In no sense of the word was I Down Under anymore. I was one Aussie girl who felt on top of the world.

My apprenticeship in the London office of the Sinn detective agency had been a success. And even better, I had now contributed to Miss Sinn’s second significant case, the solving of Sir David’s dilemma.

Though it was, I thought to myself, difficult to explain to your mother that your career was going well when success was best illustrated by the example of snarling at an English lady, ‘Come and have your arse beaten, bitch, on the floor, crawl.’

But I guessed I could live with that, particularly as Miss Sinn’s subsequent praise was as fulsome as her bosom. Her strongest compliments were about how well I had followed up my snarling at that English lady by whipping her tits, jamming a dildo into her, and making her drink her own piss. Every career, I guess, has its own goals and markers of success, though in my case, not ones that I could share with many people and certainly not my mother.

It was, I decided, also better not to set out on paper all my key work objectives for the next six months, apart from anything else, admitting to wanting to fuck Hoffy, Miss Sinn’s petite PA, might seem a little presumptuous; but I had caught her glances, and wondered, maybe, there were signs of hope.

But, if family and friends might never understand what I did, the Sinn girls’ actions and the camera that had recorded them, had satisfactorily concluded Sir David’s case, which meant that we were in for a bonus.

Miss Sinn had presumably received our fee from Sir David, the one subject, apart from Monica it seemed, that she kept very close to her ample chest. But Sir David was a sweetheart. That afternoon he had a generous Harrods food pack delivered, oysters, caviar and all sorts of other delicious treats. And best of all he had sent us another case that needed the attention of the Sinn Detective Agency - it contained twelve bottles of Krug.

“Ladies,” said Miss Sinn, “Sir David’s first case is complete, this evening we party until we complete his other case.”

She smiled at her humour, but I confess I did wonder about the wisdom of Hoffy, Monica, Miss Sinn and I polishing off a case of Krug in one sitting. I know I am Australian and we have a reputation in such matters, and I knew Krug was indeed the finest of champagnes, but even so three bottles each felt like a stretch.

“We will start at five,” Miss Sinn continued, “That will give Annie enough time to indulge her passion for shoes. And, Hoffy, that is enough time for Sarah to get here.”

Miss Hoffmann nodded and asked for leave to go back home.

Miss Sinn smiled at her, and said, “I do love the way you ask for things, Hoffy.”

Hoffy blushed, and got redder as she caught my eye. Was that a wink? Or maybe lust was playing tricks with my vision?

Despite adding a fifth person, Sarah, to the task of downing a case of Krug, it still seemed like a stretch, but I decided that my immediate focus was the green light Miss Sinn had given me for shoe shopping. So, I followed Hoffy out the office door a few minutes later and, knowing exactly what footwear I wanted to check out, set off towards Selfridges.

Getting back turned out to be a little more arduous than I had expected, and a couple of hours later I was running just a tad late, which is not totally surprising given I had just treated myself to the Manolo Blahnik heels that I had my eye on. Ah, those shoes, perfect for every occasion, well except it seemed a mad dash back to the office.

Panting, I was a little out of breath when I arrived back at the detective agency, and Mons raised her eyebrow at me along with her champagne flute, and asked, “Good fuck was she, darling?”

I was shocked. How could she possibly know that my Selfridges’ shoe service included, well, a very good fuck indeed? But Mons was right. The Selfridges shoe seller, Oli, was American, and she could fuck for her country, were it a competitive sport.

“For God's sake, Annie,” Miss Sinn interrupted, “Don’t look so fucking surprised. This is the No.1 Lesbian Detective Agency. Mons is a fine detective with a nose for…”

There was a pregnant pause, and Miss Sinn caught the eye of the other three, namely Hoffy, Sarah and Mons. The giggles that followed told me the four of them had already made a good start on the Krug.

“Annie, dear,” said Miss Sinn, in a voice that was more a command than a question, “Come over here and get your first well-deserved flute of champagne.”

So, obediently, I moved closer to Miss Sinn and, as she passed me a flute of Krug, she lowered her head and I heard her deeply inhale through her nose.

“Well?” asked Hoffy and Mons simultaneously.

“Eau de pussy, ladies. Now where in the staff manual, Annie, does it say that working out of the office includes fucking; other of course than that approved by me and carried out in the line of duty?”

“Um, you said it was okay for me to go to Selfridges and buy those shoes I had my eye on.”

“A double fucking first at Cambridge,” Miss Sinn brutally observed, “And you can’t distinguish fucking shoes from fucking-fucking.”

“I know my shoes,” I replied, not wanting to be drawn into the fact the shoe shopping and fucking had seamlessly merged into one that afternoon.

So, I looked down at my shoes, accurately anticipating that four pairs of eyes would follow. And wondering whether that would be sufficient to distract my colleagues from further investigation as to how the smell of the shoe saleswoman’s pussy had come to linger on me.

No such luck, of course, they admired my shoes, genuinely it seemed in Hoffy’s case as she remarked, “In those, I might just get above five feet.”

Mons looked sceptically at Hoffy but didn’t press that issue. What she did press was her enquiries into my sex life.

“So, Annie,” Mons observed, after she had had another gulp of the Krug, “You stop at Selfridges and emerge with both shoes and smelling like a girl who has been giving cunnilingus.”

Before I could think, the words were out of my mouth, “Receiving, too…”

“Annie, Annie…,” Hoffy interrupted before being consumed by giggles.

Once she had regained her composure, she had a large swig of the Krug and continued, “It is best to wait until Miss Sinn takes you to the dungeon before confessing.”

“You two,” Miss Sinn interrupted, “Stop teasing the poor girl.”

I looked thankfully at Miss Sinn, only to be distracted by the look on Sarah’s face. “Why so shocked?” I asked her, “You are always happy, Sarah.”

God knows what they all thought I had said. But it was enough for some more giggling and Hoffy’s cryptic response of, “I think you might find that is a different Sarah, Annie.”

I was puzzled, but even more so when Miss Sinn added, to general amusement that only I didn’t seem to share, “You can bank on that.”

There was obviously some '(S)in(n) joke' here, and it was at my expense, but it seemed to amuse them all. Hoffy later explained that there was another 'Sarah' whose nickname was 'happy', and who was a general object of desire, but was rumoured to be often with a young banker.

It wasn't that funny in the cold light of sobriety, but like most humour, I guess you just had to be there.

Once their amusement had subsided, and glasses had been refilled, Hoffy looked at Sarah and tartly observed, “You buy your Manolo Blahnik heels from Selfridges, don’t you darling?”

“It has been known,” Sarah replied. I didn’t know Sarah that well, but she, even to my eye, seemed uneasy about something.

“It is fabulous,” I gushed, not unlike my pussy had been doing for the past two hours with Oli, “Oli’s sales service is something else.”

“Just as well you purchased the shoes, before fucking her,” Mons observed, “Otherwise you would have been paying for it.”

Sarah almost choked on her champagne. And, as a consequence of her reaction, Hoffy stared long and hard at Sarah. A penny seemed to have dropped for the couple Miss Sinn had only yesterday described as vanilla.

But whatever Mons words did for those two, her comment about fucking Oli triggered me and I was transported back a couple of hours.

****

The sexual tension between Oli and I, as I tried on shoes, was exquisite. We had instantly known we were in lust each other, but over the next two hours, I was to discover what a wonderfully bratty girl she was.

Things reached a head after I had decided what pair of shoes to buy. Oli smiled, like a cat that wanted my cream, and said, “They suit you. My last sale before I lock up the shop.”

I knew a hint when I heard one, and so I lifted my foot to where she was sitting in front of me. Pushing the sole of my shoe under her skirt and into her pussy, I whispered, “When you lock up, lock us inside.”

Oli nodded, and added, “Just so you know. I am kind of insatiable.”

Yeah right, I thought. But, as I was to find out, I had underestimated the depths Oli’s would go to. I was in for a kaleidoscope of carnal delight.

Within five minutes we were naked and in the back of the shop away from prying eyes. Oli, knowing I wanted to taste her juices, was straddling my face and pressing her damp cunt onto my mouth. My tongue circled and pushed into her pussy, as my finger pushed against her arse. And almost immediately Oli started rocking back and forward, fucking my mouth and smearing her juices over my face. It was my inability to subsequently fully wash those juices off me that would give the game away to Miss Sinn.

When I then did what she asked and pushed a finger into her tight arse, and focused on her clit, Oli, with a quickness that surprised me, shuddered, exploded and squirted juices into my mouth as she came.

My first inkling that I may have misjudged Oli’s use of the word insatiable came when she didn’t stop grinding her pussy against my face as her first orgasm petered out. Her finger dropped to her clit and, as I fucked her pussy with my tongue and her butt with my finger, we combined to bring her, screaming my name, to another powerful orgasm.

After a moment or two to recover her breath, Oli returned the favour. She turned me on to my front, and licked and kissed her way down my back. Stopping only when she reached my arse and, with her hands spreading my cheeks, her tongue licked and then pushed into my anal ring.

With her tongue anally occupied, Oli’s fingers sought out my pussy. Sliding two fingers of one hand into me, her other hand zeroed in on my clit. Tongue fucking, finger fucking, and pinching my clit, she soon bought me to the edge of something big. And big it was, as I came like a freight train.

Completely zoned out by the strength of my orgasm, it took me a minute or two to realise that Oli had rolled me on my back, and her mouth was now licking my clit. And, as she looked up at me while she sucked my clit, I felt fingers slip into my pussy. God knows how many, but I felt as full as I had ever been.

Her hand fucking and her delicious attention to my clit quickly had me moaning again. The continuous in and out of her hand, and the licking of her tongue got me on the brink and I threw myself into orgasm, absolutely drenching Oli’s face.

****

The noise of one of our office doors shutting disturbed my daydreaming. I looked up and saw Hoffy sitting opposite me, just staring at me.

“Sarah and Miss Sinn are in her office discussing money,” she whispered. And her eyes travelled down my body. I didn’t think too much about it until I glanced down.

Oh fuck, I thought, realizing that, during my daydream about Oli, I had inadvertently spread my legs and Hoffy could actually see under my skirt.

I blushed as I remembered something else. Oli had taken my knickers as a souvenir and consequently my abused, yes there is no other word for it, cunt had been on display for Miss Sinn’s petite PA. I should have closed my legs, but I didn't. I wanted to see her reaction. And, looking at her, it seemed clear she liked what she saw.

I looked over at Mons, who was sitting a little apart from us, sipping her champagne and, for all the world, looking like she was enjoying a piece of theatre playing out in front of her. Which it turned out she was.

I saw movement out of the corner of my eye and looked back at Hoffy. She had reached for one of the last oysters. And having got my attention, she put the shell on her bottom lip and licked lasciviously up the oyster. Reaching the top her tongue swirled around and around, before she sucked the oyster into her mouth.

Without her eyes leaving mine, she said, “I think, darling Mons, that oysters remind me of something.”

“Not that you have a wife, I presume,” Mons tartly replied.

“If she can indulge, I can too,” Hoffy replied, equally tartly, winking at me.

And I knew then that maybe Miss Sinn was, for once in her life, totally wrong. It seemed that Sarah and Hoffy weren’t actually that vanilla. Seeing that I had a green light to flirt, I reached for the last oyster and licked it just like I had licked Oli’s pussy. And then sucked it into my mouth.

“I didn’t,” I simpered, “Realize that oysters tasted like Oli’s pussy.”

While Hoffy and my eyes never the others’, we both heard Mons laugh and say, “What, with my tongue in your tail?”

Hoffy looked at Mons and smiled, obviously instantly picking up what Mons had said.

I picked it up too. But why, I asked myself, had Mons at that point mentioned a line from the Bard that my English teacher at school had never explained. It was only on the internet that I discovered it was a reference to oral sex.

I too glanced across at Mons, clearly looking puzzled and she said to me, “Hoffy may be gay, but there is one man she loves.”

I filed that fact away, but before I could think any more about that little interchange, Sarah and Miss Sinn emerged from the office, and Mons thought it timely to top us everyone’s glass.

“Who took the oyster I had my eye on?” Sarah asked.

I pressed my jaws hard together determined not to smile, while Hoffy busied herself with the caviar. Mons sniggered and I don’t know how many others heard her whisper, “Someone else seems to have their eye on that particular oyster.”

Fortunately, I was then distracted by my mobile phone. It was Oli, texting, seeing if I was free later in the evening.

I couldn’t resist asking Oli whether she knew a Sarah who was a customer. I got a smiley face back, and the comment, ‘Who do you think it was that left their strappy at my work?’

Oh my, I thought, realising that Sarah seemed to enjoy buying shoes from Oli, maybe for the same lustful reason I did. And I just had to excuse myself and go to the bathroom, knowing that what had happened next that afternoon was front and centre of my mind.

And there was no way I wanted my work colleagues to know that.

****

As I snuggled into Oli after my second orgasm, Oli whispered, “You know what?”

“What?” I replied.

“You know how I said I’m insatiable. Well, one of my best customers leaves her strappy in the drawer over there. Go put it on.”

So I did, and, wearing the girl cock that I now knew was Sarah’s, I approached Oli and ran the strap-on across her lips. She sucked and coated it with saliva before I ordered her to lie on her front. Once she was bent over, exposed, I slid the girl-cock into her.

“Yesss,” Oli moaned, “Fuck my brains out with that.”

And I did, or at least I thought that was what I was doing. But with every thrust that ended up with my hips and upper thighs slapping against her arse, she moaned words like harder, deeper, or faster.

I was soon a sweaty mess as I jackhammered the girl-cock into her, but was rewarded with moans that turned into groans and then into orgasmic ecstasy.

As I slowed down following her orgasm, she screeched, “Fuck, no. Don’t you dare stop.”

And at that very moment, my phone pinged. It was a text from Miss Sinn wondering how long it takes to buy shoes. I was just contemplating how to respond to Miss Sinn, when Oli said, “I said, fuck me.”

I smacked her bum, kind of firmly, and replied, “It is my boss. I talk to her if she wants to talk to me.”

“Fuck, I like the sting of your hand on my arse. Now, what would you rather do, pleasure and pain with me? Or chat with some old crone of a boss?”

My God, I thought, I am never, ever calling Miss Sinn a crone. But that was the last time I thought about Miss Sinn, as I looked down and saw the strap-on just penetrating Oli’s cunt and her arse cheek beginning to redden.

And I was instantly consumed by the fires of lust.

“Legs wider, you little slut,” I ordered, throwing my phone down. And Oli responded with a satisfied moan to my second slap of her arse.

I reached up and grabbed her hair, leant in, and whispered in her ear, “I am going back to the office unless you beg for it.”

“Oh fuck, Annie. Yes please, fuck me, own me.”

So, slapping her arse with one hand, snapping her head back as I pulled her hair with my other hand, I then slammed the girl-cock into her cunt.

“Fuck yes,” she moaned, “Just make me your bitch.”

And I did, jack-hammering the girl-cock into her, hearing the top of my thighs slap against her reddening arse cheeks. Our juices merged as her screams drove me on, both of us building orgasms with every thrust.

Our thoughts became incoherent and our cries and moans an incomprehensible babble, as I slammed in and out of her.

Then with a scream of, “Fuck yes,” I felt my orgasm crest. And my words found an echo in Oli as she screamed, “I’m cumming.”

And together we dissolved in the tidal waves of lust that surged through us.

When I removed the strap-on from her with a satisfying plop, Oli looked disappointed.

“That was wonderful. But I do have to go, Oli,” I said, as I took off the strap-on and started to try and clean myself up.

“Later then?” she asked.

“God you really are insatiable. Maybe, Oli. Text me and I will see.”

****

In the bathroom at work, I was so turned on by replaying my afternoon with Oli. She was such a slut and I found that a very endearing quality. But even though I was as horny as hell, there was no way I was going to make myself cum in the office. I so couldn’t bear the thought that my colleagues would find out.

When I got back from the bathroom, I found the other four crowded around a computer screen. It was Mel, the absolutely sweet Canadian who ran Miss Sinn’s North American office. I didn’t know her that well but every time we have recently talked I have become more and more impressed by just how lovely she is.

God knows what the subject of conversation had been, but Mel observed, “While there are a lot of things you can enjoy virtually, champagne is not amongst them.”

Oddly enough, Hoffy blushed at that comment, and even more so when Miss Sinn added, “Don’t think we are lushes, Mel. This is a one-off. But you should use the expense account and treat yourself to a bottle.”

After Mel had signed off, Mons started refilling everyone’s glasses.

“Last orders, ladies,” Mons observed, “I think that it would be best if we didn’t attempt to polish off the case of Krug tonight.”

“Maybe you are right, Monica,” Miss Sinn replied, “We are the Number 1 Lesbian Detective Agency. Not a bunch of drunken sluts.”

“Can’t one try to be both?” I asked, perhaps, with hindsight, a touch overeagerly.

“Perhaps we could,” Hoffy said, accompanied by a drunken giggle and a look from Sarah that would have turned her into a pillar of salt, had the petite one been looking in her wife’s direction.

But no, Hoffy wasn’t looking at Sarah because, as I then realized, my skirt had ridden up again when I had sat down.

But, even in my slightly, alright considerably, inebriated state, I decided that toning down the flirting might be appropriate. Recalling that Mons had said Hoffy did love one man, I adjusted my skirt and opened with something just a touch cleverer, “To drink or not to drink. That is the question. Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer, the slings and arrows of outrageous headaches.”

Pixie looked enchanted, way too much for me to be comfortable, and so I was delighted when it was Mons who responded, “Or to stop Krug, preventing a Sea of troubles. And by abstaining end them: with Oli, you sleep.”

I knew, and I suspect that Pixie, at least, must also have known, that Mons had deliberately lost the Shakespearian rhyme with the last four words. God only knows what Miss Sinn and Sarah thought, but Mons had fired a warning shot directed at Pixie and me.

And Pixie ignored it, and rose to the challenge in a totally flirtatious way, adding, “No more; and by a sleep to say we end the heart-ache of the thousand poor relationships that my Flesh is heir too? ‘Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished, aye, there's the rub.”

I looked at Pixie amazed at how easily we clicked and played off each other. And she just smiled like the cat that had got the cream.

Then I looked at Mons who was just shaking her head. And then I glanced at Miss Sinn who was engrossed in her email. And, finally, I stared at Sarah who met my eye and looked at me as inscrutable as I have ever been looked at.

Fortunately, we were all distracted by Miss Sinn’s announcement that her email contained good news; we had a third case. “I want you all here at ten tomorrow morning, bright eyed and bushy tailed,” she said, polishing off the Krug that remained in her glass.

“Bright-eyed might be a stretch,” Mons tartly observed.

Nevertheless, we all helped to quickly clean up. And all the time I pondered what had just happened with Hoffy. That seemed like something more than my usual flirting with a woman of lustful interest. And Sarah, what was I to make of her inscrutable stare?

Then, still wondering about Hoffy and Sarah, I said goodnight to my colleagues. I decided to head over to Oli’s, thinking that I needed to clear my head with some good uncomplicated sex. And I took the one unfinished bottle of Krug with me, imagining that Sir David would consider my slutty shoe seller as an appropriate recipient of his largesse.