I was hiding behind a pepper pot. The frog in the chair facing me asked me how I felt but I wasn’t going to hold a conversation with a frog. The problem with frogs is they can turn into Princes.

Hallucinations are a consequence, I learned, of morphine use. As my pains, various, reduced so did the morphine and eventually the weird and wonderful tricks my mind played. I was left with the need to recover. A bullet can pass through you without doing much damage and mine had at least missed all vital bits. It had, I was told, clipped a rib which caused it to tumble but as it left my body below and to the side of my left breast it took a significant amount of muscle and other stuff with it. I was a bit of a war zone there and it hurt and looked a mess. I didn’t want anyone to see it, ever.

A few weeks of treatment and sadistic physiotherapy provided by a gorgeous but straight New Zealander called Rosie who was married to a rugby player and, I suspected, taught him how to brutalise his opponents, had me back on my feet and ready to face the world.

A shrink, Dr Tauber, sat and patiently listened to my ramblings in an attempt to prevent PTSD. It seemed to work because he finally said, ‘My work here is done.’ The surgeon said I was okay as did Rosie. And so it was back to work. I had a few days on the firing range and a quick refresher course which was organised really to make sure I was up to it all and finally I was ready to go.

*

Monday.

‘The threats against Lauren have been coming thick and fast. Are you sure you’re fit to get back to work?’

Carl, my boss, was a lovely man. He always cared for us and I could see the concern in his eyes.

‘I’m fine, really.’

‘Okay. If you have any doubts, any time, then tell me and we’ll sort it.’ I nodded. ‘The Police are looking into the threats but, to be honest, I don’t think they’re making any progress. I have assigned Joe Mallory to work with Frank until Sunday. You go back to work then. I’ll brief you on Monday morning. Now get lost.’

Lauren and Jen were away so I went home to my flat and did some chores, rather half-heartedly. Jen had sorted someone to keep the place tidy while I’d stayed with her so there wasn’t that much to do anyway. The phone rang. It was Angela, the butch from Ernie’s.

‘Ernie gave me your number. I know this is short notice but I need to ask you a favour. I’m going to a reception tomorrow night and I need a partner. Do you have an evening dress?’ It transpired that Angie was a minor diplomat and the reception was for some visiting dignitary. ‘Low rank or they wouldn’t be sending me.’ That sounded like a little false modesty to me but I agreed. Why wouldn’t I?

‘Why me.’

‘You’d look good on my arm and it might be fun. Also, Ernie said you have class and that will be good. I’ll pick you up at seven.’

I spent Tuesday getting ready. I chose a deep red evening dress that had a high neck cut in a small V. It was tight to my waist, zipped down the back and a wide skirt. The silk moved nicely and I felt good with the usual underpinnings and four inch heels, also red. “Red shoes, no knickers,’ my mother had always said but she was wrong this time. I smiled at the memory. I’d had my hair cut, not short but tidied. I looked in the mirror for the hundredth time and thought I looked okay.

‘Nice,’ said Angie. ‘Ernie said you’d been ill. You okay now?’

‘I’m fine thanks.’

Angie clearly had no problem being herself even at work. She was wearing a man’s tuxedo, white jacket, black trousers and bow tie. I noticed it was a proper one, not a pre-tied affair. Her shoes were like cavalry boots. She led me from my flat to the limo that was waiting at the kerb and held the door as I slid into the back then closed the door and came around to sit on my right hand side. The car whispered away and within twenty minutes we had arrived at the venue, one of London’s best hotels. By that time Angie had learned about my injury and had seemed more than a little surprised.

‘A bodyguard? Who’d have thought?’

It was a glittering affair; lots of gowns and diamonds. The meal was a buffet and, with Angie, I spoke to a whole load of people. Every now and then her hand would go to my arse, discreetly, and pat it.

I was checking my lippy in the toilet mirror when Angie came out of the stall. ‘One problem with being a butch is having to sit to piss.’ She grinned and patted my arse again. ‘Come on, babe. One last turn of glad handing then we can go somewhere for a little fun.’

The limo was waiting for us as, at about midnight, we left the hotel. It drove us to an opulent square in the West End and Angie led me from the car to a large, glossily painted front door which she opened. There was an imposing hallway. I looked at her enquiringly.

‘Rich daddy. I was an only daughter so I got the lot. Lush isn’t it?’ It was. ‘Come on, let’s have a drink and I can have a good look at you in that gorgeous dress. I’ve been dying to get at you all evening.’ Angie took my hand and led me into a sitting room and suggested I sit. She took off her jacket. The shirt was white silk, with small, silver cufflinks. She loosened her bow tie and left it dangling around her as she opened the top button.

I sat down on a large, deep sofa and she poured two glasses of brandy, one of which she handed to me then she sat facing me in a leather chair. The room was lit low and a fire was set but not lit in the hearth. It was warm and almost cosy despite the high ceiling.

‘I’ve never known a bodyguard before.’ I smiled. ‘Sounds exciting, perhaps a bit too exciting for you though?’

‘I knew what I was letting myself in for.’

‘Am I going to fuck you again tonight?’

‘I hope so.’

‘So do I. You remember how I like it?’

I smiled. ‘Very clearly.’

‘Excuse me a moment. I need to fetch something.’

I watched as she stood, moved to me and cupped my chin, lifting my mouth as she bent down and kissed me firmly. She stood tall in front of me. ‘Don’t you go away now.’

She left the room. I stood and, taking my glass with me, I wandered over to a large bookcase and started to read the books’ spines. It was an eclectic mix of titles. I was startled when I heard her cough. I turned to face her and saw her standing in the doorway, leaning against the jamb and watching me. A strappy poked from her fly, her hand wrapped around it.

‘You know what I want, Carla?’ I nodded. ‘Well?’

I walked to the back of the sofa and slowly, watching her eyes, bent over it, placing my hands on the seat. She grinned, a hungry, wolfish grin.

‘Oh, good girl.’ She stroked the blue, smooth dildo. ‘Don’t move now.’

She came close and squatted in front of me, taking my face in her hands and kissed my mouth. I tried to respond but wasn’t quick enough. She pulled away, smiling.

She walked slowly behind me.

I felt the silk of my dress being slowly lifted. I’d worn stockings and silk knickers because I’d remembered that she liked that. She took her time. Her hands roamed up my legs and a small sigh escaped her lips and I guessed that was about the moment she discovered stocking tops. She stopped and her hands moved to the back of my neck and she slowly unzipped my dress and spread the red material wide so it would have fallen off my chest if I hadn’t been bent over the sofa. Her tongue traced my spine from the middle of my back up to the nape of my neck. I could feel her dildo between my thighs. She bit my neck softly and licked to one side along the line of my jaw and up to my ear.

‘Oh, God, Angie.’

‘Patience,’ she whispered. ‘Angie’s enjoying herself.’ Her tongue slithered along my spine again, down to the point where the zip stopped at my waist. One kiss and then she resumed the leg stroking, first on the outside up to my hips, then on the inside, running her nails along the tops of my stockings. My knickers were French cut, like little wide-legged shorts. She curled her finger up the leg and touched me between my pussy and bum and her nail did a little slow dance there which caused me to lift my head and bend my neck. I heard a small chuckle. That same finger slipped down and traced my lips, spread them and circled around my entrance.

‘Wet lady. Nice and ready for Angie.’

However ready I may have been she was not. More teasing movements of her finger, circling then probing gently into my arse. Just a knuckle depth but enough to tell me she would take what she wanted when she wanted it. Fine with me. I was surprised when she stopped again and this time she tied her tie around my eyes, whispering that I should not be afraid.

A slight rearrangement and the dildo was rubbing between my lips and now I wanted it – I wanted it badly and I must have moved because she gently slapped my arse.

‘In my own good time, lady.’

‘Fucking get on with it.’

‘Common as muck.’

But then it was pressing and I gasped as it entered me, invaded me and I could only think how good she was to have got me to a state of near orgasm simply by playing. Hands on my hips she began, slowly at first, to rock and gradually to plunder. As she had done that night in Ernie’s flat, she curled over me and her hands found my breasts, pushing their way under the dress and gripping my nipples between her nails. That was gentle at first but as her excitement rose, so did her grip tighten and the slight pain served to lift me to a place of ecstasy. She knew what she was doing. Her hips slapped into me, the dildo pistoning and I began to feel myself lifting out of my body. I could feel the buttons of her shirt on my back, her breath on my ear. The lack of sight seemed to make every other sense magnified. I began to lose control. My body trembled, shook, arched and she maintained her relentless pace s she fucked me.

I honestly cannot remember the orgasm. I do remember hearing a scream of joy and knew it was probably mine. What I do remember is feeling her lying bent over me after, her hips still pumping and her voice in my ear.

‘Angie’s cumming, fuck I’m cumming.’ She did too. Loud, trenchant violent with a few well-chosen obscenities to accompany it. It was joyful, exuberant and clearly draining. We lay, like dog and bitch joined for what seemed an age. Her voice was soft in my ear.

‘Fuck, Carla, that worked.’ I wasn’t able to speak. She slowly withdrew and stood, gently lifting me to a standing position, turning me still blind and kissed my mouth. ‘Do you want to taste my cock?’

I shook my head and she kissed me again. ‘Not your thing, huh?’ She removed her tie from my eyes. ‘Nor mine really. Sometimes, though, I like to see a girl with it deep in her throat but somehow that doesn’t seem like you.’

I kissed her then, grateful that she understood. My dress fell away as she stood back, her hands on my shoulders.

‘Let’s go to bed?’

We did. I let my dress fall to the floor and, in stockings, knickers and heels followed her upstairs to a large room, dominated by a huge bed. I sat on the bed and watched her undress in front of me. I love undressing a lover but she seemed not to want that, so I simply watched as first her shirt came off, revealing a sheer white bra, nothing fancy. She took that off too and her large breasts, tipped with those gorgeous brown nipples dipped slightly, beautifully, as they were liberated.

She removed her shoes and I noticed short white socks before they too came off.

‘A quality butch removes her socks before her trousers and puts them on after her trousers. It’s a matter of class.’ She was grinning.

Her trousers came down and I realised it wasn’t a strappy but a strapless and that she was otherwise naked, the heart shaped hair above the projection looked pretty.

‘Take it out for me.’ I reached a hand to it, held it looking up into her eyes and gently eased the large bulb out of her. Still looking into her eyes, I licked it. I might not want it in my mouth but there was no reason not to let her see my enthusiasm for her taste. That did something because she lifted my chin and kissed me, hard. Her tongue penetrated my mouth and she forced me back onto the bed and crawled up so she was astride my face. I did my duty, my tongue working, licking, circling, probing. She moved her hips so she could have my tongue where she wanted it; in her puss, on her arse and a little way in it too.

Her orgasm was quieter but wet. She rubbed herself on me, marking me, making me glisten.

Turning, she dived down between my thighs, pulling my knickers aside and burying her face in me, her cunt tight to my face again. I remember that orgasm. It was like a breaker arriving on a rock. It seemed to take forever to reach then, when it did, it broke violently, lifting my, tensing my entire body so it almost hurt.

After, as we lay sated on the disarrayed sheets, she licked my wound. ‘Brave girl.’ I didn’t care. I felt beautiful. I wondered if she knew what that had meant to me.

We slept like spoons, my arse in her lap, her arm across me, her mouth at my neck.

*

Lauren and Jen were arriving at a private airfield south of London and Frank and I were there in the Merc to meet them. We’d done a recce, checked the airfield security and were satisfied but we both checked our weapons as the Gulfstream landed. Frank drove us to the plane’s side and I got out, holding the door ready and watching all around as the two women deplaned and, to my mind, slowly climbed down the few steps and, to my relief, into the safety of the car. A last look round and I got in as well and Frank drove smoothly but quickly to Lauren’s house. The gates opened as we approached and whispered shut behind us. The car pulled up in the sanctuary of the car port and I breathed what I hoped was an imperceptible sigh of relief. I was okay. I checked my weapon again after the women had left the car.

It struck me then that nobody had spoken more than a few words on the journey and I realised I was not alone in my anxiety. That was gratifying.

Maybe the threats had been empty words.