by Pamela Prim
“They sure do.” She smiled brightly at the two older men. “And oh… my name is Natasha Gillian Wallis.”
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TEMPTATION TALES
Story 29
Chapter One
The bookies on Clarence Street opened at eight in the morning, but being a small local shop rarely saw much action until ten or eleven when the first of the gamblers would roll in. Karen knew this and so had allowed herself to open the shop a little late, taking a but more time with her make-up and even curling her hair. It was nearly half-past when she rolled the armoured security screen up on the cashiers desk.
Mostly it was pensioners and the two or three professionals who would show up first. Just in time for the first of the days races, stakes, handicaps, games, sets, matches, brackets, qualifiers, or finals to start. After that, it would depend what was on the sporting calendar. If the world cup was playing, as it was this year, there would be a rush around midday as people popped in on their lunch breaks to place bets and either rush back to work or down the pub.
Karen liked the job, her boss Mr Devon – after whom the business was named – had taken over the business from his father and so on back to a dodgy numbers racket run by his great-great-great grandfather for some pre-Kray West End gangster. Now fully licensed and legitimate the number of regulars meant that the place had a homely feel. Many of the old timers would letch a little over her and call her love, or dove, or ducky, or ducky. But with the protective glass between her and them there was no real threat in it, and sometimes it was nice to be fancied, even if it was by dirty old men.
There were younger types too, sports fans in football shirts num-bered and named for their favourite players, or spiv like pros who wore 70s style wide lapels and clearly fancied themselves as the millennial’s answer to the Mods. Several of them had asked her out, or flirted through the glass, but they too did little for Karen. London born and raised and with a thick cockney accent herself, she wanted someone with a bit of ambition, not the kind of feckless individual who wasted their money on betting slips and their time on following the horses or the footie.
Unlikely to meet anyone else in a place like this, she thought. Though she still primped and shaved and painted her face and nails each day on the off-chance that a big city banker might pop in for a flutter. She’d only been working here for a week. She’d give it a chance.
A couple of the regulars had remembered her name already and she was getting quicker at doing the odds in her head, working out payouts and counting up their change.
Being a world cup match day Karen was prepped for a busy one and sure enough, once the people finally started to arrive it was a mad rush. With kick-off at eleven and three matches staggered through the day she was nearly run off her feet, taking her lunch at the cashier’s station and counting wads of fifty quid notes in and out checking them under the black light and checking the holograms, security images and so on to catch any counterfeits. The tote screens behind her were at least updated automati-cally by Mr Devon from home as she put the bets into the computer and transferred money from the till to the safe in sealed bags.
The lines weren’t moving much which was a good sign, it looked like the market was doing pretty much what Mr Devon had expected although there had been a surprisingly large set of bets placed on Azerbaijan which had skewed the book for their match against Poland.
But that was Devon’s problem, and as the first match started there was a lull which let her make a cup of tea. The only worry that she had, that she always had, was working alone behind the counter of a London bookies, especially as a young woman on a big match day made her a target for robbers. Even with all the signs explaining that she could not open the safe and that cash was not kept on the premises (both of which were wildly untrue statements), she always felt better at the end of the day when the security man from the bank showed up and took the cash away.
A couple of good looking men in suits walked in, looked at the clien-tele then turned and left.
Shame, they looked nice enough, Karen thought to herself catching sight of the curve of the guys arse in his trousers. I do like a man in a suit or uniform.
In fact she was sure she had recognised one of them as having come in a couple of times a few weeks back. He’d flirted a little and she had clammed up, like she was still the embarrassed schoolgirl of years ago.
Why can’t you grow up, she snarled at herself in her head.
He had been sweet and in the end she had let him put his number into her phone. She saved it as HOT SUIT GUY in her contacts, but had never called him back.
She had been looking for a boyfriend ever since she finished school. But she got so nervous around boys when she found them attractive, and the only boys who had ever really come onto her had been total dicks.
Her only boyfriend had been her school crush, and he had been another of those total dicks. She was glad she hadn’t gone all the way with him at prom, he had been pretty forceful and she’d had to knee him in the groin before he’d back off. Tool.
But if only she could be a bit more confident.
Then another customer came in distracting her from her thoughts on men, but she had to send away because he looked under eighteen and had no ID. He cussed her out, in language that suggested he might actually have been a bit older than he looked and hit the streets.
How was it, she wondered, that she could quite happily tell someone like that to fuck off, without any nerves at all? But put her in a romantic situation and she just totally fell apart.
I guess I will just die alone.
And so, her day went on and on. After the last match the crowd thinned, by about six there was only a few of the pros left who wanted to put some money on a camel race taking place in Dubai. But Mr Devon re-fused to open a book on any event that occurred outside of the UK or which did not have a UK sportsman in it.
Karen suspected he might be a little racist, but it didn’t seem to hurt his business which was populated by the full rainbow-spectrum of working class London.
Once the pros had cleared out she was free to close little early.
She was just trying to remember that evening’s code for the security bars on the window when another customer came in. He was a tall and lanky kid in an puffer jacket, a cap, and sunglasses despite the late hour and dusk lighting outside.
‘Alright, love,’ he called out in a friendly voice.
Immediately, Karen’s blood ran cold. There was something badly off about the guy. She punched the code in for the outside security bars but didn’t pull the switch to close them yet. Mostly cus she didn’t want to have to lock herself in with the guy.
‘I was just shutting up I’m afraid,’ she called out cheerfully and stepped up to the counter slipping her hand under the till and thumbing the catch off the silent alarm. ‘You’ll have to pop in tomorrow morning if you want to place a bet.’
Is the staff door locked? she wondered. She was pretty sure she hadn’t unlocked it yet but she had been thinking about what it might have been like to date one of those suited men with their stern looks.
The man walked up to the counter, his hand was down his baggy tracksuit bottoms and smiled crookedly.
He might be a pervert. Karen was still inexperienced with men and the thought terrified her. Even just having him doing something to himself across the glass filled her with disgust.
He was dressed like a teen but must have been at least forty, his teeth looked false.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said again, and then screamed.
His hand came out of his trousers with a sawn-off shotgun in it.
‘This is a robbery,’ he said. ‘Put your hands up–‘
She didn’t hear the rest.
What happened next was a blur, she hit the silent alarm button and the security button bringing the counter’s shutters up between her and the gunman. The glass was armoured to, but she wasn’t sure if that meant bullet proof.
I’m going to die, she thought to herself as the phone rang. I’m going to die alone.
Chapter Two
After the man at the emergency service dispatch had reassured Karen that two officers were on their way, that she should sit tight and stay on the line with him, she felt a little better.
To the extent that terrified is better than blind panic. She could feel her hands and feet again, and was aware of a less confused train of thought. Her heart was still hammering away in her through and her mouth was dry but the urge to scream and the certainty that she was about to die had both ebbed away to a mild desire to scream and a middling probability of death.
The robber was bellowing his lungs out on the other side of the ar-moured glass and was stuck between two layers of armoured security blinds. In fact from the sound of it, he seemed more concerned with getting out of the shop than getting behind the counter to Karen and the safe.
She tried to breath calmly, and listen to the voice down the phone which was telling her that there was very little risk to her where she was and that she should stay calm until help arrived.
He must have had a screen with the police officer’s location on it because he kept telling her how far away they were and the gradually decreasing number was increasingly reassuring.
She felt a little faint, a little nauseous, but even that was better than the total terror she had felt when she saw the gun.
The dispatch officer said something muffled on the other end of the line, made assenting noises and then said, ‘If you could raise the outside se-curity blinds, please, Karen. The officers are ready to come in.’
‘Okay,’ she said, a little surprised by the shake in her voice. She sounded ready to cry. Somehow this was more frightening, her body had got used to being small and hiding in the dark sealed off room, moving seemed to set some primeval part of her brain off, suggesting it might ex-pose her to the predator her lizard brain assumed was out there.
‘It’s okay, Karen. Just raise the outside blinds. You are safe in the of-fice,’ the voice on the phone said.
She hit the code and pulled the lever. Outside she hear a yell of joy from the robber which quickly died when she heard the voice of the cops.
‘Drop your weapon.’
‘It’s just a toy,’ came the response. ‘Don’t shoot me, its just a toy.’
Is he serious? He scared me with a fucking toy?
Somehow this seemed more outrageous, that she had sat there in fear, thought she was going to die, and all he had was a toy gun?
She put in the second security code to turn off the silent alarm and open the cashiers security blinds. There were bobbies with truncheons out cuffing the guy. One of them, tall, dark haired and muscular was reading the prisoner his rights in a thick cockney accent.
The other, slightly shorter but every bit as physically fit cam over to the cashier’s desk.
‘You’re alright there, ma’am. We’ve got the crim in custody. It was a plastic gun, looked real enough, but you’re okay.’ His voice was soft, with a public school accent that seemed odd coming from a London copper. His hair-cut looked expensive and beside his rougher bearded companion he seemed like he must be from a different world.
But when his partner called out, ‘Stop flirting, Constable, and lets get this fucker back to the station,’ he turned smartly about and called the other man, ‘Sir.’
‘Just one moment, young lady,’ he said. ‘We’ll get this villain squared away and then we’ll need your statement.’
The two men disappeared off for a moment, and through the win-dows Karen could see them shove him roughly into the back of a squad car. There was a third officer in the vehicle who pulled flicked the sirens on and pulled away into the London traffic.
The officers came back in and the blond approached her again.
‘Now, miss. I am Constable Kettering and this is Sergeant Doyle, could you come out from the locked office, please we’ll need to take your statement.’
Karen had only just realised she was still holding the phone to her ear and without saying anything she hung up, nodded to to cops and set about opening up the staff area.
At the door Sergeant Doyle met her his thick black beard and eye-brows made him look like some sort of wild man. ‘Come on, Love. Yer alright now. Have yourself a little sit down and tell us what happened.’
Seeing him close-up without the glass suddenly made her feel safe, he was the kind of man who could protect you. Big and capable, his uniform and body language exerting authority, demanding respect.
Kettering seemed more relaxed, with the kind of confidence that suggested nothing would be particularly difficult.
‘I should close up the shop really,’ Karen said, her voice still hoarse. Somehow, hearing that crack in her own voice was enough, whatever part of her that had been closed off in fear, let go and she began to cry, long hard sobs, ugly crying with a runny nose and running mascara, all that extra effort of the morning wasted, and in front of these two gorgeous cops in their well tailored uniforms.
Kettering stepped forward and gently took her in his arms, while the bigger guy stepped past her and said, ‘I’ll get everything locked up, and let yer boss know what what.’
‘Thank. You.’ Karen sobbed. ‘The. Num. Ber. Is. Devon. It’s. On. The. Pinboard.’
‘Easy there,’ Kettering whispered to her his arms enfolding her. His muscles where taught and hard, gripping her in a way that made her feel like there was nothing there but her and him.
He smelled of manly deodorant and some sort of soap which she guessed must be his uniform. His hand ran gently through her hair and he repeated, over and over, ‘You’re okay. Nothing to hurt you now.’
And with that she suddenly felt alright, a deep calm seemed to ooze out of his chest through the rough cloth of his uniform and into her body. She felt an extraordinary burst of joy at being alive, a thrill that ran right through her from her head to her toes.
She felt the muscles in her stomach tighten as the thrill seemed to settle inside her, just behind her pubic bone. An animal desire was uncurl-ing within her, stretching its muscles as it awoke. A little flustered she pushed herself away from Kettering and stepped back bumping into Doyle who was just coming through the door.
‘Scuse, love. It’s all squared away, yerboss’ll be down in no time at all to pack this lot up. We’ll just need to lock the place down when we take you up the station fo your statement about that miscreant.’
He was standing very close and had placed a hand gently on her shoulder to steady her when she hit him. Now she realised how strong his grip was, she could only imagine that hand pressing against her chest, the wide fingers pushing into her.
She could feel a pinprick of wet form in the cotton of her panties where her jeans pressed them against her sex. She looked up at Doyle an met his eyes, which were deep, clear brown.
She smiled, the pinprick of damp spreading as the cotton absorbed her quim like a wick.
‘I’d like to thank you both before we go.’
Holy shit! The words had come out of her mouth before she even knew she was going to say them. She felt terrified, but looking from Doyle to Kettering and back she saw a look pass between them that seemed disbelieving at first. Then they smiled at each other and Doyle gave Kettering a quick nod.
‘How would you do that, miss?’ asked Doyle looking her up and down very slowly as if assessing a crime scene. Karen looked down, away from those eyes and her eyes caught movement in Doyle’s trousers there was a slow swelling. He clearly likes what he sees, she thought.
He lifted her chin and looked down at her. His face close to hers.
‘It feels every bit as good as it looks,’ said Kettering from very close behind her. She didn’t take her eyes off Doyles as Kettering continued: ‘I had to adjust myself
a little when she pressed up against me like that.’
She felt Kettering’s hands slide around her waist from behind his thumbs hitching into the belt line of her jeans, untucking her blouse so the knuckle of his thumb traced a ring around her hips meeting together at the front where she could feel his nails scrape against the triangle of trimmed hair she left unshaved above her pussy.
This is really happening!she thought. Then all thought left her as Doyle leaned forward and kissed her on the mouth. She had expected the kiss to be tender, instead it was brutal, all the hard authority of his role as police officer seemed to be in the slow but firm pressure of his lips against hers, the forceful parting of her lips and teeth by his tongue and the inva-sive thoroughness of his tongue once inside. It pressed her tongue down, thrusting deep into her mouth until his teeth ground painfully on hers. When she tried to pull away she found her head pinned tight between Doyle’s kiss and Kettering’s chest.
Doyle’s tongue ran across her teeth, then flicked out and he sucked her bottom lip hard enough that she thought it might bruise and pulled away. His eyes were no longer clear but burned with a powerful desire. He squared his hips against her and she felt his erection press against her sto-mach. The small patch was soaked through now and she was grinding her legs together frantic for some friction against her jeans.
One of Kettering’s hands slipped up towards her navel, undoing the buttons of her blouse one by one as it went. Meanwhile Doyle wrapped one hand almost entirely round her throat and pressed the heel of his hand against the crotch of her jeans.
She ground back against his hand and little bursts of pleasure rushed up through her as the warm pressure of his hand rubbed against her in long strokes. She was just finding her rhythm when Kettering behind her finished the last of her buttons and with on hard tug pulled the cups of her bra down. Suddenly she felt very naked and exposed. This was the first time she’d been naked in front of a man and now it was to officers of the law. Weren’t there laws against this kind of thing? I’ll have to remember to delete the security tapes.