Defusing A Bomb

A slight widening of the eye was the only outward sign that I had made her think. She was dressed, as I was, in the standard issue nightwear of grey cotton shorts and tee shirt and she too was barefoot on the damp floor. She took a slow, deliberate, step away from Simmons and then became a fluid fury.

I had never seen anyone move so fast. It was literally a blur as her leg straightened in its movement through the air. She stopped for a split second with her toe touching Simmons ear and then the noise was percussive as she delivered three short armed punches which, had they connected, would have killed her stone dead.

She smiled, having made her point. Knives were useless. It would take a gun or sheer weight of numbers to bring her down and I had neither.

I picked up my shoes, as if I had thought better of it, but her expression told me that I was not going to get away with it that easily. She was going to teach me a lesson...but I was now more confident than ever.

Her style was a mix of northern and southern "fist". It was the style that she had been taught in the Chinese military. It was highly effective but its patterns were rigidly dictated by the martial manual.

Her eyes flicked to my shoes, one in each hand, and dismissed them as an encumbrance. Hard to hold and with no great weight they were useless as a weapon.

Nevertheless I lifted my right hand threateningly.

As she had been taught, she arched away slightly and then her foot came at me with terrifying speed. It missed my head, but only just, and for an instant I feared that I had underestimated her.

Instinct took over, I could never beat her in a straight fight but I had practised this one move and its variants for weeks. Having moved my head I allowed my momentum to take me to the floor. It was not what she was expecting but her training dictated the response.

She braced her arm to deliver the short punch that would break my ribs but I brought my left hand through. The shoes heel was completely softened allowing me to get a solid grip and the weight was provided by a packing of solid prison soap.

She registered the movement and instantly computed the outcome. She expected to receive a sharp slap but, a fraction of a second later, I would be finished.

Her face seemed to deform in disbelief as a sharp snap told her that her arm had been broken but it was not over. She was still lethal but I had already discarded the shoe and now I punched her in exactly the same spot.

It was this second shock to the nervous system that slowed her enough for me to gain a slight advantage. I rolled to my feet and she reflexively took up a defensive stance protecting her head. This was another mistake. It made her arm vulnerable and two more punches turned a simple break into a serious mess.

I thought I had won but even now she surprised me with another kick. It came from nowhere and even though I swayed it caught me behind the ear. I was immediately stunned and fear clutched my heart. I saw the look of calm hatred in her eyes and I knew that the next blow would almost certainly kill me but it was then that the warders chose to intervene.

They came in numbers, obviously having watched from outside, but they could not allow their entertainment to turn lethal.

I was unceremoniously dragged back to my cell to cool off where, for the next couple of hours, I nursed the mother of all headaches and tried to get the shakes under control. I knew I had been very lucky.

It was Mullens that eventually came for me.

This was the moment. She could have taken me before the governor but, if our suspicions were well founded, I was destined to go elsewhere. She threw me a new pair of training shoes.

"Follow me."

She lead the way though the gates into the main body of the block and then up the stairs. I counted off the cell numbers until we reached 204.

"Someone wants to see you."

She left me to walk into the cell alone. I suspected that, in normal use, it would house three, possibly four, prisoners but there were just two bunks. Above one there were two Shui-mo landscape paintings, presumably Cheng's, the other was decorated with two framed prints of Vogue magazine covers.

"Some of my best work."

I turned on my heel. Prison had not yet spoiled her figure and her hair and make-up were immaculate. Her brown eyes looked just a little tired but they still had the lively spark that I recognized from her photos.

"I'm Adrienne."

"I know who you are."

Who did not? Adrienne Deryan, formerly the proprietor of one of the world's most successful fashion houses now serving time for conspiracy charges. Even after all this time the newspapers were still regurgitating it. Her terrorist cousin imprisoned and her ill conceived plan to exact revenge by blowing up Tower Bridge, one of London's landmark buildings

She looked me up and down and seemed to arrive at a decision.

"Let's cut to the chase. You met my cell mate this morning and she seems to come off the worse for it."

"Then perhaps you shouldn't have sent her after me."

"What makes you say that?"

"As I see it, you are able to afford yourself certain privileges and that includes a measure of protection. When you heard that there was a new kid on the block you had to know the lie of the land."

"You seem remarkably well informed."

"I make it my business. I will do what I need to survive."

"So you will not be surprised if I ask you to move in with me? I understand that Cheng is going to need reconstructive surgery."

"Can you arrange a move?"

"Consider it done. They'll be along a little later to collect Cheng's effects."

"And what would it be worth to me?"

She looked around the room.

"Apart from a more commodious accommodation? That would depend. Cheng offered me one or two...ancillary services. From what I understand you would not be entirely averse."

She walked past me and lay down on her bunk.

"Why don't you come and show me what you can do."

I looked at the still open cell door.

"Don't worry. We're at the end of the wing. We won't be disturbed."

Since the first day of planning we had known that it would come to this but that made in no less palatable. I had spent hours poring over her file and every time I saw a photo or a video clip I was reminded.

I turned back to her, signalling my acquiescence, and she smiled.

"That's a good girl."

She was wearing the standard issue grey track suit but on her it assumed a degree of elegance. She slipped the top over her head with a crackle of static electricity and I stared at her breasts.

She was over forty now but any twenty year old would have been jealous. They still stood proud and I had never seen nipples so perfectly circular. It would be easy to believe that she had been under the knife but the photo archive showed that she had retained the same enviable profile throughout her well publicised life.

Her smile told me that she was quite used to the reaction as she reached down to take off the leggings leaving me to wonder if it was her habit to eschew underwear.

Her legs could still have graced a catwalk and she had obviously had access to an expensive depilatory. This made it all the more shocking when I saw the dark heavy growth that hid her sex.

She joined her hands behind her head and raised her knees.

"Come on baby...I need this."

I was angry that she should think that, even inside, money could buy her anything, including me, but it was a necessary evil.

I laid down on the bed between her legs in much the same way that Simmons had done for me and in just a few seconds her scent was thick in the air.

I shuffled forward, nearer to her sex, and saw that, at some stage, there had been a design razor cut into the dark covering but it had grown out unevenly making it impossible to see what it once might have been.

Her labia drew to mind a cloaked figure. They were plump and a little flared at the base narrowing towards the apex where they strained to restrain a prominent clitoris.

I found it difficult to take the first step. It seemed somehow forbidding and I remembered the myth of the Egyptian princess. She liked only girls and she had her minions scour the country for the most beautiful but, no matter how well the captives performed, they were never allowed to gaze upon the font of the goddess for a second time.

In her frame of reference she had bestowed upon these girls the greatest of gifts and, without exception, they were put to death the following day.

Now I had to perform as if my life depended on it. She had to believe that I enjoyed doing it or the whole thing would unravel.

I used my fingers to ease through the canopy and then to hold her open. The inner surfaces of her labia were coated with a creamy rime and I closed my eyes as I took a first tentative lick.

"Do I taste nice?"

I groaned in what I hoped was an approving manner and licked again. The taste was thick on my tongue and I swallowed to clear my palate.

I settled down to what I knew would be a prolonged session and licked each side of her sex in turn. Every now and again I would increase the pressure a little and threaten to go deeper but a constant renewal of moisture told me that she was more than content.

"Oh, you are going to be so good for me..."

She stretched a little straightening one leg and leaving the other raised. I no longer needed to hold her open. Her sex was fully ripened and it lay outspread for my attentions.

As the minutes passed my mind became focused on minutiae. I noticed now each of her hairs curled in the same direction, the tiny raised dimples at the very tips of her labia, and the richness of her scent which ebbed and flowed as she gave in to her arousal only to rein it in to allow it to build once more.

My mind also went out to those who had been here before and to one in particular. The files had been necessarily vague but it did not take much to read between the lines.

The security services had already used one of their own people to get to Deryan. She had been responsible for uncovering the Tower Bridge plot but, if I was right, it was at a personal cost. I suppose it was that aspect of the file which had set this whole train of current events in motion.

My jaw was getting numb but I continued to make all the right noises and made sure that she heard me swallowing.

"Okay baby, it's time..."

She rolled her shoulders and relaxed altogether as I found her clitoris. It was as large as I had envisioned it and I enclosed it with my lips and gently sucked it.

"Oh yes..."

She arched her back a little and it was almost as if I were lifting her from the bunk.

The rounded bulb beneath my tongue was solidly engorged and felt curiously smooth. The temperature of my mouth and her sex was almost matched and a mix of my saliva and her secretions provided a perfect viscosity.

The result was a teasing lack of friction but, by slow degrees, her body began to tense. She pushed herself at me but I moved with her so that the pressure of my tongue remained constant.

Almost in slow motion her body began to twist and I was aware that she was pinching her nipples. Taking my cue I increased the tempo moving my tongue more quickly.

"Now! Don't stop!"

I felt her orgasm begin as a deep tremor in her body. For a few seconds she seemed to be in control of it but then it unleashed its true ferocity shaking her so hard that I was, for a moment, cast adrift.

"Don't move!"

She groaned and held herself still allowing me to reengage and we stayed bound together as she was buffeted by the winds of pleasure on the high plateau.

As she slowly came down I ignored my own growing discomfort and I licked over her whole sex cleaning the sodden pelt which was now heavy with her moisture.

This was much to her liking and she hummed appreciatively and ran her fingertips through my hair which, itself, was damp with perspiration.

I slowly came to a stop and then rested with my head on her thigh.

"So how much does this job pay?"

I said it playfully but I hoped I gave it just enough edge to remind her of my mercenary intent.

Her reply was surprisingly blunt but it was the figure that excited me. It was high, very high, and it confirmed that our thinking had been right all along. I tried to remain calm as I asked my next question.

"How would it be paid?"

"Cash, payable wherever or to whomever you wish."

"I want it paid into a bank account. I'll give you the details."

She sat up just a little too quickly.

"That's impossible. It's cash or no deal."

I rolled my head and gave her sex a long, lingering, lick before slowly getting off of the bed.

"That's a great pity. Give my regards to Cheng."

I was almost out of the door when she shouted.

"Wait! I'll double it...just say where you want it delivered."

I turned back to her.

"Look, I'm a loner. I intend to stay that way. I have no one on the outside that I trust and, with all due respect, there's a lot of funny money in circulation right now."

It was an irrefutable argument and I saw a look close to panic in her eyes. I turned to leave once more.

"Okay, okay. As you wish. Give me the details. It will take a couple of days to set up."

"A pleasure doing business...I'll want three months in advance."

Chapter 6

It was a lot of money but she wanted her pound of flesh. Her sexual appetite was voracious and, over the next three days, I spent hours tending to her needs.

It was tiring in more ways than one. As she promised she used her influence to ensure that we shared the cell but there were limits to what she could arrange. The bunks were screwed to the floor and could not be moved together. This meant that we shared one bed but it was very much on her terms.

She liked to be licked to sleep and I would labour under the stifling heat of the blanket until she drifted off after which I could crawl out to my own bed.

She never showed the faintest inclination to reciprocate in any way and this became a problem. I told myself that I hated her and I hated what I was having to do but every time I brought her to orgasm I found myself feeling more and more frustrated.

I could have masturbated but somehow that seemed sordid given what was giving rise to the need. She even taunted me, asking me if I brought myself off whilst I dreamed of her.

Things got so bad I even thought of seeking out Simmons but I reasoned that that made me no better than Deryan.

On the fourth day after moving in with her time went by with glacial slowness. It was visiting day and, having phoned through the success of my initial contact with Deryan, I had high hopes of this being my last day inside.

I was to be bitterly disappointed. Deryan had kept her part of the bargain, The funds were in the account but tracing them was proving as difficult as we feared it would.

Our problem was that our Military Intelligence computers were not geared up for this kind of financial forensic analysis. It would have been a lot more straight-forward using the systems of the civilian intelligence service but they had been compromised.

The laptop belonging to the woman who was responsible for Deryan's initial capture had been hijacked online and she had been taunted with a cyber message.

I was told that I had done enough, that given time the funds would be tracked, but I made the painful decision to stay put. If the worse came to the worse I would demand cash from Deryan and we would have to try and follow it physically.

Deryan was in good spirits when I got back to the cell. She had met with her lawyer and was more confident than ever about her upcoming appeal. As I settled between her legs I prayed that we would find the evidence that we needed to nail her for good.

A midweek phone call brought no better news and I was forced to wait a full seven days until the next visit. In that time things took a turn for the worse.

Deryan discovered a penchant for sitting on my face. The fact that she knew I was capable of killing her with my bare hands seemed to add to the pleasure she took from spending hours holding me helpless beneath her whilst she came at her leisure.

I was also attacked for a third time. I have no idea if it was linked to Deryan in any way but it happened in the dining hall. Fortunately, as so often with these things, I felt it in the atmosphere, an indefinable something that heightened my senses.

In the event it was a crude attempt. She was a big woman and she came at me without warning. She was holding a plastic knife in a folded handkerchief and she knew enough to hold it with the handle facing forward.

The blade would have simply snapped off but the handle, delivered with enough force, could do some painful damage; certainly enough to incapacitate whilst a meaningful kick was delivered. As it was I got low and got my kick in first dislocating her kneecap. I then walked away quickly as though nothing had happened.

That same evening, close to lock down, another woman came into our cell. She was an attractive red head, about the same age as Deryan, and the two of them embraced warmly. They sat together on one bunk discussing the appeal hearing but I was aware of her looking at me as I sat reading a battered book from the prison library.

After a few moments the bell sounded requiring everyone to return to their own cells but the woman made no move to leave. It was asking for trouble to antagonize the warders and I waited for the sparks to fly.

I was more than mildly surprised therefore when the cell door was closed and loudly locked without a word being said.

The redhead looked at me and smiled but she addressed herself to Deryan.

"Would you mind if I went first? I've been looking forward to this all day and I am really creaming."

I was not sure if I was more shocked by her audacity or the fact that Deryan could wield sufficient influence to arrange matters so. I ignored the red head and spoke to Deryan.

"Would you like to tell me what's going on?"

She got up from the bunk to come and stroke my face.

"In another life Lauren was a barrister. She's been helping me with my appeal process and I owe her a favour. I felt sure you wouldn't mind."

The temptation to punch her square in the face was so strong that I was shaking but I held myself in check. I had sold myself as a willing prison bitch and if I reneged now it would be hard to explain. I might have got away with it if Lauren had been plain but, in the scheme of things, she was a desirable prospect.

She did not wait for me to say anything else. She stood up and, with almost unseemly haste, took off her uniform.

She was naked beneath it and she stood allowing me to admire her. She was lean, a little taller than Deryan, with modest breasts that seemed, in some way, a little too rounded.

She turned back to the bunk and plumped the pillow.

"Come and lie here. Adrienne has told me what you enjoy."

It was like moving through a swamp as I willed myself to get up and submit.

I lay down to await my fate and it was not long in coming. She straddled my face clumsily, suggesting that she was a novice, and she remained poised over me as if unsure what to do.

I was relieved to see that she was clean shaven, which came as a welcome relief after my prolonged sessions with Deryan, and her sex was a tight, almost adolescent, slit.

She dropped slowly and squealed at the first touch of my tongue but she quickly relaxed allowing me to do all the work.

It did not take much. The sheer decadence of the situation had clearly gotten to her and it took just a few sweeps of my tongue to bring her to a climax. The problem was that she unheeding of my vulnerability and she worked herself ruthlessly over my face using the friction to increase her pleasure.