Chapter 3

John Turnhouse:

When I woke in the morning, I was tangled up with Vicky. It was, somehow, satisfying, but I set that aside for the moment. Hard, as usual, I began to stroke and caress Vicky, who sighed and wriggled even closer, were that possible. She gradually surfaced while I was enjoying her silky skin and feminine curves. She tugged at me, legs spread wide to receive me, and she was wet and hot as I responded to her demand. They do say that the eyes are the window of the soul, and what I could see in Vicky’s eyes as we moved together was not what I was used to. It was much later I realised that it was adoration.

But we came, together, and showered together, a complete pleasure in itself, dressed, and went in search of breakfast. Vicky was entirely appropriate in manner and dress in her maroon chauffeuse uniform. I thought she was delectable. At home, I might have dragged her back to bed, but here we had to get on with the day.

Vicky drove. She was composed and professional. She parked us by the entrance of the Training Centre in a ‘Visitor’ slot, and I rang the bell.

The door, obviously heavy, swung open, and I recognised the Trainer who ushered us in, Sven Olsen. He was in a Centre uniform, black shorts and yellow t-shirt, which didn’t hide his impressive physique.

“Chairman Turnhouse,” he smiled, “You’re expected. Come in. Your companion?”

“Victoria Newell,” I explained, “my driver. I brought her in as I think we might find someone here who can help her resolve an issue. She – unknown to me until yesterday – carries an authorised firearm, and used it yesterday. That was the first time outside of a range, and the ... target ... is dead.”

The man glanced at Vicky, and nodded to her respectfully. “I understand. There are several of us here who would be happy to talk, including Sergeant Jane Edwards, but I suspect Charlie ... the Chaplain ... would be the best person.”

I looked at Vicky, who nodded, and I turned back to Sven. “If he’s available?”

“I’ll call him,” the Trainer said, turning to the phone. “Sir, could you come and talk to a visitor, please? Oh. John Turnhouse is here to see seventy-five, it’s his companion who’d like to see you. Very good, sir.” He replaced the phone and smiled at us. “He’ll come to the Horseshoe, sir, ma’am. If you’ll come with me, I’ll take you through. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind wearing these?” He produced ‘visitor’ badges for both of us, which we pinned to our outer clothes.

When I consigned Clementine to the Centre, I only delivered her to the hospital for her initial physical assessment, so I’d never been inside the Centre building. It was quite impressive, at least the security was impressive, palm prints and retinal recognition required for different doors. We just followed Trainer Olsen as be opened doors for us and in due course ushered us into the Horseshoe itself. A large ‘horseshoe’ shaped space, with barred cells around it facing into it, marks on the floor, odd frames and devices by the cells, assorted gym equipment, and what looked like a saw-horse near the centre of the space. Trainees were occupied in various ways, including what looked like a self-defence course.

We were led to the last cell on the right which was set up as an office, and a tall man in Centre dress stood to greet us.

“John Turnhouse,” I said, extending a hand. “Major Prestwick, I presume.”

He chuckled and took my hand to shake briefly. “Indeed. And your companion?”

“Victoria Newell, my chauffeuse and ... ahem ... bodyguard.”

He raised an eyebrow, glanced at Vicky, then back at me. “Apparently,” I said, “our local Police Superintendent felt I should have some active protection, and recruited my driver. She’s carrying a handgun that I only found out about yesterday when she shot a man who was making trouble at a restaurant we stopped at. I understand your Chaplain is on his way here to talk to her.”

He nodded in understanding. “Yes, Charlie would be a good person to talk to. But you are here to see your ex-wife?”

“I am. And, perhaps, to visit the business which is wanting to take her on.”

“They’re expecting you with her after lunch. I hope you’ll have something to eat with us once you’ve had a chat with seventy-five.”

“Thank you. Where will I find her?”

“Right now, she’s conducting a self-defence course, assisted by Lieutenant Andrew Whitten.”

It didn’t sink in, quite, for several seconds. “Wait ... she’s conducting a self-defence course?”

“Yes indeed. She’s proven quite adept. Lieutenant Whitten is the sensei, really, but it works better with a woman demonstrating the techniques. If you’d like to watch, feel free. Your companion can stay here and wait for Charlie.”

I looked at Vicky, who nodded with a faint smile. So I set off to talk to Clementine, heading for the self-defence class. Living in a house with eight, usually naked, women I perhaps have a slight advantage, but it was quite distracting to see the trainees, all nude, all attractive, though varying in how toned they were. Lieutenant Whitten was in Centre uniform, though barefoot on the mat. The woman who was teaching was ... Clementine? Where was my ex-wife and who was this slim, toned woman with high, firm breasts topped with swollen nipples? Clementine, quite apart from being very prudish, had been soft, somewhat overweight, and her breasts sagged against her chest on the rare occasions I saw her undressed. But she saw me, said something to the Lieutenant, and headed towards me, going to her knees in front of me with her knees parted and her wrists crossed in front of her.

“How may I serve you, sir?”

“Clementine?”

“I am IS33/75, sir, but I answer to Clementine if you wish to address me so. Alternatively, you might like to use ‘Tina’ which is less clumsy.”

“Can you leave your class, Tina? I am not in a great hurry.”

“I do not wish to waste your time, sir...”

“No, you carry on, and I will watch.”

She glanced up at me with a little quirk of a smile. I could almost read her mind, or vice versa. I was certainly not averse to watching several naked ladies learning martial arts.

As it happens, what occurred was Clementine demonstrating how to get out of a neck hold from behind, with the Lieutenant as the aggressor, after which each of the other ladies took a turn at it, then practising on each other before trying again with the Lieutenant. After about an hour, they all separated and I was introduced to the instructor.

“How do you do, Lieutenant?”

“Quite well, these days, sir. Yourself?”

“Quite well, thank you. Clementine ... Tina ... Seventy-five ... she’s changed.”

“She has. I don’t think we’ve ever had a trainee who didn’t respond, but she has done well.”

“Well, thank you, Lieutenant. I’m going to have a chat with Tina.” I turned to her. She was kneeling, knees apart, wrists crossed in front of her, shoulders back, tits thrust out proudly, but her eyes were down. “You have a room where we can talk, Tina?”

“My cell, sir. Number twenty-five.” She rose smoothly to her feet, and I followed her shapely back across the open area and into one of the barred cells. She pulled an office chair out from a counter bearing a laptop and several books, one of them a text-book of accounting, and turned it away from the counter. She stepped back and stood waiting for me to sit. She was standing erect, feet apart, hands behind her, head up, eyes down. She was a few years younger than myself, mid forties, but she looked very good. I sat.

“I need to beg your forgiveness, sir. I was a useless wife. I knew, and was happy you were getting your satisfaction from the staff. I was such a fool.”

What could I say? “You have changed, Tina. You could come home with me.”

A sad smile formed on her lips. “How many women do you have now, sir?”

“Eight,” I said, neutrally.

“And you’re fucking all of them?”

“Yes.” I wasn’t going to dispute the verb.

She actually giggled. “Even Missus Peterson?”

“Even Edith Peterson,” I smiled, “she’s a very calming person to sleep with. And quite passionate.”

“If I take the job that is offered, I will be doing something worthwhile. I will be fucking the father, perhaps the son as well, though he has taken an IS. But they have been kind and considerate. I will be sharing the housekeeping, doing some book-keeping, inventorying, that sort of thing. I threw away what I could have had with you, but I could have something good, I think.”

“After lunch, I will go with you to meet your potential employer.”

“Thank you, sir. Sir, I haven’t had a real cock for a couple of days. Would you fuck me, please?”

Now there was a poser for me. I thought about Vicky, but of course she’d have my undivided attention this evening, and I was already getting hard at the suggestion. I hadn’t actually been soft anyway since entering the Horseshoe. “Okay. How do you like it?”

“Oh, I like it any way, any hole. But I like it best in my cunt, bent over the bed, with my nipples pinched and pulled.”

What is this? The Clementine I knew would never use such terms as cock and cunt.

“Good enough. We’ll do it that way.”

I really enjoy women’s rears, and ... Tina’s ... was as perfect as any. She bent over the bed – a high bed – and I could see her vulva, pink, swollen and glistening with moisture. It was the work of a moment to free my swollen organ and plunge into her. Now I’m close to fifty years old, and she was in her early forties, but she was snug, and, indeed, seemed to grip me harder as I pulled back. As I moved, I stroked her flanks, the curve of that delectable rear, well-defined waist, then clasped her tits, one in each hand, and pinched her nipples.

The result, the immediate result was that she shook in orgasm, and her pussy seemed to grasp me like a hand, pulling me in. That all felt good, so I tugged on her nipples – so much bigger than I remembered, and pinched them again. Blow me, but if she didn’t go off again. Seriously, I’d swear that her vagina, spasming around my rod, felt almost like a hand masturbating me, but much, much better. A third time, with the same result, but she sagged against the bed, and I decided to just go ahead and find my own satisfaction, which I did. Even so, my ejaculation actually caused her to go off again. I stood there, embedded in her, until my penis softened. That took some time, the way her pussy was holding me. When I dropped out of her, she went to her knees in front of me, one hand pinching her labia to stop drips, and cleaned me thoroughly with her mouth.

“That...” she said, once she was satisfied with her efforts, “that was ... great. Really, really good. I’m a bit limp, I’m afraid. Would you mind helping me in the shower?”

I undressed, and followed her into the shower cubicle, which was plenty big enough for two. I like sharing a shower with a woman, and she was well worth exploring.

As we dried each other off, I said with a smile, “I’m not sure I want to go home without you. And, Tina, if you need to hear it, I forgive you. I think you’re right. If you can find a suitable place, or if you’ve found a suitable place, that’s going to be better for you than bottom of the pile back in Essex.”

“Sir, I don’t think any of your women are ‘bottom of the pile’. But I do think the Batleys are the best place for me.”

One of the trainers tapped on the bars of the cell. “Lunch is here sir, seventy-five. Sir, if you’ll come with me?”

That solved one conundrum I had been considering. I had wondered about eating whatever was on offer in the cell with Tina, but then what about Vicky?

Victoria Newell:

I was only in the office with the major for a few minutes, chatting about life in the east, when a slight, balding, white-bearded man in an unmistakeable clerical outfit appeared at the door. “Major, Miss...”

“Vicky,” I said. “Victoria Newell.”

“Ah, yes. Would you like to come to the chapel with me? Or we can make use of one of the cells?”

I followed him out of the Horseshoe, along a corridor to a small chapel. It was ... austere, I suppose, though the seating was comfortable enough. The pads were covered by towelling which could obviously be removed for cleaning.

“I don’t have a confessional,” the chaplain ... he told me to call him Charlie, rather than ‘Father’, Pastor, or other appropriate title. “I have an office, the vestry, and the chapel here. May I suggest we sit here?”

“Yes, sir ... Charlie.”