Problems, Problems, Solutions, Solutions

by

Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Fa/Fa, Consensual, BiSexual, Heterosexual, Spanking, Light Bond, Black Female, Pregnancy, BBW, .

Desc: Sex Story: The Engineer needs more lateral thinking. The story develops those previously posted.

Just when you think you've got everything sorted, all systems running exactly as they should be, and everybody knowing and doing what they should, something will go wrong. Sods law. My old granny always used to greet this kind of thing with a sage nod and say, 'shit happens even in Kansas'. And then she'd giggle. I have no idea why she said this, because to my certain knowledge she had never been to Kansas; in fact I would be surprised if she even knew where it was. She had certainly never been further abroad than a day trip to Paris. When someone mentioned Americans, that is those from the United States, she would always say, as did many of her generation, 'Over paid, over sexed and over here". And then she'd have another giggle. This was a saying that had been current in the later part of the second world war when she had been in her late teens to early twenties. I strongly suspect that she had benefited from some of the additional pay, and attentions of a not entirely unwelcome nature in the course of providing certain ... ah, shall we say 'comforts' for fit young men, very pleasurable I'm sure, whilst the rest of the country was benefiting from their presence as fighting men.

But then she'd also tell us that that there had been Russian troops in London in 1942, because her friend had seen them. She knew they were Russians apparently, because they had snow on their boots.

So even my guesses could be wrong, and just because dad could do a very passable Yankee accent, and let's face it with the number of Hollywood pictures he and mum went to see when they were courting - the local fleapit having double seats in the back row - this is, frankly my dear, not entirely surprising. And if Granny and Gramps had got married in what appeared to be a bit of a hurry, there is no reason to jump to conclusions. Gramps was, after all, a Royal Marine commando, and stationed not too far from home at about the right time. Bicycling distance for a young man with a stiffy you could do pole vault with for sure.

So when Felice rang my mobile - we use mobiles around the place because they are so much easier - to tell me we had a visitor I had no inkling of the trouble that was in store, or indeed that, as is often the case, some sharp and lateral thinking would be called for to provide a solution.

The morning hadn't started well because I had discovered that Joanna, my daughter, had been pulling a train in the car park of the Mucky Duck the night before. The pub is really called the Black Swan, but since everybody knows it as the Muck Duck, if a stranger asks for the Black Swan they are liable to get a blank look. This makes people think that the locals aren't too bright, which in a few cases has a good foundation in fact. I was somewhat pissed off by Joanna's attitude when I remonstrated with her.

"I can't get more pregnant than I am," she snarled.

"You will do, you're only a couple of months along, and you can catch a lot of things too," I told her. "Especially off one or two of those yobbos. What do you want to do, name the child Chlamydia?"

Her reply couldn't be spelt let alone printed, and I frog marched her to the dungeon, where she decided that her clothing allowance wouldn't stretch to the total loss of her outfit, so she stripped herself. I should explain that the dungeon is really part of the outbuildings of the house that were originally a barn and stables and coach house with a flat over. These had been converted into an office, a workshop and a storage and dispatch area for our range of up market bondage items. These, together with a range of corsetry, much made to order for specific um ... body shapes, and containing certain additional items that would not normally be included in foundation garments, but allowed the wearer to be restrained, made up the present business, all of which is mail order. The dungeon is just a sound proofed room in this complex used for research and development. Or sorting out recalcitrant daughters, wives, or girlfriends.

"I don't deserve this," she said, as I attached her to the restraint frame. "Yes, you do," I replied. "This isn't just for last night, or this morning. You've been asking for it for the last few weeks."

"I will not be gagged," she said, between clench teeth.

I reached around her from the back and caught a nipple between fore finger and thumb nail and gave a sharp squeeze.

"Ow..." and silence as the ball went into her mouth.

"And I will not have you waking the neighbourhood, you never know when we might have visitors."

There was a snarl from behind the gag.

It was at this point that my phone rang. Diana and Ruth, my two lovely slaves, both now new mums, were at work, with the babies, at their gym, but the screen showed the call came from the house phone line. With the problems of the morning I had forgotten that Felice my gorgeous accountant was coming in, and had arrived during the time that I was in the dungeon attending to Joanna. Felice had just started work when there was a caller.

"There is a lady from the council to see you." She told me.

"I'll be right there."

And I shut the door leaving Joanna to await her fate.

I entered the office to find a smartly dressed woman practically drooling over Felice. She turned to face me. Now, dog turds are not in any way sentient, and are, therefore, not blessed with feelings. However, if they were, particularly when stuck to the bottom of your shoe in the middle of an expensive carpet, I would know exactly how they felt. All of this was contained in the woman's expression. Here, it said, is a man.

"I am Miss Forsyth, the planning enforcement officer from the South Mummerset District Council," she stated importantly.

Oh bollocks!

I stuck out my hand. "Delighted to meet you, how can I help?"

The hand was ignored.

"You have been carrying out building and development work here and you have not notified the Council."

"I don't think that anything has been done that would warrant an application to the council, either for planning permission or building regulation approval," I lied, knowing full well that it had.

"I shall be the judge of that."

"Well," I said, "let me show you around and you shall indeed judge. We have done nothing to the house since the alterations were carried out about five years ago, and I see you have plans of that in your file. If you would like to look around here, I will show you what has been done to these outbuildings."

"I understand that you have created a new dwelling unit."

Now it was coming together. Despite Mel telling me that everyone in the local village was shagging everyone else, that was not, as one would expect, entirely true. There was a clique, who largely comprised the parish council, who were too dried up or up tight, and who objected to both our life style, and to the merchandise that we made and sold. I was aware that questions had been asked at the council meetings as to what could be done, but it was now apparent that things had gone further, and the district council had been asked to take an interest.

Whilst I claim to have good negotiating and arbitration skills, when it comes to local authorities, particularly with the involvement of my personal affairs, things are slightly different. Basically my belief is that you only get a job with a local council if you cannot get a proper job anywhere else. And I include in proper jobs being a pianist in a brothel. So you see I rate politicians, estate agents, tabloid hacks and snake oil salesmen all above local council employees. Particularly those from the Planning or Building Control departments.

But, of course, along with the aforementioned skills in negotiation and arbitrage, as a practical engineer I have also been in sales and marketing, so smiling and concealing my real thoughts is second nature. And smile I did, despite being confronted by a woman who might just as well have had an embroidered badge from the Sorority of Lesbos on her sleeve. Dyke Division.

I took a good look at the woman. She was about thirty five years old, no lightweight, but then she was quite tall and carried it well. She wasn't fat, but well muscled, I thought, with big tits and wide hips. Dressed in a dark blue pant, suit she had an attractive face with very short fair hair. If she had smiled I could almost fancy her, but then I'm known for my eclectic tastes

"All we have done," I said, "is to refurbish existing accommodation which has been here since the house was built, although not used for some time. The lady who occupies it isn't here at present." Wendy was away visiting her mother with Mel, "So I can show you, if you would like to follow me."

We went up to the flat. There were various questions asked regarding insulation and drainage. She clearly knew her stuff, but there are ways of doing a job and there are ways ... I'm sure you know what I mean. And then:

"I want to see the rest of this building."

So I took her down and showed her the workshop, the office she had already seen, the dispatch area with its shelving and packaging materials, tables and stock computers

"And what's in here?" She said, ahead of me and suddenly opening the door to the dungeon.

OH, SHIT. I had completely forgotten about Joanna, who now presented a pretty sight splayed naked and gagged on the restraint frame.

.... There is more of this story ...

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