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All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover Design: Willsin Rowe

Ripper’s Redemption © November 2010 Jacqueline Applebee

eXcessica publishing

All rights reserved

Ripper’s Redemption

By Jacqueline Applebee

Chapter One

Her Tongue was Made for Sex

I woke up with a Russian woman on my bum. When a friend of mine introduced me to Michaela, it was a truly wonderful thing. My Russian buddy was short were I was tall, blonde where I had tight ringlets of afro hair. She had creamy white skin that contrasted to my honey brown. Michaela was an I.T professional, where at twenty-five, I was something of a career student, moving from once course of study to the next, never settling or finishing a thing I started.

Michaela had fallen asleep on me, and now in the early morning light, I realised that I had the very heavy weight of her head against my arse cheek. I moved slightly, and she rolled down so that her face was now laying in the dip of my spine; the curve above my bottom where it met my back. She was drooling in her sleep; a cold wet drool that started pooling against my skin. Every new breath chilled me. I wanted her off my back right now.

I shifted once more, but it was difficult; if you’ve ever had the weight of a human head pressing into your vertebrae, you’d understand. I began to groan when Michaela started talking in her sleep; garbled English mixed with Russian. I knew about three words of that language, for food, for sex and for an umbrella for some unknown reason. I didn’t know what Michaela was jabbering on about, but I had no choice but to lay there and sigh.

There used to be stars on the ceiling of my room; constellations would glitter in child-like simplicity over my bed, with silver planets shining. But one evening I went to a Pride party at my favourite Lesbian hangout, the Locker Room club, and it lasted for three days and nights. When I returned home, my landlady had redecorated in a big way. Now my ceiling is bare and white, not that I saw much of it when Michaela had her tongue in my arse, but I still missed the stars all the same.

I wriggled a little. I needed a pee, and the pressure on my bladder was becoming unbearable.

“Michaela, move it, honey,” I hissed. The Russian started snoring; her cold breath tickled my backside. I considered bucking up, but I didn’t want to hurt the poor soul, and I’d probably dislocate something in one of us if I tried.

“Michaela,” I whispered a little louder. Nothing. I sighed, exasperated, and then I reached over to the bedside table where my phone sat. I had to stretch to my full length, but I just about managed. I dialled Michaela’s number. Three seconds later, her phone began chirping to life. She rolled off my arse, and sloped over to where her skirt lay on the floor. The absence of weight was a wonderful relief.

“Hello?”

I crept up, and inched past her to get to the loo.

“Ah, Jessie,” she called out. “Why didn’t you tell me to move?”

I was still sitting on the loo when my mobile phone vibrated in my hand. I checked the message; it was from an old sometimes-friend, called Yvonne. Michaela stumbled into the bathroom just as I was refocusing my eyes on the message. Michaela’s little pink toes, covered in crimson nail varnish trod across the floor of the spacious bathroom. She stepped into the tub, drew the shower curtain around her, and then after about three seconds, she pulled it back. I relaxed further on the loo seat, enjoying the view of her naked body; the way her pale skin had taken up all the little shapes of clothes that had been on the bed when we had tumbled into it the night before. There were round circles of rivets from some jeans, crisscross stripes of a bra strap.

“No lessons today, Jessie?” she asked, rubbing a green stripe of shower gel across her small breasts. The tang of limes wafted through the atmosphere of the room. I suddenly felt hungry for fruit salad.

“Nothing until this afternoon,” I replied. To tell the truth, I didn’t know what I was doing today. I didn’t feel like attending a seminar on business and ethics. I regretted my choice of study, and not for the first time. I was proficient in business and finance studies, I usually got good grades, but the subject held no real interest for me. I had a certain amount of freedom, but I didn’t know what to do with it. But as my Aunty Connie had always said, freedom was only invented to make the slaves feel bad. My late Aunty was a strange woman, but she had horded a secret stack of cash during her life, and when she died, it had paid for all my studies, with plenty left over for some fun. I knew these hedonistic times wouldn’t last forever, but I tried to not think about it too much. My dad had passed away when I was little, and my mum went a few years after, so Connie had pretty much brought me up. I missed the crazy woman.

I stepped into the shower beside Michaela, let the too-hot water run over me. I pressed my friend back against the hard tiles; her pale blonde hair plastered her face as I kissed her. The water beaded against my hair; Michaela tugged on it as my head moved lower, smeared my face against the frothy bubbles that lay over her rounded stomach. My fingers spread the lips of her pussy. I banged my elbow against the side of the tub as I knelt down to get at her better. The throb that raced up and down my arm was a little pain for a whole lot of pleasure. Water filled my mouth as I sucked around her labia; my vision became hazy from the spray, but I didn’t need to see when I could taste and smell and feel Michaela beneath my tongue. My Russian mermaid groaned, and then she bucked against me as my tongue probed, dipping inside and exploring until her clit popped out to greet me. I clamped my lips around her, sucked and licked until she shook. The water was starting to go up my nose from my funny angle. Michaela switched off the shower, and I was able to breathe without inhaling a gallon of liquid. Michaela quivered when she came, pressing her thighs around me, yelling out in Russian; such a happy passionate language. She flopped against me, breathing heavily, dripping wet.

“Aint you got no home to go to?” I asked when she showed no signs of moving away.

“You telling me to leave?” she tilted her head. “Don’t you want me?” she said in a singsong voice.

“Get dressed, go home and leave me alone,” I stated. I made a move to step out of the tub, but Michaela wrestled me from behind, pitching us both out of the bath, and on to the hard floor.

“Get off me!” I grunted as she landed on my back with a crunch. “Are you mad?”

“I’m not going anywhere until I make you come,” she said, giggling, although she rubbed her shoulder as she snickered.

“Are you going to kiss my arse?” I asked, all trace of anger gone.

“I can do other things, you know?” Michaela actually sounded a little hurt.

“I know, sweetie,” I replied, getting myself more comfortable.

“You don’t believe me?” she retorted with her usually sweet grey eyes growing hard. In a sudden movement, she slapped my thighs. “My mouth is too good for you.” She grabbed the plastic bottle of shower gel. “I know all about asses, Jessie,” she crooned. She reached up once more; my bowl of fruit-flavoured condoms and lube toppled to the floor. “Now you are going to feel my cock.” Michaela’s cock was my bottle of lime shower gel encased in a cherry condom; the mixture of smells made me chuckle. By the time she ran the top of it against the opening of my puckered hole. I was laughing so hard that I could barely breathe. Michaela had to smack my arse before I sobered up.

“Get ready!” she cried dramatically, and then she dribbled some cold sticky lube against my entrance, massaging it in with the tips of her slender fingers. I felt the head of the bottle; it was huge. She was never going to get that up my backside, I thought. But Michaela was surprisingly gentle as she nudged it inside. My clit twitched hard; my body waking up to the new sensation. The thick length was solid, heavy inside me. My hips started humping the floor. She really knew her stuff.

“Next time, I’ll use my strap-on, and then you’ll really see what I can do,” Michaela purred.

“What next time?” I panted.

“This isn’t big enough,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Are you mad? This is huge!” I squeaked.

“Still want to send me home?” She nuzzled against my back, torturing me with the slow in-out motion of the bottle. I couldn’t reply coherently, as I was too busy watching the stars explode in front of my eyes. I grunted like an animal as Michaela continued her onslaught. All it took was one friend to make a difference.

* * * *

Michaela eventually went to work after breakfast; she had a good job to go to, but I had no such diversion. I dawdled over my toast and peanut butter, swirling my tongue in the sticky brown spread. Lessons in the afternoon were something I didn’t necessarily have to attend. I knew that some dope would be good for notes on what I’d missed later. I checked the time on my mobile, and that’s when I saw Yvonne’s message once more. I read it—it was a funny little note in her typically melodramatic manner. Ever since I helped her rescue her stolen cats, she’d looked to me as some kind of a dyke-detective. It was a good thing that she didn’t know how clueless I usually was.

Yvonne wanted to meet up at the sauna; that was something I could definitely go for. It had been weeks since I’d last gone to the women only session at the bath-house in Bethnal Green, plus I had a real dirty mind, so I guess I needed another shower after what Michaela and I had done that morning. As my Aunty Connie used to say, don’t ever turn down a chance to get naked with your friends. My Aunty Connie used to say a lot of strange things.

* * * *

I took the tube to Bethnal Green; dodged the never-ending stream of shoppers as I walked away from the market area, and down the quieter back streets. I trod carefully over cobbled roads, below dirty arches with abandoned barrows leaning in filthy doorways. I walked further to a large building, up the steps, speckled with brown cigarette butts, and through the front doors. I breathed in the steam, listened to the hiss of the boiler, and then I paid my entrance fee.

I undressed in the changing area. The damp air that I breathed in was warm, but I knew it could be positively volcanic the further I went into the bathhouse. My towel was big, but it was as thin as a sheet of paper. I wrapped it around my hips; let it ride low over the curve of my backside. I walked into the first steam room. I caught my breath once more when a cloud of hot vapour surrounded me. It was always slightly disconcerting when I first entered the main part of the bathhouse, with two steam rooms, a dry sauna, an artic plunge pool and a Jacuzzi. It also had an area for massage for anyone stupid enough to try it out in this place. Massage usually meant at least two women fisting you whilst a third made you eat her out, with a crowd cheering them on. I was all for group sports, but even I had my limits.

Gabriella, the bathhouse attendant, sauntered out. Gabriella was a squat West African woman with all-seeing eyes, who ran this establishment on the women-only days. I respectfully smiled as a greeting. I did not want to cross this fierce woman. She looked me up and down. I stood still beneath her gaze, until she moved away silently, apparently satisfied with what she saw. I’d know soon enough if she wasn’t happy with something.

Another burst of hot vapour blew out of a pipe. I walked further into the first steam room. I lay out my spare towel on one of the wooden benches that ran along three sides of the wall. I chose the highest bench; a vantage point where I could watch the action.

The action in question was provided by Lucy and Seela, a couple I’d seen a few times here before.

Seela was a solid woman with thick arms and legs. Her skin seemed permanently flushed pink with the heat. Her square face had dimples when she smiled, but she wasn’t smiling too much now.

“I’m sorry, Lucy,” she kept on repeating.

“What have I told you?” Lucy asked impatiently.

“Sorry, Miss.” Seela ran a large hand through her short red hair. Lucy looked exasperated. The little blonde crossed her arms over her chest, tapping her bare feet on the tiled floor.

A few more women came in as the scene restarted. The bathhouse had one women-only session per week, so the gals tended to make the most of the time they had. In the afternoon, there was a quiet trickle, but after six o’clock, when the work crowd turned up, it was usually too busy for my liking.

Seela re-attached the nipple clamps to her tits. She breathed out loud, and closed her eyes. Lucy circled the kneeling woman, twirling one of the white towels in her hand. She walked over to where a pool of water had collected; a dip in the centre of the room. Lucy draped the towel in the cloudy water, and then she walked slowly back to her partner. Lucy twisted the towel, wringing it over the butch’s head. Seela shivered, and then she braced herself. Lucy flicked the towel at her; it snapped with a crack over Seela’s shoulder—a red line appeared almost immediately. Seela panted just once, but did not move from her position on the floor. Lucy twirled the cloth once more, walked around to Seela’s rear, before flicking the towel out again. This time the point of cloth struck on Seela’s backside; she yelped a high-pitched sound. The steam rose around the couple, obscuring Seela’s face for a moment. Lucy moved through the fog like a spectre; only her head and shoulders were visible, with the rest of her naked body hidden by the curling steam. The towel flew out of the gloom—a white strip that cracked like lightning. This time Seela’s other shoulder was marked, just above her tattoo of a star. She hung her head down, panting in the thick air.

“What have I told you?” Lucy asked gently.

“Sorry, Miss.”

“Head up then.”

My clit pounded between my legs, the beat in my crotch mimicked my fluttering heart. Lucy delivered a series of little flicks all over Seela’s back; every one made me flinch. She moved forward, slightly hiding her partner from my eyes. The other women who had come in after me leaned around, adjusting their position to get a better view. Lucy stepped to the side, held the towel over her head in a dramatic pose. She bought it down, snapping over the left nipple clamp. Seela yelled, grunted, and then she nodded. I was impressed with Lucy’s marksmanship; I’d been watching this couple play for a while now, and I was always surprised at how they managed to incorporate something new in their repertoire every week. I watched as wisps of steam circled Seela’s chest as the dislodged clamp dangled from the chain that connected the left clamp to the right. Lucy stepped around once more, twirling the towel, clearing the thin fog that had started to settle. I bit my lip in anticipation, willing Lucy to finish it, but hoping it would never end. Lucy moved away, still swirling the towel like a demented propeller. Round and around it swung, until using an upswing, she flicked the remaining clamp from Seela’s right nipple. For about three seconds, I don’t think Seela realised what had just happened; she simply sat there, blinking with what could have been shock. And then the realisation struck; blood rushed back to the freed nipple. Seela’s “Ouch!” was so loud, that I had to stifle a laugh—it wouldn’t have been appreciated. I was lucky to be able to watch a couple of enthusiastic players like Lucy and Seela; I didn’t want to blow it. Lucy helped Seela to stand, and then they held each other, cuddling in the steamy room.

Most women who came to the bathhouse were there for fun, whether to watch or to be watched. I was glad for the variety. A woman near me sighed as the couple retreated into a corner of the room. “You playing?” she asked with a distinct Birmingham accent.

“Maybe later.”

The door to the steam room opened once more. Gabrielle waved at me. I hopped off my perch, scooted over.

“Friend of yours is looking for ya.” She indicated over her shoulder to the second steam room.

“Cheers, mate,” I said absently. Gabriella shot me a look. “I mean, thanks, Ma’am.” I really didn’t want to slip up around her. Gabriella made a snorting noise, and then walked away; her flip-flops slapping on the tiled floor.

The second steam room was smaller than the first. It was a place for quiet relaxing—not much action happened in here, unless it was someone experimenting with breath play. I slowly entered the insanely hot room; it was like walking into a pressure cooker. I could actually feel all of my pores opening as I stepped inside, the door swishing shut behind me.

“Yvonne?” I whispered, because my throat and my head suddenly felt full of cotton wool. A burst of scalding-hot steam rushed out of the vents. I staggered with the effort of breathing normally. “Yvonne!” I called out once more. The steam settled down a bit. I moved over to where a little water fountain was nestled in a corner, but as I bent to have a sip, I saw the figure of Yvonne huddled around the base of the pedestal.

“What are you doing down there?” I asked peering at her with surprise.

Yvonne placed a finger to her lips. “Did anyone follow you?” she hissed from her position on the floor.

“Yvonne, stop messing about.”

“Jessie,” she said feebly. “Are we alone?” She curled a lock of her brown hair around a finger.

“Yes, we are alone in this universe, and no, nobody followed me.” I sighed. “Now will you get up and tell me what’s going on?”

When Yvonne stood, I saw that her eyes were tinged with red; there wasn’t anything in the steam room that would have done that to her. Yvonne had been crying.

“Carol’s gone,” she blubbed, and then she wrapped herself around me. I firmly disentangled her, but she only hugged me again; Yvonne’s breasts pressed against mine from the force of her hold on me. I could barely breathe in the steam room—I didn’t need this crazy woman squeezing out what little oxygen I had in my lungs.

“Yvonne,” I said with effort. “You’re killing me, mate.”

“They’re going to get me!” she wailed.

“Yvonne.” I held her chin in one hand. “Tell me what’s wrong.” I used my commanding voice; the one I used only when a domination scene is going particularly well.

“Carol,” she said a little calmer.

“Yes.”

“She went out two days ago,” Yvonne said with a sniff.

“Okay.”

“And she never came back.”

“Right.”

“She was supposed to cook dinner.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And she’s been practicing—she makes the most amazing stew and dumplings,” Yvonne gushed. “With lovely gravy, you know?”

“Yvonne,” I said with a warning growl.

“It’s my mum and dad,” she cried.

“What about them?”

“They took her,” she stated.

“You saw them?”

She shook her head. “Who else would do that? They’re getting back at me.”

I nodded my head. I had only met Yvonne’s parents once, but I knew they were a nasty sort; both of them weasely and manipulative.

“They hate me.”

“Yeah, I know.” I thought for a moment. “But did you actually see them do it?”

“What’s her name—Kim said she saw Carol in an alley, and then the next moment she was gone.

“Kim? Kim who always hangs around Liverpool street station?”

Yvonne looked down; her face was flushed pink, and it wasn’t from the heat.

“Carol’s only been on the street a few times—she’s real careful, you know? She doesn’t get into anyone’s car, doesn’t go off with just any Tom, Dick or Harry.”

“Mate,” I started.

“You gotta help, Jessie. You know my folks. You know what they’re like.

“Look.” I stilled her frantic movements. “I’m sure Carol will be okay. If your parents had her, they’d have been demanding money off you by now, like they did when they stole your cats. I winced at the memory of that distasteful episode. I stroked her hair, more to calm me than her. “Has anyone asked you for anything to get her back?”

“No,” she said quietly.

“Has anyone called you?”

She shook her head.

“Then give her a little more time.”

“How long?”

“If she’s not back by next week, let me know, okay?”

“Next week?” Yvonne yelled. “That’s like, seven days!”

I patted her on the head. “That’s right, genius.” I splashed my face with some welcomingly cool water. “You could always go to the Police.” Yvonne looked at me for a moment, and then she looked down. Neither of us had to say anything to that.

“A week?” she said quietly.

“A week.”

I plonked down on one of the low tiled benches, wiped the sweat from my forehead. My hair dangled over my shoulders, my ringlets limp and long.

“You okay, Jessie?” Yvonne asked.

“Just a little hot,” I replied, spreading out on the hard surface.

“I could cool you down,” Yvonne said, kneeling between my open legs. “Carol’s shown me some new stuff, you know?” She stroked up my thighs, dragging blunt nails over my sweat-dappled skin. My clit twitched, but I trapped her fingers just before they found my pussy.

“You don’t have to,” I whispered. I was serious; I didn’t want payment like this. Plus, I hadn’t actually done anything except calm Yvonne down. If Carol was working the streets, that meant Yvonne was probably getting involved in some way too. I was certain that Carol could handle herself, but Yvonne was too gullible for stuff like that.

“Maybe another time,” I said gently. She brightened at that. She rose to leave, stroking the moisture from her curvy body. Another time would surely come. She waved goodbye before she scampered out of the room. The door had barely shut before it opened once more. A tall Indian woman sauntered in, carrying two dildos.

Chapter Two

What I Lost in Breasts, I Gained in Arse

I turned up to the bathhouse early in the afternoon, seven days later. I watched a little of the action, but nothing could hold my attention for long. Something was amiss. Yvonne was late.

I sat in the steam room, burned up in the sauna, and wrinkled like an elderly prune in the freezing-cold plunge pool. Every time the door would swing open, I’d expect to see my friend, but nothing was happening. I went back to my bag, sent Yvonne a text, but got no reply. I tried to distract myself; someone needed a third person for their scene, but I couldn’t even concentrate on that. Yvonne wasn’t just late, she wasn’t coming, period.

Michaela turned up with the after work crowd. I watched with some amusement as the word went around that she was there. Several women tried strutting and posing around her; one walked by her slowly, dropping her towel from around her breasts just as she passed by. My Russian friend ignored them all. I even spotted Gabriella smirking at some of the more overt attempts. Michaela simply flicked her blonde hair, took a sip from her water bottle, and that was that; instant dismissal. I was about to go over and chat with her, when a black woman walked in, looking nervous but excited. I could understand her state—I’d never seen her before, so if she were a first-timer, she could either be shocked senseless by the proceedings, or be absolutely overjoyed at the women’s wonderland she’d found. I was happy for her. But as she walked past me, I suddenly became happy for myself. This new woman had the most amazing backside; I leaned forward discreetly to see it, and I have to tell you, the view was something else. Even with the towel wrapped around her, it looked huge, sticking out almost at a right angle to the rest of her. And speaking of towels, someone had given the new woman a very small one that barely went around her. Gabriella was known to usually be a neutral observer of all the shenanigans that went on in the bathhouse, but I couldn’t help but think that she was involved in this somehow. My suspicions were further raised when Gabriella came in. She sat in her seat at the head of the room.

Michaela stood, extended her hand in greeting. “Let me help you with that,” she said in her accented voice, which had taken on a husky tone. With a swift movement, she gently pulled the little towel from the new woman. “It’s too hot for that, isn’t it?” she asked. The woman nodded, giggling. She tried covering up her big boobs with her hands, but Michaela swept them away. My eyes gobbled up the sight of dark areolas and stubby brown nipples. “Come with me, darling,” Michaela crooned. My skin broke out in goose bumps at her words. What a welcome!

A dozen eyes followed the couple as they sat on one of the benches. Michaela rubbed over the woman’s shoulder, stroking in wide firm sweeps.

“Tell me your name, sweetie. Tell me what you like,” she asked innocently. I shook my head as I chuckled discreetly. Michaela’s tongue wasn’t just made for sex—she knew how to use it to get whatever she wanted.

“Jenny,” the new woman whispered.

“Let me take care of you, yes?”

Jenny nodded, wide-eyed. She froze as Michaela reached over to kiss her full on the mouth, but then the freeze softened, and Jenny responded, moving hands over Michaela’s sides.

“I’d heard about this place,” the new woman said breathlessly. “But I never thought it was real.”

“Oh, this is real, sweetie,” Michaela replied. She cupped Jenny’s arse. “This is really, really nice.” Jenny arched against her as Michaela squeezed harder; I imagined that her new friend would be left with a nice set of fingerprints after this session was over with. I guessed it would be a souvenir of sorts.

Several women stood, peering closer to get a better look at the fun. Gabriella cleared her throat, looked pointedly at a few. Everyone sat, but they leaned forward in the steamy room. I felt water trickle down my back to collect in a pool at the cleft of my own bum. I imagined Michaela licking the sweat away with her long talented tongue. I opened my eyes, surprised that they had even closed. Jenny had laid face down on the bench. The woman’s tits were squashed against the wooden slats, but what I lost in breasts, I gained in arse. Jenny’s bottom was perfectly round; it looked soft but not too soft. Michaela ran her hands greedily over the two globes, making the woman beneath her murmur with satisfaction. All the other women in the room murmured too.

“I’m going to part your ass cheeks,” Michaela stated as if she were giving directions through traffic. Jenny whined as Michaela spread her wide. I almost imagined a curl of steam rise from between her cheeks. Michaela dotted little kisses all over Jenny’s arse, over her thighs and the base of her back. Jenny wriggled, giggling.

“Ooh, that feels ticklish,” she squealed happily. Michaela dipped her face between Jenny’s cheeks, moving half-hidden in the crack of her arse. Where the other women could not see, I could picture, through experience, exactly what was happening.

“Still feel ticklish now?” one of the women beside me asked, her voice an odd falsetto. The women-only session had always been open to transgender folk too, but it took me a moment to work out that this woman was early on in her transition from male to female, if she was even going through it at all.

I smiled reassuringly. “Michaela’s a talented soul,” I whispered.

Jenny babbled incoherently as Michaela continued to rim her. She groaned out loud, gripping the edge of the bench as she grunted.

I stood up, and winked at Michaela as she continued to pleasure her new friend. I was glad that someone was having fun, but I had to search for Yvonne.

As I walked through the steam room, I imagined that all the women were in the middle of the London fog from days gone by. I imagined strange fiends lurking in every shadow.

* * * *

If memory served me right, Yvonne lived near Hackney Central station. I spent fifteen minutes trying to spot the building where she lived, but I’d only been there late at night, and everything looked different in the day. It was almost eight in the evening, but it was the height of summer, so it was still bright and sunny. I found the apartment eventually, in a little block of flats near the Pembury Road. The building was old and decrepit, with cracked masonry, gates that teetered on their hinges, and a layer of grey dirt that covered most of it.

A couple of teenage boys hung around, leaning their bikes against the wall as they talked loudly to each other. They only stopped their jabber to ask me if I had any cigarettes. I didn’t smoke, but I did have some gum. They looked at it like the poor substitute it was, but they helped themselves all the same.

“I’m looking for my friend, Yvonne. She’s a short white girl, a bit scatty,” I said vaguely.

“Ah, Yvonne,” one of the boys said. “I know her.”

“Who?” his mate asked.

“You know, her that hangs around with that dirty Lezzer.” I bit my tongue at his comment. “Aint seen her in ages.” He popped a bubble of gum in my direction.

“Thanks, mate,” I said with a false smile. I wished I’d had a pack of cigarettes to give them now. With any luck, they could smoke themselves into an early grave. The world would be a healthier place all round.

I walked back to the train station, passing one of my favourite eateries, Pogo Café, on the way. I stepped in, bought myself a piece of their mango cake, which has been known to cheer me up no matter what. I spotted their notice board on the way out; it was covered in little strips of paper: ads for drumming workshops, flat shares, organic fruit and veg schemes, and the like. But then I saw a square of white card that simply read “Missing” with a girl’s name. I saw another card with pretty much the same thing on it, and another, and another. My blood ran cold. I discreetly removed the bits of paper from the board, stashing them in my pocket. I put the foil-wrapped cake in my backpack, and returned to Yvonne’s home.

Breaking into Yvonne’s first-floor apartment wasn’t so hard, especially when I realised that the back window to her kitchen was open. Sure I had to clamber through the overgrown, nettle-filled garden, and then inch my way up a drainpipe, but once I was in, it was fine. The dark kitchen looked strange in the twilight of the evening. But it wasn’t the light that was wrong. It took me a while to realise, but everything was neat, really neat. Yvonne was usually a very messy person; I’d heard of people getting lost in the clutter of her flat before. Yvonne’s bedroom was even tidier than the kitchen. There were no personal touches there, no feeling that anyone had once inhabited the space. Yvonne collected snow globes—I didn’t see a single one out of place; they were all lined up regimentally straight on her mantle. Something terrible had happened, I just knew it. As my heart began to sink, something caught my eye—one of Yvonne’s cats was hiding just beneath the dressing table. I picked it up, and petted the little thing. The cat jumped out of my arms after a short while; it landed on the dressing table, knocking some lipstick and powder over. A little card fluttered to the floor from behind the make-up. I picked it up, turned it over in my hand to see a typed address on it. I had a start.

I pocketed the card, and then I glanced carefully out of the window to see if the two boys were still hanging around outside; I didn’t want anyone to see me go out the front door. The boys cycled lazily down the street, casting long shadows on the tarmac. They disappeared as I continued to peep through the net curtains, but as they rode away, I saw someone else—a young man looking up at me from across the street. He stepped back into the growing shadows, vanishing from sight. It was no coincidence. I raced out of the front door, but by the time I crossed the street, he was nowhere to be seen.

Chapter Three

The Furry Who Lived Down the Lane

The address on the card was a location in Stepney. I walked past the little house twice, noting escape routes, how many ways I could make a quick getaway if needed. The terraced property was a gentrified building; a Victorian frame with all the soot wiped off. It had all the appearance of a time gone by, but with none of the grime. I had to be careful; if Yvonne and Carol had gone to this address, the inhabitants might be behind the whole disappearance thing.

I knocked on the door. I waited, knocked the big brass clanger once more, before I heard the soft scuttle of movement.

All of my suspicions evaporated when a wolf answered the door. The wolf was almost six feet tall—a figure dressed in an animal suit looked me up and down, and then it waved me inside. I snapped my mouth shut, a smile replacing my surprised expression.

A woman was waiting further inside the house. She took one look at me, before throwing up her hands. “Cedar!” she said exasperatedly. “You can’t just let anyone in, you know?”

Cedar was a strange name for a wolf, but that wasn’t the only strange thing going on. The wolf hung its head down as the woman continued to berate it. “You know better than to answer the door when you’ve got your suit on. What if mum called by?” The woman eventually seemed to notice me once more. “I’m sorry, can I help?”

“Hi,” I said, suddenly at a loss for words. “I’m looking for a friend. She had your card.”

“One of the models?”

“Yeah, I guess,” I replied, a little confused.

“Sorry, but we don’t give out model information. You can always write to them if you liked one of their photo shoots.” The woman seemed to relax a little.

“My friend is Yvonne. She’s missing.”

The wolf started jumping up and down at the mention of Yvonne’s name.

“I haven’t seen her or her partner for over a week,” the woman said with a shrug. “They were supposed to be doing a shoot with us this morning.”

“They were having photos done?” I asked, surprised at this new information.

The wolf hit me playfully, and then it started rubbing up against my side.

“Carol’s done some first-rate bondage pics, but Yvonne only did spanking shoots.”

“Spanking?”

The wolf handed me a worn slipper, bent over, and then started gyrating its bum in my direction. The grey tail swung this way and that.

“Cedar, not now,” the woman snapped. “Look, let me get us both a cup of tea.”

The wolf bowed, ushering me forward politely, or as politely as it could be in a fur suit.

“I’m Petra,” the woman introduced herself as she poured herbal tea into a little glass cup. The green liquid looked alien, but it tasted of lovely fresh mint. I gulped it down. “You’ve already met my partner.” She indicated the Furry wolf who held out its paw in greeting. I shook it gently. The wolf sat at my feet contentedly.

“Cedar, no!” Petra snapped. “Look, I’m sorry, I don’t know about your friend, but I do know that I’m in a real bind. I was supposed to do some photos of Carol and Cedar—they were due to go online tomorrow morning.”

I looked at her blankly, unsure of where this was leading.

“Look, I know this is a bit of a strange request, but is there any chance?”

“Any chance of what?”

“You’re about the right size.” She stood, trotting over to where a pile of clothes lay over the back of a chair.

I shook my head, standing in the same moment. The wolf at my feet started humping my leg.

“Down, Cedar!” I ordered the Furry pest. The wolf froze, and then it sat up and begged for more.

Petra grinned at me. “Let me show you the outfits. You’ll love it.”

Twenty minutes later, Petra had helped me into her special outfit. I’d had a choice of either the Red Riding Hood get up, or the Little Bo peep costume. There was certainly a lot of peeping going on with the second outfit; my breasts jutted out of the slits in the bodice. At least I had a crooked staff to hold, which I could use to keep the wolf at bay.

Petra arranged the minimal set in the front room, and then she retreated behind a camera, barking directions to Cedar and I.

“Cedar, sit, stay, bend over, nuzzle her crotch,” was the sort of thing she said. I never knew Yvonne was into this sort of scene, but I couldn’t blame her; there were more seedy ways to make money, and at least I got to have fun with the Furry in the process.

Cedar sneaked a paw up my short skirt. Petra snapped several shots of that.

“Petra,” I asked. “The last time you saw Yvonne, did she seem worried at all?”

Petra snapped another round of shots before she answered. “Well, Yvonne did say that she owed some guy a little money, but if you know Yvonne…”

“She always owes someone money,” I finished, whacking Cedar with my little staff. The wolf rubbed its backside, jumping a little, before bending over for more. I raised my staff, but Cedar span about, lifting the hem of my skirt in one movement. Petra took a photo of that; I hoped she didn’t mind the look on my surprised face. I felt the fur of Cedar’s nose rubbing against my pussy; pretty soon I felt fur-covered paws pushing me down on the floor. Cedar crouched over me, making the weirdest yipping noise. If this was part of the usual scene, then I was learning something new today. I wrapped my legs around Cedar’s hips, squeezing the wolf in a Judo-like move. Cedar howled, and then pushed forward, breaking my hold. Something else I learnt was that the fur suit came with an added extra that contributed to the next few minutes. Penetration by a friendly wolf is something memorable, let me tell you. I didn’t even see it coming until the attachment slid against my thighs. I looked over to Petra with surprise.

“Don’t worry, love,” she said in a voice that meant this was an everyday occurrence. “Cedar’s had her shots. Just relax and take it in as much as you can.”

After the photos were done, Cedar removed the head of the fur suit. A very pretty woman with green eyes grinned at me. “Wow, you really know how to use that staff, don’t you?” she said with a giggle.

“I didn’t hear you complaining,” I countered, twirling the staff in my fingers like a baton.

“About your friend,” she continued. “I think you should go to the Police.”

I was about to say something about how little they cared, when she cut in, “They’ve got a new hate crime officer at Limehouse Police station. If this was because of what Yvonne and Carol does, they may be able to help.”

Petra came alongside, held Cedar’s paw in her hand. “There are plenty of people out there who hate folk like us. Go to the Police, Jessie.”

“Okay. It’s late though. I’ll go first thing tomorrow.”

Chapter Four

The Sluts of Limehouse

It was another humid morning. A light fog lay over Plaistow as it did sometimes; it was just another one of London’s microclimates, with a mist that followed a hot sunny day.

I looked up through the wisps of grey, and could see blue skies faintly above me. I wondered how long the weather would last. I wondered if summer would go on forever this year.

I walked to the Docklands Light Railway station, and took a train to Limehouse. The shadows of fog had faded by the time I got off the train.

Limehouse police station was bustling, even in the early hours of the morning. I stood in line with the early drunks, the pushers and the shovers, desperate to contest their parking fines. The smell of urine was particularly strong.

This was about a thousand miles away from where I wanted to be. People snarled, they shouted at the copper behind the inch-thick Plexiglas barrier. Those who weren’t busy swearing at the policeman on duty, seemed intent on trying to outdo each other in the “who had been the most shit-upon,” stakes.

“They stole my car—I only had her a week,” one wailed.

“You’re lucky, mate,” bellowed another. “I barely got my car out of the showroom before someone slashed the tyres, nicked the hubcaps and bent me aerial.” There was a round of painful hisses at that. No one wants their aerial bent.

My turn to be seen by the duty officer came up. I trod carefully around a pool of vomit, and went into the semi private cubicle. A bored-looking young man began scribbling on a sheet of paper.

“What can I do for you?” he asked without looking up.

“It’s my friend. I’m worried about her. She’s been missing for about a week.”

“How old?” he asked, reaching to the side to get a new form which he instantly began to complete.

“How old, what?”

“How old is your friend?”

I shrugged. I could only guess. “Early twenties, I think.”

“Any disabilities?”

“What?”

The policeman glanced up at me, a cross look on his face.

“No, I don’t think so.”

He looked back down at his form, passing a line through it.

“Little we can do then.”

“Her girlfriend went missing too,” I supplied, hoping something would make him pick up his pen once more, but instead of new interest, his face went hard.

“I’m not being funny,” he started, “But maybe they ran off together.”

“What?”

“You know,” he said with a sneer. “Some homosexuals experience quite a bit of…” he faltered for a moment. “A bit of grief,” he finished. “Maybe they were victims of homophobia.”

“And?”

“And I don’t know anything about that. So what I recommend is that you see our hate crime officer. She’s queer as a nine-bob note,” he said simply.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not being funny, but she’s a confirmed Lesbian,” he said with certainty.

“Confirmed?” I asked. “Does that mean she’s Catholic too?”

“Interview room number three.” The policeman ignored my barb. “Ring the buzzer and she’ll let you in.” And with that, he got up and left. I clenched my fist beneath the table. If Yvonne had done a runner, I would beat the crap out of her for wasting my time and putting me through this garbage.

I walked down the narrow corridor to Interview Room three. Another female copper walked in my direction through the gloomy passageway—she seemed somewhat familiar. Our eyes met as she walked closer. I glanced at the tall Asian woman just as she looked at me. She averted her eyes at the same time I did—I recognised her as the woman in the bathhouse who I had seen with two dildos, holding them like they were pistols from the Wild West. I wasn’t going to push things. Still, I glanced at her as she stepped past me. I watched her hips wiggle as she moved; I’d seen her bare thighs peek from beneath her towel. I knew just how smooth she was beneath her stiff uniform. As my dear old Aunty Connie used to say, we are all black when the lights go out. Aunty Connie was silly as a loon.

I lifted my hand to the buzzer, but before I could press it, I felt a solid presence against my back. I froze as arms stretched out on either side of my face, trapping me against the door. Hot breath tickled the back of my neck. I suddenly found it hard to breathe.

“What are you doing here?” The Indian-accented voice made me sag a little with realisation; this was the dildo-packing copper.

“I’m seeing the hate crime officer,” I squeaked.

“I can’t believe anyone would hate you,” she purred in my ear, grinding her crotch against my backside. “Have you been behaving yourself?”

I nodded. The copper suddenly stepped away. I stayed where I was, pressed up against the door.

“No loitering in the corridors,” she said in a more official voice. I wondered what had changed her mood, but as I did, two cleaners walked by, carrying mops and buckets. The copper strode away, hips swaying.

* * * *

The hate officer was a tiny pale woman squirreled away in an equally small office. I wondered if they ever let her out of there. She looked as if she hadn’t seen the sun in a very long time.

“Yes, yes?” she peeped like a bird. I gave her all the details. “So this was a homophobic motivated crime?” she asked impatiently.

“I don’t know,” I said with a shrug.

“Where did your friend socialise?”

“The Locker Room. It’s a…”

“It’s a Lesbian bar. I know it.” She scribbled in her big notepad.

“And the Bathhouse…”

“Just off Bethnal Green Road? I know that too.” She sighed happily for a moment, her eyes going a little dreamy. Blimey, that place is amazing. I had some good times there.” Her smile widened even more. “There were these really fit women who used to give massages, but they weren’t your regular massages, if you catch my drift. I couldn’t walk straight for two days.”

“My friend,” I prompted.

“Oh, there’s little I can do about that. And if this Yvonne is the same one I think I know, then good luck with finding her.”

“What!” I screeched, pissed off.

“And forget it if she owes you any money,” the officer finished.

“My friend disappears, her girlfriend disappears, there’s some guy watching her apartment, and all you can say is good luck?” The blood had rushed to my cheeks.

“She probably owes him money too,” she said with a resigned shrug.

I stood, counted to five, because I knew I’d never make it to ten.

“So I’m on my own then?”

“Sorry, love. If you ever find yourself in the Locker Room on a Friday night, give us a shout, otherwise, good-bye.”

I slammed the door on the way out. I was mad as hell.

Chapter Five

The Horny Librarian

I stomped down the street to where I caught a bus. I got the hell out of Limehouse. I needed to see a friendly face. My thoughts turned to my friend, Sally who worked at Whitechapel Library. We went way back to when I did a Saturday job there several years ago. Sally had taken me under her wing, been a mentor in more ways than one. We’d slept together several times, as good friends. We loved each other like any good friends did, but we were never in love, if you know what I mean.

I entered the large library, inched past the issue desk, and walked into Historical and Non-Fiction. I stepped over the occasional punter who sat on the floor with his or her head in a book. I searched in all the usual places, but there was no sign of my Librarian friend. Eventually desperation got the better of me; a part of my mind had come to the conclusion that yet another woman had disappeared. I reluctantly walked through Cookery, past Autobiography, and onwards to the staff room that was locked with a key pad at the back of the old building.

Whitechapel Library had once housed a sanatorium in Victorian times—it always slightly gave me the creeps. I tapped against the frosted glass panel set into the top half of the door. White enamel paint flaked from the doorframe.  I inhaled the smell of old paper and sweat. The library manager, Zoë, opened the door a fraction, sticking her head out with annoyance for a moment until she saw me. Annoyance was not the emotion that played across her features now. It looked like someone had just rung the dinner bell, and she was ravenous. She swept a lock of her pale blonde hair behind an ear, whilst her schooled brown eyes discreetly looked me up and down. Zoë and I had some dealings in the past that I wasn’t exactly proud of. I wanted to keep her sweet for selfish reasons, but I also didn’t want her to get too close either.

“Ah, Jessie,” she drawled in her Scottish accent—I think she was from Dundee, home of the three J’s: Jam, Jute and Journalism. After that, my local knowledge was all used up. “What can I do for you?” Zoë reached out, fiddled with my hair and my collar for a moment, making the most of the opportunity to skirt her fingers over my bra strap. “You’re looking as fine as ever.” She emphasised the word, “fine.” I was sure that it wasn’t just my imagination.

“I’m after Sally,” I said carefully.

“You’re looking for Tally?”

“Sally,” I said a little confused. “You know, my friend who works here, Sally.”

“Well,” Zoë said with a sigh. “She’s calling herself Tally now.”

“What?”

“Aye, the girl’s got it into her head that she needed to change her name. I think it’s some kind of a mid-life crisis, myself. You should see the poor thing’s hair.”

I rolled my eyes—Sally was the kind of woman who would act first, and think later. “Do you know where Tally is?”

“Children’s section, upstairs,” Zoë indicated with a nod. I turned to leave, but she caught my arm.

“You know, Jessie, we never did locate that book you lost,” she said in a low voice, her usually pleasant accent turned menacing.

“I never lost it—I told you I returned it.” I really didn’t want to be having this conversation right now.

“Aye, but it’s not on the shelves, and it’s not in the stockroom, so as far as I can see it’s lost.”

“Zoë,” I started, but she stopped me.

“You know the repayment terms for any outstanding fines.” Her voice was all business-like and official.

I huffed a frustrated sigh. “Can I pay up next time?” I asked begrudgingly.

“There will be interest. You understand that, don’t you?” she purred.

“Sure, I understand,” I mumbled.

I took the stairs two at a time to the children’s section. The wide staircase had a smooth curved banister that Sally, I mean Tally and I had once slid down, laughing like kids. It had been my idea, but Zoë had threatened Tally with a disciplinary for behaving that way during work hours. If I hadn’t offered Zoë a more personal alternative, my friend would have been in serious trouble. Zoë was a mean cow sometimes.

The children’s section was full of noise: screaming kids and tired parents. Books flew across the room from one end to the next, like some juvenile battlefield. And in the midst of all this carnage, sat Tally at the information desk, with her feet up on the table, reading a tattoo magazine. Tally looked nothing like my old friend. I took in the sight of her bright orange hair, cut and styled into a short Mohican. Several silver rings went through each of her earlobes. She wore a regular pair of jeans, but her red T-shirt was stained and a little ripped. She looked like a 1980’s era punk-rocker. Tally waved at me as I stood gaping.

“Sally?”

“Tally. You can call me Tally now.”

“What’s happened to you?” I was in shock; my friend had always had long brown hair that went down to her waist. She’d apparently been growing it all her life. I couldn’t imagine her willingly getting it shorn into such a crazy style.

Tally made a dismissive gesture. “I fancied a change.” She dragged me forward to land a huge kiss on my lips. Tally kissed like she didn’t need to breathe, sucking and biting and pulling every last bit of oxygen from my lungs. Her hands started roaming over me, squeezing my breasts hard.

“Tally?” I began, “What’s wrong with you?”

“I thought you liked a hearty welcome, Jessie?” she said, picking up her tattoo magazine once more.

“Usually I do, but not when you’re at work, mate. Zoë wouldn’t be too happy if she could see us.”

“Forget that loser,” Tally said, snapping her fingers.

“Okay,” I said, taking a step back. “Who are you and what have you done with my friend?”

Tally giggled, and then she hit me playfully with the rolled-up magazine. “Tell me you don’t like my new look,” she dared. I gawped at her, saying nothing. “See,” she crowed. “You can’t, can you?” Tally ran the rolled-up magazine over my breasts. At that moment, a little boy toddled over, looking at us with an intrigued expression on his face. I slapped the magazine away, and stood out of arm’s reach.

“Tally, do you want to get sacked?” I asked in a hushed voice.

“Why do you think I gave myself a make-over?”

“I don’t know? I’m thinking you were drunk at the time.” I looked her up and down once more. She must have been very, very drunk.

“There are job cuts happening. No one wants to employ an old woman in this game. I’ve got to cultivate my young free and crazy aspects, if I’m to keep up with the kids.”

The little boy was still staring at us. I took off one of my chunky bracelets. I jingled the bright red beads until I got his attention. “Here, honey, have this.” The little boy snatched the bracelet from me, pushed it on to his chubby wrists, and started shaking it. A huge grin appeared over his dimpled cheeks. He wandered away, jabbering to himself, admiring his new jewellery.

I looked back at Tally, but she seemed distracted. A young black woman carried a pile of books in her arms. She wore a very short skirt, and a very tight top. I tore my eyes away from her body as she deposited the books on the information desk. Tally smiled sweetly at her.

“Thanks, Grace,” she said, and then much to my surprise, Tally deliberately knocked one of the books to the floor. Grace bent over to fetch it, giving us both a flash of her backside, complete with some nice bikini-cut knickers; the white panties contrasted with her dark brown skin.

Grace went back downstairs; Tally watched her as she disappeared from view.

“You dog!” I exclaimed.

“This dog needs a new chew toy,” Tally said beneath her breath. “I’m telling you, Jessie, I’ll lose all my bisexual bonus points if this dry spell with women keeps going. It’s just been men, men and more men since last year. I’m in desperate need of a woman’s touch.”

“Woman? She looks like a girl. How old is that child?” I asked with mock-disapproval.

“Grace is nineteen.”

“And how old are you?”

Tally turned away. “I don’t want to talk about that. And anyway,” she continued. “Age ain’t nothing but a number.”

I kissed my teeth. “My Aunty Connie used to say that with an increase in age comes a decrease in sexual positions.”

“Your Aunty was mad,” Tally said, fingering one of her earrings.

“Sure, but she had a point.”

“You here for a reason?” Tally blew a bubble of gum at me. I was mortified. Eating gum in the library was a crime punishable by death in Zoë’s eyes.

“I’ve got a problem.” I said after a moment.

“So spill.”

“Women are going missing,” I said quietly.

“What?”

“You know Yvonne?” I asked, unsure if she and Tally had ever met.

“Sure I know her. Silly bint owes me some money.”

“She and her girlfriend have just up and disappeared.”

“Blimey,” Tally said with a whistle. She removed the bubble gum from her mouth, and stuck it beneath the table.

“I went to the Police. They weren’t helpful.”

“Figures,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“And I think some guy was hanging around Yvonne’s flat.” I discreetly looked around when I said that. “I think something bad is happening,” I finished.

“How can I help?” she asked, holding out her hands.

“I was wondering—do you have anything on investigation? I don’t know how to find a missing person. I’ve only found cats before.”

“If you want crime fiction, that’s downstairs.”

“It’s not fiction I want. I need facts.” I was sincerely hoping that the Library stocked something simple but effective, like Detective skills for Dummies or Idiot’s guide to Investigation.

“Give me a little time—I’ll see what I can find,” she said with a sad smile

“Okay.” I patted my friend on the shoulder. Tally held my hand, and brought it to her lips in a gentle kiss.

“Be careful, Jessie,” she said quietly. “My Librarian senses are tingling right now. You look after yourself.”

I found myself pulled into another embrace. Tally moved us behind the screen that lay beside the information desk, where a few boxes of books were stacked. She kissed me softly at first, and then with more force. I tasted the flavour of her chewing gum as she ran her tongue over mine. The sound of juvenile noise faded into the distance as Tally licked and kissed along my neck.

“We’ll find your friends,” she said, holding me loosely. She punctuated every word with a little kiss to my lips.

Someone cleared their throat to the side. I saw Zoë standing beside a uniformed policewoman. The solid-looking officer looked up and down at Tally and I.

“We’ve had a complaint,” Zoë stated, but the constable held up her hand.

“Special constable Erica Baxter,” the woman introduced herself. “A parent stopped me outside. They said that you’d given their little boy something inappropriate.”

I looked at the special constable with confusion.

“Inappropriate?”

“I believe it was an item of jewellery.”

“My bracelet? This is about my bracelet?” I fumed. “Two women have gone missing, and you guys don’t care. I give a kid my bracelet, and suddenly I’m a criminal?”

“The boy’s father seemed most upset. He said you were confusing the child—encouraging transvestism.”

Tally and I both burst out laughing at that. After a moment, I realised that Zoë and the policewoman hadn’t joined in.

“It’s just a bracelet. I’m not putting a dress on the kid,” I exclaimed.

Erica adjusted her radio, looking at me with suspicion. “He wants you to leave this section. It is for parents and children, after all.” Erica’s little brown eyes narrowed. I felt like she was looking at me beneath a microscope.

Zoë stepped forward. “You can go to my office if you prefer, Jessie. I’m sure we can find a way to clear this wee matter up.” She wet her lips as she spoke.

“I’m sorry for the fuss,” I muttered. “And Zoë, next time I’m passing this way, I’ll make sure to report to you.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Jessie,” she purred, with her brown eyes lighting up. I could almost see the future reflected in them; it mostly involved me with my knickers around my ankles.

“Jessie, is it?” Erica started writing in her report book.

“Surely, officer,” Zoë began. “There’s no need for that.”

“All right,” the special constable sighed. “Just consider your behaviour in future.” She waved me forward. “I’ll escort you out, and we’ll say no more.” She tossed my bracelet to me.

“Don’t forget your bag!” Tally called. She patted it before handing it over.

Once outside, Erica’s partner—a short Chinese woman who tapped her feet impatiently, met us.

“Had your fun?” she addressed Erica. “Come on, we’ll be late.” She strode off down the road with some speed.

Erica touched the side of her nose, and then pointed to me. I swore under my breath.

Once the policewomen were out of view, I looked inside my bag. A thick square children’s book lay in the bottom.

The Ladybird book of detectives was the title of the book, but I doubted it would be of any help to me. I put it back in my bag. I needed a drink.

Chapter Six

When Only a Shag Will Do

I took a bus to Highbury corner, walked along the narrow congested streets to where my favourite bar, the Locker Room was located. The building stood out from the many other bars and pubs in Highbury and Islington; the Locker Room was small, easy to walk past, nestled as it was in the shade of some overhanging trees that were planted alongside the road. Even though the weather was warm and sunny, the humid atmosphere combined with the heavy shadows from the trees made me feel as if I were entering some secret clearing in a jungle.

The Locker Room looked quite unspectacular from the outside, but once I walked in the doors, a long slim building stretched out before me like some kind of an optical illusion. K.C, the trans-man who owned the Locker Room looked up and smiled at me as I entered. K.C was looking rather dapper in a bronze-coloured shirt with a red tie; the metallic colours complimented his warm tanned skin, with hazel eyes that were relaxed and friendly. It was still reasonably early, so only a few women sat at low tables, munching on potato wedges and bright green salads.

“Missed you at the bathhouse,” K.C said as he took my order.

“I didn’t stay late.”

“You should have—there weren’t as many as usual, but blimey, our Russian friend can go all night long!” He sighed to himself for a moment, looking wistful. “It was my last visit too. Gabriella said I was too manly to be at the women-only session anymore.”

“You’ll just have to be satisfied with the men-only nights they have there six times a week,” I replied, as I took a sip of my rum and coke; the little buzz was a welcome distraction.

“The women-only night at the bathhouse is always packed. Where was everyone?”

K.C shrugged. “Yesterday it was almost empty. Suki, Heather and the other girl, you know, the one with the huge boobs,” K.C floundered on the name, screwing up his face.

“Kim?”

“That’s her. She wasn’t there either.”

“Kim has been to every session since they opened that place up to women.” I suddenly remembered all those slips of paper at Pogo Café. I wondered if these were any of the missing women.

K.C leaned closer. He brushed his fingertips over mine. “It was like a ghost town.” I smelt coffee on his breath, mixed with the cologne he liked to wear.

“Actually, can I have a word?” I asked.

K.C motioned to join him around the back. I followed him to his little office at the rear of the venue. A shrine to the Hindu deity, Ganesha took up a chunk of the space in the tiny office. K.C tidied the room for a moment, lifting papers off a stool so I could sit.

“Is this about the missing women?” he asked, running a hand through his black collar-length hair. When I looked at him, surprised, he only waved in a dismissive gesture.

“London is a big city, but we live in a small community,” he said, straightening his bright red tie.

“What do you know?”

He shrugged. “I heard some stuff,” he said looking at me with unblinking hazel eyes. “You need to take a step back, Jessie.” His tone was a little condescending.

“I’ll be careful, K.C,” I said with a sigh—as much as I liked K.C, I didn’t much care for the Daddy personae that had come with the change in pronouns. I hated having to convince someone that I would be a good little girl, especially when I considered that person to be a friend.

“I heard that Yvonne disappeared near Stepney Green tube station,” he continued. “Someone thought they saw Carol in an alley in Spitalfields, and Kim was last seen at Whitechapel market.”

“So what, everyone’s vanishing in the East End?”

K.C looked at me evenly. “When I was younger,” he began with a low voice. “I snuck into the cinema in Mile End—they were showing a film about Jack the Ripper. I’ve never seen so much blood on the silver screen.”

“Hold on,” I blurted. “You’re joking, right?”

“I’m telling you what I know.” He leaned forward. “I’m telling you to be careful.” Suddenly he leaned back; all worry gone from his handsome face. “Let me treat you. When did you last eat?”

I shrugged; I hadn’t got much of an appetite, but suddenly I was really hungry. My stomach rumbled audibly.

“Veggie pie, potato wedges and some salad.”

“Sounds good.” He was being generous; I supposed that there were some parts of a Daddy persona that wasn’t all bad.

“You listen to your old mate, K.C,” he said, slinging an arm around me. “I’ll look after my girl.” I felt the muscles of his biceps flex beneath his shirt as we walked back out to the main bar area.

“You always do,” I chimed; my role as a dutiful daughter was clear.

“It’s karaoke later,” he said excitedly. “I want to hear you sing tonight.”

“I don’t know, K.C,” I whined.

“I insist. Not every woman has vanished off the face of the earth, you know? There’s a new girl who has started coming here—you’ll like her.”

“Are you playing match-maker again?” I asked, giving him a sideways look.

“I introduced you to your Russian friend, didn’t I?”

“Michaela and I are not a couple.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said wistfully. “You young girls are only after a quick shag and a pint of beer. You’re worse than the men.”

K.C led me back to the main bar area. A quick rainstorm must have passed overhead whilst we had talked, because now the outside world looked dark, wet and slippery.

My food arrived in moments, and for a little while, I enjoyed the simple pleasures of a nice meal. I forgot any shady happenings in the East End of London.

* * * *

I made my way to the bathroom some time later, squeezing past the growing number of women who crowded around the bar, ordering their drinks. The toilets were located right at the very back of the narrow space, past the pool table where I almost got impaled on a cue. There were only two cubicles in the small toilets—neither of them had lockable doors. I sprinted to the first one, pulling open the swing door to reveal two women inside. One woman sat on the other’s lap—it looked a little strange at first, but then I saw the way the woman underneath had one hand in her friend’s blouse, squeezing her breasts roughly. The woman on top, who wore lovely gold earrings, humped and gyrated on her mate, with beads of sweat decorating her face. Neither woman seemed the least bit bothered that I was watching them. I took a breath, muttered an apology, and stepped away.

I sat in the other cubicle, which was thankfully empty, peeing as quickly as I could. The sound of energetic moans from the other stall cut in on me. I pressed my hand against the door for a little privacy whilst I emptied my bladder, however I was still mid-stream when the door pushed open.

“Cassie?” A butch woman in a string vest asked me before she saw who I was.

“Over here, love!” the two women from the next cubicle called out.

“Cassie, is that you?” she yelled, showing no signs of closing the door.

“Finch, get your arse over here!” The butch woman eyed me for a little while longer, before she joined her friends in the next stall.

I was grateful that there was some nice toilet paper here; K.C always supplied good stuff when it counted. My pussy and my arse were still a little tender, thanks to the Furry wolf who had reamed me the day before. I shivered as I wiped myself, remembering the fun time I’d had. I wondered if they would ever want me to do some regular sessions. I exited the cubicle, with the words to the Little Bo-Peep nursery rhyme going round my head.

* * * *

“Why don’t you sit next to Jessie?” I heard K.C’s loud voice as he pointed a woman in my direction. This was his standard way of introducing someone with potential to me. The bar had filled up as time progressed, so now most of the seats had been taken. I scooted over on the low sofa, made some room for the new girl. She held out her hand.

“Rachel.”

“Jessie.”

Rachel had copper-red hair, a smattering of freckles over her nose. She had a slight Cornish accent. This new girl was very pretty, with amazing blue eyes that literally sparkled. She smiled hesitantly; all teeth and blushes. She looked sweet, although I usually liked my women rather less innocent than she looked.

The volume in the bar suddenly increased. Fast-paced Soca music played in the background. There wasn’t much of a dance floor at the Locker Room, but a few brave women had been known to do their foreplay to music out on the wooden squares at the side of the club. Right now there was only one young woman dancing crazily to the Caribbean beats. It looked for all the world like the woman was Grace, Tally’s latest squeeze from the library. I watched her dance for a moment, lost in the music.

“It’s karaoke tonight, isn’t it?” Rachel asked, looking excited and nervous at the same time.

“You singing?” I asked.

“Are you?”

“Nah,” I said, inching closer to her. “I’ve got other things on my mind.”

“Come on, Jessie—let’s do a duet.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I dare you,” she said, and fixed me with a piercing blue gaze.

“What?” I didn’t much care for her tone.

“Sing with me, and I’ll scream for you later.”

I looked Rachel up and down. “You’re shitting me,” I stated calmly.

“Am not. Don’t you think I’m good for it?”

“I don’t know anything about you.”

“I’m twenty-seven, I work as a secretary, and I like being fisted.” I choked on my pint of beer when she said that. “Anything else you want to know?” she finished sweetly.

I coughed a little, wiping my chin. “No, that will do nicely.”

“Great,” she said triumphantly. “Let’s do this.” She waved at K.C, who looked delighted that his match-making skills had paid off. “Sonny or Cher?” she asked.

“What?”

“The song—which bit do you want to sing?”

I looked at her choice of song with a feeling of dread. I’ve got you, babe? She had to be kidding. But Rachel wasn’t kidding; she dragged me up, pulled me to stand beside her. She shook her red hair from her face, and held the microphone to her lips.

“They say we’re young, and we don’t know,” she crooned, singing with a husky voice. “We won’t find out until we’re grown.”

I cringed when my lines eventually came up, but I sang as best as I could. “I don’t know if that’s true.” I rocked along to the cheesy tune. “Cause you’ve got me, and baby, I’ve got you.”

Rachel joined in, linking her arms through mine. “Babe, I’ve got you, babe!” she sang loudly. “I’ve got you babe.”

It was probably the longest three minutes of my life, but we fell about laughing as the song ended. K.C gave us the thumb’s up.

“Do you live nearby, Jessie?” Rachel asked as we stood near the doorway to the club.

“I live miles away,” I said, feigning disinterest, though my nipples strained towards her.

“It will be an adventure then,” she said with a crooked smile.

* * * *

As adventures went, I had a pretty good one, keeping Rachel’s hands to herself as we took the night bus home. Once inside my apartment, she started stripping her clothes off in a methodical way.

“What, no good night kiss?” I asked as I watched the layers come off. Rachel didn’t seem interested in kissing. She simply lay on my bed, legs splayed open. She didn’t remove her jewellery though; a little crescent shaped pendant caught the light.

“We could have kissed back at the bar,” she stated. “We can only do this here.” She crooked a finger in my direction.

“You know, I don’t usually like being ordered around.” I pulled off my top.

“I thought we had an agreement?”

She was right, but I still wanted a snog first. I tried kissing her, but she brought her teeth down on my lip.

“Ouch! You cow!” I spat. I couldn’t believe she’d bitten me.

“Come on, Jessie,” she teased, sounding more than a little drunk. “Make me pay. I dare you.” There it was again: the taunt that somehow got my hackles raised in no time at all. I pushed her down on the bed—she looked up at me with those incredible blue eyes, now dark as a twilight sky. “I double-dare you.”

I did a quick hunt in my bedside drawer, where I had a couple of gloves and some extra-thick lube that would be perfect for this sort of thing. Rachel was a natural redhead; the copper hairs around her pussy glistened in the low light. I pulled on a glove, snapping it around my wrist; Rachel flinched at the movement. Another glove went on; I smoothed the latex over my palms, watching as Rachel’s eyes followed my fingers.

“Spread them wider,” I snarled. I wasn’t actually angry; if power-play games were what it took to get Rachel off, then I was happy to oblige. I could play mean just as well as the next woman. “Didn’t you hear me? I said, spread your legs wider, bitch,” I snapped. Rachel bit her lip, drew her knees up, and widened her legs. I slapped her thighs, first the left and then the right; she quivered like she was already close to coming. I lifted the bottle of lube, squirting a ribbon of the thick liquid into my right hand. I squished the viscous goo until it coated my fingers with a generous layer. “I’ve got a dare of my own,” I growled. “I dare you to take me in all the way without crying for your mother.” Rachel gave me a sharp look, but she said nothing. My index finger slid over her clit, tapping lightly. I circled her labia, and then plunged inside. Rachel groaned, moving her arse up and down. I pumped slowly, making her whine. This time when I bent my head to hers, she kissed me with no teeth involved. We were connected tongue to mouth, finger to crotch. We danced together on the bed, though no music played, save the Sonny and Cher tune that circled my brain. I reluctantly pulled away from Rachel’s lovely mouth, but my sticky fingers remained buried in her. My middle finger joined the first, moving in shallow little thrusts inside Rachel’s slippery pussy. When my ring finger joined the others, Rachel’s skin was covered in goose bumps. She humped my hand with desperation.

“Please,” she whimpered. I looked up at her, halting my movements. “Please, more,” she whispered. My little finger slipped inside. I added a squirt of more lube; the obscene sound of the bottle just added to the atmosphere of depravity. Shove twist, pull. Shove, twist, push. My thumb made the circuit complete. Rachel shuddered, making a primal noise low in her throat. She arched off the bed, sucking me inside her with no effort on my part at all. I was in up to my wrist, caught inside her hot pulsing pussy. Rachel’s body was tense. Her small nipples had magically grown twice their size. I watched hypnotised as her modest breasts bobbed up and down. Her clitoris stood to attention as I worked; a sweet red beacon that throbbed inches from my lips. I pulled back a little, and then I carefully pushed forward. Rachel wailed like a banshee. I found my rhythm as the different sounds played out; the squelch of my hand, the cry of pleasure. It was bliss. Rachel bore down, pushing harder against me. Nonsensical words fell from her mouth, “Please, oh, please, oh no, oh yes!”

My knuckles hit the bump of her g-spot as I plunged inside. Rachel’s eyes flickered open and shut. I felt a clamping sensation around my hand; the solid hold that always took my breath away whenever it happened. Just like the song, she really did have me. I was torn from my thoughts as Rachel squirted a thin jet of come on to the bed; that was a rarity in my experience, but I was an equal opportunities slut. Wet or dry, everyone was welcome.

Rachel panted noisily as she relaxed. The muscles of her pussy released me. I slid my thumb out, and the rest of my fingers followed in a sticky mess. I flexed my hand, working out the soreness. The glove went on the floor in a wet splat. I climbed up the bed, switching off the light on the bedside table.

“Jessie?” Rachel’s voice sounded small. “Hold me?”

I wrapped my arms around her, dotting a kiss to her forehead. She gripped me in a tight embrace, burying her head to my shoulder. The little pendant she wore dug into me, but I didn’t care.

“Good times,” she whispered before she pulled me down to lay fully on the mattress.

“Yeah,” I replied. I just hoped this good time would last.

* * * *

That night, I dreamt of my late Aunty Connie; she was sitting in a rocking chair, playing a video game. The game sounded like Street Fighter, or maybe Mortal Kombat. Aunty Connie always had a violent streak when it came to her entertainment; she’d been a fan of wrestling, especially caged-fights. She taught me all I knew about boxing too, which admittedly wasn’t much at all. I had one good punch in me, and that was pretty much it.

“Girl!” she yelled at me. Aunty Connie never addressed me by my given name. “Girl, what are you doing?”

“Nothing, Aunty.”

Aunty Connie kissed her teeth; a trait that she had picked up from my Jamaican father. My mother and her sister were white, but my father, may he rest in pieces, was black. It always amused me how people thought Aunty Connie and he was a couple, instead of my mother.

“Didn’t your mother and I bring you up properly?” she said, executing a flaming blast to some ninja character onscreen.

“Yes, Aunty.”

“So tell me,” she said, jerking her handset around, “What are you doing?”

“I was sleeping with a beautiful woman until you popped up.”

“Eight women have gone missing, and all you can think about is sex?”

“Eight?” I repeated. “Eight women?” Aunty Connie nodded her head. “Aunty,” I said quietly. “Are they with you? Are they dead?”

“Dead? No!” she said, doing her finishing move. The ninja onscreen exploded in a puff of blue smoke.

“Where are they?”

“That’s the wrong question.”

“Aunty!” I cried with exasperation.

“Child, don’t raise your voice at me.” She shook her handset in my direction. Music began; I heard the words, “Round Two” emitted from the television.

“What’s the right question, Aunty?”

“When,” she stated.

“When? When are they?”

Aunty Connie paused the game, looking at me like I was a prize fool. “As the great, Bob Marley used to say, if you know your history…” she began.

“Then you will know where you’re coming from,” I finished, remembering the lyrics from Buffalo Soldiers.

Aunty Connie nodded. “He’s up here, you know? He plays a mean game of Tetris when he passes by.” She waved at me. “Do some research. This isn’t the first instance this has happened. Except the last time, they chased Jack the Ripper.”

I reached out a hand to her. “I miss you, Aunty,” I said softly. I missed my parents too, but for some reason, I felt her loss the most. Aunty Connie looked at me strangely, and then she went back to her game.

I opened my eyes. The other side of the bed was empty.

* * * *

Everything in my bag was gone. Everything in my jacket pockets was gone. I went to the kitchen in a daze. All the little slips of paper I’d stuck on the fridge door with magnets were gone; only white spaces remained. I stumbled to the bathroom, found a small pile of money on top of the toilet—at least she hadn’t taken that. But if she hadn’t taken my money, why had she taken everything else? I wondered for all of three seconds. She was involved in the disappearances somehow. And I had walked right into her web, the bitch! My crazy dream rose up in my memory. I smiled to myself: Rachel didn’t have my dead Aunty Connie to back her up. I thought a little more about that. I just might be screwed.

Chapter Seven

Spanking is a Valid Form of Currency

I refused to dwell on it. If I started thinking about how gullible I was, I would want to punch a wall. Self-harm was not something that I was fond of. Could these disappearances really be linked? K.C had hinted, and Aunty Connie had seemed to confirm things; somehow the mystery of Jack the Ripper was tied up with this.

I went to the Library; it was a Saturday, so I knew that Zoë, the manager wouldn’t be there, as she never worked at the weekends. Maybe Tally and I could do a little research to shed some light on the Victorian enigma.

There was a network of scaffolding that must have gone up since my last visit. The metal skeleton clung to the exterior of the library—the thick grey rods made it look like the innards of a mechanical creature, like a tarnished silver spider that gripped the brick building in a death-hold. A slight gust of wind blew across the scaffold, making low groans as the air was pushed through the hollow pipes. Grit blew into my eyes, making me scoot my sorry arse inside. It was no good. I was seeing nightmare images wherever I looked.

I raced through the front entrance of the library, and found myself face to face with Zoë, who held a pile of books in her arms. She was dressed casually in green cargo pants and a cream-coloured T-shirt. This sort of attire on the library manager was something I’d never seen before. I stared at her for a full five seconds before I was able to talk.

“Zoë?” I was annoyed when my voice came out with a squeak.

“Jessie, how kind of you to pop by on my day off.”

“Look, Zoë.”

“This way, if you please.” She put her books on a nearby table, and then she held out her hand. I sighed out loud, but followed her.

“So what are you doing in here? I thought you never worked at the weekend?” I was sure my intelligence on the library manager’s whereabouts was sound. I had no idea how this had happened.

“I’m studying part-time. I need the books.” Zoë pressed the keys on the pad on the door. She swung it wide. I walked into her office, but had barely stepped over the threshold when she pushed me up against the wall, startling me for a moment. “You must think I’m pretty stupid, Jessie,” she growled.

“No, Zoë, not at all.”

“You sneak in here like a wee mouse.”

“I wasn’t sneaking,” I protested.

“And that’s after you bring the Police into my establishment.”

“It was only a volunteer officer,” I reasoned.

Zoë slapped me hard; I knew better than to answer her back. “The Police, Jessie!” she exclaimed. “Do you know the paperwork I have to complete whenever the emergency services set foot in the library?”

“No, ma’am.” I looked at my shoes.

“Ach, some respect at last.” She said, and then as quick as a flash, she kissed me; a bruising punishing kiss. I could start to feel my lips swell. “Now, Jessie, tell me why you’re here.”

“I lost the book.”

“So you admit that you lost it?” Zoë tilted her head.

“Yes, ma’am,” I mumbled.

She smiled at that, pulled me over to her desk. “What else?”

“I brought the Police here.”

“And?”

I faltered. “And I made you fill out lots of forms.” I watched as Zoë reached over the desk to find a little key. My stomach clenched with nerves as she waved it at me. She went to where a battered wooden chest lay in the corner of the room. The chest looked like it would be more at home on a pirate ship, instead of a library. I caught sight of the contents for a split second. The chest was stuffed with belts, straps, paddles, and a vicious looking tawse that she held up as she approached me.

“You’re forgetting something.” Her voice was low.

“That’s it, I promise.”

“You took a book out of here yesterday. It was the Ladybird book of detectives wasn’t it?”

“Shit!” How could I have forgotten that?

“Indeed. Where is it?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

The blood rushed to my face. “I was robbed.” How could I have been so stupid to come here in the first place?

Zoë looked at me with disbelief. “Why must we do this, Jessie?” she asked.

“I’m serious—some woman cleared me out.” I promised myself that I’d make Rachel pay for what she’d done.

Zoë ignored me. “Take your knickers off,” she said calmly.

“What?”

“And touch your toes.”

“Zoë,” I began.

“Don’t make me repeat myself. You owe me replacement fees for two lost books. You’re facing an outright ban if you keep this up.”

I unbuttoned my jeans, pulled down my knickers; they were soaked. Zoë noticed the wetness straight away.

“It’s the after effects from last night,” I explained weakly.

“When you were robbed?” she asked, as she fingered my panties, running her digits through the moisture. She tugged my underwear down until they lay atop my jeans, bunched around my knees.

“Bend,” she said with a rough voice. My clit strained, traitor that it was. I bent over, touched my toes, though I almost toppled over. Some of my hair fell in front of my eyes—the ringlets bounced before me.

I received no warning before the tawse landed on my backside. The split tongue of leather struck me like a fire bolt. I straightened up, biting my already swollen lip; Zoë didn’t like a lot of noise in her library, but if she kept this up, I’d be yelling before long. She firmly bent me back down, stroking lightly over the skin of my arse before she followed it with another wallop from the tawse. Zoë moved to my other side, belted me again. I hissed, unsure if I could go through with this. Another blow landed; the sting was worse than being burned. I was being consumed, torn apart by that particularly Scottish instrument of torture. My knees began to sag as another blow hit me on a spot where I’d been struck before. My arse and thighs felt like they were glowing with heat. I looked up between the gap between my legs. Zoë sauntered around me, upside down. She lifted her arm. I closed my eyes. Another blow. This time, she followed it up by running a hand over my arse, paying far too much attention to my asshole.

“Zoë,” I pleaded. “Not that.” I tried to squirm away, but she held me in place.

Zoë chuckled. “I told you that there would be interest added to your fines.” She prodded my puckered entrance. “And this looks pretty interesting to me.” She pushed a little, and then she made a sucking noise. When her finger returned to my arse, it was wet with what I could only imagine as spit. Zoë jammed her finger in, making my clitoris burn with need, hard, solid and throbbing. Two fingers pressed inside. Zoë spat on my arse. The trickle of spit ran down my thighs. I shouldn’t be responding to this, but I couldn’t help myself.

“Oh, please, please, please,” I babbled.

“I like the way you beg,” she crooned. “It turns me on, no end.” The evil librarian screwed my arse, and it was about a thousand miles away from what Michaela did to my backside whenever she had the chance. This was not sensual, warm and arousing—this was hard, brutal and horny as all hell. I fell forward when my orgasm struck. I came with a shout. Zoë’s fingers popped out of my arse. I lay shaking on the floor feeling totally messed up. Zoë looked down at me, grinned an evil smile.

“Thank you for using Whitechapel Library,” she said in a singsong voice.

“Screw you,” I muttered.

“Any time, though I’d give myself a wee rest if I were you.” She helped me to stand. I visibly winced as I pulled my knickers back up; the wetness was cold and uncomfortable against my skin.

“Tally’s upstairs,” Zoë said as she led me back to the main collection. “Behave yourself this time.” She patted me on the bum, making me hiss. By the time I’d come up with a suitable curse word, she was gone.

* * * *

Tally was wrestling with an armful of soft toys when I found her upstairs. I carefully climbed each step; every movement sent hot shivers down my legs.

“Bloody kids,” she fumed. She passed a few of the stuffed animals to me. “They jam these toys in the worst places,” she complained. “I found that teddy squashed behind a radiator, covered in puke.” I held the toy bear away from myself. “Don’t worry, Jessie. They’ve all been cleaned.”

The children’s library was almost empty; only a woman and her daughter read quietly in a corner.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” Tally asked as she clutched the plush toys to her chest. “I’m going to be at the East London book fair in Whitechapel. Come on down if you’re not too busy. I’ll be helping out on the Tough Girls stall.”

“I’m tied up with finding Yvonne,” I reminded her.

“So any progress with that?” Tally asked. We dropped the toys into a big plastic pit; it looked like a stuffed animal enclosure. I screwed up my face as I bent over to deposit my toys; my arse was killing me.

“Not so much. I was robbed.”

“Babe!” Tally exclaimed. The woman in the corner looked up at us. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?” She ran a finger over my face.

“I’m fine. I wasn’t in any pain until I came here.”

“Oh, sorry,” Tally said sympathetically, glancing over to my bum. “I tried to send you a text about Zoë studying here today.”

“My phone was stolen too.”

“Blimey. So I take it that Zoë’s collected her payment?” I rubbed my bottom carefully; it still radiated heat. “Poor thing,” she continued. “Zoë actually believes that spanking is a perfectly valid form of currency.” I sniggered at that. “Honest, Jessie—she even told me once how it ties into the exchange rate mechanism. You get less spanks in Euros, more in Dollars, but the most spankings come with Swedish Kronas.” I laughed at Tally’s words, despite myself. “If you’re short of a few bob, I could always lend you something.” Tally reached into her back pocket. I waved her off.

“Actually she left my money. She just took a lot of other things.”

“She? A woman robbed you?”

“Yeah,” I said a little sadly. “I haven’t got to the good part yet.” I sat down carefully next to Tally, hissing as my bottom made contact with the hard chair. “I met this gorgeous woman at the Locker Room.”

“Yeah?”

“I took her home.” Tally nodded and smiled at that. “She was really, really gorgeous. We had mind-blowing sex.”

“Good.”

“And when I woke up…”

“No!” she squeaked.

“Yes.”

“Shit!”

“Yup,” I said, resigned at what had happened.

Tally looked at me sideways. “How good was the sex?”

“Outstanding,” I replied.

“Shit,” she muttered.

We were silent for a moment. I readjusted my position on the chair; every inch of me hurt, but thankfully it was starting to be in a good way.

“What did your robber look like?”

“Why do you want to know?” I asked, knowing full well why she did.

“I haven’t been to the Locker Room in ages. If the sex was as good as you say, it might just be worth getting robbed for.” I hit Tally with a nearby ruler. “Seriously, Jessie, I want to know.”

“Well, Rachel is tall, slim with red hair.”

“Sounds okay.”

“She has the most gorgeous blue eyes—really piercing, bright-blue eyes.”

“Hang on,” Tally stopped me. “Rachel’s a woman, right?”

“Of course.”

“It’s just that you’ve described a guy who was here yesterday, the same time as you.” She paused for a moment. “Actually he was still here after you left.” She closed her eyes, fingered the rings in her earlobe. “Did Rachel have a nice little pendant? A swirly thing?” I looked at my friend in shock as she continued, “Unaccompanied adults aren’t supposed to be in the children’s library. I spotted him skulking in a corner.”

“Rachel is a woman,” I insisted. “I saw her naked.”

“Maybe she’s into drag?”

I thought back to the man I saw watching Yvonne’s flat when I’d been there. I was a dope. It was the same person.

“Rachel’s been watching me. She took all of my notes, well what little notes I had.”

“Jessie, I said it before, but I’m going to tell you again, please be careful.”

I nodded. “I will. I promise.” Not that I’d done a good job up to now.

“I did a little research yesterday evening.”

“Thanks, Tally.”

“Everywhere I looked, I kept coming back to the same thing.” I peered with interest as Tally pulled a book from her top draw. “I take it that you’ve heard of Jack the Ripper?” she asked.

I was speechless as she plonked the book down. A gruesome picture illustrated the front cover; a shadowy figure held a large bloodied meat-cleaver in a threatening pose. The breath caught in my throat.

“This can’t be happening again? This can’t be real,” I sputtered.

“Whores picked off the streets in the East End? Sounds real to me.”

“Yvonne isn’t a whore,” I snapped.

“She was doing sex work. She may not have been lifting her skirt in alleyways, but…”

I took a sharp intake of breath at her words. Tally looked at me, a worried frown appearing on her face.

“Are you okay, Jessie?”

“K.C told me the places where some of the women had disappeared—in alleys and dark places.” I turned the book around, looked at the reproduced newspaper headlines. Jack the Ripper had been a legend of sorts, I supposed. I read a little further; the author of the book said that Jack the Ripper had been the first real celebrity killer that the world had ever known. I wasn’t sure about that, but I guessed that the fact that over a hundred years later, and people still knew who he was meant that his status hadn’t diminished.

“So where does Rachel fit into this?” I asked.

“Well I don’t know how she’s involved, but your drag king friend might just have slipped up.” Tally got up, rummaged behind the screen next to the information desk. She held up a jacket. “When I asked him… I mean, her to leave, she got a bit upset. She tried to push me over, but I held on to her… his jacket before they ran off.” She passed it over to me. I held up the item of clothing; it was a nondescript grey jacket, nothing special. I searched the outer pockets; they were empty. However, the inside pocket held a single scrap of paper with the word, Reilly, written on it.

“Reilly?” I said out loud. “Is that what she calls herself when she’s a he?”

“Reilly, Reilly,” Tally muttered to herself. She swivelled her computer around to face me. She entered the name into Google. We both watched as several million entries sprang up across the screen.

“Maybe Reilly isn’t a someone—maybe it’s a some-when,” I offered.

Tally gave me a strange look. “Some-when?”

“Try entering Reilly and this year. Let’s see what comes up.”

Only a few entries popped up this time. Tally and I smiled in unison. I silently thanked my crazy Aunty Connie. Reilly’s was a club in Holborn that was re-opening this very day. It was strictly members-only. I had another clue. I patted Tally on the back as I stiffly rose to leave; every movement made my thighs and my arse hurt anew.

Tally caught my hand. She squeezed it. “This is bigger than the both of us, Jessie,” she said quietly. “You don’t have to go to that place.”

“I promised Yvonne.”

“Look, this isn’t the same as those cases in Victorian London. No bodies have been found. The missing women could all be okay.”

“Then where are they?” I asked. I dearly hoped that my friend could give me a simple straight answer.

“I don’t know,” Tally hissed, squeezing my hand harder. “Maybe they’re all on some kind of holiday for whores.”

I looked at her, kissed her lightly on the lips. “I’ll be careful.”

“You do that,” she replied, glancing away. The woman at the other end of the room stared at me until I walked out of the door.

Chapter Eight

Groped in Small Places, By Familiar Faces

Reilly’s stood poised in the middle of Kingsway, Holborn. The Art-Deco building was a modest size for the area, but it was grand indeed. The establishment oozed exclusivity. I felt a little worried; this was something from another time, when ladies and gentlemen would ruffle by in silks and furs. I practically heard the sweeping build of a Gershwin symphony as I stared at the imposing club.

Two door staff stood outside. The two women were dressed in smart black evening suits, but they both looked like they meant business. The first woman was quite a bit taller than her partner—she discreetly surveyed the area with a gaze that took in the busy streets and everything on it. The second woman bounced on the balls of her feet, smiling impishly at people as they walked quickly by.

I looked down at myself; although I’d had the good sense to go home to change my clothes before I’d set out, I knew that I was seriously underdressed. I smoothed the fabric of my only smart skirt, fixed the collar of my slightly worn blouse, and strode forward. The first bouncer glanced at me, instantly changing her position to face me. She smiled politely as she moved, but she was a six-foot plus wall of flesh who was not going to let me in, and we both knew it. The second bouncer also turned to face me. I faltered in my steps as I felt her wide blue eyes on me; the words, “Big bad wolf,” suddenly came to mind. She grinned down from her position on the step, and then she moved in front of her partner, standing a few inches from me.

“I’m here for…” I started

“No you’re not,” she said, baring white teeth.

“I’m, I am,” I stuttered like a fool. “I have an appointment.”

“No you don’t.”

“Paula,” the other bouncer warned, but she waved dismissively at her. She just kept on staring at me, or at my tits if I’m being honest. I instinctively crossed my arms over my chest.

“Aww don’t cover up, love,” Paula complained, leering at me.

My Aunty Connie always used to say that I should turn every dark look into a bright smile. So I lowered my hands, slowly pushed my breasts forward so they almost touched the front of Paula’s jacket. I flicked open two buttons, fingering a little above my cleavage.

“Paula,” I said softly, imploring her with my big brown eyes. “My ex is inside. My ex-girlfriend.”

“Now that’s a shame.”

“Paula!” the other bouncer snapped.

“Just let me hear her out, Lisa,” she replied without looking back at her partner. Paula moved fractionally closer to me. “Is your heart broken, love?”

I nodded, pouting a little. “I just want to give her back her ring.” I held up the finger that wore a little silver ring, Aunty Connie had given me. “I just want to be a free woman,” I said with meaning. “I want someone in my life who will appreciate me, you understand, don’t you?”

Paula nodded.

“You’re not letting her in, are you?” Lisa asked with a high-pitched voice.

Paula moved aside, motioning up the stairs, but as she directed me forward, she whispered, “I’d never let you go if you were my girl.” I heard the menace in her voice; it made me shiver. “And you’d never want to leave me.” I felt her hot breath on my neck as she continued; the wolf leer that made me tremble like I was her prey. “You be quick now,” she said in a more normal voice. “The Sisters don’t like anyone interrupting their fun.”

“Of course,” I said, wondering who the Sisters were. “Thank you, Paula. Lisa.” I nodded to the other bouncer.

Paula patted my bottom as I advanced up the stairs. “Come see me on your way out,” she called. “Don’t make me hunt you down.”

I walked even faster.

* * * *

Inside the lobby, I stood in the shadows for a moment. Dark lacquered wood sucked up the low light that shone from sculptured fittings. Deep, plush carpets swallowed my footsteps. I felt as if I could disappear.

I went to a woman on reception, but before I said anything, she sneered at me.

“The entrance for domestics is round the back,” she seethed. “Don’t let me catch you coming through the front door again.” I stared at her, shocked at the assumption. “Well, hop to it, girl,” she snapped. She indicated a small door marked, Private.

The door led to a long corridor. A line of lockers were situated against a wall. A pile of uniforms lay neatly stacked on a narrow table. I looked at the resources I had to work with. Why had Rachel taken everything? I could really have used the Ladybird book of detectives right about now. I swore to myself, looked around, and then I quickly undressed. The uniform, once on, looked like some kinky waitress outfit; it came to just below my arse. God help me if I had to bend over. I adjusted the uniform once more, tied the little apron around my waist. This disguise had better work.

There was another door at the end of the corridor. I creaked it open to see a large room across the hallway with a window set into the door. Waitresses bustled to and fro inside the space, carrying trays of food.

I took a breath, and headed out. I picked up a tray of canapés from a wide table; there were little swirls of yellow on some crackers, and little mounds of red on others. It was only when one of the waitresses exited the room, that I saw she was wearing a full black skirt. I peered into the room; all the staff wore skirts. I was basically only wearing the top half of the uniform.

I stood behind a large marble column outside of the room, peeping around to see what was going on inside the dining area. Four women surrounded a fifth who knelt on the floor with her head bowed. The women took turns to slap the kneeling woman in the face. The copper-red of the woman’s hair left me in no doubt that it was Rachel, but I didn’t understand why she was being put through this. An older woman sat at a table, calmly eating a plate of food. She stood up after a while.

“That’s enough for now. Everyone come and have some dinner,” she paused for a moment. “Apart from you, Agent.” The four women moved to join the older one at the table. Rachel crawled on her hands and knees to a corner near the door.

I tried to hide as several of the waitresses left the room, but as they did, they must have seen my arse sticking out from behind the column. Two women walked into each other, spilling the contents of their trays. I bent to help them without thinking, but this only caused another accident; a waitress behind me toppled sideways.

“Cover your backside, for goodness sake!” she cried out. “Didn’t they give you a skirt?” The waitress ran a hand over my thighs, which were still sensitive from Zoë’s efforts earlier in the day.

“Sorry, I’m new,” I said with a wince.

The door to the room opened once more. Rachel stuck her head out, looking annoyed. “Keep the noise down!” she ordered. But when she saw me, crouching on the floor with my reddened arse barely encased in my knickers, she stopped dead. “Jessie?” she asked. “Jessie!” she hissed, with her eyes growing wide. Rachel looked over her shoulder, and then she darted forward. “Oh God, oh God!” she jabbered. She pulled me up. “How did you find me? No don’t say anything.” She dragged me down the hallway towards the lifts. The lights on the outside of the elevator showed that a lift was coming; someone was already approaching. Rachel looked frantically around. “Can’t go this way,” she said with panic making her voice fast. Rachel yanked me backwards, down another corridor, and through a small door set in the side of the wall.

“In here.” She shoved me with force into what turned out to be a storage closet. We stood in the cramped space, barely big enough for the two of us.

“What are we doing?” I asked breathlessly.

“The Sisters can’t be allowed to find you here, Jessie.”

“Who are the Sisters?” I asked, thoroughly confused.

“How did you know where I was?”

“I found a clue,” I said proudly.

“So did your Ladybird book of detectives come in handy then?”

“It worked, didn’t it?” I said smugly.

Rachel sighed. “What are you doing here?”

“You robbed me. You took all my info, all my stuff. You owe me for a lost library book.”

“Will you forget about that silly thing?” she snapped.

“Just tell me what’s going on then,” I said with a challenge in my voice.

“I’m saving your bacon, Jessie.”

“You’re saving my bacon?” I repeated. “Well you have behaved like a pig.”

Rachel clutched the back of my head, kissed me slow and deep; her tongue ran along my teeth, and then she sucked at me, drawing my tongue into her mouth. I felt myself becoming lost inside her. I wanted to be angry this time. I wanted to tell her to stop kissing me, but I couldn’t. I’ve never made any bones about being a complete slut; I was really enjoying this. My hands pulled her even closer in the cramped space. I opened my legs, wedged her thigh to me, so I could rub my crotch against her.  A tin of paint fell from the shelf above us, falling to the floor noisily. We both froze.

“Do you think anyone heard that?” I asked, running my fingers over the zipper of Rachel’s smart black trousers. She arched towards me, moaning lightly. I ran the tip of my finger with more pressure, feeling the outline of her pussy through the material. But at that moment, the door to the storage room flew open. Paula stood in the square of light, looking at the scene in horror.

“I thought you were breaking up with her?” she asked with a squeak in her voice.

Rachel looked at me, and then back at Paula. She stood straighter as she addressed the bouncer. “What is your role here tonight?” she asked Paula, with a voice I hadn’t heard before, or even thought her capable of having. Rachel sounded like she was a commander in the Royal Navy.

Paula looked down for a moment. “I’m here to secure the well-being of all agents,” she muttered.

Rachel sneered at the bouncer. “Is that all?”

“No, ma’am. I’m here to serve the Sisterhood.”

“Good woman. Now return to your duties.”

Paula shot me a wounded look, but she turned and walked away quickly.

“We’ve got a few minutes before the others come looking.”

“What the hell was that about?” I asked, gazing with shock at Rachel, who had reverted to her old self.

“Are we going to stand here all day, or do you want to get out of this place?”

“Tell me why I should trust you?” I asked with all seriousness.

“If we don’t leave right now, the other Sisters will find you. You do not want them to find you.”

“Why?”

“Because you’ll disappear just like the others. Only this time it will be for good.” Rachel held my hand. We ran out through the domestic entrance around the back.

Chapter Nine

Sex and Hot Chocolate

Rachel hailed a cab once we were a little distance from Reilly’s. We sat in silence as we travelled from Central London to Plaistow where I lived. The cab driver kept looking at me in his rear-view mirror as we drove home; I tried tugging my micro-outfit down, but I had no chance in hiding my knickers. After a long drive, the colourful well-heeled streets of London’s West-End gave way to the drab areas of East London. Gone were the restaurants and boutiques, the theatres and galleries. I looked around at takeaway outlets, battered community spaces, and closed-down shops, sitting with boards over the windows. This was the London where I lived.

Rachel paid the driver, and then I led the way to my home. I waited until the door to my apartment shut behind us before I said a word to her.

“I’m going to ask you some questions, and you are going to answer me.”

“Don’t you want to put some more clothes on?” Rachel indicated my bare thighs.

“Where are the missing women?” I pushed Rachel to my sofa against the wall. “What is the Sisterhood?” I paced in front of her. “Why were you watching me, dressed as a bloke?” I knelt down between her legs. “What has this got to do with Jack the Ripper?”

Rachel’s face went pale. She made a move to get up, but I stopped her with a gentle hand to her chest. She felt so good. I wished that we had met under different circumstances.

“Don’t.” Her voice was a warning.

“Don’t what?” I asked. “Don’t ask questions? Don’t touch you?”

Rachel sagged back against the orange cushions. Her pretty blue eyes welled up. “I’m the worst agent the Sisterhood ever had,” she said sadly. “You’re not trained in any way shape or form, but you found me. You know the right questions to ask.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, suddenly looking very small. “I don’t deserve to be an agent.”

“Agent?”

“We are agents, retrievers, sisters and seekers. We are the Sisterhood,” she recited.

“None of what you say makes any kind of sense, Rachel.” I traced a tear with my fingertip, bringing the drop to my mouth. “My friend, Yvonne went missing.”

“I know.”

“Along with seven other women.”

“It’s twelve now,” she whispered, looking up at me hesitantly.

“And you say you’re some kind of a secret agent?” Rachel nodded. “Who ordered that bouncer around like she was nothing?”

“No-one outside the Sisterhood is important. The bouncer was hired help, that’s all. And she was useless hired help if she let you in.”

My temper flared at that. “So Yvonne is meaningless, is she?”

“Converts are different.”

“Converts?”

“The fallen women—we call them converts,” she explained.

“Fallen? What kind of a thing is that to call them?”

“Would you prefer it if I said, Whore? Harlot? Come-sucking filth?” Rachel snapped, with blue eyes narrowed.

I raised the back of my hand, but Rachel managed to stop me from hitting her, by using a fancy move on my wrist.

“Yvonne is my friend,” I said through gritted teeth.

“Who sold her body for money?”

“And that’s the end of it right?” I tried to tug my hand away, but Rachel kept hold of it in a firm grip.

“She will have a better life, thanks to the Sisterhood.” Rachel released my hand.

I stood and walked to the kitchen, switching on the light as I entered. A huge grey moth fluttered around my head until I batted it away. I switched the light off; it was still bright, plus I didn’t want that nasty thing fluttering around the bulb all evening. I felt irritated to within an inch of my life. I poured a glass of water, took a little sip. Rachel came up behind me, without making the slightest noise on the tiled floor. I saw her reflection in the silver surface of the taps; just a little bit closer…

I span, throwing the remaining water right at the agent. Rachel spluttered, holding her soaked blouse away from herself.

“What was that for?” she screeched with surprise.

“Get out,” I said. My face felt hot; I knew I was shaking with rage. Rachel looked at me, her lips trembling. “Go on. Go back to your Sisters. You don’t want to be associating with a whore now, do you?”

Rachel brushed herself down, trembling visibly. “You are not a whore.”

“And you are probably not an agent anymore.”

Rachel froze at my words.

“I’m thinking the others would have realised that you’re gone by now. I’m thinking that the bouncer has told them where you were last seen, and with whom.” I leaned back on the counter top. “I’m thinking that you can’t go back to your sisters, without finding yourself in a heap of trouble.” I paused to let my words sink in. “Maybe the worst agent in the Sisterhood might disappear too.”

Rachel crumpled to the floor, shaking.

“You’re right,” she said, glaring at me with red-rimmed eyes. “But you need me.”

I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”

I reached into my small cupboard, and pulled a loaf of bread out that I’d made a few days ago. I cut myself a slice; it was a little stale, but I was ravenous. “I don’t need the worst agent out there.”

Rachel leapt up. She grabbed the knife from my hand, and she threw it against my kitchen door in an impressively smooth motion. The knife lay buried in the wood, wavering slightly. I carefully inched past her, went to the door and saw, with some degree of amazement, that a moth was impaled upon it.

“You need me,” she said.

* * * *

Before bed I made myself a mug of hot chocolate. Rachel looked so pathetic that I had to give her some too. She gratefully hugged the warm cup to her before drinking.

“When I saw you at Reilly’s,” I began. “I saw those other women slapping you. It looked like you were getting punished for something. Want to tell me what that was all about?”

Rachel shot me a look, but after a little while, her face softened.

“Agents Cynthia and Heather had both received top marks in their exams—they tied first place in the South-East region.”

“Agents have exams?”

Rachel nodded. “They’ll no doubt go on to train others.” Her voice held barely restrained jealousy.

“How much training do you need to slap someone about?” I asked, not understanding things at all.

“I needed to apply myself more, concentrate on my duties.”

I simply looked at her. “Whatever you say, mate.”

Rachel wiped the chocolate moustache that lay over her top lip.  “It didn’t hurt, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’m not.”

“So you’re not going to give me a speech about standing up to big bad bullies?” she asked in a singsong voice.

I downed the last of my drink. “You won’t be the first person to enjoy a beating. There’s nothing wrong in getting off from pain.” I leaned in to whisper in her ear. “But Yvonne, and all those other women didn’t ask for any of that.”

* * * *

We went to bed. Well I went to bed. Rachel went to the sofa after I gave her another mug of hot chocolate. The knife-throwing agent was still weeping somewhat when I switched off the lights, but I was far too tired to care. I thought about my crazy Aunty Connie, and what it must be like to be living in another strange world where dead people played video games all day long. I held up the ring on my finger; the simple silver band that she had given me. I couldn’t see the inscription in the darkness of my room, but I knew it was there. The words, “To my special girl,” were etched on the outside of the ring. What was she doing now up in heaven, I wondered, if it was heaven at all? Did Bob Marley really pop by for a quick game of Tetris, or did he prefer the more violent games as my Aunty did? The lyrics of one of his tunes played through my mind. Redemption song, was one of my parent’s favourite tracks. My whole family had been big fans of Reggae music—old school of course. I was glad they hadn’t lived to see reggae turn into the horror it was currently, with “Murder Music” being so popular. I tried to remember how the old song went:

Old pirates, yes, they rob I;

Sold I to the merchant ships,

Minutes after they took me

From the bottomless pit.

But my hand was made strong

By the hand of the almighty.

We forward in this generation

Triumphantly.

Wont you help to sing

These songs of freedom? -

Cause all I ever have:

Redemption songs.

The words struck me as I hummed in the dark. My friend was still out there, snatched off the streets, and stuck in some unknown place. She was considered a whore, so the police and the Sisterhood didn’t seem to care. There were more similarities with Jack the Ripper than Tally knew; hundreds of years later I could read books about the killer, but where were the books about his victims? People needed redeeming, and it wasn’t just the sex workers either.

I started as my bed dipped under a new weight—Rachel climbed up to me. I reluctantly lifted the blanket: she scurried inside without hesitation, and then she held me. I felt the wetness of her face against my breasts.

“I’m sorry for what I said earlier,” I mumbled into her hair, feeling suddenly guilty. “I’m sure you’re not really the worst agent out there.”

“Oh but I am,” Rachel said simply. “We have league tables and everything; I was placed last this year, as I have been every year since I joined.”

“What is the Sisterhood, really?” I hoped I could get a clear answer this time.

Rachel sighed, snuggling closer to me. “We are agents, retrievers, sisters and seekers.”

“What does that mean?”

“Let me tell you a story,” she whispered. “More than a hundred years ago, a great queen ruled a massive empire.”

“Queen Victoria?” I guessed out loud.

“That’s right. It was a time of great change, where fortunes could be made for those who knew how, however for those without an education, for those without a good family name, things were not so easy.”

“I can imagine.”

“Poor women did what they had done through all time; they debased themselves for money.”

“Are we going to have the ‘come-sucking filth’ talk again?” I asked, but Rachel seemed to ignore me, lost in her own fairytale world.

“There were a group of wealthy ladies from families of merit, who wanted to make things better for those forced into that trade.”

“Rachel…”

“In those days, prostitutes were not just grown women, but little girls too. The original sisters wanted to put a stop to it, but they were thwarted at every turn. So they took matters into their own hands. They banded together, and formed the Sisterhood of Cuthbert. They snatched women off the streets in the worst cases, and they placed them in houses far from any threat.”

“What?” I squeaked with disbelief.

“The sisters trained the women with new skills, gave each one a little money, and then they sent them back out into the world to be useful members of society.”

“Are you joking?”

“This is the history of the Sisterhood—you said you wanted to know what it was. I’m telling you.”

“Okay,” I said, still not believing what I was being told.

“In turn, the converts, the women who were once fallen, gave a tithe back to the Sisterhood every month. They supported each other, as all good women must.”

“So how come no one ever heard of it?” I asked.

“Secrecy is of the utmost importance to the Sisterhood.”

“Not one of the women spoke about what happened?” As much as I called myself a feminist, I knew that women loved to talk and gossip. There was no way this could have remained hushed up for so long.

“Well we put the converts in foreign countries, places where they would have trouble being understood in the first place.”

I sat up in bed. “You’re telling me that Yvonne is in another country?”

“Probably.”

“How do we get her back?” My voice had become high-pitched.

“We can’t.”

“Yes we can. Tell me where she was sent.” I suddenly wanted to get out of bed.

“I don’t know. I’m telling you the truth, Jessie. These new disappearances should never have happened. I tried to find out what was going on, but I was warned by my Sister to not interfere.”

“Bloody hell! So how does this tie in with Jack the Ripper?”

Rachel squeezed me tightly at that. “We don’t ever speak of him.”

I tried disentangling the agent from me, but whenever I moved one hand, she would grip somewhere else with her free arms and even her legs. I decided to let her freak out in her own particular way for a moment.

“Okay, I won’t speak about him,” I soothed. Rachel relaxed her hold on me. “Did you ever snatch someone off the streets?” I just had to know.

Rachel nodded her head against my breasts. “I hated being an agent, but if I didn’t comply and use my training, I’d be finished.” She sighed before she continued. “I took a woman from her own home in Manchester, six months ago.”

“From her own home?” I echoed, confused.

“She was working as a dominatrix from her apartment. She was the last one I took, I promise.”

“And you decided to just take her?” I was fuming.

Rachel shook her head. “Seekers find potential converts, and then they tell us where to go.”

“Seekers?”

“Agents, retrievers, sisters and seekers,” she recited.

“Wow, you’ve got everything covered, haven’t you?” I said with a whistle.

“It’s an arrangement that has worked for over a hundred years.”

“Why not just leave?” I asked, trying to picture what Rachel must be like in action.

“Women don’t just leave the Sisterhood.”

“Someone must have, even if it was only one. What if they broke the rules or something like that?”

“There are only two rules: don’t reveal the secret, and don’t fall.”

“Fall?” I repeated.

“Don’t contribute to prostitution.”

“What would happen if someone did become a prostitute?” I asked, curious.

“No one would,” Rachel replied without hesitation.

“Okay, what if someone paid for sex?” I pressed.

“It would mean an instant dismissal.”

“Then do that. Give me some money—I won’t turn you down, plus I’ll give you a killer orgasm. You can leave then, happy, satisfied and free.”

“You don’t understand, Jessie. I was born to do this. The eldest daughter of the family has the duty to become an agent.”

“Duty isn’t everything.”

“It is where I’m from. I was prepared for this all of my life. My mum and dad never allowed me to date—they never allowed me to get too close to my few friends in case I was distracted from my destiny.”

“Wow, that’s rough.” I couldn’t imagine that kind of life. When my folks died, Aunty Connie made sure my life didn’t suffer--she took me with her to crazy festivals, protests and demos that she would get herself involved in. There was always plenty of fun and plenty of affection too.

“I had to hide everything,” Rachel continued. “My whole existence was secrets and more secrets. My first girlfriend was another agent—we could never just hold hands, we could never touch in public. Our first sexual encounter was during a power-cut.”

“A power-cut?”

“Yes. Anastasia was a genius with electrics—she set the whole thing up to look like an accidental power failure. She was a genius with a lot of things,” Rachel said a little sadly.

“You can always change,” I soothed. “Nothing is set in stone, Rachel.”

Even if I could go against my family’s disapproval, there’s something else.”

“What else could there be after all you’ve told me?” Could this get any worse?

“Retrievers,” Rachel whispered. I felt her shudder as she spoke.

“The dogs? Golden Retrievers?”

“Retrievers are part of the sisterhood. They are women whom every agent fears,” Rachel said in a hushed voice.

“Why?”

“Because they don’t bring back converts,” she gulped. “They bring back us.”

“Shit,” I said without thinking. “But you know so much. You’re pretty handy with a knife too.”

“None of that will help with Retrievers. They are the most secret part of the secret society—no agent knows what they look like, but every agent knows what they are capable of.”

“This is just getting better and better isn’t it?” I asked with unnecessary sarcasm.

“We need to sleep. Whatever happens, we’ll need to be at our freshest to face it.”

“Cheers, mate,” I drawled. “I won’t get a drop of rest, now I’m expecting some cyborg woman to turn up and finish me off.”

“Retrievers are flesh and blood, Jessie. But they are special flesh and rare blood. They are the knife and the wound.”

“You’re not making things any better, you know?” Now I imagined a cyborg with a knife that dripped blood.

Rachel stroked her hand over my breasts. My nipples woke up and stood to attention. I pulled Rachel to me, curving her around so she was nestled on top of me.

“Let me make it better. Let me make you come,” she whispered in my ear.

I wasn’t about to argue with that, especially when she gently bit down on my nipples, first one and then the other. Her head moved lower; she dotted kisses and licks all over my stomach. I parted my legs, and she dove right inside, spreading my labia with her thumbs. The first lick she made over my clitoris had me howl with pleasure. She was a talented soul; I wondered if she had learnt all of her clit-sucking skills from the Sisterhood. Rachel ran her mouth over my sticky pussy, licking in earnest all over. I gripped her hair, pushing her down when she tried to rise up. She made a strange noise, a little happy whine that let me know I’d done something right. Her tongue flicked the underside of my clit; a spot I don’t usually touch as it’s extremely tender. I felt incredibly sensitive as she continued to work me over with her mouth. Soon I was bucking off the bed. Rachel pulled my clitoris, which had grown in size, into her wet mouth, sucking me off in the most delightful way. I thrust up against her face when I came, and then I hauled her up my body to kiss her, taking every last trace of my wetness from her lips.

We fell asleep properly after that. Soft reggae music serenaded my dreams.

Chapter Ten

I Love a Nice Bottom in the Morning

Night turned into day. I awoke with Rachel in my arms, curled up on me. I looked down at the sleeping agent, wondering what kind of existence she must have. Secret societies and weird-ass Sisterhoods had no place in my life. I just wanted Yvonne back safe. I wanted things to get back to normal, or as normal as it ever got for me. I hadn’t looked at a course book in days. I knew my studies were going to suffer because of this mess.

Rachel awoke, fluttering her lovely blue eyes as she focused on me. She smiled at me, kissed me on the cheek. I felt my skin begin to tingle as she yawned and stretched beside me. My body started responding in ways that meant that we could both easily stay in bed all day.

“Let’s get up, eh?” I asked, and then I rolled out of bed. Rachel was affecting me too much. I couldn’t afford to get too attached to someone like her. I locked myself in the bathroom as I had my shower. When I exited, Rachel was already in the kitchen, making coffee.

“We have to go to the Police.” I tugged and pulled my carving knife out of my kitchen door; it came away with effort. The landlady would kill me if she knew what was happening in her property.

Rachel stood by the wall near the window, but not directly in front of it. She angled the lid of a saucepan to reflect the scene outside. “The police cannot be trusted. Agents and Retrievers could be anywhere.”

“You don’t have to trust them. Just tell them what you know.” I wouldn’t wish the staff of Limehouse nick on my worst enemy, but this whole situation was just beyond me. I found missing cats, not missing people.

“The Sisterhood has existed for more than a hundred years. They won’t take kindly to you making their private matters public,” Rachel said with a frown.

There was a slapping noise from the front door. I recognized the sound of my mail arriving on the doormat, but Rachel looked freaked.

“Don’t go,” she said when I made a move to collect it. I ignored her, walked to the door, but as I did, she scooted in front of me and blocked my way. “I said, don’t go out there. You don’t know what Retrievers are capable of.”

“Get out of my way, agent,” I snarled, feeling riled for no good reason. Rachel froze when I addressed her that way. She lowered her head, looking sheepish. “This is my home,” I continued. “You are a guest here. You do not tell me what to do—it’s the other way around, in fact.”

Rachel hesitantly looked at me. She nodded, and then stepped aside.

“I’m sorry.”

I stared at her for a moment, my mind coming up with some seriously messed-up plans. I fetched my post. My exciting mail consisted of junk, more junk, and a letter from my University asking me to take part in a student survey. I flung the letters on the kitchen table.

Rachel was still standing in the same position I’d left her in.

“You’re strange, you know that?” I commented as I poured myself some coffee. “Strength doesn’t work on you.” I took a sip of the hot brew. “But if I just tell you what to do, you’ll do it.”

“I don’t think…” she began.

“Did I tell you to speak, Agent?” I said mildly, not even looking up at her. Everyone has their kinks. It was cruel of me to take advantage of Rachel’s, but part of me wanted payback for the stupid book she’d stolen, for not being honest with me about her crazy organization, and for being such a smart woman who was a mindless drone in her duties.

“Go to the bedroom.”

“Jessie, we haven’t got time for this,” she said with a pleading lilt to her voice.

“Kneel at the foot of the bed.”

“I said…”

I shot her a look. It was a look that I’d seen Zoë give me many times before. I understood why the library manager used it now. Rachel’s mouth hung open. She nodded, and then she scurried away. If there was a Retriever out there looking to bring us both in, I may as well have some fun beforehand. There was no way I’d be able to outrun or outsmart someone like that, so why even bother getting stressed about it? The thought of Rachel obediently doing whatever I said had little to do with it.

Rachel was kneeling at the bottom of my bed, as requested. I didn’t request her to be naked, or to sit with her hands linked behind her back with her head bowed. I appreciated her interpretation of my order. I sat on the edge of the bed. I patted my thighs. Rachel looked up, blue eyes dilated almost to black.

“Over my knees, agent,” I commanded. Rachel stepped up to me; her juicy breasts jiggled a little as she moved. I licked my lips, and I also thanked God an awful lot in the few seconds it took her to get to me. I was one lucky woman. Rachel draped herself over my thighs, bracing her hands against the cheap carpet. I inhaled her warm scent as her arse cheeks parted a little. I brought my hand down on her backside, and this time she didn’t stop me. She quivered like a jelly, and I don’t just mean her arse, but her whole body shook. I slapped her some more, a quick flurry of thwacks that were light at first, but more solid as time progressed.

“I want to hear you count, agent.” I bit the words out loud. I slapped her hard.

Rachel took a shallow breath, before breathing, “One.”

I slapped her again. “Didn’t they teach you anything at that fancy Sisterhood of yours?” I slapped her; she wriggled a little, panting.

“One, Ma’am. Thank you, Ma’am. May I have another?” her voice was tight and breathless.

Okay, maybe they had taught her something after all. I slapped her delicious arse again.

“Two, Ma’am, thank you, Ma’am. May I have another?”

I wasn’t about to get tired of this. I spanked her until she got to twenty; a round satisfying number. Rachel started humping my legs toward the end of it.

I could see wetness trickle down her thighs, and the sight made me remember how Rachel had squirted on our first night together. I grabbed a clutch of Rachel’s hair, bringing her head up to me.

“Up on the bed.”

Rachel slid off me, leaving a wet streak on my jeans. She knelt on the bed, arse up in the air. As inviting as her pose looked, I wanted something else from the agent.

“Lie on your back. I want to see you touch yourself,” I ordered, wondering if she would go through with this. I was pushing her an awful lot.

“Ma’am?” she asked, looking confused and a little afraid.

“I want to watch you masturbate,” I said slowly. “Wank. Jerk off.”

Rachel hesitantly put her slender fingers between her legs. I knew her whole groin was probably tingling from the spanks I’d administered. She flinched a little when her fingers disappeared between the copper-haired folds of her pussy. We locked eyes as she rubbed herself.

“I want to see you,” I said gently. Rachel’s legs widened. I watched, impressed as she worked herself into a frenzy; pinching her clit, fingering her vagina. She started making panting high-pitched sounds.

“Hold it,” I said, aware of how rough my voice had become. I knelt over her, and then I brought my hand down on her pussy in a stinging slap. Rachel groaned out loud, a half pain-half pleasurable sound. I spanked her three times, before I stepped back.

“Continue.”

Rachel’s hand gingerly returned to her crotch. She massaged her pussy, hissing and grunting as she moved. I knew she was close, but I didn’t realise quite how much; she gritted her teeth, and then ejected a stream of come as she shook on the bed. I had to duck slightly to avoid getting hit right in the face by it. She was truly an impressive woman.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered breathlessly. “I can’t help it.”

I saw the look of worry on her face. I rushed over to her, holding her in a comforting embrace.

“You did great, Agent. I’m really proud of you.”

I didn’t expect her to burst into tears at that, but she did. “You mean it?” she sobbed.

I nodded. “You are amazing. Very talented.”

Rachel looked at me with red-rimmed eyes. “No one’s ever said that before,” she whispered. “No one’s ever been proud of me.”

My heart sank. “Well I’m telling you now. You are stunning.” I smiled at her, though I felt like a complete heel for putting her through that. I reached over to my dresser, where an old green necklace sat. I placed the necklace over her head.

“Agent, Rachel,” I said with my most grown-up voice. “For courage and valour in the face of a stern spanking.” I kissed her on both of her cheeks. “I award you the glass necklace of bravery.”

“Thank you, Jessie,” she said, giggling, and then she buried her face to me. “I’ll clean up the mess. I promise.”

“We’ll do that later.”

“Please don’t go to the Police.”

I sighed. Rachel was probably right; they had been useless before. I doubted they would believe us with the new information we had.

“Look, why don’t you freshen up, and I’ll take you out to breakfast?”

Rachel got up gingerly. I watched her make her way to the bathroom, admiring my handprint on her arse. I was sorry that she’d been treated poorly before, but I’m still a pervert, regardless.

* * * *

We went to East Ham, to a greasy spoon café, where we ate a full English breakfast. We entwined fingers as we ate; call it making up for lost time if you will. I sincerely hoped that the Retriever wouldn’t come for us now, because I’d be too full of good food to run.

Rachel finished eating, and then she took a pill, knocking it back with a glass of water. “It’s just a supplement,” she explained with a shrug. I doubted that somehow. With everything Rachel had told me, I still knew very little about her.

I saw a flyer on the café advertising the twice-yearly East London book fair, which was being held in a venue in Whitechapel. I remembered Tally had said something about going there, to help out on a stall for a Feminist magazine she occasionally contributed articles to.

“Let’s go there,” I suggested.

“To Whitechapel?” Rachel looked uncomfortable.

“My friend will be there. She’s chock-full of information—she might be able to help.”

“I’m not a fan of that area,” Rachel muttered.

“We should be okay in crowded places, shouldn’t we?”

“It’s not that,” she said refusing to meet my eyes.

“What is it?”

“Whitechapel is a bit of a special place for the Sisters—we’re not really supposed to even go there. It is where some bad things happened, a long time ago. But it’s also the place where the Sisterhood was born.”

“You mean with Jack the Ripper?” I kicked myself; Rachel seemed to go frozen solid whenever I mentioned that. “It’s the twenty-first century. You’re safe from villains like him.”

Rachel bit her lip. “You can always go back to my flat if you like. You don’t have to come with me.”

She shook her head. “I’ll be okay.”

We took the District Line from East Ham Underground station. The unspectacular areas of the East End of London whizzed by until the train went below the ground at Mile End station. I was grateful for the sun that greeted us as we arrived at Whitechapel. We walked down the High Street, along cobbled roads that led to Brick Lane. Near the old Truman’s brewery was a disused storehouse where the East London book fair was being held. Thrash-metal music blasted out from speakers as we paid our entrance fee.

Inside the fair, dozens of trestle tables were spread out, each holding homemade zines, fold-out booklets that doubled as tube maps, handmade patches and badges, and a few stalls selling cakes. The guys from Pogo Café were in attendance, happily reading some of the literature for sale. Even though I was stuffed, I still bought myself a slice of their mango cake. I murmured happily to myself as I scoffed the lot, licking bright yellow icing from my fingers. I liked having my cake, and eating it too.

I felt Rachel’s presence behind me; a nice warm shadow that made me grin to myself. I spotted an orange Mohican plume of hair in the distance. I watched as Tally and her jailbait girlfriend moved closer on their seats. Tally looked so content--she closed her eyes as Grace leaned over for a kiss. I felt for my friend; she had no need to change the way she looked to make anyone like her, but I had to admit that her new appearance had given her a new lease of life and vitality. Grace snuck an arm beneath Tally’s shirt, pulling her closer as their kissed deepened. I strained my eyes to see Grace’s fingers on their way to my friend’s nipples. Grace licked along her neck, whilst pulling on Tally’s breasts. Tally arched forward, eyes still closed. I watched as her shirt tented with the movement of the younger woman’s talented hands. Grace stared intently at Tally, who was now moving in a more obvious way, with eyes fluttering. I turned to the side; I’d watched women having down-and-dirty sex before, but seeing my friend like this made me feel incredibly self-conscious. I glanced back to Rachel; she was looking around nervously.

“Let’s talk to your friend,” she said, pointing to where Tally sat, now with her arm slung over Grace’s shoulder. She looked like a well-satisfied cat.

We had to take a slightly longer route around the edge of the room; they’d packed in so many tables that we could barely move. I passed one stall that sold bags made from recycled materials, where two women groped each other with abandon. I vaguely recognised them as two of the three women I’d seen in the loos at the Locker Room. The women looked up and smiled at me as I squeezed by.

“Weren’t there three of you last time?” I asked in a friendly voice.

“Cassie is late—we thought we’d start without her.”

When she said that, something in me went very still. I glanced at Rachel, who also looked uncomfortable.

“How late is she?” I asked, aware that my voice was only above a whisper.

“She’ll turn up,” the butch woman answered, and then she resumed kissing her friend. I hoped that she was right. I hoped another woman hadn’t been snatched.

Tally looked up as we approached, her eyes widening in surprise as she spotted Rachel.

“You!” she spat, standing up to face her off.

“Calm down, mate,” I whispered. “She’s okay.”

“You sure?” Tally didn’t look convinced, but she sat down eventually. “Hey, Grace,” she addressed her friend. “Do you think you could get me a coffee?” Grace looked at us all, but she nodded, and walked away.

“Where’s Yvonne?” Tally asked Rachel with a hint of aggression in her voice.

“I don’t know.”

“Why did you bring her here?” Tally asked me, looking pissed.

“We need to talk. I need to ask you some stuff.”

“I’ll just make myself scarce too,” Rachel muttered. She slunk away to the small paved-over garden outside.

“I told you to be careful,” Tally hissed.

“Rachel is part of something called the Sisterhood of Cuthbert. Does that name ring any bells?”

“So is that why you wanted to see me?” she snapped. “Why didn’t you just look on Wikipedia?”

“Because we both know they don’t have the info that you have in your thick, orange, Mohican-haired skull!”

Tally blew out a puff of air. “Saint Cuthbert brought Christianity to the British Isles. He lived on the island of Lindisfarne, out in the middle of the North Sea.”

“Really?”

“I thought you were at University?” she asked sarcastically.

“I’m studying Business and Finance.”

“Okay,” she sighed. “I knew that. Anyway, have you heard of the Illuminated Manuscripts?”

“Sure I have—fancy painted books with gold and stuff on them.”

“Well, Saint Cuthbert started that off. There are some in the British Museum I think.”

We looked at each other, both screwing up our faces.

I finally shook my head. “He doesn’t sound like our guy.”

“I agree.” She sounded tired.

“You showed me a book on Jack the Ripper at the library. Every time I mention him, Rachel goes weird.”

“That’s because she’s following in his bloody footsteps.”

“Tally!” I didn’t know what had got her in this mood, but I wished she would stop.

 “Tell me more about the Sisterhood,” Tally asked with a low voice. By the time I’d told her what I knew, her face had grown dark.

“You see that woman over there?” she nodded discreetly to someone I recognised, who worked at my University as a technician, fixing printers and photocopiers.

“Yeah, I know her. Her name is Zelda, I think.” The short African woman thumbed through a worn copy of a magazine.

“She got thrown out of the library for defacing a book on Jack the Ripper—it was an expensive book too, a rare and old copy,” Tally whispered.

“Bloody hell.”

“I’m responsible for filing information of patrons who receive an outright ban. I remember her info was real interesting.”

“How?”

Zelda looked up, smiled at me, but her smile faded a little when she saw Tally.

“It was fake. Zelda Smith lived in a street that didn’t exist. Her age and her ethnic origin on the membership forms didn’t match her at all. Everything about it was lies, but lazy lies of someone who couldn’t be bothered. Since she was never coming back, I didn’t bother raising it with Zoë.”

Zelda looked away from us, but then her eyes grew wide with surprise. I followed her gaze. Rachel stood in front of her, looking equally shocked. Zelda’s chair scraped against the floor as she leapt up. She ran out of the hall with speed, barging past people. Rachel looked at me for a second before she gave chase.

I ran out of the old building, past the surprised-looking man taking money on the front gate. I jogged past Grace, who was dancing alone to the fast-paced music blaring from the stereo. I barely had time to appreciate her moves before I sped forward.

I caught up to the two women outside. Rachel had cornered Zelda in an empty yard a little way down the street. Gravel scrunched beneath my feet as I skidded to a halt.

“Convert,” Rachel soothed. “I’m not here for you.”

Zelda glanced at me as I breathlessly entered the space; she looked ready to bolt.

“I haven’t done anything,” she implored Rachel. “I’ve been good. I’ve never tried to contact my family.”

“It’s okay,” I called out, laying a hand on Rachel’s shoulder. “We aren’t going to hurt you.”

“Please don’t send me away again. Please don’t send me to the workhouse,” Zelda pleaded, with wild eyes.

“Workhouse?” Rachel repeated. “Convert, what are you talking about?”

Zelda looked even more nervous than previously. “I’ve been a good girl.”

“Convert!” Rachel barked.

“The workhouse. Where we get sent if we fall once more.”

“What is she on about, Rachel?” I looked between the two women.

Rachel stepped aside, waved Zelda out of the yard. “Off with you, Convert.” The woman inched past us, and then she ran farther away down Brick Lane.

“What is the workhouse?” I didn’t like the sound of it, whatever it was.

“Oh, god,” Rachel sighed.

“Talk to me, agent,” I ordered. Rachel looked at me, with anger making her blue eyes flash.

“In the early days of the Sisterhood, they used to send women to a workhouse.”

“Which is?”

“A place where they used them as slave labour—it was for the worst repeat offenders,” Rachel muttered.

“Shit.”

“They don’t use that sort of thing nowadays,” she said shaking her head.

I didn’t know if she were trying to convince herself or me. “Oh really?”

“Yes, really,” she snapped.

Tally came trotting into the yard. She held up a rough piece of wood menacingly. “What’s going on?”

“I was learning a little more about the Sisterhood,” I drawled. “And how they like to use the snatched women as slave labour.”

“You’re kidding?” Tally seemed mortified.

I looked at Rachel, but she glared at me. “That was a long time ago,” she explained. “The Sisterhood has changed over the years. Zelda is a prime example of that.”

“She didn’t look like a prime example of anything,” Tally muttered as she sat down on a small concrete block.

“Zelda was one of my first converts. Her family had forced her into prostitution when she was a teenager. We saved her from that. We educated her, and now thanks to the Sisterhood, she has a good job in your University. She would never have survived without people like me.”

“Where is Zelda from?” I asked, remembering what Rachel had told me about the transplanted women.

“She’s from Uganda.”

“And you snatched her off the streets and brought her here?”

“I didn’t snatch Zelda. I was just responsible for settling her in London. I gave her a new identity.”

“A crappy identity,” Tally spoke up.

“And how many lives have you saved, Miss punk rocker?” Rachel bit the words out.

Tally got up, strode forward. I stood between the two women.

“This isn’t going to solve anything.” Tally and Rachel glared at each other. Tally stepped back after a few moments.

“So, Rachel,” she said with a false calm. “What do you know about Jack the Ripper?”

“Tally,” I growled.

“Hello, ladies.” A new voice interrupted us. I turned to see Special Constable Erica and her partner standing at the entrance to the yard. The volunteer policewoman stood with thick hands on her solid hips. “We keep meeting in the most interesting places,” she said in an annoyingly cheerful voice. “I just got a report of a disturbance here—a woman being surrounded by two others. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

“Haven’t you got anything better to do?” Tally asked the policewomen in a mocking tone. She was going to make things worse if she didn’t get a handle on her fiery temper.

“We were just having a chat, officer,” Rachel said brightly, switching on her most convincing smile. “You’re doing a first-class job though. I’ll make sure to tell your supervisor about it.”

Erica paled a little at the veiled threat. “Keep this area clear,” she snapped. The big constable turned to leave, but then she called out over her shoulder. “I’ll be watching you.”

Chapter Eleven

Sex-Starved Policewomen on the Prowl

I knew it had been too easy. The special constable swaggered away from us, whistling a discordant tune. When I turned back to Tally and Rachel, the two women were glaring at each other.

“I think we’d better get out of here,” I suggested.

Tally fished into her back pocket. She threw a little key at me. “Jessie, you go to my place. Stay as long as you need to.”

I flushed with gratitude. “You don’t have to, Tally.”

“I know,” she said with a gentle smile. “Just stay clear of any strange women, okay?”

“Thanks.” I held out my hand to Rachel, but Tally glared at me once she saw the agent was coming with me.

“She’s not invited.”

“She hasn’t got anywhere else to go,” I explained, wearily. I was getting fed up with all of this competitive bullshit.

“And I care because?” Tally addressed Rachel with a sneer.

“Tally, please.”

Tally threw up her hands. “Fine, I’ll stay with Grace for a bit. It will give me a chance to get to know her better.”

“I saw her by the front gate, dancing away.”

“Yeah, she is a bit of a dervish. She just loses herself in the music.” Tally said with a big grin. “I’m definitely getting my bi-points back with her.”

“Good luck with your dancing queen,” I said with a smile, happy that something was working out for one of us. We gave each other a big hug.

“Good luck to you too, Jessie.” Tally looked at Rachel meaningfully.

* * * *

Rachel and I walked in the direction of Aldgate tube station. Rachel looked fidgety and nervous as we descended the pedestrian subway that led below Whitechapel High Street. The smell of piss was overwhelming, the dirty shadows were menacing. The drunken yobs were plentiful. We were about to round a corner, when Rachel held out her hand, stopping me in my tracks. She held a finger to her lips.

We didn’t have to wait long before Special Constable Erica came into view. The solid policewoman moved like a predator in the gloom of the tunnel. I really would hate to run into her on a dark night; she looked like she could break me in two.

“Ladies,” Erica said breezily. “I think we need a confab.”

“A what?” I asked innocently.

“A talk. I need to talk to you, Jessica Andrews.” Erica’s face was stony.

I hated it when people used my full name like that. No one had called me Jessica since my headmaster at school. I certainly didn’t appreciate this jumped-up, fake policewoman using it to try to intimidate me.

“I think you and I can help each other,” she continued.

“I doubt it.”

“Oh, don’t be so hasty, love,” she said, coming closer. “We’re both after the same thing.” I smelt peppermint on her breath. I looked at her teeth without meaning to; they were sharp and white.

“The missing women?” I asked a little too quickly. “You’re investigating it?”

“In a way,” she said lightly. “Can I have a word in private?” Erica looked at Rachel, who sighed dramatically, before flouncing off to stand in a dirty corner.

“What do you know?” I asked eagerly.

“Not much, but I want to ask you something first,” she said moving into my personal space. Her shadow loomed over me. “At the library, and just a little while ago, I tried getting some details on you, only basic stuff, but I was told to drop it.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. I want to know who your contact is at Limehouse,” she whispered.

“I don’t have a contact.”

“Don’t play silly beggars with me, sunshine,” she crooned, moving even closer. I backed away a little, but I didn’t want move too close to the filthy walls of the subway.

“Honest. I’ve had to do everything myself. The police haven’t been exactly helpful to me.”

“Okay, let’s put it this way. I know you’re scared.” She crossed her arms, and looked at me evenly.

“I’m not scared.”

“I know you’re searching for some whore.”

“Yvonne is not a whore,” I snapped.

“I know there’s a bent copper helping you out.” She ran a hand over my arm, stroking me almost affectionately.

“You don’t know a thing!” I hissed.

Erica moved closer, whispering, “I know plenty. It’s that Indian bird isn’t it?”

My mind flashed up an image of the officer from the bathhouse, the dildo-packing woman who would have shagged me up against a wall in the police station if we weren’t interrupted.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, gulping down a much-needed breath. My clitoris twitched in my knickers at the memory.

“Fine, keep you little secrets. I’ll bring you both down for perverting the course of justice.”

Rachel appeared behind Erica. “If you want to question my friend, you need to take us both to the police station where the interview can be duly recorded.” Erica looked up at Rachel with a mean sneer. “Otherwise, you can bugger off, and leave us alone.” Rachel held out her hand, pulled me off the dirty wall. We continued our journey to Tally’s apartment in Hammersmith.

* * * *

“Are you okay?” Rachel asked as the tube train shook and trundled on its journey. It was hot and stuffy on the tube. The air smelt of used gum. My mind felt sticky, sluggish.

“How do you know about all that legal stuff?” I asked, intrigued.

“The Sisterhood. It was part of my training,” Rachel said as if she were explaining to a simpleton.

I nodded, letting her tone of voice pass for now. “I guess they taught you all sorts of useful skills.”

“Hand-to-hand combat, languages, psychology; that sort of thing.”

“Psychology?” I didn’t expect that.

“How to read people’s body language, how to get into someone’s head, find out what makes them tick,” she explained. “Plus some converts need to talk about their experiences. They talk and I listen.”

“Did the Sisterhood teach you about sex too?”

Rachel looked away for a moment. “Like I said, they taught me how to get information, and how to use it once I had it.”

“I don’t suppose they do correspondence courses? Fisting 101, Spanking for nervous beginners?” I said with a smile, despite the seriousness of the situation.

Rachel snorted a burst of laughter. “Anal tricks for advanced practitioners.”

“Toe sucking, intermediate class.”

An elderly woman looked at us from across the shaking carriage. Rachel and I sniggered, both suppressing our laughter.

“So what could you tell from Special Constable Erica?”

“She fancies you.”

“What?” I spluttered. “She does not.”

“Oh yes she does. She fancies you a lot. She’s obviously a sex-starved policewoman. She needs a release, and she wants that release to be you. Too bad you’re taken.”

“Excuse me?” I turned to Rachel, astonished.

“You want me,” she said breezily.

“I’m not saying that I don’t want you.”

“All the sleeping around you do, it’s because you’re essentially lonely.” Her voice had taken on a condescending tone.

“You can shut up now.” I turned away. I really didn’t want to hear this. The blood pounded in my head.

“But now you’ve got me, you can stop all that shabby behaviour.”

“Shabby?”

“You forget, Jessie, I’ve been watching you for a while now. I’ve seen you flit from one woman to the next--the Russian trollop, the library manager, the punk rocker, and countless others in the bathhouse.”

“I told you to shut up,” I snapped.

“And let’s not forget that mistake of genetics, K.C. It’s only a matter of time before that Daddy puts you on his lap.”

I swivelled in my seat, grabbed a handful of Rachel’s hair in my fist. “You talk about my friends that way again, I’ll make you sorry, Agent.”

The elderly woman, who had been watching us, got up. She stumbled to the far end of the trembling carriage.

“You’re forgetting your place,” I spat. “I don’t belong to anyone. I am not taken by anyone, least of all you.”

“I’m sorry,” Rachel squeaked. “I didn’t mean…”

“I don’t fucking care. Once we get to Tally’s flat, you are going to learn a little lesson in manners, because they obviously didn’t teach you that at the Sisterhood.” I released Rachel. She slumped on the seat next to me. I hated how she seemed to push all of my buttons, but I could not let this one pass.

Hammersmith Station came into view a little while later.

“Get up.” I said. I stormed off the train. I didn’t wait to see if she was following.

Chapter Twelve

What To Do With a Dripping-Wet Woman?

By the time I entered Tally’s apartment, I had cooled off a little, but there was still a dull ache of anger curled inside my belly. Rachel was silent as she walked with me, but I was aware that she checked every corner, eyes darting as we moved up to the sixth floor where Tally lived.

Rachel stepped ahead of me once I had turned the key in the lock. I put a hand on her shoulder, and let myself in first.

“I’m only trying to help—to keep you safe,” she whispered.

“No talking, from now on I don’t want to hear you speak unless I order you to.”

Rachel opened her mouth. She closed it quietly.

“I don’t understand you, Rachel. You know so much stuff, but your arrogance is just astounding.” I held her elbow, led her to the bathroom. Tally’s bathroom was spotlessly clean, a minimalist room with black tiles on the wall, and an atmosphere that was icy cold. It was about to get a lot colder.

“Run a bath.” I pushed Rachel forward to the tub. “No hot water.”

Rachel bent over, opening the cold-water tap fully. As the bath began to fill, I sat on the toilet seat.

“Strip,” I said. Rachel pulled off her clothes; the smart black trousers looked rumpled, her white blouse was spotted with dirt. She folded the clothes neatly, placed them in the corner of the stark room. The water began to rise in the bath. I made no movement from my seat, but just looked at Rachel as she stood shivering in the middle of the room. “That’s enough water.” I inclined my head. Rachel closed the taps.

“What are you going to do?” she asked quietly.

“How long was that? Five, six minutes, and you’ve forgotten the rules already.”

Rachel’s face went red.

“No more talking.” I nodded to the bath. “Get in.”

Rachel looked at me with imploring eyes for a moment, but she stepped into the tub all the same. I watched the tide of goose bumps travel over her skin as she submerged herself in the freezing water.

“Now you sit there and think about how you talk to people—how you treat people. Think long and hard, Rachel. You imagine being cold and wet, having to give your body to strangers just to stay warm.”

Rachel sat clenched up in the bath, her arms wrapped around her slender frame.

“I’ll be back in a bit.” I got up, went to Tally’s kitchen. I made myself a cup of tea, some toast and peanut butter. I read an article in one of Tally’s feminist magazines. After all that, I went back to the bathroom.

Rachel’s teeth were chattering as she sat curled around herself. The tips of her collar-length hair was wet, a darker shade of copper from the rest.

“You got anything to say?” I asked, bending down to the tub. Rachel’s breasts were puckered; her nipples stiff and pink. I reached over, squeezed one, and then pulled it to me. Rachel leaned forward; I sucked her nipple into my mouth, licking over it like it was an ice cube. I tasted salt, perspiration even though there was no way she could sweat in this environment.

“Get out.”

I stood back as Rachel stiffly got up with water flowing off her. She half-stumbled, half-stepped from the tub, and then she stood covered in tiny droplets of water, shivering before me.

“Sit on the floor.”

She complied without any objection, slipping a little in the water that pooled around her.

“What am I going to do with a dripping wet woman?” I asked out loud, and then I thought about something I’d seen in one of my porno mags a while ago. I reached over to the rolls of white toilet paper that were neatly stacked on a metal rod by the wall. I tore off a sheet, placing it over Rachel’s left breast. Another sheet covered her right; the paper crinkled and grew transparent as soon as it came in contact with her wet flesh.

“Open your legs.”

I draped several sheets over her pussy, watching in wonder as the paper moulded to her.

“Don’t move.”

I got up, went to Tally’s bedroom. I fetched her hair-dryer. I plugged the implement into an electrical socket in the hallway outside the bathroom; the flex was just long enough to reach my agent on the bathroom floor. Rachel jumped slightly when I switched on the noisy dryer. I ran the nozzle over her breasts, making the sodden paper flutter slightly in the moving air. I kept the dryer on her, concentrating over each nipple in turn, leaving it on for just a little longer than was necessary. She began to pant and wriggle as the heat built up. I smelt her then; her natural sweet scent that mere water could not wash away.

“I told you. No moving.”

“Yes, ma’am,” she replied. Hearing her call me that made me feel really old and stuffy, but I’d let it go for now. I aimed the nozzle to her pussy; I spied the trickle of water that escaped her. The clear fluid joined the pool between her thighs. I waved the nozzle of the hair dryer over her crotch. The paper began to curl and shimmer; it almost looked like another layer of skin had grown over her. I switched the dryer to maximum, held it over her pussy until she started moaning and panting. I held it on her for a little while longer. She bit her lip, arched against the side of the bath.

“You think about how hot you get, when you are so horny, so full of lust and want, that you can’t keep it to yourself. Think about what it’s like to have that passion in you, and then be told that you’re a come-sucking whore for wanting to be with others, to share your body with others.”

Rachel looked at me. Her eyes were full of tears. I switched off the dryer.

“Clean yourself up.” I went to the bedroom, feeling thoroughly exhausted.

* * * *

I didn’t know when I’d fallen asleep, but I awoke with a start. Rachel was curled up on the floor at the foot of the bed; little bits of tissue paper were still stuck to her, so there was no way I was letting her get into Tally’s bed. My replacement mobile phone vibrated on the table next to me, waking me as it shook noisily on the wooden surface. There was a message from Tally. Grace would be popping over to collect Tally’s laptop.

I nudged Rachel awake with the tip of my foot. “Get dressed. Company’s coming.”

Rachel looked at me a little shyly before saying, “I’ve done some thinking.” I nodded as she continued, “I never saw it your way before. I realise now that I was being disrespectful.” I didn’t believe her change of heart for a moment, but I hoped that maybe she would consider a different point of view in future.

I heard a knock on the front door. Grace had been quick, or maybe Tally had sent the message after her friend had left?

“Stay here,” I motioned to the bed. “I’ll just give Grace what she needs, and send her on her way.”

I opened the front door, but no one was there. I checked the passageway; it must have been some kids playing their silly games. I went back inside, coming face to face with Grace, smiling politely next to the coat rack. I wondered how she had got in, but as I stepped over the threshold, and back into the apartment, her smile disappeared.

“I’ve come for the Agent,” she said simply. I gawped at her before I realised who she was. She must have seen the realisation on my face, because she sneered at me. “Agents, retrievers, sisters, and seekers.”

I managed to get all of two steps away from her when I felt a burst of pain in my back, accompanied by a sharp crackle. I fell to the floor disorientated, reeling with sensation. Grace held up a little black object in her hand. I tried to speak, but my mouth wasn’t working properly. My arms flailed about, weak and uncooperative. I was able to keep my eyes open long enough to see Rachel come out of the bedroom, only to get zapped by Grace’s stun gun too.

Chapter Thirteen

All Tied Up and Nowhere to Go

I awoke in the back of a van. I lay on my side with my wrists bound tightly behind my back. I had an itchy nose. I looked up in the gloom. Rachel was beside me, tied up equally as secure. We bumped around as the van drove on, colliding into each other every now and then. I looked up, but could only see Grace’s shadow reflected on the wall. Rachel and I both slid against the front wall as the brakes went on some time later. The van stilled. We looked at each other.

“She only wants me,” Rachel croaked, her voice a small whisper. “First chance you get, run like hell.”

The back door swung open. Grace stood looking at us for a moment, and then she reached forward, and grabbed me by my bound ankles, pulling me out of the van. I hobbled stiffly on the gravel-covered ground, willing myself to stay upright. I could just about walk in my restraints, making tiny steps as she pulled me forward. We were in a car park. We must have been driving for some time, because it was dark now. Old abandoned buildings stood crumbling around one side of the space, casting huge shadows over us. But there were plenty of vehicles here, which I thought strange. Even stranger was how some of these cars were shaking rhythmically. I finally realised what was going on, when the interior light of one car lit up at some distance. I was able to see the arms and legs of a couple making love, entwined around each other. The bathhouse was as public as I liked to be when it came to sex; at least I knew everyone was on a level playing field there, plus you could always have a little privacy when the clouds of steam covered you. This sort of thing was an activity I’d never tried.

A few people were scattered about, watching the proceedings from a little distance—one of them, a man who leant against a motorbike, had a hand buried in his pants. Everyone was busy watching everyone else. I hoped someone would notice me. I hoped that someone would help.

“Let me go, Grace,” I whispered, although my voice felt as restrained as my hands and feet.

“If you scream, I’ll hurt Rachel,” she said in a clipped voice. “If you try to run, I’ll hurt Rachel. If you call me Grace one more time, I’ll really hurt Rachel.”

I looked at the strange woman; at the dervish who had charmed Tally, and blinded the rest of us. She was all business--even in the gloom I could see her serious face. Her voice had been devoid of any emotion. I suddenly felt scared; more scared than I had done since this whole sorry affair began.

Grace took a route through the area that avoided the onlookers. We passed a large estate car; a woman was going down on a man on the back seats. The couple both waved when they saw us.

“Stay a bit!” the happy-looking man called out as we walked stiffly past.

“Enjoy the show!” the plump woman held his cock in her hand as she yelled at us.

“Whores,” the Retriever muttered beneath her breath.

We passed more cars, each one containing a couple having sex. A vintage sports car held a man who was receiving a hand-job from a blonde woman. An ordinary family car had two men kissing and fondling inside.

We had to inch around a massive off-road vehicle; a Hum-Vee, or something big and American that I didn’t recognise. There must have been four people inside, all humping away at each other. Dirty hip-hop music pounded from the slightly open window. The Retriever slowed down as she caught sight of the fun going on inside. I moved away from her just a fraction, but she did something to my elbow that made me gasp with pain. She returned her gaze to what I could now see as four women totally into their group sex session. One woman was on her back with her legs wide open; the second woman sucked on her pussy with enthusiasm. Woman number three pushed a dildo into the second woman’s arse, whilst she in turn was kissing the fourth. My eyes boggled at the seamless way they all moved together; everyone knew what they had to do, and everyone was working as a team. They all looked incredibly good. I realised that the Retriever was breathing heavily next to me. She inched closer to the car, reached a slim hand through the gap left by the lowered window. Woman number four leaned back; she let the Retriever stroke along her rounded backside, and to her pussy, shuddering when she slipped her fingers inside. I struggled too, but Grace’s free hand went around my throat.

“Bitch,” she snarled. I didn’t know if she were addressing me or the woman in the car who thrust against her hand. “Clean.” Grace removed her hand from the woman’s crotch. I could see the glistening juices over her fingers, but soon I couldn’t see a thing as the woman licked and sucked herself off the Retriever. My clit throbbed, demanding attention. Now when we started moving again, it wasn’t just my restraints that hampered my effort to walk.

The Retriever directed us to a lone tree in the corner of the car park. It was almost pitch black there. However the darkness was illuminated by a glint of metal; she held up a small knife, angling it to me.

“Move, and you’re dead.” I froze as she sliced through the bindings around my ankles and my wrists. “Think on what I said. Think long and hard.” I glared at her as she recited the words that I had said to Rachel only hours before.

“You saw us?” My voice trembled. I willed myself to calm down.

“Nice couple,” she replied. “I liked what you did with the toilet paper.”

My heart sank. How long had she been there in Tally’s flat? How long had she been keeping an eye on us?

“You got good instincts when it comes to domination,” she said casually. “Pity that Rachel is such a useless slut. Worst agent in the Sisterhood, six years in a row,” she said with a chuckle before she turned to leave.

“Wait!” I called out. “You can’t just…” Even in the darkness I saw Grace stiffen at the upcoming order. “I want to stay with Rachel.”

She faced me once more. “Why?” she sounded amused.

“She’s my friend,” I said pathetically.

“She’s the worst agent I’ve ever seen,” Grace stated. “Even someone like you can do way better than her.”

“I’ll just follow you back to the van,” I said defiantly, standing straighter.

“That would be unwise,” she said slowly.

“Please,” I whispered. “Let me stay with her.” It wasn’t purely for selfless reasons. There would be no way I’d find Yvonne and the other missing women if I lost Rachel.

“Do you love her?” The Retriever’s question brought me up short.

“I…I think,” I stammered. Grace moved away, striding into the dark. “I want her to be the first to know!” I cried.

Grace looked back at me with a cruel grin. “Fine.”

I ran behind the Retriever, but once I reached her, she held up her knife once more; it looked an awful lot bigger than I remembered. I wondered if this was a different weapon, and how many she had on her.

“You cannot save her. You know that, right?” she asked me with almost-concern in her voice.

I nodded. “I just want to be with her as long as I can.”

* * * *

Grace pushed me into the back of the van. She retied my hands, but left my ankles free.

Rachel shook her head when she saw me. “What are you doing?” she hissed. “You have to leave.”

“What did I tell you about ordering me around?” I replied, steadying myself as the van tore out of the parking lot.

“We’re both finished,” Rachel said with a sob. I inched over to her, laying down beside her curled-up form as we continued on our journey. I wrapped my legs around her, holding her to me. “It’s the workhouse for you, and who knows what for me.”

I shushed the crying agent, kissing the back of her neck.

“Want to know something strange?” I asked, nuzzling against Rachel’s hair. “Grace asked me if I loved you.”

“She did?” Rachel twisted around to look at me, surprised.

“Uh-huh.”

“What did you say?” she whispered, stilling in my embrace.

“I said you were too disobedient to love.”

Rachel started chuckling. It wasn’t long before the sound of her laughter made me smile too.

Chapter Fourteen

Live Girly Sex Show

We didn’t travel much further in the end. We were bundled out of the van, and into a large house standing alone, surrounded by wooded grounds. Rachel seemed to recognise the place, because she looked even more worried than before. We descended some ancient-looking stairs, through a series of long low tunnels, and through old iron gates that opened soundlessly. I was thoroughly lost; I supposed it was part of the Retriever’s plans.

We reached a large, bone-chillingly cold room. I looked around myself as I entered. There were shackles set into the wall, a St Andrew’s cross in a corner, various stocks and stools dotted about the place, and to top it all off, there was an honest-to-god rack in the middle of the space.

“Wow, you really went to town with this dungeon, didn’t you?” I said despite myself. But this was no dungeon in a sex club; the implements here did not look brand new, they were not padded with soft leather and finished off with decorative brass nails. This was a dungeon from the old school, going way back. Suddenly Victoriana didn’t look so pretty and gay.

Grace manoeuvred Rachel to a set of shackles on the wall. She was secured in place.

“Do I get chained up too?” I asked. I knew I was pushing my luck, but something about the Retriever was niggling at me.

“Sit on the floor, and don’t touch anything,” she instructed.

“But I’ve got an itchy nose!”

“Jessie, for God’s sake!” Rachel shouted.

“Listen to her,” Grace said with a nod. “You’ll make things worse.”

“And then what? You’ll punish me some more?” I asked in the voice that used to drive my schoolteachers crazy. Grace took a step to me. I scooted back a little. “Tell me how to make it better, Retriever,” I said, using her title. “You watched us, and you watched those women in the car.” I licked my lips, hoping that I was following the right instincts. “Tell me what you want.”

“I have no wants.” Grace turned away. She pulled a small device from her back pocket; a little music player. There was an equally small docking pad on the floor that she plugged her device into. Sudden ear-splittingly loud, dance music rang throughout the dungeon. Maybe this was like a sex-club after all. Grace pulled a bottle of water from behind a bench. She took a long drink, before she started dancing to the music. Tally had called Grace a Dervish; she wasn’t wrong about that. The Retriever span in increasingly tight circles; she juddered as she moved to the beat. The music was an impossibly fast tempo, but she managed to keep up with it, never slowing until the track ended. Grace walked away. Her breath was even as she moved.

“I’ll know if you try anything.” She didn’t bother to look at me as she spoke.

Grace exited the room, leaving us in the disco dungeon.

I rolled on to my side, and then inched my way to Rachel, who stood unmoving against the wall.

“What is this place?” She didn’t answer me. “Rachel,” I urged, and then finally, “Agent!” Her head snapped up. “Where are we?”

“This is Agent Brunel’s home. We use it as a training facility.”

“Brunel? Like the engineer?”

“It’s a common name,” Rachel said tiredly.

“How do we get out of here?”

“We don’t.”

“The Retriever—there’s something not quite right about her, isn’t there?”

Rachel sagged a little. “I don’t know much about Retrievers, none of the agents do. But I heard stories.”

“Stories?”

“About unstoppable, relentless women, who were born into the Sisterhood—they are both the knife and the wound.”

“Weren’t you born to serve the Sisterhood too?”

“When I was sixteen, they came for me. My parents handed me over, glad to be shot of me.” There was bitterness in her voice. “Retrievers are different. The Sisterhood would have been all they had ever known. You can’t reason with them, you can’t bribe them. You can’t stop them.”

I gulped. “What are they going to do with us?”

“You may end up in the workhouse if you’re lucky.” She shot me a hot look. “As for me, I will simply disappear.”

“I won’t let that happen.”

“You can’t stop them. We are agents, retrievers, sisters and…”

“Seekers.” Grace stood behind me. “Good to know you haven’t forgotten everything.”

I readied myself for a slap or some other form of punishment, but Grace stayed behind me, crowding me up against Rachel. I felt her lean body hard against my back

“You make an interesting couple.” She stepped away a fraction. “Show me what else you two can do.”

“Is this going to make things better for us?”

Grace walked back to the rack in the middle of the room. She ran her hands over the mechanism, petting and stroking it like it were a cat.

“Okay,” I said with a whistle. “Want to untie me first?”

She came over, swiftly cutting the ties around my wrists.

“Can I have some of your water?” I asked.

“No.”

“Could you turn the music down a little?”

“No.”

“Right.” I turned to Rachel, who looked confused. My Aunty Connie, bless her, used to say, “If you’re going to humiliate yourself in public, make sure everyone enjoys the show.”

“Let’s do this!” I announced loudly, but then I leaned into Rachel, and whispered. “Don’t come until I say so.” I stepped back, shrugging out of my blouse. I was wearing a plain white bra underneath, but it was better than nothing. I ran my hands over Rachel’s outstretched arms, and then down to her legs, lingering at her crotch. I unzipped her trousers, pulling the fabric down around her thighs. Rachel wasn’t wearing any knickers. I stood to the side so that the Retriever could see her copper-coloured frizz. I had to be aware of my audience. I cupped her pussy, pushing a single finger inside. Rachel shuddered with need.

“Keep still!” I hissed. I withdrew my finger, and then held the sticky digit up to Rachel’s face. I ran it along her neck, sweeping it down her breasts. I pinched her nipples once, and then stepped away.

“Is that it?” The Retriever flicked off the music. She stood with arms crossed angrily over her chest. “That was pathetic,” she spat.

“You’re right,” I said with hands held in a gesture of surrender. “It’s just that I’m no good without a prop.”

“You’re in a bleeding dungeon!” Grace roared.

“I’m not used to such high-end stuff. I need something a bit more down to earth to make things interesting.”

Grace glared silently at me.

“Look, we both know what sort of woman Rachel is. I’m sure you’ve got converts with more integrity than her.” I didn’t dare look around at Rachel as I spoke. “I just don’t want to shock you with what turns her on. You don’t want to know how hard she can come.”

Grace arched an eyebrow, looking interested.

“When this slut has an orgasm, she squirts about a gallon of liquid from her pussy. It’s like Niagara Falls when she gets going.”

Grace chuckled. “I’ve heard of women who can ejaculate just like blokes.”

“Well,” I said, approaching her. “You’ve got one right here. But she has to be debased and humiliated before she does it.”

“What do you need?” Grace’s voice was husky.

“I need your permission to treat her like a come-sucking whore.”

“You got it.”

“I need a belt or a strap.”

Grace hastily undid her thin leather belt. I turned back to Rachel who looked incredibly hurt by what I’d said. She refused to meet my eye.

“There’s one last thing.” “You said you liked what I did with the toilet paper.”

“It was neat.” The Retriever had pulled up a stool. She sat looking eagerly at us.

“You got any paper money? Because I can recreate that effect for you right now.”

The Retriever pulled out a wad of money. She handed me a twenty-pound note. I sighed with relief once I had it in my hand. I plastered the paper money to Rachel’s pussy; it slipped on her juices, but I jammed it against her. I took a few steps back, and then I brought down the belt across Rachel’s thighs. Red shadows appeared almost immediately on her pale skin. She flinched and struggled against her bonds. I kept on hitting, getting closer to my target between her legs. I struck up and down her left and right thighs, hoping with every strike that this would work. Finally I threw down the belt. I approached Rachel once more.

“Come for me, whore,” I crooned, thrusting the money against her clitoris. “You love this, don’t you?”

Rachel cried out with shame. I pulled the money from her crotch, stuffing it into her mouth instead; she bit down on it, squeezing her eyes shut as she did. I continued to pump my fingers inside her, working three of them into the tight space. I curled up my fingers, banging against her g-spot relentlessly.

“Bitch, come-sucking bitch.” Rachel shuddered as I insulted her. “You’re nothing but a useless piece of shit.” I stood on tiptoes, biting her nipple through her clothing. “Come, agent. Come right now!” Rachel wailed. A stream of come flowed from her, shooting in spurts of white, decorating the stone floor of the dungeon in little spatters. Rachel sagged against me. I removed the soaked money from her mouth, turned to the Retriever. I made sure she saw me fold the money, and then put it in my back pocket.

“Thank you.”

Grace followed my movements, looking slightly puzzled.

“For your payment of twenty pounds for sex,” I finished.

Grace’s eyes grew wide. She balled her fists at her side.

“You are a terrific customer, Grace.”

“What have you done?” she whispered.

“I’ve just proved that you are no better than all of the other johns out there. You gave me money for sex. You paid for a fallen woman, thus contributing to prostitution.” I remembered what Rachel had told me beforehand, so it was with a self-satisfied smile that I told her, “You are no longer part of the Sisterhood.”

* * * *

Rachel looked down at me with surprise. Grace crumpled to the floor, shaking with emotion.

“I’ll have your keys.” I held out my hand. Grace shook some more before she raised her head. She looked numb with shock, but she handed over the keys to Rachel’s restraints. Once I let Rachel down, I hugged her. I pulled her clothes up, brushing her hair away from her face.

“You amazing fucker!” she yelled, pulling me forward into another embrace.

“Mind your mouth,” I warned.

“You did it!” Rachel sauntered over to where Grace lay in a heap on the floor. “Not so unstoppable now, are you?” she asked in a singsong voice.

“Agent.”

Rachel stopped her crowing, but she still smiled brightly at me. However, her face fell after a moment when something caught her eye.

“Hello, ladies.” Special Constable Erica stood at the door. “You girls sure do know how to party!”

Chapter Fifteen

Anyone for a Foursome?

I stared at the volunteer police officer as she unbuttoned her jacket.

“Blimey, I’ve never seen anything like that before.”

“What are you doing here?” I finally asked when my voice came back.

“Well, when I saw you at the Dogging site, I knew you were up for a little fun, so I just followed you.”

“Dogging?” Rachel asked, looking freaked.

“Yeah, you know,” Erica explained as she undid the buttons on her shirt cuffs. “The car park where your missus and your girl dropped by—it’s the premier site for outdoor sex in South-East England.” She pulled the extra material from her jeans, and then threw the shirt to the floor. Her generous breasts were rosy. “I don’t usually travel as far south as Tunbridge Wells, but it was worth it tonight.” Erica started on her belt. I held out a hand to stop her.

“This isn’t some sex club, you know?”

“Looks like one to me.”

“We were being held here against our will.”

Erica made a dismissive noise. “I’ll pay if that’s a problem. How much, fifty quid for the night?” She held out the money to Grace.

Grace stood, looking like a panther about to strike. However Erica’s smile only widened.

“You idiot,” I hissed, grabbing Rachel’s hand. We tried to get out of the vicinity, but Grace pounced on Erica; the two women rolled into our way, blocking our path.

“Whoo-hoo!” Erica yelled, as they tumbled about the floor. “Come on, baby!” Grace punched Erica in the jaw, but the officer was unfazed by it; she simply struck her back, equally as hard. She pulled on Grace’s top, ripping the fabric, exposing her dark breasts. Rachel and I backtracked, working around the other side of the room. Rachel knocked over the music player as we moved; the dance music started once more. The whole scene was completely insane.

Erica had momentarily got the upper hand on the ex-Retriever; she straddled her hips, grinding down against her. “Where are you two going?” she asked breathlessly. “I’ve brought my strap-on. There’s plenty for everyone.”

“You silly cow!” Rachel screamed. “She doesn’t want to have sex with you!”

Erica looked down at Grace as she squirmed beneath her. “Sure you do.”

Grace bucked up, throwing Erica off her, just as Rachel and I made it out of the dungeon. The sound of dance music rang in my ears.

* * * *

The corridors were even more confusing as we ran forwards. Rachel seemed to be drawn onwards by some kind of internal guidance system. We ran through the last iron gateway, and out to the van.

“Can you hotwire…?”

“Yes,” Rachel confirmed without me needing to finish the question. She dove into the driver’s side. I went to open the passenger door, but I was struck by a huge heavy weight against my back. Erica slapped a pair of cuffs on me, dragging my arms behind my back.

“I paid good money for a party, mate.”

“Listen, you clod. There is no party here.” I bellowed. “We were prisoners.”

“Come out in there!” she called to Rachel. I sighed with defeat when my agent climbed out with her hands up.

“You cannot be this gullible!” I shouted right in Erica’s face. “This isn’t some lesbian fantasy going on. You have to help us.” I squirmed in my restraints. “That woman will finish us off if you let her!”

Grace limped up to us all. “Good work, officer,” she said with sickeningly false cheer. She curled her arm around Erica. “Tell you what? Let’s go to another place I know. We can really party there.”

“Whoo-hoo!” Erica yelled.

We were screwed.

* * * *

This time when I landed in the back of the van, Rachel was free from any restraint.

“Why didn’t you just drive off, get some help?” I asked, pissed-off at the turn of events.

“I couldn’t leave you with those crazy women,” she said with a worried frown.

Grace and Erica were in the front seats, singing along with a cheesy pop song on the radio. The crazy situation would probably have made me laugh before, but things had just gone from bad to worse.

“You should have gone when you had the chance,” I barked.

“You didn’t leave me back at the car park. I cannot leave you now.”

“I should have ordered you.”

“It wouldn’t have done any good,” she said with a pout.

“What do you think will happen now?” I asked. I could see the shadows of Erica and Grace in the front. It looked like Erica was trying to put her arms around Grace as she drove.

“You’ve shamed Grace. Without the Sisterhood, she won’t have any kind of life.”

“It was clever wasn’t it?”

“You were magnificent,” Rachel said with a smile.

I glanced up as the van began to wobble. Rachel and I both became silent as we listened to the stupid copper talk to the ex-Retriever.

“Where are we going, mate?” Erica’s voice sounded desperate and needy. I wondered how long it had been since she’d got laid.

“We’ll be there soon.” Grace’s voice was all business. “We’re just entering the compound now.”

Erica whistled. “Wow, electric fences? Is this some kind of secret club?”

Grace chuckled low in her throat, but I could hear it all the same.

“What do you think of my cuffs?” Erica was obviously unconcerned with the lack of an answer.

“Police issue?”

“Nah, I had to get these beauties mail order. Had to search far and wide.” Erica’s voice had an East-end twang to it that surfaced fully as she boasted.

“You’re a collector?” Grace sounded impressed. “They can’t have been cheap.”

“Well, you know when you’ve got a passion,” Erica started. I groaned to myself; the women were talking like they were old friends instead of new acquaintances. That copper was an imbecile if she thought she could trust Grace.

“I’ve always found that old-school discipline is the best,” Grace said, matter-of-factly.

“You bet!” Erica crowed. “We can take it in turns, you know. Just let me go first. I haven’t beaten anyone in ages.”

From the shadows, I could see the two women had started to struggle with each other.

“Come on, mate!” Erica called out. “You’ll love it. Just let me…”

“Not now, you fool,” Grace shouted in return.

The van swerved. Rachel got on her knees, peered through the glass partition to see what was happening.

“Careful!” she yelled.

“What’s happening?” I called out from my position on the floor.

“The copper is trying to go down on Grace.”

The van swerved once more. And this time, it kept on swerving until it tumbled off the side of the road, crashing to a full stop.

Chapter Sixteen

A Dirty Four-Letter Word

Everything was dark. Grey smoke curled past my eyes, but I didn’t know what I was seeing. The back doors of the van had been blown open. I saw blurry shapes approaching. I looked to the left, aware that blood was trickling into my eyes. Rachel was slumped against the side of the van.

“Rachel?” My voice was weak. My throat hurt, but I called out again, “Rachel? Wake up!” I tasted the copper tang of blood in my mouth.

A dozen arms reached out to me; I was lifted bodily from the back of the van, and to a cloth stretcher. As I was carried away, I saw Erica struggle out of the van on her own. She reached back to pull Grace across her shoulder; the ex-Retriever was unmoving as Erica loped after me.

“Where’s Rachel?” I asked blindly. One of the women who carried me, smiled down kindly.

“It’s okay, we got everyone out of there.”

I sighed with relief. I attempted to rise from the stretcher, but gentle firm hands held me down. “She’ll be fine. We have a nurse here.”

“Another voice asked from the side, “What’s your name, love?”

“Jessie,” I slurred, aware that it hurt to talk.

“Jessie? Yvonne’s friend?”

I looked up blinking into unfamiliar eyes.

“I’m Carol,” the woman said. “You shouldn’t have come here.”

I slumped back. I let darkness take me.

* * * *

It turned out that my injuries were minor. A harried-looking nurse told me that I had a few surface cuts, a few bruises, but I was otherwise unscathed by the crash. I gingerly stepped off the examination couch, looking to where Grace and Rachel lay in their beds. I sat next to Rachel, perched on a little stool by her bedside.

“She’s got a deep cut on her arm, and she’s got concussion, but no broken bones,” the nurse informed me, and then she left the room.

I looked over to the second bed. Erica sat, a mirror image of my pose, holding on to Grace’s hand.

“Will she be okay?” I asked carefully.

Erica glanced up at me, looking angry.

“The stupid cow is refusing all treatment.”

“This stupid cow can still hear you,” Grace slurred. A nasty-looking bruise lay over her cheek.

“You need medical attention,” the policewoman pressed. She hesitantly touched Grace’s face.

“I don’t deserve it.” She turned away from Erica.

“Now what kind of thing is that to say?”

“I’ve betrayed the sisters.” The pain in the ex-Retriever’s voice made my heart clench.

“I’m sure your sister will forgive you once you’re fit and well,” Erica said with a worried smile.

“The Sisterhood,” Grace sighed. “I let them down.”

“What is the Sisterhood?” Erica scowled, looking over to me. “And why won’t she let anyone help her?”

When I explained the little I knew to Erica, her face had grown red.

“You weren’t joking, back at the fancy house? You were being serious?” her voice was tinged with shock. I nodded, although I wished that this were all a joke. “And they’re responsible for the missing women?” Erica ran a hand over her face. “Shit.”

“You have to make them treat Grace. Use your status as a copper. Threaten them, and they’ll listen,” I said, looking at the injured woman who lay slumped in the bed.

Grace leaned up, weakly supporting herself against Erica. “No, please don’t. I don’t deserve anything. Let me die.”

“Shut up, you silly tart,” Erica snapped. She got up, and went for the door. “Nurse!” she yelled at the top of her voice.

“About time,” the nurse muttered as she returned to the room. She carried a wicked-looking syringe, which she tried to inject Grace with. Even in her weakened state, the young woman managed to knock the nurse’s hand away twice, until Erica held her still.

As they wheeled Grace’s bed away, with Erica in tow, I squeezed Rachel’s un-bandaged hand. I was still holding it when my eyes drooped shut a little while later.

* * * *

I had fallen asleep with my head on Rachel’s lap. I felt her fingers in my hair when I awoke. The blood over my forehead had dried stiff and itchy. My face still hurt, but I smiled a wide happy smile when I saw Rachel gazing down at me.

“I can’t get rid of you, can I?” she said with a croaky voice.

I carefully reached up, drew her to me, and kissed her, holding her as tightly as my sore body would allow.

“What can I say? I promised Erica a foursome when you got better.” I looked over to where the Special Constable lay sprawled in a chair next to the sleeping Retriever. Both women snored lightly.

Rachel held her stomach with her hand as she laughed quietly. “Don’t even joke about that. She’d eat me alive.”

“Yvonne’s here,” I said with a low voice.

“I’m in no fit state to help you, Jessie,” she admitted, looking frustrated.

“I need to tell you something,” I said with all seriousness, looking deep into her blue eyes. “I really need to pee.”

Rachel started laughing once more. I got up, and went in search of a bathroom. There was a little cubicle set off from the room. After I relieved myself, I did a quick search, but came up against locked doors everywhere I tried. I retraced my steps to Rachel, who sat up in her bed, nervously scratching the bare arm above her bandages.

The doors to the room swung open. An older woman strode into the space, followed by the nurse, who kept her head down low. The woman surveyed the scene before her with a scowl. I recognised her as the same woman I’d seen at Reilly’s. Rachel seemed to recognise her too; she sank lower in her bed, gazing at the floor, not daring to look up.

“Can you tell me, Convert?” she addressed the nurse. “Why there are so many strangers in my home?”

“The crash last night, my Sister,” the nurse whispered. “They were all together in the van.”

“I told you to only fetch the agent and the retriever. You should have left the others where they were, instead of bringing them in here.”

The Sister came over to Rachel’s bed, looking down at her with obvious displeasure; her scowl deepened, if that was even possible. Sharp eyes ran over my friend as she tried to remain still.

“Agent?”

“My Sister,” Rachel whispered.

“These two other women, they are not converts, but yet they are here. Explain.”

“Retriever was questioning them.” Rachel’s voice sounded small and timid.

“Dear girl, I know precisely what Grace’s assignment has been. She was supposed to bring you in.”

“Yes, my Sister.”

“You are the very worst agent I have ever seen in my entire life. This whole calamity is your fault, do you realise that?”

“Yes, my Sister.”

“No wonder your parents were so quick to give you away. Do you know that since you joined us, they have never enquired about you? They have never sent cards on you birthday, presents at Christmas.”

I looked at Rachel; her face had grown red with shame.

“Tell me why they care so little for you?” The woman leaned over Rachel, spitting out her words.

“Because I’m useless,” she whispered.

“Hey!” I stood up, facing the Sister. “Don’t you think she’s had enough?” I placed a hand on her shoulder, which in hindsight was a really bad move. She swept my hand from her, twisting it until I began to gasp painfully. I couldn’t believe her strength.

“Do not presume to interfere, child. Your destiny does not lie with us. You know nothing about us.” She let me go. I fell to the floor in a heap, feeling embarrassed and angry in the same moment. She stepped over me, lifting her skirts gracefully as she did so. She moved to Grace and Erica. Erica stirred on the chair, looking up with bleary eyes at the Sister.

“You say this one is a police woman?” She peered at Erica.

“Yes, my Sister,” the nurse replied.

“She can go to the workhouse in Finland. Finnish is such an interestingly complicated language.” She grinned before she continued. “Let’s see how long it takes someone like her to get beyond the basics.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Erica spat. “Listen, old lady, I don’t know who you think you are…”

“When the retriever wakes, bring her to me,” she talked over Erica’s protests. “Any trouble with the others, inject them with Substance Thirteen.” The Sister turned on her heels. Erica stood at the same moment. She reached out to the Sister, but found herself thrown bodily against a wall, crashing into a trolley of medical equipment. The noise was amazing, but made more so by the calm way in which the Sister had lifted and thrown the big officer like she weighed nothing at all. I gaped at the hidden physical strength that she had, like all the other Amazons who made up the Sisterhood.

“Tell Cook I’m ready for my breakfast,” the Sister addressed the nurse. I took a step back as she walked past me. The doors to the room were locked once more.

* * * *

“A little warning would have helped,” Erica wheezed as I helped disentangle her from the bits of smashed equipment against the wall. Metal and glass clattered around us as we moved.

“Hey if I knew she was a prize-fighter I wouldn’t have stood up to her either.” I rubbed my wrist; it was still very sore.

“Are all of you guys so strong?” I asked as I helped Erica back to her seat.

Rachel glanced to the still-sleeping Retriever, before she spoke. “We all take Substance Five every day. It helps us to fight the fight.”

“Substance Five?” I repeated, remembering the tablet that I had seen Rachel take in the café, yesterday morning. “Is it some kind of steroid?”

Rachel shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Just great, I fumed. I looked up in surprise as Rachel carefully climbed out of her bed, holding her bandaged arm against herself.

“What are you doing?” I reached out to stop her.

“I’m getting you out of here.”

“If I go, we all go together.”

“Nice sentiment, Jessie. I need to pick the lock,” she said, matter-of-factly.

“No.” The ex-Retriever weakly sat up a little in her bed. “There is no escape from the Sisterhood.”

“Excuse me if I don’t believe you,” Erica said gently.

“I don’t have anything left. I’ve lost my place here,” Grace said with a cracked voice.

“You’ve got us. You’ve got me,” the copper said in a reassuring voice.

“I don’t even know you,” Grace replied as she looked at her evenly.

“I’ll tell you all about myself on a date. There’s a two-for-one offer at my local steak house.” Erica patted her stomach. “And if we time it right, we can do the Happy Hour as well.”

Grace smiled weakly. “This two-for-one deal, is it with or without dessert?”

“Oh, I’ll provide dessert,” Erica said suggestively. “All the whipped cream you can handle.”

“Ladies, do you mind?” I hated to break up their chat, but things had taken a serious turn. I needed to get everyone out of here, in addition to finding Yvonne. Things were not looking good.

“Strength won’t help you against the Sisterhood,” Grace said, wincing as she sat up fully. “We learned a long time ago how to not be weak vessels.” Grace grinned at me as she continued. “Do what you do best. Use your mind on the Sister. You’ve got good instincts.”

“What makes you think I’m smart enough to stand up to her?”

“You stood up to me, didn’t you?” Grace said with a wry smile.

I turned to Rachel. “What do you think?”

“Find her weakness, and then exploit it. That’s how the Sisterhood works anyway.”

“Okay,” I said slowly. “What is her weakness?” All four of us looked at each other blankly for a moment.

“Your friend,” the Retriever said at last. “Your friend, the whore is here, isn’t she?”

“Don’t call her a whore.”

“Whores shouldn’t be here,” she said, ignoring my correction.

“What do you mean?”

“Fallen women are not usually held in the same place as a Sister. Sister Gretna is of the highest rank. She runs one of the most influential houses in this country. She would have servants in her home, but not converts.”

“All those women who helped us out of the van were converts. Why were there so many of them here?” Rachel asked.

I smiled to myself. “I think I know why.” They all looked at me with questioning eyes. “What would you do in a posh house surrounded by prostitutes?”

“I’d shag them all,” Erica said instantly. She held a hand to her mouth a second after she blurted that out. “I’m sorry, but wouldn’t you?”

“Precisely.” Everyone looked at me again. “Which makes me wonder, Grace,” I addressed the Retriever. “Did you know about this?”

“My orders were only to bring in Rachel. I had no idea that Gretna had been busy with her own private venture.” Grace was calm as she answered my question.

“So you didn’t know about the women being snatched in the East End?” I doubted that things like that escaped someone like Grace.

“Oh I knew about women going missing, but my orders did not include investigation into the matter.”

Erica turned to her, surprised. “You didn’t think it strange?”

Grace shrugged. “Whores are a strange lot. For all I knew, their pimps could have been behind it all. It wouldn’t have been the first time something like that had happened.”

“Can everyone just stop calling these women, whores?” I pleaded. “Your Sister has been working her way through East London, snatching women for her bed.”

“The Head Sister would never…” the ex-Retriever began. “Although, whores do know the best moves.”

“Will you stop calling them that?” I yelled, totally frustrated.

Rachel looked at me. “Are you sure you want to do this? It’s still not too late to save yourself,” she whispered.

“What is your problem?”

“I’m doing this because…” she faltered, suddenly looking concerned.

I held her gently to me. “It’s okay. Care isn’t a dirty four-letter word, you know?”

“I don’t want to see you get hurt. And yes, I also care about you too,” she admitted.

“Blimey, that’s a relief. I thought you were going to say that you loved me,” I said with a grin.

“In your dreams,” Rachel replied, looking away.

“Loser.”

“Cow.”

“Get a room!” Erica stood with her hands on her wide hips. “Are we going to do this, or what?”

Chapter Seventeen

Prostitute Power!

Rachel was good for the lock-picking, even one-handed. Grace provided directions to the Head Sister’s room. Erica was my back-up. We were ready for war. Rachel leant against me, Grace supported herself on Erica. At last we were all working together. We made it along two dark corridors before we bumped into the nurse. For a moment it looked like she was going to run, but she stood her ground, looking at us with what I thought was hope in her eyes.

“Be careful,” she said seriously.

“You’re not going to raise the alarm?” I asked, surprised at her words.

“Hell, no!” she exclaimed with a suddenly strong Irish accent. “You don’t want to know the sort of things Sister does when she gets you alone. You haven’t seen the injuries that the converts come to me with.” The nurse shuddered. “She’s probably doing unspeakable things to my darling Cook as we speak.”

“Do you know where Yvonne is?” I asked, glad to have another ally, but she shook her head. “She could be anywhere in the mansion.”

Erica caught up with us. “I don’t suppose there are any phones in here?” she asked, but the nurse shook her head.

We kept on walking. The mansion was huge, but thanks to Grace’s directions, we found the Head Sister’s suite of rooms. Two women were scrubbing the tiled floors on the landing. I tried to keep my mind on the job, but the sight of the women’s bottoms jiggling as they cleaned was too much for me. I turned to Erica; the policewoman was practically salivating. Grace prodded her weakly.

“Keep your eyes forward.”

“We have to be focused,” I said more to myself than anyone. I felt like I was facing an end-of-level bad guy in one of Aunty Connie’s videogames. I couldn’t allow myself to get distracted. I guess that crazy old woman was up there smiling at me, because one of the scrubbers rose up from her position on the floor.

“Jessie?” It was Yvonne. It was my friend dressed up like a buxom serving wench, with a bodice cut so low, I could practically see her nipples. She nearly knocked me over when she ran into my surprised embrace. She jiggled against me, squeezing and pressing all of my sore spots.

“Oh, mate,” I sighed, once I peeled her off me. “I’m so glad to see you.” And then I shoved her hard until she stumbled backwards. “That’s for making me go to Limehouse nick.”

“I knew you would come!” she cried, ignoring my flare of sudden anger, which disappeared as quickly as it came. “Alicia said I was wishing my life away.” Yvonne pointed to the other scrubber who looked duly chastised.

I grabbed Yvonne’s hand, instinctively turning to leave now that I’d found her, but I saw Erica, Rachel and Grace looking at me evenly.

“Yvonne, I have to take care of something.” I motioned toward Gretna’s suite.

Alicia gaped at me. “You can’t go in there. It’s Sister’s room. Are you crazy?”

“I guess I am.”

“Look at you guys—you can barely stand,” she began, but Yvonne stopped her.

“Jessie can do it,” she stated. “We can be the winners if we stick together.”

“Oh save the speech, darling,” Erica called out, readjusting Grace’s arm around her shoulder. “We need to do this now.”

“You’d make a good Retriever, you know that?” Grace said with a rough voice. Erica blushed down to her roots.

Alicia darted forwards through the doors that led inside the suite. “Sister!” she called out at the top of her voice. “Sister!”

I let Yvonne take Rachel, and then I ran after Alicia as she sprinted into the shadowy rooms. I could hear voices ahead of me.

“What are you doing in here?” Sister Gretna sounded very annoyed.

I sneaked forward a little, peeked into the large room ahead; it was a dining area with a sizeable table in the middle. On the solid table was an equally solid looking woman, who was probably the cook. She had an orange jammed into her mouth, and her hands were tied behind her back. The stripes over her reddened arse were visible to me from my distance.

Sister Gretna looked deadly; she held a large heavy flogger in one hand, which she tapped against her leg as Alicia continued to blab.

“But there are four of them!” she wailed. Gretna stepped from behind the table; I could now see that she wore a pink harness around her hips, with a big black dildo jutting from it.

“Four of them?” She stomped to the other end of the table. She pulled a robe from the floor. “Where is my Retriever?” she snapped at the scrubber.

“I think maybe she was with them, I’m not sure.” Alicia looked even more unsteady as Sister Gretna towered over her. Alicia began to help her out of her harness, undoing the many buckles, but as she did, Gretna glanced up, locking eyes with me as I crouched peeking behind the gap of the half-open door. Time seemed to slow down as I made a dash for her; she was tangled in her harness, half in, half out. I thought I just might be in with a chance, but I should have been clued up from our previous encounter. Sister Gretna moved with such speed it was dizzying. She pushed Alicia away; the scrubber toppled to the floor in an untidy mess. In the same moment, the Sister leapt out of her harness, already running towards me. We crashed into each other, with arms and legs flailing. Now I’m no agent, but living in East London had left me with a few survival skills of my own. I was able to land a right hook, square to her jaw. Gretna looked stunned for a moment, but then unfortunately, that moment quickly passed. She head-butted me; the force of the impact sent me sprawling back on to the table. The half-naked cook twisted away from me, looking petrified. When I tried to get up, the evil Sister only pushed me back down on the table. I thrashed out at her, but she deflected every one of my blows. I lay squirming beneath her impossibly strong hand. If I ever got through this, I was going to destroy every drop of Substance Five. No one should be this strong.

“I don’t know how you got out of the infirmary, and truthfully I don’t care.” Her hand slid up to my throat. “Such a waste—I could have plenty of filthy fun with someone like you.”

My vision grew blurry. I gasped for breath.

“My Sister.” I heard Grace’s voice as if she were far away.

“Retriever,” Gretna sounded relieved. “I was just punishing the Cook for stealing, when this mad woman broke into my room.” I spluttered, gulping down grateful breaths of air. “Get rid of her for me.”

Grace’s eyes flicked over to the Cook; her raw backside was still partially visible.

“Retriever,” Sister Gretna’s voice had taken a low tone.

“No,” Grace said simply. She limped up to us as I struggled to stand. I finally clambered up to see Erica, Rachel, and Yvonne in the doorway.

“No?” Gretna narrowed her eyes. “We are agents, retrievers, sisters, and seekers. You have a destiny with us that you cannot ignore.”

“Tell Grace what you were doing to the Cook when I came in,” I gasped. “Go on, from one sister to another.”

“Silence, girl,” Gretna hissed. She turned to Grace. “For the integrity of the Sisterhood, I order you to dispose of this troublesome rat.”

“Integrity?” Grace said with a hoarse voice. “You are rotten to the core. You have surrounded yourself with these converts for your own personal pleasure. You’ve taken them from a protected place where none of the Sisterhood is allowed to go.”

“What I do is no concern of yours,” Gretna said with a sneer.

“We need a new Sister to run this house,” Grace announced loudly.

“Watch your tongue,” Gretna snapped. “And the rest of you, go back to your duties.

“You can’t order them around any longer,” I called out, aware that more and more women had entered the room.

“Prostitute power!” Erica yelled like a war cry.

Carol stepped forward, squeezing Yvonne’s hand as she spoke up. “Three days she had me in here, reaming my arse with her plastic cock.”

The nurse pushed her way to the front. “She made me pee my own knickers, and then she took photos of me in a state.”

“She whipped my arse with a flogger!” A woman at the back of the group called out.

“She put pegs on my nipples!” another one yelled.

“She made me eat her out for hours on end!” called yet another.

The testimonies of the converts came thick and fast. With every accusation, Sister Gretna stepped away from the throng until her legs backed against the table.

“I will not be spoken to in this disgusting manner,” she snarled although her voice was not as strong as it had been only minutes before. “You’re all a bunch of cheap whores. And as for you, Retriever,” she curled her lip as she spoke. “You do your duty. We are your family—the only family you have. We are the Sisterhood.”

“Well then,” Grace said smiling lightly. “I’ll do my duty.” She took a breath. “With the power given to me by the Sisterhood of Cuthbert, I hereby relieve you of your post, effective immediately.”

“What?” she spluttered. “You cannot do that!”

Grace glared at her. “In emergencies such as these, when the Sisterhood is at risk, such action can be taken.”

“But why?” Gretna asked more softly.

I happily answered that question. “You have contributed to the profession of fallen women. You are no better than they.”

Grace looked down, her face flushed when I said that. Sister Gretna however, roared with anger.

“I’ll see you dead before I leave this place,” she screeched.

Grace’s voice was calm as she addressed the ex-Sister. “You have betrayed our founding sisters. You have betrayed Cuthbert.”

I grinned, watching the women around me move closer with every passing second.

“Are you going to be ordered around all your life?” I called out. I still saw some fear in their eyes, but it was mixed with anger now. “What do you say?”

“I say we kick her scrawny backside out of here!” Carol yelled with a bitter tone. The other women cheered. They all advanced on Gretna, who backed up further until she sat on the table. I smiled as I saw the Cook rear up unseen behind Gretna’s back. The Cook grabbed a handful of Gretna’s hair, pulling her backwards. The other women all piled on top. If not for the circumstances, it would have been just my cup of tea to join in.

After a few minutes of the energetic pummelling, Erica pulled the women off. “Best not let her get killed, eh?” the copper said with a reluctant smile.

Gretna struggled to stand; her clothes were ripped clean off her. Someone had jammed her dildo into her mouth; she spat it out, swearing out loud.

“Is that all you scum have?” she sneered. “I underwent worse than that at my initiation.” She looked around defiantly. “There’s nothing any of you can do to hurt me.”

“Oh we won’t use physical strength on you,” I said, approaching her. I was more than a little satisfied that she backed away some. “We’ll take away all that you have—your money, your property, your precious Substance Five, everything.” Her face fell. “We’ll throw you out on to the streets with nothing but the clothes ripped off your back.” I advanced further, my smile wide as her fear showed more visibly. “With no family and no friends, you’ll have to rely on the generosity of strangers—on their charity.” Gretna shook her head silently. “You’ll have to do an honest job.” I paused for a moment. “Or you could always turn to sex work. A classy bird like you won’t have to wait too long before she starts bringing in the money.”

“I’d rather starve,” she said weakly.

“Oh I doubt that very much. The first real ache of hunger to hit you, you’ll be dropping your knickers quick as a flash.”

“I can’t. I’ve never…” For just a split-second, Gretna looked almost human, but then I blinked, and it was gone.

“And before you start plotting revenge, know that my new Head Retriever will take you out if you even try. I’ll tell all the other houses what we know too.”

The ex-Sister brought a trembling hand to her face, but she glared at me all the same.”

“And will you oversee this new world order? You have no knowledge of what women want.”

Rachel walked stiffly to me. I could see her grin, despite the pain she was obviously in. “Jessie has a lot of experience in meeting women’s needs. I think we’ll run this house as a four-way partnership—I’m an agent, Grace is a retriever, Jessie can be our sister, and Erica shall be our seeker.”

“Cool!” Erica bellowed, before reaching to the stunned woman. “Let me show you the way out.” She grabbed Gretna, yanking her forward. Grace and the rest of the women walked with her, but as they reached the door, the displaced tyrant turned to me, scowling.

“I know secrets about you,” she spat. “Grace did her research not just on our worst agent, but on her acquaintances too.” Erica tried to get her moving forward again, but Gretna stood her ground. There were obviously plenty of dodgy substances still floating around her system.

“Whatever you think you know about me, I just don’t care.” I waved off her threats with a flip of my hand.

Gretna smirked a cruel smile. “Then I’ll just leave you to think about your whore of a mother, Jessie. Or should I say, Aunt? It hardly matters I suppose, seeing as they’re both dead.”

Erica slapped Gretna on the back of her head. “Shut it.” She shoved the older woman forward. “Let’s see how far your smart mouth gets you in the real world.”

I was left in a daze as the women departed. Rachel curled her uninjured arm around me. “Don’t listen to her—it’s all part of our training, to strike at the heart of our foes.”

I turned to Grace, silently questioning her with my eyes. She nodded slowly, just once, and that was enough. I removed the ring on my finger that my Aunty Connie had given me. I looked at the inscription: To my special girl. The meaning was suddenly clear to me.

“It’s okay,” I said with a sigh. “My mum and my Aunty were both there for me when my dad died. They both loved me.”

Rachel squeezed me once. “The Sisterhood will be in good hands.” She kissed me. “Your good hands.”

Chapter Eighteen

Victorian Sexual Shame

The first of the converts left later in the day; the young woman lived in Portsmouth. It turned out that the house we were in was located in Dover, quite close to the ferry port on the English Channel. Grace gave the woman enough money to go home, and some spending money too for when she got there. There were a few of the captured women from further a field; one from Corsica, and two from different parts of Poland. Rachel came into her own, speaking to the women in their own languages, reassuring them. If she was the worst agent in the Sisterhood, then I couldn’t imagine what their best was like.

“Do we have to worry about recriminations?” I asked as two women waved goodbye; one was from Fort Augustus in the Scottish Highlands, and the other was from Newcastle. They were both planning on flying home. I got big hugs from each of them which literally brought tears to my eyes.

“I’ve been thinking,” Erica put in. “Corruption like this rarely involves just one person. I bet there are other Sisters doing the same thing in their houses.”

“What we need is something we can hold over all of the Sisterhood of Cuthbert,” I mused out loud.

“What kind of an old-fashioned name is Cuthbert, anyway?” Erica asked, screwing up her face.

“I think he brought Christianity to England,” I replied.

Grace and Rachel both shook their heads.

“That’s Saint Cuthbert,” Grace supplied. “He’s also responsible for the illuminated manuscripts in Lindisfarne.”

“We need some illumination now,” Erica muttered.

“You guys never speak of it,” I ventured. “But I just have to ask—what’s the deal with Jack the Ripper?”

Rachel froze, but Grace only sighed. “We have dark roots,” she said. “We took a terrible example and we turned it around to create the Sisterhood.”

“Snatching prostitutes off the streets, and killing them,” Erica spoke quietly. “Bloody men, thinking they can treat women like shit.”

I watched Rachel’s frightened face, not best pleased that I’d brought up this subject. But then I thought about the first time I’d seen her, how she had been dressed as a man. I thought about how Grace had said the Sisterhood had learned to not be weak vessels. I thought of all the secrets I’d learnt over the past few days, including the identity of my own mother.

“What if it wasn’t a bloody man,” I said softly. Rachel, Grace and Erica all looked at me. “What if Jack the Ripper was a woman?”

Three sets of mouths fell open.

“That’s that…” Rachel began.

“The craziest thing,” Erica spluttered.

“It’s insane,” Grace breathed. “But, oh god, if it were true.”

Erica looked at her, eyes wide. “You think she’s right?”

We all gaped at each other until I said, “Like the Great Bob Marley once wrote, we have to research your history.”

“Do you know a historian?” Rachel asked.

“No,” I said with a smile. “But I know a very good librarian.”

* * * *

We found a phone in Gretna’s room—the only phone in the building. After I called Tally, we let each of the women call home if they wanted to, but only a few of them took us up on that, which made me a little sad.

Tally gave Grace a thunderous look when she came down the next day. We had been able to find a few bits in the ex-Sister’s trunk hidden beneath her bed: there were a couple of letters, some sepia-tinted photographs and a little jewellery, but nothing special or useful as far as I could see. I hoped that Tally would be able to spot something in the old artefacts.

I explained my theory on Jack the Ripper and the Sisterhood to Tally. She looked at me with wide-eyed shock.

“You know what you’re saying?” she squeaked.

“Yes.”

“You know how outrageous this is?” her voice was still high-pitched; it set my teeth on edge.

“Yes.”

Tally turned back to the others who huddled around the table in the dining area. We’d locked the doors to the suite of rooms for this meeting; the less people who knew about this, the better.

Tally held up an envelope in white cotton-gloved hands. “This contains a letter from a woman named Cassandra to Agatha, her sister.”

“They were our founding sisters,” Rachel supplied.

“Cassandra discusses her difficulties with her husband, Cuthbert.”

“They named us after him—we know that,” Grace said.

“Except, I’ve been looking at a historical database online, god bless the internet,” she muttered. “Cuthbert died months before this letter was written.”

Grace stood, peering at the thin paper in Tally’s hand. “Is that genuine?” she asked.

Tally gave her a sharp look. “I’m a professional. Now do you want my opinion or not?”

Grace sat down. “So who is this Cuthbert that Cassandra was talking about?” she asked.

“If we believe Jessie’s theory, then we have to assume that Cuthbert was a personae that either Cassandra or Agatha took on.” She carefully smoothed out the letter on to the surface of the table, pointing at a few of the handwritten lines. “Look at this part here,” Tally said as she pointed to a section on the paper. “This part is interesting. They mention a certificate of freedom—how all of their troubles would have been avoided if one had been secured.”

“What’s that?” Erica asked, looking closer. “Sounds like divorce papers.”

“It probably refers to something more obscene,” Tally said, emphasising the last word. She glared at Grace once more.

“Obscene?” I asked, hoping to divert Tally’s attention.

“It refers to the freedom of disease,” she stated.

“You can get a certificate for that?” I blurted, amused.

“In Victorian times, sexual diseases like syphilis were deadly; it blinded, maimed and killed many people. Publications such as the Wives Handbook, suggested that women obtain such a certificate before agreeing to marriage.”

“So these high-class folks…” Erica began.

“Were no better than the rest of us,” Tally finished with a sigh. “Agatha tried setting up a society for the betterment of low women, but she was still misguided.”

“Low women?” I muttered. At least that name was marginally better than, whore.

“Good luck with that!” Erica snickered. “A charity for prossies, that’s rich!”

“Look, PC Plod, are you going to take this seriously or not?” Tally snapped.

“Who are you calling Plod?”

“If we could get back to the artefacts,” I asked, wondering when I’d become the responsible adult in this group.

“Agatha’s charity never got off the ground—it was probably scandalous for her to even get involved with something like this, especially as it was aimed solely at the low women in the district of Whitechapel.”

“That’s a bit focused,” I muttered, thinking back to how Whitechapel was a special area for the Sisterhood.

Rachel sat up. “Why do I feel a “but” coming on?”

“Only weeks after the last letter here, the first cases of Jack the Ripper were reported.”

“It’s a bit of a stretch, isn’t it?” Erica asked. “Some old lady in a corset, killing prostitutes?”

“We don’t kill women in the Sisterhood,” Grace stated. “But we’ve always been taught deadly skills.”

“Along with lying and cheating,” Tally sneered.

“That too,” Grace replied calmly.

“This doesn’t sound right,” Rachel sighed. “Jack the Ripper was a man.”

“How do you know?” I asked with all honesty.

“He’s referred to as Jack, not Jackie,” she said, sticking out her tongue at me.

“They teach you cross-dressing as part of your training?”

Grace and Rachel nodded.

“Why? You can’t tell me all sisters are into the drag-king scene?”

“It’s deception, disguise to draw attention from your true identity,” Grace explained.

“Shit,” Erica said. “This is looking more suspect.”

“If Cuthbert never gave his wife a certificate—if he never proved he was free of disease, he could have been riddled with the pox.” Tally carefully folded the letter, placing it back inside the envelope.

“And if he gave that to his wife,” Rachel began.

“She would not be happy. In fact, she might want revenge on him, and the women who passed it on,” Tally finished.

“Maybe one sister killed, but the other preferred a more humane method?” I mused.

“There were only five prostitutes murdered,” Grace said quietly.

“What do you mean, only five?” Tally spat.

“The Sisterhood took thousands of women over more than a century. We didn’t kill a single one of them,” she retorted.

“No, you just stole them from their family, and stuck them in a country where they couldn’t speak the language.” She leaned forward, staring at Grace with accusation in her eyes.

“We educated them, made them better.” Grace was the picture of calm; the complete opposite of the Librarian.

Tally fumed, turning to me, her face grew scarlet. “Do I have to listen to this?”

I stood, annoyed at the women’s behaviour. “Jack the Ripper was never caught. What if it’s because they were looking for the wrong gender? The real killer could have hidden in plain sight.”

Tally looked down at the artefacts. She picked up a locket, opened it to reveal two small photographs of women, probably the sisters. One woman was blonde, the other with darker hair—both looked like they had a stick up their arses. I gazed at twin snarls, two serious faces that I wouldn’t want to piss off. Could they really hold the secret to Jack the Ripper?

“One of my favourite books,” Tally said quietly, “Is, The strange case of Doctor Jekyll and Mr Hyde. When I went to the bookshop to buy a copy for my ex-boyfriend, they had lots of versions for sale. One book had a cover of a crazed-looking man holding a big knife in his hand. He looked like he would fit right in a typical horror film. I didn’t want to get that, so I kept on searching. In the end, I found a copy that had a front cover which really reflected the story.”

“What did it look like?” I asked, unsure of where Tally was going with this.

“It had a picture of a man on the front, but he had turned away slightly, so you couldn’t really see his face. I chose that book because it showed the hidden nature of what happened inside. Like our Jack the Ripper, he changed his appearance, kept his real self hidden because he was ashamed of what he was capable of.” Tally looked at Grace with sadness briefly washing over her. “He was ashamed of how strongly he felt.”

“Jekyll and Hyde is required reading for all new recruits to the Sisterhood,” Rachel spoke up.

I looked at her, surprised by this information. “Why would they make you read that?”

“Because it shows that in some cases, evil is stronger than good. We in the Sisterhood have to rise above both of those concepts.”

“Didn’t exactly work out, did it?” Tally asked.

Rachel shrugged. “We’re not perfect.”

“I’m not a betting person,” Erica said slowly, patting Grace’s hand with affection. “But I think this is the sort of thing the other houses won’t want spreading.”

“So they’ll leave us alone?” Rachel asked, looking hopeful.

“It’s worth a shot,” I said, squeezing her hand.

“Great. We can disband this house and all go home,” Erica said, stroking fingers over Grace’s arm.

“No, we keep it going,” I said quickly. “But we’ll run it our way.” This was something I knew we could do.

Tally turned to me astonished. “And what way is that?” she asked.

“We won’t drag prostitutes in off the street; we’ll let them decide what they want to do. We won’t threaten, we won’t use disguises, and…” I took a breath. “We’ll include men too.”

“Men!” Grace and Rachel both shouted at the same time. They waved their hands about in a panicked way.

“Yes, men,” I stated. “Men can be sex-workers too. They need supporting just as much as women.”

“Men?” Rachel echoed the word as if it were a foreign phrase. “Men in the Sisterhood?”

“Men don’t need our help,” Grace stated, crossing her arms defensively.

I faced her, smiling softly. “Have you even asked them?” She opened her mouth, but said nothing. She shook her head, and then stalked away. I hoped that this was something we could still do. My plan wouldn’t work without Grace’s muscle.

Tally came around the table to me. She slung an arm over my shoulder, smiling happily. “Men!” she cried. “Now that’s something I can get behind.”

* * * *

We got our first threat before the day had ended. Grace received a call on Gretna’s phone. The Retriever held the handset to me.

“Reinstate Gretna,” the stern voice said. “Or we shall send four of our best Retrievers to you. No one will be left to tell your sorry tale.”

I felt my heart in my mouth as I spoke four words into the receiver as a reply: “I know about Jack,” I said. There was a long pause before the line went dead. I felt a lot better after I put the receiver down.

Grace and I sat on the large bed, both staring at the phone.

“Want to order some pizza?” I asked, glibly. “Anything except anchovies will be fine.”

“Keeping the other Sisters at bay won’t be that easy all the time,” Grace warned. “They won’t stop trying. We in the Sisterhood learn early how to be relentless.”

“We can do this if we stick together.” I winced when I realised that I was sitting on something hard and solid. I yanked a three-button remote control device from beneath my bum. I pressed the first button, expecting a television to come on somewhere. Instead, sexy soul music started playing.

“Gretna was such a pervert,” Grace said with disdain.

“Aren’t you glad?” I asked, remembering what Grace liked to do in her spare time. The Retriever jumped up, and she began dancing to the music, gyrating sensually. I was amazed at how quickly her injuries were healing. She still had bandages wrapped over one leg, with cuts and bruises that decorated her skin, but she was still looking in incredible shape.

Rachel and Erica came in, drawn by the sound. Rachel looked at Grace with admiration, but Erica only grinned widely. She joined her new friend, and together they danced seductively to the music, grinding against each other to the beat. Rachel tried to pull me off the bed, but I tugged her back down. Her elbow knocked the second button on the remote: the bed began to vibrate. Rachel squealed, laughing, waving the other women over.

“Come feel this!” she called. Erica began to chuckle as soon as she realised what was happening. She pulled Grace to lay down with her. All four of us giggled, wobbling around on the huge crazy bed.

“So is this a good time to bring up our foursome?” Erica asked with a naughty smile. She drew her hand up my leg, but Grace slapped it away. Erica tackled the Retriever to the mattress, sitting atop her. Grace pushed at Erica’s T-shirt, scrunching the material up until it lay in a band above Erica’s big breasts. I leaned up to see Grace pinch each nipple, making the copper smile wickedly.

“Oh big bad Retriever, is that all you got?” she said with a smirk. “Because I’m not feeling anything here.”

“Feel this, bitch,” Grace said with mock anger. She brought her hand up in a slap across Erica’s dangling breasts.

“God, yes!” she cried. “That’s more like it!”

Grace twisted Erica’s big pink nipples, pulling at them until they stretched impossibly long. She did a fancy move, extricating herself from beneath Erica, and then she continued slapping the policewoman’s breasts with force. Erica heaved with pleasure at her assault, but then in a burst of energy, she flipped Grace on to her back once more, spreading the Retriever’s legs—her skirt rode up to reveal that she wore no knickers. Erica’s face disappeared to her bare crotch; the sucking and slurping noises were just about audible beneath the sound of the music, but that was nothing compared to the noise that Grace made. The couple rocked and thrust against each other. When Erica lifted her face, it was wet and shiny.

“Let’s do this every day,” she addressed me, breathlessly.

I arched an eyebrow at her suggestion. “Like a team-building exercise?”

The other women laughed at that.

“That’s one way to build up our Sisterhood, I suppose,” Rachel said, snickering.

Erica and Grace settled down after their fun. I lay back, aware of Rachel’s warmth as she lay next to me. I fished around for the remote, and switched the vibrating bed off, ceasing the tremors.

“Undress,” I asked Rachel gently. “Do it to the music.”

“I’m not exactly at my sexiest with my injured arm, you know?” she complained.

“This isn’t a request.” I gave her the look that I had been secretly practising. Rachel got up once she saw it. She began moving to the music in no time at all. The tune had changed; an instrumental Bob Marley track now played. I thought of my mother with a smile.

Rachel unbuttoned her blouse. I was thankful for the extra clothes we had been given; a blood-splattered shirt would not have added to the mood. Rachel shuffled awkwardly out of her blouse, stepped out of her skirt, but once they were off, the rest of her moves were fluid and graceful. It also helped that she wasn’t wearing any knickers either; I vaguely wondered if anyone in the Sisterhood ever wore them. I got off the bed, went to her, where I wrapped careful arms around my Agent. I kissed her deeply. When my lips left her mouth, I kept on kissing elsewhere. I licked and nibbled over her neck, kissed lower over her breasts, over the skin that was still bruised purple. I knelt, twisting her so I could lick over her belly and around to her back. I kissed each of Rachel’s arse cheeks, and then I burrowed further into her, swirling my tongue against her hot sweaty skin. The taste, the smell and the feel were instantly intoxicating. Now I knew why Michaela would do this all night long. I was not a sought-after Russian with amazing endurance, but I would use my initiative until I ran out of energy. I parted Rachel’s arse cheeks, breathing in her earthy scent. My hand went around to her front, fingering her pussy until she began thrusting back against my face.

The music continued to play a soothing beat. Rachel sang out as she came, and then she toppled unceremoniously to the floor—luckily she didn’t land on her injured arm. I helped her up. Soon we were back on the bed. We both stared at the third button on the remote control.

“Do we really want to know what that’s for?” I asked.

Grace knocked the remote out of my hand; the device clattered noisily to the floor. “We don’t need anything fancy when there are four women in the bed.” Her words hung over us. We looked hesitantly at each other, until Erica’s face broke out in a grin.

“I want to fuck you all,” she stated.

My clitoris throbbed, begging to be touched, but I was taken aback with Erica’s directness all the same. I’m no blushing virgin, but blimey, that copper had a mouth on her!

I shrugged out of my clothes, locking eyes with her the whole time. We met in a flurry of lips and tongues as we kissed. I ran my hands over her solid frame, thrusting up against her bare thigh. Out of the corner of my eyes, I could see Rachel kneeling on the mattress to my side. I stretched a hand out to her, pulling her to us. Grace slid against me too; I felt her wet heat on my back. For a moment we all squirmed on the bed like a living, sex-crazed organism. I kissed mouths with my eyes closed, because I didn’t want to see who was whom, and then I slipped fingers into unknown pussies. I felt strong able arms clutch at me as my fingers sped up in sticky heat. Someone cried out to my left, someone sucked my tits to the right. I was pushed backwards; I landed flat on my back. A second later I felt three mouths on me. My legs were shoved open, and a heavy solid length thrust inside my pussy with a squelch; I hoped that no one was using any of Gretna’s sex toys. Soon I didn’t even care as the dildo slid partly out, only to be rammed back inside again and again. My eyes opened with the intensity of it. I looked up at Grace as she angled her hips, holding one half of the dildo inside herself, and the other half in me. She slipped out fully, and then lay down flat on the bed. She encouraged me to sit atop her, which I did, enjoying the new sensation of the dildo as it rubbed my g-spot.

I felt a prod at my backside. I looked over my shoulder to see Erica rise over me. The horny policewoman’s face was a study in determination; I doubted she would stop until she was satisfied. A squirt of lube from some unknown source was all I felt against my opening before she pressed her silicone cock inside my arse. Firm hands held me down when I threatened to buck off the bed.

The dildo pounded inside me, robbing me of the breath in my lungs. I revelled in the slight burn as the skin around my arse was stretched to accommodate it. The copper started to growl like an animal. She held on to my hips, pumping hard and fast. Every nerve-ending in my body transmitted the feelings from my backside. I was the meat in a human sandwich, and I loved every moment of it.

“Jessie,” Erica whispered, as she held me tight, wrapping solid arms around my waist.

“Sister,” Grace’s voice was rough with emotion. She twisted my clitoris, her fingers slipping on my juices. I shuddered from the intensity of it.

“Lover.” Rachel kissed me, breathed the words right into my mouth. My hips were moving like crazy. My body was consumed by three beautiful, sexy women, and I was a lucky cow to be in the centre of it all. I really was in paradise. I came like an explosion, yelling out so loud that my throat burned.

We all fell back on to the mattress. I looked through dazed eyes at Rachel and Grace. The two women both held their injured parts, groaning slightly as they disentangled themselves from me.

“Are you okay?” I asked, my voice weak.

“Are you kidding me?” Rachel said with a smile. “I’m fantastic.”

* * * *

I did another search of Gretna’s room with Grace and Erica a little later. Rachel had fallen asleep after our session. She snored softly in the big bed.

“It’s Substance Five,” Grace explained quietly. “She probably hasn’t had any for a day or so—it’s starting to wear off.”

“Will she be okay?” I asked, suddenly worried.

“It will affect her mood. She’ll need much more rest too, but she should be all right.” Grace felt around the edges of a full-length mirror fixed to the wall.

“What about you? Are you still on that dodgy stuff?”

Grace shook her head. “I’ve never taken it myself.”

I looked at her with shock. “Do you mean to say that you’re naturally this strong?”

Grace flashed me a smile as she moved on to a small chair, feeling beneath the padded seat. “I know how to utilise what I already have.”

“Neat.”

Erica pulled open some drawers at the far end of the room. She was out of hearing, but I dropped my voice anyway.

“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your help, Grace.” I paused for a moment. “But Tally, she didn’t deserve what you did to her.”

Grace looked at me through slit eyes. “It was business,” she said. “I had to do what I could with the available resources, just as you did.”

She was right of course, but I still felt for my librarian friend.

“Why did Gretna do it?” Erica asked, peeping beneath the dresser. She pulled out a slim gold bangle that caught the light. “I mean, some of the women told me they were just on holiday in London. One of them had been seeing a dental specialist at the Royal London Hospital in Whitechapel when she got whacked over the head, and carted off.”

“They weren’t all prostitutes?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I doubt Gretna cared,” Erica said, dusting herself down.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Grace said. “The life of a Sister can be lonely. Plus Head Sisters are supposed to be celibate.”

“Celibate!” I squeaked, almost choking on the word. “I can’t do the celibacy thing.”

“You run your house however you see fit,” Grace reassured me. “Anyway, I don’t think you could go even a day without sex, could you?”

“I’m not insatiable,” I retorted, a little cross.

“Keep telling yourself that, mate,” Erica said with a smile, shaking her head.

“Okay,” I mumbled, determined to take the focus away from myself. “Gretna was lonely and horny. Is that why she did it?”

“Substance Five does have certain side-effects,” Grace said slowly, as if she only just remembered the information.

“What about Rachel?”

“You’ll have to wait and see,” she replied with a shrug. “But you love her, so it will be fine.”

“I do not love Rachel,” I stated.

“Please,” Erica groaned. “I’ve only known you guys for a few days. I can see that you love her.” She tapped her nose, and then pointed at me.

I looked over at the sleeping agent. I didn’t know what I felt.

* * * *

The mansion seemed even bigger now that it was mostly empty. The nurse, whose name was Philomena, wanted to stay with her girlfriend, Sam, who had been working as the Cook. A few other women seemed to enjoy their new-found freedom, but only a handful remained. I couldn’t blame them really.

Yvonne found me the next day. I was laying in the shade of some trees in the beautiful gardens. I wore cut-off shorts, and a T-shirt that felt a little tight, but I wasn’t about to complain; I felt the warmth of the sun on my exposed stomach and thighs. I felt good.

Some of the remaining women had occupied themselves by doing a little laundry. They had erected a makeshift pole and line, and hung their washing out to dry in the gardens. It looked a little strange to have the domestic smack-bang in the middle of the luxurious grounds, but it made me smile all the same. I watched a dozen pairs of knickers flutter in the breeze, looking like bunting at a village fair.

Tally was busy inside the mansion, searching for more information, but I hadn’t seen her or anyone else in hours. I saw Yvonne’s little shadow on the grass. I looked up to see her approach.

“You look at home here,” Yvonne said, standing over me.

“Well now the evil tyrant has gone, this place isn’t too bad.” I took a sip of my homemade lemonade, enjoying the sweet but tart drink. I’d yet to find any alcohol in the building, but I would bet good money that Gretna had a stash hidden somewhere. Booze and sex were life-long partners in my experience.

“So you’re really going ahead with your plan—your charity for prossies?” she asked.

“Yup.”

“You’re going to get hassled, you know?”

“Uh-huh.”

“And not just from regular people either,” Yvonne continued. “Whores don’t take kindly to being told what to do, you know?”

I sat up, suddenly irked by her words. “First, I don’t like the word, Whore. Second, I’m not telling anyone what to do. If people ask for help, they’ll get it. We’ve got all the bases covered—a sex worker wants some legal advice, then Erica can give it. They need counselling, well Rachel’s got her psychology training. They need a bit of protection; we have a one-woman army in Grace.”

Yvonne took a step back. “And where do you come in?”

I grinned at her. “I studied business and finance. If anyone wants to know about maximising their income, I’ll help them out.” I lay back on the grass once more. “Sex workers may not want to know about taxation, but I bet they’ll want to make the most of the money they’ve already got,” I finished, breezily.

Yvonne stared at me as if I’d transformed into another person. Maybe I had.

“Anyway,” she said with a weak smile. “I came to say I’m off. Carol and I are heading back to London.”

“You can stay here as long as you want,” I said. I meant it.

“I know, but we both need our independence,” she replied with a shrug.

“I understand.”

“Plus Carol’s got this sweet gig with a woman who dresses up like a wolf. She gets good money for it too, you know?”

I tried to look innocent when she said that. My evening with the Furry was something I wasn’t about to forget any time soon. I got up, hugged Yvonne. And then I let her go. I was sad, but only a little.

I lay back on the grass, gazing up through the leaves of the tree, to the clear blue sky above me. I wondered how high I’d have to go to see my mother; was she up there looking down on me, or was she playing Tetris with Bob Marley? I didn’t know why my Mum and my Aunty would have lied to me all my life. Connie was so open about everything; I knew that she had both male and female lovers in her past. I knew that she’d been a bit of a wild child when she was my age, but I also knew that she was a good woman too. I hoped that I’d find the answer one day. Maybe it would come to me in a dream.

Rachel, Grace and Erica came out later; I was just about to doze off, but their noise awoke me as they chatted amongst themselves.

“Sister,” Grace addressed me in a reverent tone. “Erica and I will be on our way shortly.”

“What did you call me?” I asked, not trusting my hearing.

“Sister Jessica, you’ll have to get used to that title,” Rachel said with a snicker.

“No I won’t.” I brushed a leaf off me.

Erica slapped me on the arm. “We got a call from some bird in Germany—she called herself, Sister Rosalind. She wanted to pass on her congratulations to you.”

“Are you serious?” I couldn’t believe my coup had worked.

Grace nodded. “Don’t worry, we’ll be back in a few weeks, plus Rachel will fill you in on what you need to know to run this house.”

Erica gave me a huge, rib-cracking hug. “Grace has been telling me about this wicked bathhouse in Bethnal Green. First thing we’ll do when we get back to London, is check it out. And then I’ll start work as a Seeker, finding those who might need our help.”

Grace and Erica linked arms. The women walked leisurely to the beaten up van. It sputtered to life after a few tries. And then they were gone too, driving off in a cloud of grey smoke.

“I thought they’d never leave,” I said with an exaggerated sigh.

Rachel squinted at me. “Remember I’m trained in reading people, Jessie,” she said gently.

“Oh yes? What can you read in me?” I asked, feigning boredom.

“I know you don’t want to be alone.”

“Anything else?” I asked, with my hands on my hips.

“I know you’re horny as fuck.”

I pulled her down to the grass, and then I knelt at her side. I wanted to hit her. I wanted to kiss her. I wanted her to know what I was feeling. Without any words, I pushed up her short dress, curling my fingers in to the band of her frilly white knickers. The lingerie came down with a few sweeps of my greedy hands. I dangled the moist panties from a finger, swinging it to and fro hypnotically. Rachel’s eyes followed the metronome arc. I scrunched the knickers in one hand, and then I ran the ball of cloth up over the side of her neck. I squished it into her trembling mouth. Every inch of my body tingled.

Rachel’s eyes rolled back in her head, but she didn’t fight me as I gagged her. This was rough and dirty, with no niceties involved. This was just what I needed.

I pulled off my top, yanked off the shorts I wore. I walked naked around Rachel, trailing one hand over her shoulders and face. I stood in front of her, stroking myself. I felt the chill of a breeze gust over my bare skin, but the cool only made my senses come alive. It also helped my nipples go stiff.

“Stay with me,” I whispered as I bent to her. I pushed her legs open, and then pressed two fingers inside; she was already soaking wet. Rachel grunted from behind her gag as I plunged into her.

“Stay with me,” I chanted. My fingers picked up speed. I bit down on her pale thigh, needing to mark her with a positive scar; something different from the other bruises on her skin; something that was all from me. I rubbed my thumb over her clitoris, circling and pushing it roughly. I bent lower, sucked it inside my mouth. I tasted the future with every salty, slurping kiss.

Rachel slammed down on my fingers, coming in a blast of movement. A gush of come shot out at me, drenching me in sticky, sweet-smelling fluid. I let her come paint me. I let it soak me to the bone.

Finally, I reached up, and pulled the knickers from Rachel’s mouth. I dabbed at her sweaty forehead. We held each other, and listened to our rapid heartbeats. The wind rustled through the branches of the tree above us. I felt a profound sense of peace. But then the peaceful moment vanished as Grace’s van drove up, billowing dirty smoke from the exhaust. Erica leaned out of the passenger window giving us the thumbs up. She had a wide happy smile on her face.

“Bloody hell!” she called out. “You girls sure know how to party!”

The End

ABOUT JACQUELINE APPLEBEE

Jacqueline Applebee is a black bisexual British woman, who breaks down barriers with smut. Jacqueline’s stories have appeared in various anthologies and websites, including, Cleansheets, Iridescence, Sensuous Shades of Lesbian Erotica, Best Women’s Erotica 2008 and 2009, Ultimate Lesbian Erotica 2008 and 2009, and Best Lesbian Erotica 2008.  Jacqueline’s website is at writing-in-shadows.co.uk.

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SHIVERS

By Selena Kitt

Eight darkly erotic and horrifically delicious stories guaranteed to give you shivers, in more ways than one! Stories include: The Velvet Choker, Pumpkin Eater, The Ride, Mercy, Advent Calendar, Silent Night, The Laundry Chute and The Gingerbread Man.

Warning: This title contains graphic language, sex and erotic horror.

Excerpt From SHIVERS:

"So, seriously, what's the joke?" I asked.

She was hanging her head off the end of my bed, watching the tail end of A Charlie Brown Christmas Special upside down.

"Don't you love the way they talk? Wah, wahhh wahhhhh. Isn't that totally how you used to hear grown-ups?" She lolled her head off the corner and put her bare feet up on the wall, crossing them at the ankles.

"I still hear grown-ups that way," I snorted, pulling my t-shirt on. "Come on, Betz, give."

"Oh, this wasn't enough for you?" She teased me, opening her thighs and pointing between them. Her pussy lips were still a little swollen and they glistened. I sat next to her, my hand inevitably drawn to the wetness, rubbing the moist and slightly sticky skin with my thumb. God, she's intoxicating.

"Everything isn't about sex, you know?" I tried to sound serious, although my fingers betrayed me and slid through her slit as my cock began to throb against my thigh.

She laughed--god, I loved her laugh--it tinkled, like ice crystals forming in midair. Rolling off the bed, she grabbed for the remote and started to flip channels. "Do you have CNN? I have to see if they're broadcasting any other signs of the apocalypse."

"Ha." I said. "Ha." She grinned up at me, sprawled naked on my floor, her hair like dark chocolate streams covering the generous swell of her breasts. "Well, if you're not gonna tell me what it's all about, I'm not opening any more of those stupid doors." I grabbed a new pair of briefs out of my top drawer, shoving the advent calendar aside to do it. It toppled toward the wall and balanced there, its first five black doors hanging askew showing five decidedly blank white spaces.

Every morning I felt like a fool, opening a new door in the hopes that this time, something would appear. I had noticed a different odor each day--first the oranges and cloves, then cinnamon, then something I couldn't identify at all, then something that smelled faintly like pumpkin pie. I joked with her on the phone that she had invented the world's first "Scratch 'N Sniff" advent calendar. She just laughed. There was a different smell today, like those red and white pinwheel peppermint candies my grandmother used to keep in her pocket to keep us quiet in church, but it didn't linger long. I was getting really tired of whatever game Betsy was playing.

"Nice ass," she commented softly. I didn't reply, tugging my jeans on. God, she pissed me off sometimes.

"Is that all I am to you?" I tossed her jeans off my bed and into her lap. Her eyes were bright, dancing, as she looked up at me, incredulous. I stopped, my jaw as slack as hers. "What the fuck?" I said softly, out loud, rubbing my chin thoughtfully. What the hell am I saying? What the hell do I care?

"I'm gonna go home." She started to get dressed. I couldn't see her face as she bent to slide her panties on. I felt bad all of a sudden and then I was pissed that I felt bad. This wasn't good at all. I watched her slide her jeans on, her back to me, her panties caught slightly in the crack of her ass. My cock jerked reactively, just seeing her bent over and sliding denim up her shapely thighs. I sat on my bed, uncertain.

"You don't have to keep opening them if you don't want to." She kissed my cheek and smiled softly before opening my bedroom door. She must have been chewing gum because she smelled like peppermint.

"There's no point!" I called after her. "It's not funny!" I heard her laugh and gritted my teeth. This wasn't gonna fly. I was done. I don't care how much she gets my dick hard, no girl is worth this kind of hassle and game-playing.

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