The sleepy village of Brompton Regis in Gloucestershire, England, has been turned upside-down by the arrival of the sultry newcomer - Serafina. Professor Havelock's new, very exotic wife, who he met at the Black Cockerel Burlesque club in Basse Terre, the capital of the idyllic French-Caribbean island of Guadaloupe during his latest oceanographic expedition.
Serafina had caused quite a stir within the ranks of the sexually-repressed ladies of the Brompton Regis Women's Institute since two of them recently discovered that the exotic beauty also happens to be a very experienced Dominatrix. But her 'comings' and goings had not escaped the eagle eyes of the local Neighbourhood Watch, headed by the redoubtable Beatrice Hetherington, who kept a cease-less watch over the residents of the sleepy village, ensuring they were kept safe from rape and pillage... and fly-tipping. She had Serafina firmly in her sights, suspecting her of everything from arranging Pagan orgies to holding overdue library books! But Hettie needed help to bring this outrageous upstart to heel. And she knew just the man.
Since leaving the army, all Ben Fletcher wanted to do was return to what was his maternal home. Taking up residence in his dearly departed parents tiny but beautiful cottage, he just wanted to find himself again, after one too many deployments to another shithole in some middle-eastern desert. Along with a few Arabic trinkets, Ben brought back a healthy dose of repressed PTSD and an all too familiar relationship with his new best friend since his wife left him... Jack Daniels.
Hettie was on Ben's case from the minute he got back, cajoling him to be the avenging sword of the Neighbourhood Watch. He thought she was a complete fruit-loop who had read one too many crime novels. But he wasn't rude by nature so he refrained from telling her what he really thought and did his best to keep her at arm's length. However, he finally gave in to her constant badgering and agreed to go along with her hare-brained plan to take a closer look at the (according to her) highly suspicious goings-on at Moonstone, the stately home of the new 'Lady' Havelock just to shut her up. 'Anyway', he thought, 'it would be an opportunity engage in a covert operation again. At least no-one would be shooting at him this time! So late that Saturday night...
Ben paused at the foot of the ancient tall dry-stone wall to check the moon-scape. The inky sky was back-lit by a pale wintery moon. 'Plenty of shadow, perfect for a 'Close Target Recce.' He warily double-checked his arcs, left to right, a fail-safe drummed into him many years ago at Hereford. He moved slowly, purposefully, along the base of the wall, ensuring his shadow-cast was invisible against the bleak cold stone which had protected the mansion he was about to infiltrate for centuries.
He snuck over the ancient stone wall like a black ghost, moving swiftly through the ornate garden. He took in every detail of his surroundings, the tennis court, the outdoor pool, the maze. 'They've even got their own maze?' he wondered. But for what looked a lot like a stately home, their security was dog-shit Ben thought, as he stole towards the huge wooden French Windows. He defeated the lock in seconds and found himself in the Billiard Room. He remained motionless, checking for any signs of life.
After a long sixty seconds he was satisfied that his entry into the property had gone un-noticed. Before opening the big heavy wooden he fished inside his belt-kit, retrieving a small can of WD40 which he liberally sprayed over the old hinges and the door-knob. After wiping the residue off the hardware, he tentatively twisted the brass handle. The door opened silently into a large musty corridor full of tapestries, old suits of armour and history.
Stopping every few seconds for a 'noise-check', he continued into the dimly lit house. His radar was on 'full alert' for nosey animals or maybe even servants wandering about. Every eventuality was processed and risk-assessed before and during the mission. His senses picked up muted music, apparently coming from the other side of the oak-panelled wall he was creeping along. His eyes could not make out any obvious door or entrance. 'Hmm, weird!' Then he froze. He could definitely hear voices also coming from the other side of the wall. Female voices. His fingers softly tapped the wood panelling. 'Thud...Thud...Thud...donk...' 'Found it!' He quickly tested the panel for any sign of movement - solid. 'Shit!' Then he noticed the suit of armour next to the panel. 'No way.' he thought dubiously as he gingerly pulled back on the scary looking studded mace the suit of armour was holding in its gloved hand. It moved easily, no creaks. 'Bingo!' The large ceiling to floor panel section swung ajar, just like in the movies.
Ben slid silently inside, pushing the heavy panel shut then stared at his surroundings; a dimly-lit ornate narrow corridor leading to a pair of heavy curtains. Muted music drifted through the corridor as he walked towards a pair of heavy embroidered curtains. He moved smoothly and silently, in default 'caution' mode. As he neared the doorway he heard voices. He froze instinctively, listening. 'Two. Male and female. Then another female voice.' As he neared the entrance he heard one of the female voices again, but much closer. He saw a door embedded in the leather-clad wall. He opened it very slowly, holding his breath to ensure complete silence (again, old habits die hard). He glided slowly into the room like a black wraith and stood motionless against the wall, similarly clad in plush leather.
In the centre of the small room, he saw a tall winged chair with a side-table supporting a silver Champagne bucket. Ben could see a bare female arm holding a champagne flute, and an unmistakable big hair-do above the top of the chair. The occupant of the chair appeared to be concentrating on the wall in front of her, staring straight through a large rectangular two-way mirror. Ben shifted his line of sight and was stopped dead in his tracks. He couldn't believe what he was looking at!
Standing in what appeared to be a 5-star sex-dungeon, equipped with all the bells and whistles, was Lady Havelock, the Professor's trophy wife. She was wearing black thigh-length PVC Cavalier Boots, black stockings and a black PVC Waspie, tied at the front with black ribbon, cut low to expose her magnificent breasts. She was wearing a black kitten mask and holding what very much looks like a small cat o'nine tails.
'Then what did he do?' Ben heard her voice softly amplified in the sound-proof room, her accent sounded deliciously menacing. The woman in the chair replied,
'He bent her over the desk and pushed her skirt up.' Ben's gaze shifted, following Lady Havelock as she strode over to a large wooden desk, which happened to have a rather attractive brunette tied to it. She stood behind the girl and pushed her legs apart with her feet, one leg at a time. The girl tried to look round. Ben noticed the small round rubber gag in her mouth. Her eyes were wide with apprehension. Lady Havelock gripped the hem of her grey pin-stripe skirt and lifted it, exposing the girl's stocking-tops.
'No, higher!' came the order from the woman in the booth! Lady Havelock pulled the girl's skirt over her hips. The girl let out a muffled cry, prompting Lady Havelock to swish the wicked little whip across her very curvy backside. The girl flinched.
'No talking!' ordered Lady Havelock. She then slipped a finger inside the hapless brunette's white knickers and pulled them across her bottom, one side at a time, exposing the girl's creamy white buttocks. Lady Havelock then ran her fingers down the back of the brunette's legs, along her thighs, toying with her suspenders. Then she flicked her whip across the girl's exposed bottom. The girl let out a cry. Lady Havelock stepped back to inspect the red marks on her creamy white skin.
'I'm sorry Victoria! I was a bloody fool. Please let her go.' The male voice Ben had almost forgotten about belonged to a naked middle-aged man who appeared to be chained to a wooden frame in a dimly-lit corner of the room. Lady Havelock strode over to him and lashed him across his abdomen, the tails of the cat catching his, by now, extremely shrivelled penis, causing him obvious pain. Ben automatically winced.
The woman in the chair, who Ben guessed was Victoria, spoke again. 'That'll bloody-well teach you to keep it in your pants next time Dennis! Just remember this the next time you decide to shag one of your bloody media girls at your bloody office conference!' Ben could tell Victoria was seriously pissed off with Dennis. Victoria then suddenly stood without warning. Grabbing her champagne flute she turned towards the door.
'Oh! Who the bloody hell are you?' Victoria demanded in a slightly shocked tone as she realised she was not alone in the room. Ben was, for the second time that evening, completely lost for words as Victoria was wearing a skin-tight red PVC Basque cut to below the navel, which just about kept her ample breasts from falling out. Her outfit was topped off with red PVC cavalier boots and stockings.
'Er, I'm the gardener Ma'am,' Ben lamely replied, wincing inwardly.
