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Old 05-21-2013, 10:34 AM   #1
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Default The Hazelton Chronicles

Tales of lust, greed, rape and crime in the English town of Hazelton and its surroundings...


The following is a work of fiction and should in no way be taken as encouragement to commit rape, sell drugs or break the law in any way or form.

Some parts will also be a little familiar to a few of you as they will be reworked versions of previously posted stories.

Though posted on a rape fantasy site, and in the rape story section, not all sex acts will be non-consensual, and not all parts will contain sex, some parts will exist just to move from one story to another, so please bear with them.


May 2013
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Old 05-21-2013, 10:35 AM   #2
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Pete couldn’t sleep, he tried, he tossed and he turned, even falling back on an old remedy from his childhood and drinking some warmed up milk, but still sleep would not come, so after checking his clock for what felt like the fiftieth time, and still seeing it was only a few minutes since his last check he gave up, quickly threw on some jeans and a shirt and padded barefoot to the kitchen to make a coffee, trying to calm himself with the mundane task of grinding the beans, boiling the kettle to pour into the filter machine before combining the elements, leaving him the long, boring wait as the water soaked through the grounds and dripped into the jug, he looked up at the kitchen clock, “fuck three am” then looked at the machine “c’mon c’mon you little fucker” as if it was a living breathing entity, being deliberately obtuse and obstinate in taking its own time, the intent to make his life as difficult as possible, remembering the old saying about watched pots not boiling he wandered back into the living room and switched on the TV, surfing through the channels, but even going through all two hundred all he could find was adverts, repeats and depressing news, bored with this he wandered back into the kitchen to check on the progress of the coffee, seeing that there was plenty in the jug he grabbed and mug and poured himself one, swearing as some liquid dripped from the spout to sizzle on the hot plate, before padding back through the flat to open the French windows and step into the balcony, pausing momentarily to let the cool, early spring air hit his body before quietly carrying on forward to stand at the balustrade, resting his elbows on the rail and cupping the mug in his hands, he let the warmth soak into his skin while he took in the view of the river, watching a small container boat manoeuvre into the nearby port, looking to his right he could see the River Wharf Shopping Centre, faintly illuminated by the lights of the casino ship ‘Les Sept Mers’ glittering in its windows, the tall central tower of the onetime ferry terminal highlighted by a couple of low powered spotlights.

For the first time that night he smiled as he remembered the place as it once was , not as it is now, a place for young professional people to sip cappuccinos’ while sitting outside in the sun, talking about, well whatever it was professional people talked about, before heading off to buy clothes and furniture from the new hot designer, seeing instead the place as it looked when he was a kid, that time a couple of decades ago when the wharves and quays were full of ships coming from around the world, the crews speaking in a dozen different languages, Polish, Russian, Romanian, some from countries now lost to history. But no matter the origin of the crew, or what their dialect was, they all knew the same few English words, mainly variations on Levi and pussy, with video and stereo running close behind, and no matter what the need was, some cheap booze, American fags or jeans, a woman to alleviate the affects of a long sea voyage with only a dozen other hairy men for company, his old man would fulfil the need somehow, all for their wages and some goods liberated from the hold.

He smiled to himself as he remembered the hard men who worked on the docks, all nicknamed for their personalities, Batman, who would never leave a ship with robbing, Diesel, a scouser named for his tendency to pick something up in the hold and cry out, “these a’ do for me ma” or “these a’ do for me pa”, Van Gogh who constantly cried, “I got one ‘ere”, all, like his dad and his cohorts trying to avoid the attention of the port police, old fashioned coppers all, who thought a great way to punish the youths they caught was a smack to their ear and to send them on their way as a form of deterrence, ‘yep, that worked’ Pete laughed to himself as he remembered the double smackings he received as a kid, firstly from the coppers themselves, then, like some many of his friends, from his old man, though unlike his friends, his was not so much for whatever misdemeanour that brought punishment upon him, more for the fact that he got caught in the first place, shaking his head he brought himself back to the here and now, and the job that Barnes, his, for want of a better term, employer, though it was more of a loose sub-contract affair, and his dad’s ex partner in crime, had given him earlier in the day.

Thinking no time like the present, Pete went back inside to grab his mobile from the table where he had thrown it earlier that night and started to run through the contacts until he found the one he needed and shooting him a quick email to set up a meet, Pete then settled down on the sofa to try and watch something on the TV again and despite the caffeine, he found himself slowly dozing off only to wake with his phone chirping the arrival of the reply.

Pete stretched as he stood up and checked the time, eight am, fours sleep, that will have to do he thought to himself as he headed to his bedroom stripping off as he walked, climbing in the shower he let the water run cold for a while, letting the sharp sting shock his body to wakefulness before gradually bringing the temperature up to a better, more comfortable level, the hot water running down his muscled chest, as he spread the shower gel he noticed a slight softening of his stomach muscles, “getting old Bannerman old chap” he spoke to the mirror opposite the cubicle, he stepped out and cast a critical eye, though not a complete poseur, he still prided himself on having a physique at forty three similar to the one he had a couple of decades ago when he first joined the Para’s, and anyway, in his profession, being built like the proverbial brick shit house has its benefits, drying off as he wandered back into his bedroom and grabbing a charcoal grey Boss suit from the wardrobe, coupling with a white TM Lewin shirt and black, highly polished Oxford shoes he was more than ready to face whatever the day would bring for him, especially as he considered the issues of getting into bed, both metaphorically and literally with Eastern European interests, the whole thing, taking the firm from big fish in small pond to small fish in a Pacific Ocean sized one left him feeling a little uneasy, Pete knew from dealings with them at the end of the Cold War how slippery Russians could be, how quickly they managed to find someone else to carry the can when it all went pear shaped on them. He just shook his head figuring he would have to just work out a way to try and prevent this from happening, though how, God only knows, these blackish thoughts took him outside and down to his car, pausing as he caught his reflection in the full length glass of the door, Billy Gibbons popping unbidden into his mind to remind that girls go nuts over a well dress man, crossing the car park where his BMW M5 sat low and menacing, its black paint seemly drawing in and absorbed the early morning sun, he climbed in and started the engine, the V10 starting with a roar, soon settling down to a low tuned growl as he pulled away and headed towards the Mere, where Barnes should by now be sitting in his office, casting an eye over all he owned.

He drove in via back streets and side roads for the most, which meant that he mercifully missed the tail end of the commuter traffic heading into the offices and business units that had grown up around the sprawling shopping complex, its tower omnipresent to people driving along the main road that connected the three old Hazelton ports, two ports now closed and in the throes of being redeveloped, some of the older units partially knocked down to be replaced by new homes, the building still happening despite the recession, though the workers were cheaper ones brought in from Europe. Pete paused the journey to stop off at the Angel Cafe, smiling and greeting the matronly looking woman behind the counter as she prepared his usual, a black Americano and a BLT to go, before pulling into the entrance to the shops and sweeping his car to park on the old quay near the chains that stopped the casino from floating away, noting that Barnes’ Bentley was not there, he decided to stay in the car to finish his breakfast, with the added benefit of enjoying the view of the display girls changing a shops window display.

He smiled as he watched the two girls, contrasting in body shape as they were, his attention was first drawn to the youngest looking, yet more impressively built one, a girl whose figure would make Munroe herself green with envy, her large, no he thought, quite massive, breasts threatening with every bend of the waist to any moment spill out of the neckline of her yellow top, one of whose loose shoulders kept sliding part way down the top of her arm, giving rise, in more ways than one, to Pete’s hope of the view ahead of him getting even better, it was obvious from the way that these large mounds pushed forward, like two balloons straining to be released into the air, that her bra was skimpy and quite likely to be, by either accident or design, a least one size too small for her. He sighed sadly for a moment as she stood and turned away from him, hiding her assets from his gaze, his sadness was short lived as she bent forward and her white trousers stretched erotically across her bum, causing it to highlight in shape and colour the contrast of the tanned cheeks of her arse with her black and skimpy, thong like knickers, then the Gods smiled on him as she squatted on her haunches to deal with a lower shelf, the whole movement pushing the waist of her trousers down a little, leaving enough gap to show the top inch or so of her arse cheeks, and what wonderfully firm looking cheeks they were he thought, she quickly got up and spun around and, Gods be praised, she bent forward to quickly and it happened, her boobs bounced out, jiggling and bouncing for the world to see, and the distance was not quite far enough to hide the showing of the top half of beautiful, glorious, dark brownish red nipple to anyone viewing as she stood up, for a moment it seemed as if she was totally oblivious to the view she was giving Pete and the few people walking past, quickly she must have realised as she spun on her heels to face away from the pavement, the muscles in her shoulders moving and working as she scoped her prodigious flesh back in. This view over, at least for now, Pete turned his attention as he ate and drank to her colleague, a taller, slimmer girl with a coffee coloured complexion. Her chest was not as impressive as yellow, though she pushed out then front of her blouse nicely, and in any other company it would still have been a nice pair of boobs, but next to yellow, they were always going to be overshadowed he mused, then smiling as she shook her head at yellow then bent down to her task, the fabric of her jeans stretching tightly across her bum, the whole display by them causing a stirring in his loins, for two pins, he thought, he would wander over there and help himself, at least to the large breasted one, who breasts would bounce erotically above him as she rode him, he mused idly as he drained the last of his coffee and sandwich before stepping out into the air. The slamming of his car door caused both girls to look up, both reacting as if they had read his thoughts of the last few moments, the bustier turned back to face outwards and must have realised that she had had an audience to her accidentally flashing the world and quickly turned away, presumably in embarrassment, while her partner just looked at him, her gaze challengingly holding his, he just smiled wolfishly, nodded and turned away, throwing his cup and bag into a nearby bin and heading up the gangplank to the Mere, nodding to the security guard as he entered the former car ferries interior, his footsteps muffled by the deep carpet as he walked along, nodding a greeting to the staff cleaning and preparing the casino ready for a fresh nights gambling, heading firstly to the cage, the strong room deep in the bowels of the ship, where all the cash and chips were taken at the end of the night and where now, where this early in the morning the cashiers would be found, trying to reconcile the previous nights takings with the paperwork from the tills, all under the steely, hawk like gaze of Abigail, the pit boss and head of all things money on board. Pete poked his head around the door and greeted her, she replied without once taking her eyes of the cashiers, Pete smiled at the fearful way they moved and counted, in fact the fear could be felt like some kind of heavy blanket, smothering any joy the people in the room had, even Pete, who in his life had faced more than his far share of action, Republican Guard, IRA and few likely lads had all tried, and failed to make Mrs Bannerman one child less, yet here and now, he was feeling the start of a heavy and oppressive apprehension press down on him so he retreated back to his office, wondering if Angela was in fact a dementor in disguise and whether he should brush up on his patronus spells, the cheerful thought would keep him going until he reached his own little sanctuary up on what used to be the boat deck, sadly this was not to be. Before he reached the door he found himself face to face with Suzanne, who loftily thought herself Barnes’ personal assistant, her face was full of contempt for him, while he just looked back bored “hi Su” he had to suppress a smile at the look of distaste, she was a Suzanne not a Su, but she would not dare to challenge this to his face, “you after something?”

He looked up and down for a moment, Suzanne, was a former working girl who now possessed a lofty position, and used it to look down upon anyone who was still stuck at the bottom, little did she know that Barnes once drunkenly confessed to Pete that is was sympathy and loyalty to her that was the reason behind her promotion once she was ‘past it’ for earning on her back, and looking at her Pete could see why, it was not so much that she was fighting a losing battle against aging, more like she should realise that the war had been lost and that she should be negotiating a peace with some kind of honour, her clothing, blouses too tight, skirts too short, though Pete did realise that her legs were still surprisingly good for her age, which was like finding four treaded tires on a car in the breakers, so that he could understand, and a heels a little high, in fact the seventy year old tried to dress and look thirty five but, with her age ravaged face and lack of weight just ended up looking like an eighty year old man in drag, not a look to engender much in the way of sexual desire, well unless you were Rooney, and this was probably why Mary, Barnes’ long suffering wife approved of her appointment.

“Do you want something or is this a social call?”

“Mr Barnes called, he asked me to ask you to meet him at the Le Café Français about eleven?”

“The frog coffee?” Pete looked at his watch, more to annoy than to check the time, he was already aware that is was still only quarter past nine, he waited, seemingly ignoring the woman in front of him, “’kay, thanks” and with that he stepped past her to finish heading to his office, figuring that he would have time to get a little work done before he would have to met the boss, and anyway he had already figured on being fashionably late.

Luckily, his position meant that paperwork was almost non-existent, only a few messages about people who were behind with loan or insurance repayments, all Pete really had to do was go through the names and decide on how they will be incentivized to restart paying, some a few threats would be enough, a few would need anything from a light slapping around or bricks through windows to maybe something a little bit more physical, the trick is to find a way that would scare them into paying but not to terrify them so much that they would have nothing to lose and head for the old bill, it was a balancing act, one Pete had proved adept at.

Once he had sent some coded emails out to the collectors Blackberry’s, he turned to sorting out Barnes’ new sideline, replying to the email from his contact, a corrupt and decadent stage hypnotist and hypnotherapist, an old school friend by the name of Martin Phillips, and one to his brother Patrick, or Pat to his family, who used to be accomplished blackmailer, emails and messages sent Pete glanced at the clock on his desk, still not yet ten, plenty of time to cross the street and go and find the boss, he idly wondered if the window display was still going on.

He got up and stepped out from his office onto the deck, the anti-slip covering spongy under his feet and stood at the rail, his eyes sweeping out to the river itself, watching as a container ship was manoeuvred into the still working port on the opposite side of Port Bay, wondering how long it would survive the opening of a newer, deeper, port further downriver and closer to the estuary, feeling, well, feeling a little melancholy, there had been ports on the is part of the river since far before his birth, he had grown up on them, and yet, now, would he get to see the end of them. And how would that affect some of Barnes’ other businesses, loans should be ok, so should drugs, but if the smaller shops closed, well that would hit insurance income, especially if they were replaced by the big chains, who were not so disposed to pay to insure that their windows would not be put in by a brick, maybe Barnes was right, the old criminal world is closing, especially for the Brits, it’s all Eastern Europeans and Asians, and they just up the extreme factor a little, more pain, more drugs and crews shipped in from the Continent. How the fuck could you compete with that?

“Fuck it Peter old son” he whispered to the air “you need to get fucking laid, this down bullshit’ll send you straight to the fucking funny farm”, a couple of deep breaths and some rolling of the neck later he turned on his heel and headed back inside, leaving the melancholy thoughts out there on the deck with the early spring sunshine.

It was five minutes past eleven when Pete walked into Le Café Français, the small cafe, an attempt to introduce an air of Parisian pavement cafe society to River Wharf, that opened onto a terrace overlooking the quay around the Mere. Looking around he quickly spotted Barnes sitting with a young couple at a table in the corner, an empty cup and plate next to his elbow, his two minders sitting at another table nearby, their eyes scanning the room, the young male with Barnes leaned forward and spoke into his ear, whatever the comment was it caused him to turn and face in Pete’s direction, he looked at his watch with a slow and somewhat deliberate movement, slightly exaggerating the effort needed and then, shaking his head, his heavily brycreamed silver hair not moving at all as Pete got nearer “you’re late” he greeted tersely as he stood, his hands brushing a few crumbs from the front of his hand made navy suit trousers, his air that of someone not used to being made to wait by those in his employ, even if it was only a few minutes. Pete just smiled and shrugged in reply, not bothering to respond further, knowing that the older man’s comments was down more to general grumpiness than any anger.

As he approached even closer the girl at the other table jumped up and threw her arms around him, crying “dad” with a loud degree of excitement at seeing him. He hugged her back “Monnie” was all he managed to say as the breath was being squeezed out of him before allowing her to drag him the last few feet, Mike, the young man at them table just got up and nodded at him “usual” and without waiting for a reply went to the counter to get some more drinks, Americano again for Pete, Cappuccino’s for Monique and the two minders, and a cup of tea for a Barnes, who quickly shook the new arrivals hand before sitting back down, making small talk about the weather until Mike returned, a waitress carrying a tray full of cups in tow, waiting until the waitress had finished and retreated back to the counter before changing the subject to business matters.

“Ok Pete, did you get in touch with Martin and Pat?”

Pete nodded “yeah, Martin has a weekend event other at the Monarch” as he spoke he sub-consciously nodded his head in the general direction of the Monarch Hotel, an old converted country house a mile or so outside the town “and I’m meeting Pat later at the Railwayman’s, so I’ll get his take on all this...” he vainly groped for the right term “...this stuff then.”

“Pete you still got a cob on about it?”

“Just concerned guv, how much effort and cash went into keeping this area free of the bastards and now...”

“I hear you but times they are a changing. Our way of crime is nearly over, soon it’ll all be either Eastern European’s or coon street gangs and neither have time for the old codes, no honour amongst thieves for those cu...” he quickly remembered Monique, Pete’s sort of daughter sitting there and changed his wording “...buggers. Nah, with all these foreigners flooding in we’ll be pushed out anyway, better to work with than against.”

“I get that guv but I just don’t trust them, if it goes sideways its gonna be us holding the bag and this, this is all so random and so different from what we do. Hell drugs , fucking and porn I get, demanding money with a little bit of bite I get. This? This is so far out of my comfort zone my head is spinning like a fucking top. Who’s going to run this anyway?”

Barnes looked at him long and hard, weighing his next words up “anyone else Pete and I’d think they were running scared on me. Now I know ya steady son, and I get that you’re concerned, but this is a done deal, so get used to it. Now as to who’s running it, well considering what they want I think Mike is best” Pete nodded “and he’s going to need help setting it up so” he swallowed hard, not sure how to finish what he said, worried about Pete’s reaction to the news “Monnie will be helping him set everything up.” Pete just looked at them, poleaxed and confused by what he had just heard. Monnie? Monnie was going to help? He looked at the girl for a moment before standing up.

“Monnie come with me” his voice cracking a little with a barely suppressed combination of concern and anger, before turning and walking over to the other corner of the empty terrace, without bothering to check if she was following and waited, listening to her footsteps as her high heels clicked on the wooden flooring, turning to face her when she stood close to him, for a moment he just looked at her, a million things running through his mind, a million concerns chasing them, “so, you’re involved.”

“Please don’t get angry or upset, I know what I’m doing, fuck it, I did worse when I was on the streets.”

“Yeah, but this is different to turning a few tricks to get food and rent, this is more serious. And you don’t need to do this, we’ve, me and Mike are trying to protect you from this bullshit cause your better than this.”

She stepped closer, “it’s ok, I’ll be safe, I know you won’t let harm come to me, just let me do this” and so the discussion went on, back and forth, Pete protesting, Monique batting the objections aside. In the end Pete realised that he was not going to dissuade her from the course, that it was something she determined to do., so reluctantly he just nodded “the first sign of trouble we get you out of it.” She nodded “ok boss” and for a brief moment the look she gave him was that of the young woman that, with Mikes help, he had rescued from the street, and despite his concern he had to smile back at her before taking her arm and heading back to the rejoin Mike and Barnes.
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Old 05-21-2013, 01:03 PM   #3
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Interesting start - very well-written and I like the attention given to the characters.
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Old 05-21-2013, 02:51 PM   #4
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Old 05-21-2013, 05:12 PM   #5
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Default Chapter 2 (Pt 1)

Pete leant against the back of the car while he waited for Mike to arrive, all the while getting funny looks from some of the people wandering past, a couple had even walked up to him and asked him if he was their cab, for a few seconds he debated on how to phrase the reply, a few choice profanities did come into his head, but then he caught sight of a sign nearby ‘Taxi pick up only’ and realisation dawned, man waiting there next to a dark Vauxhall Vectra, he would have assumed the same, so he just shook his head, saved from further explanation by the arrival of the real mini cab, he smiled as he watched them walk away, the woman’s arse swaying from side to side as she walked, and went back to his waiting. Ten minutes later his patience was rewarded by Mike’s arrival, the tuned engine of his Focus STi, humming a weird bass note as he pulled in behind him, Monnie in the passenger seat, both getting out to come and stand on the pavement beside him, Monnie oblivious to the chaos she was responsible for due to the amount of leg her mini dress was showing, both men smiled a little as a couple of men walked by, both surreptitiously trying to get a look at her legs and arse, while at the same time avoiding the ire of the women with them, one got caught and received a look that would have turned most men to stone, Pete and Mike shared a look, both thinking the same thing, that poor bastard is going to be receiving hell for the next days, if not for the whole bloody month.

Pete smiled apologetically “Sorry for ruining your night, but something’s come up.”

“Your brother come up with something?”

Pete just nodded his reply “and Monique” he paused while groping for the right words “I’m sorry but me and Mike have to meet someone and well...well...with who it is I don’t think it’ll be a good idea for you to come along.”

“But...but...I’m not a little girl”

“I know that, but the person who...shit” he looked at his battered watch “fuckers early” Mike and Monnie both turned to follow where Pete was looking, watching as an old S Class Mercedes saloon, its silver bodywork s dented, wheezed into the car park opposite, settling with a groan as it braked to a stop at the centres glass door, its rear door opening and a morbidly obese man getting out, waving to the group and starting to waddle over to the group, Pete waved and pointed back to the centre, making the universal sign for food and drink, the man took the hint and turned, waddling awkwardly inside the entrance.

“Who’s that?” Monnie asked.

“Carl Brooks, ex doctor, full time pervert and high end drug dealer.” Pete looked at the girl, realising just how pretty she had become. “Monique, do me a favour, I want you as far as way from that...as I can” he pulled out a roll of cash and peeled off a twenty “go and get yourself a drink and we’ll meet you as soon as we have finished.” She took the money and nodded abstractedly, decided that Carl was not the sort of person she would want to meet if she could, smiling she kissed Pete on the cheek and Mike on the lips, a long languid, come back as soon as you can kiss, one that made Pete look away embarrassed and then she walked her away, her wedged sandals soft on the pavement, the older man waited patiently while Mike watched her walk away, before tapping on his shoulder and pointing in the direction of Carl “sooner we get this sorted, the sooner you will be back with her” and the two men reluctantly headed to the door.

“So what did Patrick have to say about this?”

Pete stopped and thought, formulating his answer “lots, fucking lots” he grinned “mainly it’s a fucking stupid idea, but if we do there’s a few, for want of better terms, rules. One, do your homework on them, make sure that they are not the sort to publish or be damned, next, make sure that what you are blackmailing them for is so bad that exposure is far worse than what they are paying you, and make sure that the cost is reasonable and rack it up gradually, don’t start with the fucking moon, ask for a rock and work your way up to Jupiter. And lastly, give them an end date and keep to it, let them know that this will come to an end, or you risk them losing their fear of exposure or getting brave enough to go to the police on you.

Now as we want more than money, he figured that we need some help, so he made an appointment with Carl here.”

Mike nodded “fair ‘nough.’

It took the two of them a little while to find Carl but eventually they tripped across him sitting in a fast food place, a couple of large burgers and fries on the tables, a large glass of coke next to him, stuffing the fries in his mouth a large handful at a time, alternating with large bites out of the burger, bits of bun, cheese, sauce and sesame seeds clustering on his lips.

“I think we’ll not disturb Carl and let him finish his meal” Mike nodded twice, first in agreement and then towards one of the pillars, “out of sight?” Pete smiled and headed in the direction, both men’s taking turns to peer round the corner until the man had finished eating.

“You hungry Mike?”

“Hah, not any more I fucking ain’t.”

Both men looked around the pillar again to see that Carl had finished off the two meals and was happily demolishing a large ice cream desert in a dish that looked like it would serve as a lifeboat for a couple of medium sized dogs, with enough wafers to retile a small bungalows roof, only stopping to slurp down large gulps of his coke, they waited until the last spoonful was shovelled into his mouth before heading over to the table.

“You two finished hiding and giggling like a couple of fucking school girls?” Carl didn’t even bother looking up as he spoke, just picked up the bill and waved it in the general attention of their approach “here I think this is yours.”

Pete just took it and whistled at it at the size, but not of the money, that was par for the course for a place like this, an attempt at a gourmet burger bar, but at the sheer quantity of food and drink “diet going well I see” Carl just shot him a look and started to rise.

“Well if you are going to be sarky.”

“Oh grow up for fucks sake. Mike” he handed over the paper and some money “go and pay for this will you?” Mike could not get away fast enough, his journey back a little slower, but try as he might, he could not put off rejoining the others.

“Okay you two, I haven’t much time, so what you after?”

Pete looked around, deciding that the food court in a shopping centre might be a little too public for their discussions “look not here” he nodded towards one of the fire exits. “Over there.”

When they were away from being overheard, Pete explained what he needed, but not the reason, Carl considered for a moment. “Long term you say? But fast working?” Pete and Mike nodded. “I have the perfect thing, its pricey though. Quaker.”

“Quaker? What the fuck is Quaker?”

“An expensive yet highly effective date rape drug in two parts” he smiled “oh yes most effective. Its two parts you see, one makes them persuadable the other horny beyond belief. Give it to her majesty and you’ll be able to get her fucking the entire Blues and Royals by lunch, and their fucking horses.”

“How much?”

“Four grand a set” he held his hand up at Mikes surprise and protesting “you don’t use much son so it can last a while.”

Pete just nodded and pulled out his money again, peeling off a couple of hundred in twenties “get some and ring when you can deliver.” And with Carls’ agreement in his ears he wandered off with Mike.

Carl watched them leave, then got up and headed for his own car, his own nights work about to begin, as he reached the edge of the food court a man detached himself from the shadows and headed to meet him at the entrance.

“So what did that cunt Bannerman want?”

“Business, mine and none of yours, now get me to Sergeii’s place.”

Carl watched impassively, his hands in the pocket of his white coat, as the lorry reversed into the warehouse, its warning beep echoing of the walls as it competed with the diesel engine to deafen anyone within earshot, the artic coming to a halt with a hiss of airbrakes, then, before the sound of the engine had had a chance to fade away completely, a group of men rushed forward to open up the rear doors, throwing them open and yelling into the interior, he did not completely understand what they were saying, but he had been here another to guess.

“Out, out, everyone out” then gradually faces appeared over the top of the pallets, blinking in the harsh fluorescent lighting, men, women, children, the old and young, all hoping for a better life, all about to be dissuaded of that notion, the men hopping down first, then reaching up to help down the others, gently picking up the children and putting them on the floor, their hands reaching up to help down the women, all the while being shouted at like one of the concentration camp scenes from Schindler’s List, but eventually, after many shouts and much chivvying, the thirteen new arrivals stood in a couple of little groups, dazed and confused expression on their faces as they saw their first view of Britain, not rolling hills and green trees, not country houses, no Royals or celebs as promised by the agents back home, but a drafty, dirty, rat infested warehouse in God knows where, Carl felt the palpable sense of disappointment and smiled, knowing that for some, things were going to get much, much worse. He swept his gaze across the group, taking in their faces and bodies, decided on which ones he would be allowed to play with and how far, it was true that he would have to play with all of them, man and women, even the grandmotherly looking woman that was being held by an wizened old man, but that was part of the price to be paid for finding one that he could play with for longer, noting the heights and builds, the ages and the attractiveness of them all, most of what he was about to do would be the same as always, a full, genuine, well almost genuine, medical examination, just a couple of additions for his own amusement, a kind of bonus to himself, and as long as he did not damage or anger the merchandise, then he was allowed pretty much free reign as to what he was going to be doing.

He pulled out a moleskin notepad from his inside pocket and scratched some notes, working out who he would examine first, he looked up when he spotted a figure move from one group to the other, a figure whose beauty just made him gasp in surprise, a beauty that managed to shine through the accumulated grime and tiredness of the long journey from eastern Europe.

He called over to the man in charge of this stage of the operation, a short, stocky man, somewhere in his late twenties to early thirties, called, and Carl always smiled at how stereotyped it was, Igor, huge biceps bulging from the sleeves of his shirt, every inch of flesh hidden by prison tattoos, his wide, slab like face impassive as he strode over, his gait closer to that off a mountain gorilla than a human being, Carl walked forward to meet him to save time “give me ten minutes to get ready” the reply was an almost blank look and then “ten minutes?” the reply in an accent so thick as to be almost indecipherable, the man then just nodded over his shoulder and used up a little more off his limited English “Roma scum”, Carl just nodded absentmindedly “ten minutes” before turning on his heels and heading off, his destination the warehouses old offices, accessible via a set of rickety, wooden stairs, his breath labouring with the effort of pulling his twenty five stone body up the steps, with every movement he feared the whole thing collapsing under him, but finally he reached the landing of the melamine flooring, his breath in ragged gasps as he stood there for a moment to gather himself before heading into the first of the offices, the old rooms now refitted for their new purpose, nodding as he spotted his assistant and translator, a former nurse, who, to his eyes anyway, was a walking stereotype in so much that she was built like a male Olympic shot putter, with a face that looked like it had be set on fire and put out with an axe, a couple of times, although she spoke almost perfect English, with hardly an accent, he had always found it damn near impossible to pronounce her names, so, mentally at least, he initially had just christened her Nurse Ratched after the head nurse in ‘One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest’, however after working with her for a while, her personality, which like a lot of the organisation, would not have looked out of place wearing an SS uniform, and what she was like during the medical examinations, he had re-christened her Ilsa, after the titular star of the old seventies Nazi exploitation films, something which she initially took exception to, until Carl sat her down one evening and showed her one and then she took it as a badge of honour, even now, the memory of how turned on she was, and what she did to him, and more importantly, what she enjoyed having done to her, was able to give him an instant erection, harder and for far then longer than from any amount of Viagra.

He walked through the room, his heavy steps vibrating the flooring, and entered the large room that had been set up as his examination room, the equipment old but serviceable, Ilsa stepped in through the door, followed by Sergei, his employer for the night. He waited for Ilsa to follow him in, “Ilsa soon be show time, the usual for them all” she nodded in reply and started preparing everything.

“Carl, a word before you begin.”

“Sure, you’re the boss”

Sergei walked over, contemplated the chair for a moment before turning and looking at the former doctor, a look of distaste flicking briefly across his face before he managed to compose himself. “Ok, don’t worry too much about the older men and the babushkas, just give them a quick exam. But I need you to do a fuller on the younger women...but there are to be unharmed, or...” he nodded towards the door, where Igor, the gorilla in change of the unloading crew stood silently, his tattooed arms folded across his chest, a scowl on his blunt face “oh yes and the children, they will be checked at a hospital, I want to have a fuller check on them, I have a couple of couples in France and Italy who would love to adopt them if they are healthy.”

Carl just looked over his shoulder than turned back and shrugged, trying to hide his disappointment “of course, never figured it any other way.” Sergei nodded and without a further word walked out of the office, Carl just nodded at Ilsa before walking through into the main examination room, glancing around to make sure everything was ready, the examination table was in the centre of the room, lights all set, stirrups at the end, the little table with his instruments next to it, his desk and chair, his laptop sitting there, angled so that he could look into the final set of furniture, a three piece screen set up in the corner, without either too much effort, or alarming the person behind it, he had Ilsa walk behind it while he looked at his laptop, checked that the last pieces of the puzzle was in place, a mirror with a pair of wireless webcam’s pointing towards it, picking up images from as many angles as possible, another couple picked up images from the warehouse itself, he called the woman over and pointed to the screen, “Ok Ilsa, bring up the first one, start with the oldest men, then the babushka’s, then downwards through the men until we reach the women, she nodded her agreement and rattled out some words in Russian to Igor, who grunted in reply and stalked off, to appear on the camera, shouting orders at the still dazed people, Carl did not bother turning on the speakers, knowing that he would neither understand nor care what they were saying, then Igor started to come back, one of the older men following hesitantly behind him, his own that shuffling gait peculiar to the very sick or the very old, he sat there and waited, not bothering to switch to a view of the stairs, knowing instinctively that it would take a while for the two men to walk the small distance, he allowed himself a small smile as he heard Igor growling at the first, for want of a better, more appropriate word, patient, and his slightly whining reply, Carl may not have been able to speak their language, but it was obvious that the younger man was impatiently ordering the old man along, and the old man was arguing half heartedly, his fear of Igor overwhelming his pride, eventually they made it into the room, Ilsa meeting him at the door and lead him over to the door after dismissing Igor, whispering in his ear as they walked, this time a whole lot more gently and patiently, Carl admired how she was devious enough to work out the best way of dealing with each person, and how to change her personality to deal with their individual quirks and temperaments, when to push, when to pull, when to be sweet and when to be a bitch, not for the first time he wondered if she was doing the same to him, a scary thought that he put out of his mind, working out that no, she would not be that bloody stupid.

He pulled some forms out of his briefcase, and started to fill them in, the information didn’t matter, most of them would be shredded at the end of the examinations, the only thing that mattered about them was that they made the whole thing look professional and somehow real, even more so than tapping away at a laptop, for some reason, and after some experimentation, that the sight of a man in a white coat, even if the man was sitting in a grubby office in an abandoned warehouse, somehow made people feel reassured, must be an innate fear and respect of authority Carl assumed, but whatever it was, it worked and that was all that mattered, which was also the whole reasoning behind Sergei making Igor and his crew wear high visibility waistcoats and id badges with UK BCA, the same initials that was on the sign of the warehouse, on them, which if asked by the people on the lorries where to say it stood for United Kingdom Border Control Agency, when in fact there where, borrowed, from a local firm, long bankrupt and just as long forgotten.

Looking up he saw that the old man had came out from behind the screen, his body naked except for a pair of Y fronts, once white, now, like the hair that covered his skinny chest a grubby grey, he debated whether or not he should have Ilsa make him remove them, but to be honest it only took one look at the old man and how grubby he himself look to figure out that he was going be risking his sense of smell as it was, so the more he wore and the sooner he was examined the better, so reluctantly he stood, picked up his stethoscope to approach the man, wrinkling his nose as he came close, trying not to feel nasuas as he came into range of the man’s smell of stale sweat, unwashed skin urine, after a very perfunctory examination, where he called out random things for Ilsa to note down, he declared himself happy. Ilsa had the old man dress and then Igor lead him back away, only this time to a little room away from the others, it did not do have them talk about what was happening, it would either make them over nervous or over confident about what was going on in the room, best to let them stay a little unsure, and anyway, the people would be taken away in groups, each depending on what the traffickers had in mind for them, the first group, usually the older or smaller men and less attractive females, would end up working sixteen hour days as cheap labour picking and packing somewhere, being bused around the country from farm to farm, the larger men, work protection or intimidation, with the odd bare knuckle fight thrown in for variety, the last group, Carl’s favourite to work on, the more attractive men and women, would be put on drugs and sold to strip clubs and brothels, and any children, the cuter ones ended up being adopted with the less cute ones being trained to beg and steal in the big cities, though whether these terms were euphemisms, Carl neither knew nor cared very much, he took his pay and just did as he was told.

It only took him another thirty or forty minutes to work through the rest of the males, all except one who he decided to leave till later, Sergei may have put a block on him having fun with the women, but that did not preclude the males and the older ones did it.

He smiled again as Igor brought the first of the older women upstairs, the woman must have been in her sixties, and large, a walking stereotype, he had Ilsa ask the questions, these ones differing from those of the men, before translating them for Carl.

“What is your name?”

“Irina madam.”

Ilsa smiled at the madam part “And your age?”

She looked at Carl and then Ilsa “its 62 madam”


“Yes madam, forty years”

“Number of children?”

“Four madam”

It was obvious that the next question was of a more personal nature, the way the woman looked downwards, away from Carl told him that, Ilsa repeated herself, a little more firmer, the woman still looked away but nodded her head, Ilsa asked a second question, again the woman looked embarrassed, and a little offended, but again Ilsa, using a voice combining both steel and a certain gentleness, Irina looked at her for a moment and shook her head again, this time adding some words in Russian to it, the evil grin on Ilsa’s face when she turned to face Carl told him something was up “she was a virgin when she married, and apart from her doctor, no man except her husband has seen her naked, let along fucked her. Carl smiled, delicious, fun would be had with this one.

“Ok Ilsa, carry on with Irina” she went back to her and whispered into her ear, then, taking her by the arm, she gently lead her to the screens, then went out to the outer office, he heard he whisper something to Igor and then she returned, just in time to see Irina emerge from behind the screen, half undressed, her underwear, white and dependable, still on, he shook his head at Ilsa, who barked out an order, now it was time for the Irina to shake his head in reply, Ilsa repeated herself, a hint of menace in her voice, still the woman just stood there, some tears as her eyes as she spoke, her voice full of begging, Ilsa just stood her ground, barking out more orders, the only word that Carl could decipher was Igor, who appeared, like magic in the doorway, his eyes locked on the older woman, whose eyes were wide at the sight of him.

Carl looked up “What did you say to her?”

Ilsa did not even turn her head, she just spoke “I said if she does not remove them Igor would for her” she barked out some more Russian and Igor stepped into the room, going to stand near the woman, instinctively standing so that the examination rooms own webcams would not be blocked, neither would Carls, “I have given her one last chance to undress”. Irina hung her head and spoke, the voice full of defeat and started to turn towards the screens, but stopped when she heard Ilsa speak, she turned back and looked towards Ilsa and then Igor, then back again, the protest catching in her throat as she saw the steel on Ilsa’s face. With a sigh she reached up and undid the clasp of her bra and pulled it forward, briefly flashing her nipples as she tried to simultaneously hand the bra to Ilsa and cover her large sagging breasts with the other hand, Carl looked at the woman, more with curiosity than desire, looking up and down at the amount of hair on her legs and under her arms, he wonder when she last shaved, if she had ever, he tore his eyes away from her and looked at Igor’s face, which contained an ill conceived lust for this woman almost twice his age, he shrugged mentally, each to their own, though he could have some fun with this, he needed to liven up proceedings or he was liable to go completely out of his fucking mind, he leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers in front of him, content to leave this part in the capable hands of Ilsa and Igor, both would probably know what was needed of them for now.

“Snimite trusy sleduyushchiy”

Irina just shook her head, rattling off some rapid Russian, of which the on words Carl understood was no and Igor.

Isla repeated herself, this time pointing to Igor, who took a step forward and reached up towards the waistband, causing the woman to spin around and push his hand away, her breasts now uncovered and wobbling from side to side with the movement, they were large and saggy, resting slightly on the bulge of her stomach, Igor just looked at them and smiled, his an evil grin on his face to go with the lust in his eyes as he grabbed hold of Irina’s wrists, holding them tight in mid air, while Ilsa moved in close to the woman from behind and, without a further word, just pulled the woman’s knickers to the floor, ripping them a little in her haste, exposing large, fleshy, white buttocks to the view of the three people in the room, Carl could see Irina’s face colour as she hung her head a little, obviously shamed by her nakedness in front of these strangers, if she only knew about the camera’s Carl thought, she would most likely die from it, he did toy with the idea of letting her know, just to see what would happen, but the dangers would outweigh the advantages, so he set the idea aside, instead he had Igor and Ilsa lead, in truth more half drag half push, her towards the examination table, the woman verbally protesting as well as struggling, but Igor had her wrists too tightly held for her to do more than struggle in vain, finally there were at the table, Irina looked at the table and started to protest louder and louder, a scream starting to come from her mouth, a scream soon cut off by Ilsa slapping her across the face, curing her in one move of all verbal and physical resistance, though her face was full of hate for Igor and Ilsa, and pleading when Carl stood in front of her, smiling a reassuring smile, he knelt down in front of her, speaking calmly to her, “it’s ok, I’m just going to make sure you are healthy and able to work” he knew she was not going to understand him, but it did not matter, like calming an animal or very small child, it was the tone not the words which were important, he felt her shudder as he reached up and touch her legs, fighting the urge to shudder himself at the hairy feel of them, and gently tried to pry them apart, however, every time he managed to get enough of a gap and let them go, she snapped them shut, Russian words, probably curses, came down to him from above, again and again he pried them apart, and again and again she snapped them shut, tiring of the game, he stood up and looked at her, letting anger show on his face “this won’t fucking do you old witch, either you open them up or I will get these two” he pointed to his companions “to do it for you” he waited until the words were translated he and while the reply was spat back “and if you stop them I will get every motherfucking man in the building to come up here and hold them apart, and there will all get a view of your fucking hairy cunt and sagging tits, or maybe that’s what you want, you old whore, a load of men up here for you to show off to, maybe you’re hoping one or more of them will want to give you a good old fucking. Well be a good girl and I am sure that can be arranged”, there was a long wait for the reply, even after Ilsa had translated, as the words sunk in, Irina shot out a reply, from the way her head was moving, obviously a denial, and an agreement to do as she was told, which was made obvious by the fact that she had started to open her legs, smiling he knelt back between her legs, and started to reach up towards her vagina, his smile dying at the amount of hair blocking his view and his nose wrinkling at the slight smell from the lack of hygiene facilities the people has had for their few days of travelling , he stood up again and whispered to Ilsa, who in turn whispered to Igor who wandered over to the office suite’s small bathroom, and then Irina, who looked over her shoulder at Igor’s back, but just sadly nodded her head before getting to her feet and following him, Carl shared a look with Ilsa and both followed them over to the door way, where Irina stood and waited, her head down, while Igor worked on getting a shower, working on the temperature, Ilsa said something to him and he looked down and grimaced, seeing that he had already got some water on his front and shook his head, a stream of Russian curses coming from his mouth, while Irina visibly tensed up, Carl looked at Ilsa quizzically, getting a smile back “I said he had better do something about his clothes, he don’t want to get them wet as he doesn’t have any spares here and it’s a long journey home.” Carl wondered what he was going to do, but the question was answered when he looked up to see Igor in the middle of stripping off, more tattoos coming into view as his shirt came off, then his shoes and trousers, all the while speaking away to Irina, and if that was where it was going to stop she was soon disappointed, as without skipping a heartbeat he quickly pulled down his boxers, his thick cock, semi hard, springing into view, he rubbed his hand up and down himself, uttering what must have been crudities to the old woman by her reaction, however the sight of the prison tattoos destroyed any resistance as she allowed herself to be lead to the shower by the now naked man, not even reacting when he deliberately pushed his erect cock into her arse.

Carl watched rapt as Igor pushed the woman under the water, watching as it rolled down over her body, some of it bouncing off her breasts a little as she just stood there, unmoving, just staring straight ahead like a shop floor dummy, Igor walked forward and spoke to Ilsa, who left the doorway for a moment, returning a moment with a pair of scissors, some shower gel, shave gel and some razors, handing them over without a word, Igor grunted and turned back to Irina, grabbing her by her shoulders and turning her to face the doorway. He grabbed and lifted one of her arms, letting it go, knowing that she would not fight him, he trimmed the hair with the scissors, then grabbing the gel he spread some in her armpit, then with a surprising gentleness he started to run the razor over the stubble, only stopping every so often to clean the razor under the shower, once he had finished he turned to her other arm, repeating the whole thing. Satisfied he knelt down and spread the gel over her legs, running the razor up and down each one until they too were smooth.

He stood and turned to face Carl and Ilsa, a huge grin spreading on his face, and a huge erection between his legs “now pussy” he winked at them before turning back to her “no worry babushka, I gentle with you” she just looked at him in horror, not knowing what he said, but knowing that she had only one area of hair left apart from that on her head, instinctively she opened her legs a little, making Igor smile a little “good good babushka, you understand” he knelt down between her legs, gentle pulling her legs apart and placing one a little higher than the other by putting it on the edge of the shower stall, picking up the scissors he trimmed her pubic hairs, watching for a moment as the water swilled it down the drain, putting the scissors back down he picked up the shower gel and spread it on his palms and fingers, he reached forward and rubbed it into her pubis, laughing as she jumped at his initial contact, he moved his palm back and forth, one of his fingers coming into contact with the top of her slit, finding its way through to the nub of clit, for a moment he stopped worrying about the shaving, but instead started to play with it, rubbing it a little, smiling as he heard her groan a little, the groan turning into an almost disappointed sigh as he stopped to grab the razor and for the last time, run it up and down, until all that was left was some gel sitting on the top of her legs, he put the razor back down and turned her around, running his hands over her, washing off the excess shaving gel, letting his hand slid forward a little so it slid over the lips of her pussy, all the while he was sliding his other hand up and down his cock, releasing both sets of genitals, he grabbed the shower gel, squeezing it into his hand and then stood up, rubbing it into her back, turning her around and putting some more onto his hand, rubbing that into her breasts, lifting and squeezing them, running his finger up and over her nipples, running his hands all over her “my dick hard now babushka, we fuck now” he spun her around and pushed her forward so that her head was resting on the shower wall, standing back a little, he went back to sliding his hands up and down his cock, he must have realised that no one could see what was happening so he moved her so she was side onto the room, her arse poking out a little, he said something in Russian, something about her head because a moment later she used her hands to push herself away from the wall a little, he put his hand on his cock and positioned it at the entrance to her pussy, pushing it forward a little, her eyes closing at the feel of his head entering her, though it was not clear if this in pleasure, shame at the violation or a combination of both, he paused for a moment “pussy tight”, then with one thrust of his hips, he pushed his cock all the way in, his hands groping her breasts, squeezing and mauling each one, pulling the nipples, twisting them, laughing as she started to quietly sob as he thrust back and forth “cry for Igor woman” he turned to Carl and Ilsa “babushka fuck good”, all the while his hips moving back and forth, his hands went back to mauling the poor woman tits, again twisting the nipples until she cried out, her sobbing getting worse as she felt Igor’s cock thrust inside her, his moves slowing down and then, with one final thrust, he came inside her, the water running down her back and around his hips, washing the cum away as he pulled out, he stepping out of the stall and grabbed a towel to dry himself off, a satisfied smile on his face, grabbing his clothes he walked out to the main room to dress.

Carl’s eyes were locked on the woman as she just stood there, before she turned to face them, her back against the fall wall, then slowly, oh so slowly, she slid down the wall, ending up in a heap on the ground, the water swirling around her like a little lake, he nodded at Ilsa who went to the woman and helped pick her up, she whispered something to the woman who allowed herself to be lifted up, standing like a stature, shocked at what had happened, she did not even protest while Ilsa dried her off, then letting her lead her out into the room, only fighting a little when she saw Igor standing there, his eyes locked on her breasts, she mumbled something to Ilsa who cooed something in reply, speaking like a parent to scared child, she nodded and let her herself be lead back to the screens, Ilsa picking her underwear as she walked.

Once they were in the room Carl followed them out and headed to his bag, pulling out a syringe and a vial, drawing up a shot and waiting for Irina, watching as Ilsa brought her out and over to him, he cleaned arm and quickly injected her with the liquid, watching as the low level tranquilizer took hold of her, the drug, which also made people susceptible to suggestions, allowed Ilsa and Igor to make her more accepting of what had happened, and less likely to tell her husband that she had been fucked against her will in front of two strangers, before taking her downstairs to join the others., before carrying on with the rest of the nights fun activities.
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Old 05-23-2013, 07:19 AM   #6
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He worked his way through the last of the adult women, the children having been put off limits, something which was a relief to him, a group of kids all screaming in Russian at, he looked at the clock on the laptop, fuck, at three in the morning, would be a little too much to put up with, he looked up as Igor brought in the last woman, he caught his breath, it was the walking wet dream, the one who should have been gracing a magazine cover somewhere, not a dusty warehouse somewhere in Wessexshire, he smiled as she stood ahead of him, a beep from his laptop the only reason that he looked away, the beep heralding a message from Sergei, telling him that him fucking her was out of the question but to prepare her to make sure she was ok for everything else, he smiled and typed a reply, he nodded to Ilsa to start the questioning, Ilsa nodding in return.

Ilsa whispered in her ear, getting a nod in reply, a slight defiance in the woman’s eyes as she stood there, legs apart slightly, one hand on her hip, her gaze looked on Carl, taking him in, and it was obvious from what the momentary look of contempt in her eyes, not liking what she saw, he shook his head, sorry love, he thought, this ain’t ER and doctors can’t all look like George fucking Clooney, he looked down at the form in front of him, partly to gather his thoughts, partly to plan what he was going to do and how far he could push his luck, and, even though he would not admit it, partly because her gaze unnerved him more than a little, he nodded as Ilsa, almost reading his mind, took control, rattling off a few questions in Russians to start, “She does not speak English.” Carl just nodded his reply.

“What is your name?”


“Your age?”


He looked up surprised, in her thirties? If he had had to guess he would have put it mid-twenties at most.


Yulia just looked and spat out a reply, to which Ilsa must have repeated the question, before turning to the former doctor “I asked her if she is married, she asked what business was it of ours, so I told her” she turned back to Yulia and repeated herself, moving closer until she was looming over the other woman, highlighting the difference in build between them, Yulia looked at her coolly, weighing up her options before shrugging.


And so the questions went on, Ilsa would ask, sometimes a couple of times, Yulia would reluctantly answer, until tiredness overtook Ilsa and Carl’s patience and they both became short with the woman.

“Tell her that if she keeps delaying this, we will give up for tonight and she will be left here, alone and without food while we sleep, so the sooner we do this the sooner she will be sorted” her eyes blazed at the tone of Carl’s voice, the anger getting worse as she listened to the translated words, if he was honest with himself, and he very rarely was, his anger stemmed less from tiredness, but more from disconcertedness at her eyes, who he realised were a startling shade of blue, almost unnaturally so, he did wonder if she had some kind of coloured contacts in, though if she did, he would be shocked that she could have them still in, she had spent the last two days and nights travelling across the continent in the back of a forty foot container, he didn’t suppose that there were much in the way of facilities available to clean and insert them, but still the idea lingered, combining with the notion that she was just a little too composed for what was happening, like she was just observing what was going on, he thought for a better term, one popping into his head, disconnected, that was it, he used the instant messenger on the laptop to send his concerns to Sergei, hoping that the view through the rooms webcams was showing the same thing, he did not have long to wait for his reply, reading the words he sighed, looked at his watch and yawned, closed the lid down with a snap and stood up.

“Fuck this for a game of soldiers, it’s late and I am knackered, Ilsa tell this” he paused while looked Yulia up and down, trying to gather a look of disdain on his face “lady that we will examine her later, and that until then she will be quarantined from the others in case she is carrying something contagious.” With that he grabbed his stuff and left, his mood not helped by the inconvenience of having to wake his driver up before he could leave.
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Old 05-26-2013, 11:31 PM   #7
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Good story. I like it.
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Old 05-27-2013, 10:34 AM   #8
Watching from the shadows
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Old 06-09-2013, 03:14 AM   #9
Watching from the shadows
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She smiled as she watched the zip of her boot being pulled down “that’s it worm, do your job” she purred at the man, a slight sneer on her face, he just looked up at her, his head cocked to one side while he considered his reply.

“Bollocks, I’m not one of those losers you boss about” was his reply, emphasised by a two fingered salute, she looked down at him for a moment, her face stern before laughing, which also destroyed any hope of him looking serious with her .

“Fair enough Peter” she let him lift her leg and pull the thigh length leather boot off, waiting until he had pulled down the zip and removed the other one, once they were removed she wriggled her painted toes a little “ahhh that’s a relief, damn things are part of the uniform, but shit they’re not comfy” she looked up at him “as for not being one of my...losers...as you so charmingly call them... I would like to point out that you have still done the job.” He stood and stretched his back then fell onto the sofa beside her, shaking his head as she stood.

“Anything for my mates bean” he grinned, taking advantage of his privilege of using the old nickname, she turned her head and just shook it in mock anger, before going back to removing her clothes, pulling down the zip of the leather catsuit, the room becoming filled with the aroma of talcum powder as she struggled out of the tight outfit, Pete got up, took hold of the shoulders and pulled it down, getting a glance of the old scars on the backs of her arms, his face grim for a moment as he remembered her at school, tall for a girl, gangly, all limbs, her body never really filling out, socially awkward with it, which in that cruel Darwinian world that is a state comprehensive marked her out as a target for the bullies, Bean Pole, Anna Rexic, Lez Bian, that one turning out to have an element of truth to it, fugly, and weirdly considering her height, Bridget the Midget, even Pete took part until one day, leaving the changing rooms after rugby practice he heard crying from the equipment store, investigating he found her slumped there, crying her heart out, a blade in her hand as she took it to her arms, revealing old scars from previous, he inwardly shuddered at the memory, he walked to her, took the blade from her hand, and, with that passion only belonging to the young, vowed to help her and stop the bullying, which he somehow managed, normally by knocking three bags of brown smelly stuff out of the boys doing the bullying, and sometimes the boyfriends of the girls doing the bullying, he had to rely on his sisters to deal with the girls themselves.

He looked up to see her watching him in the mirror “water under the bridge my love” she shrugged, as if reading Pete’s thoughts, she stepped out off the suit, picking it up to hang up to send to be cleaned “I’ll hit the shower and then we will get to grab some food” she walked forward, taking the door to the rooms en suite, every movement showing her little tattoo on her hip, a butterfly emerging from a chrysalis, as Pete sat down, his eyes taking in the little room, her inner sanctum she liked to call it, her private oasis away from needy clients, Pete smiled, wondering to himself if he should be honoured or worried that she had invited him there, this set of rooms that hidden behind her work rooms, her dungeon halfway in the sky, whips, chains and lord knows what on the walls, which, once she put on the leather clothing and boots turned mild mannered Bridget the Midget in uber-bitch Deborah the Domme, a persona used to great effect to tell off middle class wealthy men like they were naughty little schoolboys, smiling at the change he laid his head back against the head rest of the sofa, closed his eyes and let the music and the sounds wash over him, the soft classical music combining with the early evening traffic coming up from the road three storeys below to gently hypnotise Pete into an almost drowsy state, he opened his eyes suddenly as the sound changed to a gentle cough, he looked up to see Bridget standing over him, her once naked body now clad head to toe in a shimmering silk dress, just a hint of leg visible from the slit in the skirt, sandal clad toes poking from the hem, small breasts pushing out the material of the clinging bodice, the light green complimenting the greenness of her eyes, “well?” it was only when she spoke that he had realised that the room was in virtual silence, only the sounds of the traffic to be heard.

He grinned “well what?”

“Well are we going out to eat or are you just going to sleep the evening away.”

“You really need to get out of that habit”

“What habit?”

“Treating me like one of your subs.” He stood and grabbed his suit jacket “well come on ma’am” he made an elaborate and very, very bad bow “your carriage awaits” standing again he lead her to the door and down the stairs into the cool spring evening, he looked upwards at the red brick building, not for the first time wondering just who her clients were, they must have had some financial juice, how else would she been able to afford an apartment in Mayfair, he quietly shook his head in wonder as he turned back to the street to flag down a taxi, he opened the door for her, admiring the way the silk spread across her cheeks before following in, the driver facing them through the divider.

“Where to squire?”

“The Lady Elizabeth Rose at Butler’s Wharf” the driver nodded and pulled away, forty five minutes of complaints and apologies about the traffic later they pulled outside the alleyway leading to the former warehouses, the sounds of a party coming out of the open windows of an upper floor, where some couples where already starting to dance to some slow R&B music, Bridget looked them and then at him as he paid the fare, one eyebrow cocked questionably, he just shook his head “food first” and then taking her by the arm he lead her around to the restaurant’s main entrance.

The two men were standing waiting for them at the entrance, impervious to peoples stares and comments, Pete was not overtly comfortable with them, but they were friends, and he had came to a conclusion a long time ago that a person’s sexuality was their business and nobody else, he could sense some of the other diners eyes on the pair, both standing there in pale blue and pink, subtly was not one of their strong points, and any way the comments were nothing truly new, just the usual fair of fag, queer, bum bandit, normally Pete just let them get on with it, but this time he heard one man loudly exclaim.

“It’s fucking disgusting, two fucking queers like that pouncing about, while better men are out dying in Afghanistan” Pete shook his head, waved a quick wave to the men and walked up to the owner of the voice, a thuggish looking man in his mid twenties standing half drunk by the rail, more moronic looking people of the same age group standing around him.

“Excuse me mate, I do believe you have a problem with my friends over there.”

The man looked at him, a sneer on his face, “yeah, fucking queer perverts, a time in the army would straighten them out” he lifted his hand and started to poke Pete in the chest, all the while looking at his friends for the affirmation he knew he would get “and fucking fag hags like you as well”, as he expected his words met with a chorus of approval from the people with him, Pete just smiled, looked at the finger while slowly shaking his head, then turned to face his own friends, Bridget and the two men having a look of ‘oh shit’ on their faces, while the one in the pink suit was mouthing “he’s not worth it”. Again the finger poked him, this time in his back, again Pete closed his eyes and shook his head, and then in one smooth movement spun around and grabbed the finger, smartly bending it back, just stopping at the point of breaking it.

“Listen up you little cunt, that...fucking queer...as you so charmingly put it was alongside me wearing this countries uniform and facing this counties enemies while you were still sucking on your mummy’s titties, so show some fucking respect.” Out of the corner of his eye he spotted one of the little group reposition himself “don’t even think about it, one wrong move from you assholes and this little cunt will be minus a finger” he pushed it back a little for emphasis, causing its owner to cry out a little, “get the idea cunts” they all nodded their heads, he pulled the hand down and twisted it over, forcing the man’s head to come within inches of his own “ok you little cunt, you and your little kiddie mates are going to wander out of here, grab a taxi, a bus or even walk for all I give a shit, but you are going to get as far as way from me as possible.”

The thug just looked at him, trying to work up a protest, but something killed it in his throat, maybe the fact that there was a total lack of emotion coming towards him, when he tried to describe it to himself later the only thing came to mind was not hate or anger, but, well boredom, like it didn’t matter whether the guy broke his finger, a leg, or killed him, he felt, well a nothingness coming towards him.

He gulped and then nodded his head, and before anyone could protest, “c...c...” he coughed to clear his throat “come on, let’s finder a better bar” and as soon as his finger was released they were gone, Pete followed them out to the road and watched them stagger off, piling into a passing taxi and drive off into the night, one of them trying a last bit of defiance by bravely give Pete a single finger salute, though from the back of the taxi as it drove off, he was brave not completely stupid, shaking his head Pete went back to the restaurant, seeing his friend in an earnest discussion with the restaurant manager and who looked like one of the doorman, a man giving back an interested and warning gaze in Pete’s direction, in reply Pete picked up his waiting drink, shrugged, gave him a silent toast and took a deep hit of the whiskey, grinning as the hot fiery liquid hit home “ah, good drink”, watching with a detached air as Simon, his gay friend, spoke in hushed yet urgent tones with the manager, eventually the manager blanched, indicated something to the doorman and they both stalked away, their gaits that of seriously unhappy campers, though neither could look as unhappy as Simon’s partner could, the look Pete was getting from him could have cuddled milk at a hundred paces, and quite possibly while it was still in the cow.

Simon gave his partner, Graeme, a peck on the cheek, made a show of smoothing his trousers and sat down, a pissed off yet amused look on his face.

“Don’t pout dear”

“But we could be kicked out, why do you insist on bringing a thug along?” he turned to Pete “was there any need for that?”

Pete just shrugged “probably not, I could have let them ruin our meal by insulting us all evening, and who knows, made theirs by letting them stay around for a little queer bashing at the end. Might have even been amusing, I know Simon could handle himself” he smirked a little “well until you came along.”

Graeme looked at him, daggers drawn, “if you mean I have somehow made him weak...”

“Graeme” the one word from Simon silenced him “it’s ok, we’re not being chucked out, told them I would contact Stonewall and have Peter Tatchell blockade the place for kicking out people defending LGBT from thuggish customers, I don’t think he believed me, but I don’t think he wanted to take a chance either. Anyway, who’s hungry?”

Pete sat down at the table and grabbed a menu, idly reading through the options.

“So Pete I never knew you were bringing Bridget along, never thought she was into guys, well” he moved his head in close and dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, forcing the rest of them to do the same “not unless the men are paying for a little discipline” he laughed as he pulled his head back.

Bridget pouted for a moment “variety is the spice of life Simon, anyway I knew Pete was in town, so I invited him for a drink, and then myself along when he said he was coming to see you guys.” She smiled at the waiter while he took the order. “Anyway Graeme what do you do for a living?”

“I work in the city, my uncles firm, Beaumont and Sons, you might not have heard of us, we are discreet” he looked Pete and Bridget up and down “and very exclusive.”

Simon smiled, “yes his uncle is Sir Douglass Beaumont.”

“Oh right” though, Pete secretly agreed with Graeme a little, the name meant absolutely nothing to him.

Bridget on the other hand smiled “Sir Douglas? Really how is the old boy? Haven’t seen him in a while” she laughed a little at the confusion on their faces “I have some money invested with them, been doing quite well, you should consider it Pete.”

Upon hearing those magic words “I have money invested with them” Graeme’s whole demeanour changed, from bored disinterest and an attempt to overawe these ‘lesser’ people to one of sycophantic indulgence, if she was a client and friend of his uncle, he reasoned to himself, than Bridget needed looking after, and if he could bring in some new business, well his uncle might treat him with the respect he was due, reaching into his jacket pocket he pulled out a business card and handed it to Pete, much to Simon’s annoyance.

“Graeme my love, this is not the place to tout for work, especially amongst my friends. Sorry about this Pete, sometimes he has a one track mind, though sadly not always for pleasurable things.” A salacious grin spread across his face.

Pete took the card and felt its quality, impressed at the thickness of it and the gold embossing “not a problem mate, and personal contacts are important in business” he put the card in his inside pocket “I’ll have a word with my accountant and see about making an appointment, he has been telling me I need to spread my cash around a little, find some better ways to invest.”

Graeme beamed at him “diversification is the key” he caught a warning look from Simon “but of course there is a time and place to talk business. We have some good news, don’t we love?”

Simon’s face lit up and he took his partners hand “yep, two bits to be honest. We’re getting married, well a civil partnership” Bridget and Pete both shouted their congratulations, Pete calling over the wine waiter and ordering a bottle of their best champagne.

“And the second?”

“Well, Simon and myself are going to have a baby? One of our friends is going to surrogate for us.”

“Great news” though to be honest Pete was a little unnerved by the news, not so much because they were two men, though part of him was not overtly comfortable with the idea, he accepted his mates sexuality, but more out of a realisation that he couldn’t change who Simon was, and he was too good a friend to lose than out of any liberal, pro anything political correct thinking. There was just something about Graeme, something which unnerved him, the rapidity of how he changed from dislike to brown nosing when money was mentioned, maybe it was just his survival instinct, but then again, maybe the man was full of shit, he would wait and check with Martin at the weekend about the man.

Not being able to help himself, Graeme managed to steer the conversation back around to work, asking Bridget all manner of questions about the money she had invested, what type and who was handling the account, Pete just picked up his drink and tuned out, the whole financial thing bored the arse of him, it was something he knew that he should take more interest in, even if it was just enough to prevent people ripping him off, and Pat had been on his case for years about doing something with his cash, his nest egg was just sitting in the bank, not making much, but to be honest, as long as he had enough to pay his bills and keep himself in suits and pussy, he couldn’t have cared less about it, still, maybe he should contact them, he knew he had a few hundred thousand squirreled away, and the way things were going back home, it might be safer to make some kind of knew arrangements with it, ‘fuck it’ he thought ‘I’ll see Pat next week, get his opinion on it’.

He found himself tuning back into the conversation briefly, realised that they were still discussing finances so he tuned his mind back out as soon as he could, his eyes sweeping around the room, taking in the little groups walking by the windows, office workers in their suits, off to grab an early evening drink before the commute home, couples in their finery on their way out the evening, the women wearing long summer dresses, the men in suits. Tourists in shorts and tee shirts, their camera’s snapping away at the view of Tower Bridge and The Tower Of London from the riverside, posing in front of the statues that lined the river front. He smiled as a group of teenagers, obviously on a school trip, walked by, memories of school trips from his childhood, the same chaos caused, the same ineffectual herding by the teachers, no wonder they always picked hotels with good, cheap bars, must have really needed a good drink after a day with him and his mates, then as now, the older girls were more interested in flirting with the older boys than they were any history of culture around them, while the boys were more interested in watching any mildly good looking females coming past.

A cough brought him back to the present, “pardon”.

Simon laughed “boring you are we?” Pete just shrugged his apologies “I said Peter, would you be one of witnesses at the ceremony?”

“Uhm, let me think about it, I’m sure if I’ll be free.” He gave an exaggerated look of considering the idea, trying not to smile at the confused look of the couple, “Off course I bloody would.”

“Thanks mate, knew I could rely on you.”

“Bridget you will have to give us your address so we can send you an invite.” She smiled and pulled out a card and a pen, noting her address on the back and handing it to Simon, narrowly missing knocking some of the food out of the waiter’s hands as she leaned forward, smiling her sweetest smile at him while apologised.

The conversation waxed and waned while they ate, only really talking while they waited for each course to arrive, which was a relief for Pete as Graeme dominated the conversation, work, houses, complaints about taxes and the ‘plebs’ protesting high bankers bonuses were all he could come up with as subjects, the last subject which he managed to keep going, far past the meal, payment and as they walked along the South Bank of the Thames, boring the arse of him, he let Graeme and Bridget get a little ahead of him and fell into step beside Simon.

“Would I lose my invite if I tell him to shut the fuck up?” Simon just laughed. “Why the fuck do you put up with his pompous arse.”

“Ah but Pete, his arse may be pompous, but look how tight it is” it was now Pete’s turn to laugh loudly, causing the other two to turn around and realise they were alone, waiting in various stages of impatience as Pete and Simon caught up “seriously Pete, he is different once you get to know him, a lot kinder and very kind and loving, just a little...”


Simon looked, shrugged and then joined Pete in laughing “yeah yeah, that a little bit.” By this time they had all caught up with each other.

“So what’s so funny?”

“Oh nothing much Bean, just old army stories you know, kind of need to be there to get them.”

“Oh so we are excluded” Pete just looked at Graeme, trying to phrase his answer, preferably, he supposed, diplomatically would be best for Simon, “you know what it’s like mate” he smiled “everyone has stories that are fucking hilarious to the people involved, but are more likely to bore the arse of everyone else. Now who’s up for more booze?” He nodded towards a pub along the walk “there’ll do” and without waiting for an answer he made a beeline for its door, leaving the others to follow in his wake, turning briefly to tell them to grab one of the free tables on the pubs little raised terrace, before plunging into the packed bar, fighting his way through the crowded interior, pushing his way through the knots of office workers, his hands ‘accidentally’ brushing some of the females asses, fighting his way back out, two bottles of beer held by the neck in one hand, while he held two glasses of spirits high above the heads of the people.

As he put the glasses down on the table, he felt his phone start to vibrate in his pocket, followed a second later by the ringtone, the intro of Bank Robber by the Clash, he closed his eyes before reaching into jacket, apologising to the others as he moved off to an empty spot, the phone rang off before he got clear, a glance at the missed call confirmed what he feared, hitting the button he called back, waiting patiently until it was picked up.

“Pete, where the fuck were you?”

“Up town with company, had to get clear before I could answer, what’s up?”

“What the fucks up you ask, well there are four thousand things that are up, why the fuck did you commit me to spending that much on something that we have never heard off” Barnes may have been royally pissed off, but not enough to give too much away over the phone. “How the fuck do we know it even works?”

Pete sighed “I thought we figured this out yesterday, we needed something, Pat put me onto Carl and this is the product he recommended for the result we need.”

“And you trust him?”

That was the sixty four dollar question Pete thought, he didn’t think Carl would cross him, but he was close to the Russian mafia, and having such powerful friends did make him Carl unpredictable, “Okay boss, fair point I suppose, look I will contact him and see if I can arrange some kind of demonstration” Pete rung off, Barnes’ grunted reply in his ear then rung Carl. “Carl? Barnes is a little reluctant about the costs, what are the chances of getting enough to give him a little demo...”

“Demonstration? What the fuck is this? A fucking car dealer?”

“Carl for fucks sake listen, this could be a good little regular order, and would you spend that amount on something you’ve never heard off?”

“Why don’ you fucking trust me?”

“Honestly, no I don’t.” He had to hold the phone away from his ear to avoid being deafened by the explosion of loud laughter from the other end, only putting it back when it sounded like he had settled down.

“Least you’re honest, okay leave it with me and I’ll arrange something.” The silence after the laughter was deafening, Pete turned to watch the pleasure boats moving up and down the river while he waited, reluctant to rejoin the others, he turned back as he heard the clicking of some heels to see Bridget heading his way, luckily before she reappeared his phone beeped to tell him of a text from Carl, reading it, he smiled “good”, and started to head towards her, quickly calling Barnes to let him know it was arranged.

“Sorry, work”

She nodded “lets rejoin the natives” before grabbing his arm and leading him back to the others.
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