Molly's Labours
The email had been precise and explicit. Molly had read and re-read it.
'This is your first 'labour', other tasks that will allow you to progress to your ultimate reward.
The Court of Midnight does not admit beautiful young women unless they can 'prove' themselves to be an asset.
By completing the tasks, we have laid out for you, you demonstrate your suitability to face the court. Many pretty, smart girls have confessed their desire to face our 'select little group' but not all have that 'special' quality.
Be at the specified hotel room by eight precisely. The door will be unlocked for you. You will undress and show your body to the web cameras that will be set up. Don't even think you could trace them, we have far more resources than even you could imagine.
You will be joined by two of the court. Follow their instructions to the letter. If they are satisfied with you. We will contact you again. Miss Hennessey.
ALWAYS REMEMBER THE COURT WILL BE WATCHING YOU.
THE COURT IS ALWAYS THERE.
THE COURT IS EVERYWHERE.
Molly felt quite alarmed about the sense that the elusive 'Court of Midnight ' was everywhere. But she, then considered that those words were designed to put her on edge.
It worked.
She picked up her phone. She thought to call her editor. Thinking again, she opened the WhatsApp and typed in a secret PIN and sent a text.
"Contact 8pm Marriott off A12" Molly pressed send. Her editor would open the message via the PIN and Molly put the phone down,
She stood up and went to sit at her dressing table.
"Are you really up for this?" She questioned her reflection.
Molly was an attractive, pixie cut brunette with a good figure. She was everything she needed to get ahead in the world of independent journalism; ambition, looks, a good intellect and a desire to prove herself.
Her father had always described her as having gumption. His death earlier that year had spurred Molly to get the story that would make her father proud. She had aced her qualifications as a prerequisite for writing as a journalist for the 'Metro-Online News Outlet Division'.
All Molly knew was that she was an independent journalist with no income unless she filed stories that were published. If they liked her stories or managed a a 'scoop' they would take her on full-time.
So only a scoop would do! Molly wanted to make her mark! Make a splash! as he father had put it. He'd been a foreign correspondent in the 70's and had covered some hot stories and still suffered from the shrapnel wound, he picked up in the deserts around the Golan heights.
Molly sat and focussed her attention on her make-up. She would go subtle and natural. Her soft brown eyes were highlighted carefully and she chose colours to accentuate her elfin features. She stood up and looked at herself. She threw off her terry cotton robe and looked at her body.
All her previous boyfriends had enjoyed her body and their sex life. Molly had perky 32C tits, with neat chocolate coloured areole. Her nipples rose to their erect state, like small, upturned noses. She liked her tits, she enjoyed how they felt when they had been stroked and played with. She would get wet quickly when they were licked and sucked. But most of all she enjoyed them being pulled and tweaked between fingers and thumbs. She often orgasmed quicker, when her lovers, who fucked her hard and pulled on her nipples.
She cast her eyes down to her toned stomach and her shaved bare pubis. She brushed her hand across her mound, trying to find any stubble or stray hairs. There were none. She smiled and brushed her puffy little labia. She liked her camel toe shape and would put on tight panties to show off herself tonight.
She would show the 'Court'- she had assets.
The Court was supposed to be a myth. Her editor had told her, her one, good, friend at the office had her and even her research had given not a single clue. But Molly had not given up. Micky, her erstwhile friend, and colleague had asked her out on date and had been shot down. Molly didn't want a boyfriend and told Micky just that.
"We can be friends" Molly had said to him over a beer at the local bar, near the office.
"Story of my life!" Micky moaned.
For two solid weeks, Molly had cajoled him into helping her to find out about 'The Court of Midnight'. A shadowy organisation that had links all over the world and were supposed to have criminal ties to trafficked women. Molly wanted this story, she had scoured the internet and picked up a trace here and there. But nothing definite.
Until, lock-down hit the UK.