Chapter 19

Carol Hargreaves woke up early on the day of her wedding, her stomach full of butterflies. Rolling over in the air conditioned comfort of her hotel suite, she tried to get back to sleep but her nerves simply wouldn't let her. 'This is ridiculous!' she told herself angrily, 'it's not like it's really your wedding. You're marrying a man you only met a week ago and you're doing it completely for money... and, in exchange, he gets to travel to Britain on your passport with a guaranteed entry when he arrives. And in a years time, you'll divorce him as previously agreed. That's all there is to this; it's not a love mach, you silly bitch! Now get back to sleep!' But for all her serious talking to herself, Carol couldn't switch her mind off again - after all, it was a large amount of money... and she was running the risk of facing criminal charges if it all went wrong... and it was her first wedding, god damn it!

Giving up the unequal struggle, Carol put on the lights before calling down to Room Service and asking them to bring her breakfast up now instead of at the time she had previously requested it. Having received a positive acknowledgement from the sleepy waiter at the other end of the line, she got out of bed, pulled on a thin cotton dressing gown and slid open the glass door that lead out onto the balcony of her fifteenth storey suite. Leaning against the rail, she looked over to the horizon where she could just see the first faint glimmerings of the dawn. Carol smiled in the knowledge that the show that the sun was about to put on would impress the hell out of her - African sunrises (and, more so, sunsets) were totally out of this world! Settling herself down on one of the chairs so thoughtfully provided by the hotel management, Carol prepared to eat her last breakfast as a single woman in the cool of the morning, enjoying watching the entire world waking up around her.

Listening to the rain pitter-pattering on the window of his home's spare bedroom where he now slept since his wife had discovered that he had been having an affair with his sergeant, Police Inspector Ian Smythe pulled the duvet tighter round his body while he wondered about just what to do with the erection he'd woken up with. 'It's not my fault that I'm such a randy fellow, ' he told himself with a grin. Nor was it his fault, he would have argued with anyone rash enough to raise the matter with him, that his wife was simply not given to enjoying the pleasures of the flesh to the same extent as he was. Which had been fine until a photograph of himself and his lover, Fiona Adoga, had been circulated round the station in which they were both based. With little choice, the brass had discreetly (and quickly) transferred Fiona out and into the next division and, while she and Ian continued to meet, their daily ritual of getting 'it' together with each other had been seriously hampered. All of which explained why the horny policeman had awoken in the state he was in - he'd simply been dreaming about being in bed with a trio of beautiful young women and screwing the brains out of them when the alarm clock had woken him up, ending what had previously promised to be a most pleasing nocturnal ejaculation. Still, he didn't want to get up in this state so he reached out with his left hand and pulled a fistful of tissues from the container that sat on his bedside table in preparation for cleaning up the forthcoming mess. Pushing the duvet clear of his groin, he clasped his shaft in his right hand and began the age old exercise of the male granting himself a little relief...

Ian had only managed to stroke himself half a dozen times when the door to his room burst open and his wife barged in. "There's a phone..." she started before coming to a complete halt as she saw what he was doing. "Why, you disgusting pervert!" she exclaimed, "Next time I'll use a knife instead of boiling water and do the job permanently!"

Pulling the covers up over himself, Ian felt his face colouring up like a little schoolboy caught... well, caught doing exactly what he had been caught doing. Looking down at him in disgust, his wife went on to add that he was required at the station early that day. "And you'd best not have a tent in your pants when you arrive!" she finished with a snarl before leaving the room and slamming the door behind her.

Pushing the covers back off himself, Ian looked down at his now flaccid cock. "No fear of that, my dear," he muttered under his breath. "You're enough to make any man impotent!"

Not far away from where Ian sat on his bed consoling himself, another police officer was also awake and preparing for work. Constable Samantha Jones sat at her dressing table wearing only her bra and panties while she completed the daily ritual of combing her long, blond locks. Fifty strokes to the right, fifty stokes to the left just as her mother had taught her. Samantha's mind was also in turmoil for this was the day that she'd pencilled in as the one where she would complete the plan laid down to her by the criminal that she'd unfortunately managed to get herself entangled with - Miles Keating; the plan that would end with Ian Smythe's career in tatters. Over the passed few days, Samantha had been busy dropping hints with some of her female colleagues at the station to the effect that she was being 'bothered' by one of the male officers. Nothing too specific, but the seeds had been planted. She'd also spent several hours shut up in her apartment going through the boxes of evidence that she'd collected over the past months concerning the affair between Ian and Fiona; some of that evidence had been love letters of a very intimate nature - 'lust letters' might have been a more descriptive name - that Ian had written to his lover but which she had never received because Samantha had managed to intercept them. Not all of them were of use to Samantha for some were too specific in the points they raised or descriptions they used, but others were so general that they could as easily apply to her as to Fiona. These letters had been carefully bundled together by the blond and had been placed into her locker at the station where they could be retrieved as required. With everything now set up, she felt ready to proceed... but for one thing. Pulling open her bottom drawer, Samantha reached in and removed a small, charged syringe that nestled there. Holding it up to the light, Samantha checked that there was no air trapped inside before sliding the needle into her soft flesh and injecting the drug that was both a curse and a necessity to her. Without this drug, she couldn't function as a human being... and yet, for it she'd stolen and lied and even betrayed her colleagues. Angry with herself, she pulled the now discharged hyperdermic out of her thigh before dropping it back into her drawer in disgust, knowing that the course of action she was about to embark upon would probably end her career in the police... but also knowing that, if she didn't do as her supplier bid, he'd threatened that he would reveal her addiction and crimes to the authorities anyway... something that would have led to her incarceration inside one of Her Majesty's prisons. And life inside for a drug dependant ex-copper would not be a bowl of roses...