole manager of Fleur de Lis.

“Just remind me never to cross you,” Andrew Dixon smiled at his beautiful niece as she greeted him at the door to her new apartment in Mayfair.

The place was a lot bigger the her previous abode and she was throwing a small house-warming party for her friends. Cecelia was dressed in a French maid’s outfit serving drinks and canapes.

“I don’t know what on earth you mean,” she smiled back at her uncle and winced when he pinched her buttock as he squeezed passed her.

During the evening she managed to get Terry Belkin alone in her bedroom.

“Jesus Christ Gillian! Do you know how much that weight cost?” terry paced up and down the room nervously.

“Don’t worry Terry, I’ll give you full retail value for it so you can pay Alfie,” Gillian studied the bubbles in her champagne class.

“Well then. At least that’s done and dusted,” terry breathed a sigh of relief.

“What do you mean done and dusted?” Gillian said sharply, fixing him with her ice-blue eyes.

“Selling you weight. I presume you only wanted it for…” Gillian didn’t let him finish.

“Fucking bollocks we’re done and dusted! The deal stands. I can double may wage selling snow at the Fleur de Lis and you my friend are going to supply me,” Gillian put down her drink and took a cigarette from a silver case on the nightstand.

“Fucking bollocks I am! Do you know what will happen if Alfie finds out!” Terry hissed.

“He won’t find out. Not unless I tell him. Our deal stands,” Gillian blew smoke at the ceiling.

Terry knew when he was beaten.

“Does that include the shagging,” a coarse grin spread on his face.

“Of course,” Gillian sidled up to him.

She was wearing a short black cocktail dress and his hand went straight to her arse.

“Any chance of quick one now then? You can put if my tab?” Terry grinned and squeezed her buttock.

“Yes of course you can have a shag,” Gillian removed his hand from her buttock.

She crushed out her cigarette and walked to the door.

“Cecelia! Come and take care of this for me please,” she called out the door.

They both heard the click-clack of Cecelia Flick's heels on the stairs.

“Enjoy yourself. And you’re right; this is going on your tab,” Gillian smiled sweetly when Cecelia entered the room and she left.

Gillian settled into the role of being sole manager of Fleur de Lis very comfortably. She made quite a few improvements to the place, brightened it up, put in some ‘specialty’ entertainment rooms and recruited girls with special talents to work in them.

She also made some changes that neither Alfie nor her uncle knew about and would be livid if they did.

Gillian and Cecelia sold cocaine to those members who requested it. They dealt only in the club and never more than a member could use personally that evening; there were no take-aways.

While the club was being renovated, she secretly had minuscule video cameras installed above all the work rooms, the administration offices, the bar and lounge. The video was fed by wifi to digital recorders and screens she had installed in a safe behind a false panel in her office. Only she and Cecelia knew about it and had the combination to the safe and passwords to the video consoles.

Gillian and Cecelia’s relationship continued to flourish, Cecelia became dependant on Gillian and Gillian, who considered herself incapable of love, felt genuine affection for Cecelia. She understood Cecelia’s need to be dominated, mastered and physically punished and did not try to change her or withhold that part of her life from her. She let Cecelia continue to explore her sadomasochistic tendencies.

But Gillian was becoming more concerned about the level of violence and humiliation that Cecelia was willing to let her partners inflict on her, particularly Lord Edward Beaumont who was becoming very extreme in his demands.

However, Gillian led a very comfortable and happy life for the three years that she was Madame at the Fleur de Lis. It was only when she was arrested and charged with murder that her life took a turn for the worse.

But Gillian being Gillian, she was determined to remain in control of her destiny, whatever that might be.

To be continued

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