Marcus Makes A Mistake.

 The doorbell rang at 10:05 precisely. Sarah answered it, dropping to her knees the moment the door closed behind D.S. Harris. She pressed her lips to each of his polished shoes, the leather cool against her mouth. "Welcome, Sir. Mistress is waiting in the lounge."

He reached down, fingers threading through her hair. "Thank you, Sarah. Lead the way."

She rose gracefully and guided him through the house, her bare feet silent on the hardwood. In the lounge, Jenifer stood to greet him, opening her arms. Their embrace was professional for exactly three seconds before it became something else entirely. The kiss was deep, familiar, the kind shared between people who've been lovers for years.

 "Sarah, drinks," Jenifer murmured against his mouth.

"Yes, Mistress."

Sarah moved to the sideboard as they slowly separated, hands still touching.

"How's that gorgeous wife of yours?" Jenifer asked Harris.

"She's doing great. Got that promotion she was after."

"Good for her. Tell her I asked after her, and that my crop is always ready for that beautiful arse of hers."

"Will do." Harris settled onto the sofa next to Jenifer, his hand finding her knee. "But down to business. Tell me about this idiot. Where is he?"

"Kitchen. Chained to a chair, half-naked, weighing up his options."

"Which are?"

"He either stays here with Sarah and me, works for six months, or you take him, book him, and we set him up for a five-year stretch."

Harris raised an eyebrow. "You know we can't actually do that, don't you?"

"Of course I do." Jenifer's smile was sharp. "But that idiot doesn't."

"It's risky. You think it's worth it?"

Sarah brought the drinks—whisky for Harris, gin for Jenifer—setting them down with a soft click before kneeling beside the sofa, head bowed.

"Sarah did a thorough background check last night," Jenifer said, running her fingers through Sarah's hair. "He won't be missed. No family, no real friends, just a handful of petty criminals and a bookie who'd rather see him disappear than pay his tab."

Harris sipped his whisky, considering. "And if he doesn't work out?"

"Then you come back, take him away, and we forget he ever existed." Jenifer's hand tightened in Sarah's hair. "But if he does... we might have further use for him. The dungeon needs a proper cleaning service. The garden wall needs rebuilding. And Sarah's been wanting a project."

"Well, you know I'll back you up." Harris put his arm around Jenifer's shoulders. "How long do you want to make him wait?"

Jenifer placed her hand high on his thigh. "Are you in a hurry?"

He smiled, leaned in for a kiss. "Not at all."

Their lips met, gentle at first, then with more intent. Jenifer's hand moved to his zipper, pulled it down. She broke the kiss, her voice low and commanding.

"Sarah."

Sarah knew the drill. She moved between Harris's legs, pulled his growing cock from his trousers, and took it in her mouth. She worked him with practiced efficiency, her tongue and lips bringing him to full hardness while Jenifer watched, her hand still resting on the back of Sarah's neck, guiding her rhythm.

"Good girl," Jenifer murmured. "Get him nice and ready for me."

Harris's hand found Jenifer's breast through her blouse, squeezing as Sarah's head bobbed in his lap. The three of them settled into their familiar choreography, the problem in the kitchen temporarily forgotten.

 After trying his best to escape from the chair for fifteen minutes, Marcus had spent the last hour trying to think his way out of this shit show. The old bird was crazy, that was certain, but was she dangerous? Six months of working for her didn't seem too scary. But five years inside—that scared him. He'd done six months before and hated every fucking minute of it. He didn't want to go back.

Plus, he thought, she's bound to let her guard down and give me a chance to escape.

His mind was made up by the time he heard footsteps on the stairs. He couldn't see anyone until they filed into the kitchen around him. The bloke had to be her pig friend—a big fucker, six feet and some, built like a brick shithouse. The cop grabbed the back of the chair, pulled it out, and twisted it around like it weighed nothing.

Marcus stared up at the three faces.

"So what's it to be, Marcus?" Jenifer asked.

Marcus gulped and whispered, "Stay here."

"Speak up, boy," Jenifer said firmly.

"Stay here," Marcus said louder.

"Miss," said Jenifer.

Marcus looked at her, confused.

"You will address Sarah and me as 'Miss' when you speak to us. Understood?"

"Yes, Miss."

"Good. That's settled. D.S. Harris will have a quick word with you, then we'll be back to show you the ropes. Come, Sarah."

Jenifer held out her hand. Sarah took it, and they left Marcus alone with the detective.

Harris waited for the ladies to disappear up the stairs before reaching down, grabbing Marcus's collar, and pulling him forward until they were almost nose to nose.

"Right, you little fuck. Those two ladies have taken pity on you, against my advice. I told them there's only one place for scum like you. I'd lock you up and throw away the fucking key. But Miss Jenifer and Miss Sarah are all about rehabilitation," he almost spat the word, like it left a bad taste. "So if I hear you've fucked them over in any way, I'm going to find you. And I can guarantee you'll resist arrest, and you'll spend the first part of your sentence in a hospital bed. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir," Marcus whimpered, visibly shaking.

"Good boy." Harris let go of his collar. "I'll go get the ladies. You sit tight."

He straightened his tie and walked out, leaving Marcus chained to the chair.