Copyright 2012, 2020 Lisa Summers
Janna sat naked, legs folded, in the bed next to me, and hefted the pistol in her hand.
"It's probably better if you look away," she said. "If you know when it's coming you'll tense up and the bullet'll do more damage. You might even jerk and have the bullet cut your artery," she added.
She was about to say something else, when I said, "Oh, fuck that," and kicked her dead center in the chest between her two sumptuous breasts. She went what I think is termed 'ass over teakettle' onto the floor. I grabbed the pistol as it slid across the sheet and looked down at her on the floor, rubbing her nose and her breastbone.
"Bitch!" I shouted, out of sheer relief at not being shot - at least, right then. "FBI - Quantico and FLETC - Glynco, Georgia training - bitch." If she wanted to compare 'martial arts training dicks,' I was fine with that. And it was good to feel the fog of my conversion suddenly dissipate. I was still a full-fledged lesbo working for The Organization, but I'd be damned if I was going to do it half-assed.
"It looks as though an adjustment in the scoring is needed," Roberta Ashbrook said wryly. "Well done, Kayce. Just don't fuck up any more tests." She began walking away, then stopped, and turned back to me.
"By the way, you're now an active agent. I expect that now police agencies will wonder why major financial crime is up in their jurisdictions and never connect it to you. Let the sheep wonder why they're being fleeced so wonderfully thoroughly." Then she walked out, followed by Sid.
As my eyes followed her exit, and my ears waited to hear the door close behind her, I heard soft moaning from the floor and looked down at Janna.
"I wasn't going to shoot you," she whined. "There aren't any bullets in the clip. I know the difference in weight between an empty clip and a full clip with that type of piece. I would have just pulled the trigger and given you a scare."
"Oh?" I said, a little deflated. "You could have given me some kind of heads up." I looked at the pistol, and inspected the firing chamber and the clip.
"Tell me something, Janna," I said.
"What," she answered sulkily, rubbing her nose, which apparently had been the first part of her body to hit the floor.
"Can you tell the difference between this" - I held up the weapon - "with an empty clip and no round in the chamber, and this - I ejected the live round that had been in the chamber, and watched as it arced across the bed - with an empty clip and just one round in the chamber?"
Janna turned ashen-faced, not all of it from her sprained nose and bruised chestbone. "Oh, shit...I'm so fucking sorry, Kayce."
"Yeah," I said. "Well, at least I learned how to help you learn a lesson." I dragged her by her arm out of my bedroom towards the apartment door.
"Ow ow ow fuck, let me stand up!" Janna squealed. I gave her half a second to rise, then pulled her the rest of the way, and opened the door. There were some people at the other end of the hallway, but I didn't care.
"Good luck getting back to wherever you came from, bitch," I said, pushing the nude girl into the hall.
"Wait! Please let me get the spare clothes out of my cart-" she almost finished, as the door closed on her last words to me. She banged on the door a couple of times, but I suspect that she was smart and adaptable enough to get her awfully cute naked butt out of there as soon as she could. The silence was great. Almost as good as the sex had been.
I drew a hot bath, and soaked leisurely for a good, long time, and thought about things.
I had come a long, long way in just the past few days, from mainstream executive of a small, but growing elite investigative agency, Metropolitan Enquiry Services, to a trainee operative of a criminal organization. All the rules of logic say that such a thing is impossible, unless there was some undetected flaw in my character or upbringing that would lead me to snap, or act erratically. Much like the bank teller who comes to work one day, and guns down the first account holder that she sees, and of whom people say, "But she seemed so normal!"
On the contrary, I viewed myself as someone now freed of conventional restraints, and answerable only to a new set of rules, those imposed by The Organization, and by the sexual attraction of other women. The slight discomfort of being ruled now by The Organization was more than made up for by the intense and overwhelming pleasure that my new lesbian orientation had brought me, and was, in fact, bringing to me throughout my day.
Like later that afternoon in the lobby Starbucks.
Buying a cup of coffee was livened up by the touch of the young barista's fingers on mine as she handed me the cup, and even more so by our mutual decision to occupy Starbucks' private customer restroom at the same time.
"We'll have to hurry, I've only got a five minute break," she whispered to me, sitting on the toilet, my panties already down at my ankles, my skirt hiked up. "God, your pussy is so pink!" she exclaimed. I lifted her skirt, having her hold it while I pulled her panties down, and thrust my face into her already wet crotch. I wondered how a girl could work all day with a wet pussy, but then considered that I'd better learn how, as it looked like I'd be headed that way myself.
Her slit was wet and hot, my tongue easily picking up a coating of her cream, perhaps intended by nature to ease some male's dick inside her and impregnate her, thus perpetuating the species. Instead, her sweet and flavorful moisture was sating the lust of a fellow sapphic lover. Her scent, again intended by nature to signal her readiness to mate, was instead causing my own swollen pussy to leak wetness, and signal my own readiness for mating, at least as long as it was with another female.
I raked my tongue over her clit, and her reaction was nearly instantaneous as my rough tongue whipped her tender clit.
"Oh god fuck, yessss that's it, so perfect...again...again...fuck fuck aaaahhhh!" she whispered, her thighs pressing against my face. "Now, quickly!" she hissed, and we switched places, as she sat on the wooden toilet seat, and I lifted my skirt to allow her access to my cunt, for immoral and probably illegal purposes.
She brought her hands around my hips, to grasp my naked butt, and pull me in to her, as she leaned forward, placing her nose squarely under my clitoris, and her tongue, already working, into my own hot box, licking inside my hole, while her nose craftily tapped on my clit. Meanwhile, the index finger of her right hand was convincing my anal sphincter that there was nothing to be alarmed about, just before she slipped it all the way into my ass hole.
I squeaked as she fucked my tight little ass with her finger, and my dripping slit with her tongue, and happily gave myself over to the sensation of erotic delight that washed over me as I came on her face. It wasn't the very best orgasm that I'd ever had, but it was certainly the best that I'd ever experienced at Starbucks, and without a doubt, the fastest I'd ever experienced in any location.
Before I could even catch my breath, she'd risen, kissed me, somewhat lingeringly, and set to washing her hands - after she'd pulled up her panties. I watched her washing, and she said over her shoulder, "They'd fire my ass in a second if I returned without washing my hands."
