“You going to see General Ramsey?” she asked.
“Yup.”
She shook her head and popped her gum. “Ramsey not going to like talking to be blonde
girl.”
“I’m not big, you’re tiny,” I said.
“I just right size. I have nice tiny feet. Chinese men like tiny feet. I bet you have
giant feet.”
“Shut up and turn in there or you’ll get one of my giant feet up your butt,” I said.
She sniffed and the Mercedes screeched to a stop at the rear of the central
administration building. “Remember, no taxis here. You dump me you gotta walk two miles to
motor pool and make eyes at Sergeant to get drive.”
I nodded and slammed the door behind me, then trotted across to the nearest entrance and
let myself in. I found myself in one of those dull, drab, military halls, with shiny
linoleum tiles on the floor and walls pained a dull shade of yellow. I pinned the FBI
badge to my belt and nobody challenged me as I trotted up the stairs to the fourth floor
and the General’s office. The last time I’d come, with Lorne, we’d used the elevator and
gone through a guard, two receptionists and his secretary before getting to the great
man’s door.
I emerged in a tiny hall which went behind his outer office, opened a door, and found
myself in his secretary’s office. Or whatever they were called now. His aide, I think.
Anyway, she wasn’t at her desk so I moved to his open door and peeked in. It was empty
too. At first I was disappointed. But then, well, I never look a gift horse in the mouth.
I walked in, looking around carefully, hurried across the desk, and scanned the papers
on it. They were in eat little piles according to priority. The priority that morning
seemed to be cost overruns in a new warehouse being built on the base. I leafed through
the papers, my eyes flicking towards the door, ears listening for the sound of military
heels clicking on linoleum.
Nothing looked very interesting. It was the minutia of running any large organization,
involving budgets and personnel. I turned away and moved to a cupboard to the side of the
desk. I slid back the two doors and found a small closet with file cabinets on one side
and shelves of forms on the other. I wrinkled my nose as I gazed at the cabinets, then
tugged one open.
Heels clicked on the floor and I twisted, instantly decided I hadn’t the time to get
out, and slid the doors closed. I heard movement out front, what sounded like female heels
clicking on the floor nearby, near the desk. They started to walk away and then stopped.
“Anderson,” a male voice said, older and heavy with disapproval.
“Sir!”
The female voice was young.
I heard the outer door close and licked my lips nervously. If I got caught in here I was
in deep shit.
“You’re aware of my deep disappointment in you, Lieutenant,” the male voice growled.
“Yes, sir! I’m sorry, sir!” the female said, her voice stiff.
“I have told you before about the need for self-discipline. Evidently you require
further demonstrations.
“I - sir I - .”
“Assume the position, Lieutenant,” I heard the man growl.
Frowning, I eased the doors apart and put my eye to the crack.
It was Ramsey and his aid. She was a young lieutenant, short, slender, with very short
brown hair, almost boyishly short, with bangs cutting diagonally across her forehead from
left to right, enormous blue-green eyes, a tiny snub nose, and small, pert mouth. She was
wearing a long pale green uniform blouse over a darker green army skirt, cinched tight at
the hips, the skirt descending to her knees. The uniform was cut in that utilitarian
military fashion which did little to flatter a woman’s body, yet it was fairly easy to
detect that she was slim and had a generous bust line.
Her face was small, and I had previously marked her, on meeting, as naive and
desperately earnest. A young woman who was eager to please and very afraid, in the way of
the young and inexperienced, of revealing her lack of polish and expertise.
She was standing rigidly at attention now, staring over the general’s shoulder. Her
face was red, and I could see the tension in her and anxiety in her.
“But General I - .”
“Would you prefer I handle things formally, Lieutenant?” he demanded.
“No, sir,” she said in a small voice.
“Then stop being a child,” he said harshly. “You said five months ago you were strong
enough to bear anything, that you would prove you were capable of wearing that uniform.”
“Yes, sir.”
He motioned towards his desk and she braced herself, then took a hesitant step forward.
She pressed her knees against the side and then bent over.
“To the side, Lieutenant,” he ordered, tapping at her left hip.
She shifted to her right. This put her over the back of the general’s chair, which
elevated her bottom more, even as her chest and belly were pressed against the slightly
lower surface of his desk.
“The skirt, Lieutenant,” Ramsey said.
Ramsey was tall and broad shouldered. He was about sixty, with steel grey hair and a
tough, square jawed face, the kind you see in recruiting posters. But he was a cold, harsh
man with a face which looked permanently set into a scowl of disapproval.
He opened a drawer and took out a long, thin cane as the young lieutenant gripped the
hem of the skirt and slid it up her legs. She bent forward, tugging the skirt higher,
baring herself to the General. She was wearing a white thong which did nothing to detract
from the attractiveness of a very tight round bottom. The general gazed at her, and I
sensed his disapproval even from behind him.
He raised the cane and slid it between the girl’s slender thighs, then pressed it up
against the small white patch of fabric which clung tightly to her mound.
“And is this military issue, Lieutenant?” he asked curtly.
I saw the cane trace the line of her sex where the material was pulling up into her
cleft.
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