Jessie Palmer Ch. 02

This story is based on interracial lesbian seduction, reluctance and coercion (although there is a sprinkling of MF sex).

The thoughts of a white women being seduced by a black woman is a long held fantasy of mine, but if this type of storyline is not for you, thank you for stopping by but please pass on without feeling the need to leave a derogatory comment.

*****

"Next time, get here on fuckin' time," Donald Moseley rasped, sitting back in his chair and placing both feet on his desk.

There was a hole in the sole of his right shoe but Claire guessed it wasn't the best time to point that out. Besides, she had got there on time. It was going for the coffees he wanted that had made her five minutes late.

"So how did it go?" he asked, even before she'd taken her seat.

She waited until she sat down before answering, placing her cup of yucky-machine coffee on the floor beside her. She really didn't want to drink that crap.

There were two options. The first was to be truthful, tell him that the guy she'd met had tricked her into smoking cannabis, just before she went down on him and gave him a blow job. That his thick black dick had cum in her mouth, and she'd been so 'out of it' that she'd probably have let him fuck her if he'd tried.

She went for option two.

"I met a guy called Leroy," she began to explain. "He's somehow involved in what's going on..."

"And what is going on?"

"That's what I'm trying to find out," she continued, picking up the cup by her feet. Maybe she did need a drink after all. "My guess is that the girl I saw at the Young Offenders Institute—Laura—is a prostitute. Leroy is some kind of fixer, or minder. I'm not sure exactly, but—"

"Prostitute? You got to be fucking kidding me!"

He thrust a half eaten sandwich into his mouth as he spoke and took a drink from his plastic cup at the same time. A nice trick if you could pull it off. Moseley couldn't. Several drips of coffee ran down the front of his crumpled shirt.

Claire tried not to react as she watched his thoughtful face. She had his attention now. There was no doubt about that. The question was whether she'd told him too much. She'd known she had to offer him something concrete, but didn't want him pulling her off the story and handing it to anyone else.

"You're telling me that Melissa Rhodes employed a prostitute to work for her, without knowing it?" he rasped, spitting crumbs everywhere. "Now that's the sort of headline that's going to sell papers."

That isn't even the half of it, Claire thought, crossing her legs as that now-familiar tingle appeared between her legs. According to Laura, Melissa Rhodes wasn't employing her—well, not in a conventional sense. She was fucking her.

She sat silently as Moseley threw the empty cup into his waste bin. The remains of his sandwich followed.

"How sure are you about this?" he asked, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"I can't be certain, but my instincts tell me I'm one hundred per cent correct. I just need more time to explore things, verify what I know and build up the picture."

"Instincts..." Moseley held his arms out wide. "Whoop-e-doo, she has those fuckin' instincts again."

Claire couldn't have felt any smaller but she didn't respond, telling herself that the editor's bark was worse than his bite. Everyone at the paper knew that. He was testing her. Wasn't he?

"Okay, let's say those instincts are on the right track," he added, suddenly sitting upright.

She gave a huge sigh of relief, which turned into near panic at his next words.

"Seems to me you need help with this. I can put—"

"No!!"

The word came out much more forcefully than she'd intended, but this story was hers and hers alone.

"I can't afford for anyone else to get involved and spook them," she reasoned, trying to keep the alarm out of her voice. "Leroy is going to give me the name of another girl, like Laura. Once I've met with her then I might be able to open things up a bit."

"Hmmm..."

Moseley tapped his off-colour teeth with his fingernails while he thought. It felt like a lifetime before he spoke again.

"Okay," he eventually said, with what sounded like a tinge of reluctance in his voice. "Makes sense, but this better not cost me more money. I have a limited budget for this kind of shit. What's this Leroy getting out of giving you the introduction?"

Claire hesitated. The only thing Leroy had got out of it so far was a blow job. She wasn't about to mention that, even though Moseley would probably compliment her on her resourcefulness in saving him money if she did.

"I won't commit another penny without getting your say-so," she hurriedly answered, avoiding a direct answer.

She thought he'd press her again, but he was too busy thinking things through. A lopsided grin had hit his face.

"I always thought that Melissa Rhodes was a stuck-up bitch," he murmured, more to himself than her. "If something like this has been going on under her nose, then we're going to sell a lot of newspapers."

He turned his full attention back to Claire.

"And who knows, we might make a journo of you yet, once we get rid of those fuckin' instincts of yours. Okay, follow it up and report back. Just one more thing..."

"Yes?"

"Don't get in over your head. Once you have anything solid, I'm going to put Thompson and Baines on the case with you. You're too inexperienced to take this all the way on your own."

Yeah, right, Claire thought, nodding obediently. Over her dead body. Thompson was a selfish asshole and Baines was past it. Neither of them were going to get anywhere near this story. She'd make sure of that.

----------

Mission accomplished, Claire told herself as she headed out of Donald Moseley's office. She almost skipped back to her desk. The meeting had gone as well as she could have hoped, even better perhaps. Moseley was no fool. Obtaining his agreement to moving things onto the next stage was quite an achievement.

After that, she could begin to write up her copy. Give it to him piece by piece. This was a story that could run and run, and once she had persuaded her editor to publish the first couple of generalized articles, he would be unable to take the story from her when she began to sensationalize each subsequent offering.

One step at a time...

There was only one problem. She hadn't heard back from Leroy yet. Gaining access to another girl was the only way to corroborate Laura's story. It was imperative that he kept his side of the bargain.

Maybe she'd need to give him another blow job?

Shit. Had she really thought that? But there was no doubt that the recollection had left her with a constant heat between her thighs. What hot blooded woman hadn't fantasized about being coerced into doing something like that? It was the same when she thought about Monika. As soon as she'd returned home after fingering the black guard, she'd used her favourite vibe so much that she'd eventually worn the batteries out...

She glanced around the room as she reached her desk and carefully edged her right hand under her skirt.

She'd been in heat ever since her encounter with Laura...

Despite last night's masturbation sessions, the need to touch herself was overpowering. She stroked herself through her skimpy thong as she glanced around again. Thank goodness the room was half empty today. The nearest desks were all vacant apart from Baines. And he was facing away from her while he harangued someone over the telephone. Typical Tommy!

Could she make it to the washroom? Or should she just finish herself here? She loved sex in public places but she'd never masturbated in the office before. That would be really pushing the boundaries.

But just as she felt her arousal build, the melodic ring of her telephone interrupted the moment. The unexpected sound made her jump like a guilty schoolgirl caught stealing sweets. She pulled her hand away and checked her mobile phone. It wasn't a number she recognised.

"Claire Taylor," she murmured, as she answered.

The Caribbean lilt on the other end made her breath catch.

"Claire Taylor," the voice repeated.

There was a hint of amusement in the male tone.

"And I heard ya liked to go by the name 'Jessie'. Ain't that right?"

"Leroy," she gasped.

Her heart began to beat so fast it threatened to burst through her chest. He was ringing to give her the contact he'd promised. Thank God for that. This was the chance she needed.

"That's right, Missy. The one and only..."

Claire's face instantly coloured when she suddenly thought back to their previous encounter and she jerked her head around to make sure there was no way she could be overheard.

"You ... you have a contact for me?" she asked.

Shit. She shouldn't have used the word 'contact'. That was journalistic speak. Or even the police. Still, she'd already proven she wasn't a cop. Her blush deepened at the thought.

"Sure," he said, his sing-song lilt floating down the line. "But I need to see ya in person. Phones are too dangerous and Leroy likes to be careful."

Claire's breath caught at the thought of meeting him again. If she wasn't careful, this could get out of hand.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea—" she began, but Leroy was way ahead of her and cut her off before she could continue.

"If ya want the name, we meet. Starbucks near Trafalgar Square. Half an hour."

She gave a heavy sigh as the call ended and glanced around her again, as if every word had been overheard. There was no-one near her, of course. She was just being paranoid, although who could blame her after her experiences so far?

Sitting back in her chair, she went through the conversation in her mind again. Leroy had made himself quite clear. If she was to get the contact she wanted then she had no choice other than to meet him again. And she badly needed that name.

At least this time she'd have some protection, she told herself. It would be difficult for Leroy to trick her again when they were meeting in a public place.

----------

Claire was just about to enter Starbucks when she heard someone call out her name from behind her. It was Leroy. He was sitting in a large pink Chevrolet parked next to the curb, his elbow resting on the open window. The passenger door was already half-open.

"Get in," he told her, when she swung around to face him.

Claire hesitated. She was being outthought again, but what could she do?

"C'mon, Missy, time is money," he drawled.

He revved the engine so hard that people turned around to look at him. And her...

"I said, c'mon," he repeated. "Leroy doesn't have all day."

Taking a deep breath, Claire ignored the stares and hurried to the garish-coloured car, eased herself into the passenger seat.

"Where are we going?" she croaked.

"Just cruisin' in my other office," he said, nodding around the interior of the car.

Everything was covered in faux-pas leather.

His grin widened as he placed one dark hand on her bare thigh and put the car into gear with the other. Pulling away from the kerb without bothering to even glance behind him, she heard a screeching of brakes as they moved into the heavy traffic.

"Good to see ya again, Missy," he said, running his fingers up and down her soft skin. "So, ya still thinking of turning tricks?"

Claire paused as she tried to recall what she'd told him. She hadn't been that specific at their previous meeting, had she? She'd dodged the question when he'd asked it, told him she was interested in all aspects.

On the other hand, it was good cover.

"Yes," she replied, as confidently as she could. "I just need to understand a little more."

Leroy nodded, removing his hand from her thigh as he swung the car around a corner at the last second. The 4x4 he'd just cut up blared its horn at him but it was clear he couldn't have cared less. Reaching across the divide between them, he draped one arm over Claire's shoulder and pulled her closer. His hand found her breast and when his fingertips lightly grazed the nipple pushing through her blouse, she had to choke back a groan.

"I got a sista lined up to show ya the ropes," he continued, scratching at her nipple with his long nail. "If ya need convincing, Precious is just the girl."

Claire nodded, torn between her need for information and the casual way he was unfastening a couple of buttons on her blouse with the fingers of one hand. Once they were undone, he pushed his hand inside and cupped her breast through her flimsy bra.

"Ya can meet her tonight," he continued, squeezing her flesh in his large palm. "There's a club in Soho. It's called the Hump and Grind club. Be there around eleven."

"Okay," Claire grunted, somehow forcing the word out.

It felt like her nipple was directly connected to her clit and all of a sudden her mouth was dry.

"How do I find her?" she gasped.

"Ya won't need to. Precious will find you."

His laugh was almost scary. What did that mean? Before she could ask the question, he jammed his foot on the brake when it became apparent he couldn't force his way through the traffic light that suddenly confronted them.

"Ya owe me," he suddenly told her. "Understand?"

She nodded, thinking he was marking up the debt for the future, but he surprised her by taking her hand and placing it on his crotch. Oh my God, he was hard underneath those jeans. She could almost feel him throbbing under her fingers.

"Time to show ya appreciation," he grunted, leaving her hand there while he began to unfasten the top button of his jeans.

It only took him a couple of seconds to free himself, even before Claire fully understood what he had in mind. She stared in apprehension and awe at his exposed black dick for a couple of seconds before the lights went on in her head. Then he was curling a hand around her neck and yanking her face down.

She should have resisted. They were at traffic lights in the middle of the High Street, after all, and he wanted her to suck him. No, he expected her to suck him.

But before she could even take a breath he was pushing his thick dick between her open lips and she was adjusting her position to take his hard shaft all the way into her mouth. The feeling was every bit as compelling as that first illicit time. Except that she'd been high then. Right now she had no excuse.

Or did she? She could tell herself she had no choice. If she refused she would have blown her cover. And she needed the meeting with Precious if she was to follow this story all the way. Yet the growing dampness between her thighs as she willingly took more and more of his veiny black flesh between her lips told her that she was enjoying this more than she should...

Suddenly she heard the sound of a horn at full blast, and then another. The lights had changed to green and Leroy wasn't moving. She panicked and tried to sit up, but the hand on the back of her head kept her firmly in position.

"Asshole," she heard him shout out of the window.

Seconds later, he had put the car into gear and revved away from the lights so fast he left the other traffic in his wake.

"Never had a white girl so eager to suck black cock," he grunted happily as she found herself deep-throating him. "Leroy and you are gonna get on just fine together, Missy..."

----------

Claire was still hot and flustered when she reached the nightclub. The feeling of Leroy's thick girth in her mouth still lingered. So did the salty aftertaste of his cum.

Her second encounter with the African pimp had been every bit as hot as the first, and this time she had no excuse for the wholehearted way she had given him what he wanted. What he expected. He was so arrogant that he'd just taken it for granted that she was going to blow him again.

And she had. Willingly. Eagerly.

Despite herself, there was something about this sort of casual sex that had lit a fire inside her. So did the fact that Leroy was black. She'd never had interracial fantasies before, had she? But now the colour difference was beginning to pre-occupy her thoughts. The contrast between her white skin and his black flesh had excited her in a way she could never have expected.

Still, she had to be careful not to lose her focus. Being drawn into Leroy's activities would not only adversely impact her ability to investigate the story, it would also compromise her journalistic impartiality to such an extent it could cost her career.

Moseley would throw her out on her ear...

It was essential she steered clear of any more compromising situations and kept a clear mind. The facts were that Melissa Rhodes—the highly esteemed local Member of Parliament—paid Laura for sex. Laura worked for someone called Olivia, who presumably headed up the operation. And Leroy worked for Olivia.

What she had to do now was to put some flesh on the bones. If Precious was able to corroborate Laura's story, she would be in a position to discredit Melissa Rhodes and blow the lesbian prostitution ring wide open.

Her reputation as a journalist would be made.

Taking a deep breath, she glanced up at the name emblazoned in red on the signage above her. It simply said Hump and Grind. She'd done her homework since meeting Leroy and discovered that the establishment was a lesbian nightclub. Could this be where Melissa Rhodes had first met Laura? Maybe not.

Such a well known Member of Parliament couldn't be seen to frequent such places, after all.

And yet she had the feeling that this nightclub held the answers to some of the associated questions bouncing around in her head. Hopefully the woman she was there to meet—Precious—would provide some of the answers.

----------

The heavy beat of the music drummed in Claire's ears as soon as she walked through the nightclub door. The sound brought about an immediate increase in her pulse rate and, when her eyes quickly became accustomed to the flashing lights inside, she felt her heart begin to throb inside her chest.

The place was pretty much full of women ranging from the femme of femmes to the outrageously butch. Most were black except for a few white women scattered around.

It didn't take long to realise that most of the white women were on display—there to be admired and coveted by the other club-goers, but not to be touched without the permission of their black 'partners'.

There were a few other young white women scattered around the floor—groups of two or three teenagers together—who presumably had either strayed into the club by mistake, or perhaps as an alcohol fuelled dare. Perhaps they had wanted to experience something a little different in their youthful enthusiasm, show off their hot white bodies and tease their black counterparts before leaving?

If so, they had under-estimated their audience.

The copious amounts of alcohol available were ridiculously cheap for one reason and one reason only. It encouraged an over-indulgence without even realizing it. Add in the way the heavy beat of the music stimulated the already heady atmosphere, combined with the scent of perfume that hung in the air, and the inebriated white girls were soon abandoning their inhibitions on the dance floor.

Some of their unconstrained moves on the dance floor made even Claire blush. And with a practiced ease born out of many such nights, they were being subtly separated from one another and picked off by the more experienced black women dancing around them.

Claire tried to make herself as invisible as possible as she headed towards the bar, but even so it felt like every eye in the place was sizing her up. How could a lone white girl entering a black lesbian club expect to remain inconspicuous?

She bought a single drink and stayed at the back of the bar area. It was darker there and out of the way of the main crowd. Leroy had given her very little to go on other than that Precious would find her. That left her at a serious disadvantage and it quickly became clear why.