The Two Sisters Pt 02 Victoria

This is the second part of the story.

Again, it's a slow burn. If you have not read part 1, I would suggest you do.

There is fetish content - if that's not your thing, please move on to something that is more to your taste.

Sitting on the train back to London, I promised myself that I would not hold regrets about my time with Sara ending. I had much to cherish, not least of which was that I'd scratched the itch about having sex with a woman - it had been amazing! I'd also discovered that being submissive to a partner was extremely satisfying!

In my bag were two temptations, the memory stick and Lauren's note with her contact details on. I had no doubt that I would give in to the temptation to watch the contents of the memory stick, but I needed to buy a decent vibrator. What to do about Lauren was more difficult. Sara and she would talk, perhaps Sara might even tell Lauren to keep away from me.

I also had no reason to contact Lauren now Sara and I were finished.... but Lauren was not only beautiful she was, as Sara had said..."dangerous". I was intrigued by that and needed to think what to do. There was no hurry.

***

At home, I found living with my parents, even for a few days, difficult. After three years away at Uni, the family home felt stifling, and privacy limited.

After a week, I packed up my things, moved into my cousin Nigel's flat, and prepared to start work. I had a room in the basement of his attractive villa in Maida Vale with its own bathroom and access to the garden. I felt extremely fortunate. The best thing of all was Nigel spent a chunk of his time at his country cottage in mid Wales, so at weekends, the house was effectively mine.

He set a competitive rent and gave me a short list of Do's and Dont's and that was all.

The warm weather of July had given way to a wet early August. I joined a gym, and my father fixed up my old bicycle as the Toyota failed its MOT and had to be scrapped. I didn't think about Sara, Lauren or even look at the memory stick. I was so busy everything else slipped to the back of my mind.

My first three weeks at work were a whirlwind of induction, meetings and a couple of social dos. I was expected in the office every day except Friday unless I was doing research, when I could work from home.

***

The first Saturday in September I went to meet one of my old Uni housemates at the Tate Modern. Linda was down for the weekend and suggested we meet for lunch. I walked to the tube; it was a bright sunny day. I'd put on my new white wrapround skirt, a black top and carried my denim jacket.

I stopped at a coffee shop to get a bagel. I joined the queue to get served. There was a young woman ahead of me, her blonde hair cut to a short blunt bob. It was when she turned with her coffee cup in her hand that I first saw her face. I knew in a second it was Victoria, the girl off the video...

The hair was very different, but the face was the same, as was her light build and delicate features. It was Victoria, I was certain of it.

I was distracted when the guy behind the counter asked me what I wanted, when I turned round having made my purchases, she was gone...

As I left the shop, I looked up and down the street, but disappointingly she was nowhere to be seen.

I made my way down to the station, wondering whether she might also catch a tube. I scanned the platform. I'd only seen her momentarily, but she was I thought wearing a white blouse, black skirt and pantyhose and a black jacket. There was no one on the platform dressed the same way. Then as the train pulled in, I saw someone emerge from behind two others at the far end of the platform. It was her...

I dashed down the platform, the train doors opened, she got on, and as the doors started to close, I reached the same carriage.

She sat down. There was an empty seat beside her...

"Just made it," I said as I sat down, trying to sound nonchalant. She smiled at me, and I smiled back. Her eyes were the palest blue...

The train started to move. I sat thinking how I might engage her conversation but realised that it was not going to be easy. No one talks on tube trains, especially when they're not busy.

It was as we approached Paddington that fate lent a hand. I wasn't really watching her, so I didn't see what I happened, but as she went to drink from her cup the train rattled over some points and jolted her. The first I really saw of the accident was her coffee cup slipping from her hand and landing in my lap.

The heat from the coffee that spilt was enough to make me jump, and then the lid came off the coffee and the remaining contents ended up in my lap too.

"Oh my God," Victoria squealed when she saw what had happened.

The hot coffee had covered my skirt. I was slightly scalded, but apart from that the only hurt was to my pride.

Victoria reached into her bag and pulled out a tissue. It was completely inadequate; I was wet through.

"I'm so sorry," she wailed. "That was dead clumsy of me."

"Not to worry," I replied as calmly as I could. "These things happen." I fetched a couple of tissues from my bag to try and mop the worst of the mess up. Victoria dabbed my skirt too, but it made little difference.

"I'm really sorry, your skirt looks ruined. You must let me buy you a new one."

"I'm not sure it's that bad," I replied. "I may be able to get it to wash out."

"But it won't, you know it won't. Coffee is very hard to remove. Listen, I'm not sure where you are getting off, but let me give you my phone number. If you can buy a new skirt, I'll happily pay for it." She reached into her bag and pulled out a scrap of paper and a pen. She then wrote her name, address and phone number on it, tore the paper in half and gave it to me. The words Victoria Sanders were all I needed to see.

"And you are?"

I gave her my name address and phone number.

"We're near neighbours Jane. You live about three streets away."

"Really? Well fancy that."

Shortly afterwards, the train slowed down at Baker Street, and I needed to change. I told Victoria who said she was going to Oxford Circus.

"Please ring me when you know how much it cost to replace your skirt, Jane."

"Yes of course I will."

"Perhaps I could treat you to a glass of Prosecco for your trouble?"

"There's no need., really. I'll be in touch."

"Thank you, and once again I'm so sorry..."

The train stopped and I alighted.

As I stood on the platform deliberating whether to go on to the Tate or go back home to change, I realised what a good day it had been...

***

The decision about whether to go home and change or whether to meet Linda looking rather dishevelled was a simple one. I went as I was. Linda thought the whole thing was hilarious, but she was not particularly dress conscious. A t shirt jeans and cardigan were here normal garb and that day was no different.

After our visit to the Tate we went our separate ways, she to a concert on Clapham Common and me to Oxford Circus to buy a new skirt and look for a good vibrator...

***

That evening, I unwrapped my purchases. The replacement skirt was identical to the one damaged and my new toy, whilst a bit noisy, was eminently powerful...

I went to bed early and lying naked on my bed with my new companion plugged in, booted up my laptop and loaded the memory stick.

I soon discovered that the Victoria 2 file I hadn't opened whilst I was at Sara's was password protected. I cursed.

I tried various obvious combinations - 12345, ABCDE, abcde before using my imagination and playing with letters and words from Sara and Lauren's first and surname. Still nothing.

Frustrated, I tried Victoria 3,4 and 5 they too were password protected.

I gave up, found one of my usual Lesbian porn sites and found a video of an amazonian black girl taking her strap on to a fresh faced looking young white woman. The wand relieved my tension and frustration very quickly...

***

The Sunday was another perfect day. I had nothing planned but decided to try my luck by texting Victoria to tell her I'd bought the replacement skirt, and that it was £40.

Almost immediately there was a ping of a reply from her on my phone inviting me to drop in to her apartment at lunchtime.

I agreed without thinking and headed for the shower. Standing under the spray rinsing my hair, I had the first niggles of guilt about whether I should front up to Victoria and tell her I'd been stalking her the day before....

Once the niggle started it wouldn't go away. I stood in front of the mirror in the bedroom drying my hair and it was there. It was with me back in the bathroom as I applied some concealer to the nasty red spots that had emerged overnight on my forehead. It was with me when I put on my black button through sleeveless dress...

***

Victoria's apartment was the ground floor of a big old building about ten minutes' walk away. It was an altogether grander place than my cousins.

Inside the ceilings were high and the flooring was oak. She led me through the kitchen at the back to a small, paved patio. On a teak table there were flutes and an ice bucket. The Prosecco was already open.

Two comfy chairs were positioned in a sunny nook under a wall covered with ivy.

"You will have a glass, won't you?" she asked smiling. She too was in a dress, hers floral but tightly fitted.

"That would be lovely," I replied, wishing to sound gracious.

We settled down and chatted. The flat was her father's. He was in Brazil and had been for five years. Her mother had died when she was very young and like me, she had no siblings. Her father was clearly prosperous, she had enjoyed a privileged education at a single sex boarding school, but not gone to Uni. A year at a finishing school in Geneva had set her on her way in adulthood, she worked for a Swiss luxury goods company in the West End.

The first glass slipped down all to easily and Victoria topped us up whilst I was explaining about my humdrum upbringing. I was wary of drinking on an empty stomach, but Victoria had thought of that and produced charcuterie, olives and ciabatta.

Even though I'd only just met her I decided I liked her. She was modest, almost demure, and very softly spoken. Her hair glinted in the sunlight and her blue eyes held my gaze. All I needed to do was to decide whether to tell her the truth or not. That was still niggling me...

In the end, events took over that made it unnecessary for me to speak first.

She had made a fruit salad. I said something about she should not have gone to so much trouble and she said it was nothing. As we were sitting eating it and enjoying the third glass of fizz, she became noticeably restless. I ignored it for a while but then as we finished, I saw her mumble something to herself and she stood up and went indoors. She returned momentarily, clutching two £20 notes and handed them to me.

"This is for the skirt. I'm sorry I ruined the other one."

"Thank you, and don't worry about it. You've done more than enough to repay me, the lunch has been delicious."

"I'm not sure about that really Jane. The thing is that it wasn't really an accident at all, I emptied the coffee over you deliberately."

"You what!?"

"I did it on purpose."

"I don't understand..."

"Oh goodness, this is all going to sound rather tawdry..."

"Sorry?"

"Well..." she paused for a moment, and then after a deep breath said, "Lauren Gitings made me do it."

"Lauren? You know Lauren? And why did she make you do it?"

"It's a long story. I think it would be better if I didn't tell you. Let me just say that I owed her a favour."

"I still don't understand."

"I owed Lauren a favour. She came up with the crazy plan of the coffee. It was done to test you and for me to get to you. She wants to see you."

"But she has my number or at least her sister has, why didn't she just call me?"

"She wanted to know whether you saw the video of me, the one on the computer at her parent's house. So, she devised a plan for me to stalk you yesterday. If you recognised me at the coffee bar and followed me, she reckoned that would prove what she wanted to know."

There was a long silence. We both understood the implications of Victoria's last statement.

"I'm sorry," I said quietly. I could feel the colour coming to my cheeks, and it was all I could do to not burst into tears.

"How much did you see?" she asked eventually.

"The first film of the interview, just the interview."

"I see."

There was a long pause. Lauren had created a situation where we were both guilty of something, and we were both feeling the hurt of our actions. Sara's last words about keeping away from Lauren were ringing in my ears, and here I was less than a month later in a situation created by her.

"I'm not sure if it will make you feel any better Jane, but I think you probably need to know that I was a willing participant to the making of that video, and the others."

"Thank goodness for that. That's probably not the right choice of words, but well I mean, at least you weren't coerced..."

"Definitely not."

I sat in silence; my brain working overtime to try and figure out what to do.

"Would it help you if I explained more?"

"Maybe, but I don't want you to embarrass yourself by telling me things that are...well you know...personal and intimate."

"Let me be the judge of that. It might actually be good for me to confess to some of this Jane..."

"OK, then."

"I'll just go and get another bottle and perhaps make some coffee.

A few minutes passed and then she emerged, set the coffee things out and opened the Prosecco. There was a small plate of almond biscuits.

"I went to Geneva three years ago with no sexual experience. I was nineteen and the only English speaker in my year which put me at something of a disadvantage. I missed a lot of the early friendship making by my classmates as many only spoke German or French. When I told my father about the situation, he hastily arranged a French Language tutor. I had some basic French, but it was inadequate.

Helga, the woman who taught me lived a bus ride away from the school. I was to have two lessons, four hours, tuition a week. Helga was the wife of a Civil Engineer. They had one daughter who was in her late twenties and lived elsewhere.

Helga was old school. She wore her long dark hair in a bun and had glasses on a string on her nose. She was a competent tutor, and her lessons, at least to start with, helped me converse with the other girls on the course.

After a couple of weeks, the lessons started to stretch me. They were well beyond what I'd learnt in school, and I struggled to keep up. Helga started to get impatient, especially if we had to go back over ground covered in a previous session. She devised a homework schedule for me to help build my vocabulary. She announced there would be a test at the start of each lesson to check that I'd done the homework.

Trying to fit all the extra work in as well as the other coursework from school and have a social life became progressively more difficult. Helga could tell immediately if I'd done the work required...

One Friday, I only got four questions right from the ten she asked me. She was very cross and said that pupils who did so badly when she was teaching would have been punished. I apologised and promised to be more attentive.

The next test the following Tuesday was even worse. She asked me twenty questions, and I only got about three right out of twenty. She was incandescent and threatened to call my father.

I was worried about the outcome of any call with my father. He's very short tempered and intolerant of laziness, so I just blurted out, "So just punish me like you would have done a bad pupil when you were a teacher!"

'If that's what you want then, that's what you'll get,' Helga rasped in reply. 'Go and lean over the back of that armchair and await your punishment.'

"I thought that she was sort of joking, and didn't think twice about doing what she asked. I'd never been punished physically as a child, so I was totally ignorant.

Suffice it to say, the first time I was made to hold up my skirt and she gave me twelve hard swats across my buttocks with her hands. I yelped a bit, but the main injury was to my dignity.

As far as Helga was concerned this incident set the precedent and gave her the licence. There is no doubt in my mind that she had strong sadistic lesbian tendencies, and a naive skinny English girl woke her worst nature up.

I won't bore you with the details, but the punishments became frequent and more severe. Firstly, she stopped using her hands and started using a small paddle, but things really changed when she insisted, I remove not only my skirt or leggings, but also my underwear."

"That sounds like assault to me Victoria. Why didn't you report her?"

Victoria reached down beside her chair and pulled a pack of cigarettes from her bag. She lit one with a small lighter and as she exhaled the first cloud of smoke said,

"Because it turned me on Jane..."

"Ah..."

"And Helga found out as soon as I lowered my panties..."

"Did you?"

"She rubbed me till I came, and in return I crawled under her skirt and licked her..."

"Oh my God..."

"She manufactured the same situation the following lesson, and then it became the routine."

"How long did it go on for?"

"Till Christmas...and then in the New Year she came up with a new regime..."

"Worse?"

"I'm not sure worse is the right word. Certainly, some of it was worse, but a lot of it was very enjoyable...

The rest of my class went skiing for two weeks in January. Helga persuaded my father that my progress was slow, and I needed more intense lessons so I should stay with her for the two weeks whilst the rest were in Wengen."

"And he agreed?"

"Yes."

"Jesus."

"I spent two weeks at her house. Her husband was working in Paris, so she had me on my own. I will not go into detail as to what happened. She was very manipulative, and I was submissive, so she took complete control of me, complete control."

"She should be in jail."

"Probably, but some of her lessons were very instructive. I'd had no mother figure in my life until Helga remember. She also woke the taste in me for pleasure through pain. She introduced me to the cane."

I blushed at her bluntness and was flummoxed what to say, "How did it end?" I managed eventually.

"I went to Helga for lessons until I left the finishing school. It ended when I returned to England.

I was due to move in here in the July, but the tenants who were moving out reported a problem with the plumbing, and when a builder came to look at it, they discovered a load more. The bathroom and the kitchen had to be replaced. It was going to take two months.

My father contacted an old work colleague who suggested a woman he knew who did short term accommodation locally for single women. I went to look at the house, it was in Edgware. The owner was Melanie Ryder."

"Ryder as in the Mrs Ryder mentioned in the film?"

"The same. Melanie had a room available on the top floor of her small house. It had a bed and a wash basin, but no toilet. The only toilet upstairs was the one in the main bathroom. It wasn't ideal, and the room was rather plain and hot in the summer heat, but as it was only for a few weeks and it was cheap, I moved my few belongings in and started work in the West End."

"And you entered into a relationship with her..."

"It wasn't as simple as that Jane, she was more subtle, Melanie, nothing like Helga. Helga was full of passion for the arts and language and her family. She took advantage of a situation that presented itself and enjoyed punishing me, but ultimately, she was a wife and a mother.

Melanie told me right at the outset she was gay, and she had a girlfriend, though circumstances made it difficult for them to be together. She was mid-thirties and quite fit. When she dressed up to go out, which was not often, she was attractive. She had a good figure, and her hair was always nicely cut and coloured. She worked part time at one of the local hospitals in the pharmacy and she had been trained as a nurse in the Army.