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No claims to the above copyright are made by the authors of these works.
These works are for non-commercial use ONLY, and are produced for the enjoyment of fans only.
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Author Notes: Many thanks to Shirley and Jo, for their support and appreciation. Shirley issued the "Meg's Torrid Tuesdays" challenge and this is my contribution. And for Jo, who just loved Thatcher/Fraser stories.

Story Notes: As is my custom, this is definately NC-17 material. If you are underage or easily offended, please don't read it. It also contains some mild s/m action. Again, if you find these kinds of games distasteful, give it a pass. We'll both be happier.

Meg squirmed in her chair and looked at the clock for the fourth time in the last five minutes. Fifteen minutes to go and she already felt flushed. She just had to compose herself. Taking a sip of water from the glass on her desk, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. It was essential that she get herself under control for the upcoming inspection. She'd bided her time, tried to be patient with her subordinate's eccentric ways, but she couldn't wait any longer. She had to take charge of the situation.

Removing her glasses and stowing them in a drawer, she gave up on the budget report. She was far too distracted to give it her full attention. Inspector Thatcher toed off her sensible pumps under the desk and stretched her toes. Oh yes, the time had come to show Constable Fraser exactly who was in charge here.

St. Michael's bells chimed the half hour. Even before the few brief tones had faded away, the consulate door opened and closed, followed by the sound of boot heels in the hall. Fraser's precise cadence had become familiar these last few months. Two sharp raps sounded on the heavy wood and she made herself wait a moment before giving the command to enter.

"Come in," Meg modulated her voice carefully, "and shut the door behind you."

Fraser entered and did as she asked. Just as he turned to address her, she added:

"Lock it."

After only a moment of hesitation, he complied, then positioned himself in front of her desk, his eyes fixed on a point over her head, body rigidly at attention. He knew that it irritated her, emphasizing, as it did, the disparity in their height.

Meg rose from her desk, shoes forgotten, and proceeded to inspect the handsome Constable. What was it about him that both irritated and excited her? Was it simply his good looks, so like others who had passed her by in favor of leggy blondes? Or was it his basic confidence in himself and others? Perhaps it was the paradoxical combination of worldliness and innocence. Whatever it was, it really got under her skin, an infuriating itch that kept her off balance. She felt like she'd been suffering from chronic PMS since the day she'd met the unorthodox Deputy Liaison Officer. Out of sorts. Uncomfortable. Bitchy, to be quite frank. Well, she was going to get to the bottom of it if it killed them both. God help her.

Oh, she'd tried alternative methods. She'd tried to get Fraser transferred, but no one else wanted him. She'd dated other men, hoping they'd ease the annoying need that had surfaced since her transfer to Chicago. She'd even taken matters into her own hands, so to speak. Nothing had worked. Time to begin.

"Constable Fraser, I believe we've come to an impasse," Meg started as she admired him from the rear.

The red tunic fit perfectly, emphasizing the broad shoulders tapering down to the brown leather at his waist. It offered only a suggestion of his ass, but that was okay, there would be time for that later.

"Yes, sir," Fraser replied, completely at a loss as to where this was headed, but the tone of her voice raised the hair on the back of his neck.

Meg stepped around to face him, "It's time, far past time actually, that we, uh, breach . . . it."

"Yes, sir," he blinked, feeling himself begin to perspire. God only knew what the Inspector had in mind.

Meg placed her palm flat against his chest. Fingers flexed against the red serge, as if to gauge the firmness of the flesh beneath. She wasn't sure which of them was responsible for the slight shudder that rippled under her hand.

"So, Constable," as she dragged her hand down to his belt, "do you have any . . . suggestions on how we might resolve this situation?"

Fraser's eyes remained resolutely forward, though a characteristic blush had begun at his collar.

"Er . . . no, sir, I-"

"Look at me when you address me, Fraser!" She emphasized her words with a firm tug on the leather.

Fraser let his eyes drift down to meet with Meg's. He'd always thought they were the color of bittersweet chocolate, a rich, deep brown. As much as he wanted to take some kind of action, dreamed of it even, he was simply frozen to the spot.

Meg needed to reassure herself that what she intended wasn't entirely unwelcome. Searching his pale eyes, a silent question was asked and answered. Even as his face was assuming a rosy hue, his eyes acknowledged and accepted the challenge.

With a smile, Meg efficiently divested Fraser of the Sam Browne and placed it on her desk. She made herself take her time unbuttoning the tunic, then stepped behind him to strip it off his shoulders and down his arms. Underneath the red serge he wore a white strap t-shirt. With painstaking slowness she draped it across the back of a chair, making sure it wouldn't wrinkle.

"Proper care of the uniform is essential, Constable Fraser, as much as any other piece of . . .equipment," she lectured, sparing a glance at her subject's groin. Beads of perspiration formed on his forehead.

"Canada has made a large investment in you, Fraser. Equipment and training are expensive," Meg continued as she resumed her circuit, stroking down first one arm, then the other.

"Y-yes, sir," the constable replied, his voice hoarse. Meg thought she saw a certain piece of equipment taking interest in the proceedings, but she also knew that it was going to take more than a few touches to induce this man to lose his composure.

"Remove your boots, Constable."

An audible gulp from Fraser, a moment's hesitation, then a right-handed gesture at a chair, "May I?"

"Of course, just get on with it," she answered, crossing her arms across her chest. In truth, it was to keep herself from touching him as he worked.

The boots were discarded in record time, but Fraser remained seated, head cocked to the side. Meg's hands strayed to the buttons on her blouse and almost before she realized, it lay discarded on her desk. Advancing on him, she positioned herself between his knees, so close to his face, she could feel his warm breath on her breasts. Burying her hands in his thick hair, she pulled him into her chest. Fraser placed his hands gently on her hips and inhaled deeply.

Meg pulled away before she lost control. She had to show him that she was the one in charge here.

"On your feet, Constable," she ordered and Fraser sprang to his feet.

The inspector resumed her inspection of her handsome officer. His nipples were just beginning to peak under the thin t-shirt and she brought them to full attention with her nails. Her hands dropped to his well-formed ass and she gave a long stroke and squeeze, before pulling the shirt from his trousers, over his head (which he thoughtfully lowered) and tossed it away. Moving behind him, she unfastened and removed her bra before pressing her breasts to his back and exploring his chest and stomach with her hands. The skin was smooth and warm under her fingers and she inhaled his scent deeply. Slowly moving her hands downward, over the front of the pants, to his rapidly lengthening penis.

Fraser sucked in breath as he pressed into her hand.

"A Mountie must always be prepared for anything, Fraser. You certainly appear to be prepared . . ." she removed her hand and dropped her skirt.

Her biggest surprise was revealed. She adjusted the red garter belt and panties before returning to stand before her subordinate. For a moment it looked as if Fraser might lose consciousness, turning an alarming shade of crimson. He regained some measure of composure, though, and his eyes explored her body. She was incredibly lovely . . .

"Red suits you . . .," he rasped.

Meg was almost overcome at his words, but he remained at attention, a hungry look on his face.

Meg unfastened the trousers and pulled them down his thighs, revealing crisp white boxers, his erection straining at the fly. She quickly pulled those down as well, suddenly confronted with his engorged cock. Biting her lip, she looked, but didn't touch.

He was uncut, the foreskin partially retracted from the swollen head, veins gracing the widening shaft. It twitched under her gaze and she fought the impulse to take it into her mouth. She had her plans to think of, but it was so enticing, bobbing just in front of her lips. She compromised and blew on it. The head expanded further and Fraser emitted a muffled groan.

Regaining her feet, she took a strap from his Sam Browne, doubling it in her hand, "A Constable must have discipline, Fraser. Are you disciplined?"

His eyes grew wider at the site of the leather in her delicate hands and she saw his penis jump again, "N-no s-sir, I lack d-discipline."

"Just as I thought," she slapped the leather against her palm, making a very satisfying sound.

Fraser's eyes darkened with anticipation. For brief moment, Meg felt the smallest flutter of fear. Just how far could she push this man? She didn't let it stop her, though, and stroked the supple leather over his chest and shoulders as she walked around him. All along the way, she slid the strap over his back and ass, draping it over his heavy cock and sliding it between his legs, teasing his balls.

His pale buttocks just cried out for it, she rationalized later, and she delivered a carefully measured blow across the firm cheeks. Just hard enough to make a satisfying slapping sound, but not hard enough to cause any serious pain or leave a lasting mark. Fraser's muscles clenched beautifully and she soothed the area with her hand before moving to the side where she could watch his cock.

Fraser was practically beside himself. His beautiful superior, wearing only a crimson garter belt and panties, the well-oiled leather in her hands, was so much more than he'd ever dared imagine, much less hope for. He wouldn't be able to remain silent much longer. Meg delivered another well-placed slap and watched his lovely cock swell as her subject stifled a moan. Sweat rolled off his brow and he closed his eyes. The initial sting faded quickly, replaced by a spreading warmth.

Meg took advantage of the moment and divested herself of her panties. They'd become uncomfortably damp and the lace scratched her swollen vulva.

"I can see that you appreciate, discipline, Fraser," she began, sinking to her knees at his feet, "but can you appreciate pleasure as well?"

Fraser's eyes flew open at her touch on his balls, and watched her intently. Pain of this sort didn't excite him, but that didn't appear to be her aim. She gently stroked with her fingertips, working her way up to the base of his cock. An elegant digit drew up the underside as she watched a single drop of crystal fluid blossom at the tip. Giving into temptation, she licked it away with the flat of her tongue. Fraser groaned deep in his throat, as she wrapped her lips around him and slipped down to where her hand tightly grasped him. She felt the rush of his blood as she drew back, sucking lightly and was rewarded by a loud gasp of pleasure.

To his credit, Fraser fought the instinctive urge to push into her mouth, but the effort left him trembling. Deciding that it was time to change her tactics, Meg gained her feet and arranged herself on the edge of her desk, parting her legs a little and offering what she hoped was a tantalizing view. This was all much farther than she'd ever ventured with any lover and she hoped she didn't appear too wanton.

For a long moment, she was afraid she'd gone too far. Fraser remained immobile, seemingly rooted to the spot.

"I see you're well able to take both discipline and pleasure," Meg cupped her breasts in her hands, "but can you give it?"

"Oh . . .y-yes . . . Meg - I- I'm quite certain," he answered as he finally stepped forward and claimed her mouth in a scorching kiss.

One hand buried in her hair, the other stroked her side and back before caressing her breast. His touch was electric. For all their callused roughness, his hands were amazingly gentle. He sucked her tongue and bit at her lips before moving to her neck, making her moan with need.

Giving her neck a parting nip, Fraser turned his attention to her nipples, now contracted to rigid points. Laving them with his tongue, she soon was aching for his touch further down. She didn't have long to wait before she felt his fingers combing through the curls at her groin.

He knelt on the soft carpet and buried his nose, inhaling deeply, before teasing her clitoris with his tongue. Meg put her feet on his shoulders and let her knees fall open, sure that bliss would soon follow. Fraser, however, had other ideas.

Feasting his eyes on her swollen sex, he kissed and nibbled at the insides of her thighs, teasing the pink lips with the tips of his fingers. Meg tilted her hips urging him to venture inside, but he resisted the invitation.

"Oh, God . . .yes," she moaned as he teased her with his tongue, lapping at her free-flowing juices.

"Not . . .just . . .yet," he mumbled between maddening strokes of his tongue, touching inner and outer lips, but avoiding her clitoris.

Replacing his tongue with his fingers, he slid two deep inside her, pressing upward as he slowly withdrew.

"Oh! Jesus! Fraser! I am going to KILL you!" Meg cried, held on the brittle edge of an orgasm of epic proportions.

With agonizing slowness, Fraser stroked around the very base of her engorged center. Only when Meg's breaths came in harsh pants and her voice had become shrill, did he give a care for himself.

Easing her feet to his waist, he stood and guided his leaking cock to her. Knowing she would come almost immediately, he braced himself and eased his way inside.

"Oh, yes, yes, please . . .," she gasped, already beginning to grasp at him.

Firmly seated, he rubbed her hard pebble again and Meg ignited around him. Loudly. She cried out, straining and trembling, thrusting her breasts into the air as strong internal muscles clasped him. Determined to outlast her, he bit his lip to focus himself as he reveled in her rapture.

Only when she returned to herself did he begin to thrust in earnest.

"My turn now," he said in a tone that was almost a growl.

Meg had never seen this side of Fraser. Commanding. Accomplished. Well, she always knew he was controlled, but she'd never dreamed it would extend to this.

He varied his strokes from short to long, fast to slow, all to extend this moment between them. He began to moan, sounding almost like a tuneless hum, as he crept up on his own release. Meg felt another orgasm building and while not as devastating as the first, it was world class just the same. Something inside the man seemed to shatter and his strokes became erratic.

"Come, Fraser . . .come for me," she groaned as she slipped over the edge once again.

His hands held her hips firmly as he seemed to drive even deeper and cried out, his whole body jerking with the force of his climax.

When his last moans had finally faded, he gave her a gentle kiss. Meg smoothed his hair from his damp brow before they disengaged and quickly dressed. When finished, Fraser stood for inspection again.

Checking now to be sure all was in order, the inspector gave the order.

"Dismissed, Constable" adding after a moment, "Perhaps we can test your discipline again soon?"

"I'm at your disposal, sir."

He had a hard time keeping the grin off his face as he passed the rest of the staff on his way to his office. Oh yes, she could test his discipline anytime.

End Tuesday Afternoon by Courser: Courser@aol.com

Author and story notes above.