Chapter 32 - Old Bill
I would not want you to think I had gone completely self centred and heartless. After all, had I not just helped my new friend Nitin achieve his most secret and dark desire? I did, though, seem to be upsetting quite a few of my friends but I was having a whale of a time so could not see it mattered.
Months before I had done something I was really proud of; I had actually used my time stop abilities to help someone. Yes, a bit like my early super heroing idea - but (certainly) without the costume.
I had been incensed; I think a lot of colleagues had: we all liked old Bill, old Bill Campion. 'Old' is a bit relative but perhaps he looked older than he was. He was nearly bald and 58. Lovely man with a great sense of humour. His hobby was Amateur Dramatics. We all liked him and that went for the young girls as well. He was a bit old school and a bit free with the what might be called 'sexist' jokes and comments and he was certainly 'touchy feely.' To be fair he was with absolutely everyone not just the young girls. A hand on the shoulder, a readiness to touch. I rather think at the odd office party his hands could get a bit 'wandering' but, well, that was old Bill and it was clear he wouldn't hurt a fly.
Such behaviour, though, does not fit the modern office and it certainly did not fit into Ms. Sara Bray's view of the modern office. I don't think he touched her breasts but he might well have patted her bottom. Anyway old Bill was out on his ear. HR, now staffed by very similar young ladies to Sara and modern men compliant with the new code, had no compunction in dismissing him. He was not quite a broken man but it had not been his plan to retire and he took it hard.
He was not the only one in the office to take it badly but there was someone there who could do something about it and that was me. TS Man could do a remarkable lot. I had Ms. Sara Bray in my sights and I do not at all simply mean slipping into her house and giving her a jolly good out of time rogering or a very sore (by which I mean well buggered) bottom. That would have been easy. No Ms. Sara needed teaching a lesson. A lesson she would very much know she was learning.
I began keeping a very close eye on her. I think she noticed. She certainly noticed the coolness around our floor about her. But perhaps she was too thick skinned or had her eyes set on higher things.
What started becoming clear was Sara, despite her professed abhorrence of women being treated as sex objects, of banter and innuendo, was perfectly happy to use her femininity to advantage when it suited her. When she wanted to, she dressed to achieve an object and it became clear to me, though not to other colleagues it seemed, that her sights were set high. She was after advancement and was going to get it. First Bill's job. It was strange how that happened almost overnight. But not so strange when I realised who she was sometimes sleeping with!
No, not just Alan Seasons; she had gone one or two better. No, not just the immediate manager but the MD. She was doing the age old thing of sleeping her way to promotion and advancement - well not so much sleeping as...
It did not exactly tie in with her carefully cultivated feminist image; nor did that lacy lingerie and schoolgirl outfit she wore for the MD that weekend in Shropshire. What fun they had had in that little thatched cottage and what an interesting set of photographs I had of her - and him. It had not been easy keeping out of sight, even with my abilities, and taking photographs, but there was no question whatsoever when you looked at the set of photographs what had been going on! A nuisance a camera does not work out of time but the rather expensive and silent camera (I had borrowed from a shop window - I did put it back!) did the trick whilst time flowed. But it was not at all easy.
Easiest was actually the in bed shots of them asleep. Easy to wait until they were fast asleep, draw back the covers and use the flash. It did not wake them. Nor did it wake them when I carefully moved her hand to hold the MD's clearly recently well exercised penis! Quite a tender little photograph really. The pretty and naked girl with her hand lightly closed around the older man's penis as they slept.
A useful set of photographs. Compromising? Rather more than that! What would her boy friend think of them? Not a lot - but the important question was what would Ms. Bray think of them? I could easily imagine her saying, "Go on, show him, I don't care." I rather suspected the boyfriend was a means to an end too. Undoubtedly the photographs could be useful with the MD but I had no wish really to involve him in the plan - except perhaps as a last resort.
But I had rather more on Ms. Sara than the photographs and I knew that was all going to prove so useful.
I had been over Sara's flat. Had gone over it very carefully for evidence. She would find nothing amiss. I had not obviously ransacked it. I had read her private papers and knew her degree was not quite what she had told the company; knew her previous employments were not quite what she had told the interviewers, knew certain typed letters whilst undoubtedly on particular company headed paper were not authorised in the way they appeared to be. I knew a surprising amount about Sara.
I rather knew her moral high ground with poor old Bill Campion was very much an act. I did not like the way she operated. It was time for Sara Bray's lesson, it was time for her to make amends with Bill Campion.
"Sara, could I have a word with you?"
"Why?" A bit abrupt.
"I really to need to speak to you - in private."
She was not pleased; clearly not at all pleased that I had interrupted what she was doing: she was a lot less pleased when she left the empty meeting room we had borrowed; her look a lot more pensive, a lot less arrogant - a lot more worried.
I had explained in no uncertain terms how unhappy both her colleagues and myself had been with her actions towards Bill. She had said with a flick of her hair that she did not care and he deserved what he had coming to him. I smiled and then had set out in some detail what I knew about her, point after point. To watch the steady collapse of her former disdain was a delight. Her face on seeing the photographs such a picture. She had tried to recover a bit:
"And so, so what are you going to do about it." A trifle dismissive, a trifle challenging.
"It's rather more what you are going to do."
"And what is that - say sorry!" Not at all nice the way she had said those last two words.
"No, rather more. You are going to spend a weekend as Bill's sex slave."
"What!"
"You heard me. Assuming he would like that, you will freely offer to spend a weekend..."
"Fuck you, no..."
"Two weekends as Bill's sex slave doing anything - and I mean anything - he wants you to do. I don't know, it might be simple fucking, I'm sure it'll be sucking but he might want you to dress up as a French maid or something, perhaps as a schoolgirl - you have the outfit after all, perhaps in lacy lingerie. He might have a penchant for bottoms and want to spend the two weekends sticking things up your arse. I don't know - bananas, dildos and cucumbers even - they'll be nice and cool - or even his dick! It might be spanking - you might find it difficult sitting down on the Monday - I mean Mondays!"
"No!"
"Yes, I rather think!"
And it was 'yes,' there really was nothing she could do to prevent it.
"And you are to be nice to Bill, contrite and willing. I want a good report from Bill or..."
Her eyes widened.
"... there will be further punishment."
"Fuck you!"
"Well, I hadn't been thinking of that but, yes, why not that as well?"
Sara glared at me. It was just getting worse and worse for her. Everything nasty she said I just added to the amends she would need to make.
"Two weekends and that will be it?"
She was weighing up the options.
"Yes - if Bill is happy."
"That's it?"
"Apart from the offered fuck with me."
"I don't want to fuck you."
"That's not the point is it? I think we'll make it that until your two weekends with Bill are up I have free access to your body for all purposes and you will enjoy it - or pretend to enjoy what we do. Have we a deal?"
"You bastard!"
