Bea raised her arms and shivered as the Governor lifted the shapeless sweatshirt from her lightly muscled torso.
“Miss Bennett knows about us,” she said, twisting her neck to address the tall brunette. She’d seen the Deputy Governor staring suspiciously at her again as Miss Miles had pulled her from the dinner queue. The fear of discovery filled her veins with ice.
“I doubt that,” came the cool reply.
“She does. I’m telling you, she knows. She keeps asking why you're always sending for me, she wants to know what we talk about.” Strong fingers settled on either side of her head and her gaze was directed forward once more to the rear of the Governor’s office, towards the sombre grey wall punctuated by two doors and simply adorned by Ferguson’s certificates of achievement above the low file cabinet supporting more of her awards.
“You let me worry about Miss Bennett,” purred Joan into her ear as she unfastened Bea’s bra and slid her hands round to cup the small breasts it covered. “She’s of no concern. I’ll see to that.” Joan knew that Vera would never understand the nuances of a situation like this, but her Deputy could easily be controlled with a plausible tale of lagging or some such - of that she was confident.
“She fancies you.” Bea inhaled sharply as Joan’s lips found the back of her neck.
“Yes,” confirmed Joan with a hidden smirk, “I know. Jealousy can be a demanding mistress for someone like Miss Bennett.”
“So can you... Ohhh!” Bea shivered as her trakkie daks were pushed down and her underwear eased from her hips before her outer lips were parted by thick, leather clad fingers. “Are you sure you can handle her? She’s a real sticky beak.” She gave a strangled gasp as Ferguson slid her fingers deep inside her.
“There’s no need to worry yourself, Smith, I have my ways of managing the likes of Miss Bennett.” Joan began to pump her fingers gently, pressing her palm against the hardening clit as she pulled Bea close and leaned back against her desk, inhaling the scent of hair dye and cheap conditioner as she touched her cheek to the carmine curls. “All that matters right now is you and I, no? And,” she paused to brush her lips against Bea’s ear, “what we can become. Take Doyle down and this prison will be yours.” Bea planted her palms on the firm swell of Ferguson’s thighs and surrendered to her touch.
She was being used. She knew that well enough. But she was using the Governor too. Ferguson wanted her as a responsible (tame, even) Top Dog, and she still needed to wreak her revenge on Brayden Holt - and by taking all of the opportunities offered to her she would be able to do both. Years of living with Harry had subconsciously taught her how to play this game well, but she’d never been made to feel like this by that mongrel of a husband, and she’d been shocked to discover just how much she enjoyed the touch of a strong woman once she’d overcome her initial reservations and surrendered to Ferguson’s solicitation. She’d never found herself attracted to women before but this tall, dark woman had a way about her that charged every moment with a dangerous, enticing eroticism and Bea had found herself both intrigued and enticed by her subtle manoeuvrings.
Sliding her hands up Ferguson’s thighs, Bea found the hot valley of her sex and began to massage the plump outer lips with her calloused thumbs, locating the small bulge that rode just below the ridge of her pubic bone and rubbing it until the Governor’s breathing became heavy in her ear and her fingers quickened in Bea’s cunt.
They’d played this game for weeks now, always the same - her increasingly naked and Ferguson remaining in full uniform, not even a button unfastened. She’d been so caught up in discovering this new side of herself that the imbalance hadn’t really bothered her - until recently. When permitted, she’d been able to make Ferguson come through those dark grey trousers of hers, but Bea realised that she was becoming desperate to see this woman’s skin. To be allowed to touch it. To find the softness beneath her hard exterior. She was even dreaming about it, waking up with tangled, nebulous memories of pale limbs and black hair and red, red lips. There was something inexplicable about this powerful woman that drew Bea like a magnet.
“I want to see you,” she breathed and tilted her head back to catch those dark eyes that seemed capable of drawing the most private of thoughts from your soul.
“You see me every day, Smith,” drawled Joan. So then, Smith was discovering her true nature just as she’d predicted... Her lips twitched with the vestige of a proud smile.
“You know what I mean. Will you let me? Let me touch you?”
Joan held the slender woman’s gaze as she considered Smith’s appeal; calculating the possible repercussions of permitting this request, of taking the next step. It would aid in binding Smith to her, strengthen their alliance... But it might just as easily promote a familiarity that could jeopardise her plans. Yet... Yet she was intrigued by Smith’s potential as a lover. She was, in essence, a virgin; ready to be moulded to her liking; and this woman needed something, or someone, to pour her emotion into now that her daughter was dead. Yet, as Joan knew to her cost, emotion was a dangerous thing; her developing relationship with the very needy Vera was testament to that.
But mousy little Vera had lit a touch paper within her and Joan was unable to ignore the resurgence of sexual desire, particularly for her Deputy, that had lain suppressed for so long. Vigilance was the key here to a profitable future…
Releasing Smith from her embrace Joan turned her around to face her, fingers still working the wet, fleshy slit between her thighs. “And if I do, what then?” she quizzed with her trademark low, modulated tone and quirked eyebrow, “what do you see happening between us, hmmm?”
“You mean, will I think that we’re equals?”
“Mhmmm,” confirmed Joan. She bent her head to inspect the shine on her gloved fingers and then raised her other hand and fondled Bea’s rosy nipple, casually tracing the curve of her small breast as she withdrew her hand and curled her fingers around the edge of the desk.
Taking a deep breath, Bea ignored her rising excitement and looked Ferguson squarely in the eye, “I know that will never happen, Governor. Not whilst we’re both in here like this.” She mimicked Ferguson’s tilt of the head as the tall woman acknowledged this truth and she mirrored the wry smile of confirmation. Her voice softened, “but,” she smoothed down the Governor’s tie with the back of her fingers then slipped her hand beneath the dark lapel to gently cradle the impressive swell of her breast, “I want to do more than just feel you through all of this material. I’d like to touch you properly. The way you do me. Wouldn’t you like that too?” She skimmed the hardening nipple with her thumb and stared wide-eyed and hopeful into Ferguson’s obsidian gaze, noting the flicker of interest and the smallest tremor at the corner of her full lips.
“You should be careful what you wish for, Smith,” said Joan with a sly grin. She removed Bea’s hand and inspected the state of her fingernails. “And do you think that you have the necessary skills to touch me ‘properly’?” she continued, “you are, after all, a recovering .... heterosexual.” Joan drew the last word out with obvious disdain, her shapely nostrils flaring at its connotations.
Recovering heterosexual indeed! Bea let the jibe slide and smiled earnestly at Ferguson. “I can learn. I’m good at adapting, improvising, you should know that by now. Please, Governor, won’t you let me?” Bea wanted to ruffle the sleek perfection of this tall, powerful woman; to loosen a strand or two of her immaculate hair, to smudge her tasteful lipstick, to crack her careful composure. Her eyes flickered over the amused mask of Ferguson’s face, even when she came (she reflected) it was with a controlled relaxation of her iron grip on proceedings. Bea wanted to make her crazy with helpless excitement, wanted to hear her cry out, wanted to glimpse the woman behind the machine.
Joan rolled Smith’s request around in her mind for a moment longer. She was a quick learner, she had to give her that, but she had an impulsive streak that couldn’t be legislated for. And she knew that if she were to permit this development then she’d have to be doubly on her guard, alert to every possible transgression of power. There’d be no letting loose, no matter how talented this woman proved to be.
Coolly, she appraised Smith’s lean body; she had very nice breasts, soft, pert and responsive, but prison had hardened her small frame, dispensing with her womanly softness to the point where her pale skin draped over her muscles like a doe’s – velvety plush yet steely hot underneath. A tracery of stretchmarks on her small breasts, hard hips and flat belly spoke of her pregnancy. Surgical dressings on her slim thigh and forearm were souvenirs of her recent brush with death at the hands of the Holts, and her faint necklace of bruises reminded them both of Doyle’s failed lynching; Joan knew that in her fight for Top Dog, Smith would garner yet more marks on her body – more dubious trophies of her quest for control.
Joan liked that the woman intrigued her. So much of Smith was an open book yet, there were sealed chapters that whetted Joan's boundless curiosity, chapters that were accessible to just a lucky few, and chapters that had yet to be written. They were alike in a number of respects, and Joan knew that under different circumstances they could quite possibly be friends, allies in their struggles in this fucked up world of theirs. But as a lover, Smith failed to ignite any burning, red-hot spark of desire in her chest - just as well, she thought, in light of the nature of their encounters and her ambition for their future alliance, she couldn’t risk becoming embroiled in a romance - and for a fleeting moment Joan considered shutting the whole thing down, knowing that a crippling disinterest could creep up on her at the most inopportune moment and scupper all her hard work.
The woman’s open mouth invited a kiss and Joan found her lips responding instinctively as she grasped Smith’s chin between thumb and forefinger and raised it until Smith was on tiptoes. Inclining her dark head, Joan interrogated Bea’s bright brown eyes. “So, Smith, if I decide to allow this wish of yours, just what do you have in mind for me, hmmm?” She slid her fingers up to Bea’s clit and began to tickle it.
“Whatever you want, Governor,” gasped Bea and scanned Ferguson’s amused expression through slitted eyelids, “whatever you need.” She thrust out her chest and moaned as gloved fingers pushed back her clitoral hood, teasing the sensitive glans beneath.
“Hmmm, whatever I want,” mused Joan with a dimpled shark-like grin, “now, who could refuse an offer like that?” She withdrew her damp fingers and pushed Smith backwards into one of the low chairs. The petite woman sprawled splay legged as Joan reached beneath her tunic and loosened her belt. “In that case, Smith, I think that it’s time to put your money where your mouth is, so to speak. Or,” Joan slowly unzipped her fly, “vice versa.” She deftly stepped out of her trousers and underwear and draped them over the second chair, settling back against her desk, the hard edge perfectly fitting the juncture between thigh and high, firm buttock.
She’d spent a long time choosing this desk, so many models had been inferior to her needs. Too small, too low, too flimsy. Too cheap looking. But her perseverance had finally paid off and this one fitted her requirements perfectly – fitted her perfectly.
Joan paused to smooth a wrinkle from her stocking, shivering slightly as her fingers whispered over the creamy skin of her inner thigh. “On your knees, Smith,” she ordered and reached out to comb her gloved fingers through the thick ringlets that framed the prisoner’s thin face as she complied. Joan was pleased at the mixture of awe and apprehension that she witnessed in Smith’s upturned eyes, not as hot as Vera’s expression when she’d first fucked her - but then, Vera was a completely different kettle of fish to Smith - but hot enough to make her pulse quicken in anticipation.
Bea stared up into Ferguson’s strong face and she fought down a sudden wave of trepidation. She was used to seeing her from below, but never from this angle. The woman towered above her, her grey jacket seeming to go on forever like a pillar of granite, and her eyes fell on each shiny button in turn as she lowered her gaze to the snowy shirt tails that almost, but not quite, covered the dark thatch disappearing between Ferguson’s impressive thighs.
She waited with bated breath as the other woman tucked the white cotton up under her jacket and moved her feet further apart to expose her cunt. The thick, black hair was perfectly trimmed to an even length with not even a solitary strand allowed to survive past the crease of her groin. Silver sparkled along the central division and randomly highlighted the dense bush that hid the curving mound as it nestled between the gently swelling flesh of her upper thighs, of legs so long and lean that Bea had to crush the impulse to run her hands along their stockinged length just to make sure that they were real. She burned with an excitement that she had never thought possible.
“Smell me, Smith.” Joan's melodious voice was rich with arousal as she wound her fingers in the confusion of Bea’s curls and positioned her face so that her nose brushed the tuft of hair concealing the apex of her cleft. She smiled down into Smith’s upturned eyes, “like it?” she enquired.
Bea inhaled deeply, opening her mouth a little to sip the dark musk that perfumed the hot space between her and the Governor. “I do,” she replied thickly, it was reminiscent of her own scent after a workout or a long, hot day, but tempered by a spicy bass note that she couldn’t quite place.
“Is your mouth watering?”
“Yes, Governor,” replied Bea automatically.
“Have you ever tasted a woman, Smith?” Joan asked in a near whisper. Her eyes bored into Bea’s as she teased out a ringlet.
“No? Not even your own secretions?”
Bea was taken aback, “well, no...”
“You mean that you’ve never even been curious to discover how you taste?” Joan tickled Bea’s jawline with the strand trapped between her fingers before stretching it out and watching idly as it sprung back into shape.
All her married life sex had been functional, something to be endured, and rarely anything other than straight penetration (unless he took it into his head to ram his dick down her throat) to satisfy Harry’s fragile ego; her mother had warned her that this was a woman’s lot in life and she had no reason to disbelieve her. Even before they’d got together she had never touched herself, shying away from self-discovery, terrified that she would be found out in a house that had no doors and where sex was a dirty word. “No, why would I?” she asked with a small frown.
“To know yourself better, Smith.” Joan shifted against the desk, pulling her thighs taut and exposing a thin line of glistening pink caged by the tangle of her pubic hair. “A woman should know herself in-Ti-maTely,” murmured Joan, “it’s the least that she can do for herself.”
She quivered at Bea’s hot breath on her clit, and gloved fingers glided down to slide her lips apart. She felt the flush of power crawl through her body and twine itself into a thick rope of pleasure as it flowed up her spine and caused her to shudder. Closing her eyes, she heard the tendons at the base of her skull creak and pop with each delicious roll of her neck, and she inhaled deeply, slowly opening her eyes as she let out the long breath and fixed Smith with her glittering gaze.
“Mouth still watering?” queried Joan. Bea’s eyes fastened on the exotic sight and she nodded. “Good, Smith, correct answer,” she purred. “Now, taste me, and do it slowly, as if you were licking batter from a spoon. I want to feel you work that hoT tongue of yours into every crevice.” Joan removed her hands and reached up to adjust her bun, careful not to use the one moistened by Smith’s slick juices.
Ferguson's voice was so seductive that Bea’s mouth grew suddenly dry as a flash of intense excitement lit every nerve. She’d been prepared for the Governor to deny her demands outright but, beyond all expectation, she was about to touch Joan Ferguson in one of the most intimate ways possible. She was about to get what she wanted and Ferguson was encouraging her. Even now she was being seduced.
Hesitantly, Bea raised her hands and smoothed the dark hair away from Ferguson’s sex, easing apart her plump outer lips as she extended her tongue and touched it lightly to the perfumed meat she found within. Ferguson was the flavour of sweat, and blood, and of animal musk, yet sweet and salty too. Cautiously, she ran her tongue along the crinkled inner surfaces and felt the flesh part under the gentle pressure, opening up as she traced the unfamiliar lines of delicate tissue and swelling nub.
Glancing up at Ferguson she was glad to see faint approval curl that lusciously wide mouth of hers, and Bea caught the change in her breathing as it deepened and became harsher as her tongue explored more of the smooth, malleable cleft. Feeling bolder, she pushed her face deep between the woman’s thighs and lapped at the deep, hot ring of her vagina. The slick of robustly tangy juices that flowed into her mouth almost made her gag - the taste, the strangeness of the sensation, of pushing her tongue into the yielding muscle whilst stretching her jaws wide was so new that it took her a moment or two to work out how best to approach the situation without disgracing herself.
She recovered quickly though, applying her lips to the silken softness and mapping Ferguson’s intimate terrain. She was grateful when the Governor began to direct her but found it a real challenge to do justice to even these simple commands, especially when a deep ache set into her jaw and her tongue became sore from rubbing against her sharp lower teeth.
She would rather go without than suffer cunnilingus when it was performed poorly mused Joan as Smith beavered away between her thighs. The woman’s clumsy attempts were endearing yet … it were almost as if her cunt had been anaesthetised; perhaps she should have chosen something different for Smith’s initiation, something a little less vanilla. Maybe she should have declined entirely instead of letting her ego demand a stroking from a woman that she did not truly desire. Now, if it were Anderson down there instead... but Joan quashed the notion, not wishing to sully Doreen’s sweetness by associating her with something as mediocre as this.
Joan’s thoughts turned to the thick, black cock in the top drawer of her desk. She always made sure that it was to hand following a meeting with Smith because, whilst each encounter was pleasurable enough, she was never left truly satisfied. The minor climaxes that Smith managed to give her were akin to foreplay - yes, she was aroused by the time that she dismissed her - but still she craved that final shuddering release.
“That’s enough, Smith.” Grabbing a handful of curls, she dragged the woman’s head from between her thighs and stared down into her flushed and sticky face. “Time’s getting on, the count is coming up and if we carry on at this rate you’ll be late.” Clearing a little space behind her, Joan leaned back across her desk and took the cock from the drawer and, licking the suction cup base, firmly planted it on the very edge of the dark wood between her thighs.
With a sense of failure, Bea sat back on her heels and massaged her jaw. She thought that Ferguson had been enjoying herself well enough if her heavy breathing was anything to go by. Her eyes widened as Joan eased herself onto the thick head and slid down the hefty dildo, never dreaming that when she’d begged for this boon that she’d be witnessing something so unbelievably deviant. Her clit fired off a volley of helpless response and she let out a fractured moan.
“Ever used one of these before, Smith?” panted Joan as she rode the slick tool. Bea shook her head mutely, unable to tear her eyes away from the way that Ferguson’s cunt moved each time it swallowed the shining shaft. “It’s much better than the real thing, or so I’m informed, it’s definitely always ready for action and generally does what it’s told.”
Her long thighs strained as she gathered pace and her round buttocks slapped against the black wood, marking time with the soft grunts of pleasure that escaped her throat. Ripping off a glove with her teeth, Joan sucked on her fingers and lowered them to her swollen clit. She hissed as her lower belly was suffused by a dark sweetness and she permitted herself a few moments of the muscle clenching sensation before her thoughts returned to the job in hand - she may as well make use of Smith whilst she was still on her knees...
“OK, Smith, as you were,” Joan indicated the vacant spot between her legs with a flick of her long fingers. “Now, flatten your tongue and do exactly what I say, when I say it,” angling Bea’s face just how she wanted it, Joan began to swivel her hips, rocking her clit against the plush firmness of Smith’s tongue. She gripped the edge of her desk with both hands and her knuckles gradually whitened as she neared the point of no return. Bea strained to please the Governor, desperate not to be dismissed again. The muscles in her neck and back burned as she braced her fingertips against the underside of the broad desk and tried to counter Ferguson’s thighs pushing down on her shoulders.
Joan grunted out strangled commands for the prisoner to apply more pressure, to lessen it, to apply suction, to just hold still... And to her credit, Smith performed satisfactorily. “There!” rasped Joan, “hold it there... Ahhhhhh!!!!” she gasped as she stiffened. Her eyes strayed to the reflection in the large windows, dusk was falling and the light bleeding through the blinds from the outer office rendered her visible on the spotless panes. Her eyes appeared large and dark and her open lips were startlingly red against her pale skin as she briefly writhed in the grip of orgasm. Her hips jerked then stilled and she allowed long seconds to pass as the wild thrumming in her clit slowed and she caught her breath.
She permitted Smith a dimpled smile of approval and, with an upwards tilt of her chin, motioned for the woman to move away as she disengaged from the slick black silicone. “Not quite what you were expecting, eh, Smith?” Joan gestured for Bea to sit and smirked as she stepped into the lower half of her uniform, glancing sideways at the naked woman as she restored her immaculate appearance. Bea eyed the Governor silently, amazed at how quickly she had regained her composure but pleased that she’d made some noise when she came.
“You weren’t bad for a beginner,” commented Joan casually and eased her remaining glove from her long fingers, reaching for its twin and lovingly folding them together before continuing, “but I’ll be expecting better next time. Much better.” She raised an eyebrow as the question of quite how she would manage that etched itself on Smith’s flushed face. “You’re a resourceful woman, Smith, I’m sure you’ll have no trouble improving your technique, you might even ask Gambaro for a few pointers...” she flashed a wicked grin, “I bet she’d be only too happy to help you out.”
Bea winced at the grotesque thought. Luce was the last person she’d ever want to ask - apart from the likelihood of a practical tutorial - it’d be all over the prison in seconds. Nor could she approach Kim, she knew that Franky would find out and bully her mercilessly for details. Maybe she could get her hands on a phone with internet connection, look it up on the web or something...?
“I’ll see what I can do, Miss Ferguson.” She shivered against the cold leather of the chair and felt her nipples tighten in response. Ferguson’s black eyes flickered over her tits and her grin was replaced by something like a pout as a thought formed behind those mesmerising eyes of hers. Placing her gloves next to the telephone, Joan crossed to the angle poise lamp and twisted the shade. White light flowed across her dim office to banish the deepening shadows before her desk.
Hauling Bea to her feet, Joan bent her at the waist and pushed her shoulders down until her face was mere centimetres from the sticky dildo and the patch of musky dampness smeared around its base. “Now, you’re going to make yourself come for me, Smith, and I’m going to sit here and watch.” Looking over her shoulder, Bea stared questioningly at the grey clad Amazon. “You know how to do that, don’tcha, Smith?” taunted Joan as she settled herself into the unsoiled seat. Smith looked lovely bathed in the diffused glow from the lamp.
Bea suddenly felt totally exposed - bent over like that - but the thought that this encounter wasn’t over yet made her skin prickle in excitement. “Should I use this?” her fingers strayed to the thick base of the fragrant cock and she looked at Joan as her sticky cunt tightened at the thought of sliding it deep inside as Ferguson watched.
“No, that’s something for you to focus on,” replied Joan smoothly, “if it gets you hot enough then perhaps I’ll consider introducing you to it on another occasion. Now, begin.”
Resting her forearm on the desk, Bea spread her hand wide on the perfectly polished surface, careful not to disturb any of the desk furniture or the perfect line of yellow pencils. The dildo stood proud in the small gap between her arm and her cheek and Ferguson’s musk wreathed around her as the shining slick slowly dried. Bringing her other hand up to her chest Bea grazed her swollen nipples with her palm and bit her lip as they dragged deliciously against her damp skin.
The image of the Governor’s wet cunt hung behind her eyelids and her fingers quickly located her hard clit. Bea let out a low groan and gave herself over to the instant fire that raged through her senses.
“Spread your legs, Smith, show me how wet you are.”
Obediently, Bea moved her bare feet apart and pushed her arse towards Ferguson. Instinctively, she slid two fingers into her slippery cunt and dragged them the length of her slit, smearing her hot juices over swollen inner lips and hard clitoris.
“Very nice,” drawled Joan, “do it again,” she ordered, and wished that she had a cigarette.
By arching her back and dipping her head, Bea discovered that she could watch Ferguson. She was surprised to find that she was looking relaxed and almost disinterested as, crossed legged, she lounged in the low black seat. Bea almost expected to pick up a glossy magazine and start leafing through it, just as if she were waiting her turn at an upmarket hair salon. Only her eyes were animated and a deep hunger lit their dark depths as they crawled over Bea’s naked flesh.
“Ah, ah!” admonished Joan as she caught Bea peeking, “no looking at me. You can’t have forgotten what I look like already surely,” she taunted.
Straightening her neck, Bea focused on Ferguson’s big black chair and imagined the Governor sitting in it. Naked. Her long leg hanging over the arm as she fucked herself hard and fast with that big black cock. She envisioned Ferguson's large breasts wobbling as she rhythmically worked the dildo in and out of her wet cunt, and Bea had a sudden desire to bury her face in the smooth black surface of that seat, to feel the rich hide caress her lips and cheeks, to inhale the scent of leather and Ferguson's ingrained musk. A sudden image of her kneeling in that chair, of her gripping the backrest as Ferguson slammed into her from behind with her thick, black cock filled her mind. She could almost feel Ferguson's hot breath in her ear and her burning skin pressed hard against hers, and Bea felt her whole body tighten with hunger for the commanding woman.
Bea ground her forehead against the desk as her fingernails clawed at the cool surface. Her orgasm was building fast and she dragged her sweating palm over the wood and squeezed her hanging tits until her breath was coming in ragged gasps. But it still wasn’t enough and, sliding her hot hand down her ribs, around the curve of her hips and over the tight muscle of her straining buttock, she stretched and managed to dabble her fingertips in her wide-open vagina. Fuck, that felt so good! She arched her back and slid them in deeper as she frantically circled her clit, pushing back into her own hand and mewling in ecstasy. She didn’t care what Ferguson was doing now, she didn’t care about anything but the mind-blowing pleasure that was coursing through her shaking body.
And then she was coming. Her trembling knees buckled as the rolling wave of exquisite release battered her senses and she collapsed against the broad, black desk. The hard edge bit into her forearm with every spasm and her lips dragged on the polished surface as she cried out in ragged bursts until, at last, she lay twitching and breathless, stunned. The Governor’s voice, when she finally spoke, seemed to come from miles away.
“Very nice, Smith. Very nice indeed.” Every inch of Joan's body tingled with arousal. She would fence this evening, and she would win. And then she would return to her elegant flat and Skype Maggie; to make full use of her good mood and finally satisfy the carnal craving that this evening had stoked so effectively.
Standing, Joan pulled Bea from the desk and encircled her in her long arms. Drawing her close she took Bea’s hand and eased it from between her naked thighs, then lifted the glistening fingers to the sweating woman’s lips. “Taste yourself, Smith.”
Obediently, Bea opened her mouth and accepted the two sticky digits. “Like it?” asked the Governor. The sweet musk of her own excitement mingled with the faint traces of Ferguson's cunt and suddenly that was all she could smell, the scent of their illicit sex and Bea nodded. Obviously satisfied with this response, Ferguson slowly drew her fingers from her mouth and rested them on her breast before releasing her and stepping away.
Joan moved behind her desk and took a pack of sanitising wipes from a drawer. “You may get dressed now,” she said casually with a brief nod of her large head towards the collection of white and teal carefully draped over one of the chairs.
“Same time tomorrow?” joked Bea as Ferguson reordered her desk.
Joan looked up, an amused smile ghosting over her red lips, “ooh, I don’t think so, Smith. Let’s keep Miss Bennett on her toes, eh?”
Joan snorted softly as she polished the glossy surface, “Smith, you seem to think that my schedule permits endless opportunities for secret assignations that suit your busy timetable.” She paused in her task and slowly swaggered around the desk to stand behind her would-be counterpart. Joan gently gathered Smith’s hair from her bare shoulders and slowly let the mass of ringlets slide through her open fingers. “Once you’re Top Dog I suspect that you’ll encounter similar demands on your time. You’ll find that there’s always something - or someone - requiring your attention…”
“No rest for the wicked, eh?” quipped Bea and dragged the sweatshirt over her head.
“Yes,” agreed Joan, “something like that. But don’t let that put you off,” she whispered seductively into her ear, “being on top is infinitely preferable to the alternative.”
As Ferguson escorted her to the main block, Bea’s mind ran riot wondering how soon Ferguson would call for her again, how she was going to explain the Governor’s interest to the other women, how the fuck she was going to become a first-rate clit-licker in just a few days… And it wasn’t just that she needed Ferguson she realised, she wanted her too, and, although she knew that the Governor had a vested interest in backing her against Franky, a flash of guilt still chilled her guts knowing that she would have to betray Ferguson’s faith in her.
In the no-man’s land of the airlock Joan half-turned towards her and said, “remember, Smith, I want to see results. In every area,” she added meaningfully.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“You’ll do better than that, Smith, if you want to continue enjoying my, ah, assistance.”
Bea gave a small frown. “I told you, I’ll deal with Franky when the time’s right – you’ve got to trust me to know when that is. As to the other thing,” she said, resisting the urge to stroke Ferguson's thigh, “well, I’ll do what I can, Miss Ferguson, but I can’t guarantee that you won’t have to guide me just a little bit – until I get to know you better, that is.”
“You’ll manage, I have every faith in you. You might feel that I’m being unreasonable, Smith,” breathed Joan as she reached forward and touched her pass-card to the sensor, “but nothing worthwhile ever came easily - just you consider what you have to lose if you don’t.”