BIMBEAUVILLE
by Downing Street
(dowstreet@yahoo.com)
Chapter VII: Friday morning
“You have everything you need then?” Derwyn demanded, early the following morning. He and Roger and Gina were standing outside the Winking Fox. The men were sipping coffee. Their cups steamed in the fresh morning air. The Land Rover behind them was stuffed to the rafters with water sampling equipment and Sarah’s new wardrobe.
“I believe so,” Roger replied. “We should be back in the city by late afternoon. You can expect an acknowledgement of the water inspection by post within a week or two.”
Derwyn almost smiled. “You’re an honest barrow-boy,” he conceded. “Let us know when your supply runs low. We’ll be in touch about the Bimbrew.”
At that moment, a pouty movie starlet popped her head out the window of the Land Rover. She fluttered long eyelashes at the two men. “Rogerrrrr,” Sarah purred, “are we going to be on our way soon?”
“Give me one moment,” Roger replied. “Just saying good-bye.”
“K,” Sarah said. She disappeared back into the vehicle, sucking on one finger.
Derwyn said, “How are you going to explain—you know—her?”
Roger grinned. “I’ll think of something. Anyway, once my co-workers see the new Sarah, I don’t think they’ll ask too many questions.”
When Roger had arrived back at the Winking Fox the previous afternoon, after visiting the spring near Nyllrym’s grave, he had been greeted by an irritated Sarah. Or rather, he had been greeted by a sloe-eyed, soft-skinned, sumptuously curved, walking sex fantasy who looked vaguely like Sarah. “You left me all day!” she complained. She tossed back a lock of thick, yard-long hair and set her hands on flaring hips.
Her indignation didn’t carry the same force it had a few days earlier. She pouted like a spoiled teenager. Roger wondered briefly if her bust had grown even larger, or if he was still getting used to it. Either way, her newly endowed rack was fully on display in a low-scooped blouse with long ruffles on the sleeves and neckline. Her lycra skirt, in contrast, was stretchy-tight and maybe fourteen-inches long. Her now-fabulous legs were dressed in high-gloss stockings and tight black boots with the requisite spike heels.
Roger was almost growing accustomed to being tongue-tied. Every time he saw Sarah she looked more amazing than before. “Wow!” he said, followed by, “Wow-wow-wow!” He could almost feel his eyes growing wide.
Sarah sucked on one finger. “What are you staring at?” she demanded. Yet her voice was playful.
“Oh, n-nothing, nothing,” Roger replied, composing himself with some difficulty. “Look, I didn’t really abandon you all day, it’s barely tea-time. Did you finish the report?”
She looked away. “Uhm . . . mostly. I decided to . . . you know, something came up.”
He looked at her. She said: “Gina wanted to take me shoe-shopping.”
That explained the new boots. The rest of the outfit was presumably collateral material. A new thought occurred to him. “Sarah, none of my business of course, but can you afford this shopping spree?”
Sarah looked even more nervous. “Well, actually, about that. I, uhm, sort of charged part of it to the Department.”
“You charged high-fashion clothing to your expense account? How?”
“Uhm, well, the sales girls were really good about entering it as repairs to the Land Rover.”
Roger digested this. Abruptly he began to laugh. “Aw, why not.” He handed her his tablet. “Here’s the last two pressure checks. The system is secure and the water is good quality. Fill in the missing data and finish the report. I’m going to rest in my room until dinner time.”
“Oh, fine then,” Sarah replied. She didn’t appear to mind, or even notice, that Roger was giving her orders. “Thanks for finishing that field work for me.”
“My pleasure,” Roger replied, walking away. “Absolutely my pleasure.”
When Roger came down to dinner, feeling much refreshed, Sarah had finished the report, and was working on her second celebratory beer. She was already intoxicated, and looking intoxicating. The flush in her cheeks only emphasized the healthy glow of her face. She laughed and giggled and drank some more while Roger ate his roast fish. When Megan tottered by, wearing a tiny red scrap of a dress and preposterous heels, Sarah grabbed the two pint glasses off her tray.
“Fine, go away now,” she dismissed the leggy waitress, “I’ll take care of him.” Abruptly she sat down in Roger’s lap. She handed him his beer. “Here you go—luv,” she cooed.
“Sarah, what are you doing?” This close, her new-found sex appeal was almost overwhelming.
She drank beer. “I’m jus’ tryin’ to be friendly,” she explained. “I’m tired of always bein’ a bitch.” She paused, reflecting. “I’m a bitch,” she declared. “An’ a witch. I’m a twitchy, witchy, bitchy, bitchy bitch!” She paused again, looking around. “Think m a wee bit drunk.”
A little while later, Roger escorted a very happy Sarah up the stairs to her bedroom. She was laughing and singing and holding onto Roger with both hands. “Whoopsie!” she shouted, as she stumbled yet again. She kept losing her balance. Taking off her hyper-heeled boots apparently wasn’t an option. The sounds of laughter and piano music drifted up from the room below.
At length, and with some difficulty, he got her to the door of her room. He leaned her against the wall. “Ooof!” she cried, then giggled. She began to slide down the wall. She didn’t object as Roger relieved her of her purse. He dug around until he found the key. He held up Sarah with one hand, opened the door with the other.
“You know sumthin,” Roger’s sexed-up supervisor slurred, as he half-carried her into the room. “I’m startin’ to like this little town. Yay Bimbeauville!”
“I think you had better lie down,” Roger said. He tried to steer her toward the bed. He tried to do this without touching her tits. Or her ass. Or any other part of her that wasn’t blatantly erotic. This left him with very few choices.
Somehow he managed to guide her a few steps into the room. She stumbled against the bed. “Uh-oh,” she said. She wobbled crazily, then collapsed on the bed like a deflating balloon. “Thin’ I’ll take lil nap,” she murmured. She fell asleep.
Roger considered her sleeping form. Sprawled prone across the bed, sleeping soundly, she was the epitome of illicit temptation: super-sexy, half-exposed, utterly vulnerable. Her hair tumbled everywhere in curves and waves.
Roger took a deep breath. He unfastened her heavy jewellery and set it on the night stand. He re-arranged her left arm to what looked like a more comfortable position. He had some difficulty getting her tight boots off. He had even more difficulty not looking up her skirt while he did so. Her glistening stockings ended in pink-lace garters at the edge of her rump.
Sarah’s skirt was pale pink. Her underwear was red. Roger’s underwear was decidedly uncomfortable. Finally, he pulled the boot off Sarah’s right foot. He set it on the floor beside the left boot.
He was still holding Sarah’s ankle. Her stocking-clad foot rubbed accidentally against his crotch. Roger froze. A wild image of jerking himself off between Sarah’s feet flashed through his mind. He realized he was a heartbeat away from losing control altogether. He tossed a blanket over Sarah’s sleeping form and quickly retreated from the room.
Several hours later he was roused from sleep by someone standing beside his bed. That would be Gina, sneaking in for a late-night romp, again, he thought with a smile. He turned on the bedside lamp.
Sarah was standing there. She must have awakened some time earlier, because now she was wearing a red lace negligee and high-heeled red mules. In the lamplight he could make out the lines of her lush figure through the filmy material. She looked down on him, sucking on one finger. She looked slightly more sober, but every bit as tempting as she had earlier.
“I’ve been thinking,” she said. “Gina was right. It really doesn’t make sense to rent two rooms. Not when this one has a big comfy bed.” She sat down beside him, kicked off her slippers, and slipped under the blankets. “Your lil bitch is in heat,” she whispered.
They were both very late for breakfast the next morning.
“I told you your assistant had a crush on you,” Gina said, smiling, as she regarded Sarah waiting impatiently in the Land Rover. The innkeeper was looking splendid, as always, today in a low-cut maroon pullover and white denim mini, along with her best white boots.
She stepped forward and slipped her arms around Roger’s neck. “Good-bye, Roger,” she sang. “I hope you enjoyed your stay.” She gave him a long, wet kiss to make sure that he did. He almost spilled his coffee. “You’ll come back some time, won’t you?” she whispered.
Roger grinned at her. Her half-bare tits were rubbing playfully against his chest. “I’ll be back,” he said. “I’m officially an agent for Bimbeauville Water now, Brewery Division. Besides, I’ll need some more water, eventually.”
He gestured to the four carboys of Bimbeauville water strapped to the roof rack of the Land Rover. Nobody seemed to be sure what would happen, if anything, if a Bimbeauville girl were to be weaned off the water. Roger decided to take no chances. This new version of Sarah was far too much fun to let go.
He gave the buxom innkeeper one more kiss, then climbed into the driver’s seat of the Land Rover. Sarah was refreshing her lipstick. Her tangerine stretch dress emphasized her super-charged figure and left her legs exposed to the top of her thighs. “I hope you don’t mind driving,” she cooed, as one hand stroked his thigh. “I’m not sure I can work the pedals in these heels.”
She referred to the gaudy red slides on her feet. The platform soles were three inches high and the narrow heels at least twice that. Roger wondered how she could walk, much less drive.
He looked her over. She looked back at him contentedly, sucking water from a big paper cup through a straw. Her lips were painted deep red. From stem to stern she was pure sexual invitation. Roger grinned. He put the Land Rover in gear and drove off toward the city.