it's a pdf, the only way is to download it from Daleksupreme's DA page...
https://www.deviantart.com/daleksupreme ... -775120275
"Arresting developments"
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esercito sconfitto
- Posts: 7166
- Joined: Tue Jan 12, 2016 12:06 pm
from the same story
-
esercito sconfitto
- Posts: 7166
- Joined: Tue Jan 12, 2016 12:06 pm
Re: "Arresting developments"
...and there is a complete little novel about it by Princebuffoon, talented DA writer
Arresting
by PrinceBuffoon,
Rain trails down my windshield, making winding serpentine patterns. Rings in the puddles outside the car. Coffee's still warm, but it's getting colder. Outside, a single neon sign flashes ads for a soda, garish green light over a park bench, an alleyway. Off from where I'm parked, a statue of some woman, I don't know her. I don't know this place at all. I shift, glance at the empty passenger seat. Shouldn't be doing this alone.
Can't be helped.
I sip the coffee and lean back in my seat. It doesn't matter what the Chief says, there's something about this place... this woman. The photo, such as it is, is still in the glove compartment, blurry, imprecise. Somehow the only picture taken of a famous night club owner. I don't buy it, I don't know how far her connections reach or how reclusive she is, but there's something more to her than meets the eye. Nobody tells me anything about her. Even the Chief seemed reluctant, as if he knew something, or maybe just suspected something. He's got good instincts.
Fortunately, I do too.
The clock on my dashboard flashes 02:53. AM. Still no sign of her. I really hope my sources were right about this place, or I've just wasted a whole night of my own free volition. This isn't my case, but hey, it's a great American tradition striking out on your own. And it's an open secret you sometimes gotta do it as a cop.
When something finally stirs, I don't even notice it at first. It's like a drop of shadow falling from the darkness, flowing from a back alley and coalescing into form. Black dress, bare arms, no coat on but hefting an umbrella. It unfolds smoothly and I fumble for the photo to check, but too late. She's concealed now, gliding out into the rain-washed street on clicking heels. I can't see her face, but I'm pretty sure I've got her. She'd notice if I followed her by car, but it doesn't seem she's going very far. I open the door just as I'm about to lose her, step out into the rain. Didn't bring an umbrella myself. Stupid.
Turn up the collar of my overcoat. Gun secure in a shoulder holster, badge around my neck, civilian clothing. Pants. Blouse. No heels. Good shoes, should be able to keep pace with her. She's still in view as I pick up the pace, casually clicking down the empty streets. It ain't a nice neighborhood. Buildings tower up around us, garish red-gray in the dim of the streetlights, covered in graffiti. Blown-out stores turned hipster coffee shops, a diner that advertises all-night services but clearly can't provide them, lights off and doors chained up. Residential buildings sport the occasional glowing window, but everything else is dark. She takes a turn around the diner, heads down a little side street ending in a chain-link fence. There's nothing here but a Camry parked on the sidewalk. I'm right. She's meeting a supplier. Drug dealer probably waiting in the car.
I keep following her, getting as close as I dare, and then – she goes it without looking. I figured she'd get in and do business under shelter. Instead, she turns and disappears down an alleyway. If they're smart, they left a lookout in the car.
Maybe they're not smart.
I head towards the Camry. If they raise the alarm, I've pretty much blown the whole operation. She'll know I'm here, the deal will be off, and I'll head back to the station with nothing to show for it but soggy clothes and sleep deprivation. Nothing happens. No one's in the car. The rain is letting up, just a few drops in the air, the drumming on the lid of a trashcan winding down. I've got to move carefully, now – maybe I still have a shot. Heart beating faster, palms sweating, I step forward little by little, round the corner.
It's a dead end.
Chain-link fence on one side, a dumpster on the other. The alley ends in a tall brick building, no windows, no fire escape. A couple of napkins in a soggy puddle, a discarded paper cup from the diner down the street. Nothing else.
No sign of her. A gust picks up the cup, rolls it across the pavement. I feel a chill up my spine. Where is she?
A door somewhere, I'm guessing, or a hole in the fence. The empty parking lot through it couldn't possibly hide her, though – nothing to hide behind. Did she duck behind the dumpster? Does she know she's being followed?
I squint against the darkness, pat the holster under my arm, move in closer. I saw her go in here. One foot in the puddle, shoeing aside the cup, eyes on the dumpster, the only possible hiding place. She isn't behind it – the walls are bare. No sign of any opening, not even a window. The hell? Did she jump in the dumpster itself, or did she just disappear into thin-
”Looking for me?”
I turn slowly. On one heel, my hips shifting, my hands where she can see them. She isn't armed unless you count the umbrella.
It's definitely her. Tall, curvy, big black eyes with heavy lashes. Her face is sharp, powerful, almost masculine but not quite, cheekbones framing a smirk I want to wipe from her face. Lips crimson, skin brown. She's just in a little black dress but doesn't seem cold, despite the low cut, the short hem, nothing else on but stockings and shoes. She stands straight, tapping the folded umbrella to the side of her heel. Her eyes dart up and down my body.
”Just, uh, just out for a stroll,” I try. ”Is the diner on the corner really closed? It, uh, it says all-night service on the sign.”
”I'm afraid they're out of business. Something about a building code violation.”
Her words are slow, deliberate, cautious.
”That's too bad.”
Her eyes meet mine. They're like tar pits, deep, black, pulling me in.
”It is, isn't it?” she intones. ”Bureaucrats. They meddle in everything.”
”Y- yes.” I mumble. I think about the Chief, his warnings, his order not to come here. Not to pursue the case. Not to go looking for Giselle d'Alembert. She smiles.
”You have experience with nosy bureaucrats too?”
I nod.
”Tell me more.”
”My boss keeps meddling in my work. Keeps me from doing my job.”
”Oh, that's too bad. And tell me, what is your job?”
”I'm an undercover cop.”
I stop myself. Bite my lip. Can't look away from her eyes. She raises one eyebrow, surprised, quizzical. Why the hell did I say that?
She's caught me off-guard. Now that she knows who I am, she'll bail. For sure. I've got nothing on her, can't arrest her. Take her in for questioning? Maybe. Maybe she's carrying something. I reach, slowly, for my handcuffs. ”I'd like- I'd like to ask you a couple of questions.”
”Ask away.”
”Are you... the owner of Le Cercuiel? The night club a few blocks from here?”
”I am. Giselle d'Alembert. Did Sanguisuga put you up to this?”
”Who?”
”No, then. Good,” she smiles. ”I was afraid it was something serious. You may leave.”
She steps aside, leaves the alleyway free for me to pass. I swallow, my heart beating faster, my hands shaking. She's unarmed, for crying out loud, unarmed and harmless, alone in an alleyway. I'm a police officer. Why am I so nervous? I steel myself, hands balled into fists.
”Not so fast.”
”Oh?”
”I've a few more questions first.”
She shakes her head, a small silent laugh escaping her. ”I said,” she intones, ”that you may leave.”
I almost do it. Something in me rebels, though. I won't get a chance like this again.
”And I said,” I swallow, ”I have more questions. Are you aware of any illicit activities at your establishment, ma'am?”
Her smile vanishes. ”Yes. None of them my problem.”
”I'd like you to come with me to the station.”
Her smile returns, accompanied this time by a twinkle in her eyes, a vibrant spark in those deep, coal-black pits as they once again lock with mine.
”You're determined.” she says. ”Admirable. But no.”
She's admitted to being an accomplice to a crime. Sort of. It's enough to go on. ”Ma'am,” I say, ”I'd like for you to turn around and put your hands up against the-”
”-wall?” she finishes. ”Put down your gun, first.”
I slowly reach inside my coat, fingers closing around my piece. Cautiously, keeping eye contact with her and moving slowly, I lean forward and set it down on the ground. ”There.” I tell her. ”Now please turn around, ma'am, or I'll have to count this as resisting arrest.”
I take out the handcuffs, showing her I mean business. She eyes them contemptuously, blowing a stray lock of hair from her face. I step over my gun, approaching her, closing the distance between us. The wind turns and I get a whiff of her scent, a perfume like lavender and sage. She doesn't turn, so I reach for her wrist. It's limp, relaxed, cold. For a moment I hesitate, and my eyes meet her deep black gaze.
”Well?” she says. ”Give them to me.”
I hand her the handcuffs. They slip into her free hand, dangle from her index finger like a toy. I blink, taking a step backwards, try to bring myself to look away but... but no, I have to keep an eye on her, have to follow her moves so she doesn't try anything funny. I'm shivering all over, adrenaline spiking, my whole body tense and ready. Ready for what? Breathing shallow. Fingers flexing. Ready for what? What am I afraid of?
”Tell me your name, officer.”
”Grey. Kristen Grey.”
”Officer Grey,” she says, curtsying slightly. ”Lovely name. For a lovely woman.”
I blush suddenly, feel my face heat up. I don't know what to say, stumbling over words – of all things, I didn't expect compliments. She goes on.
”I've always been partial to blondes. I love your jawline. And your build is... intriguing. Short. Stocky. You must work out a lot, Kristen... don't you?”
”I mean,” I say, ”it's part of the job. Now if you'd put your hands-”
”Can't see too much of you though. Aren't you warm in that overcoat?”
I'm hot all over, certainly. I don't know why, but the heat on my face seems to spread all over me, the coat suddenly warm, my heart beating faster. It's a rush of warmth, my skin sensitive like in a fever. I'm strangely conscious of the fabric of my clothes.
”Take off the overcoat. It'll help.”
I nod, slipping it over my shoulders. It does help against the heat, at least a little. There's nowhere to hang it so I simply let it slip to my feet, splashing down in the puddle. Stupid. It'll get wet, and I'll need it later – the wind's picking up. I lean down to move it, but she interrupts me.
”Leave it. Turn around.”
I turn around once, quickly, resolutely. I'm not going to let her toy with me like this. I'm not about to pin her to the wall just yet, but she definitely is resisting arrest somehow, I'm sure of it now. I'm just not sure how.
”Unbutton your blouse.”
My fingers go to my collar. I stare her down, step up to her as I work the top button. She hasn't turned around, has made no move towards the wall. Doesn't look like she will. My hands are busy with the second button, then the third, I don't have them free to grab her.
”You've admitted to aiding and abetting criminal activities, ma'am. I'm afraid that gives me grounds to take you in for questioning. If you'd just come quietly, I'd appreciate it. I don't want to have to call in backup.”
”Where's your phone?”
”In my coat pocket.” I tell her as my blouse falls open.
”I see.” she says. ”Hold still a moment.”
She slips the open blouse over my shoulders. Her touch is cold, unwelcome on my bare arms, and something isn't right, she's uncomfortably close. She's taller than me, looks down on me with her eyes like deep coal mines, like midnight, no, darker. Darker than any sky I've ever seen. I can move again and I push her away, eyes locked with hers. At least I try to. She doesn't budge. Her body is soft to the touch, soft and impossibly smooth, it's like my hands just glide off the exquisite silk of her dress. I notice now she isn't wearing a bra.
”Sit.” she says. I watch her stocking-clad legs glide past me as an uncomfortable wetness spreads over my bottom, the street cold and damp, water dripping from the leaking drains above. It's strange how fast it got warmer, like a soft summer breeze, but it's only late summer and the weather's still changing. I wonder if it's long until dawn? It has to be, Giselle is only out by night. If my sources are right.
I don't see what she's doing, only hear a splashing, still facing the wall. She's behind me somewhere, messing with a heavy fabric object, dragging it. It's only a moment. Then something crunches behind me, a grinding noise of snapping plastic and glass. She opens the dumpster, closes it. I'm long ready to grab her and drag her back to the station, and my patience is running out. I climb to my feet, turning around to face her.
”Are you done?” I ask her. ”I won't ask again. You're coming with me to the car.”
”Certainly.” she smiles. ”Is your car key in your pocket?”
I tilt my head. She's asking stranger and stranger questions, but I see no harm in answering.
”Sure.”
”Your pants pocket?”
”Yeah.”
”Unbutton your jeans.”
I start walking back towards the road, towards the abandoned parked Camry. Something is wrong, something is very wrong, but I can't put my finger on it. I feel some kind of animal instinct screaming at the back of my mind, hammering in my chest, and my hands are unsteady as I work the fly, opening button after button and feeling the pull around my hips relax. She follows me, a half-step behind me, her presence like a void in the air, like the empty space of a person. She doesn't touch me and I'm wishing she would. When we reach the abandoned diner, she stops. I'm not sure how I know it; her footsteps make no sound across the pavement. I turn.
”What now?”
Her eyes are vast like the darkness in my closet when I was a little girl. Like the darkness under the bed. My breath catches in my throat.
”Before we reach the car, you should drop your pants.”
It's easy to slide them down my legs. They're not particularly thin. They catch around my ankles though, and I'm swearing as I kick against them. ”Shit.” I say, blushing suddenly, embarrassed at the stupid predicament. I really should have seen this coming. ”Give me a moment.”
”Take off your shoes and socks first,” she suggests. ”It's warm out.”
I lean back against the wall of the diner. It's cold and wet through my underwear, and I'm stressed now. Nervous. She's getting impatient and I'm afraid of what she'll do once her patience runs out. She watches me, disapproving, disappointed. Unsteady hands fail me as I pull off one sneaker, then the other. Socks hit the wet pavement only to be peeled off a moment after. Hard to keep balance on one leg, even leaning against the wall. Despite the warm weather, my naked feet feel cold against the asphalt. I lean to grab my shoes.
”Leave everything.” she instructs me, so I do. ”Your car is parked that way.”
She points down the road by the diner, towards my Camry by the chain link fence. Of course. We're almost there. It'll feel safe to get back to the car, I'll have some leverage there and my authority is rapidly slipping away, I'm not sure why. She's behind me again, the vast blackness perceptible like vapor on my back, like opening a freezer full of midnight. I'm still warm in my underwear and badge around my neck, despite her presence.
It's only once we reach the car that I realize I don't have my car keys. I look inside the Camry to see if I've left them there, but the whole car looks unfamiliar, offensively so. Someone's put dice in the windshield, a Big Gulp cup abandoned in the passenger seat. Dirty papers on the floor. These aren't mine. Something inside me reels at the violation of privacy, of someone else getting into my car, driving it, littering it, decorating it, and I spin around to face her, a sudden flash of anger.
”Did you do this?”
She smiles innocently, another smirk I want to wipe off her face. I focus on it to look away from her eyes, and the adrenaline in me reacts, surging to the surface like a wounded beast. She's dangerous. I don't know how I know it but something inside me suddenly bucks like a wild animal, adrenaline surging to the surface, fear, terror, I have to get out. Get out.
I come at her in a low football tackle. It catches her by surprise and I barrel into her only to find her gliding away on her slippery silk, leaving crashing up against the chain link fence. I catch it, stabilize myself, stumbling to regain my balance and swing around to face her.
Don't look at her eyes, something screams inside me. I don't. Instead I tear towards her like I'm hitting her again but it's a fake, a cop-out, I duck aside heading for the street. I can escape her, she can't catch me in her high-heeled shoes. Going low I spring forwards, legs pumping, the air icy chill over my body, oh God I'm just in my underwear and I'm unarmed and alone, how did this happen? How the fu-
Something catches around my chest, nearly knocks the wind out of me. It glides up towards my face and I wrestle free of it, tangle my way out of the mess of cups and straps and slip to the ground without my bra. It's left in her grasp as I run blindly down an alley, anywhere I can escape her, anywhere with twists and turns. How did she catch me so fast?
I turn left, careen past a trashcan and duck under a fire escape. My whole body is tense with fear, heart racing, hormones surging, all I can think is fight or flight or or – something else, her deep black eyes, I think - fu-
She's in front of me, impossibly beautiful curves and raven-black hair in the wind, the little black dress revealing as much as it conceals. Long, slender legs and an hourglass waist, slim brown neck, ruby red mouth. Eyes like black holes. Light itself can't escape.
”Stop.”
I stop. My body screams at me, blood pounds inside my chest, rushes in my ears, burning in my veins. My skin is on fire, hot again, hotter than summer. She smiles, and then she eyes me up and down. This time her gaze is hungry.
”Shapely tits,” she says, and I feel something surge inside my body. I blush heavily, a deep shame setting in. I'm wearing nothing but panties. Hands fold before my naked chest and my gaze drops, or I try to drop it, but I can't. Her eyes are seeing straight through me.
”A tad on the small side, but I do enjoy how pointy they are. Jiggle them for me.”
I breathe shallowly, slide my hands down my bare breasts and make my nipples bounce. The touch is electric, jolting through me. I can't stifle a sound of surprise. My face is burning with embarrassment.
”Tweak your nipples.” she tells me. The pain is unexpectedly welcome, careening through my body like a shockwave. I groan, moan out loud, try to clamp my mouth shut but fail. She glides closer, her heels not making a sound over the gray concrete, slips up beside me and brushes my hands away.
”Stay still.”
Her hands are soft on my breast. The caresses are careful, and the change in temperature makes me shiver in a good way, her soothing hands on my feverish skin. Cold. It calms me, and her big black eyes are like shade in the summer. My whole body shivers, out of my control. She smiles. She tests me.
I feel her lips at my ear, feel her whisper caress me more than I hear it. Two syllables, the first round ”O” like a lover's touch and the second part explosive.
My knees buckle. It's not a big one, but it's enough to take my balance, I slump in her arms and breathe little whimpers. My body helplessly obeys her, sending little pangs of pleasure, one after another, from my groin up my body. It lasts only briefly, only venting steam and adrenaline. So far. God. No. So far? I need to escape before she- before she-
Her cool, calming hand comes between my legs, touching my wet underwear. I inhale, hold my breath, waiting in anticipation. She withdraws, steps away, leaves me woefully untouched.
”Take off everything.”
I nod. Focus. Pull the chain with the badge over my head and discard it carelessly, let it clatter to the ground beneath the fire escape. The panties are just as unceremonious, pushed down my legs and fallen to my feet. I kick them off easily. I'm naked now, just like she wants me.
”Arms over your head.”
I lift them up. She carefully handcuffs me to the fire escape, her face so close it almost touches mine. I'm helpless, exposed before her, blood thumping in my ears and in my body, and I'm eager, ready for her, willing, God, yes, go on. Please. She smiles at me, and her eyes are black satin over my bare skin. They sweep down, just her look exciting me, I swear I can feel her gaze, feel it like a lover's touch, it makes me tingle and burn and twist and squirm against my shackles. I want to be everything for her. I smile, turning my body to display as much as possible, look at me, look, please, God, please look-
”I am.” she says, as if she's reading my mind. ”But you first. Look at me.”
I obey. Her hands seductively slide up her thighs, the black silk of her skirt artfully folding. She reveals the gap between her stockings and her underwear, pitch-black, light, lace. She tilts her head to the side and playfully pouts before she twirls her fingers and slowly slips her panties down her legs. The skirt falls into place. I catch nothing of what lies underneath, I can only imagine.
She steps out of her panties and glides closer to me. A finger in my mouth is all I need for instruction; I open up wide and accept them. Besides lace I taste her, pleasant, cold like her body, a faint scent of woman and lavender. It's intoxicating, God, I want more, I want to taste her for real, please her, serve her.
Her hands are on me next, traveling all over me with grace I've never known. Thumbs over my nipples, fingertips tickling, playing over my ribs. She runs her hands down my sides over my ass and grabs it, comes in close, breasts pressed into me, taking whatever she wants. A thumb lingers on my inner thigh, teasingly moving upwards. She parts my legs. She leans in closer. She kisses my neck, then, bites it, and I jolt again. Thrash in her grasp, then melt in it. She sucks on me, leaves a hickey, and I squirm in sacrosanct helplessness. When she licks my neck and pulls away, my body is begging, hips thrust towards her, a nasal whine escaping me. I breathe loudly, shallowly.
”Do you want a treat again?” she wonders, smiling. Her lips are glittering red. I nod.
Her hand is between my legs. I almost do it there and then but she's careful, she's slow. She smiles, teases me, her soft finger just as graceful as her sweet, caressing, wonderful hands. Then she kisses my lower lip, she tastes salty and tang.
”Well then.”
She pulls back, her smile replaced with her smirk, I don't care about it any more, I like it, I love it. Love how she mocks me. Her eyes lock with mine once more, and I know whatever she says I won't forget it.
”You will come when someone spots you.”
I feel cold all over.
”Until then, stay on the edge.”
I feel a hard throbbing in my cunt, banging to escape, but helplessly, bound as firmly as I am. God, no. Don't keep me here.
”Please.” I manage through her panties in my mouth.
She steps aside. I'm facing the street. I ran right where she wanted me to. Of course I did. I'll do anything she wants me to.
”Morning traffic shouldn't be long. And the weather's getting warmer.”
Oh.
”After that... you may come see me sometime. You know my place. Wear something nicer if you do.”
She glances me up and down. I'm naked before her, naked, handcuffed, helpless.
”Or don't. It's your choice. I've hope you've learned a lesson, Kristen.”
I nod. My cheeks are on fire as I imagine the embarrassment, the utter humiliation of being seen like this, exposed, exposed utterly and completely, and knowing that whoever sees me... I shiver, buck my hips, thrash helplessly against the clanging fire escape. She smiles.
Then she's gone.
~
Le Cercuiel is bustling, thronging with people. The air is full of music, hammering in my ears, steady rhythms, steady bass down into my core. I smell sweat and people. I run my fingers through my hair and push my way through the crowd, up to the balcony, look down from above.
She's there.
She took my clothes, from the alleyway, the diner, the street. She wasn't hoping I'd escape. She wasn't hoping I'd come back stronger. Am I?
I hope so. I brush my hands over my dress, naked underneath it. Need to make her think she's in control. If I can make her think she has me just where she wants me...
...maybe we'll see who's arresting, this time.
Arresting
by PrinceBuffoon,
Rain trails down my windshield, making winding serpentine patterns. Rings in the puddles outside the car. Coffee's still warm, but it's getting colder. Outside, a single neon sign flashes ads for a soda, garish green light over a park bench, an alleyway. Off from where I'm parked, a statue of some woman, I don't know her. I don't know this place at all. I shift, glance at the empty passenger seat. Shouldn't be doing this alone.
Can't be helped.
I sip the coffee and lean back in my seat. It doesn't matter what the Chief says, there's something about this place... this woman. The photo, such as it is, is still in the glove compartment, blurry, imprecise. Somehow the only picture taken of a famous night club owner. I don't buy it, I don't know how far her connections reach or how reclusive she is, but there's something more to her than meets the eye. Nobody tells me anything about her. Even the Chief seemed reluctant, as if he knew something, or maybe just suspected something. He's got good instincts.
Fortunately, I do too.
The clock on my dashboard flashes 02:53. AM. Still no sign of her. I really hope my sources were right about this place, or I've just wasted a whole night of my own free volition. This isn't my case, but hey, it's a great American tradition striking out on your own. And it's an open secret you sometimes gotta do it as a cop.
When something finally stirs, I don't even notice it at first. It's like a drop of shadow falling from the darkness, flowing from a back alley and coalescing into form. Black dress, bare arms, no coat on but hefting an umbrella. It unfolds smoothly and I fumble for the photo to check, but too late. She's concealed now, gliding out into the rain-washed street on clicking heels. I can't see her face, but I'm pretty sure I've got her. She'd notice if I followed her by car, but it doesn't seem she's going very far. I open the door just as I'm about to lose her, step out into the rain. Didn't bring an umbrella myself. Stupid.
Turn up the collar of my overcoat. Gun secure in a shoulder holster, badge around my neck, civilian clothing. Pants. Blouse. No heels. Good shoes, should be able to keep pace with her. She's still in view as I pick up the pace, casually clicking down the empty streets. It ain't a nice neighborhood. Buildings tower up around us, garish red-gray in the dim of the streetlights, covered in graffiti. Blown-out stores turned hipster coffee shops, a diner that advertises all-night services but clearly can't provide them, lights off and doors chained up. Residential buildings sport the occasional glowing window, but everything else is dark. She takes a turn around the diner, heads down a little side street ending in a chain-link fence. There's nothing here but a Camry parked on the sidewalk. I'm right. She's meeting a supplier. Drug dealer probably waiting in the car.
I keep following her, getting as close as I dare, and then – she goes it without looking. I figured she'd get in and do business under shelter. Instead, she turns and disappears down an alleyway. If they're smart, they left a lookout in the car.
Maybe they're not smart.
I head towards the Camry. If they raise the alarm, I've pretty much blown the whole operation. She'll know I'm here, the deal will be off, and I'll head back to the station with nothing to show for it but soggy clothes and sleep deprivation. Nothing happens. No one's in the car. The rain is letting up, just a few drops in the air, the drumming on the lid of a trashcan winding down. I've got to move carefully, now – maybe I still have a shot. Heart beating faster, palms sweating, I step forward little by little, round the corner.
It's a dead end.
Chain-link fence on one side, a dumpster on the other. The alley ends in a tall brick building, no windows, no fire escape. A couple of napkins in a soggy puddle, a discarded paper cup from the diner down the street. Nothing else.
No sign of her. A gust picks up the cup, rolls it across the pavement. I feel a chill up my spine. Where is she?
A door somewhere, I'm guessing, or a hole in the fence. The empty parking lot through it couldn't possibly hide her, though – nothing to hide behind. Did she duck behind the dumpster? Does she know she's being followed?
I squint against the darkness, pat the holster under my arm, move in closer. I saw her go in here. One foot in the puddle, shoeing aside the cup, eyes on the dumpster, the only possible hiding place. She isn't behind it – the walls are bare. No sign of any opening, not even a window. The hell? Did she jump in the dumpster itself, or did she just disappear into thin-
”Looking for me?”
I turn slowly. On one heel, my hips shifting, my hands where she can see them. She isn't armed unless you count the umbrella.
It's definitely her. Tall, curvy, big black eyes with heavy lashes. Her face is sharp, powerful, almost masculine but not quite, cheekbones framing a smirk I want to wipe from her face. Lips crimson, skin brown. She's just in a little black dress but doesn't seem cold, despite the low cut, the short hem, nothing else on but stockings and shoes. She stands straight, tapping the folded umbrella to the side of her heel. Her eyes dart up and down my body.
”Just, uh, just out for a stroll,” I try. ”Is the diner on the corner really closed? It, uh, it says all-night service on the sign.”
”I'm afraid they're out of business. Something about a building code violation.”
Her words are slow, deliberate, cautious.
”That's too bad.”
Her eyes meet mine. They're like tar pits, deep, black, pulling me in.
”It is, isn't it?” she intones. ”Bureaucrats. They meddle in everything.”
”Y- yes.” I mumble. I think about the Chief, his warnings, his order not to come here. Not to pursue the case. Not to go looking for Giselle d'Alembert. She smiles.
”You have experience with nosy bureaucrats too?”
I nod.
”Tell me more.”
”My boss keeps meddling in my work. Keeps me from doing my job.”
”Oh, that's too bad. And tell me, what is your job?”
”I'm an undercover cop.”
I stop myself. Bite my lip. Can't look away from her eyes. She raises one eyebrow, surprised, quizzical. Why the hell did I say that?
She's caught me off-guard. Now that she knows who I am, she'll bail. For sure. I've got nothing on her, can't arrest her. Take her in for questioning? Maybe. Maybe she's carrying something. I reach, slowly, for my handcuffs. ”I'd like- I'd like to ask you a couple of questions.”
”Ask away.”
”Are you... the owner of Le Cercuiel? The night club a few blocks from here?”
”I am. Giselle d'Alembert. Did Sanguisuga put you up to this?”
”Who?”
”No, then. Good,” she smiles. ”I was afraid it was something serious. You may leave.”
She steps aside, leaves the alleyway free for me to pass. I swallow, my heart beating faster, my hands shaking. She's unarmed, for crying out loud, unarmed and harmless, alone in an alleyway. I'm a police officer. Why am I so nervous? I steel myself, hands balled into fists.
”Not so fast.”
”Oh?”
”I've a few more questions first.”
She shakes her head, a small silent laugh escaping her. ”I said,” she intones, ”that you may leave.”
I almost do it. Something in me rebels, though. I won't get a chance like this again.
”And I said,” I swallow, ”I have more questions. Are you aware of any illicit activities at your establishment, ma'am?”
Her smile vanishes. ”Yes. None of them my problem.”
”I'd like you to come with me to the station.”
Her smile returns, accompanied this time by a twinkle in her eyes, a vibrant spark in those deep, coal-black pits as they once again lock with mine.
”You're determined.” she says. ”Admirable. But no.”
She's admitted to being an accomplice to a crime. Sort of. It's enough to go on. ”Ma'am,” I say, ”I'd like for you to turn around and put your hands up against the-”
”-wall?” she finishes. ”Put down your gun, first.”
I slowly reach inside my coat, fingers closing around my piece. Cautiously, keeping eye contact with her and moving slowly, I lean forward and set it down on the ground. ”There.” I tell her. ”Now please turn around, ma'am, or I'll have to count this as resisting arrest.”
I take out the handcuffs, showing her I mean business. She eyes them contemptuously, blowing a stray lock of hair from her face. I step over my gun, approaching her, closing the distance between us. The wind turns and I get a whiff of her scent, a perfume like lavender and sage. She doesn't turn, so I reach for her wrist. It's limp, relaxed, cold. For a moment I hesitate, and my eyes meet her deep black gaze.
”Well?” she says. ”Give them to me.”
I hand her the handcuffs. They slip into her free hand, dangle from her index finger like a toy. I blink, taking a step backwards, try to bring myself to look away but... but no, I have to keep an eye on her, have to follow her moves so she doesn't try anything funny. I'm shivering all over, adrenaline spiking, my whole body tense and ready. Ready for what? Breathing shallow. Fingers flexing. Ready for what? What am I afraid of?
”Tell me your name, officer.”
”Grey. Kristen Grey.”
”Officer Grey,” she says, curtsying slightly. ”Lovely name. For a lovely woman.”
I blush suddenly, feel my face heat up. I don't know what to say, stumbling over words – of all things, I didn't expect compliments. She goes on.
”I've always been partial to blondes. I love your jawline. And your build is... intriguing. Short. Stocky. You must work out a lot, Kristen... don't you?”
”I mean,” I say, ”it's part of the job. Now if you'd put your hands-”
”Can't see too much of you though. Aren't you warm in that overcoat?”
I'm hot all over, certainly. I don't know why, but the heat on my face seems to spread all over me, the coat suddenly warm, my heart beating faster. It's a rush of warmth, my skin sensitive like in a fever. I'm strangely conscious of the fabric of my clothes.
”Take off the overcoat. It'll help.”
I nod, slipping it over my shoulders. It does help against the heat, at least a little. There's nowhere to hang it so I simply let it slip to my feet, splashing down in the puddle. Stupid. It'll get wet, and I'll need it later – the wind's picking up. I lean down to move it, but she interrupts me.
”Leave it. Turn around.”
I turn around once, quickly, resolutely. I'm not going to let her toy with me like this. I'm not about to pin her to the wall just yet, but she definitely is resisting arrest somehow, I'm sure of it now. I'm just not sure how.
”Unbutton your blouse.”
My fingers go to my collar. I stare her down, step up to her as I work the top button. She hasn't turned around, has made no move towards the wall. Doesn't look like she will. My hands are busy with the second button, then the third, I don't have them free to grab her.
”You've admitted to aiding and abetting criminal activities, ma'am. I'm afraid that gives me grounds to take you in for questioning. If you'd just come quietly, I'd appreciate it. I don't want to have to call in backup.”
”Where's your phone?”
”In my coat pocket.” I tell her as my blouse falls open.
”I see.” she says. ”Hold still a moment.”
She slips the open blouse over my shoulders. Her touch is cold, unwelcome on my bare arms, and something isn't right, she's uncomfortably close. She's taller than me, looks down on me with her eyes like deep coal mines, like midnight, no, darker. Darker than any sky I've ever seen. I can move again and I push her away, eyes locked with hers. At least I try to. She doesn't budge. Her body is soft to the touch, soft and impossibly smooth, it's like my hands just glide off the exquisite silk of her dress. I notice now she isn't wearing a bra.
”Sit.” she says. I watch her stocking-clad legs glide past me as an uncomfortable wetness spreads over my bottom, the street cold and damp, water dripping from the leaking drains above. It's strange how fast it got warmer, like a soft summer breeze, but it's only late summer and the weather's still changing. I wonder if it's long until dawn? It has to be, Giselle is only out by night. If my sources are right.
I don't see what she's doing, only hear a splashing, still facing the wall. She's behind me somewhere, messing with a heavy fabric object, dragging it. It's only a moment. Then something crunches behind me, a grinding noise of snapping plastic and glass. She opens the dumpster, closes it. I'm long ready to grab her and drag her back to the station, and my patience is running out. I climb to my feet, turning around to face her.
”Are you done?” I ask her. ”I won't ask again. You're coming with me to the car.”
”Certainly.” she smiles. ”Is your car key in your pocket?”
I tilt my head. She's asking stranger and stranger questions, but I see no harm in answering.
”Sure.”
”Your pants pocket?”
”Yeah.”
”Unbutton your jeans.”
I start walking back towards the road, towards the abandoned parked Camry. Something is wrong, something is very wrong, but I can't put my finger on it. I feel some kind of animal instinct screaming at the back of my mind, hammering in my chest, and my hands are unsteady as I work the fly, opening button after button and feeling the pull around my hips relax. She follows me, a half-step behind me, her presence like a void in the air, like the empty space of a person. She doesn't touch me and I'm wishing she would. When we reach the abandoned diner, she stops. I'm not sure how I know it; her footsteps make no sound across the pavement. I turn.
”What now?”
Her eyes are vast like the darkness in my closet when I was a little girl. Like the darkness under the bed. My breath catches in my throat.
”Before we reach the car, you should drop your pants.”
It's easy to slide them down my legs. They're not particularly thin. They catch around my ankles though, and I'm swearing as I kick against them. ”Shit.” I say, blushing suddenly, embarrassed at the stupid predicament. I really should have seen this coming. ”Give me a moment.”
”Take off your shoes and socks first,” she suggests. ”It's warm out.”
I lean back against the wall of the diner. It's cold and wet through my underwear, and I'm stressed now. Nervous. She's getting impatient and I'm afraid of what she'll do once her patience runs out. She watches me, disapproving, disappointed. Unsteady hands fail me as I pull off one sneaker, then the other. Socks hit the wet pavement only to be peeled off a moment after. Hard to keep balance on one leg, even leaning against the wall. Despite the warm weather, my naked feet feel cold against the asphalt. I lean to grab my shoes.
”Leave everything.” she instructs me, so I do. ”Your car is parked that way.”
She points down the road by the diner, towards my Camry by the chain link fence. Of course. We're almost there. It'll feel safe to get back to the car, I'll have some leverage there and my authority is rapidly slipping away, I'm not sure why. She's behind me again, the vast blackness perceptible like vapor on my back, like opening a freezer full of midnight. I'm still warm in my underwear and badge around my neck, despite her presence.
It's only once we reach the car that I realize I don't have my car keys. I look inside the Camry to see if I've left them there, but the whole car looks unfamiliar, offensively so. Someone's put dice in the windshield, a Big Gulp cup abandoned in the passenger seat. Dirty papers on the floor. These aren't mine. Something inside me reels at the violation of privacy, of someone else getting into my car, driving it, littering it, decorating it, and I spin around to face her, a sudden flash of anger.
”Did you do this?”
She smiles innocently, another smirk I want to wipe off her face. I focus on it to look away from her eyes, and the adrenaline in me reacts, surging to the surface like a wounded beast. She's dangerous. I don't know how I know it but something inside me suddenly bucks like a wild animal, adrenaline surging to the surface, fear, terror, I have to get out. Get out.
I come at her in a low football tackle. It catches her by surprise and I barrel into her only to find her gliding away on her slippery silk, leaving crashing up against the chain link fence. I catch it, stabilize myself, stumbling to regain my balance and swing around to face her.
Don't look at her eyes, something screams inside me. I don't. Instead I tear towards her like I'm hitting her again but it's a fake, a cop-out, I duck aside heading for the street. I can escape her, she can't catch me in her high-heeled shoes. Going low I spring forwards, legs pumping, the air icy chill over my body, oh God I'm just in my underwear and I'm unarmed and alone, how did this happen? How the fu-
Something catches around my chest, nearly knocks the wind out of me. It glides up towards my face and I wrestle free of it, tangle my way out of the mess of cups and straps and slip to the ground without my bra. It's left in her grasp as I run blindly down an alley, anywhere I can escape her, anywhere with twists and turns. How did she catch me so fast?
I turn left, careen past a trashcan and duck under a fire escape. My whole body is tense with fear, heart racing, hormones surging, all I can think is fight or flight or or – something else, her deep black eyes, I think - fu-
She's in front of me, impossibly beautiful curves and raven-black hair in the wind, the little black dress revealing as much as it conceals. Long, slender legs and an hourglass waist, slim brown neck, ruby red mouth. Eyes like black holes. Light itself can't escape.
”Stop.”
I stop. My body screams at me, blood pounds inside my chest, rushes in my ears, burning in my veins. My skin is on fire, hot again, hotter than summer. She smiles, and then she eyes me up and down. This time her gaze is hungry.
”Shapely tits,” she says, and I feel something surge inside my body. I blush heavily, a deep shame setting in. I'm wearing nothing but panties. Hands fold before my naked chest and my gaze drops, or I try to drop it, but I can't. Her eyes are seeing straight through me.
”A tad on the small side, but I do enjoy how pointy they are. Jiggle them for me.”
I breathe shallowly, slide my hands down my bare breasts and make my nipples bounce. The touch is electric, jolting through me. I can't stifle a sound of surprise. My face is burning with embarrassment.
”Tweak your nipples.” she tells me. The pain is unexpectedly welcome, careening through my body like a shockwave. I groan, moan out loud, try to clamp my mouth shut but fail. She glides closer, her heels not making a sound over the gray concrete, slips up beside me and brushes my hands away.
”Stay still.”
Her hands are soft on my breast. The caresses are careful, and the change in temperature makes me shiver in a good way, her soothing hands on my feverish skin. Cold. It calms me, and her big black eyes are like shade in the summer. My whole body shivers, out of my control. She smiles. She tests me.
I feel her lips at my ear, feel her whisper caress me more than I hear it. Two syllables, the first round ”O” like a lover's touch and the second part explosive.
My knees buckle. It's not a big one, but it's enough to take my balance, I slump in her arms and breathe little whimpers. My body helplessly obeys her, sending little pangs of pleasure, one after another, from my groin up my body. It lasts only briefly, only venting steam and adrenaline. So far. God. No. So far? I need to escape before she- before she-
Her cool, calming hand comes between my legs, touching my wet underwear. I inhale, hold my breath, waiting in anticipation. She withdraws, steps away, leaves me woefully untouched.
”Take off everything.”
I nod. Focus. Pull the chain with the badge over my head and discard it carelessly, let it clatter to the ground beneath the fire escape. The panties are just as unceremonious, pushed down my legs and fallen to my feet. I kick them off easily. I'm naked now, just like she wants me.
”Arms over your head.”
I lift them up. She carefully handcuffs me to the fire escape, her face so close it almost touches mine. I'm helpless, exposed before her, blood thumping in my ears and in my body, and I'm eager, ready for her, willing, God, yes, go on. Please. She smiles at me, and her eyes are black satin over my bare skin. They sweep down, just her look exciting me, I swear I can feel her gaze, feel it like a lover's touch, it makes me tingle and burn and twist and squirm against my shackles. I want to be everything for her. I smile, turning my body to display as much as possible, look at me, look, please, God, please look-
”I am.” she says, as if she's reading my mind. ”But you first. Look at me.”
I obey. Her hands seductively slide up her thighs, the black silk of her skirt artfully folding. She reveals the gap between her stockings and her underwear, pitch-black, light, lace. She tilts her head to the side and playfully pouts before she twirls her fingers and slowly slips her panties down her legs. The skirt falls into place. I catch nothing of what lies underneath, I can only imagine.
She steps out of her panties and glides closer to me. A finger in my mouth is all I need for instruction; I open up wide and accept them. Besides lace I taste her, pleasant, cold like her body, a faint scent of woman and lavender. It's intoxicating, God, I want more, I want to taste her for real, please her, serve her.
Her hands are on me next, traveling all over me with grace I've never known. Thumbs over my nipples, fingertips tickling, playing over my ribs. She runs her hands down my sides over my ass and grabs it, comes in close, breasts pressed into me, taking whatever she wants. A thumb lingers on my inner thigh, teasingly moving upwards. She parts my legs. She leans in closer. She kisses my neck, then, bites it, and I jolt again. Thrash in her grasp, then melt in it. She sucks on me, leaves a hickey, and I squirm in sacrosanct helplessness. When she licks my neck and pulls away, my body is begging, hips thrust towards her, a nasal whine escaping me. I breathe loudly, shallowly.
”Do you want a treat again?” she wonders, smiling. Her lips are glittering red. I nod.
Her hand is between my legs. I almost do it there and then but she's careful, she's slow. She smiles, teases me, her soft finger just as graceful as her sweet, caressing, wonderful hands. Then she kisses my lower lip, she tastes salty and tang.
”Well then.”
She pulls back, her smile replaced with her smirk, I don't care about it any more, I like it, I love it. Love how she mocks me. Her eyes lock with mine once more, and I know whatever she says I won't forget it.
”You will come when someone spots you.”
I feel cold all over.
”Until then, stay on the edge.”
I feel a hard throbbing in my cunt, banging to escape, but helplessly, bound as firmly as I am. God, no. Don't keep me here.
”Please.” I manage through her panties in my mouth.
She steps aside. I'm facing the street. I ran right where she wanted me to. Of course I did. I'll do anything she wants me to.
”Morning traffic shouldn't be long. And the weather's getting warmer.”
Oh.
”After that... you may come see me sometime. You know my place. Wear something nicer if you do.”
She glances me up and down. I'm naked before her, naked, handcuffed, helpless.
”Or don't. It's your choice. I've hope you've learned a lesson, Kristen.”
I nod. My cheeks are on fire as I imagine the embarrassment, the utter humiliation of being seen like this, exposed, exposed utterly and completely, and knowing that whoever sees me... I shiver, buck my hips, thrash helplessly against the clanging fire escape. She smiles.
Then she's gone.
~
Le Cercuiel is bustling, thronging with people. The air is full of music, hammering in my ears, steady rhythms, steady bass down into my core. I smell sweat and people. I run my fingers through my hair and push my way through the crowd, up to the balcony, look down from above.
She's there.
She took my clothes, from the alleyway, the diner, the street. She wasn't hoping I'd escape. She wasn't hoping I'd come back stronger. Am I?
I hope so. I brush my hands over my dress, naked underneath it. Need to make her think she's in control. If I can make her think she has me just where she wants me...
...maybe we'll see who's arresting, this time.