BIMBEAUVILLE
by Downing Street
(dowstreet@yahoo.com)
Chapter V: Thursday Morning
The sun was well up the next morning when Roger climbed into the Land Rover, pressure-testing equipment in hand. The morning had come with clouds and showers, but the sun was rapidly chasing them away. It would take no more than an hour or two to finish the last pressure checks.
He left Sarah at the Winking Fox. “I think it best for you to stay here,” he told her over breakfast. “I’ll finish the last mains and then we can be on our way.”
“Sure!” Sarah replied cheerfully. She seemed happy to go along with whatever Roger suggested. That was as well. He didn’t want Sarah along for his meeting with the mayor later in the day. Besides, he wasn’t sure how useful she would be in her present condition.
When Sarah came down to the pub, at least an hour late, Roger could only stare. Overnight his transforming supervisor had gone from shapely to sensational. It was as if the blossoming of her face and figure that he had admired the previous evening had been multiplied by three. Her hair was long, rich and glossy. Her face was symmetrical and smooth, highlighted by wide eyes, a cute little nose, and lips made for kissing. Below the neck, her figure had shifted even further toward true Bimbeauville voluptuousness.
“G’morning Roger,” she sang, sauntering toward his table. “What’s for breakfast?”
“Blub—blub—blub—holy shims and shingles!” Roger exclaimed.
She laughed guilelessly. “That doesn’t sound very appetizing.”
Sarah was braless again. She was wearing a wet-look pullover of blue and white that glistened on her ever-inflating boobs like wet paint. Despite the lack of support beneath, her tits bounced high and round on her chest, outlined exactly by the shiny fabric stretched over them. Fabulous numbers ran through Roger’s head. Thirty-nine inches? Forty? Forty-one? He would have loved to take the measurement personally.
Below the waist, when Roger’s eyes finally got there, Sarah was wearing an indigo miniskirt, tight around her narrow waist, but flaring out wide at the hem. A pair of inch-wide suspenders running up from the waistband were positioned so they just covered her nipples, which were otherwise pressing eagerly through her wet-look shirt. Her pantyhose was tight and shiny, topped off with white, platform, court shoes with endless heels.
“Oh, you like this outfit?” she said, when she noticed her partner’s stare. “I picked it up yesterday. Cute, isn’t it?”
“Sure. Cute.” He couldn’t think of anything else to say. He watched as she pranced to the table on dancer’s legs. The wobble in her step from the previous evening had vanished. The waggle of her hips was more pronounced.
Sarah flirted and tittered her way through breakfast. Sitting across from her, it was impossible not to notice her breasts every moment. Not to mention her dramatic big eyes, flawless skin, perfect hair and beguiling smile. A distinct discomfort arose in Roger’s trousers.
Stop that! he scolded his upstanding member. Behave yourself! She’s your supervisor for the luvagod, you can’t be thinking about—oh lord those boobs!
Out loud he said, “I’ve started on the inspection report. It’s pretty routine. Maybe you can look it over while I finish the field work.” He handed her his tablet.
“Oh cool, you’ve done it already,” Sarah said. “A girl could get used to having a guy like you around, taking care of her.” She gave him a smoky look. His underwear twitched.
“Read it over, see what you think. I used the standard boilerplate.”
Sarah sucked on one finger while she read his notes. She pursed her lips and slid her finger in and out. Roger almost groaned.
“Say, there’s stuff missing here,” she said, pointing at the screen.
Damn, she noticed. “Hey, don’t pan the writer. I didn’t quite finish last night. I’ll fill in any blanks when I get back.”
“OK!” she agreed again. “Is that how you spell potassium?” She began ticking off the letters on her fingers: “P—O—T—A—”
“I’d better get going,” Roger said, rising.
“Don’t leave me alone too long. Tell Gina I need some more water, ’K?”
It was more than half an hour later when Roger finally left the Winking Fox. He found Gina tidying up the kitchen, which was already as clean as a hospital. Today she was wearing a sky-blue stretch top and miniskirt, although her boots were red.
“I have to go out,” he explained, “but Sarah is going to stay here. She’s asking for more water.”
Gina tossed away her dishrag. She slid both arms around his neck. “Roger, darling, you can’t go out like that! You’re all—distracted.” Stepping back a little, she boldly ran her fingers along his erection. “Uh-oh! I think you’re cute assistant has you all worked up.” She giggled like a schoolgirl teasing about a secret crush.
“Gaaa!” Roger sputtered. “She’s not, she’s uhm, not, not my a-assistant. And anyway I can’t possibly be—what are you doing?” Slender fingers were already at work on his belt.
“We’re going to take care of that so you can feel better,” Gina said efficiently. His trousers fell to his ankles, followed by his undershorts. “Here, jump up on the table.”
Roger did so. His pole stuck out like a rocket ready for launch. Gina stood in front of him, between his legs. Her hands began to stroke his hardness while the pair shared a long, tongue-filled kiss. “Oh, Roger darling, you’re always so nice and big for me,” Gina cooed, some moments later. Then she bent over and kissed him again, much lower.
Roger made an incoherent sound as Gina’s soft lips engulfed his cock. He leaned back on his hands and admired the oak-beamed ceiling as his landlady went to work. He watched her head bob up and down as she slurped on his wang.
This is all impossible, he decided. It’s some kind of dream. It was inconceivable that he could be so hard, so horny, so soon after Gina had snuck into his bedroom, again, to fuck him into happy, exhausted sleep, again. Yet here he was, a few hours later, hard as an iron bar, enjoying an exquisite morning blowjob from a sexy, stacked blonde, ready, he was quite sure, to fill her mouth to overflowing when he came. He let his head roll back. “Fuck, I love this town!” he declared.
Roger did indeed feel much more relaxed when he climbed into the Land Rover some time later. He felt confident now that even the babe-parade of Bimbeauville wouldn’t upset his hormones. A coterie of young women was doing tai chi exercises in the park within the roundabout, in front of the bathing Greek goddess. The women were all dressed in bright-coloured leotards and shiny tights. Their perfect bodies flowed and flexed in concert as they moved through the ancient routine. Roger drove around the roundabout three times just so he could watch. By the time he left, his blood was running hot again.
He studiously avoided any further distractions. He finished the last two pressure checks quickly. Then he headed straight for an important meeting.
Bimbeauville town hall was a modest building, but set at the end of the longest street, advancing up the hillside, so it overlooked the town below. Of course it was bedecked with flowers. Roger passed under a long arbour of roses to the front door. Inside he found a wooden counter, behind which a woman with very long, sandy-brown hair was fussing with papers. The plaque on her desk said her name was Siwan and that she was the town clerk.
“Oh, hello luv,” she said, when she saw Roger, “lovely day it is.”
“It is indeed,” Roger replied, admiring the clerk. She was a little different. Her curves had a softness about them that Roger hadn’t noticed in the other women of the town. Her waist was trim, but not tiny, and her breasts were ample on her small frame without being ridiculous. There was a fullness to the lines of her face that suggested maturity. Roger guessed she was in her late thirties.
Siwan was wearing a clingy blue gown that extended almost to the floor. The silky material flowed over her curves and outlined the navy blue underwear set beneath. A long gore up one side of the gown revealed that her legs were dressed in tight, navy blue, suede boots that extended well past her knees.
Roger suddenly realized he had been staring. Again. “Oh, I’m sorry. My name is Roger. I’m with the Drinking Water Inspectorate. Oh, are those—are those your children?” He indicated the cluster of photographs on her desk.
“Oh, don’t be charming me with birdsong,” Siwan replied. “Those are my grand-children of course, Christina and Prince. Isn’t he a little cherub?”
For a few seconds Roger was speechless. “You—those—those are you’re—but, but you look—” he sputtered. He looked up at the still youthful beauty in front of him, then down at the pictures, then back up at Siwan again. More impossibleness.
After a moment he said, “Right. Right. Of course. Lovely children. Grandchildren. Impossible, but lovely. I have an appointment to see Mayor Hites.”
“Yes, I remember. Please, come with me.”
Crystal Hites, Mayor of Bimbeauville, was seated behind a glass-topped table when Roger came into her office, reading a magazine about hairstyles. The mayor’s own hair was an astonishing mane of deep brown locks. She was wearing a stretch-fit micro-dress of forest green trimmed with yellow, and a short yellow jacket with big green buttons.
“Crystal, this is Roger, the fellow who called earlier,” Siwan explained, by way of introduction.
The mayor sprang to her high-heeled feet. “Hi!” she sang in a pleasant alto voice, “charmed and delighted, Roger. I’m Crystal Hites. You can call me Chrys.” She extended a hand.
Roger replied formally. “Pleasure to meet you, Ms Hi-hi-hi-yi-yi!” The mayor had to bend forward over her desk to shake hands. Her brassiere was forest green with yellow flowers, and overflowing. “I—I mean, Ms Hites. I appreciate you seeing me on such super knockers—I mean, on such short notice. Oh my word.”
The mayor seemed unperturbed by Roger’s slipping tongue. She giggled coyly. “Oh, and this is the deputy mayor, Derwyn,” she said, as another man entered the room. Derwyn was a big man with a stern demeanour and disordered brown hair. Roger was instantly certain he would be as comfortable shearing sheep as working in an office.
Derwyn shook hands briskly. “A problem with our water is there?” he demanded.
“Well, frankly yes.” Roger turned to the mayor. “Ms Hites, as you know I am here on behalf of the Drinking Water Inspectorate—”
“Oh, the drinking water in Bimbeauville is like, super-marvellous, isn’t it!” the mayor interrupted. “The most delicious water ever ever. I drink it all the time!”
“Yes, well, that’s uhm, nice. I am bound to tell you that in the course of my inspections I have uncovered serious irregularities in the treatment of potable water in this town.”
The mayor’s brown eyes went wide. “Oh!” she said. “Oh dear. Our water is—portable?”
Roger considered her for a moment. The mayor was wearing eye-catching jewellery patterned in yellow and green, to match her suit. Standing, her little dress stopped above the top of her desk. Green-tinged hose graced her long legs. Her high-fashion sandal-boots were yellow, with wide green straps that wound around her ankles.
“Irregularities?” Derwyn growled. “What does that mean? Nothing wrong with the water here, never has been. No need for you government wags to be running about, barking like a two-headed dog.”
“Perhaps,” Roger said. He tried not to let his nervousness show. “But before I file my report, I thought it best to ask whether the mayor’s office is aware that chlorination of the drinking water supply has been deliberately suspended, apparently for some time. This practice constitutes a public health hazard and quite possibly a criminal offence.”
“What’s clor—cloritation?” the mayor wanted to know.
“It kills germs,” Derwyn said. He was looking at Roger. Neither man spoke for several seconds. Then Derwyn picked up the telephone on the mayor’s desk and punched a number. “Siwan? I’m calling an emergency meeting of the Board. Mayor’s office. Right now.”
Twenty minutes later Roger was seated in a stuffed chair in front of the mayor’s desk, along with four other men, collectively the Board of Directors of Bimbeauville Water. Roger wasn’t surprised to see Dr. Jones among them, nor Wyn from the water treatment plant. The man Gina called Uncle Gord was less expected. He introduced himself as Gruffydd.
Mayor Hites was tottering around serving tea and biscuits and eye candy to all the men. Her tiny green dress displayed both her legs and figure to best advantage. Roger found her seriously distracting.
“I told you it wouldn’t work,” Dr. Jones complained. “I told you someone would notice.”
“Be quiet, Kyffin,” Derwyn growled. “Our sources said that woman, Sarah, would be doing the inspections. They never mentioned an assistant.” He cast a disdainful glare at Roger.
Wyn said: “We do regular microbiological tests, all as required, all tidy. There has never been an incident. Nobody wants to drink chlorinated water if they can avoid it. Why do you want to make a buzz about it?”
“Actually, I don’t,” Roger replied.
The men looked at him. Roger said: “Look, from a practical standpoint, you’re right. The water is clean, so why make a fuss. My superiors may not agree, but that’s not why I’m here. I’m trying to unravel a mystery. About this town. And the town water.”
“And what would that mystery be?” Derwyn wanted to know. His dark brow furrowed.
“There’s a pipe running from the well head into a stream nearby. That’s unusual.”
“We told you laddie, that’s an overflow pipe, to bleed off excess pressure,” Wyn said. “The well is—”
“Never mind.” Roger sipped tea. “I may be young and I may be new in town but I’m no fool. That isn’t an overflow pipe. It’s an intake pipe. You’re deliberately siphoning water from Afon Nyllrym into the town water supply. And I think I know why.”
“Oh do you?” Derwyn again. “Why would we do such a thing?”
“Don’t be obtuse,” Roger said. He turned to the only woman in the room. “Mayor Hites. Chrys. That is a very pretty dress your wearing.”
The mayor was sitting at her glass-topped work table, leaning on her elbows, calmly listening to the conversation. She had her knees crossed. “Oh, do you think so?” she said, clearly flattered. “I thought it might be like, too bright for the office.” She toyed with the yellow-and-green necklace that hung deep in her cleavage. Her fitted jacket was bright as sunshine.
“It’s lovely,” Roger said. “Those colours suit you.”
The mayor’s smile was dazzling as a summer sunrise. “Oh, you’re just charming the chickens,” she said, beaming. Beneath the glass-topped table, she uncrossed her knees and crossed them the other way. Her hemline floated along the edge of her rump. For a long moment every man in the room was silent.
Roger turned his gaze back to Derwyn. He waited.
The other man heaved a deep sigh. He looked around at the other members of the board, as if searching for consensus. Wyn shrugged. Kyffin Jones flipped a hand.
Derwyn turned back to Roger. He said: “When that mineshaft flooded five years ago, it dealt this town a double blow. We lost both our main source of employment and our water supply at the same time. For a while we had to rely on water trucked in from Vargasville. Of course there was never enough. Some of us started drawing water from the local brooks as a supplemental supply. It didn’t take us long to realize that water from Afon Nyllrym had an effect on women that could be considered—” He groped for the right word—“Stimulatory.”
“Salubrious,” said Dr. Jones.
“Salutary,” said Wyn.
“And it gave me marvellous big titties!” the mayor chimed in. She opened the green buttons on her jacket so everyone could look. Everyone looked.
“So you see,” Derwyn went on, when the five men finally tore their attention away from Crystal’s perfect pair, “we menfolk quickly decided that the whole town should benefit from the, uhm, health benefits of the water.”
“Improved muscle tone,” said Dr. Jones.
“Effortless weight control,” said Wyn.
“And I love what it did for my hair!” squealed the Mayor of Bimbeauville. She fluffed up her fabulous pile of locks with both hands.
Derwyn spread his hands. “We convinced the government to drill the new well near Afon Nyllrym, so we could, er, enrich the water supply. As a kind of public health initiative.”
“Very similar to fluoridation,” said Dr. Jones.
“Or filtration,” added Wyn. “Done for the good of the people, it is.”
“Floor-a-day-sun,” Crystal Hites said. “That’s a funny word!” She giggled. Her boobs bounced beneath her tight dress. The movement pulled Roger’s eyes away from her legs and gave them something else to stare at.
“Chlorine does ruin the taste,” Wyn said. “And for some reason it reduced the, what’s the word, efficacy of the water. Once we realized that Afon Nyllrym water rendered chlorine redundant, we simply turned it off.”
Roger said: “I had noticed the . . . invigorating physical effects of Bimbeauville water.” Like everyone else he was choosing his words carefully. “What about cognitive capacity?” He gestured with his eyes toward Crystal Hites, who had taken out a hand mirror and was fussing critically with her hair.
“Less affected than you might think,” Derwyn replied. “There’s certainly a reduced attention span. But it’s mostly a change in attitude. The girls tend to become pre-occupied with sex and looking good and . . . well, that’s about it.”
“The twins do competently operate the treatment plant,” Wyn pointed out. “Albeit with close supervision.” He paused. “Abundant supervision.”
Kyffin Jones said: “I haven’t been able to confirm a real decline in IQ. But I can’t get any of the girls to take the tests seriously, so it’s hard to tell.”
“What about the men?” Roger asked. “Why aren’t we affected?”
The doctor answered this time. “Changes to men are more subtle. There is a general increase in vigour and stamina. Also, some modifications associated with what might be termed sexual prowess.”
“Virility,” supplied Derwyn.
“Capacity,” added Wyn.
“Would anyone like more tea?” said the mayor. She picked up the silver teapot from her desk and tottered around the room refilling everyone’s teacup, thus guaranteeing that everyone in the room would be thinking about sex for the next five minutes.
Roger reflected on his own sexual adventures of the past three days. Both his stamina and his output confirmed what Dr. Jones said. “Hold it, wait a minute,” he protested. He closed his eyes for a moment, mostly to stop staring at Crystal Hites. Her bikini panties were green with yellow trim. She kept bending over to pour tea. “You have been submitting quarterly water samples all this time. Why didn’t someone at the central lab notice the water was peculiar?”
The other men looked uncomfortable. “One water sample looks more or less like another, doesn’t it, laddie,” Wyn replied. “Jjyfar and Vargasville submitted samples for us, in exchange for free chlorine. Cost recovery, that’s what it is.”
“Yes, I’ve heard of that,” Roger observed. He set down his tea cup. “This brings us to the question: what is so special about Afon Nyllrym?”
Gruffydd spoke for the first time. He was an older man; his voice was slow and careful. “Afon Nyllrym is magic,” he said. He stated the fact plainly. “The brook carries the aura of Nyllrym—”
“—the Bad Magician of King Arthur’s court,” Roger finished for him.
He was rewarded with four looks of astonishment. “You know about Nyllrym?” Derwyn demanded. He sounded almost offended, as if Roger had betrayed a trust.
Roger shook his head. “Only a little. I took an elective in folklore in my university days. I looked him up last night to refresh my memory. Arthur himself is legendary, probably a composite of half a dozen warrior kings. Nyllrym is even foggier, a myth within a legend.”
“He is real,” Gruffydd said, in the same matter-of-fact tone. “Like Merlin, his origins were supernatural. Unlike Merlin, who had to forgo the flesh to release his magic, Nyllrym was a lecher and an enchanter of women. It was said that his magic was responsible for the seductive beauty of Guenevere.”
“Yes, but—didn’t Merlin kill Nyllrym? His first battle and test of his magic, or something like that.”
“He did,” Gruffydd agreed, “but the bad magic of Nyllrym was too powerful to die. The stories say that a spring near where he lies was touched by his aura and the water carries it still.”
“Afon Nyllrym.”
Gruffydd nodded. “Everyone thought the name was merely a gesture to the legend. But now we know better.”
Roger said: “I want to see it.”