jypsyjones
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Hi there,
This story, and others like it, was first posted on www.adultsexygames.com/stories
I just thought I'd put them here and see what everyone else thought of them. However, if you're underage or offended by stories written about sexual scenes please do not read this. Similarly, this is a complete and utter work of fiction. Any similarity between this and anybody on the planet is purely coincidental and weird as all hell!
Thanks,
JJ
Chapter 3: 23/06/03
It had been only a day since Lila had gone with Jen to Dr. Tress’ surgery but Karen’s many phone calls had created a rippling effect throughout the two girls’ lives. Being contacted by the police is a major cause for alarm at the best of times and the repeated entreaties from Karen to anyone who might know anything about the whereabouts of Jen or Lila had a certain amount of knock on effect…
Everyone from both girls’ families, groups of friends or casual acquaintances were not only informed of the police’s interest in the two missing people but began phoning up all their families, friends and casual acquaintances to try and find out what had happened. A couple of years later a historian wrote a book on the subject and estimated that over three hundred thousand people had been contacted by Friday the 27th. Of course, by then, it was all over.
The womenhunt had started the second Karen got into work on Monday morning and heard the recorded message from Lila. Karen was dressed in her weekend end pick me up: a black skirt, part of a suit, that stretched down only as far as the lower thigh, a white shirt that was made of a good cloth that hid her favourite bra, the black silk one with matching panties.
She was wearing her suit jacket too, although it was hot that day in June. Her superiors didn’t like her idea of the uniform but, as long as she looked good and so long as it was a suit, they didn’t press the issue. Karen dropped her purse on the table. It contained her wallet, phone, keys, makeup and all the other paraphernalia of being a woman, but it also had her badge. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had an opportunity to give it an airing.
Karen listened to the six messages she had received over the weekend. Five were mundane. The one from Lila was not. Alarmed but not panicked, the policewoman phoned the two numbers she’d been given by the girl. The mobile wasn’t on and her work said that she’d been given a week off because of some therapy she was going to.
‘What therapy is that?’ Karen had asked. ‘Oh some women’s thing,’ was the sexist, chauvinistic reply from the sexist, chauvinistic boss Lila had had to endure for two years. Finally, Karen tracked down the doctor’s order. It led nowhere… or, more exactly, it led to an NHS hospital which said they’d never heard of either Jennifer Taylor-Moore or Lila Jones. They certainly hadn’t heard of any Dr. Tress.
Karen decided that this was definitely worth some investigating. She immediately set about finding out everything she could about the two girls, calling up their families and informing them of her interest in them as missing persons. The Jones were understandably shocked and started there very own search, though it was mostly confirmed to Manchester. They told Karen that Lila was a lovely girl who wouldn’t just go away without telling them and so on and so forth. It was a dead end. The Taylor-Moore’s were less informative and far more helpful.
After finally overcoming the wall of security surrounding Lord Taylor-Moore, Karen reluctantly found herself informing one of the most powerful politicians in the land that his only daughter, of four children, was missing. She didn’t get to ask any questions. His lordship slammed down the phone and was engaged for the rest of the day.
It later transpired that he’d been calling comrades at the MET, Scotland Yard, parliament, MI5, MI6, the Admiralty and Dominoes Pizza in King’s Cross who were quite surprised to receive three phone calls from an irate customer demanding to be given a progress report on his daughter’s kidnapping. By the time Karen eventually found Jen, his lordship had caused an estimated £10.3 million to be spent on her rescue.
It was her memory that allowed Karen to locate the missing women. All the fancy toys in several police departments, not to mention the many gadgets used by the various spy networks which got involved, couldn’t compete with one woman who took the time to listen to another woman’s complaint. That was Karen’s edge. It almost lost her to slavery. By the time she found them the manhunt which she had inadvertently started was on national TV… it being a slow news day and the beautiful, kidnapped daughter of a lord was something of a rarity.
Jen, Lila, Sandra and Missy didn’t watch any television that week, nor did they listen to the radio or check their emails. If they had they would have been informed of the massive effort being made to find them all… or at least, to find Jen. Lord Taylor-Moore hadn’t made much of an effort to discover any details once he heard his daughter was missing. Karen never heard the news either. After her call to his lordship’s wife she soon realised what she was looking for.
Lady Taylor-Moore was slightly less succinct than her husband but only moderately so. She was shocked to hear that Jen was missing but assumed it was because she was on some sort of medical trip. Tentatively pushing, Karen found out that Jen had gone on a special therapeutic course after her recent heartache. Further pushing about whether this heartache might have been because of a gentleman called Toby Barrett caused Lady Taylor-Moore to hang up. Further calls were answered concisely by the butler who told Karen that she had all the information she was getting. Lady Taylor-Moore didn’t like the idea of the common police force discussing her daughter’s botched wedding.
To Karen the common link was the doctor. Jen was supposedly at some sort of therapy and Lila was off work for a week on medical grounds. Both situations had ordered by some sort of doctor and the only details given had led to a dead end. However, Lila had mentioned a Dr. Tress during her interview by the sergeant.
It was not a popular name by any standards and none of the nurses Karen spoke to had heard of any Dr. Tress. She got all the London hospitals to email her their employee lists but, other than a surgeon called Mr. Triss, nothing was biting. In the end, Karen sat back and stared at the ceiling. There was something eluding her… something she’d heard which would help but she couldn’t put her finger on it. The more Karen willed the image to arrive the further it slipped away. Finally, in exasperation, she went for a coffee break. It was nine fifty five in the morning.
“Hey Karen, how’s tricks?” Of all the other officers, Matt Dickinson was the only one who treated her with any respect. The other men initially tried it on with her and, when brushed off, muttered unpleasant comments under their breath while surreptitiously eying her legs. Matt was different. He’d worked with her before and found her trying, standoffish and occasionally downright rude… but she was also very intelligent and clever, which wasn’t the same thing, and opened up if you weren’t too much of a pig. He didn’t find her bad to look at either.
“Oh same old, same old, Matt. How’re things with you?” He laughed.
“Nothing doing. The most exciting thing I’ve got to work on is a freshly paroled dealer who’s sworn all kinds of unpleasantness on me for catching him.” Karen smiled and fixed herself a wonderfully lukewarm coffee. Matt looked at her shrewdly.
“You’re working on something… I can see it in that far off look in your eyes.” Karen looked slightly shocked before smiling bashfully.
“Am I that transparent?” Matt laughed.
“Hey, you know me… I’m a master spy! Don’t worry… I’ll keep your secrets safe. Only me, king and country!” He laughed and Karen smiled.
“You’re a regular James Bond, Matt.” They laughed at the joke and Matt left. Karen stirred her coffee. Something Matt said triggered an association in her mind… ‘King and country… King and country… King…? King… King!’ That was it! She burst out of the coffee room. Matt saw her.
“Hey roadrunner, where are you off to in such a hurry?” Karen smiled awkwardly.
“Oh, I’ve just got to see a doctor on the King’s road about women’s troubles.” He shrugged and Karen raced off, leaving Matt and everyone else on the planet none the wiser.
The King’s road is not small. It’s primarily an upper class area stretching parallel to the river Thames, though not directly alongside. It’s crowded, somewhat touristy and no one had heard of a doctor Tress. Karen thought she must be mad. Here she was on the King’s road at ten a.m. without a clue as to where she was going or whether it even existed! She’d never heard of a Dr. Tress anywhere in the area and Lila hadn’t told her how to get to the surgery.
She hadn’t even brought her bag with her! That meant she had no phone, no money and no badge. It was hopeless. Dejected, Karen was about to head back to the station when a voice dripping with snobbery went past her. It was the kind of voice that, even on a young girl, ruffled your feathers… the kind of voice that talked of estates and country houses and months in exotic locations… the kind of voice that thought washing up was hard work best left to the servants… and it had just spent a lot of money.
“Oh yes, daaarrlinggg, he’s simply fabulous.” A pause. An explosion. “Well off courrrrse he was there, darling. He knows who his best customers are.” The mobile phone conversation continued at high volume down the street. Karen turned her head to the noise and was about to look away in disgust when something caught her eye. The words ‘Du Pont’ could be seen on one of the girl’s bags… all of them in fact.
Karen followed the girl, wondering what the connection was when, finally, her brain got into gear. ‘Du Pont’ was the name of a designer. Jen and Lila had gone to the shop and bought many, many clothes there. Upon leaving Jen had been summoned back by the manageress. That was who’d told her about the doctor. Of course! Karen cursed her slowness at arriving at that conclusion. She rushed up to the loud girl.
“Excuse me,” asked the policewoman. Using a great many generations worth of inbred arrogance the girl simply walked around Karen as if she wasn’t there, continuing her ‘conversation.’ Karen had had enough. She walked up to the girl and grabbed the phone.
“She’ll call you back,” was her succinct statement before ending the call and giving the phone back to the girl, who took it carelessly and fixed Karen with the most belittling of expressions the policewoman had seen in a long time.
“Who are you?” The tone would’ve made Gandhi annoyed…
“I am a policewoman,” answered Karen, feeling her anger rise, “And I need to ask you a question.”
“Ask someone else, I’m busy.” The girl made to move off. Karen grabbed her by the scruff of the neck.
“Hey that’s Versace!” cried the girl. Karen released her grip and pointed at the bags.
“Where did they come from?” The girl looked at her bags and back to Karen, her face registering her disbelief that anyone in Karen’s income bracket could possibly want to buy at ‘Du Pont.’ However, she finally acquiesced.
“It’s Du Pont, darling… you know? The famous French designer. He’s personally come over from France to fit me you know. I was just at his shop down the King’s road five… hey! Where are you going? Give me back my bag!” Karen turned and lobbed the bag back to the girl who dropped it. She began yelling in general to get someone to ‘get’ Karen but the policewoman ignored her. All she’d needed was a direction and, sure enough, Du Pont was just about two and a half minutes walk down the road.
“May I help you?” The tone of voice implied that help would, at most, involve directions to the exit. Karen looked at the woman hard and, in her most officious voice, asked:
“Are you Mai Ling?” The woman nodded, suddenly on guard and reserved. Karen was about to demand a business card for Dr. Tress when an idea crossed her mind. She lowered her eyes and toned down her voice.
“Is there somewhere private we could talk?” The manageress looked at the plainclothes policewoman with some trepidation and no little suspicion, but led her to a quiet room at the back. Karen looked around, making sure they were alone. Finally she turned to the beautiful Asian woman.
“Sorry to be so rude in there, but I’ve been going nuts,” she said simply. Mai Ling stared at Karen, who put a greater degree of desperation into her voice.
“These last few weeks have been the worst of my life.” From nowhere her voice managed to crack on the last word. Karen was thrilled at her sudden skills as an actress. She used the unexpected bonus of tears welling up to her advantage, covering her eyes and weeping into her sleeve for a moment.
“I just don’t know where else to turn!” Mai Ling guided the policewoman to a seat and sat down opposite.
“I am afraid that I am not sure I can help you… miss,” the Oriental replied. Karen turned the tears up a notch, surprised at how readily they’d come.
“Oh it’s not you,” she wept, “It’s the woman who helped my friend. She got jinked at the altar too…” She felt rather than saw the Asian woman stiffen… there was nothing so crass as a jerk or twitch, just minute changes that turned a hard if compassionate woman into at least a genuine listener. Still, Mai Ling was not to be fooled into giving up her secrets so easily.
“Who was your friend, miss?”
“Jen… Jenny. Jenny Taylor-Moore.” Now Mai Ling looked sceptical.
“We were childhood friends. I was the poor one at the expensive school. I was quite bright but all the other kids made fun of me because of my accent and my clothes. Jenny was the only one kind enough to be friends. I’d do anything for her, but she’s disappeared. She told me what you said about a doctor who helped woman but I couldn’t get away from work till today. Now she’s gone somewhere and I’m losing my mind here!” As Mai Ling was digesting this Karen realised that however good her acting was her improvisation still needed work. Disbelief was gaining in the Asian’s mind… but there was a desperate last chance Karen could take. She summoned more tears from their unknown source.
“I mean,” she spluttered, “Who could have thought we could introduce each other to two such horrible men!” Fresh tears completed the scene. Karen couldn’t have seemed more dejected, bawling her eyes out in front of a complete stranger. She had another good idea. Wiping the tears away she sat up and smiled at Mai Ling through her reddened eyes.
“You know,” said Karen, “I don’t think I need that doctor after all… I just needed to let a few things out, to a stranger. None of my friends will talk to me... they all say I drove him into her arms, but…” she sniffed and prepared to let the tears run forth once more when she felt a touch on her arm. Karen took the proffered card.
“It’s just round the corner from here,” said the Asian in a confidential whisper, “They have someone there at the moment but I’m sure they could at least book you an appointment.” Karen allowed her face to melt into pathetic gratitude, hugged the other woman close, felt that momentary thrill of another woman’s breasts pushed up against her own and left. Mai Ling felt a tear in her own eye. She went into the central shop and looked at her two assistants.
“Do we have any more appointments today?” she asked, harshly.
“No miss,” one replied. Mai Ling smiled and her whole visage and voice softened too. The two assistants picked up on it and felt their pulses quicken.
“Excellent,” said Mai Ling, “Send that idiot Du Pont home and then both of you come into the back room.” Both girls’ faces brightened hugely.
“What of the clothes you have to make for the English women, Mistress Ling?” asked one. Mai walked up to her and kissed the girl full on the mouth, the younger woman returning the kiss passionately while her sibling looked on in awe, desperate for her turn.
“The clothes can wait,” said Mai Ling seductively, “What we are about to share cannot.” Du Pont was out the door in five minutes. He didn’t mind. All he had to do was sit still and make occasional noises when spoilt little rich girls came in who demanded ‘The Designer.’ Mai Ling had found it easier to hire an unemployed French actor to play the imperious Du Pont rather than tell her customers that she made the clothes, plus it gave her the anonymity to really enjoy her assistants in London, Paris, Milan and New York. As the two of them followed her into the back room she was already pulling out the numerous silk binds with which she would strap them together… And, after that, the therapy would begin…!
The doctor’s surgery was as nondescript as possible, just a little two story house in a row of similar buildings just off the King’s road. There was a single buzzer in the door. Karen prepared to press it. She didn’t know that, even as she stood in front of the surgery, millions of pounds of tax payer’s money was being spent in a thousand different ways to find Jen… nor did she know that her mobile was ringing constantly, as were her home and officer phones, with her superiors demanding to know where she was and what she knew… nor did she know that the noon time news on the BBC was preparing exclusive coverage of what would become known as ‘The Jenny Saga.’
All Sergeant Karen Seymour knew was that she’d already come pretty far on a wild goose chase and it’d be pretty silly to stop now. She regretted having been so hasty as to come without her bag and the fact that no one knew where she was caused her a moment’s concern, but she decided to press on. Why call for back up when she was probably about to ring the doorbell of someone’s house?
The surgery was sparser than Karen expected. She’d rung and a girl, whose name tag said Lisa, had answered. Lisa was pretty hot! She was short but not plump, though her breasts filled out the top of her surprisingly skimpy uniform very nicely indeed. Karen had to make sure she didn’t stare. Lisa asked Karen who she was and what she was doing there. Put on the spot, Karen recounted her story of jilted dreams. She even found a few more tears as well! Lisa went from interrogator to best friend within thirty seconds and soon Karen had poured out her whole tale again, with a few details.
She was a twenty seven year old teacher who had gone to the same school as Jen. They’d been friends and had eventually found their fiancées through each other. Karen’s had been called William James, named William after her father and James after her brother. Old Bill had promised Karen the Earth and, she really cried at this point, she’d believed him!
They were supposed to get married at a quiet ceremony two Sundays after Jen’s wedding, the better not to detract from Jen’s celebration, only good old Bill had run off with his sluttish ex-girlfriend the night before while Karen had been consoling Jen after her break up! It was enough to drive even Lisa to tears, who told Karen that Dr. Tress was currently with a patient but would be taking a break in five minutes if Karen would wait. Karen did so. Five minutes later Lisa bade Karen follow her to the doctor’s room.
Dr. Tress was shorter than the policewoman expected and conformed to few of Karen’s other expectations. This was no monster, merely a fairly plain, if not unattractive woman, who was dressed like Karen, though more severely, and looked every part the standard GP. Karen was made to go through her story. She did so. Dr. Tress listened attentively and finally leaned back.
“I’m sorry to hear about your loss, Ms Seymour. It is truly a very difficult thing to deal with, a major disruption to one’s wedding day, particularly one as vindictive as yours. I can sympathise. Tell me, how did you find us here?”
“Mai Ling at the beauty parlour near here recommended you,” explained Karen. Tress smiled and her face was transformed into that of a pleasant woman… quite a fetching one too in Karen’s eyes. The doctor was talking about Mai Ling.
“Ah yes, Ms Ling is one of our greatest successes. She was a wreck when she arrived but, after just a week of the therapy I have created, the trauma of the break up of her marriage was all but forgotten.” The doctor leaned over the table, her face suddenly much more severe.
“I can help you, Karen,” she said, “But only if you agree to be helped.” Slightly surprised by the change in tact, Karen replied:
“What exactly do you do… to me?” Dr. Tress leaned back in her seat.
“The nature of the therapy is very simple but cannot be discussed else it hinders progress.” The doctor reached into a draw and withdrew a form which she slid across to Karen, along with a pen.
“If you agree to the treatment you must sign this disclaimer.” Karen looked unimpressed.
“Disclaimer? Why?” The doctor tried to breeze aside Karen’s doubts.
“It’s just a standard insurance document, the kind of thing we now have to fill out in triplicate unfortunately. It just says that should anything happen to you because of the therapy but not because of undue negligence on our part, we will not be responsible.” Karen started to read the document as the doctor spoke, but the small font and mixture of medical and legal jargon defeated her. Finally she simply signed and passed it back to Dr. Tress who smiled her wonderful smile.
“Excellent! The therapy will begin immediately. Go to Sandra in the nurse’s station. I will be through momentarily.” Slightly stunned by the rapidity of events, Karen stood and walked out, finding Sandra next door. The very attractive red head smiled. Karen, seeing her for the first time, could barely smile back, so surprised was she. She’d seen looks like that on women before… usually after she’d just kissed them for the first time. It was strange that one of the practice’s nurses should so openly be a lesbian.
“So you’re undergoing the therapy?” Sandra asked. Karen could only nod.
“Excellent,” continued the nurse, “Just go behind that screen and strip down to your underwear then come through and lie down on this bed.” Karen was surprised but did as she was asked, taking off her clothes and folding them neatly behind the screen. When she emerged it was to show off the full glory of her body.
Nurse Sandra gaped, for want of a better word. She’d seen many gorgeous women pass through the surgery, sometimes at the same time! But none, on their first visit, stood quite so sexily… none looked like they were ready to be brought to orgasm. Sandra may have felt the first stirrings of suspicion at that stage, but it was overrun by the massive great stirrings of arousal! She patted the bed.
“Sit,” she commanded. Karen swung her hips as she walked… the whiteness of her long, slim legs accentuated by the black of her panties. Her D cup breasts were perfectly encased by the Wonderbra she was wearing, a new design that had allowed her to hike up her cleavage as she unchanged. She slipped onto the bed, first thrusting her ass onto it and then the rest of her svelte body, swinging round before Sandra’s eyes. The nurse was practically hypnotised. Boy she was going to enjoy showing this one the light!
The mattress of the bed felt strange to Karen, like it was tickling her, but in a… good way. She looked over at the nurse.
“This bed feels strange.”
“It’s supposed to,” replied Sandra, “It’s made of synthetic fibre designed to help with the therapy. Please may I have your hand?” Karen extended her arm.
“So what exactly is involved in this ther… hey wait a minute!” She wrenched her arm away from where Sandra had been trying to tie it into the cuff.
“It’s all part of the therapy,” said the nurse reassuringly, reaching for Karen’s arm again.
“Not any therapy I’m having its not!” exclaimed Karen. She leapt off the bed and made for the door only it was locked.
“What are you doing?” cried Sandra, “You’re missing out on the most wonderful feeling of your life!”
“Getting brainwashed like you? I don’t think so. Open this door!” she yelled, “Open this door!” She detected a strange, sickly sweet odour in the air. Sandra smiled at her.
“Welcome to the sisterhood,” she said, before slowly dropping to the ground. Karen fell a few seconds later.
TO BE CONCLUDED…
This story, and others like it, was first posted on www.adultsexygames.com/stories
I just thought I'd put them here and see what everyone else thought of them. However, if you're underage or offended by stories written about sexual scenes please do not read this. Similarly, this is a complete and utter work of fiction. Any similarity between this and anybody on the planet is purely coincidental and weird as all hell!
Thanks,
JJ
Chapter 3: 23/06/03
It had been only a day since Lila had gone with Jen to Dr. Tress’ surgery but Karen’s many phone calls had created a rippling effect throughout the two girls’ lives. Being contacted by the police is a major cause for alarm at the best of times and the repeated entreaties from Karen to anyone who might know anything about the whereabouts of Jen or Lila had a certain amount of knock on effect…
Everyone from both girls’ families, groups of friends or casual acquaintances were not only informed of the police’s interest in the two missing people but began phoning up all their families, friends and casual acquaintances to try and find out what had happened. A couple of years later a historian wrote a book on the subject and estimated that over three hundred thousand people had been contacted by Friday the 27th. Of course, by then, it was all over.
The womenhunt had started the second Karen got into work on Monday morning and heard the recorded message from Lila. Karen was dressed in her weekend end pick me up: a black skirt, part of a suit, that stretched down only as far as the lower thigh, a white shirt that was made of a good cloth that hid her favourite bra, the black silk one with matching panties.
She was wearing her suit jacket too, although it was hot that day in June. Her superiors didn’t like her idea of the uniform but, as long as she looked good and so long as it was a suit, they didn’t press the issue. Karen dropped her purse on the table. It contained her wallet, phone, keys, makeup and all the other paraphernalia of being a woman, but it also had her badge. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had an opportunity to give it an airing.
Karen listened to the six messages she had received over the weekend. Five were mundane. The one from Lila was not. Alarmed but not panicked, the policewoman phoned the two numbers she’d been given by the girl. The mobile wasn’t on and her work said that she’d been given a week off because of some therapy she was going to.
‘What therapy is that?’ Karen had asked. ‘Oh some women’s thing,’ was the sexist, chauvinistic reply from the sexist, chauvinistic boss Lila had had to endure for two years. Finally, Karen tracked down the doctor’s order. It led nowhere… or, more exactly, it led to an NHS hospital which said they’d never heard of either Jennifer Taylor-Moore or Lila Jones. They certainly hadn’t heard of any Dr. Tress.
Karen decided that this was definitely worth some investigating. She immediately set about finding out everything she could about the two girls, calling up their families and informing them of her interest in them as missing persons. The Jones were understandably shocked and started there very own search, though it was mostly confirmed to Manchester. They told Karen that Lila was a lovely girl who wouldn’t just go away without telling them and so on and so forth. It was a dead end. The Taylor-Moore’s were less informative and far more helpful.
After finally overcoming the wall of security surrounding Lord Taylor-Moore, Karen reluctantly found herself informing one of the most powerful politicians in the land that his only daughter, of four children, was missing. She didn’t get to ask any questions. His lordship slammed down the phone and was engaged for the rest of the day.
It later transpired that he’d been calling comrades at the MET, Scotland Yard, parliament, MI5, MI6, the Admiralty and Dominoes Pizza in King’s Cross who were quite surprised to receive three phone calls from an irate customer demanding to be given a progress report on his daughter’s kidnapping. By the time Karen eventually found Jen, his lordship had caused an estimated £10.3 million to be spent on her rescue.
It was her memory that allowed Karen to locate the missing women. All the fancy toys in several police departments, not to mention the many gadgets used by the various spy networks which got involved, couldn’t compete with one woman who took the time to listen to another woman’s complaint. That was Karen’s edge. It almost lost her to slavery. By the time she found them the manhunt which she had inadvertently started was on national TV… it being a slow news day and the beautiful, kidnapped daughter of a lord was something of a rarity.
Jen, Lila, Sandra and Missy didn’t watch any television that week, nor did they listen to the radio or check their emails. If they had they would have been informed of the massive effort being made to find them all… or at least, to find Jen. Lord Taylor-Moore hadn’t made much of an effort to discover any details once he heard his daughter was missing. Karen never heard the news either. After her call to his lordship’s wife she soon realised what she was looking for.
Lady Taylor-Moore was slightly less succinct than her husband but only moderately so. She was shocked to hear that Jen was missing but assumed it was because she was on some sort of medical trip. Tentatively pushing, Karen found out that Jen had gone on a special therapeutic course after her recent heartache. Further pushing about whether this heartache might have been because of a gentleman called Toby Barrett caused Lady Taylor-Moore to hang up. Further calls were answered concisely by the butler who told Karen that she had all the information she was getting. Lady Taylor-Moore didn’t like the idea of the common police force discussing her daughter’s botched wedding.
To Karen the common link was the doctor. Jen was supposedly at some sort of therapy and Lila was off work for a week on medical grounds. Both situations had ordered by some sort of doctor and the only details given had led to a dead end. However, Lila had mentioned a Dr. Tress during her interview by the sergeant.
It was not a popular name by any standards and none of the nurses Karen spoke to had heard of any Dr. Tress. She got all the London hospitals to email her their employee lists but, other than a surgeon called Mr. Triss, nothing was biting. In the end, Karen sat back and stared at the ceiling. There was something eluding her… something she’d heard which would help but she couldn’t put her finger on it. The more Karen willed the image to arrive the further it slipped away. Finally, in exasperation, she went for a coffee break. It was nine fifty five in the morning.
“Hey Karen, how’s tricks?” Of all the other officers, Matt Dickinson was the only one who treated her with any respect. The other men initially tried it on with her and, when brushed off, muttered unpleasant comments under their breath while surreptitiously eying her legs. Matt was different. He’d worked with her before and found her trying, standoffish and occasionally downright rude… but she was also very intelligent and clever, which wasn’t the same thing, and opened up if you weren’t too much of a pig. He didn’t find her bad to look at either.
“Oh same old, same old, Matt. How’re things with you?” He laughed.
“Nothing doing. The most exciting thing I’ve got to work on is a freshly paroled dealer who’s sworn all kinds of unpleasantness on me for catching him.” Karen smiled and fixed herself a wonderfully lukewarm coffee. Matt looked at her shrewdly.
“You’re working on something… I can see it in that far off look in your eyes.” Karen looked slightly shocked before smiling bashfully.
“Am I that transparent?” Matt laughed.
“Hey, you know me… I’m a master spy! Don’t worry… I’ll keep your secrets safe. Only me, king and country!” He laughed and Karen smiled.
“You’re a regular James Bond, Matt.” They laughed at the joke and Matt left. Karen stirred her coffee. Something Matt said triggered an association in her mind… ‘King and country… King and country… King…? King… King!’ That was it! She burst out of the coffee room. Matt saw her.
“Hey roadrunner, where are you off to in such a hurry?” Karen smiled awkwardly.
“Oh, I’ve just got to see a doctor on the King’s road about women’s troubles.” He shrugged and Karen raced off, leaving Matt and everyone else on the planet none the wiser.
The King’s road is not small. It’s primarily an upper class area stretching parallel to the river Thames, though not directly alongside. It’s crowded, somewhat touristy and no one had heard of a doctor Tress. Karen thought she must be mad. Here she was on the King’s road at ten a.m. without a clue as to where she was going or whether it even existed! She’d never heard of a Dr. Tress anywhere in the area and Lila hadn’t told her how to get to the surgery.
She hadn’t even brought her bag with her! That meant she had no phone, no money and no badge. It was hopeless. Dejected, Karen was about to head back to the station when a voice dripping with snobbery went past her. It was the kind of voice that, even on a young girl, ruffled your feathers… the kind of voice that talked of estates and country houses and months in exotic locations… the kind of voice that thought washing up was hard work best left to the servants… and it had just spent a lot of money.
“Oh yes, daaarrlinggg, he’s simply fabulous.” A pause. An explosion. “Well off courrrrse he was there, darling. He knows who his best customers are.” The mobile phone conversation continued at high volume down the street. Karen turned her head to the noise and was about to look away in disgust when something caught her eye. The words ‘Du Pont’ could be seen on one of the girl’s bags… all of them in fact.
Karen followed the girl, wondering what the connection was when, finally, her brain got into gear. ‘Du Pont’ was the name of a designer. Jen and Lila had gone to the shop and bought many, many clothes there. Upon leaving Jen had been summoned back by the manageress. That was who’d told her about the doctor. Of course! Karen cursed her slowness at arriving at that conclusion. She rushed up to the loud girl.
“Excuse me,” asked the policewoman. Using a great many generations worth of inbred arrogance the girl simply walked around Karen as if she wasn’t there, continuing her ‘conversation.’ Karen had had enough. She walked up to the girl and grabbed the phone.
“She’ll call you back,” was her succinct statement before ending the call and giving the phone back to the girl, who took it carelessly and fixed Karen with the most belittling of expressions the policewoman had seen in a long time.
“Who are you?” The tone would’ve made Gandhi annoyed…
“I am a policewoman,” answered Karen, feeling her anger rise, “And I need to ask you a question.”
“Ask someone else, I’m busy.” The girl made to move off. Karen grabbed her by the scruff of the neck.
“Hey that’s Versace!” cried the girl. Karen released her grip and pointed at the bags.
“Where did they come from?” The girl looked at her bags and back to Karen, her face registering her disbelief that anyone in Karen’s income bracket could possibly want to buy at ‘Du Pont.’ However, she finally acquiesced.
“It’s Du Pont, darling… you know? The famous French designer. He’s personally come over from France to fit me you know. I was just at his shop down the King’s road five… hey! Where are you going? Give me back my bag!” Karen turned and lobbed the bag back to the girl who dropped it. She began yelling in general to get someone to ‘get’ Karen but the policewoman ignored her. All she’d needed was a direction and, sure enough, Du Pont was just about two and a half minutes walk down the road.
“May I help you?” The tone of voice implied that help would, at most, involve directions to the exit. Karen looked at the woman hard and, in her most officious voice, asked:
“Are you Mai Ling?” The woman nodded, suddenly on guard and reserved. Karen was about to demand a business card for Dr. Tress when an idea crossed her mind. She lowered her eyes and toned down her voice.
“Is there somewhere private we could talk?” The manageress looked at the plainclothes policewoman with some trepidation and no little suspicion, but led her to a quiet room at the back. Karen looked around, making sure they were alone. Finally she turned to the beautiful Asian woman.
“Sorry to be so rude in there, but I’ve been going nuts,” she said simply. Mai Ling stared at Karen, who put a greater degree of desperation into her voice.
“These last few weeks have been the worst of my life.” From nowhere her voice managed to crack on the last word. Karen was thrilled at her sudden skills as an actress. She used the unexpected bonus of tears welling up to her advantage, covering her eyes and weeping into her sleeve for a moment.
“I just don’t know where else to turn!” Mai Ling guided the policewoman to a seat and sat down opposite.
“I am afraid that I am not sure I can help you… miss,” the Oriental replied. Karen turned the tears up a notch, surprised at how readily they’d come.
“Oh it’s not you,” she wept, “It’s the woman who helped my friend. She got jinked at the altar too…” She felt rather than saw the Asian woman stiffen… there was nothing so crass as a jerk or twitch, just minute changes that turned a hard if compassionate woman into at least a genuine listener. Still, Mai Ling was not to be fooled into giving up her secrets so easily.
“Who was your friend, miss?”
“Jen… Jenny. Jenny Taylor-Moore.” Now Mai Ling looked sceptical.
“We were childhood friends. I was the poor one at the expensive school. I was quite bright but all the other kids made fun of me because of my accent and my clothes. Jenny was the only one kind enough to be friends. I’d do anything for her, but she’s disappeared. She told me what you said about a doctor who helped woman but I couldn’t get away from work till today. Now she’s gone somewhere and I’m losing my mind here!” As Mai Ling was digesting this Karen realised that however good her acting was her improvisation still needed work. Disbelief was gaining in the Asian’s mind… but there was a desperate last chance Karen could take. She summoned more tears from their unknown source.
“I mean,” she spluttered, “Who could have thought we could introduce each other to two such horrible men!” Fresh tears completed the scene. Karen couldn’t have seemed more dejected, bawling her eyes out in front of a complete stranger. She had another good idea. Wiping the tears away she sat up and smiled at Mai Ling through her reddened eyes.
“You know,” said Karen, “I don’t think I need that doctor after all… I just needed to let a few things out, to a stranger. None of my friends will talk to me... they all say I drove him into her arms, but…” she sniffed and prepared to let the tears run forth once more when she felt a touch on her arm. Karen took the proffered card.
“It’s just round the corner from here,” said the Asian in a confidential whisper, “They have someone there at the moment but I’m sure they could at least book you an appointment.” Karen allowed her face to melt into pathetic gratitude, hugged the other woman close, felt that momentary thrill of another woman’s breasts pushed up against her own and left. Mai Ling felt a tear in her own eye. She went into the central shop and looked at her two assistants.
“Do we have any more appointments today?” she asked, harshly.
“No miss,” one replied. Mai Ling smiled and her whole visage and voice softened too. The two assistants picked up on it and felt their pulses quicken.
“Excellent,” said Mai Ling, “Send that idiot Du Pont home and then both of you come into the back room.” Both girls’ faces brightened hugely.
“What of the clothes you have to make for the English women, Mistress Ling?” asked one. Mai walked up to her and kissed the girl full on the mouth, the younger woman returning the kiss passionately while her sibling looked on in awe, desperate for her turn.
“The clothes can wait,” said Mai Ling seductively, “What we are about to share cannot.” Du Pont was out the door in five minutes. He didn’t mind. All he had to do was sit still and make occasional noises when spoilt little rich girls came in who demanded ‘The Designer.’ Mai Ling had found it easier to hire an unemployed French actor to play the imperious Du Pont rather than tell her customers that she made the clothes, plus it gave her the anonymity to really enjoy her assistants in London, Paris, Milan and New York. As the two of them followed her into the back room she was already pulling out the numerous silk binds with which she would strap them together… And, after that, the therapy would begin…!
The doctor’s surgery was as nondescript as possible, just a little two story house in a row of similar buildings just off the King’s road. There was a single buzzer in the door. Karen prepared to press it. She didn’t know that, even as she stood in front of the surgery, millions of pounds of tax payer’s money was being spent in a thousand different ways to find Jen… nor did she know that her mobile was ringing constantly, as were her home and officer phones, with her superiors demanding to know where she was and what she knew… nor did she know that the noon time news on the BBC was preparing exclusive coverage of what would become known as ‘The Jenny Saga.’
All Sergeant Karen Seymour knew was that she’d already come pretty far on a wild goose chase and it’d be pretty silly to stop now. She regretted having been so hasty as to come without her bag and the fact that no one knew where she was caused her a moment’s concern, but she decided to press on. Why call for back up when she was probably about to ring the doorbell of someone’s house?
The surgery was sparser than Karen expected. She’d rung and a girl, whose name tag said Lisa, had answered. Lisa was pretty hot! She was short but not plump, though her breasts filled out the top of her surprisingly skimpy uniform very nicely indeed. Karen had to make sure she didn’t stare. Lisa asked Karen who she was and what she was doing there. Put on the spot, Karen recounted her story of jilted dreams. She even found a few more tears as well! Lisa went from interrogator to best friend within thirty seconds and soon Karen had poured out her whole tale again, with a few details.
She was a twenty seven year old teacher who had gone to the same school as Jen. They’d been friends and had eventually found their fiancées through each other. Karen’s had been called William James, named William after her father and James after her brother. Old Bill had promised Karen the Earth and, she really cried at this point, she’d believed him!
They were supposed to get married at a quiet ceremony two Sundays after Jen’s wedding, the better not to detract from Jen’s celebration, only good old Bill had run off with his sluttish ex-girlfriend the night before while Karen had been consoling Jen after her break up! It was enough to drive even Lisa to tears, who told Karen that Dr. Tress was currently with a patient but would be taking a break in five minutes if Karen would wait. Karen did so. Five minutes later Lisa bade Karen follow her to the doctor’s room.
Dr. Tress was shorter than the policewoman expected and conformed to few of Karen’s other expectations. This was no monster, merely a fairly plain, if not unattractive woman, who was dressed like Karen, though more severely, and looked every part the standard GP. Karen was made to go through her story. She did so. Dr. Tress listened attentively and finally leaned back.
“I’m sorry to hear about your loss, Ms Seymour. It is truly a very difficult thing to deal with, a major disruption to one’s wedding day, particularly one as vindictive as yours. I can sympathise. Tell me, how did you find us here?”
“Mai Ling at the beauty parlour near here recommended you,” explained Karen. Tress smiled and her face was transformed into that of a pleasant woman… quite a fetching one too in Karen’s eyes. The doctor was talking about Mai Ling.
“Ah yes, Ms Ling is one of our greatest successes. She was a wreck when she arrived but, after just a week of the therapy I have created, the trauma of the break up of her marriage was all but forgotten.” The doctor leaned over the table, her face suddenly much more severe.
“I can help you, Karen,” she said, “But only if you agree to be helped.” Slightly surprised by the change in tact, Karen replied:
“What exactly do you do… to me?” Dr. Tress leaned back in her seat.
“The nature of the therapy is very simple but cannot be discussed else it hinders progress.” The doctor reached into a draw and withdrew a form which she slid across to Karen, along with a pen.
“If you agree to the treatment you must sign this disclaimer.” Karen looked unimpressed.
“Disclaimer? Why?” The doctor tried to breeze aside Karen’s doubts.
“It’s just a standard insurance document, the kind of thing we now have to fill out in triplicate unfortunately. It just says that should anything happen to you because of the therapy but not because of undue negligence on our part, we will not be responsible.” Karen started to read the document as the doctor spoke, but the small font and mixture of medical and legal jargon defeated her. Finally she simply signed and passed it back to Dr. Tress who smiled her wonderful smile.
“Excellent! The therapy will begin immediately. Go to Sandra in the nurse’s station. I will be through momentarily.” Slightly stunned by the rapidity of events, Karen stood and walked out, finding Sandra next door. The very attractive red head smiled. Karen, seeing her for the first time, could barely smile back, so surprised was she. She’d seen looks like that on women before… usually after she’d just kissed them for the first time. It was strange that one of the practice’s nurses should so openly be a lesbian.
“So you’re undergoing the therapy?” Sandra asked. Karen could only nod.
“Excellent,” continued the nurse, “Just go behind that screen and strip down to your underwear then come through and lie down on this bed.” Karen was surprised but did as she was asked, taking off her clothes and folding them neatly behind the screen. When she emerged it was to show off the full glory of her body.
Nurse Sandra gaped, for want of a better word. She’d seen many gorgeous women pass through the surgery, sometimes at the same time! But none, on their first visit, stood quite so sexily… none looked like they were ready to be brought to orgasm. Sandra may have felt the first stirrings of suspicion at that stage, but it was overrun by the massive great stirrings of arousal! She patted the bed.
“Sit,” she commanded. Karen swung her hips as she walked… the whiteness of her long, slim legs accentuated by the black of her panties. Her D cup breasts were perfectly encased by the Wonderbra she was wearing, a new design that had allowed her to hike up her cleavage as she unchanged. She slipped onto the bed, first thrusting her ass onto it and then the rest of her svelte body, swinging round before Sandra’s eyes. The nurse was practically hypnotised. Boy she was going to enjoy showing this one the light!
The mattress of the bed felt strange to Karen, like it was tickling her, but in a… good way. She looked over at the nurse.
“This bed feels strange.”
“It’s supposed to,” replied Sandra, “It’s made of synthetic fibre designed to help with the therapy. Please may I have your hand?” Karen extended her arm.
“So what exactly is involved in this ther… hey wait a minute!” She wrenched her arm away from where Sandra had been trying to tie it into the cuff.
“It’s all part of the therapy,” said the nurse reassuringly, reaching for Karen’s arm again.
“Not any therapy I’m having its not!” exclaimed Karen. She leapt off the bed and made for the door only it was locked.
“What are you doing?” cried Sandra, “You’re missing out on the most wonderful feeling of your life!”
“Getting brainwashed like you? I don’t think so. Open this door!” she yelled, “Open this door!” She detected a strange, sickly sweet odour in the air. Sandra smiled at her.
“Welcome to the sisterhood,” she said, before slowly dropping to the ground. Karen fell a few seconds later.
TO BE CONCLUDED…
