Lights Camera Action

Hi

Thank you to everyone who has read some or all of my attempts to chronicle Pamela's adventures - it really is appreciated, whether you voted or not (but even more so if you did!). This is chapter five, which means, as each chapter covers a full day from midnight to midnight and we started on a Friday, it's now Tuesday and Pamela is ... well, I don't know yet so please read on and we'll all find out soon enough.

Frank

P.S. Pamela, who is sitting on the bed in the Playroom watching a busty lesbian video while she plays with her favourite vibrator, sends her regards too!

*****

It was Monday morning, and it was raining. I sat in the kitchen munching toast and slurping tea, trying not to think too much about the shoot that evening with Miss Bell. Suddenly, I could vaguely hear Pamela's voice on the phone to someone as she was getting ready for work upstairs but couldn't catch what she was saying. Fifteen minutes later she appeared, dressed in just her black satin dressing gown, carrying a school blazer in one hand.

"Found it!" she announced. "And it fits."

"From Nico," I cried, recalling Pamela's first lesbian lover had bought her a complete school uniform with satchel and everything but the blazer had been mislaid over the years.

"Yes, I knew it was in my dressing room somewhere," she explained, "so I texted Miss Bell to ask her if we could play the headmistress and naughty schoolgirl tonight and she called me back to say ..."

"Oh yes, we were supposed to let her know what we wanted her to wear," I interjected, recalling our conversation with Miss Bell at the Grand hotel the previous Saturday.

"Exactly," agreed Pamela. "I kept telling myself all day yesterday I had to get in touch with her but, with everything else, it slipped my mind until I was in the shower this morning."

"So you made an executive decision," I suggested with a smile. "What did she say?"

"She said it was fine with her," reported Pamela. "She has something she can wear over her black lingerie ..."

"Oh yes!" I cried out, involuntarily before holding both hands up in apology. "Sorry!"

"Over her black lingerie," she repeated with a glare, "that will work very well."

"Perfect," I announced, trying to visualise what the 'something' might be.

"She asked me something else too," went on Pamela, intriguing me. "Want to guess what?"

I hesitated, thinking for a moment before shaking my head.

"She asked me if I wanted her to cane me," she revealed excitedly. "She has an old-fashioned desk in her study that she could lay me across and ..."

"Oh fuck!" I groaned in abject lust.

"So I said yes," she continued, "provided she didn't do it too hard."

"Oh fuck!" I groaned again.

"I thought you would like that," she added, waving the blazer around before disappearing to go back upstairs to get ready for work. Suddenly, my toast seemed to have lost some of its appeal.

Twenty minutes later, we left the house and climbed into my car for the trip to town. She had selected to wear a loose, just-above-the-knee black skirt over matching seamed stockings and three-inch heels, with a crimson blouse under the suit jacket that went with the skirt. Her hair was left loose, which I preferred, and she had crimson lips.

"You look a million dollars," I observed as she clicked her safety belt. "Those young guys in your office will have a hard on all day!"

"Not my type," she retorted, clearly enjoying the compliment, "but I do have a temporary lady starting today as my stand-in personal assistant. Maybe she'll notice I'm not wearing any panties."

"No panties?" I cried. "In the office?"

"I've been as horny as hell since speaking to Miss Bell," she explained. "If I wore panties today, they would be drenched in five minutes so I thought a little air might be best."

I crawled down the gravel drive of Harlot House and turned right, away from the village, for the trip to town.

"Why do you need a temporary PA?" I asked, picking up speed. "Or have you already told me?"

"I don't know why I bother," replied Pamela, turning her head to look out of the window.

We drove on for a mile or so in silence.

"OK, just to recap," she said. "You've already sorted out your camera stuff for tonight and you're to get the cash to pay Miss Bell at lunchtime. You'll pick me up from work at five-thirty."

"Correct," I agreed, taking the occasional peek at her crossed legs as she sat alongside me. "I've got two bottles of champagne in the fridge to take with us and I've got a carrier for them. You, I assume, will have sorted out all of your schoolie stuff for when we get home."

"Of course," she replied, as if I had any doubt. "We'll be home by six which gives us time to shower and change and to walk around to her place by seven."

"I think you should wear that outfit again for getting there," I mused, as we drove along. "You look really sexy!"

Pamela giggled, resting a hand on my knee.

"After what you did last night to my arse," she purred, appreciating the compliment, "I'm surprised you even noticed."

We drove along in silence for another couple of miles until we arrived at the village of Fucton.

"They've new management in the teashop, apparently," I observed innocently as we passed a nice looking café, called 'Crumpets', with new tables set up outside and a fresh look to the place. "Maybe we can stop off and see what it's like sometime?"

"You mean stop off and take a look at the lady that runs it?" she retorted, seeing through my innocence. "I'm told she's a slim blonde, newly divorced and sexy as hell. Oh, and apparently her currant buns are not to be missed!"

"I had no idea," I said, honestly enough, "but, in that case, we should definitely stop off and see what she's like as well."

Arriving in town, I dropped her off at a new office block that housed ''Smart Marketing Ltd.', the company of which she was a director, and continued on to my own office, much less impressive but all my own. I parked in a space with my name and title on a post and headed into McMahon Financial Services to find, as usual, my partner in the business, 'Boz' Bozmann already there.

"Good weekend?" he asked, heading for the drinks machine. "You look knackered: too much sex is bad for you, I keep telling you that but you don't listen."

"Try telling that to Pamela," I retorted, settling at my desk. "Anyway, how did you get on with that nice little divorcee you were supposed to be seeing on Saturday night?"

"Now that would be telling," replied Boz with a smile on his face as he returned with tea as another day's constant sexual banter had begun. A few minutes later, my phone vibrated at I saw Pamela's name emblazoned on the screen. It was a text from you-know-who.

'Baby,' I read. 'Just thought you'd like to know I'm still wet. Pamela xxx'.

A surge ran through my cock. I typed up a reply and re-read it.

'Baby', I read, smiling to myself. 'I think you should do some work! Frank xxx'

The morning was taken up by finalising a trip scheduled for the following week to visit a number of clients who had already decided to invest in a range of financial products with my company but had yet to sign the actual paperwork. As the amounts to be invested were significant, my role was to facilitate the arrangements to make it as easy as I could, resulting in considerable sums of commission being due to my company, certainly enough to keep Pamela in sexy lingerie.

So, my plan was to set off early to see my first client just after lunch, then I had time to see another late afternoon. A couple of pints and a steak followed by a night in a hotel would give me time to drive across country to see the third client by late morning which meant I could make it back home in time for dinner.

With a pleasant thought, I picked up the phone to call Sammy, the rather voluptuous proprietor of the small 'Satisfaction Hotel' in the town where I was going to stay. It was one of my favourite hotels and Sammy, a forty-something divorcee had become something of a good friend, though nothing more than that. As I hoped, Sammy had a room for me so I thanked her and closed the call. Sorted.

At lunchtime, I went to the money machine to take out the cash to pay Miss Bell, and more if it was needed. Next, I stocked up on camera batteries before hitting my favourite deli for a tuna and cheese sandwich for lunch back at the office. Back at the office, I was just about to eat it when my mobile phone rang. It was Pamela.

"Hi baby," I greeted. "Everything alright?"

"Yes," she replied, "but can you talk?"

"Sure, I'm in my little cell, all on my lonesome and about to demolish my sandwich for lunch," I advised, wondering what she wanted to talk about. "What's up?"

"Nothing," she announced, "other than I'm still as horny as hell."

"What?" I cried. "Because of tonight?"

"No, because of Samantha Dreem," she replied. "She's my temporary PA. She's just yummy, good enough to eat!"

"And you've just called me to tell me that?" I teased. "I presume she can't hear you?"

"Of course not, silly," she retorted. "She's outside my office, where all good dragons sit but this one is a pussy cat in every sense."

"So what's she like?" I asked. "To look at, I mean."

"You'll find out tonight," she explained. "She lives in Fucton and I said we would give her a lift home as she came in on the bus."

"Sounds good to me," I observed. "Maybe she knows the new manageress of that café we saw?"

"Oh she does," she replied in an 'I know' sort of voice. "She jointly owns the café with the lady that runs it who's called Charlotte and she says they're best friends. Samantha works as a PA so at least one of them earns a steady income. Oh, and you might be interested to know that they share the apartment above the café."

"Really?" I mused. "Small world, eh?"

"It is a small world," agreed Pamela, seizing on my expression. "OK, got to go, see you at five thirty. Bye, baby, bye."

Interesting, I thought, as I replaced my phone on my desk and picked up my sandwich just as Boz, my business partner, opened the door carrying two mugs of tea. He placed one on my desk before taking one of the comfortable seats around a coffee table near the main window.

"Got your trip sorted for next week?" he asked. "Going Tuesday. Two days, I assume?"

"Yep," I confirmed. "I even got my usual room at Sammy's hotel which is good."

"So who are you seeing?" he asked. I told him.

"Back next Wednesday," he mused, "but in the office again on Thursday?"

"OK, Boz," I stated, knowing he had something to say. "What's up? Come on, man, out with it!"

Boz turned to look out of the window for a moment, saying nothing.

"You know I saw someone last Saturday night?" he said at last. "That nice little divorcee, as you put it."

"Oh man, I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything," I cried, suddenly glad I hadn't said anything else. "I was just having a little fun, honestly!"

Boz waved his hand in the air, dismissing the need for my apology.

"No, it's not that," he said, shaking his head. "It's just that we had dinner and seemed to get on pretty well. She's chatty and fun and we had a great time. It was just that, well, we naturally talked about what we did for a living and I talked about this place, mentioning the company name was McMahon Financial Services at which point she laughed and asked if you were called Frank."

"Go ... on," I encouraged warily, wondering where this was going.

"Well, I said yes, of course, and she laughed again, asking whether you were about your age, whether your build was what it is, whether you came from where you did," he went on. "She then asked me whether you had ever mentioned her to me ... as she and you had a fling some years ago."

"What's her name?" I interjected, wide-eyed. "Sheila? Sheila Harrison?"

He smiled and I buried my face in my hands.

"Are you seeing her again?" I asked, without moving. "Please say you aren't!"

"I'd like to but I'm not sure she's so keen," he replied looking ruefully. "It's a pity as I'd quite like to have sounded her out about your prowess in the sack, or lack of it!"

"Bastard!" I cried, before laughing. "Anyway, I'm sorry if it doesn't work out but how is she?"

"Great," he replied. "She looks wonderful and seems pretty happy after her divorce. How long were you two together?"

"A couple of years, I guess," I said, "but it ended when we found out that both of us were seeing someone else, not the same person, you understand. It was fun while it lasted. If you do see her again, you'll pass on my best regards, won't you?"

"Well, you may be more likely to see her than I am," he retorted. "She's moved to Suckerton, the next village to your spot."

"Suckerton!" I cried in surprise. "Really?"

"Yeah, she's got a nice little cottage from what I could see the other night from the taxi," he explained, rising from his seat to come over and collect my empty mug. "Anyway, I have a client visit in town so if I don't see you again today, have a good evening."

He left my office and I sat back in my chair to recall Sheila Harrison. He was right, she was a bundle of fun to be with, maybe even too much. But I couldn't ever complain about her skills in giving a hand-job, kneeling between my legs with her pierced nipples chained in a 'Y-shape' to a ring through her clitoris hood, all the time talking dirty to me. Oh yes, Sheila was quite a girl. And living in Suckerton too, the next village north of Little Pissington. A sudden thought hit me. Pamela would be interested, given our initial discussion about our earlier relationships. Then again, maybe I should keep quiet, just for the moment.

The afternoon dragged somewhat, probably because, as time passed, it brought the time of the shoot with Miss Bell that much closer. I didn't know what Pamela was thinking but I seemed to be getting more nervous by the minute. I forced myself to deal with some emails and a few other jobs that needed doing but when I looked up at the clock it had only just passed four o'clock. Another hour to go. Suddenly, I heard the ring of my mobile. It was Pamela again.

"Hi, baby," I greeted. "Two calls in one afternoon!"

"I've had a text from Miss Bell," she announced, ignoring my comment. "Let me read it to you."

"OK," I replied, hoping she hadn't cancelled the shoot.

"Miss Bell writes: 'Dear Miss Hatch, you are to attend my study at 7pm sharp this evening to address a charge of improper dress in the school library that I have received this morning from a trusted source. I advise you that full school uniform should be worn and be ready for inspection. Lateness will be penalised by chastisement on the bare for each minute. Miss J Bell, Headmistress'" said Pamela. "What do you think of that?"

"Well, one thing it does mean is you'll have to be wearing your school uniform when we arrive at her place," I replied, trying to suppress a laugh. "I'm warming to Miss Bell."

"What does she mean by 'chastisement on the bare'?" she asked before the obvious answer, by co-incidence, struck her. "Oh I know, that's where the caning comes it, skirt up and no panties, across my naked arse!"

"No, I don't think that's what she means," I challenged, an image of what I was thinking flashed across my mind's eye. "I think the penalty for the improper dress charge will be a caning, assuming you are guilty. Being chastised for getting there late tonight is more likely to mean a spanking, you know, one for each minute."

"Oh yes, I see what you mean," she agreed, "but as far as the improper dress charge is concerned, I assume I'm bound to be found guilty as Miss Bell is both judge and jury."

"And executioner," I added with relish. "It's your fault for not being dressed properly in the school library. There's no getting away from it."

"You're enjoying this too much," she accused, breaking into a laugh. "Anyway, how am I going to walk through the village in broad daylight in schoolgirl uniform and pigtails?"

"Very quickly, I suspect," I answered, giggling. "Can't you wear a long coat with a hood of some sort?"

"I'm going to have to," she admitted. "I'll have to think about it."

"Anyway, do you want to get there on time?" I asked. "Not as much fun if you do, just think of the video."

"It's alright for you," she protested before giggling. "Yeah, I think we should be a couple of minutes late, don't you? Maybe we'll see how I feel when we get there. OK, see you later. Bye."

It was just after five thirty when I pulled into Pamela's office carpark to see her waiting for me, standing alongside a dark-haired woman who clearly had an amazingly voluptuous figure. She exuded womanhood in every way. Even from a distance, I could see her she had an enormous bosom which, no doubt was an interest to Pamela, given her track record with Nico and Dana. And she had cracking legs too, I could see that but couldn't see her arse. Suddenly, Pamela saw my car and pointed at it, prompting the lady to follow her towards where I was now parked.

"Samantha, Frank," announced Pamela, as I got out of the car. "Frank, Samantha."

We shook hands and I saw how lovely Samantha was. She was a real stunner, an absolute cracker. And what tits! Absolutely unbelievable. I closed the rear door on her, taking advantage of the chance to see she had a big sexy arse before I got back into the driver's seat with Pamela alongside me. We set off for Fucton to drop Samantha off and then home.

For most of the way, I couldn't get a word in but that was usual with Pamela. I happily let them chatter on about anything and everything, frequently bursting into laughter at the smallest thing. Occasionally, I was able to sneak a peek through the rear-view mirror at Samantha's astonishing tits, on one occasion lingering a few seconds too long and having to put the anchors on at a crossing.

"Samantha has been telling me about 'Crumpets'," said Pamela, as I slowed as we entered the village, keeping an eye out for the café. "It sound wonderful so, if we're not doing anything on Thursday, as they stay open later than normal, I thought we might pop in on the way home."

"Sounds like a plan," I replied, nodding, pulling up outside the cafe. "I'll look forward to that."

"I'll introduce you to Charlotte, too," added Samantha, clambering out with a little difficulty from the back seat. "She seems to be creating quite a positive impression on the locals."

Suddenly, Samantha and Pamela burst out laughing but I said nothing. We said our goodbyes and set off again for the last three miles back to Little Pissington.

"What do you think?" asked Pamela, pointedly.

"About what?" I replied, evasively.

"You know damn well what I mean," she retorted. "Well?"

"She seems like a nice ...," I began.

"But do you want to play with her big arse?" she interjected, somewhat directly. "Oh Frank, I just have to suck those tits of hers ... oh, they're just irresistible, don't you think?"

"Maybe she has a lover," I mused, keeping my eyes on the road. "Charlotte, perhaps?"

Pamela leaned across and rested her head on my shoulder.

"Then we'll just have to have both of them," she whispered. "Think you can manage that?"

"I don't like to boast," I mused, "but first, we have Miss Bell!"

We arrived back at Harlot Hall pretty much on schedule at two minutes to six. Pamela made her way into the house as I locked up the car and followed her. She was standing in the hall, holding two letters and a small parcel which had arrived in the mail.

"This is for you," she observed, holding up the parcel.

"Really?" I said, placing my briefcase on the floor to take it from her. "I wasn't expecting a parcel, as far as I know."

I looked at the handwritten address. It was very nice writing that looked feminine in a way but it didn't ring any bells. The parcel itself was about the size of half of a standard size paperback book. It was light, almost as if it was just an empty box. I shook it but heard nothing.