A story inspired by the start of the flat racing season in UK, and the attitude and arrogance of Middle-Eastern men and their wives? in UK

10am Saturday 29th April 2017 A small shop in Bath, England

“I need to have it designed and made to my specification,” the goatee bearded, bespectacled handsome, extremely rich man firmly stated, holding up a garment to Ruth Mountjoy, a pretty, young, auburn short haired dressmaker with her own small business in Bath.

“But it’s perfect in every way sir,” she told him with a puzzled frown. “I know the establishment it came from and have made several adjustment ... ahem personal, to them yes, but I get the impression you are suggesting something completely different ... I mean you can’t get better than this.” Ruth declared equally firm but politely, expertly fondling the pale beige. “The fabric, the work, the trimmings, just perfect...”

“I have four needing the same, does that help?” Sheikh Mansour-el-Babbon, delving into a large bag opening it wide and displaying the garments, watching Ruth’s hazel eyes widen, accompanying her lush pink tongue which was rolling hungrily across her sweet full lips. The deal, from which she plucked a figure from the hazy July heat, a cash deposit was made, they exchanged some details and contact information. He left the shop, his white Thawb and gold trimmed Bisht catching the breeze before he slid into his double parked British Racing Green Bentley Continental and drove away, flinging the parking ticket that had been lodged under the windscreen wiper onto the tarmac.

The offer and acceptance of half a million Euros sponsoship had been forgotten some weeks back. Janet Rose the chubby blonde, highly educated and well respected Norland College principal still thinks about when in certain situations. The money was banked, bolstering the accounts which weren’t exactly struggling. Neither was her libido, at least any more, since Sheikh Babbon had approached her by appointment bringing his wife. The Saudi minor royal spoke poor English, with a ubiquitous useless America accent. Useless in that it was affected on a language he couldn’t be arsed to master when educated at Harvard. Money would get him everything. Call me Manny, he told friends and acquaintances – not his four hundred plus employers at various grand mansions in London, Cheltenham, New York, Melbourne and Riyadh.

Princess Ameerih bint Widan bin Nayed Al-Toweel Al-Babbon his 33year old wife, known as Ame, amongst her jet setting, nightclub loving and fashion buying friends, didn’t give a shit for what people called her. The tall, slender, beautiful, with jet black hair, almond eyes and olive skin, elegant, scorned as a firebrand, rebellious and too powerful woman in Manny’s family, had sensed something during the discussions with Janet. Later as he drove angrily home, jumping at least two red lights, she had got pissed off with her husband’s moaning about British regulations and such, but mostly about the strict regime Norland upheld.

11.30am, 30 th April 2017 Longshaft Stud Farm, Kemble, UK

“We want four nannies, they’re going to be Norlands darling,” she stated as they sauntered past twenty one thoroughbred horses heads at their stable and racehorse breeding establishment. “And they must wear the uniform.”

“Yes yes, I realise. It’s very attractive too,” her husband agreed with relish. The gorgeous English maidens – were they? looked stunning in the Lauren Cope design, crisp, pale beige, knee length dresses with cute white collars, tan tights, and those cool sort of top hats in dark brown with a turned up brim. There were several girls in the college that had modelled the uniform - he might buy some of them too.

A young stable lad busy washing down a stallion, a hand stuck up inside the nag’s sheath, trying to grasp and clean the animal’s smeggy cock, leaned out from the black beast’s haunches and admired the undulating haunch of his boss’s wife. It was clad in skin tight cream pants, with no visible panty line to spoil the smooth surfaces disappearing along the row. He imagined a thong, an expensive thong way up in her crack, collecting juice and smells, he would so like to savour.

“The uniform is a major part of the college’s culture and reputation.”

“I know that Ameerih, it’s just that Rose woman – so intransigent.”

“Leave it to me next time, we’ve got lots of time – I’ll handle it. You go on, I’m going to spend more time down here, I’ll walk home across the paddock.”

Mansour strolled off, not bothering or thinking about whether to check her footwear on the crisp green grass. Her usual stilettos would have been murdered in it. She wore beige flatties, but whatever - she would have plenty of shoes or would have bought more pairs. She doubled back, to where she’d spotted the stable lad. He was wiping his hands having washed them and rinsing the various cloths and brushes he’d used in grooming the magnificent racehorse.

“Hello Benny, you finished already? It’s Magnum isn’t it?” gesturing to the animal.

The lad gulped and nodded, speechless and stunned when the gorgeous mistress of the house wandered into the stall to his side and spoke. Her perfume was rich and exotic, her hair loose like an ink stained river over her shoulders, her light, off white cashmere jacket hung casually over her bare shoulders. She was not bosomy, but she revealed slight cleavage in the low cut black silk shirt neckline. A classic pearl necklace and ear rings, plus several exclusive adornments on her fingers and wrists completed her appearance.

“Yes’m maam, all done. He is a lad this one, fights me all the time and I only want to to give him a wash,” Benny grinned, staggered that she knew his and the horse’s name. He patted Magnum’s gleaming rump which towered over him.

Ame strolled to Magnum’s head and nuzzled her delicate featured chin against the horse’s lower jaw, blowing in his nostrils. Magnum whinnied shrilly and stamped. Benny stared in amazement. He knew of her affinity with the stable occupants and her fondness for racing and attendances at Goodwood, Sandown and Newmarket, especially the latter as that’s where she and Mansour purchased racehorses. To see her what looked like kissing Magnum -wow!.

Benny saw movement below Magnum’s belly and watched him drop a few inches of smeg free penis, it’s pink and black skin wobbling, making the lad step sideways as if to hide something he was sure the Saudi princess would be embarrassed about.

“Tell me – it’s silly - I should know these things Benny, but when my husband and I passed earlier, you had your hand buried, well - hidden somehow ... you know ... up his er willy,”Ame simpered, smiling a most beguiling smile, stroking Magnum’s handsome neck, trails of her lush silky hair caught on the horse’s nose. “What was that ... what were you doing?” she feigned ignorance – she knew Fuck me, what the hell, what the fuck ... Benny pondered.

She pierced the young lad with her ebony eyes, questioning, but not demanding as Mansour would.

“Er, I have to clean all of him maam and his ... er you know ... er penis gets dirty...” Benny told her, has acne covered face bright red blushed, glancing at Magnum’s lengthening drop. “It’s part of me job – like.”

“Ah! so you were trying to get it out, I see,” Ame giggled, noticing Benny’s glance.

“Yes Mmaaam,” he stuttered, shuffling to get his young wiry body to where she wouldn’t see – but too late.

“Maybe he wants you to wash it again,”Ame snickered nodding, using her eyes. “I bet he enjoys it, having it washed I mean. Let me see...”

She flung off her trailing jacket clutching it to her belly and squatted, daring her trousers to do anything else but tightly sheath her pampered butt, then grasped the two foot long stallion donger, feeling it’s girth, it’s soft texture, it’s surprising pliancy. Was that a tremor of power that surged through, by her touching it?

“Has he serviced anything lately?”

“Yesm maam, only yesterday, a Balding chesnut filly ... Ginger Cake.”

Ame nodded knowing the famous stable.

Benny was alarmed for her safety under Magnum’s fidgeting bulk, but couldn’t resist glancing and being disappointed as her black shirt and cream slacks had not parted company round her back and showing him inches of her skin and underwear, just like Babs in the yard. The chubby eighteen year old wore her breeches low and slack, and usually there was the give away triangle of a thong cutting across the flesh. Never mind Benny, you’ll see plenty of that tonight, but Babs would expect four pints of cider and a packet of cheese and onion crisps beforehand.

Magnum’s flare was a big soft flange when flaccid, which Ame knew and Benny knew, grew enormously to about four inches diameter when he was seeding a mare or filly. She peered at it, the penis easily curving upwards, cradled in her manicured fingers and saw it’s dark pink inner tube, the wide spout, where his jism would erupt from. Ame wanted to lick and taste it’s powerful flavour, thinking about the animals she had loved in her youth back in a Bedouin village many years back. Magnum whinnied more shrilly and shuffled, nearly knocking the princess over but being young and agile she merely swayed on her flat heels and didn’t fall flat on her bum. She knew she couldn’t betray her common, as in not royal, upbringing, to the mere simple country youth that was staring at her. Maybe she had already done that.

She let Magnum’s penis dangle, stood, patted him and sauntered casually away. Benny watched her sway away, her jacket back on her shoulders, to a picket gate and disappear, shaking his head in amazement at his boss’s wife’s attitude and daring. Wait till he told the lads in the Shoe and Stirrup pub tonight.

In her room, Ame showered as she did twice a day and played, musing on her bestial interlude. Handling stallion, donkey, goat, ram and dog genitals, she’d never dared with a bull camel, had been the norm for her and her girl friends in the Bedouin camps, when growing up. Boy’s company was forbidden once they reached puberty and after all - girls had needs as much as boys. Her brother would let her watch him fuck a sheep.

On her travels with Manny, she had been at a private club in Bangkok where after the usual ping pong cunt show, a not very attractive local woman had been fucked by a donkey and she had also seen that with a pretty Yemeni girl in Abu Dhabi.

2pm Wednesday 3rd May 2017 Norland College, Bath, England

Janet was amazed to hear that a lone Arab lady wanted to see her privately, but the name rang a bell. She’d finished her tuna salad lunch, delivered from a delicatessen nearby with the usual portion of cheese and cold baked beans ladled over it. She removed the glass and bottle of Pinot Grigio, clicked the monitor on her desk, which relayed a view of the foyer of Norland College and sure enough there seated primly, was an Arab woman, dressed in a traditional all enveloping Abbaya, complete with a Hijab, the scourge of many Western governments as it masked the woman’s face. All in black, there was no distinguishing the person, but Janet knew many of her clients wore this mode of dress and if they were her clients, they were wealthy. She called down and instructed Moira the receptionist to escort the Arab to her office.

Janet neatened the big, facing comfy double sofas and plumped the cushions. There was a knock and she replied and in walked a tall Arab woman, followed by the contrasting, short Moira. Janet ordered coffee, the Arab asked for tea - Earl Grey with sugar – how odd, and sat where Janet gestured. Greetings, the hijab was removed, stunning Janet – how utterly ravishing – then weather, traffic and Bath’s charms were discussed until the tray of refreshments arrived. Janet tried to hide her surprise to see the glamorous lady in traditional gear when she would normally be the height of discreet fashion. Janet felt somehow overdressed in a knee length, light, pleated grey and blue patterned skirt and self supporting Wolford tights. Over her torso was a red, crocheted short sleeved top. She mused that her visitor could get away with wearing next to nothing under her garb, it was a hot day in the West country – she wished she could.

Ameerih - for it was her all in black, was impressed by the highly efficient and pleasing Moira’s manner when she arrived arrogantly unannounced and also intrigued by the way, in Janet’s classy domain, she bent to place the tray of drinks on the low coffee table, then left. Had the pleasant North country woman intended to show all the back of her stumpy bare legs up to the creases of the lower pudgy globes of her cheeks, including a sliver of white gusset?

Just the two of them, Ame used her striking black eyes in play, fixing on Janet to say the right things. They were heavily made up, where Janet’s had the minimum. Captivated with the obvious yet still concealed beauty as before when Manny had come with his wife and left under a bit of a cloud; He had wanted to buy and take four Norland uniforms away, having enrolled girls in the college. Ages and figures had been discussed freely, he wanted two of each size, but Janet had resolutely refused any unofficial alteration. Quite rightly too Ame had thought at the time, his manner was his trademark rude, pompous ‘do you know how rich I am’ which didn’t always work with stoic Brits. On this occasion, Janet Rose gushed pleasantries and how the young Babbon’s were. There weren’t any, Ame being barren and Manny had enough kids scattered around the world anyway. She lied extravagantly.

It was an complicated ploy dreamt up by Manny, aided by Ame purely to satisfy one of his hair-brained schemes. Ameerih enjoyed a free life, refusing to be hampered by the national extremes regarding females. In return she took his private abuse and her agreement with everything he did.

The two ladies gazed out then stood at the first floor Georgian bay window and surveyed the quiet scene in York Place, London Road. The chemistry between them was extraordinary, both somehow aware it being of a special nature.

“That woman has a nice figure to suit her dress,” remarked Ame, cultivating the plot and her surprise attendance, pointing down to a passer by.

“Yes, you mean the one the yellow mini, I saw that in Debenhams window. Nearly bought it too, tried it on but too short. There’s no way I could wear it here,” Janet chuckled.

Ame stepped back and studied a flustered unsure Janet from behind.

“You have lovely legs Ms Rose, they would look lovely in that dress,” murmured Ame. “Don’t knock your self.”

“Please call me Janet Mrs Babbon, I insist.”

“And it’s Ame to you OK,” Ame giggled, holding out a finely manicured and painted nail hand.

They shook hands to complete a formailty, Janet admiring the discreet senna make-up, like delicate tattoos on Ame’s hands. Her excessive jewels didn’t distract from the artisan skills.

“Do you really think I have good legs? Always thought they were too straight, you know round the ankles,” Janet suggested stepping back and posing with her legs apart peering over her shoulder down behind her. “Bit chunky round here too,” she added smoothing a hand over her thighs and buttocks.

Ame reached out a hand which followed Janet’s hand. There was a momentary locking of eyes, then a smile.

“I know you will have Ame, nice legs ... with your pure breeding and all that ... er you know ... cash. And you’re slim, what two children? Your beautifully tailored suit when you came last time with your husband ... well!”

Ame thought, pure breeding, two children? if only she knew. It was sometime since she came with Mansour, and decided to take the plunge.

“Course you’re not supposed to see mine Janet, part of the secrecy about Saudi women, load of tosh in my world, the Brits and others call the locals Guinness Bottles, wearing all that black - top to toe,” she snickered. “But there, have a look.”

Her Abbaya was hoisted to above knee level. Her Jimmy Choo five inch heeled Ballet Pink suede crystal decorated sandals sparkled in the sunshine streaming into the office. As did the two gold chains round her right ankle. Janet loved Ame’s dark purple nail varnish on her toes.

“Shouldn’t wear these with these,” Ame chuckled, stooping to point to the chains.

“Just gorgeous,” gushed Janet, sensing fine ripples coursing through down below as she called it.

“My legs or my sandals?” Ame grinned cheekily, reaching behind her. “ Here, I’ll show them properly ... my legs I mean.”

In an instant the complete black ensemble fell to the floor, leaving the princess naked. She stepped out of the crumpled garment and stood with her arms held wide in a welcoming gesture and a smile.

Janet gulped at the radiant, slender, Arabian beauty – with a totally bald pussy. She gathered herself together and rushed past a suddenly bewildered and worried that she’d over stepped the mark, guest, to the door, turning the old fashioned mortice lock. Then she went to her desk to pick up her land line phone, switching off her Samsung Smart.

“Moira, no calls, no messages, no interruptions until I tell you, get that? ... Absolutely ... yes that’s correct ... you can deal with that. I am busy.” Luckily Janet had just replaced the handset as a startled but excited gasp escaped her lips. Ame stood close behind her with her hands roaming the principal’s hips, cupping her sturdy buttocks and feeling round her front pressing into her groin.

The secretary left early, with a mountain of mail to post and packages to register, also to collect a key component for her and Ray, her husband’s evening entertainment. Her sister Kathy had called in desperation for help, it was no problem.

3pm Wednesday 3rd May 2017 A small shop in Bath

Ruth Mountjoy was studying crude sketches on lined writing paper, scribbled in Biro by Manny, who was laying them out for her. She was trapped against her work table in the back room of her shop. There was the stout oak table scattered with rolls of fabric and tools against her tummy, the side wall, with a frosted glass window to her left, a wall, festooned with posters, announcements, designs and sundry notes behind her. To her right was the looming presence of a dark grey thawb clad Sheikh Mansour, with his left arm round her waist, his right hand sorting through the drawings.

She gulped, swallowed and her hands shook.

“When my wife brings four Norland uniforms into your shop later, these are the designs you will make. You are not the creator, I am, therefore I take full responsibility. The insert material must be the thinnest, airiest, lightest colour you have and if you have none suitable in stock we will provide it free to you. You and I will go through what you deem suitable ... which I may not agree with, later, do you understand?”

“Yeeesss ... but,” Ruth stammered, in awe of the number of sterling large denomination notes he was leafing on top of the drawings. “For one thing, it looks like you have drawn where the seams must be, most unusual, I mean I decide those when I’m...”

“I decide Ruth, you don’t, you simply do ... whatever I instruct,” Manny murmured in her ear, making the young woman shiver with excitement. “Is that understood?”

She gazed up his handsome countenance, nodding meekly, slightly overwhelmed not by his presence but by his lavish use of cologne. Her eyebrows shot up and she jolted when she felt a hand suddenly roll down her buttocks, over her light blue polyester dress then he thrust his middle finger deep into her butt crack. It was pushing her black thong higher to form a full wedgie. It would get messy with what Reg her dad deposited there earlier.

“I’ll send a car for you at eight on Saturday night – here,” he dictated. “You can stay the night?” getting a weak compliant simpering nod. He left.

3pm Wednesday 3rd May 2017 Norland College, Bath, England

Naked, Janet was a much more attractive woman thought Ame, as she gobbled the older woman’s twat. Fair long hair on her strong face, was matched in her groin. Janet’s labia minora was a well developed bulge of folds and creases, which hung away from an orange peel textured, darker toned mound. Her mound, close to her her slit also harboured a few wrinkles as if it was old unused and decrepit, but she guessed otherwise.

The boss of the college was in utter heaven as her extremely rich and beautiful client pleasured them both with experienced cunnilingus, laying with her head lolling on the sofa as the Arab was on her knees. Twice she had filtered a hand down to her crotch only for it to be pushed away, with gentle negative murmurings, Ame’s mouth full of cunt flesh and it’s juices.

A long skilled tongue danced on Janet’s button, now pink and protruding from it’s hood as Ame flattened the surrounding flesh. Thrills surged through Janet as she opened her chubby legs further, Mrs Babbon taking the option of exploring a new sensitive orifice a bit lower. The fifty one year old highly educated body that was Ms Rose, experienced a climax she’d never felt before. Her arms waved, her legs kicked and shuddered, her belly trembled until with a stifled cry, she orgasmed, Ame’s mouth and chin awash with sweet lady jism. She sat back on her knees, licked her lips and soothed Janet, stroking the bountiful flesh, cooing and arching up to kiss Janet’s flat nipples, not erect even in the moment of cum. Ms Rose’s belly wobbled as she tried to lever herself up until Amy again soothed her down.

Janet Rose agreed that four Norland uniforms could be taken and altered.

8.37pm the same evening Exeter Racecourse

“I can’t believe she did that Benny? I mean - the boss’s missus, think about it - never.”

“She fucking did Babs. I weren’t joking the other night in the pub – honest,” protested the stable lad.

Parked at Exeter racecourse, a double horse box belonging to the Longshaft Stud farm, was very suitable for the two stud employees to rendezvous in the evening. They had dormitory rooms allocated, but wanted time and space to be exclusively theirs – except for Stan, the stable name for a fancily named, two year old bay gelding, in one side of the box, due to scamper six furlongs tomorrow. Between them they loosened two hay bales, adding to the straw on the box floor and lay down on them. They kissed without feeling, teeth clashed, both breaths foul with coffee, beer and cider. She tried to stay clear of Benny’s hundred or more puss seeping spots, while two pairs of strong, calloused hands tore at her clothing.

Stan rumbled around his own tethered space, but they weren’t in any danger, Longshaft Stud always had the deluxe and largest version of everything. Benny jumped on top of Bab’s roly poly body and shoved his pecker at her minge several times until she got pissed off and guided him in. There were a few urgent grunting thrusts and Benny came, not liking the strands of hay dragging in and out with his unromantic pushes. Besides - they were pricking his balls. Bab’s just wanted to have a prick and whilst Benny started her, he could never finish her.

He relaxed, aiming to light a cigarette, until Babs snatched and pulled it, throwing it away.

“What you reckon, always fancied it,” she snickered, nodding at Stan. “If she can I can.”

“Fuck me Babs, never. It’s not on ... I mean us playing around with the horses. We’d be fired instantly, then in court then unemployable,” Benny argued.

She ignored him and rolled over under the restive nag, her voice and strokes calming young Stan, she being his main carer. Benny stared at her bumptuous round pale rump with red scars where her knickers had been and the straw and hay creased. His cum was running freely from her hairy snatch down her thighs. Her dark arse crack had some agricultural debris too. The young lass fondled Stan’s sheath, cooing constantly and his knob dropped about two inches. She grinned triumphantly at her ... at one of her boyfriends. Stan seemed calm as she infiltrated his floppy dark brown sheath.

“You should use a lube Babs...”

“Fuck off Ben, you fink I don’t know that,” Babs retaliated holding Stan’s penis head and gradually teasing it out. “‘aven’t got some ‘ave I?” She slid further on the hay and to her young shag partner’s amazement she started to lick, suck and kiss the smeggy flare.

He thought if she’d used some from her cunt would do it, but she was happy.

“Mmmm!” she sat back proudly, chuckling with exaggerated lip smacking and a lewd grin. “I love this,” she gurgled, the tip of her tongue flicking Stan’s knob end, the inner tube where his piss and semen would spout from. “I mean look how big it is, I can get my tongue inside it.”

At that point, Stan dropped more cock out, splayed his rear legs and pissed a huge torrent of hot piss all over a startled Babs. Initially Benny shuffled back out of the way then when he found he couldn’t go far because of the stall wall, he burst into fits of laughter.

Stan won the next day, about the same time four Norland uniforms were hung in a different place.

6.39pm Wednesday 3rd May 2017 A smart detached house in Bath

“OK darling, see you soon, yes it’ll be ready - Mackerel, salad and new potatoes and got a surprise for you ... no not the girls this time ... yeah I know how much you love them. Just lets say I’m quite excited by this, haven’t ... we haven’t done this for a little while ... yes, no, no clues,” Moira snickered over the phone to Ray, on his way back from Gloucester and having to leave the T5 VW company van at his premises, then pick up his Saab 9-3 and drive home.

On the road

“Tonight’s the night then Ray?” asked Asif, his Pakistani foreman riding shotgun, noticing his boss’s smug grin as they sped down the A4.

8pm Saturday 6th May 2017 A small shop in Bath

A silver grey Mercedes-Maybach limo arrived smack on time, an excited Ruth Mountjoy excitedly standing in the shop entrance with her overnight bag, four prestigious college uniforms under plastic on hangers. She had been there half an hour, wearing a short pink gingham skirt and simple but nicely made white blouse. Guided by a large, beefy, stubble chinned Asian, uniformed chauffeur, she sank into the sumptuous, off white rear seats, knowing she was in for a good seeing to by the mega rich Arab. But the money was good. Mohammed Iqbal - Manny’s driver drove a tortuous route, although he needn’t have, to an isolated, pretty, perfect picture chocolate box cottage and parked, getting out, opening the door and indicating she should follow him inside. She hadn’t a clue where she was having sampled two glasses of chilled white wine in the limo fridge and had gazed lady like at the landscape. She was a town girl and rarely ventured to the rural areas.

“What about the uniforms, my bag,” she asked pointing at the boot.

“I’ll do that later, just come in,” he told her, his bulk towering over her, opening the oak door.

She stepped through a porch and into a clean, low oak beamed, unfurnished room and glanced around. Mohammed, eased behind her and swiftly placed a silk black scarf round her head and blindfolded her. Ruth cried out and tried to grab the cloth but it was tight.

“Mr Babbon said it’s a secret and surprise for you, so don’t worry,” he lied, his deep, rich, fluent English tones comforting her, leading her back to the limo. In short her destination had to be kept secret from Ruth.

Back in the limo, Ruth’s adrenaline was coursing through her, feeling still excited, yet part apprehensive. “That cottage... ?”

“It’s one of Mrs Babbon’s, doesn’t do much there,” he answered.

“I guessed that. So where next?”

“It’s OK Miss Mountjoy, not far, just relax.”

“Well I can’t see, can’t get another drink and I could do with stopping now ... you know ... I need a wee wee,” she giggled. “That scared me back there ... I mean...”

8.55pm the same day A classic Georgian mansion, Kemble.

After thirty minutes of female buttock clenching, the limo stopped and she was guided out, up several steps and inside somewhere her high heels clicked noisily until she was stopped and turned, eased slightly back feeling something behind her knees.

“This is a toilet, so you can relieve yourself now,” Mohammed told her. “But please keep your blindfold on. There is a lady to help if you need. She will take you to meet Mr Babbon.”

Desperate to piss, Ruth gathered up her short, gingham skirt and lowered her tiny bright red thong. She carefully lowered feeling for the bowl, sat, let go and her urine surged out. The relief was immense.

So was the “lady” Mohammed stood close, his video camera capturing Ruth’s actions, splashes, expressions and gasps from the start. He had stooped to get better angles and close ups of her cunt and undies and moved silently back as Ruth felt for a tissue, first to her left then her right, finding the holder and pulling lots of sheets before crumpling them together to swab her drips away. Mohammed was pleased with capturing that too and the raising thong and smoothing her skirt. He would have fun with his pals in the staff room later.

Ruth sensed a powerful scent as the blindfold was removed by Manny. He flourished it, tossed it away, smiling as if to say ‘there we are - OK?’

“God.” she stuttered. “That was scary Mr Babbon...”