Binding Devotion Page 7

  Stella laughed. “Go you! That’s even better then! Seriously Andi, you need a bit of fun in your life!”

  Andi shook her head. “No I don’t. My life’s full of fun, and anyway, mistakes are made when you see the warning signs, no matter how small, and you choose to ignore them.”

  “That’s just boring,” said Stella popping in another chicken ball. She chewed noisily and shook her head, forming her final point.

  Andi sighed. “I just think-”

  “Wait, wait…” Stella wiped her mouth and cleared her throat. “I was about to say … people who never make mistakes aren’t admirable; they’re just people who’ve never tried anything new.”

  Andi laughed. “Oh how I’ll miss your apparent wisdom. Come on then, who should I choose?”

  Stella rolled her eyes. “Andi, my darling, you’d made your choice the moment you called me on the phone.”

  Chapter Nine

  Nine months later: Tues 20th November 2012

  Andi was sitting in her lounge at home, slowly dictating a list of questions. “So,” she said, trying to be as clear as possible, “if the Church of England votes today, in favour of allowing female bishops, we’ll angle our questions to assume they’re willing to do the same for equal marriage; i.e. most of society has now changed to accept the fact that women are equal, and likewise, most of society has now changed to accept the fact that all love is equal.” She paused. “We must applaud their progression and assume their progression will continue within the field of equal marriage.” Andi exhaled, checking that her scribe was keeping up. “But if, on the very unlikely chance, the Church of England votes against allowing the ordination of female bishops, we need to ask how they can possibly claim to represent the people of this country. Women are equal and completely capable of doing the same job as men.” She nodded. “All clear on the angles?”

  Elizabeth Burns jotted down the final question and lifted her trusty pencil from her well-worn pad, pushing it tip first, into her tight orange bun. She coughed lightly. “Mrs Armstrong, there are some jobs where women aren’t as good as men, for example fire fighting. I’m not sure you and your petite frame could haul me out of a burning building.”

  Andi found it very difficult to ignore the quick witted response that popped into her mind, along with the vision of Elizabeth deliberately left in the said burning building. “It’s been nine months now, could you please call me Andi?”

  The door to the spacious lounge swung open and Pippa Rose waltzed in with a tray of tea. “Aren’t you glad you chose me to be your PA? Blimey, I’d even shorten your name if I could, but Ann just doesn’t sound right. It makes you sound old!” Pippa lowered the steaming tray onto the modern coffee table. “And a fuddy-duddy you are not!”

  Andi smiled at the light relief always brought by Pippa. “We’ve had this chat before. You need to stop teasing. Proud Unity thought that you’d both make wonderful PAs, and it just so happened that Janet’s workload increased enough for her to need an assistant and she asked specifically if she could have first dibs on Elizabeth.”

  Pippa lifted a mug of tea and passed it to Andi, turning her back on Elizabeth. “Liar,” she mouthed.

  Andi tried not to laugh. “Proud Unity’s never been so strong, and it’s a privilege working with the pair of you.”

  Elizabeth almost bowed as she stood from her sofa seat. “Thank you, Mrs Armstrong, and thank you Pippa for the tea, but I must go and meet Janet and pass over these questions. The announcement’s due soon and we want to be in the hubbub of it all, don’t we?”

  Pippa stretched out on the sofa. “I’m glad I’m PA to the lady who chooses to watch the results from the comfort of her own home.” She turned to Elizabeth and grinned. “Will your PA-ing involve standing outside in the cold with Janet?”

  Elizabeth lifted her brown leather handbag and walked to the lounge door, completely ignoring Pippa’s banter. “Mrs Armstrong, you can count on us to deliver you some good sound bites,” she tapped her brown handbag, indicating to the notepad inside, “obviously tailored to the alternative outcomes that we’ve just been discussing.”

  Andi stood up. “I’ll see you to the door, and thank you for coming round.” She glanced back at Pippa and wagged her finger. “And don’t get too comfortable, you. We’ve got work to do and my wife will be back soon.”

  ****

  Zara glanced in her rear view mirror at the policewoman quickly approaching on foot. She checked the time on her dashboard clock and kept her hands firmly on the steering wheel. The busty figure stopped alongside her window, but Zara pretended not to notice. The tap, however, was too loud, and the winding hand signal too exaggerated, to ignore. Zara reached out and pressed the button under the window of her luxury Overfinch Range Rover. The window silently slid down. “Can I help you, officer?”

  The female police officer bent down, stretching her black utility vest even wider. “You can’t park here, sorry.”

  Zara noticed the metal handcuffs and black truncheon that were attached to the lady’s leather belt. “It’s an NCP car park.”

  The police officer rested her elbows in the window frame and pushed her chest forwards. “This level’s out of service. Look, there’s no one around.”

  “There weren’t any signs,” said Zara looking about and confirming that they were indeed alone.

  The police officer reached into her breast pocket and pulled out a small white notepad. “We’ve had reports of vehicles coming up to this level and engaging in criminal activity.” She tapped her finger on the pad. “In fact, it’s vehicles like these with large boots and blacked out windows that are causing the problems.”

  “Shall I move?” asked Zara.

  The police officer pushed her notepad back inside her breast pocket. “No. I’m going to have to check inside the vehicle.”

  “I’ve got nothing to hide,” said Zara, pressing another button and opening the central locking. “I’ve opened the passenger door for you, officer.” Zara buzzed her window back up and watched in her wing mirror as the police officer walked slowly around the car, she was pressing her hands against the back windows and peering inside. She wouldn’t see anything, thought Zara, remembering the extortionate price paid for top of the range one-way windows.

  The passenger door opened and the female police officer pulled herself inside. There was a real art to entering an Overfinch Range Rover with elegance and this woman had clearly been inside one before. The officer pulled the door closed behind her.

  “So,” said Zara, “what do you need to see?”

  The police officer peeled off her black leather gloves and placed them on the dashboard. “I’ll need to check your pockets.”

  Zara unbuckled her seatbelt and slid out of her linen blazer. She handed it over.

  The police officer felt inside the silky lining of each pocket before glancing into the back of the car. “Why are the seats down? Are you picking something up?”

  “You could say that,” smirked Zara, reaching out and touching the top of the black truncheon.

  “Please remove your hand and enter the back of the car. I’d like to see inside those compartments.” The police officer signalled to the pull out storage holes in the side panels of the backdoors.

  “No problem,” said Zara twisting in her seat and climbing through the gap into the huge space where the seats usually were. She crouched down and pulled open one of the compartments. “See, nothing here.”

  The police officer followed Zara, pulling herself through the gap, in order to take a closer look. “What about these.” She indicated to the pull down flaps in the ceiling.

  Zara tutted. “If I was going to conceal something, I’d conceal it in the smallest, tightest of places, not in some boring storage hole next to the de-icer.”

  The police officer reddened. “I’ll do the talking from now on.”

  “That’s better,” grinned Zara.

  “Right. Lie on your stomach and place your arms to the side. I’l
l need to give you a rub down.”

  Zara did as instructed.

  The police officer stayed kneeling and worked her fingers along Zara’s arms, squeezing gently and pausing slightly as she made the re-route down her back and towards her buttocks. “Spread your legs please, Madame.”

  Zara lifted her head. “Madame?”

  “I mean, Mrs.” The police officer stopped. “What is it they say?”

  Zara rested her head back down on the fresh smelling carpet. “I don’t know, but I know their rub downs would be much more searching and not quite as gentle.”

  “You want it rough do you?”

  “You know I do,” smiled Zara, enjoy the feeling of her legs being parted and her crotch being rubbed.

  “Turn over. I think I feel something. I’ll need to take off your trousers.” The police officer unzipped the linen suit pants, pulled them off and threw them against the front seat of the car.

  Zara sat bolt upright. “Sweetie, they’re Dior linen. I have to wear them this afternoon!”

  “Sorry.” The police officer quickly reached for the trousers and folded them at the knee, draping the over the front seat’s headrest. “Sorry, where were we. Oh yes, spread your legs, lady. I’m giving you an internal.”

  “It sounds like I’m at the doctor’s.”

  “That’s it,” said the police officer, “you’re about to be silenced.” She untied her black and white chintz neck scarf and looped it over Zara’s head, pulling it between her teeth and tying it tightly at the back. “Is that okay?”

  “You’re not meant to ask!” came the muffled response.

  “No, right, sorry, okay. Silence!” The police officer paused and found her confidence. “You, Madame, have been a very bad lady, loitering around public car parks and disturbing the peace. It’s about time you paid the penalty.”

  “Umm hmm.”

  The police officer unclipped the handcuffs from her utility belt. “Put your hands together behind your back.”

  Zara did as instructed, her arousal heightened by the feel of the cold metal against her wrists and the sound of the cuffs being clicked into place. She pretended to resist, thrilled that she couldn’t actually get free.

  “Now, where was I?” The police officer pulled at Zara’s knickers. “You’re wet already, you bad, bad woman.” She pushed Zara’s legs as wide apart as they’d go. “Now, what exactly have you been hiding in this moist, warm cubby hole?”

  Zara moaned with desire.

  “Let me see,” said the police woman, gently sliding a finger between Zara’s legs. “I’ll have to go deeper.” She pushed another finger further inside, pressing forwards and touching the soft mound of Zara’s g-spot. “There’s definitely something in here. I’m going to have to make you wider.”

  Zara growled with anticipation.

  “My truncheon should do the job.” She unclipped the leather buckle around the truncheon and lifted it into her hands, patting it gently in her palm.

  Zara twisted her head to the side and looked up with wild eyes, almost begging her assaulter to continue.

  “You want this?”

  Zara nodded quickly.

  “Straight in?”

  Zara nodded.

  “All the way?”

  Zara nodded again and closed her eyes, bracing herself for the onslaught.

  The police officer did as instructed, grabbing hold of a buttock and forcing the truncheon deep inside. “You’re a bad, bad, lady and I’m going to make you pay.”

  “Faster,” moaned Zara through the damp neck tie.

  “Like this?” asked the police woman, almost jerking Zara’s whole body forwards and backwards in the boot of the car.

  “My clit!” came the muffled cry.

  The police woman used her left hand to feel under Zara’s hips, plunging her hand down towards the action. She pinched the clitoris between her first two fingers and pulled it roughly.

  Zara was moving her body up and down, arousing her own nipples on the smooth carpet and pushing down harder on the truncheon. She felt herself coming and arched her back in spasm.

  The cry was deep and drawn out and the police officer held the black truncheon in place, stopping the spasms from forcing it out. She gave it one final shove, causing Zara’s body to jolt forwards before flopping in complete limpness. She slowly pulled the offending instrument back out of position. “I think you’re clear,” she smiled, wiping it on the carpet and clipping it back onto her belt.

  Zara still didn’t move.

  “Don’t let me see you hanging around here again, do you hear?”

  There was a faint nodding and a wiggle of the handcuffs.

  The police officer reached into her top pocket and found the small key. She twisted it in the lock, springing the shackles free.

  Zara immediately rolled over and pulled the scarf from her mouth. “Come here, that was brilliant.” She pulled the police officer down on top of her and kissed her with urgency and passion. “Let me fuck you.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, Melody, really. That was wonderful, sweetie.”

  ****

  Andi and Pippa were still sitting in Andi’s plush front lounge, mesmerised by the television. There were at least three brown-leather three-seater sofas in the large room, not to mention the brown leather ottoman and the matching brown leather recliner; but here they were, huddled closely together, eyes transfixed on the cinema-sized television, anxiously awaiting the result.

  Pippa sighed as another banner trailed across the bottom of the screen, announcing a further delay in the results. She wiggled backwards on the sofa and turned to Andi. “I need a cushion to squeeze.” She glanced around the huge room, once again admiring the way it managed to look chic and minimalistic given the plethora of sofas, complementing lampshades and coffee tables. “Shame you haven’t got any.”

  Andi grabbed one from the seat to her right and swung it into Pippa’s stomach. “Don’t make me laugh! All you’ve done for the past nine months is make me laugh! We’ve actually bought two new cushions to match the Tal Walton we’ve got coming on Friday.”

  Pippa looked around and did a quick mental count, “So that makes twenty four cushions in your lounge, which, by the way, could pass as a hotel concierge area,” she frowned, “and what’s a Tal Walton?”

  Andi gasped, still managing to keep one eye on the television screen. “Don’t let Zara hear you saying that, she got Kari Whitman to design this room.”

  “Who?” shrugged Pippa. “Mr Ike Ear did my house.”

  Andi ignored the joke, instead reading the new banner that trailed along the bottom of the BBC live news channel: ‘Results from the vote due in ten minutes.’ She turned to Pippa and gave her her full attention. “Tal Walton, is a wonderful artist who paints in the Tonalist genre, oil on hard surfaces, mostly imagined landscapes. He has a trademark where he divides the image into three sections, which he describes as representing the past, present and future.”

  Pippa pretended to awaken herself from sleep. “Sorry, what was that?”

  “Oh stop it, you tease.”

  Pippa looked at her boss carefully. “You don’t really care about all of this stuff, do you?”

  Andi ignored the probe and glanced back at the screen. “They’re dragging it out, aren’t they? I’ll give Zara a quick ring. She thought she might be home in time to watch it.”

  Pippa took the hint. “Okay, I’ll stop teasing you about all of this opulence, but I do hope I’ve done more as your PA in the last nine months than just make you laugh?” She grinned, “I’ll go and make us a cuppa. Shout me if anything happens ... not that I’ll hear you in your restaurant sized kitchen. I’ll try and remember the way.”

  Andi shouted after her. “See if the maids want a drink too.”

  Pippa grinned. Slowly but surely Andi had eased up and let her in. It had taken a while, from a slightly nervous start, with Andi not ‘getting’ her jokes, or tightening up at her teasing, but their friends
hip had blossomed and Andi, for the most part, was now actually managing to laugh at herself and the lifestyle she was privy to.

  “No, the butler’s making theirs,” quipped Pippa in response.

  ****

  Zara’s second orgasm of the afternoon morphed from a pleasurable scream of, “Ahhhh,” to an annoyed groan of, “Arghh.” Her phone, sitting on the polished car dashboard, was ringing once again. She caught her breath. “I should have turned it off! Sorry, sweetie.”

  Melody collapsed next to her, exhausted from their mutual climax. “Don’t worry,” she sighed, “I know my baby’s busy.”

  Zara sat up and twisted herself around, leaning against the back of the driver’s seat. She pulled her knees into her chest. “I’m not your baby, Melody.”

  “You call me sweetie.”

  “I call everybody sweetie.”

  Melody rolled onto her elbows on the soft grey carpet. “It’s been almost ten months. Surely I have the right to give you a pet name?”

  Zara pulled her long black hair over her shoulder and started to smooth it back into position. “It’s not been ten months.”

  Melody nodded. “It has,” she paused, unsure of how far to take it. “It’s actually been the best ten months of my life.”

  “Oh be quiet!”

  “Zara it has.” Melody pulled herself up onto her bottom and swivelled round to face her boss. “I sensed something different in you today. You made me feel like you really wanted me.”

  “You dressed as a police officer and fucked the brains out of me with that big black truncheon of yours. I didn’t know what I was saying.”

  Melody reached out and stroked her boss’s face. “I know you. I know you put on a tough act to keep our relationship professional. But we’re not at work now, Zara. You can tell me how you feel.”

  Zara coughed. “Do your vest back up. I need to get going.”

  “Not until you tell me.”

  “Tell you what?”

  Melody sighed. “Fine. I’ll say it first.” She took Zara’s hand and held it tightly. “I know you feel it too, we’ve been getting closer and closer, so I’ll just say it.”