Chapter 5

As soon as he could get away from work, a panic filled Steve drove the Transit round to his lock up. After circling the block three times and convincing himself that he wasn't being followed by the cops, he steered the rickety old vehicle into the yard and clambered out. Crossing over to the door, he let himself in and immediately went over to what he grandly thought of as his 'office' but what was, in fact, a few old sticks of broken down furniture huddled together in one corner of the place. Here he pulled open the top drawer of an ancient filing cabinet and fished out two rolls of undeveloped film. Just for a second, Steve paused, the avarice of his heart doing battle with the common-sense of his brain. Logic finally won out and, taking hold of each roll of film in turn, he pulled the material free of its protective black plastic container, exposing them to light and destroying the images of Carol killing Brenda that were on them. He screwed the ruined film up and, stuffing it into his pocket, vowed that he'd dump it in some litter bin on a street some distance away. At least there was now no photographic evidence of his involvement with Carol's crime...

Later that same evening, Carol checked the address written on the piece of paper that Steve had given her with the number on the highly polished brass plaque to the side of the door before her. Yes, she'd got it right. Carol lifted her head and checked out the frontage of the building and was impressed. It looked just like all the other expensive houses in Charles Street, Mayfair... there was nothing to give away that it was, in fact, one of the most expensive whore houses in the capital! Looking a little further, she spotted a small flight of stairs leading door to a slightly less impressive down that lead into the basement of the building. A notice attached to that door informed everyone that this was the goods entrance and that all visitors should ring the bell. Again Carol checked her paper and convinced herself that that was where she was supposed to go. She'd just got half way down the stairs when her mobile started to play the opening theme of Apocalypse Now. "Damn," she muttered, pulling the thing out of her handbag and pressing it to her ear. "Yeah?"

"Carol? Is that you? It's me, Steve," said the frightened sounding voice at the other end.

"Yeah, it's me, Steve. What's wrong?"

"The cops were waiting for me at home, Carol. They wanted to talk to me about Brenda again."

"And what did you tell them?" Carol wasn't sure that she liked the sound of Steve being so scared. Oh, in the past she'd have loved it, but now? No, she needed him to keep his cool.

"Same as before... but they know something. They have to otherwise why are they bothering me?"

Carol told him to get a grip of himself and to listen to her. "They know squat all and can prove less, you dipstick! Get a grip, stick to your story and you'll be fine. They know nothing, you hear me? Nothing!"

Steve muttered that yes, he knew what she was saying... but he didn't sound all that convinced. Then, after telling him that she couldn't be late for her interview, Carol hung up and continued down the stairs.

Sitting in Mr Osbourne's office, Carol tried to answer the questions that the Personnel Manager threw at her. So far she didn't think that she had done badly and she felt that she'd shown that she was both capable of doing the job and that she wanted it. The dapper little middle-aged man before her coughed and went on to explain that the job was pretty much as Steve had described it to her. "You get an official salary of £250 a week paid through the books and the balance cash in hand. You look a trifle disappointed, Ms Hargreaves..."

"Not really sir... but getting paid like that will affect some of my benefits."

"That can't be helped, I fear. We have to put some through the books for... tax purposes. Now then, where was I? Oh, yes..." He went on to explain the the maids were not available for rent to the customers for the purposes of sex as this was the territory of he girls who would see such activity as an encroachment upon their livelihoods. However, the maids could earn bonuses by helping out should a customer wish for his girl to 'punish' and other woman or other such thing. "You can also earn tips from generous clients who might wish to touch you up a little, Ms Hargreaves. You have no qualms about this, I trust?"

Despite the fact that she had, Carol answered in the negative for she knew she needed the money that such activities would pull in.

"Now, I'll show you round some of the public rooms and the private areas. Please be discreet and stay in the background as much as possible..."

By the time that the walk round was over and Carol was again seated in Mr Osbourne's office, she was in a daze. Never in her life had she seen such opulence. Everything in the building was of the best and there wasn't a room smaller than her entire flat. Actually, to call it just one building was a bit of an insult for, while that was the appearance it projected to the outside world, it did, in fact, comprise of four adjacent houses knocked into one. In addition to the many girls bedrooms, there was a restaurant, a gym, a bar, several lounges as well as a host of 'dungeons' and rooms decorated in various styles of other fantasy settings. "We pride ourselves," the little man told Carol, "on our ability to satisfy most tastes and desires. Our clients are wealthy and they don't come here for a short..." he paused for a second as if gathering his strength to bring himself to say the next word "... shag. No, our clients will spend several hours here... maybe even an entire day or two. And our standards - yours, if you are successful with your application - must reflect that level. Do you still feel that you are suited?"

"Yes, Mr Osbourne, I do," Carol replied in her most polished voice.

"Very well. I'll take you to see our head linen keeper and she'll supply you with a uniform. Please change and when you are ready, return here and I will inspect you to confirm that you are a suitable person to be employed here."

Given to thinking that the job was now hers for the asking, Carol followed the man out of the office and down the corridor...

Sometime later Carol checked her reflection in the full length mirror mounted on the wall of the changing room. Behind her, three of the girls, just arriving at work, were getting changed. They all had plummy, educated accents and each of them was beautiful in a way that Carol had only ever seen in magazines before. They were more than just very good looking, they had poise, grace, assurance... and they never spoke a word to Carol whom the obviously looked down upon as being 'common'. 'But at least I'm not a whore, no matter how well paid, ' Carol thought to herself in an effort to keep her dignity intact. She returned her attention to the mirror and paid special attention to her hair and make up knowing that she had to look her best if she wanted to save her children. Satisfied at last, she checked the uniform she had been provided with one last time. Actually, she thought, it wasn't bad really... not half as crude or suggestive as she thought it might be. True, it was in the traditional waitress/maid mould and was black and white in colour but the hem of her dress came half way down to her knees and her cleavage was well covered. The little white hat was the worst thing in Carol's mind because she wasn't used to things like it and despite it being held in place by four hair clips, Carol was sure that it was going to fall off at any moment. The white apron with pockets was a nice touch, she thought, as were the sensible, plain white knickers and bra - nothing wildly erotic there. In fact, only the black stockings and suspenders were that even if her shoes had higher heels than she would have liked. Finally satisfied with her reflection, Carol turned and started to return to Mr Osbourne's office.

The manager stood up and walked round from behind his desk, casting his eyes over Carol speculatively. Then he nodded slightly and muttered, "Not bad... not bad at all," before starting to circle her, checking her from every angle. He paused behind her and asked her to raise the back hem of her dress as he required to inspect the shape of her buttocks. Slightly put out but understanding the need for this, Carol did as she was bidden. There was an appreciative "Hmmmm," from behind her followed by a suggestion that she could let go now. Mr Osbourne came back round and stood before her again and smiled... before reaching out with his hand, palm up, and slipping it between Carols legs and feeling her pussy. The woman's eyes opened wide but she forced herself to neither flinch nor to pull away; instead she stood stiff and unmoving. After a few seconds, Mr Osbourne withdrew his hand and, with a genuine sincerity, apologised. "It's one thing for a possible employee to say that she won't mind being felt up but it's something else when it happens. However well done. Now I'm going to take you to see Mr Ilyama, the man who owns and personally runs this establishment... and a few other business besides. Just to let you know, I'm going to recommend to him that we should employ you, but it is he who will made the final decision. Do I make myself clear?"