One Week in the Private House (37 page)

'Julia! What are you doing here? You're not on duty today, are you?'

Damn and blast! Julia thought. The Chief's here. Doesn't he ever eat or sleep? At least he's alone. But there must be cameras in here. How can I get him out of the way without making it obvious?

'Morning, Chief,' she said. 'I shouldn't be on duty, really. But it's jolly boring in civvy street. What's happening?'

'Nothing much,' Anderson said, swivelling his chair to glance across his array of screens. 'The Round Tower's incommunicado. Master's orders. The weather's keeping most people indoors. Interesting party in one of the West Wing bedrooms.'

He pointed to one of the screens, on which Julia could make out a mound of writhing bodies. Anderson's interest was evidenced by the tent-like shape of his gauze pouch.

'Let me have a look at that,' Julia said, and came to stand beside his chair. She stepped forward a couple more paces and leant to peer at the screen. She felt Anderson's hand on the back of her thigh.

'I can see something even more interesting now, Julia,' he said. 'Don't move! That's an order.'

Julia had no objection to watching the imaginative antics of the inhabitants of the West Wing. Disobeying the strict letter of Chief Anderson's order, she bent forward a little further and shuffled her feet more widely apart. His thick, stubby fingers were soon peeling the luscious fruit between her legs, and she could feel the tip of his flicker sliding up and down the crease between her buttocks. Stimulated by the Chief's attentions and by the sight of a dozen intertwined naked bodies, Julia soon found that she was unable to control the slow writhing of her hips, and she could feel her juices flowing on to Anderson's hand.

She tore her eyes from the screen and looked over her shoulder. Anderson's gaze was fixed on her rotating rump, and his thick shaft, freed from its pouch, was standing erect in his lap. His eyes caught hers.

'Perhaps I ought to sit down, Chief,' Julia said.

'Yes,' was all he said, grabbing her hips and pulling her backwards towards him.

She settled slowly on to his prick, luxuriating in the sensation of the thick shaft pushing between her outer lips, and then widening the entrance of her hole, and then, centimetre by centimetre, forcing aside the walls of her vagina, until at last her thighs were resting on his, and one of his fingers had started to intrude into her stretched anus. She wriggled contentedly, and started to move herself up and down so that Anderson's prick slid in and out while his finger, to her delight, merely slid further in.

'Julia!' Anderson puffed. 'That's wonderful, my girl. Keep going!'

Julia bounced up and down with increasing abandon, and the Chief's gasps became louder and more explosive.

He's going to come soon, Julia thought, and she twisted her right hip into the shadow of his desk. She hoped that the cameras were unable to see her hand reaching for her belt. She shouted a word of encouragement to the Chief, increased the tempo of her bouncing and, just as she heard Anderson's anguished climactic exclamation and felt his first spurt inside her, she thrust the red tip of her buzzer against his thigh.

A few seconds later, she picked herself up from the floor.

She shook her head, and stars vibrated across her field of vision. When she lifted her hair was bristling with static. Chief Anderson was slumped in his chair, his deflating member twitching and still spouting little drops.

That certainly was some orgasm, she said to herself. I wonder what the cameras made of it? The Chief's out cold, that's the main thing. I really must get on with the job.

'Wow!' she said aloud, for the benefit of anyone who might have been listening. That was amazing, Chief. You look completely wrecked. Let me see if I can perk you up a bit.'

She climbed back on to his lap, continuing the cheery monologue with her inert commander and feigning disappointment that he wanted to go to sleep. 'Well,' she said at last, 'if you're going to doze all day, I think I'll take a look at what's going on around the House.' And she turned from Anderson to his control console.

Having typed in her clearance code and the Chief's password, Julia contacted the first of the Security stations on her list and began to issue instructions.

The vintage bus splashed through puddles as it chugged towards the woods. Lucy looked up from the incredible script she was supposed to follow, and saw for the first time, through the rain-speckled window, the vast extent of the estate. To her left the open countryside sloped down to a river that seemed to be more than a mile away; and beyond the river there were farm buildings and fields that she could only conclude were also part of the domain of the Private House.

The bus plunged into the gloom beneath dripping trees, and Lucy shivered with the cold. The tiny black skirt was not long enough to cover even her stocking-tops, and although the black jacket covered her arms and shoulders it reached only to just below her breasts and was fastened with just a loop of braid across her straining cleavage. Only the cap, with its chequered band, and the collar and tie around her neck were anything like real items of police uniform; and they were of no help in keeping out the cold.

There were only two other passengers on the bus, and they looked as cold as Lucy felt. The athletic-looking young man was wearing only a T-shirt, a pair of tight shorts, and training shoes; his partner, a dark-haired girl with a bee-hive hair-do and garish make-up, kept trying to pull down her tight-fitting mini-dress to cover her thighs.

As they had boarded the bus, the couple had introduced themselves to Lucy. 'Hello there!' the young man had said. 'I'm John, and this is Mary. We're the victims.'

Lucy had been completely bewildered, but now that she had read the script she understood. John and Mary were two of the characters in the scenario that was about to be enacted; they were to be the victims of a burglary. Lucy, of course, was to come in to the scene of the crime and arrest the villains. But where were they, she wondered; who were the burglars?

The cold depressed her, and she was worried about remembering her few lines; but her panic about being discovered had receded. It seemed that being chosen to play at being an officer of the law was entirely coincidental. She turned back to revise her dialogue, but the bus was spluttering to a halt. They had reached their destination.

The squat, square, brick-built tower rose from a small hill that protruded from the woodland. It was surrounded on three sides by trees, and from the fourth side rain-greened meadow swept downhill to the distant river. The bus had parked next to a small door in the base of the tower, and Lucy followed John and Mary through it. The wave of warm air that greeted her came as a welcome surprise. Inside the door was a small dark hallway from which a narrow staircase spiralled upwards.

Lucy followed Mary up the stairs, admiring the movement of her pear-shaped buttocks and wondering how the small, flimsy dress stretched to cover them. John stopped outside a door when they reached a landing. 'Mary and I go in here,' he said. 'You carry on to the next floor, and make your entrance later, down the main staircase.'

'OK,' Lucy said, and continued climbing. She went through the next door she came to, and found herself on a gallery that ran round all four sides of the interior of the tower. It was unlit, but a flood of radiance spilled upwards from the floor below. Looking over the parapet, she saw below her the stage being set for the performance. Furniture was being arranged, backdrops adjusted, lights tested, cameras positioned. Cameras! Lucy fretted again. She really did not want to be photographed in this ridiculous mockery of a uniform she respected . . . But the red-headed woman, whom her Mentor had told her was the sweetheart of everyone in the House and was called Jem, had said that she was not to worry about the cameras, and that all record of Lucy's humiliation would be destroyed. Lucy had no choice but to believe her.

John and Mary were sitting calmly on a settee in the middle of the chaos, practising their lines. They had removed their shoes, and as the turmoil died down and a voice shouted 'Positions, everyone!', Mary tucked her feet under her bottom and John, pulling her towards him, started to kiss her face. The lights faded, all sounds ceased, and John and Mary were snogging enthusiastically like teenage lovers in the back row of a cinema.

'OK, action!' the voice called, and as the lights flared up John's hand stole along Mary's thigh and under her skirt, while Mary began to fondle the considerable bulge at the front of John's shorts.

In the space of the next few minutes, and without interrupting their extended kiss, the couple managed to expose most of their bodies. John unbuttoned the front of Mary's dress, released her dark-tipped, heavy breasts, and tickled her nipples into hard points; Mary untied the bow at the waistband of John's shorts, delved inside them, and brought out a large, stiff prick which she proceeded to massage lustily. John tugged at the hem of her skirt until it was round her waist, whereupon she began to shift her position on the settee to give the camera shots of her flashing thighs, of her quivering bottom, and of John's fingers dabbling between her legs.

Then the burglars arrived. Behind the settee a door opened, and two burglars tiptoed through it to look down on the oblivious couple. Lucy could tell they were burglars: each was wearing a red and black striped T-shirt and was carrying a bag labelled
Swag.
Lucy could also tell that they were the amateurs, the outsiders, the ones for whom the whole scenario had been designed. The male burglar was short and powerfully built, with a ruddy complexion; the woman was no taller, but very thin, with a pretty but lined face. They were both middle-aged, and each was carrying a copy of the script.

John cursed and Mary squealed, and both shook their heads violently when the burglars demanded to know where their valuables were kept. Predictably, the burglars' next step was to tie John to a chair, from which position he protested half-heartedly while the male burglar attempted to persuade Mary to talk. Lucy thought that his methods of persuasion were doomed to failure, consisting as they did of removing Mary's skimpy dress, mauling her naked body, spanking her generous bottom, and making use of her well-lubricated sex slot. The female burglar, meanwhile, for some reason that even the script failed to explain, had dropped to her knees before John's bound body and was masticating his exposed member like a dog worrying a bone.

The action had been continuing wordlessly for some minutes before Lucy, in a moment of boredom, turned the page of her script and read the direction
Enter WPC, waving truncheon.

She tripped down the stairs, remembered to drop her script, lifted her truncheon aloft, and paused outside the circle of lights and cameras. She made her entrance.

The burglars were supposed to be too busy to notice her at first, and as she strolled towards the intertwined couples, rolling her hips as she began to enjoy the sensation of being watched, she realised that the two burglars had become too engrossed in their young victims to adhere to the script. Lucy, improvising, stood above the male burglar as he thrust himself into the unresisting Mary. Lucy waited until his movements became frantic, and then tapped his oscillating bottom with the flanged head of her truncheon.

'Hello, hello, hello,' she said. 'What's going on here then?'

The burglar froze. The director flapped his hands, vainly trying to suppress the giggles that emanated from the videotape crew. The female burglar flipped through her script, and remembered just in time to remove John's member from her mouth befQre delivering her line.

'Oh my God,' she read. 'It's the law.'

A black-jacketed figure ran into the middle of the set.

The burglars consulted their papers; John and Mary
and
Lucy exchanged glances. This entrance wasn't in the script. Lucy recognised the newcomer's grim uniform as identical to that worn by the guards during her initiation, and a dread premonition gripped her chest.

'Is Lucy here?' demanded the Security guard. 'Lucy the policewoman?'

They've rumbled me, Lucy thought. She looked frantically for the nearest exit, but realised instantly that she couldn't hope to overcome so many opponents.

The director had recovered his power of speech. 'What do you mean by bursting in here like this?' he spluttered. 'We're in the middle of a shoot.'

The Security guard held up a long white envelope. The red seal was prominent, and drew a collective gasp from the crew. 'Have you ever seen a Priority Order from the Round Tower?' the guard barked. 'This overrides everything.' He turned, and Lucy shivered as his gaze locked on her revealing travesty of police uniform. 'You're Lucy?' he said. It was hardly a question. 'Come with me. You're wanted at the Keep, immediately. There are sealed orders for you there. The car's waiting. Come on. Move!'

The guard grabbed her arm and pulled her towards the door. In the stunned silence behind her, the male burglar remembered one of his lines. 'It's a fair cop,' he called out, as Lucy stumbled down the rain-slippery steps and into the waiting car.

Jem was still tied to the chair, on her back on the seat with her arms locked under her knees and her sex pushed forward. Headman apparently found her rounded haunches an irresistible target, and he delivered playful but stinging slaps as he arranged a television screen on his desk so that Jem could see it between her uplifted thighs.