Chapter 13

The morning following his release from hospital, Ian Smythe awoke somewhat disoriented... until it came back to him that he was sleeping in the spare bedroom of his own home following his banishment there by his wife. Silencing the alarm clock, he swung his feet out of bed, stretched and then stood, idly scratching his balls as he did most mornings. Putting on his thin, silk dressing gown, he trotted into the bathroom from where, his ablutions finished, he gingerly entered the main bedroom and, in the absence there of his wife, he opened up his socks drawer... only to find it empty apart from a little note informing him that all is clothing had, like himself, been transferred to the back bedroom. Sighing, Ian switched rooms only to find that every sock he possessed had been systematically slashed or cut into ribbons. Cursing, he next tried his underwear drawer... only to discover an identical result. Worried now, he pulled out every drawer in the room... and then every cupboard and wardrobe where, almost without exception, everything he owned had been ruined. The only clothing left untouched was his police uniforms - trousers, jackets, shirts and shoes. Muttering darkly, he moved back to the landing and opened the laundry basket with the intention of putting on what underwear and socks he had discarded the previous night. He didn't like the idea but it was better, he felt sure, than wearing nothing. However, his wife had already beaten him to it and, laying at the bottom of the basket, was nothing other than more ribbons!

Loudly cursing his wife for the bitch she was, Ian grabbed one of his uniform shirts and, tossing his gown to the floor, thrust his arms into the sleeves before starting to do up the first button. Even this simple task, which he normally did unthinkingly, proved difficult this morning and, after trying for a few moments, Ian looked down and focused... and immediately spotted the problem for his cunt of a wife had methodically sewn each buttonhole of the shirt closed!

Grabbing his dressing gown, Ian stormed down into the kitchen where procuring a pair of small scissors, he started the long and tedious task of unpicking all the sewing that his wife had done. As he worked on the task, it occurred to Ian that he'd not actually seen his wife this morning yet and he had now been in most rooms in the house. Looking about more carefully he spotted a note which, upon closer examination, informed him that she'd taken the car, left early and was off to see he sister... in Lancashire! "Fucking cow!" he yelled to the empty room as he realised that now he most definitely be late for work as he had to not only fix this damned shirt but now he had to get to the station via public transport!

In the event it was a rather flustered Inspector who rolled into the station half an hour after he should have. Spotting the Inspector's slovenly appearance, the elderly sergeant behind the desk shook is head as he buzzed the internal door open. Then, as Ian walked passed the desk, the sergeant spotted that his superior wasn't wearing socks... a fact he couldn't help but point out to the inspector... an observation that he had his head bitten off for!

Within an hour or so, everyone on the shift knew that the Inspector was in a bad mood... but only he and two others could guess at the reason... and one of those two was gloating quietly with no outward sign while the other was very concerned and could hardly wait until she got to meet with her lover. Fiona's opportunity finally came when Ian went down to check the Custody Sergeant's log book and she followed. Seeing the Inspector and the black sergeant together, the officer assigned to looking after the cells made a discreet withdrawal, allowing the two lovers a little time along.

"How are you?" Fiona asked gingerly having heard just how foul his temper was this day.

"Fucking awful!" growled Ian before going on to outline what his wife was up to.

Fiona diplomatically sympathised but she was more concerned with another aspect of Ian's problems. "And... how are you in yourself?"

"What you really mean is how close am I to being able to fuck you again?" he snapped.

"Well... I wasn't going to be that crude... but yes, how's your John Thomas?"

"Much improved but still rather tender, thank you."

"Possibly he'd like a little bit of tender loving care?" Fiona suggested slyly. "I'll only use my hands and be oh so gentle..."

"No thanks," a very subdued Inspector replied.

"But why? It can't be that bad. At least let me look," Fiona pleaded, reaching out in an effort to unzip Ian's fly.

The man pulled back. "No!" he growled.

Crestfallen, Fiona looked at her man sadly. "What's the matter? Don't you love me any more? Is it because I'm pregnant and therefore the cause of all your problems?"

Realising that he'd gone too far, Ian moved closer and took the young woman in an embrace. "No, it's not that, darling... it' s just..."

"Just what?"

"It's just kinda embarrassing..."

"What is?" asked a now genuinely intrigued Fiona.

"It's just that... well, remember how I told you that my wife had destroyed all my clothing? Including my y-fronts?"

"Yeeesssss..."

"Well, I couldn't come to work with nothing under my trousers... it wouldn't feel right..."

An inkling of where this was leading began to occur to Fiona. "You didn't?" she asked incredulously. "Not your wife's... ?"

"No! Of course not! What kind of pervert do you think I am?"

"I don't think - I know. So if you're not wearing your wife's briefs, just what have you got on under there?"

Resigned now, Ian unbuttoned his jacket and, placing his hands on the flat bench behind him, suggested that she look. With a smile on her face, Fiona leaned forward and unzipped her lover's trousers before parting the material like the curtains at a theatre... and found herself staring at her own thong, the one that had gone missing before turning up in an envelope addressed to Ian's wife! Fiona couldn't help herself and started to chuckle. "I don't know what's so funny," Ian protested. "What else could I do? Besides, they're rather comfortable..."

"Oh, Ian..." the black sergeant smiled.

"Yeah... I like the way they feel now they've embedded themselves into the crack of my bum..."

"Oh, Ian..."

"Stop saying that!"

Pulling down her old knickers that were now encasing he man's balls, Fiona stopped laughing when she saw how red and angry his groin looked. "Oh, god!" she gasped. "I see what you mean... sex is out for us for awhile, isn't it?"

"It certainly is," he responded gloomily. "Fat Nancy still after your arse... ?

Carol arrived at the door to Mr Ilyama's office with ten minutes to spare. The dark haired secretary with the impressive chest sat at her desk told her to straight in as she was expected.

Sitting behind his desk, immaculately decked out in an expensive pure wool suit was her boss Off to one side, a young, thin girl with underdeveloped breasts and a nervous disposition was hovering, clearly trying hard not to make a fool of herself. However, it was the third person in the room that held Carol's attention. He was a young man, only in his mid twenties, again beautifully attired, his swarthy skin betraying an Middle-Eastern origin. Thick gold rings studded with impressive diamonds along with bracelets and necklaces flashed and twinkled. "Carol? I'd like you to meet Mr Smith," introduced her boss from behind his desk.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance," said Carol holding out her hand as 'Mr Smith' stood.

"And I'm pleased to meet you too, Carol," the man replied in a cultured and clearly public school educated voice as he took her hand in his, his handshake firm without being cruel. Dropping her hand, Mr Smith turned to his host and suggested that, since everyone was now here, they depart for the country.

"Certainly," Mr Ilyama responded as he too stood. "By the way, Carol, this is Anna... with whom you'll be working later. Now, please... follow me."

Carol nodded briefly at the other girl who nodded back. So, Carol thought, this is the victim... clearly, she doesn't know what's in store for her...

A few moments afterwards the little group entered the club's underground garage where a huge, stretched, white, American built limousine complete with tinted glass and a beautiful female driver all rigged out in a mini-skirted version of a chauffeur's uniform waited. Something hinted to Carol, as she followed the men into the limo, that the driver wouldn't be wearing any knickers under that tiny skirt!

With the door closed and the vehicle moving slowly out of the garage, Carol looked about her in wonderment. White leather mixed with polish mahogany covered everything and the 'seat' was really a sofa that ran around one side and the rear of the car. Small coffee tables were scattered about and, on the far wall was a small, but well equipped bar. Mounted against the partition between the passenger area and where the driver sat was an impressive entertainment unit with wide screen television, DVD player and a PlayStation 2. Carol almost wished that she could have moved into the car and lived there as it was better equipped than her flat.