Chapter 1

Mr Desmond Fairweather sat on the hard wooden chair in his small office in the basement of the huge modern department store and scratched his balls in anticipation. His attention was fixed on the bank of sixteen closed-circuit-television monitors mounted on the wall above his small wooden desk.

In particular his gaze was on the third screen from the left on the top row, the one labeled 'Parfum'. He had watched as a young woman in school uniform had slipped a small but wildly expensive bottle of scent into an older woman's Gucci handbag before dropping another small vial into her own blazer pocket.

He smiled and spoke quietly into a microphone mounted on his desk.

"Miss Ash, we have a lifter in the perfumery. An attractive young woman in boater, blazer and plaid skirt."

"Yes, Major," whispered his assistant security officer into a slim microphone concealed in a brooch on the jacket of her smartly tailored woolen suit. "I'm on my way. Attractive, you say?"

"Oh, yes. Long legs all the way up to her ass and it's the cutest little ass I've seen for a long time."

Mr Fairweather chuckled as he saw Lyn Ash, his red-headed assistant, leave her position near the main exit on the CCTV monitor labeled 'Door 1'. The store employed only two security staff and a battery of the latest suveillance technology. Lyn Ash was not a big woman. She wore high-heeled boots to give her an extra inch or two. She had an athlete's confident carriage and was, he knew, as fit and fierce as a tiger

"Bring her here quietly, please Miss Ash," the chief of security whispered. "I think she may be amenable to-er-our special treatment."

"Good," breathed his assistant. "It's been a while..."

He had known Lyn Ash for two years. They had met in their lawyers' office where they were both seeking advice for their respective legal problems. At that time Lyn was a police-woman who had been accused of using undue force on a female suspect. Fairweather was being advised not to sue the Defense Force for wrongful dismissal. Captain Fairweather's resignation had been requested following what he claimed was a totally false series of complaints by a number of enlisted personnel-mainly female-who had been members of the ordnance depot at which he worked.

Officer Lyn Ash and Captain Desmond Fairweather hit it off immediately despite the ten year difference in their ages. Each sensed in the other a fellow predator.

Following Lyn's departure from the police force eleven months later, Fairweather, now a civilian, was happy to have been able to offer the fiery red-headed Lyn a job as his sole deputy security-officer in the new mega-store. She now earned a salary three times greater than she had as a cop and enjoyed the occasional 'special treat' organized by the one-time Captain. As a reward Lyn promoted him 'Major' and introduced him to the Slaves and Masters Club of which she was a founder member. They remained close friends. The fact that they were both 'masters' precluded a closer relationship.

"There was an older woman with her." said Desmond. "A blonde. An accomplice I believe. She's having something done to her hair in the hairdressers. We'll pick her up later."

"Roger, Major," said Lyn.

Fairweather watched the 'Parfum' monitor. The young woman was still dawdling by the display of the more expensive goods. He admired her long legs and neatly rounded backside and when she turned to face the hidden camera he was entranced to see her white linen blouse was taut across her firm bosom. She was wearing a straw boater which was perched on her untidy mop of black hair. Her face was pretty. She had a snub nose and wide full lips. Fairweather liked full lips. He imagined this pair encircling his cock. He was confident she could be persuaded to accommodate him before the store shut for the night.

Lyn Ash appeared in the monitor. She quietly approached the young woman and spoke to her. Smiling sweetly the ex-policewoman firmly gripped the young woman's upper arm and gently but forcefully escorted her towards the elevator which led to the basement. No one seemed to have noticed the arrest but to be on the safe side Fairweather dialed the store manager's office and spoke to the head honcho.

"We have apprehended a suspect shop-lifter, Ma'am," he said respectfully. "I doubt we will need to call the police. I think this is one of those cases we can deal with ourselves more effectively."

"If you say so, Major Fairweather. Please let me know should you change your mind," said the manageress. She admired the 'Major'. He was always so positive. She sometimes wondered what he would be like in bed.

"Desmond, I do appreciate your efforts to save the firm the cost in goodwill and the embarrassment of prosecuting every miscreant."

"Yes, Ma'am. Thank you. Some do respond to a good talking to." He replaced the handset. "And others to more radical treatment," he said to the empty office.

The security-office was a square, windowless cement box in the basement of the up-market store. The wall to the left of the doorway supported the array of monitors with Desmond's desk and chair facing them. The desk boasted a coffee machine, an 'out' basket and a telephone. Opposite was a partitioned-off section containing a shower, wash-basin, toilet, wooden chair, iron-framed bed with mattress and a full length mirror bolted to the wall. Both the bed and the chair were fastened to the floor to prevent any detainee from using the furniture as a weapon. Fairweather and Ash called the shower-room "The Cell", only half in jest. The outer wall of the cell was covered with a selection of posters warning against the consequences of being caught thieving and, incongruously, a square window.

In fact the window enabled a viewer to look through the mirror in the shower-room without being seen by anyone in the room. A notice-board, filing cabinet and tall cupboard graced the wall facing the entrance to the office which led to a dusty passage and the elevator. The office of the Security Chief was cool in summer and comfortably warm in winter being heated by an oil-filled portable radiator. What Desmond particularly liked about his office and shower-room in the cellar was that it was isolated and soundproof.

Lyn Ash led her captive into the office. Desmond Fairweather stood up. The young woman was flushed and looked close to tears. She felt embarrassed and a little bit frightened. She was not reassured by Desmond who glared down at her from his gaunt six foot two height, his face grim and his thin mustache seeming to bristle with anger.

"Her name is Kylie O'Malley, Major," said Lyn. "A student at one of our most exclusive schools."

"From which she now, no doubt, faces expulsion," said Desmond. "A pity. Empty your pockets," he snapped.

Kylie decided to make a stand. She shook her head. "No," she said. "You can't make me."

"Oh, but I can," said Desmond. "I have evidence you have stolen goods from the perfumery. I could, perhaps should, call the police. Would you prefer that, young lady?"

Did he mean they might not call the police? She thought. Kylie shook her head again.

"Then empty your pockets."

Kylie slowly did as she was told. Her student card showed she was aged eighteen and eight weeks. She was technically an adult. The flask of perfume was one of the last items she placed on the table.

"I meant to pay for it," she lied. "I will now."

"Too late," said Desmond. "What else have you stolen?"

Kylie looked startled. "N ... Nothing," she stammered.

Lyn Ash snapped at her. "Show some respect. Call the Major, 'Sir'."

"Nothing, Sir, honestly," said Kylie.

"We'll see. Miss Ash, please take Kylie into the bathroom. Let me have her hat. I think a full cavity search will tell us whether she is lying or not."

"Certainly, Major," said Lyn, her eyes gleaming with lustful anticipation, as she gripped the young woman's upper arm and propelled her into the shower-room.

"Blazer, off," Lyn snapped before the wretched Kylie could protest.

Desmond moved to the window into the shower room. He watched as Kylie handed her blazer to Lyn who then turned it inside out as she searched the garment for hidden pockets. When Lyn had completed her examination of the blazer she hung it on a large hook by the door.

"Get that blouse off," she said.

"W ... Why?" wailed the young woman.

"I need to see whether you have any stolen goods hidden in your bra. A favorite trick of young shop-lifters like yourself."

Kylie started to cry. Big soft tears ran down her cheeks as Lyn helped her undo the buttons of her fine linen school-uniform blouse. Desmond felt his prick stiffen as he watched Lyn take the blouse and hang it over the blazer then unfasten the young woman's brassiere at the back.

Kylie tried to prevent Lyn from removing her bra but the ex-policewoman would brook no nonsense.

"Don't be silly. I have to check there is nothing tucked into the padding." she said, deftly whipping the bra away from Kylie's hands. Kylie's bra had little padding. Her breasts were full and firm topped with little buttons of pink nipples. "Not that there's a lot of padding. You have very nice tits," said Lyn softly.

Kylie looked startled at the compliment. Ohmygod, she thought, I think she's a bit of a dyke. But what can I do?She turned to look at herself in the mirror. On the other side of the glass Desmond agreed wholeheartedly with his deputy. The young woman had nice tits. He could hardly wait to get his hands on them.

"Nearly done," said Lyn cheerfully as she opened the bathroom cabinet and extracted a pack of disposable surgical gloves and a tube of lubricant gel. "Knickers off! Bend down, grasp your ankles."

Kylie didn't move. Ohmygod.

"Come on," said Lyn. "Do as you're told. If I have to I'll get the Major in here to hold you while I do what is necessary. Do you want that?"

Kylie shook her head. "No,"she whispered. Slowly she reached under her skirt and began rolling her panties down her long legs. Kylie had problems when her panties tangled with the buttons on her ankle-strap shoes. After a brief struggle she handed the soft white cotton garment to Lyn who added it to the clothing already hanging on the hook.