The Organization Pt 01

The Organization, Part 1

Copyright 2012, 2020 Lisa Summers

I've never cared much for other women, they're just too much into drama. On the other hand, I've always loved men, but this one was beginning to annoy me.

"Where are you taking me?" I asked the beefy troglodyte holding my arm and 'assisting' me into the long, black limo. By the way his jacket bowed out under his arm, it was obvious that he was packing a gun. I've taken on beefy turds like him before, but the addition of a gun made me hold back. Besides, I was pretty sure he was just 'fetching' me for someone. Underworld types tend to act like that, and I hadn't pissed off anybody in that area since I left the Bureau.

He didn't bother to respond. I suppose I'd have been disappointed in him if he did. Still, it would have been nice to know where I was being shanghaied to. I had to admire his professionalism in keeping quiet. Most guys his size, like to show off to the petite little thing they're with. And at 5'1", and 110 pounds, I am petite. My long blonde hair and youthful features add to the impression that I'm probably harmless.

My name is Kacey Andrews. I'm a partner in Metropolitan Enquiry Services, a partnership located in the New York City area. I come from a long line of Irish cop types, although I suppose I'm the last, as my brother and sister have ended up primarily in the CEO business, of course at different firms. Their kids are likely to become doctors and lawyers, and I don't have any kids, nor a husband, though I do have a boyfriend, Michael Simmons -- um, a corporate lawyer.

I was formerly with the FBI, and on the fast track to the top, when I finally got fed up with political interference into our investigations. Believe it or not, it still happens. Pursuit of a federal crime can easily be sidetracked by a well-placed word from a politician, to a weak-willed investigative higher up.

So I formed the MES with a friend, Melissa Clouthier, who had been an agent at the Naval Criminal Investigative Service. We'd done well investigating corporate crime on behalf of shareholders, investors, bond holders, that sort of thing. As informal as we were, we were not in the habit of being dragged out of our homes by goons of any stripe.

"Feel free to make yourself a drink," the goon-cum-chauffeur said through the limo's intercom, otherwise invisible through the smoky glass dividing driver from passenger. I looked at the bar at the front of the passenger cabin, and decided to indulge in a Schweppes ginger ale. Goon Number 2 handed me a small bottle, and a tumbler full of ice.

"Would you mind telling me who you work for, why I'm being abducted, and where exactly it is we're going? Thanks so much," I finished. Again, I wasn't let down by my captors, as they remained silent. I shrugged. I didn't have any enemies recently that would use goons -- they preferred using lawyers, instead. And the enemies I had from my FBI days would sooner do intimidation work themselves -- and most of them weren't very good at it.

So, I'd just have to see what this was about. I thought back on the conversation I'd just had minutes before with Melissa, before I was so rudely interrupted.

"Mel, you really need to find a good man, like Michael, and settle down, sort of."

"You mean, settle down, but not too much, right?" Melissa retorted, her voice slightly tinny through the cell phone speaker.

"I'd hate to see you leave the business entirely because you got married," I admitted. "But having a regular boyfriend would probably help you get more sleep, if nothing else. Probably make you less bitchy, too."

"You sound like an old married woman...and at thirty-four, too," Melissa teased.

"Oh, you're the voice of experience...at twenty-six," I said.

"Wisdom comes from experience," Melissa said, kind of pompously. "Not from just hanging around. Anyway, I'm down to two guys now. Arthur, the lawyer, and Cliff, the geologist."

"Whoof, Cliff sounds hunky," I said. "I pick him."

"You don't get to pick, and you've never even met him," she said.

"Turn off the phone," a deep voice said from behind me, emerging from nowhere.

"Wha-" I began to say, but he took the phone from my hand and clicked it off, handed it to an accomplice, who removed the battery, then politely returned the phone to me, keeping the battery.

"No GPS tracking." The serious look on his face was almost comical, but I decided to go along and see where this took me.

My thoughts returned to the present.

We drove into a garage of a turn of the century mansion in DUMBO, in Brooklyn. "Nice," I thought. "At least I'm not likely to end up in the trunk of a car in a wrecking yard in Brownsville."

The goon opened my door, and politely ushered me into the house, and then into a nicely appointed library.

"Please, sit here," he said, indicating a mahogany conference table in the center of the room. On the table was a MacBook Pro. He brought me another Schweppes, and a glass of ice.

"My employer will be right with you," he said. Progress.

A few minutes later, a glum, slightly bowed, middle-aged man with fading reddish hair entered.

"Miss Andrews, I appreciate your coming out today," he said.

"I don't remember scheduling this meeting," I said. He smiled wearily.

"Yes...well, given my history, and the nature of my request, I wasn't sure if you'd give me an hour of your time, so I set the meeting with you, um, without you. I assure you, that you'll be returned to your home, unharmed, after our meeting. I do apologize for the circumstances."

"So, you would like to use our services?" I ventured.

"Um, yes -- what else?" He said. Then he smiled. "Oh, yes, it was melodramatic, eh? And you were the big fish on the Kretschmer kidnapping, yes?"

Milo Kretschmer had been a high profile kidnapping victim during my time at the FBI. I ended up with a lot of the press when we recovered him alive, but of course, it takes dozens of agents and others to succeed on something like that.

I nodded. "What can we do for you, Mister..."

"I've forgotten my manners," he said. "I attribute that to the stress of the situation. My name is Sean Laughlin."

He didn't have to fill in any gaps. Though I'd never worked on cases involving his syndicate, he was well known to agents at the Bureau. He was a former bit part actor, who'd done a 180 and become heavily involved in software counterfeiting and computer hacking for profit throughout the world, and was thought to be involved with Chinese triads along with the CCP producing the material and training the hackers.

"I don't work for criminals, Mister Laughlin," I said. "Or commies."

"I understand," he responded. "But this is personal. Please, just watch these videos...I think that you'll well understand after you see them. And if you decide you still can't help me, I'll have you taken home, alright?" The look of sadness on the stooped, almost old, man was affecting. I remembered Sean Laughlin as being an old time bruiser. What could have done this to him?

"Alright," I responded.

"Dominic," he said, gesturing to the computer screen. "Show her the 'before.'"

"Before what?" I wondered to myself. A picture came up, taken by an amateur, a little out of focus. It showed what I presumed to be a mother and daughter setting a dinner table for some festive occasion, maybe Thanksgiving, as there was a baked turkey on a platter in the center of the table. They were smiling at the camera.

The next picture was a scene at the beach - I recognized it as Jones Beach. The same two were sitting on a blanket, the presumed mother wearing a conservative two piece swimsuit, the daughter, if that's who she was, wearing an even more conservative one piece. The mother looked to be in her late thirties, the daughter to be maybe fourteen or fifteen. They didn't seem to be aware that their picture was being taken.

There were three or four more, all homey little scenes of the same mother and daughter, doing mother and daughter kinds of things.

Then there were no more pictures, so I looked at Laughlin. He frowned.

"Dominic will show you the rest. I'd...rather not see them again." He shuffled off. The goon returned, and without a word pressed a few keys on the MacBook, a high resolution video beginning on the monitor.

My investigative habits took over -- this was obviously a video that had had a significant effect on Laughlin, and thus might be evidence of some kind.

The video looked professionally produced. Lighting was good, the resolution was high definition, at least 1080p, maybe higher. The setting was wealthy and understated. There was sound, but no music and no conversation or stray sounds that my ears could pick up. The camera did at times move, so there must have been a camera operator.

It focused on what looked to be the same young girl, around 14 or 15, seated on a bench, and apparently putting together a jigsaw puzzle of some sort. She'd hold up a piece, look at it critically, then place it somewhere on the table in front of her. She appeared very intelligent.

As to her physical appearance...she was heartbreakingly beautiful, with that beauty unsullied by life. Obviously from good breeding, she carried herself well, and proudly. Her hair was blonde and glossy, well cared for, parted in the middle, and hung down to the tops of her small breasts.

In this video, she wore a simple white sundress, with a halter strap running behind her neck. The dress looked as though it was mid-thigh length, though as she was seated it was hard to tell for sure. She had a slight tan on her arms and legs.

After a few minutes, she put down the puzzle piece she was holding, then began caressing the fronts of her thighs, swiveling as she did, to face the camera, spreading her legs. As she caressed her thighs, her dress began pulling up, and it was immediately apparent that she wasn't wearing any panties, or other undergarment. Her genital area was bare and hairless, with her petite build it made her look younger. Her vagina was that of a young girl in form and shape.

"What the..." I exclaimed. I turned to Dominic. "Is this his sick idea-"

"Please, Miss, bear with it. It's not what you think, and he needs your help." His voice was soft, and pleading, greatly surprising me.

I looked back at him for a few seconds, as he stood silently, hands held together behind him, as though at parade rest. Then I turned to see the continuation of the video. I had seen worse, though not lately.

With the hem of the dress pulled up onto her waist, vagina completely uncovered, she brought her left hand around, tips of her fingers centered about an inch down from her clitoris, and slowly stroking up and down her slit, paying the greatest attention to her clitoris. It was obvious that she was masturbating. Her gaze seemed vague, looking down at the floor as she began. Her expression was smiling when she had been playing with the puzzle pieces, but became more serious as she began touching herself.

She did not appear alarmed, or threatened, but rather as anyone might when they were conducting such an intimate and private act, and had no idea that they had an audience -- or were performing. The camera then switched to a close up view of her genitals, with her fingers rubbing along her labia. The scene must have been edited, there was no way that one camera could switch so smoothly. Someone had taken a lot of care to get this video just right.

Then the camera pulled back, and she brought her fingers to her nose, smelling them briefly and smiling, then slipping her middle three fingers into her mouth, apparently to moisten them. She then returned her hand between her thighs and resumed rubbing her labia and clitoris. The scenes varied between her vagina and her face, showing her face taking on a rosy glow, her hips moving in time with her stimulation of her genitals.

Then she brought her hands up to the front of her dress, briefly cupping her small breasts, and continuing upward, as she tossed her hair to one side, allowing her hands to reach up to the hook of the halter strap, freeing it. She unhooked it, her shoulders bare and admittedly lovely, the front of the dress falling forward, showing her two, small breasts, perhaps the size of lemons, with pure, unblemished white skin, and small, pink nipples and areolae, her nipples stiff. She had distinctive tan lines, which seemed to match the one piece swimsuit that she was wearing in the second picture that I'd seen of her, the beach picture.

Still her expression was neutral, though not showing any pain or discomfort. She brought her hands down to her breasts, cupping and caressing them. Her hands appeared uncalloused or scarred, and she had recently had a manicure, her fingernails polished.

She grasped the top of the dress, and continued pulling it off herself, until it lay on the floor and she was completely nude. Naked, she touched herself lightly from the shoulders down, caressing and massaging her upper thighs and her hips, then repeating from the shoulders again, paying more attention to her erogenous areas, her neck, her breasts, her sides, inner thighs, and so on.

Then she lay back on the bench, her pudenda pointing at the camera. Her hand went to her mouth, her fingers pressing her lower lip, as if to signal their desire to her, and her mouth opened seductively, sucking in two fingers lightly and playfully.

Later, she stood, turning to face away from the camera, her bottom, round and full, on full display to the camera, her hips rotating and rocking up and down impatiently, in a wavelike motion, as though waiting for someone, or something. The ripeness of her genitals, swollen with desire, were visible from the rear, like a peach open below her rear end. A sheen of liquid could be seen running down one inner thigh.

Then the scene cut to her sitting on the floor by the bench, again wetting her fingers with her mouth, and then bringing them to her vagina, her legs spread to allow her easier access, and no doubt to allow the camera to lovingly film both her naked body and the things that she was doing.

Now the fingers of her right hand frenziedly rubbed her clitoral area, while her left hand pulled back her clitoral hood, generous camera close ups making that quite clear. The moisture coating the area, and her now audible breathing, heavier and more rapid than before, gave evidence of her increasing excitement and pleasure.

The girl inserted two fingers inside herself, moving them in and out repeatedly, and caressing her clitoris simultaneously with the heel of her hand. The less smooth and calculated movements of her head from side to side, her rapid and noisy breathing, and the way that she repeatedly lifted her bare feet off the floor an inch or two, indicated that she was feeling sensations driving her toward an orgasm.

She bit her lip, and pinched her nipple with her free hand, as the other hand was busy fucking her dripping pussy. Her eyes were closed, the ecstasy was abundantly clear as she let her head fall back. Her wet fingers entered her mouth, she savored the taste of her own vagina as she quickened the pace of her self-pleasuring. As disgusting as the video was, it clearly conveyed to the viewer the extent of the pleasure the young girl felt.

Perhaps that was the intent. I didn't know at the time, though I do now.

She cried out as she orgasmed, body locked in the rigor of sexual tension released.

"Enough!" I exclaimed. "Why am I being made to watch child pornography? This is criminal."

Dominic spoke then. "The girl is eighteen. She is a gymnast, and that is why she appears under-developed."

"And she is Sean Laughlin's daughter. Her name is Sara."

So, there was apparently no crime involving under age children, okay. And Laughlin's daughter was apparently involved in some porno productions. Why bring my agency in? Why not just go get her? Certainly, Laughlin had the muscle to stop them.

The video ended. I looked expectantly at Dominic, and rose to leave.

"There's more," he said. "Please, sit." I hesitated, then sat. It looked as though the worst that would come of it was time spent watching some decently made pornography. I've seen worse. And if he was telling the truth about her age, it didn't look as though there were any crime involved, just a father's broken heart.

A second video started. "It involved the same 'star', the young girl, Sara, Laughlin's daughter. Presuming that I was just watching some voluntary porno production, and not a crime in progress, I could relax a little and maybe even enjoy it a little -- though I'd never let Laughlin know that.

Sara was lying on a sofa, reading some magazine, wearing a cute tee shirt top, and a pair of bikini panties. Another female entered the scene, and smiling, knelt on the sofa at her feet, crawling up the girl's body in a familiar way. Sara recognized her, and smiled.

The second 'actress' was about in her late twenties, with long, brown hair, also straight and well maintained, as Sara's was. She was slim, with a model's body, medium breasts, sweet, full hips, tan, a beautiful face, and herself dressed in a white, frilly top and bike shorts. She teasingly took away the magazine and dropped it on the floor, then hovering above Sara, leaned down to kiss her in a slow, familiar movement, as Sara's hand rested comfortably on the woman's arm.

The woman extended her body, resting intimately on Sara's, their kiss becoming passionate. The woman lifted up Sara's thigh, moving her hips between the girl's legs, as Sara slipped her arm around the woman's back. When Sara's hand passed over the woman's side, and briefly, over her breast, the woman rose and lifted up her top, to expose her breasts to Sara, Sara helped her to lift the fabric and remove the top completely, exposing the woman's quite strikingly beautiful upper body, and well-shaped breasts, capped with brown nipples.

The two kissed again, deeper and longer than before, the woman's hand casually caressing Sara's well-toned, athletic thigh. Sara kissed and sucked the woman's shapely breasts, visibly sucking on her nipples, then licking them, as the woman preened, the sensations no doubt exquisite. Then the two resumed kissing, a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss.

The woman then assisted Sara in removing her top, leaving her wearing a sports bra, as the two embraced and nuzzled. Their kissing resumed, a long, slow, passionate kiss that even I found kind of stimulating, though I've never been interested in girls. Then the woman slyly pulled Sara's bra down from her breasts, revealing first the left, then the right breast, both firm and round, though small, her nipples erect and excited, pink as we'd seen before.

She kissed each as they were revealed, Sara's head falling back slightly as she experienced pleasure from the woman's touch and caress, her mouth knowing and experienced. The woman slipped behind Sara, to hold her in her arms, her lips nuzzling Sara's throat from behind, her hands cupping and caressing Sara's small tits, her fingers squeezing and pinching the girl's nipples. Sara squeakel with pleasure and pain as the woman teased her, but leaned her head back to receive the woman's kiss, again, extended and very passionate.

The woman continued stroking Sara, paying close attention to her breasts, as they kissed, lips caressing. Sara preened as the woman directed her attention to the back of Sara's neck, nuzzling, kissing and caressing with her lips and tongue the sensitive flesh there. Finally, Sara fell forward onto her hands and knees, and the woman began sensually stripping off Sara's panties, revealing first her beautifully round and perfect bottom, as Sara cooed with pleasure.

Then as she pulled the panties off Sara's young hips, she brought her face close to Sara's cleft, inspecting her opening, fingers brushing over her anus, and then her vagina, followed by her lips on both openings, apparently kissing and licking them. Sara responded by arching her back and moaning, possibly experiencing an orgasm at the woman's touches, caresses and kisses.