Gillian's Justice Ch. 01

"Who the fuck are you?" the captain did not sound one iota Italian; he was pure cockney.

"You're wasting your time with him you know," Gillian sipped on her cherry cola.

She pulled down her hood and shook out her lustrous flaming locks. The smoky eye makeup she preferred complemented her ice-blue eyes and her full red lips embellished with bright red lipstick. Even dressed as a tomboy she was stunning.

"Once again ducky, who the fuck are you?" the young man looked around the pub to see if Gillian was setting him up.

"Relax. I'm Gillian Dixon. I buy coke from your riffy pal who just came to you for a re-up," Gillian smiled and her eyes sparkled.

"Look; you might be a lovely looking young lady but if you don't get to the point soon I'm going to take you outside and do things to you that you won't like," he said gruffly.

"Oh! Promises, promises," Gillian grinned cheekily at him.

His face clouded over and he looked ready to carry out his threat.

Gillian put her hand on his forearm and leaned into him.

"Relax. I'm sorry for being a twat. Look, I study at the campus where your dealer sells. He's disadvantaged because he can't get on the university grounds. The security guys and faculty know that he's a dealer so he has to do business in the park across the road," Gillian began.

"So what?" the man grunted but he could see that she had piqued his interest.

"So I can deal directly for you on campus. I'll probably double the take and I won't rip you off," she smiled at him again.

"How do I know I can trust you?" the man frowned.

"I told you I'm Gillian Dixon. My uncle is Andrew Dixon... the Andrew Dixon who sometimes associates with Tony Carlotta the father of your boss Alfie Carlotta. Now you know who I am so you can find me any time you like if I fuck you over or Alfie can take retribution on Andrew," Gillian smiled.

"So I've got a posh schoolgirl offering to sell drugs for me on a hoity-toity campus because mommy and daddy won't give her enough pocket money?" the man scoffed.

"A beautiful posh schoolgirl, who will give you a blowjob every time I re-up," Gillian batted her eyelashes, mocking him.

"I don't take blowjobs from schoolgirls," he finished his drink and put his glass down on the table.

Gillian put her hand under table and squeezed his cock through his trousers.

"I'm nearly twenty three years old; I'm no schoolgirl and I'm prettier than any girl who's ever blown you before," she squeezed him again, he was getting hard.

"What about a fuck instead?" the man leaned into her and inhaled her perfume.

"No. I'm saving that, but I give great blowjobs," Gillian was stroking him through his jeans, he was fully erect now.

"Ok then. Right now. In the bogs," he nodded towards the toilets.

Gillian didn't even think about it. She eased herself out of the booth and sauntered over to the corridor that led to the men's and ladies toilets, swinging her hips and buttocks clad in her tight jeans all the way.

The man left the booth and followed her as Gillian looked around furtively and then ducked into the men's toilets. She went into a stall, pulled down the lid and sat on the seat. The man crowded into the booth and closed and locked the door. Without any preamble Gillian unzipped him, freed his cock and began to suck it. She tried to put the stench of the toilets out of her mind and concentrated on working her lips up and down the hard cock whilst looking up into the man's eyes.

The man didn't last long; his knees buckled and he had to put his arms out to hold onto the stalls as he ejaculated into Gillian's mouth. She slavered at the man's cock eliciting every drop of semen from his pulsing dick.

When he had finished he pulled his cock from her mouth and zipped up. He opened the door to the booth just as the door to the gents opened and a customer strode in. Gillian stood up, lifted the lid and spat the drug dealers issue into the toilet bowl and flushed it away. The man who had just entered the lavatory stood gobsmacked as Gillian walked past him to sinks and rinsed her mouth and spat into one of the sinks.

"What's the matter? Haven't you ever seen a transsexual woman give a drug dealer a blowjob in the bogs before?" Gillian teased him.

"Come on you dozy bint," the captain pulled her out of toilets and led her back to the booth.

"I'm Terry Belkin by the way," he put out his hand to shake hers.

"Bollocks to that Terry, I just blew you in the bogs I'm not shaking your hand," she leaned in and kissed him quickly on the lips.

"Now... where and when do I get my drugs," Gillian grinned at him.

Gillian spent her last year at college slinking off from courses and selling drugs. She was probably the most unpopular person on campus being so narcissistic but she had what everybody wanted... party drugs and plenty of them.

She met Terry Belkin once a week to get her re-up and dutifully gave him a blowjob but that's as far as she would go despite his badgering her for a fuck. She refused to meet him in the pub or any public place as the amount of gear she was shifting grew exponentially. They met at Terry's flat instead.

Just before graduation one of Gillian's professors called her and Peter Hosking into his study and accused them of plagiarism and cheating on assignments. Gillian deliberately wore one of her shortest skirts and highest heels and gave the professor, a well-known philanderer, a panty-peek every opportunity she could. She persuaded the professor to let Peter go and used her wiles and her mouth to convince the professor to lay off reporting them to the Dean. Then, as she was want to do, she told the professor that she would be visiting his wife and telling her what had happened if he didn't excuse her from all future lectures.

The professor compromised, his wife was used to him womanising but he didn't need the nagging, so they agreed that Gillian would let him feel her up and give him a blowjob once a week.

When she graduated she had about thirty minutes of video on her phone of the professor groping her and her fellating him which she emailed to the professors wife and the Dean of colleges.

When the Dean called her in to substantiate the professor's claim that she had blackmailed him into giving her a pass she refused, saying that it was a 'he said - she said' situation and that unless the university wanted to be dragged into a 'Me Too' scandal they had better take her word for it.

Gillian had enough money saved to move out of her parents house and rent herself a very nice apartment in Kensington. She had a stylish wardrobe of designer clothes and shoes. She was ready to move onto the next phase of her life but there was one important matter that she needed resolved.

While the doctors and psychologists at Gillian's Gender Identity Clinic agreed that Gillian had more than met the 'social gender role transition' minimum requirement of living full time as a woman, they still had concerns about her narcissistic tendencies and inability to make friends or to socially interact with others. Also the hormone therapy was taking too long to produce the results she wanted. Although her body was definitely becoming more feminine her breasts were still little more than bumps on her chest. Gillian had undertaken speech therapy as soon as she came off puberty blockers so she presented as a perfectly-formed passable woman, but a flat-chested one.

A trip to the Philippines fixed that problem for her and she came back with an impeccable set of C-cup breasts which she was very proud of. Her doctors at the GIC raged at her for doing so but she told them to go fuck themselves; she had a steady supply of female hormones from other sources and was not thinking of full sex reassignment surgery anyway, she was happy how she was.

With a dwindling supply of punters to sell drugs to now that she was persona non grata on the campus Gillian's funds were starting to dwindle so she proceeded with the next chapter of her life.

Gillian had been regularly calling on her uncle Andrew at his large apartment in London. Andrew had supported Julian when he was battling with dysphoria and unlike some in the extended family was delighted when Gillian came out. Now that Gillian was a dazzlingly attractive fully-grown young lady her uncle doted on her. It was he who paid for her overseas travel and her breast augmentation surgery.

He was a little 'handsy' with her at times, especially after a few libations but even someone with his morals knew better than to try to shag his niece. Andrew was keen to show off his glamorous young niece and Gillian was ready to move up in the world and rub against the upper classes. She'd listened to Andrew's stories so many times she thought that she knew almost everyone in Andrew's circle intimately, even though she had never met them.

The event was to be held at Lord Chelmsford's country home about an hour out of London with about a hundred people in attendance. Instead of taking one of the bevy of young beauties he seemed to have on call for such events, Andrew invited his niece Gillian to attend as his companion.

The pretext of the party was to raise money for some charity or the other for which most of the attendees couldn't give a toss; it was an excuse to party outrageously outside of the purview of the tabloids and gossipmongers. The guest list comprised of one very minor royal, a few titled lords and ladies, celebrities, businessmen of various pedigrees and of course the socialites who seemed to flock to such events like moths to flames.

Gillian preened for over an hour getting ready for the party much to the chagrin of her Uncle Andrew who paced the downstairs living room floor sipping twelve-year-old scotch and wishing he'd never invited his precocious niece to the event. Andrew had provided her with his charge card to purchase her ensemble for the soiree and even though he was a man of means he choked when he saw the bill.

When Gillian glided down the spiral staircase of Andrew's London residence all was forgiven. She was wearing a bright red floor-length Saint Laurent slinky satin sheath detailed with spaghetti straps, a ruched waist and dramatic low back; it was split to the waist.

Underneath she was wearing flesh-toned Wolford Fatal 15-denier seamless pantyhose and had forgone panties to eliminate any lines or creases in her dress. She wore a red Vassarette push-up bra with a deep centre plunge to show off her magnificent cleavage and red Christian Louboutin Alminette suede pumps. She'd accessorised with a diamond-studded choker, matching drop earrings and a bracelet care of Andrew's extensive jewellery collection.

Gillian wore her lustrous hair in her signature style, straight and parted on the left side, sweeping across her forehead and cascading to her shoulders. Her fiery red locks, smoky eye makeup and bright-red lipstick complemented her luminous porcelain skin superbly.

Andrew was nearly speechless. He had seen his niece dressed formally before but tonight she was stunning. One part of his mind was thinking how lucky he was to have such an enchanting young woman to escort to the party whilst another part was crestfallen that the gorgeous young woman was his niece and that he wouldn't be able to seduce her.

"How do I look?" Gillian pirouetted for her uncle.

Andrew swept her in his arms and smiled at her.

"You are the most beguiling and captivating woman that I have ever had the distinction and prestige to escort to an affair of any consequence," he let her go and held her at arm's length studying his niece from top to toe.

"Words escape me. I can't believe that inside this sumptuous young lady is the little boy I used to pass a rugby ball to in the park," Andrew beamed.

Gillian was not one to be dismayed when someone reminded her of where she came from. She didn't go around advertising that she was a transgender woman but neither did she hide the fact.

"Well that little boy is well and truly gone Uncle Andrew. If you would be so kind as to escort this debutante to her first social event," Gillian picked up her red Céline calfskin clutch which had cost Andrew over a thousand pounds.

Inside was a gold cigarette case and matching lighter, a vial of cocaine, a hairbrush, lipstick, a compact, a spare pair of pantyhose and two hundred pounds cash.

Gillian offered her hand and Andrew took it and led her outside to the waiting Rolls Royce.

***

Gillian was a long way from being seated in a Rolls Royce; even if she was wearing Saint Laurent and Louboutin. The back of the Black Maria was uncomfortable and she was jostled and jolted every time it drove over a bump. Rose Appleby and Victoria Edwards nattered incessantly the whole way to the Old Bailey mostly about being in the company of one of England's most notorious Madames.

In the United Kingdom photographing defendants on court premises is illegal and the 'perp walk' is almost unheard of but Annabelle Creighton, the prosecutor in Gillian's case, always had a means of getting her own way. The usual practice is for the prison transport vehicle to drive into a yard at the back of the court and for the defendants to be escorted to the holding rooms until they are called before the court.

The contracted prison services were paid just above award wages and through a third party Annabelle had bribed the officers to stop the van outside the general entrance to the court and for the prisoners to be led through a throng of press and gawkers.

Gillian held her head high and refused to make any comments despite the microphones being shoved into her face. Rose Appleby and Victoria Edwards thought the whole charade was wonderful, they felt like celebrities. Being arraigned on the lesser charges of theft, forgery, and counterfeiting they were not the celebrities that the press wanted to interview but they took some soundbites from them anyway. The vacuous media touts made the best they could of the situation commenting on Gillian's fashion and her looks.

Much to their delight Gillian stumbled and fell to the ground as she walked under the portcullis and the cameras zoomed in despite the efforts of police and court officials to keep them at bay.

Gillian refused any assistance and regained her composure as she got to her feet and was finally led inside the court grounds and free from harassment from the press.

"Annabelle Creighton! That conniving cunt!" Brian McCaffey ranted.

Gillian paid him little attention, she had taken off her skirt and was changing into a new pair of pantyhose to replace those laddered in the fall. The pantyhose were provided by the other person in the interview room, Gillian's assistant, Cecelia Flick.

Brian was not at all disturbed by Gillian changing her underwear in front of him, it was nothing new to him, but he was livid at the way Gillian had dressed for court.

"Jesus Gillian, you might as well rub it in their faces dressing like that," he grumbled.

"I am not presenting myself to the public wearing a house dress," Gillian countered, pulling down and smoothing her skirt.

"It was an expensive designer twinset!" Brian was furious.

"It was a monstrosity with flat shoes. Enough said," Gillian pretended to pick lint off the sleeve of her jacket.

"And you, you little harpy. You're the one who smuggled in her miniskirt and fuck-me shoes I suppose," Brian glared at Cecelia who ignored him.

"Don't rant at Cecelia; she was acting as instructed, besides, myself and the Guvnor of the remand centre have an arrangement," Gillian replied and waggled her fingers at Cecelia.

Cecelia dug in her purse and produced a Marlboro menthol cigarette and lighter. She lit the cigarette and passed it to Gillian who took a long drag and blew the smoke into the exhaust vent.

"Jesus Gillian; there's no smoking here! When are you going to take this seriously; you're charged with murder for fuck sake and at this point in time we have no defence," Brian shook his head, exasperated.

"So it's just as well one of us has her shit together. Those dim-witted, boneheaded, tabloid schlock dealers will be reporting what I was wearing and how graceful and beautiful I was which will distract the unwashed masses from the fact that I'm accused of murder," Gillian flicked ash into a saucer held out by Cecelia.

"And yes that cunt Annabelle Creighton did arrange for me to be unloaded outside the courts but I knew about it. Did you like my dramatic stumble? I can see the headline now 'Beautiful Socialite Stumbled but Regains Her Composure Outside Of the Old Bailey'. The footage of me struggling to my feet unaided should invoke a bit of sympathy and if I showed a bit of knicker that will help my plight too," Gillian stubbed out her cigarette in the saucer.

Cecelia Flick brushed the cigarette butt and ash into a ziplock bag which she slipped into her purse then she produced a little can of aerosol deodorant and sprayed the room.

Gillian Dixon checked her makeup one last time and pulled down the hem of her jacket.

"Well counsellor; are we ready?" she smiled at Brian McCaffey.

"Not really Gillian; but we're going in there anyway," Brian opened the door to the corridor that led to the courtrooms.

To be continued.