Chapter 10: Winning

A/N: Mousey earns its rating this chapter.

Three weeks had gone by and Vera realised somehow Joan had moved in. She wasn't visiting, she was in. They had a routine. They had days allocated for things. Tuesdays and Thursdays Joan would do her washing. Vera on weekends. Without discussing it, chores had been divided, the bulk done by Joan as she was home all day. At least Vera presumed she was, as she had no evidence to the contrary.

She hadn't mentioned Joan going home again. Joan hadn't moved anything of Vera's again without permission. Or at least not without a questioning eyebrow lift until Vera moved it to where Joan believed it should be.

A truce had taken place and Vera wasn't entirely sure what she thought of it. Their conversations in the evening were always interesting and intelligent but Vera always got the impression Joan was merely biding her time. For what, Vera had no idea.

She unlocked her front door as she arrived home, shucking her Wentworth jacket and toeing off her shoes. She knew without looking that Joan would be watching her from the sofa in the lounge, as she always did, her eyes seeking out answers to questions unasked. How had her day been? Who had done what to whom? Details. All the tiny details were keenly desired.

Sometimes Vera indulged her, sometimes she didn't.

She sighed in relief when her shoes came off and headed straight to the fridge, pouring herself a tall glass of wine. Another thing that had changed. Vera now left the bottom shelf of her freezer free for Joan's vodka. The fridge door was Vera's for whatever engine-coolant wine variety she favoured. No discussion had been needed on either topic.

Something meaty had been in the oven earlier. Vera's nose twitched. Every now and then Joan went through what Vera called her Eastern bloc cuisine phase. All manner of thick, stocky stews had appeared on the menu on occasion, to be divvied up into little casserole dishes and later frozen. Joan did like her regimented system.

Vera left the kitchen and came into the lounge to find Joan's attention fixed on the TV.

"House of Cards again?" Vera asked, sipping her wine. "I'd have thought even you'd get tired of political machinations after watching the whole series four times."

Joan merely smiled, not taking her attention off the screen. "I find it educational. And somewhat relaxing."

"It's not a documentary, you know."

"Isn't it?" Joan smirked.

Vera rolled her eyes and joined her on the couch. "I had an interesting meeting with Channing today."

"Oh?" Joan's eyes didn't move and her voice remained neutral but Vera felt the air suddenly charge.

"I think you can probably guess why."

Joan reached for the remote and turned off her show, swivelling to face Vera. "I think I'd like to hear your version of events."

"Channing said he had an application for the deputy governor's position, to replace Will. An applicant with a ridiculous amount of experience."

"Sounds promising. You should probably hire them."

"He said the applicant had also sent a lawyer's letter, pointing out she had been removed from her previous job and never offered a chance to be reinstated. Failure to acknowledge the dropping of all charges and the clearing of the client's name would be the equivalent of an unlawful firing. Reinstatement to Governor was the least the applicant could ask for if she was so inclined."

"How fascinating," Joan drawled.

"However that is not what the applicant requested. The lawyer's letter said that the deputy governor position would be acceptable in light of this previous miscarriage of justice. And then it simply included her CV."

"And what did Mr Channing make of all this?"

"He told me throwing around the Governor position was just an ambit claim to get the deputy position."

Joan flicked invisible lint of her pants. "An interesting conclusion. Did it work?"

"Why didn't you just ask me? For the deputy position?"

"You have deniability this way, knowing nothing about it."

"Still..."

Joan waved her hand dismissively and watched as Vera took a sip of wine. "So – was Channing amenable to me filling your deputy slot?"

Vera choked on her mouthful. "You did that on purpose!"

"Did what?" Joan affected her most innocent expression. "Well? Channing? Must I drag it out of you?"

"He suggested we throw you a bone. You are, after all, the most qualified candidate, and try as he might, he couldn't find any loophole to prevent you still being eligible. And trust me, he was trying pretty hard. And no one else wants it.

"I think in the end, his relief that you weren't seriously asking for the top job, which would have been a much messier crapfest for him with the board, made it easy to say yes. Which is what you intended of course. Oh, and we both know you have dirt on him."

Joan gleamed. "When do I start?"

Vera didn't answer that. "When do you plan to take my job off me?"

"I'm taking your former job, currently unfilled, off you. A sizeable difference."

"You seriously expect me to believe that's all you want? And on that note, why Joan? Why did you stop where you did? Theoretically your lawyer's right: You lost your old job to health reasons and the now no longer in play criminal charges. You would be legally entitled to at least try and be reinstated to your former job, no matter how unorthodox it would be. But, no, you went for the deputy position. I can't work it out."

"It wasn't necessary. And I prefer to take chalices that are not poisoned. A forced hand never works out. They have to want me."

Vera stared at her. Joan's face was a mask but she knew a woman keeping secrets when she saw one.

Before she could press her for more, Joan tilted her head curiously.

"Why do you always take your jacket off?" she asked, flicking her gaze to the hook Vera had slung it on temporarily. "Every night you come home and throw it off you as though it's diseased."

"I'm home. Not at work." Vera said, confused by the change in topic. "What do you mean? You didn't wear yours at home 24/7."

"You shed it like it's an itchy skin, like you can't wait to be rid of it. Now why is that Vera? Do you feel that much of an imposter wearing it?"

Vera shot her an aggrieved look. "I don't feel like an imposter at all."

"Prove it. Go and put it on, Vera. Then look me in the eye and tell me you deserve to wear it. Make me believe it."

The challenge in her voice was maddening.

"This is ridiculous!" But Joan's eyes were serious. Vera rose and walked to her jacket. She slid it onto her shoulders and immediately felt its weight. She sagged a little under it, willing herself to project confidence and worth. If wishes were horses, we'd all be riding, her dad used to say.

Joan strode over to her. Her fingers dusted the little crowns on the shoulder that signified she was Governor, then slid down the seams. Her fingers took a scenic route and wandered across the swells of Vera's bust, then followed the fabric's fall to her hips. Her index finger slid back up the navy sleeve.

She leaned forward, so close that Vera could feel her hot breath. "Tell me again, Vera, how you feel wearing this jacket? And try to be honest this time."

Dozens of contradictory words sprang to mind. Fraud, fake, pretender, ambitious, strong. Weak. Confused. She shook her head. "I don't know why I indulge you," she muttered.

"A lie. I'll be kind and call it your first. Of course you know why you indulge me. But we aren't discussing your feelings for me."

Vera's mouth dropped open. "What feelings?"

Joan's eyes were lit with amusement and it made Vera squirm.

"Try again. How do you feel in that uniform?"

"I feel taller."

Well, it was true.

Joan eyed her. "Height is advantageous. But…." She paused and slid her eyes to the floor. "You do seem taller. How long have you worn higher heels?"

Vera licked her lips. "A month, I guess."

Joan's smile widened. "Since I came to stay?" she suggested. "Am I rubbing off on you? Are you emulating me? Well, even more than was obvious before?"

"Hardly," Vera protested. "It just seemed height would give me an advantage. It certainly does you."

"Ah. You think height is where I get my power to intimidate from?" She gave a short bark of laughter. "By that nonsensical criteria, the knuckle-dragging Mr Fletcher should make a most impressive governor."

"It's not just height, of course," Vera said crossly.

"No. It most certainly isn't. So what is it? What is it about that uniform that makes you so uncomfortable?"

"Nothing. I don't feel uncomfortable."

"Lie No. 2. It's a simple question: Why do you prefer it off to on?"

Joan leaned forward and slowly undid the brass buttons which held together the garment across her white shirt.

"I don't," Vera protested. "I love being Governor."

"Lie No. 3. But closer to the truth. You love the idea of being Governor. And you thought you would love the job, but you don't. What you love is being near the power, not being the power. It's intoxicating being in the orbit of power. I am well aware."

Vera's breath caught at her uncanny accuracy. Before she could answer, Joan stepped right inside her personal space. "And you know all about being intoxicated by power," she murmured. Suddenly she pressed her lips against Vera's throat.

Vera felt herself clench between her legs. She gave a sort of half-strangled gasp. Joan dragged her teeth all the way down to her collarbone.

Once there, her fingers deftly loosened Vera's tie, plucked the top button of her shirt open and then covered the base of her throat with her mouth.

"I'm sure you're in the thrall of my power most of the time," Joan whispered against her skin. "The rest of the time, you're asleep in your sensible flannels. Am I wrong?"

Vera quivered. "I…" Then realised she couldn't think of an answer to that.

"That's what I thought," Joan purred. She undid the column of white buttons on Vera's shirt and then studied the front clasp on Vera's bra with a gleam.

"My, my," she said, "how convenient." She tapped the clasp. "I thought only teenage girls used these."

Vera rankled at the jibe. "Hell of a seduction technique you have there."

"Oh Vera, this isn't a seduction," Joan said. "It's a demonstration of power."

In spite of the sane part of her brain screaming at her, Vera's hormones sat up. She reached for her jacket to take it off.

"No," Joan said instantly. "That stays. You're going to feel it. Against your bare skin. Feel what it's really like to embrace its power. Trust me: It's heady."

Vera paused at the thought of Joan's naked body against her jacket. The thrill that shot through her made her tremble.

Joan pushed her towards her bedroom but Vera stopped her with a hand to her chest.

"God no," she hissed.

"Cold feet?" Joan asked, sounding more curious than anything else. "Does your need to hate my methods still outweigh how desperately you want my hands on you? Or are you going to deny how you feel again?" she taunted.

"I wasn't saying I don't want us to – it's just you're sleeping in what was my mother's bedroom. It's the last place I saw her ... before…"

Joan's eyebrow scraped her hairline. "When you took care of what needed to be done? I must say you impressed me with your deeds that day."

Vera shuddered. "And whose idea was that?"

"My idea, but your… execution."

Vera felt sick at the reminder. Her mother might have been terminally ill and abusive, not to mention manipulative and downright mean, but Vera still felt wracked with guilt for euthanising her as though she was little better than an old pet.

Vera's eyes drifted past Joan's shoulder to the bed. She could still see her mother lying there as Vera injected her with a quadruple dose of morphine. Her eyes … her eyes when she saw the second syringe come out – her mother knew. She didn't say a word. Just watched. At the third one – and wasn't this ironic? – Vera thought she almost saw respect in those normally hyper critical eyes. And by the fourth shot? The woman was too spaced out to know she was taking her last breaths.

"And there it is," Joan whispered in her ear.

"There what is?" Vera whispered, turning away.

"There is that little mouse I first met. The one who feels for everyone. Who feels guilt and regret and shame, even when you've done the most practical thing. The only thing you could. Even your mother probably thanked you silently for her release but no, you're too busy feeling like a murderous failure."

Vera couldn't even look at her; the shame was still burning.

"Your mother and I came to an understanding," Joan said, after a beat. "She was vicious to you that night I first visited. She called you worthless. She was a vile, hateful woman. And so I whispered words into her ear that silenced her."

Vera was shaken from her reverie. "What on earth could you ever say to her that would make her quiet? I never found a way in decades."

Joan's face became still, her eyes half lidded. "I told her: 'Your daughter is not worthless to me. I have plans for her. She will be mine soon. Never yours again. Remember this: hurt my property at your peril'."

Vera's mouth fell open.

"You see? You wear that jacket – you wear power on your shoulders with these …" Joan flicked at the golden crowns "and you don't know the first thing about embracing it. Revelling it. Well tonight I will give you that lesson. Owning your power.

"So first thing to understand? That's not your mother's bed anymore. It's yours. You are the victor. Own that. Don't shy from it."

Vera gaped at her.

Joan pointed. "Now get on the bed."

Joan's fingers worked furiously, wrenching Vera's pants from her, then her panties. Pulling off her jacket, shirt and bra was all a blur until Vera stood before her, naked.

She had stood like this once before. Joan had given her a speech about loving her innocence. She'd thought Vera was someone else that night. Her dead lover. Tonight she didn't give her speeches on her virtue and sweetness. Tonight she stared at her with burning eyes, eyes which ran across her every line and curve and swell of flesh, like sharp claws, desperate to sink into her.

She held her Governor's jacket back out to Vera.

"Put it on," she ordered. "Put it on and lie down. Then open yourself for me."

Vera obeyed. She was good at obeying, she thought as she felt the slickness of the glossy lining against her flesh and the firmness of the mattress press into her back. It was the first time she'd worn the jacket and actually marvelled at it, instead of feeling its oppressiveness.

She spread her legs, slowly, deliberately, watching closely for Joan's reaction.

Joan said nothing. She slid off her own dark pants and Oxford shirt, folding them neatly and placing them on the dresser. She returned and stood before her in a black sports bra and panties. Her body was as honed as Vera remembered. Surprising for an office worker.

"Work out?" She asked the question she'd wanted to know last time but had been too awed to.

"Fencing. Keeps me supple. And dangerous. Remember that."

How could she ever forget her danger? She wasn't blind. Joan filled every corner of the room with her presence. Her aura that smelled of watchfulness and edgy, restless power.

Vera's eyes slid around the master bedroom. Joan's two suitcases sat neatly in one corner. A large ceramic pot holding Joan's beloved African violet was on a bedside table. The greeny yellow wallpaper. God how she'd hated this room for so long. It felt decadent and wrong now to be lying here, doing this. Like dancing on the devil's own bed.

"Are you revelling in it?" Joan whispered, as though reading her mind. "Your victory over the room's former inhabitant?"

Vera swallowed. "It wasn't a victory, for god's sake. It was a-a mercy killing."

"Who was put out of their misery, though? Her or you? Never mind, it's irrelevant. First lesson on power, Vera, is never ever feel sorry for the vanquished. They don't deserve it."

Vera was still processing that when she heard the next words.

"Now: Touch yourself."

Vera blinked at the unexpected command. "What? Now? In front of you? In… here?"

"Of course." Joan looked genuinely amused and her voice lowered to a seductive trill. She leaned forward. "It's so naughty, isn't it?" she said. "Fingering yourself in this room. What a message for her. Did you even dare to masturbate under her roof? Was that allowed? Was it something you were too fearful to contemplate lest she burst in on you?"

"Can we stop mentioning her?" Vera pleaded, freaking out at how close to the bone Joan was cutting.

"The thrill will be stronger here, not just because I'm watching but because she can't do a damn thing to stop you," Joan continued. "Because you won. You have the power. This is your house, your bed, your life now. And if you want to fuck yourself here, right here, that's what you will do."

Vera's fingers moved between her legs tentatively, and her nipples hardened the moment she saw keen, sharp eyes watching her. Joan dropped to her knees at the foot of her bed, staring up her body, between her legs, directly into her eyes. "Fuck everyone, Vera," Joan snarled, "This is the power you need to own. What are you waiting for? Do you need permission?"

Vera felt a swirl of anger at the reminder of the way she'd been treated and her fingers picked up pace. Joan's slow curling smile told her she approved. Vera felt her excitement already starting to build as Joan's eyes darkened with desire. She let her fingers slide inside herself. In and out once. They came out slick.

Joan's hands suddenly came forward to rest on her ankles. She jerked her legs wide apart. Vera gasped at how exposed she was. So vulnerable.

"No need for shyness," Joan said. "You're fucking the universe now. Remember: Everyone in it is small and pathetic. It's all you. You are a god. They're all for the taking. You can pluck any of them you want. Own them. They're all beneath you. You wear that jacket. So act like it."

Vera's fingers slid faster and faster, and then skidded up to her clit. Joan's eyes didn't miss a beat, watching hungrily.

"Show me," Joan demanded hoarsely.

"What?" she croaked.

"Everything."

Vera spread her lips, showing her centre, glistening with arousal.

"Yes," Joan exhaled. "I can smell how much you want me. You do want me, don't you Vera?"

"Yes," she whispered, rubbing harder.

"How much? How much do you want me?"

"So much." Her hand was a blur.

"You've always wanted me to take you, to make you mine. Mark you as mine."

"Ohhh," she groaned. "Oh."

"You'd have loved it if I'd bent you over my desk at work, hoisted up your skirt and shoved my fingers in and just kept on discussing the duty reports with you. If my tone didn't even change while you came undone all over my hand and your wetness ran down your stockings and legs. I'd have sent you back to work like that."

The image flashed into her mind and Vera felt herself clench tightly.

"Or what if I did it to you during a staff meeting? Fucked you in front of all of them, so they could see how much I own you, how you were all mine and none of them, especially not Fletcher could lay a claim on you. None could touch you. But they'd want to. Would you like that, little Mouse? The shame of it? The thrill of it? Your pretty little cunt being played with in front of everyone?"

Vera groaned and her cheeks flamed hotly at the image. It was so wrong. So much of all of this was wrong. She wanted to say so but her own arousal was now seeping from her traitorous body.

"Oh my, how embarrassing. I think you liked that thought very much," Joan laughed. "I'm rather fond of it myself. I've had that fantasy at a few staff meetings."

Vera's stared at her in shock which only made Joan laugh harder. "What? Only you are allowed to fantasize about me taking you?"

"Do you do that often?" Vera asked incredulously. "Want me, too?"

"Want is such an interesting word, Vera," Joan said and she rose from her knees with her cat-like suppleness. "You see a want as a thing to seek out. I see it as part of a bigger picture. A means to an end. Never the end goal.

"Now," she added, "time for the rest of your lesson." She slid her panties to the floor and removed her bra.

Vera stared, her fingers pressed to her twitching clit, frozen by the sheer charisma Joan Ferguson exuded when naked. She really was a god. Oh, she damn well knew it, too. Vera could swear she was striking a pose for her.

"Look your fill, because you won't get to touch."

"What?" Vera asked, and then was dismayed it came out as little better than an indignant squeak.

"Power," Joan said crawling on the bed, her lean, long limbs framing Vera's torso, "is like a beast you tame."

Without preamble, three of her fingers slammed inside Vera.

Her eyes rolled back in her head at the sensation then blindly reached forward for Joan's breasts, only to have her hand slapped away hard.

That got Vera's attention.

"Power also means control," Joan said. "For example, right now I am dictating the terms of your release while maintaining complete control."

"Complete… Wait, you don't plan … on… you don't want to come?" Vera gasped, disbelieving.

"That's not the lesson for today."

"What if I say I don't want to play by those rules?"

"We both know you'll play by my rules if the alternative means you don't play at all. Don't we, Vera?"

Joan worked her fingers deeper inside Vera and her thumb bumped her clit pointedly.

Right at that moment Vera hated a great deal how good Joan was making her feel, while highlighting her inability to deny her a damn thing. She wished she had the willpower to tell her where to shove her lessons on power. And then tell her to pack up and go home.

Instead, Vera's hands clenched at the sheets, her toes coiling and uncoiling. Her arousal built and built and just as she felt sure the tremors would seize her, Joan stopped. She withdrew her fingers and held them to the light.

Viscous wet trails hung from her fingers. Vera turned away from the sight, embarrassed by the proof of her neediness. Her body still ached and twitched, desperate for release.

"Look at you. You're in a terrible way. So ready to explode under my hand. You look like you'd do anything to have me touch you. You'd rut my wrist right now. My thigh. You'd die on the spot if I took you with my mouth. How long have you wanted me to take you, Vera? How long have you dreamt of me holding you?"

Vera gritted her teeth and shut her eyes. Fuck Ferguson. She wished her body would stop sending powerful little jolts of electricity through her long enough so she could think straight.

"You're braver than that," Joan purred and slid her fingers down Vera's face leaving a sticky trail. "Look at me. Good. Now answer me. After all you've got on your little jacket of courage, haven't you? Makes you feel taller?"

Vera glared at the mocking face. "No, Joan, I don't want you. Or dream of you. I don't even like you some days."

"I wonder," Joan murmured, "Does it count for double when you lie to yourself?"

"What do you want from me?" Vera asked. "We both know you don't give a shit about me. This is all fun and games for you."

"You already know what I want." Joan's sticky fingers trailed over to Vera's nipple, pushing the jacket further aside and ringed the puckering flesh. She slid down to her belly button and tapped the tiny indent with her finger. "Tell me what I want, Vera. Get it right and I might even reward you with what you desperately desire."

Vera stared into cold eyes watching her and knew. Hell. She'd been a fool. Stamp it on her forehead. Her shoulders slumped.

"My job." Vera stared at her in disbelief. "It's always been about my job, hasn't it? You want to be Governor again. That's all this is. You've been playing me for weeks. You just want me to give you my job."

"My job." Joan corrected, her finger idly moving south to Vera's pubic hair, combing it. "And you can't give it to me. Not yet."

"I won't give it up," Vera vowed. "I've earned it. I've worked hard for it." She glared at Joan, who short-circuited her brief foray into defiance by parting Vera's lower lips, leaning forward while watching her with dark eyes. Then she sliced her tongue up her swollen slit. She repeated it in the other direction. Then lifted her head once more.

"Oh god," Vera moaned, her back arching.

A smug grin spread across Joan's face, moisture wet across her chin and lips. Joan licked her lips slowly.

"Partially correct, so a partial reward. But you haven't worked hard for it. Unless you feel betraying me to the board was a hard day's work."

The tone was so cold now, in complete contrast to the warmth of Joan's fingers still teasing around her clit. Her eyes contained a blackness so deep it made Vera shudder. Joan studied her reaction.

"That arouses you, little Mouse?" Joan asked with deceptive softness. "Remembering betraying me? I suppose there's hope for you yet."

Vera shivered again and a part of her wanted to rip herself from Joan's lethal gaze and flee this room. To hide while she still could. But something held her there. She was frozen under those dead eyes.

"You thought I would forget," Joan drawled and her thumb suddenly pressed brutally against her clit. Vera convulsed at the dual agony of pleasure and pain. "Wrong. I. Forget. Nothing."

Vera felt fear and dismay flood her even as she felt a thrill at the danger the other woman possessed, coming off her in waves.

"Afraid now, are we?" Joan whispered and ran her fingers down to Vera's entrance, circling it thoughtfully. "Or turned on?"

Vera arched into the touch and cursed her body once more.

"Oh? You still want me even though you finally understand how foolish it was to let the beast who never forgets live inside your home?" Joan shoved her fingers inside her. "Watching, learning, scheming?"

Vera swallowed.

"Do you want to know what the ultimate power is?" she asked, eyes burning into Vera's. "The ultimate thrill?"

As she taunted her, her thumb slammed into the side of Vera's clit and stayed there. Vera wriggled against it. Joan refused to let her shift away, clamping her forearm across her waist.

"No, no, little Mouse, no time to run now. Not when you're so close to the final lesson. And you always were such an apt pupil."

"Joan. Please!" Vera said, not entirely certain what she was asking for.

"My name's Miss Ferguson," Joan said in her most Arctic voice. Her eyes glittered. "But you can call me Governor."

The slap of experiencing once more that voice, that look, those lines delivered exactly the way they were the day they met – the day Vera first fell for this fierce, controlled creature, was enough.

"Oh, oh, I'm…" she gasped in shock.

"Yes," Joan purred, "Yes you are. You're coming for me. Now say my name."

"J-…"

"No! Try again."

"Miss …Misss oh…" Vera arched.

"Almost," Joan whispered. "So close to getting it right."

"Governor!" Vera cried out. The orgasm was the strongest one she'd ever experienced, curling her toes, flooding her, and igniting her belly. Her neck bruised from where Joan suddenly leaned forward and bit at it, before scraping her tongue up her throat.

Hot breath filled Vera's ear.

"Final lesson: What is ultimate power? Winning even when you're in the unwinnable position. If you can do that, if you can reclaim your standing from rock bottom when everyone thinks it's over for you; when you can rub it in the faces of those who've betrayed you? Now that's true, unfettered power. That's when you are a god."

There was a pair of sharp tugs and a rending noise. Vera blinked in horror to find Joan now holding two torn pieces of cloth in her hand, each with the golden crown insignia from the shoulders of her uniform jacket.

Joan studied them for a beat, a strange, delighted expression washing her face. Her chin suddenly trembled, her eyes tightened and then she slumped forward onto Vera, her naked cunt sliding into Vera's. With two guttural grunts, as though wrenched from the pit of her soul, she furiously rubbed herself against Vera and shuddered, her face changing.

For the briefest of moments, a look of ecstasy flashed across her as she succumbed to the lack of control she fought so hard to prevent in every waking moment of her life. Then it was gone, like a light going out.

Vera felt her full weight slump on her, crushing the air from her.

Finally, as Vera began to gasp for oxygen, Joan rolled off her. Vera could see the wetness between Joan's legs and smell the desire she'd pretended she never felt. Or at least a desire she never felt for her former deputy.

But a desire for winning?

Well, Joan Ferguson clearly had a hard-on for that.

"I always said I was coming for these," Joan whispered, shifting and holding up her hands that still clenched the pieces of torn fabric.

Vera stared at her. "You think you've won?" she asked, her voice low and hard. Her mind whirred. She gasped. "You think you've won."

Joan merely studied the cloth.

"Joan? What have you done?"

Joan smiled and the satisfaction wrapped around her like a blanket.

"What I had to."