Carla and a New Position

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Friday night

Ernie’s was one of the best lesbian bars in the city. Small, it had a lot of character and a few characters who made it a warm, friendly and safe place. It was one of my destinations of choice if I wanted to get laid. Ernie, full name Ernestine, was a butch lesbian. Her ownership of the bar attracted a lot of other butch women and she kept a safe, orderly club. I like butch women so it’s a no brainer. Ernie had a taste for femmes, particularly blonde Eastern European women and her current squeeze was Olga, a Russian.

“Mail order,” she told me as she poured me a gin from her own bottle. The usual punters got the watered-down stuff. “I found this dating site. Olga wanted a job and, well, who was I to refuse?”

Who indeed? Olga was not the stereotypical Russian beauty. She had Asian eyes, almond shaped, dark brown hair, full lips, big breasts and good legs. I could tell because she wasn’t wearing a lot. Enough not to be arrested in the street but still very revealing.

“You’re an old dog, Ernie.”

“You can talk.” We’d enjoyed each other many times in the past but in recent times she had discovered the joys of Eastern Europe. Her eyes indicated to her left. “Check her out. She’s new.”

I looked to my right and saw the woman in question. She was butch but not too butch, quite tall, slim and short dark brown hair. Her tits were small, as small as mine almost and she wore chestnut-brown flat shoes, khaki cargoes and a pale blue denim shirt, sleeves rolled up to mid forearm and with a button down collar. The clothes did nothing to disguise the athleticism of her body. Ernie spoke to her.

“You should meet Carla, Stephanie. She’s a regular and old friend.” I looked at Ernie with a question, she never introduces anyone to anyone. She shrugged and carried on polishing glasses.

“Hello, Carla.”


“Stephanie,” said Ernie enigmatically, “is someone I think you will be glad to meet in more ways than one.” With that she wandered to the other end of the bar and started to check out Olga’s backside. Who could blame her?

“I actually came looking for you.”

“Oh?” Alarm bells were ringing. In my line of work you listen very, very carefully to your intuition. I carry, discreetly, a few means of self-protection in addition to my well-trained self-defence skills and my hand closed around the heavy steel cylinder in the pocket of my linen jacket. It worked as both cosh and additional weight to a good finger strike. I usually dressed to reveal my femme side when I went out, especially if I was looking for sex. My taste for butch women didn’t extend to being butch myself. The cream linen jacket was over a pale blue silk camisole and a dark blue skirt.

“It was your former partner, Frank, who suggested here.” Her name-dropping made me relax my grip a little.”

“Is Frank’s hand still bad?” A small test.

“Ever since he had it taken off it’s been fine. Call him if you want to check me out. Stephanie Lucas.”

Frank had lost his hand during a close protection job we had been doing together. Someone attempting to attack our client had driven over his hand. Frank shot him with the other. Frank was a taciturn man and the most reliable partner I’d ever had in this work. Since that incident and our then client going overseas, my boss had closed his agency and I was now purely freelance.

I looked warily at Stephanie and pulled my phone out.

“Hi Frank. Stephanie Lucas.”

“She’s fine.” That was Frank’s equivalent of glowing tribute.

“Okay – call you soon.” I put the phone back in pocket. “What did you want to see me about?”

“Frank told me you’re the best. Well, what he istanbul escort actually said when I asked him if he knew anyone who might want a job was, ‘Carla.’ That was enough for me.”

I nodded. “How do you know him?”

“He trained me.” So, army then. I’d been Navy. “Frank wouldn’t give me your number or address, but he said you used to come here. I came here, asked the lady behind the bar and she said you still do. So, I got lucky.”

“Not many people call Ernie a lady. What do you want?”

“Another gin would be nice.” She did a thing with her eyebrow which was cute. I tapped my glass on the counter and Ernie came over. “A couple more please, Ern.”

Ernie sniffed, “I’ll go broke if you tell anyone else about my bottle.” She poured us two generous gins and placed bottles of tonic on the counter then returned to continue her examination of Olga.

Without asking I wandered across to a table and sat, making sure she could see my legs. It pays to advertise. She sat facing me and lent forward a little.

“Are you busy at the moment?”

I waved my glass around, indicating the bar. “Nobody else has my attention.”

“I meant, are you working?”

“No, I’m not.”

“Do you want to?”

“I’ve got enough put by to last at least two years. Frank and I had a good partnership and I only work with people I know. I’m in no hurry.” So, that was telling her I was expensive, knew my business and wasn’t desperate. Not, that is, desperate for work.

“How long do you need to get to know someone enough to work with them?” Her fingertip traced a circle in the wet residue my glass had left on the table, perilously close to where my hand was resting.

“OK, let’s stop fucking around. What’s the job and who is the client and why me?”

“The job is for a very wealthy film director/producer; Frank Sutherland. He makes features and documentaries and he’s upset a few of the animal rights crazies.” I’d encountered them before. My ex client was in pharmaceuticals after all. “In fact, he’s upset them a lot. He wants close protection for an actress called Faye Millerton who is working on a film with him. He already has his own. She plays a lawyer working to prevent animal rights groups from stopping a company testing on animals. He thinks the crazies will want to get at her.”

“Why doesn’t he make a film about something else?”

“He’s a very committed man.”

OK, I thought. I’d heard of Millerton. Well-known dyke, big star these days, outspoken, pretty hot.

“And me because, like you and Millerton, I’m a dyke?”

“Because you’re good.”

“Your round, I think.” She went to the bar and, sighing loudly, Ernie refilled our glasses.

We talked for a while. Then she asked me if I’d like something to eat so we went off to a local restaurant and we talked some more. I found myself liking her but that is never enough. Yes, Frank said she was fine but it’s a close-knit community, the world of close protection, and I intended to get a few more references.

Over coffee I said to her, “Look. I don’t say yes too readily.”

“I’d be surprised if you did.”

“Meet me at this bar,” I handed her a slip of paper, “Wednesday evening, 8. If I agree we can talk terms and details.”

“Fine. Business over. Fancy a club?”

The club was not targeted on children. We, Steph and I, fitted in with the bulk of the patrons: mature women, well-off mostly and less interested in ear-splitting music than conversation. At one point, Steph brushed against my coat which was hanging on a hook under the bar. She reached down and fished the heavy steel cylinder out of my pocket.

“You feel the need to carry this?”

“Cant beylikdüzü escort be too careful.” Steph held it between finger and thumb then, pointedly, made an O with the finger and thumb of her other hand ad slipped the rod into the O, her eyes on mine all the time.

“Are we going to?”

“Not with that!”

“No? Well, I have just the thing back home.”

She was true to her word. A slender, black dildo attached to a very expensive harness works exceptionally well when attached in its turn to a tall butch who has undressed and revealed a very well-muscled body with a few battle scars that speak of experience.

“You were navy?”

“Uh-huh.” I couldn’t say much because she had my face down on the pillows and she was holding my hips up as she fucked me. We’d started conventionally; a kiss, a deeper kiss then a bit of free-range handling and then her hand went up under my skirt and she discovered I was commando and that seemed to give her all the encouragement she needed. I could, had I decided to, have resisted and won but resistance wasn’t on my agenda that night. I hadn’t been fucked for at least three weeks and I needed it. She was a no-nonsense fuck. She liked it, liked being on top, liked deciding the pace. All good with me.

My main contribution to the fun came later when I was lying between her legs, my face buried in her abundant pubic hair and my tongue doing the Argentine tango with her clit. I pride myself on that particular skill. It seemed to work. I do love a messy woman, and Steph proved to be one. Dee-licious.


The bar I’d chosen was out of town, way out of town. She was waiting at the bar when I got there, two glasses of gin already in front of her. As I sat, she pushed one to me. “You’re late.”

“You weren’t followed.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Cautious?”

“Eager to stay alive. Tell me about the job.”

“We’re all business tonight, are we?”

“Until the business is done, yes.”

“Ok. The team producing the film has a security adviser called Lew Grainger. He got in touch with me. They want Millerton shielded during the entire period from now until premiere so it includes pre-production, studio, location, post production, publicity, and premiere.”

“How long?”

“Piece of string but at least a year. They’ll pay for a year anyway and double time if it goes over.”

“How big’s the team?”

“Close team is four; that’s you and me and another couple, both women. The wider team is twelve. They’ll cover site security, risk assessments all the bollocks. All we have to do is baby sit the queen bee.”

“What is the risk assessment?”



She outlined the terms. I’d earn in a year what I’d normally earn in five. I’d travel first class with the subject, stay in her suites or her trailer or whatever. I’d get a terminal bonus (not a term I’d have chosen) of twenty-five per cent of the total I earned assuming Millerton survived. All expenses paid. Not much time off. I had to work at not seeming impressed.

“Who is doing the intel?”

“Grainger’s ex FBI.”

“So are a lot of people. Is he good?”

“Better than good. Are you in?”


“One other thing. The wider team includes Frank.”

If she’d told me that at the beginning, she could have kept the rest to herself. “When’s kick-off?”

She told me. “Oh, except I missed out the clothing allowance. Millerton has stipulated she doesn’t want her protection to look like military or embarrassing. Business done?”

“Looks that way.”

Right. Well, are you going to be a good girl for me?” Her hand made its first non-business-like esenyurt escort move of the evening, straight to my arse. She let it slide up under my skirt and explore where arse met the leather of the seat.

“And there was me hoping you wanted a bad girl.”

“Let’s get out of here.”

Her flat was back in town and the cab dropped us outside. She kissed me in the entrance hall. She kissed me again when we’d got through her own entry door and again in her sitting room. She left me pouring drinks and returned, trousers open revealing my little black friend from the previous encounter.


I gave her a look that said, ok but don’t take liberties, and dropped. She caressed my face and touched the tip of the dildo to my lips. This isn’t my favourite, but I had a feeling it would do it for her, so I opened up and took it. I swear if she’d tried to ram it down my throat, I’d have floored her, but she didn’t. Surprisingly gently she just rocked her hips, holding me by the hair and growled a bit before lifting me rather less gently to the standing position, pressing me back against a wall, lifting my skirt and pulling my knickers aside. One-handed she lifted my right leg and then she pushed the dildo into my wet and very receptive cunt just as she pushed her tongue into my mouth. Nicely done, I thought. This job could be fun. I was even more convinced when she turned me round and pulled my hips back and continued fucking me, harder, from behind.



I first met Faye Millerton at the VIP lounge at the airport. I carried a revolver in a holster under my left armpit and hidden by my pale grey leather jacket. I also had a small automatic in an ankle holster on my right leg, concealed by black, tailored trousers. I’d travelled to the airport with Steph who was in a dark blue suit and, I suspected, was armed pretty much as I was. We checked our weapons in and dealt with all the paperwork that meant we didn’t have to fuck around when we arrived at LA.

Millerton was shorter than I’d imagined, about my own 5′ 5″. She was in ‘flight-casual’ by which I mean, loose pyjama-like trousers and a soft, loose top, all pale yellow that worked with her long, chestnut hair. Her PA, a woman called Penelope (not Penny, if you don’t mind) made the introductions and led us all into the executive jet hired for the flight. “Briefing,” Penelope had said, “during the flight, please.” Millerton’s entourage was small by some standards: comprising Penelope, a secretary called Liz, and another called Louise. It was informal and Millerton didn’t seem to be the ‘difficult’ type. Frank was with us which was reassuring for me and so was Grainger, the security head. At the last minute a stunning, tall, black-haired woman in an expensive dress swept onto the aircraft.

“This,” said Penelope, “is Faye’s agent, Felicity Caterham.” Caterham shook hands with us all as we were introduced, and I felt an appraising stare as we shook.

Travel like that is a complete difference from your average cattle truck experience. We sat in deep, burgundy leather seats that were open plan until sleep called when each chair would disappear into its own pod and form a flat bed. We dined, Steph and I in pro mode so we had different meals and drank only non-alcoholic. We were briefed after dinner about what would happen on arrival; where we’d stay, and all the admin crap. After, Steph and I had a chat, remote from the others and discussed our tactics; pretty standard stuff.

“Pity they don’t do doubles on this plane,” she said smiling. “We could have passed the time productively.”


“Plenty of time over the next year, don’t you think? Oh, and by the way, I don’t do exclusive so don’t be put out if I dally with others.”

“I’ll try to be brave.”

“You may need to be with me. I like to test a woman’s mettle sometimes.”

Bring it on, I thought, bring it on.

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