by K T Findlay
Emma got to Sally’s home first and parked the Range Rover in its usual spot on the right side of the double garage, leaving the left for the Mini. That way when Sally opened the Range Rover’s garage door, the Mini would still be hidden from anyone looking up the street from the zigzag track.
The only problem was that the Mini now stopped Sally from being able to fully open the very long door of the secret cupboard. However, with a little bit of trial and error they found that if the car was backed into the garage as close to the Range Rover as possible, with its nose almost touching the garage door, the cupboard could open just enough to be usable.
Happy with their work, they went into the kitchen to have a cup of tea with a slice of cake, and giggled like naughty school children as Sally recounted the excitement of the theft.
After washing the cups, they went back into the garage to check out the Mini. The lifting mechanism of the rear floor was deceptively simple. On each side of the car, an electric motor rotated a screw mounted on the chassis, which turned through a nut welded to the moveable floor. The two nuts thus rose up the screws, taking the internal edge of the floor with them to create the slope.
The Mini’s rear doors were even more straight forward. The driver had a large but simple lever mounted in the roof above the driver door. When she pulled it down, a rod and pinion arrangement pushed the doors open or shut. The lever locked in position when closed, meaning no other form of lock was needed to keep the rear doors closed.
'She's a brilliant piece of kit.' enthused Sally. 'I love the simplicity and the workmanship. Young Tom’s a good ‘un.' she smiled.
'You've got the luck of the devil.' laughed Emma. 'It could have been custom-made for you.'
Sally fingered the straw and dust in the back of the van. 'I guess there's not much difference between needing to move bales of hay and needing to move a body. Just the right time and place to come across people who solve problems, rather than bitch about them. I'm just sorry Mrs Prendergast will never get to drive it.’
Emma started. ‘What do you mean? Aren't you going to give it back?'
Sally shook her head. 'Almost certainly not. It'll be bung full of clues at the end, such as hair, skin flakes, fabric samples and that's just mine I'm talking about. I'll almost certainly have to burn it at the end.'
Emma looked aghast. 'But that's really stealing! From an innocent person!'
Sally nodded sadly. 'Yes, and I feel very bad about it. But, into each life some rain must fall.’ Then she smiled at a scrap of comfort. ‘I'm sure it's insured.'
'Somehow I don't think that will make Tom feel any better!' said Emma.
'What I'm about to do to the Miss Helen's business, isn't going to make her feel any better either! I feel very bad about that too. Oh well, c'est la vie. I’ll do as little harm as I can.’ sighed Sally.
7 Miss Helen’s World
It took Sally four delicate telephone calls and a face-to-face interview in the last week of June, before Miss Helen agreed to take her on.
Sally had been creative about the phone. She didn't dare give Helen her real phone number, or even use it, because the police would be able to trace it back to her. So when she made her calls, she used a call box in a quiet spot in Ipington. When Helen quite rightly insisted on knowing her phone number, Sally gave the number of The Pines, the house where she’d stolen the Mini, knowing there was nobody there to answer it.
Miss Helen met Sally in her Selina persona at an upmarket Ipington café and fortunately for Selina, Miss Helen liked her as a person, liked the idea of her supposed project and thought she had genuine potential as an assistant. It also didn’t go amiss that Selina let it be known that she wasn’t expecting to be paid very much. They agreed that Selina would work Tuesdays and Thursdays each week to allow Miss Helen to schedule her clients.
So on Tuesday July 5th, Selina drove her Mini through the hedge gate and set off for Little Throcking via Bleak Road. At 9 AM she parked the Mini as asked, outside Helen's house in Cobb Lane on the western edge of the village. From there she and Helen walked the half mile down the coast to the village shops and Helen's studio.
Emma saw them as she cycled down Beach Road, but paid them no attention. She was out normalising her “escape clothes”, so the people of Little Throcking would later tell the police “She always wears that sort of stuff when she’s cycling.”
The door to the studio opened straight into a stairwell that went up one floor onto a landing, where a passage doubled back towards the road side of the building. At the end of it was a lovely, large family room and kitchen. Fine white curtains ensured privacy, while allowing in plenty of light from the windows.
Helen waved her hand. 'This is where the customers and I talk about what they're interested in, where we handle the money, and where we wind down afterwards. I do bring it into play in some of the governess, or “girl” sessions though.’
‘Speaking of which,” she said turning to open the door to their left, ‘through here we have the “girls’” room.'
This was even bigger than the family room, with three racks of women's clothing in a huge variety of styles and sizes. There was also a large chest of drawers full of lingerie and costume jewellery, a bookcase with over three dozen pairs of women shoes, another with around thirty wigs, and a large make-up table with a huge, well lit mirror.
Selina’s jaw dropped, much to Helen's amusement. ‘You need to think of this as more of a shop, than as somebody's wardrobe. Lots of men come to see me for this and every one of them is a different size, with different tastes, different fantasies. Trust me, this is the least I can get away with!' she laughed.
She turned left through another door and took Selina into a world of seriously heavy furniture, leather and steel.
'Welcome to the dungeon!' said Helen theatrically.
Although the room was slightly larger again than the “girls’” room, it seemed smaller because of all the things in it.
'Whatever your preference for discomfort, there is something here for you. There's a St Andrews Cross, a padded bench, a four poster bed, floor and ceiling rings, and a few other secrets you’ll find out about as we go. The whips etc. are hung up over there on the wall, and the toys are all in those glass cabinets.’
She looked at Selina sharply. ‘That way, I can see if any of them go missing. Not all of my customers can help themselves when they see a toy that turns them on.’
'Or rather,' said Selina, 'they help themselves only too well!'
'Exactly! And they're expensive.' said Helen grimly.
Lastly, she took Selina back onto the landing and opened the final door.
‘No prizes for guessing what this one’s for!’ she said as Selina looked at the old fashioned desks and the blackboard at the far end. ‘I personally find this fantasy a bit dull, but I attract the kind of clients who want it and it helps to pay the bills.’
They went back across the landing into the family room. Helen flicked her right thumb backwards. ‘And behind you, that door is the bathroom, toilet and laundry. Although it's in the centre of the building, it has massive skylights and an extractor fan to the roof. It's actually a really nice place to have a bath on a warm summer's day, especially when you're being attended to by a very personal servant.' she grinned.
'I suppose your lifestyle does give you certain advantages.' said Selina thoughtfully.
Helen laughed. ‘Every way of earning a living has its pros and cons. Having a personal servant is both a pro and a con, depending on the servant. They can be a lot more effort than they’re worth! Only one of my boys gets to give me any form of personal attention at home. For everyone else, the fantasy stops in here.'
She walked over to the sink and started to make a pot of tea. 'My first client, Tessa, arrives at 10 o'clock. So we've got time for a cuppa.'
'You get female clients?' asked Selina.
Helen shook her head 'Tessa is a man.'
'Oh! So he's a client for the “girls” room?'
'Sort of. His kink is to be yelled at and made to do embarrassing things like dressing up as a girl.'
Selina goggled at her. 'Seriously?'
Helen shrugged. ‘You’ll be astonished.'
Selina lifted her hand to her mouth in dismay.
Helen scrutinized it carefully. ‘Seeing as you raise the subject. Your hands. Do you really have to wear those cotton gloves all the time?’
‘I’m afraid so.’ replied Selina. ‘The doctors haven’t figured out what’s triggering the allergy. It’s really not a nice experience. I get lots of little blisters on the palms and between the fingers that at first itch fearfully, then burst, which hurts like hell. Then, if there are enough of them, the skin basically falls off and I leave bloody hand prints everywhere. But,’ she smiled, ‘if I wear the gloves, I’m fine.’
‘Sounds awful.’ said Helen. ‘How do you cook, or wash yourself?’
‘With cooking I wear plastic gloves when I’m preparing the ingredients, especially meat and fish, or stinging stuff like onions or chillies.’
Helen started. ‘Oh! Ouch!’
Selina nodded in agreement. ‘But when I’m actually cooking, the cotton gloves are fine. For showering, it depends what condition the hands are in at the time. If there are no blisters and no open wounds, then I shower like anyone else. I know the soaps, shampoos, conditioners that are okay for me, so that’s fine. If the hands are having a problem, then I wear the plastic gloves with rubber bands around the wrists to keep the water out.’
She laughed. ‘These days I’ve got a small supply of prednisone, which fixes it within three days if I get an attack. You absolutely don’t want to take it any longer than that if you can help it, but it’s great for a quick fix!’
Helen frowned. ‘I’m just a bit worried about what the clients might think about them. I guess if they’re always pristine white and if we keep you in the leather gloves during a session, we can actually make it part of your mystique.’
Then her smile broke through again. ‘We’ll see what today’s clients make of them. If it’s not an issue for them, we’ll probably be okay.’
Helen saw Tessa out at 11:15 AM. When she came back up the stairs she said. 'We need to have lunch now, we've got Jemima at noon for a two hour session.'
Selina raised an inquisitorial eyebrow. 'A real girl this time?'
Helen laughed. 'Well, a boy who wants to be a girl at least.'
'Thank God for that.' sighed Selina. 'I feel physically sick after Tessa’s session. That was just awful to watch.’
Helen laughed. ‘It’s not for everyone, that’s for sure!’
Selina shook her head. ‘I can’t believe it’s for anybody!’
'Well, I don’t do many of those.’ Helen reassured her. ‘Most of my “girls” are like Jemima. I think you’ll like her.'
And Selina did.
Henry was a confident, successful, well-made sort of a man with a strong masculine face. Even after Helen's best efforts with wig, make-up, clothes and shoes had transformed him into Jemima, he was still very obviously male. But for the remainder of the two hour session he walked happily about in his high heels, admired himself in the mirror, and just enjoyed being with them as one of the girls. Selina could see a sense of peace and tranquillity descend upon him, which had not been there when he arrived. There was nothing more to the session than that and he left clearly a happy man.
'This isn't really sex work at all. It's much more like a therapy session.' she opined as she helped Helen to clean up.
'That's a good observation, for those two sessions at least.' said Helen. 'And it's probably true for the school sessions as well, especially when it's just a straight half dozen, or a dozen, and they leave.'
Selina raised a questioning hand. 'Explain please.'
'Some people can't afford the time, or simply can't afford a full session. So for them I offer a choice of two cut and runs. They come up the stairs into the school room, drop their pants, I give them either six or twelve strokes of the cane, and they leave. That's all they get. It's like a visit to the headmaster’s study, a purely physical experience.'
Selina winced. 'So no theatre of the mind to soften the blows?'
Helen cocked her head to one side. ‘Certainly not from me. But remember, they're running their own mind theatre from long before they call me, while they’re talking to me on the phone, while they’re driving here, while they’re waiting for me to answer the door, while they’re looking at my bottom as we’re climbing the stairs, while dropping their pants after I order them to. Throughout all of that time, their imaginations are racing at a hundred miles an hour and they are absolutely in the right headspace for what they need. It's quick and cheap for them. It's quick and profitable for me. Win win.' she smiled.
'What a great way to make money!' laughed Selina.
Helen shook her head. 'It's not all beer and skittles. I only get paid for the hours I work and you can see there’s a lot of downtime. Plus, it's just not possible for me to have the creative mental energy to run eight sessions a day. Then you get the no-shows, the ones who call and book a time and never show up. Or the ones who call, and call, and call, but never make an appointment. There are a lot of time wasters in this business. Then of course, there's the huge capital investment involved. You've seen how much equipment I need. That's not cheap. Then there's the set up, the cleaning, the normal overheads running your own business –'
Selina raised her hand again. 'Okay okay!' she laughed. 'I get the picture. But it still looks a lot of fun! So who's next?'
'Andrew. I see him every week on Tuesdays, and he's the one I let attend to me in my home.'
'What does he do for you there?' ask Selina, her heart racing. ‘She must be talking about Holmes!’ she thought.
Helen smiled. 'I don't allow sex in my sessions. I might let them kiss the back of my hand, my feet, or my bum through a skirt or pants, but that's it. Andrew is desperate to get closer than that, so I tried him out with a bit of personal service.’
‘Some of the guys who say they’re into personal service aren't really at all. They’ll behave badly, or not do a job properly, or even damage things, all in a deliberate attempt to get me to punish them. That's sort of what I meant earlier when I said that a servant can be more trouble than he's worth. I won't play those games. I don't have the time or the patience. A lot of these guys might call themselves submissive, but in reality they’re the biggest control freaks you could ever meet, and they’re utterly focused on their own needs and desires. It can be a right pain in the arse.’
‘Andrew was different. He tried to do the very best he could within his own abilities. If he ever did a bad job, it was because he didn't know what he was doing. Once I taught him how to do everything properly, he was fine. So when he asked to be allowed to clean my lingerie, I felt comfortable enough to let him. Every Thursday evening, he comes round to my place to hand wash all my under things and hang them up to dry. If I was willing to have him around on Fridays, I'm sure he would iron and put them away as well.’
Selina stroked her chin. 'Does he have a thing for knickers?'
Helen couldn’t suppress her grin. 'He didn’t, but he does now! Especially mine! I always put my dirtiest pair over his head before he’s allowed to wash anything, so he's got my scent up his nose the whole time.’
‘It's been an amazingly powerful tool. If he baulks at something I want him to do, or he doesn't want to accept something I'm going to do to him, I just threaten to take away his knicker privileges and he acquiesces immediately.’
'Good God.' murmured Selina softly. 'How long did it take you to achieve that?'
'Just two evenings. I had him nude for the first one, and talked to him, stroked him, told him fantasies, whatever was needed to take him to the peak of arousal and keep him there. For the second session, I had him in a maid’s outfit, with the front of the skirt clipped up so I could monitor him and did the same thing. I found out very quickly after I started
this business, that if a girl controls that part of the man, she’ll find she can control other bits of him too. It's simple. Women have known this for thousands of years. It's nothing new. I'm just doing it in a different setting! And I’m a lot more honest about it!' she laughed.
Andrew Holmes arrived promptly at 3 PM, as Helen had predicted.
Selina waited anxiously in the family room. This was where the rubber hit the road. If there was a fault in her disguise, or her voice was not sufficiently different from Sally's, this was when she'd get caught. Once he'd accepted her as Selina, an integral part of Helen's world, he would be unlikely to make the connection. She just needed to get the introduction over with.
As it happened, she had nothing to worry about. Holmes arrived already in an excited state, shields down, and in thrall to Miss Helen.
Helen had changed into a new outfit for Andrew. She wore a floor length, black, flowing skirt, and a fine lace white blouse with a V-neck ending between her breasts. The elfin shape of her face was much clearer now she’d put her normally shoulder length blonde hair into a bun, pinned with a large ebony hairpin.
She radiated elegance and strength as she strode into the family room, with Holmes following in her wake.
'Andrew, this is Miss Selina, my new associate. I expect you to treat her with the same consideration and respect that you afford to me. Do you understand?' said Helen firmly.
'Yes.' replied Holmes.
'Yes what?' snapped Helen.
'Yes Miss Helen.' he said quickly.
Helen circled him as he stood to attention. She stroked his buttocks thoughtfully.
'That's better.' she said softly. 'Let's see if your memory of your calendar is better than your manners. Your normal appointment is for an hour. Today I would like you to be available for three, to help with Miss Selina's training. Are you free?'