Six months had passed since Abby's last tumble from the slut wagon. For three of those months she'd sworn off drink and for all six she'd sworn off men. The fallout from the shameful night spent at the house-party had been huge.
While standing in only a thong, Abby had begged some high, cackling youths for the use of a mobile phone. A difficult call had been made to a close friend and a pick-up arranged. An achingly sober Abby had loathed exposing herself in such a wretchedly pathetic state to her friend, but she'd been left with little choice.
Work was another matter entirely. Not only had she missed a shift due to her out-of-control revelry, but Abby had also lost her Police ID along with everything else. She'd initially called in sick, but then returned to work and reported the loss of her ID. Suspicions were aroused upon hearing the high flying young Detective's deceitful explanation. Carelessly leaving a handbag on the London Underground seemed so unlike the ordinarily sharp Abby Lockhart.
In a series of meetings her alcohol consumption was questioned and so was her overall state of mind. The loss of the Police ID resulted in only a minor disciplinary, but from that point on, Abby was well aware that her team were keeping a close eye on her. She worked diligently to stay balanced in herself and appear balanced to her colleagues.
She'd been on her best behavior for so long...
When she did start drinking again, it was in moderation and only in the company of trusted friends. Even respectable dating had been put on the backburner while Abby sought to suppress the inner submissive slut who shaped her fantasies. But with no sober outlet for Abby's more sordid pre-occupations, it was only a matter of time before those suppressed lusts clawed their way to the surface. Despite the impact that her coke fueled humiliation at the house-party had on her self-esteem as a strong independent woman and on her professional life, when she played with herself late at night Abby's mind still flitted back to those exquisitely shameful memories of drunken degradation.
Her next humiliating fall from the wagon occurred during what had been intended as a 'quiet night out'. In retrospect, it had to happen eventually, but Abby's big mistake was to venture out on another 'work night'. The accumulation of stress from leading her team in a tricky drugs investigation and not being fucked in months reached boiling point during the night out with friends.
Following much encouragement from the other women who all thought Abby needed to get out more, she'd allowed her friends to give her something of a make-over. The off-duty Detective wore a short black leather jacket over a sleeveless long black slightly sheer blouse. A pair of boot cut black jeans partially obscured her pointed stiletto high-heeled boots. Only the sharp tips and tall heels were visible as the jeans served to make her legs look extra long She carried an expensive little Jimmy Choo handbag that was worth more than any other article of clothing she wore. A treat paid for by a work bonus.
The girls had encouraged her to get the long black glossy hair extensions that were held aloft in a splendid ponytail at the back of her head. A swooping black fringe neatly descended to just above her dark, heavy eyebrows. In a move completely out of character for Abby, she'd allowed her pals to experiment on her with a little fake tan. Once they'd given assurances that Abby would be able to rinse it off in the shower at the end of the night, the tan had been slathered on all of her exposed areas. Face, neck, shoulders, arms and her chest were rendered garishly orange brown in stark contrast to her naturally pale white skin.
A few overpriced cocktails in central London led to a good few more in a trendy east London club. Abby's trio of friends had all started strong, but as midnight came and went, only the Police Detective and her friend Collette (a chubby twenty-four year old Emergency Call Operator) were still going strong. Maybe a little too strong...
Before even leaving the bar and downing her fourth cocktail, Abby knew that her 'quiet night out' was destined to escalate. But with drugs off the menu and the already inebriated Abby somewhat resolved to not end up sucking cocks on dirty bathroom floors, the partying continued.
After Abby and her friend became acquainted with a pair of very charming French men, things spiraled even further out of control. The party moved onto a very sordid south east London squat. At the French men's invitation, Abby and Collette had been taxied to a rundown industrial area with barely any street lights and 'TO LET' signs everywhere. It was pretty grim and Abby was certain that they were entering what looked like a red light district. Given the end result of her last wild night out, Abby was suddenly apprehensive, but the liquor in her system and the Frenchman's warm hand upon her denim clad thigh in the cab was enough to help Abby ignore any lingering concerns.
Housed in a derelict warehouse located in the dilapidated industrial district, the presumed abode of one or both of the French men was just the kind of place that Abby would raid as part of her day job. More an unsanctioned party space than a home, the warehouse contained myriad groups and individuals engaged in no doubt illicit activities while repetitive beats were ever present in the background.
Those who 'lived' there had obviously tried to rearrange the space into something close to livable. An upstairs subsection had been separated into a lounge, industrial kitchen and a series of little box bedrooms with lots of rubbish strewn dead space in-between.
Abby couldn't help but regret her decision upon setting foot inside. It was Collette who had eagerly encouraged a reluctant Abby to go along to the dodgy squat, but the inebriated Police Officer didn't protest for long.
"Go on! Live a little!" Collette had excitedly urged. Of course the whole idea was ridiculous. Abby needed to have been home and in bed at least an hour prior to Collette's suggestion that they accompany the men to a party. But with an escalating thirst for liquor and a tingling between her legs with regards to the Frenchman who had showed her so much attention, Abby quickly caved.
Leaving with Collette and the men was another in a long line of broken promises. She'd promised herself a couple of cocktails before switching to soft drinks. She'd promised herself that she wouldn't smoke. She'd promised herself that she'd head home no later than midnight in order to get up for work in the morning. And of course she'd promised herself that there was going to be no men!
Unfortunately, Abby had little memory of these broken promises as she swigged from a bottle of red wine, puffed on a cigarette and flirted with a strange man at gone two a.m in a rundown warehouse squat located at almost the opposite side of London to where she lived.
The two handsome French guys had seemed so much more classy when they'd descended upon Abby and Collette in the darkly lit club. The pair of bearded rogues were charming, attractive, funny and wore painfully skinny jeans that more than showed off their manly attributes. Collette was smitten and Abby foolishly tempted. The man who'd immediately gravitated towards Abby introduced himself as Laurent and from the taxi onwards, his hands were never far from the off-duty Police Officer.
