Chapter 12

Carol stretched herself out in the bed as much as she possibly could, her arms held high above her head, her toes curled inwards. Holding the pose for just a moment, she then relaxed and sank back down to the mattress before looking at the clock and noting that it was now almost two in the afternoon. "Better get up," she muttered to herself, but not for the first time as her alarm had originally gone off at twelve-thirty. After finishing work at four a.m., she'd only clambered into her pit at five and, following her activities with Nancy, she'd needed to get some good quality sleep alone. She'd now been working as a maid in the brothel for ten days and this was to be her first evening off... and she damned well planned to enjoy it! Pushing down the single sheet that covered her naked body in the summer heat, she reached down and scratched at her fanny for a few seconds before rolling her feet out onto the floor. Now she linked her hands behind her neck and stretched again, thrusting her breasts out as she did so and making them stand proud. Catching sight of herself in the mirror opposite, she couldn't help but compliment herself on the state her body was now in... considering her age, of course. No, taking the job at the brothel had been a good move for her, she mused. She was now earning more now than at any previous time in her life and she was using a good part of that money to buy more, and fresher, food. With her diet improving, she was putting on a little much needed weight and some colour had returned to her cheeks. Smiling cheekily, she opened her knees and observed, in the mirror, her reflection do likewise. Reaching down with her fingers, she leaned back a little and spread her pussy lips before striking a pose. "A picture of explicit eroticism," she grinned to herself... just as the telephone rang.

"Damn!" she muttered, swinging her feet to the floor and moving quickly into the lounge where, luckily, the curtains were still drawn. She grabbed at the handset, "Hello?"

"Miss Hargreaves?" asked a voice at the other end of the line. "This is Mister Osbourne from the Club."

"Oh... good afternoon, sir. You're not going to ask me to come in this evening, I hope... ?" Carol fretted.

A chuckled sounded in her ear. "Oh, no, Carol. Not that. This is your day off and you've earned it. Mister Ilyama and I are both well pleased with your work. No, this is to tell you that... that the deal you've made with Mister Ilyama is now ready to go ahead. Please report to the Club at noon tomorrow."

Carol swallowed as the reality of what she'd agreed to came crashing in on her. "Tomorrow?" she swallowed.

"Yes, tomorrow, Ms Hargreaves. I do so hope that you've not suffered a change of mind? That would be... so unfortunate."

"No, no! Nothing like that. It just takes a little getting used to. I'll be there..."

"Good, good. Well, until tomorrow, Ms Hargreaves..." The line went dead and Carol was left standing holding her hand set while she stared off into the distance. Pulling herself out of her reverie, she finally hung up at her end and moved towards the kitchen, her hand automatically flicking on the kettle as she went passed...

Inspector Ian Smythe clambered painfully out of the taxi in front of his semi-detached house in the suburbs. Seven days ago he'd left here in an ambulance after his wife had poured a kettle full of boiling water over his groin after she had discovered that he was having an affair with his beautiful, black sergeant, Fiona Adoga. Now he was home and about to face up to the consequences of his actions. "Hey, guv! You gonna pay me or you gonna stand there all flippi' day?"

"Oh, sorry," Ian muttered as he pulled a twenty out of his pocket and thrust it at the driver. "Keep the change."

"Thanks, guv," the man smiled cheerfully as he released his brake and drove way. Ian wearily picked up his overnight bag and headed towards the door which, he was relieved to discover, still opened to his key.

"I'm home, darling," he called out with false bravado.

"Don't 'darling' me, you two-timing pervert! And before you say anything else, let me tell you that I've moved all your belongings into the spare bedroom. I've even made up the bed... but I have no desire to see you, to eat with you or even be in the same room as you. Please keep yourself to yourself. As to eating, you can use the kitchen between seven thirty and eight in the morning to get your own breakfast. All other meals you will eat outside - pizza, kebabs, burgers, whatever, I don't care. With regard to the bathroom, we'll have to see how that goes but you are not to be in it at the same time as myself. Is that all understood?"

"Yes, mistress," Ian muttered under his breath.

"What was that?" came a terse rebuke.

"I said, 'Yes, understood'."

"Good. You can go to your room now."

Ian let himself into the small back bedroom and dropped his bag to the floor. Sighing, he looked about him and at the new confines of his life. Was screwing a young, virile woman worth all this? He smiled - of course it was! Then his eyes lightened upon a pile of small paper slips sitting in the middle of the single bed. Curious, he bent down and picked the first one up and discovered that it was a credit card slip in his wife's name and taken out at the local branch of Next. Ian blanched as he noted the authorised amount. Picking up the next slip with a sinking heart, he spotted that this was for a similar amount and was receipted to another upmarket clothes shop. Next came a slip from a shoe shop... the optician, the best restaurant in town and more. Sitting on the bed, Ian hung his head in his hands - the bitch was apparently doing her best to bankrupt him...

Pulling on the marigolds again, Carol set to work cleaning the bishop's flat. The elderly man himself sat in an overstuffed leather easy chair that was cracking and peeling back in places with age but, apparently, eminently comfortable as he relaxed and flicked through some paperwork from which he occasionally peered at Carol over the top of his half-moon spectacles as she toiled away. "My dear," the bishop said before coughing to clear his throat and then continuing, "I think that the underside of that table could do with a little tidying up."

'I'll bet you do, ' thought Carol to herself with a smile as she got down on all fours and crawled under the heavy wooden piece of furniture, making a special effort to ensure than her bum was always pointing towards his eminence and that she waggled it exotically occasionally. As she knelt there, Carol did actually do some cleaning but, knowing the real reason she was employed here, she dragged the task out for much longer than needed as she carefully exhibited her latex covered posterior off to to it's best advantage. A hand suddenly squeezed her bum and, startled, Carol reacted by trying to look behind her but only succeeded in banging the back of her head shapely against the underside of the table. "Shit!" she cried out aloud.

"Oh, I'm so terribly sorry..." the now flustered man of the clothe muttered as Carol backed out from under the table, rubbing her head before collapsing back onto the chair so recently vacated by the bishop.

"That's alright your Grace. Accidents happen..."

"Why don't you sit down for a moment or two, my dear before you get on with the vacuuming?"

"Thanks... I'll be fine in a few moments fine... honest. By the way, this will be a good time to tell you that I'll be missing for a few days... Mr Ilyama's got a special job he wants me to do."

"I know, my dear, he mentioned it to me."

"He did!" exclaimed a suddenly concerned Carol as she wondered just what the bishop had be told.

"Yes... it seems that he is throwing a party up in the country, correct? He requires all the maids he can get to wait on..."

Carol relaxed and swallowed. "Yes, that's right," she mumbled before standing. "Well, best get on with the Hoovering..."

"Good girl..."

Pulling herself to her feet, Carol moved over to the cupboard and pulled out the old, upright machine that nestled there. Bending over from her waist and again presenting her employer with the full on sight of her buttocks, she plugged the machine in before standing and switching it on. The Hoover whined into action and Carol began to push in back and forth across the carpet, her bare breasts swaying about as she did so. The bishop returned to his paperwork as Carol worked, the vibrations from the device making her hand tingle. A thought entered her head and, making sure that her back was presented to the boss in order to hide what she was up to, she briefly touched the handle of the machine against her groin. The effect was immediate and, while slight, never the less most pleasant. Smiling, Carol pushed her hips forward, driving her pussy harder against the handle and this time the effect it had upon her was proportionally better. By now she'd stopped doing any cleaning whatsoever and the now unchanging timbre of sound alerted the bishop to the fact that something was going on and, before Carol knew what was happening, he was stood before her studying her critically.