Top Secret

From Blushes 10

‘So you’re the new clerk, eh? Miss Parkins. Pussy Parkins, is it?’

The girl blushed bright red. ‘No sir, I mean yes, sir. But I’m Linda, sir. Linda Parkins, sir.’

She stood somewhat uncertainly in front of the large polished oak desk. She was 17, a pretty girl with a slender but shapely figure in demure blouse and grey skirt. This was her first job and her first morning. The Ministry of Home Affairs. It sounded important and she had already had to sign that piece of paper with The Official Secrets Act written on it. It was all a bit frightening. This man behind the shiny expanse of desk was going to be her boss. This man who had made that embarrassing joke, because Linda might be innocent but she knew what ‘pussy’ meant when applied to a girl. His name was Mr Grigson.

‘Come here then, Linda Pussy Parkins,’ he instructed. ‘Close the door and come round here.’ He was indicating a spot next to him. Though he was sitting down Mr Grigson was clearly a big man. Bulky in his blue pin-stripe suit and blue tie with large hands on the desk in front of him. His face was large too with horn-rimmed spectacles. He had dark hair smoothed down. He might be 40 or so Linda thought although she didn’t think she was very good at telling the ages of older men.

She felt her pulse accelerating as she stepped forward. Mr Grigson was definitely a bit frightening, those big masculine-hands and also that voice. Crisp and upper-class. Commanding. Not the voice of someone you would want to argue with. So if he insisted on calling her that horribly embarrassing thing there was not much Linda could do about it. She came to a stop about a foot from Mr Grigson’s side. Then gave a little yelp as the nearside large hand slid off the desk and reached out to grasp her thigh just above the knee through her grey calf-length skirt. The hand pulled her close.

‘That’s it. Let’s have a good look at you.’ The hand kept hold of Linda’s leg and her heart was going pit-a-pat. ‘So Miss Pussy Parkins, this is your very first job, eh?’

‘Y…yes sir.’

Mr Grigson showed large teeth in a grin. ‘Not a mole, I hope?’

‘Wha… what sir?’ The gripping hand had shifted up Linda’s thigh a little. ‘A mole, Pussy Parkins. You know what a mole is, you read the papers. A mole is a nasty little creature which burrows its way into an office where sensitive work is going on and then proceeds to leak things out. To the press and whatever. That’s what a mole is, Pussy Parkins, and I should not like to think you had any ideas in that direction.’

‘Oh no, sir,’ Linda was quite shocked. She didn’t read any newspapers but had vaguely heard the word mole on TV. It hadn’t meant anything, though, she had just thought they were some kind of little wild animal. But as for what Mr Grigson was saying Linda would be much much too scared to ever think of anything like that.

With Linda still considering the matter of moles Mr Grigson got abruptly to his feet. He proved to be not desperately tall though certainly taller than Linda who was 5’ 5” plus the three inches of her sensible brown court shoes. He was certainly tall enough to loom over her in a rather frightening way. Surely no one would ever dare do what he had said…

Suddenly Linda emitted a sharp high-pitched squeak. The hand which had let go of her leg had found its way to her bottom. The palm and splayed-out fingers in a quite confident manner cupping themselves round Linda’s left bottom-cheek, gripping it as they had gripped her thigh through the thin material of her skirt although now, naturally, there were knickers as well underneath.

‘I’m glad to hear it, Pussy Parkins. Because if I found a mole in my office, however sweet and pretty, that young lady would not know what had hit her.’

To give emphasis to this statement, if any were needed, Mr Grigson’s broad fingers thrust abruptly in the cleft between the under-curves of Linda’s slim buttocks, pushing the pleated skirt in front of them. She let out a shrill squeal as through the thin layers of skirt and knickers she felt Mr Grigson’s fingers on her private-most part. On her pussy in fact.

‘Is that clear, my girl?’ he inquired. His fingers were briskly rubbing.

Linda’s legs had turned to jelly; her hands clutched at Mr Grigson’s desk for support. She had never had a man’s hand there before, not ever. A number of boys had tried to get their hands on it but Linda had always refused. Indeed the only hand which did go there was her own. Saturday and Sunday mornings for instance when she liked to lie in bed dreaming of various pop stars — while languorously stroking that furry mound which now, unbelievably, Mr Grigson had his fingers on.

‘Is it clear?’ he repeated.

Linda tried to say yes but only a croaky sound came out. In the temporary absence of speech she desperately nodded her head. Mr Grigson let go and gave her bottom a magisterial slap. ‘Good, Miss. I’m very glad to hear it. Always remember the Official Secrets Act. Everything here is most strictly confidential. Nothing whatsoever can be mentioned outside. Nothing at all.’

Linda shook her head weakly. She could imagine that nothing at all included hands on pussies. He had sat down again. ‘Right then; run along now. See Mrs Walton about the filing etc. She will also give instructions about my coffee.’

Linda made a tentative step towards the door, uncertain whether her legs were yet ready to support her. She was stopped as Mr Grigson had an afterthought.

‘Ah, Pussy Parkins, one thing. Those tights you have on. They are tights, are they not?’

Linda nodded. Whatever now?

‘I do not approve of girls in my office wearing tights. I find them most off-putting. Nylons and a suspender belt are more to my taste, Miss.’ Mr Grigson was reaching inside his jacket. He took out his wallet and produced a £10 note.

‘Nip out at lunch-time and buy something suitable. I shall want you wearing them this afternoon. Is that understood?’

Numbly nodding, Linda took the note. Cripes. Still, he was the boss. There was one other thing — if she could find the courage to say it.

‘Sir… Mr Grigson…’

‘Yes?’

‘Sir… could you… please…’ A pause and then it came out in a rush. ‘Could you please not call me that. Not in front of anyone else at least. Please sir.’

‘What? Pussy Parkins?’

‘Yes sir.’

Mr Grigson got to his feet and came deliberately towards her. Linda felt a flutter of fear. Had she grossly overstepped the mark? He stopped inches away. ‘What would you prefer then, young lady. Would Miss Pretty Tits Parkins be preferable?’

As Mr Grigson said this those big hands came up and took hold of Linda’s pert tits. They were not especially big tits but they were a very adequate size for a slim girl, firm and high such that they didn’t really need a bra though of course Linda always wore one. They were also extremely sensitive and with the large masculine hands suddenly squeezing them through her skimpy bra and thin nylon blouse Linda felt as if she was going to faint, or do something disastrous like wet herself. It was very much like having his hand between her legs. Once more Linda let out a shrill squeak.

She shook her head as Mr Grigson repeated his question. He was still squeezing her tits. A final pinch and mercifully he let go.

‘N… no sir,’ she managed. ‘Please don’t call me anything like that.’

His hands came out once more, this time to grasp the slim waist. Linda gave another squeal as his fingers pinched her soft flesh. Once more the commanding upper-class voice. ‘We’ll have a little agreement then, Miss Pretty Tits Linda. If you prove to be a good girl I shall address you outside this office as Linda or Miss Parkins. Will that do?’

‘Yes sir,’ she breathed. ‘Th… thank-you sir.’

One of his hands left her waist and slid down, between them. Two broad fingers burrowed in between Linda’s legs and began a firm massage. ‘But between the two of us you will be Pussy Parkins. I think it suits you.’ The fingers continued to massage her pussy for a bit longer and then let go. ‘Off you go now. ‘And don’t forget the Official Secrets Act. Most important.’

Outside, on tottery legs, Linda made a bee-line for the Ladies. She felt a desperate need to pee for one thing. But having done that and still sitting on the seat with her knickers down there was something else she just had to do. Her whole body was demanding it. One slim hand went down, to where Mr Grigson’s hand had been and where she was now decidedly moist. Sticky moist as well as the other. Linda’s fingers stroked, with an eager urgency. It had all been simply overwhelming. Could all girls’ bosses be like this? She had never dreamt…

Linda emerged from the Ladies feeling a little bit calmer and more ready to face whatever else lay ahead in this so far mind-boggling first day. Mrs Walton, in charge of filing and office records, was quite different to the alarming Mr Grigson fiftyish and grey-haired and pleasantly helpful. Could she know what Mr Grigson did with his hands? Also working for Mrs Walton was another girl of a similar age to Linda, an attractive brunette called Charlotte Carrington. She had been there six months, she said. Laughingly she asked Linda if she was a mole. She said Mr Grigson was very worried about moles at the moment.

Also when the two of them were alone she asked, ‘Did he feel you up?’ Flushing, Linda nodded. That was certainly one way of describing what Mr Grigson had done. Charlotte said, ‘Don’t worry, that’s just his way. Mr Grigson is quite important and he likes pretty girls. That’s why he’s got you and that’s why he’s got me as well. He’s quite good though; I mean letting you have time off and that. If you’re nice to him, of course.’

Whatever did that mean? Linda felt too scared to ask. She was also too scared to ask what it was they actually did there in Mr Grigson’s section of the Ministry. Mrs Walton didn’t actually say and Linda didn’t ask because she thought perhaps she should know anyway. There was a lot of carrying files about to be done and Linda was tempted to peek inside one but decided it was best not to, what with Mr Grigson’s talk about moles.

There was an older man Linda had to take files. to, Mr Hadleigh, rather prim-seeming, and a young man in an office next to him. His name was Tony Markham, quite good-looking and he seemed to be Mr Hadleigh’s assistant. There was also another girl, or rather married woman for she had a wedding ring on, called Liz Woodbridge, in her twenties probably, a blonde but also, she couldn’t help noticing, with very large boobs. Not like Charlotte who had a slim figure like Linda herself. It seemed that Mr Grigson was the boss of all these people. Looking at Liz Woodbridge’s big boobs, Linda found herself wondering if Mr Grigson put his hands on them as he had done with her own distinctly smaller ones. But she decided that he wouldn’t do that what with Liz Woodbridge being a married lady.

Linda was going to have to make coffee for all these people in the mornings; with Charlotte making tea in the afternoon. Mrs Walton showed Linda what to do and she took it round. Being new to it she was afraid she was going to tip someone’s coffee all over them or something awful but fortunately it went OK. Liz Woodbridge with the big boobs gave her a knowing look and said, ‘Mr Grigson’s new young girlie, are you?’ Did that mean anything?

Mr Grigson’s coffee was special, percolated and not instant, and Linda’s heart was in her mouth when she took it into him. She hadn’t had to go in there since that first mind-zapping meeting and she suddenly felt that awful urge to pee again. As luck would have it, though, Mr Grigson was on the phone. He did reach out and squeeze Linda’s bottom as she put the coffee down but he must have been concentrating on his phone call and the hand let go after a little bit of groping. Linda edged out of range and then crept silently to the door. Outside she breathed a great sigh of relief, but she knew she was being silly for clearly she was not going to be able to avoid her boss. There was that matter of those nylons for one thing.

Soon afterwards Charlotte asked what she was doing for lunch. Linda flushed and said that she, uh, had to do some shopping. Charlotte looked at her and then giggled.

‘It’s not nylons, is it?’

Linda’s blush intensified. Charlotte laughed. ‘He’s nutty about nylons. Of course a lot of men are, aren’t they? He made me get them when I first started. My boyfriend asked why I was suddenly wearing them but I told him to mind his own business.’

Charlotte said she would come with Linda and they could get a sandwich afterwards. They went up to Oxford Street and chose a white satin suspender belt as Linda said she had on white underwear. ‘Anyway you don’t want anything too gaudy,’ Charlotte advised. Linda also got three pairs of flesh-coloured seamed nylons. They must be seamed. Charlotte said, Mr Grigson certainly wouldn’t want nylons without seams.

With this rather scary purchase made they went in a pub for a sandwich. Linda said she thought she’d have an orange juice to drink. Charlotte laughed and put her mouth close to Linda’s ear. ‘I should think you’d want something a bit stronger than that. For when you get back to the office. Unless you’re used to having your bottom spanked.’

Linda didn’t think she could have heard right.

‘Yes,’ said Charlotte in another hoarse whisper. ‘Those nylons are bound to turn him on. And what he’ll want to do then is take your knickers down and smack your bare bum.’

Feeling more than a little faint Linda let Charlotte buy her a gin and tonic, then followed her companion to a corner table.

‘You’re joking,’ she said weakly.

‘I’m not,’ retorted Charlotte. ‘I’ve worked for him for six months remember. He loves bottoms, especially not-too-big ones like we’ve got. And he’s usually randy when he gets back from lunch. Randier than normal, I mean.’

Linda did not normally drink and the gin hit her unprepared stomach at the same time as what Charlotte was saying focussed in her mind. She felt decidedly queasy. Could it possibly be true?

In a kind of daze she realised Charlotte was saying something else.

‘By the way, are you on the Pill?’

Had she heard correctly? Linda gave a darting wide-eyed look around to see if anyone else might have heard. Fortunately they were in a corner of the pub and Charlotte hadn’t actually shouted it. But she did now repeat her question.

‘Are you on the Pill, Linda?’

‘No!’ breathed Linda in horror: She had no need to be on the Pill because for one thing Linda Parkins was a virgin and quite happy to stay that way, thank you very much. Linda’s boyfriend had once or twice suggested that they might do something about it but she had quickly scotched any such ideas, threatening to tell his mother if he didn’t behave which shut him up a bit sharpish. Indeed as far as sex went Linda was quite happy with what she did herself lying in between the warm covers of her bed — or less frequently but when circumstances made it rather imperative as they had this very morning, when sitting on a loo seat. With do-it-yourself there was no possibility of nasty after-effects such as your tummy swelling up. No, Linda had no need of the Pill, thanks very much.

‘Mr Grigson will make you go on it,’ said Charlotte in a confidential whisper.

Linda choked as a mouthful of gin and tonic went down the wrong way. First, only minutes ago, Charlotte was saying Mr Grigson was going to spank her bare bottom and now… she must be dreaming.

‘It’s true,’ Charlotte told her. ‘He will. What he’ll say is that he can’t have the prospect of girls going off getting pregnant once they’ve been trained at great government expense, etc etc. That’s just what he says, of course. Naturally it’s not the real reason.

What could the real reason be then? Linda didn’t dare ask. ‘Look,’ she pleaded, ‘you’re joking about this, aren’t you. You must be.’

No, said Charlotte, she wasn’t. ‘Of course you’re not allowed to tell anyone. Don’t forget the Official Secrets Act that you had to sign.’

Yes Linda had signed that bit of paper. It had seemed very exciting at the time, but now… Charlotte was chatting happily on. She was 18 it seemed and from what she said, talking about her boyfriend, it would seem that Charlotte was not a virgin.

Linda didn’t feel at all like going back to the office when they’d finished at the pub but there wasn’t much option. She could hardly pretend she was ill, not on her very first day. Outside the fresh air at least cleared her head a bit. Perhaps Charlotte had been joking, or perhaps Mr Grigson would not be feeling ‘randy’ as Charlotte had said. All too soon they were at the building with Charlotte digging a finger in Linda’s ribs. ‘Don’t forget to put those nylons on.’

Linda went in the loo and changed her tights for the nylons and suspender belt. Then sitting on the seat she did what she had done there a few hours earlier. Brought herself off. She felt a little bit ashamed at having done it twice in the office loo on her very first day but she couldn’t help it, the way she was feeling she just had to. But afterwards she didn’t feel a whole lot better, still hot and tingly tense and just plain scared. He couldn’t really spank your bare bottom, could he?

Linda pulled up her knickers and adjusted her skirt, then washed her hands and had a look in the mirror. The pretty face looked distinctly flushed which perhaps was not surprising. She splashed cold water on her cheeks, and applied a touch of pale pink lipstick. A glance at her watch: it was 1.29. She was due in Mr Grigson’s office at 1.30. A couple of nervous pats at the short hair. She felt sick. That suspender belt felt funny too, when you had never worn one before.

‘Close the door please, Pussy Parkins. And come here. Did you have a good lunch? Not too much alcohol, I hope. And did you make your purchase? Lift your skirt please, Pussy Parkins.’

Linda had gone round the desk and was standing in that same spot as before. Standing there and feeling all sort of woozy. Somehow her hands were responding. Lifting up her skirt.

‘Right up, Pussy Parkins. Let’s have a good look at your knickers as well.’

They were in fact French knickers, white nylon with white lace trimming at the legs. A very dainty pair of knickers, a purchase made the week before in honour of Linda’s first job. She had never dreamt, naturally, that she would be showing them to her boss. From the legs of the lace-edged knickers, the narrow straps of her new suspender belt crossed slimly rounded thighs to fasten the taut dark welts of the sheer nylons. Altogether a very enticing display.

‘Most choice,’ observed Mr Grigson. ‘That’s the sort of thing I like to see.’

He got to his feet. His face was perhaps slightly pinker than earlier. Had Mr Grigson had a lot to drink at lunch? Was he, as Charlotte had suggested, feeling ‘randy’? Linda didn’t have long to ponder these thoughts as one large hand came round to the small of her back holding her firm and the other hand simply went down the front and cupped her pussy, like he’d done before only now there was no skirt just the single thin nylon layer of Linda’s knickers. She let out a gasping groan. She must be in some sort of nightmare.

The hand in the small of Linda’s back pushed her firmly forward onto the fingers which were holding her now throbbing pussy. ‘Yes, a very nice one,’ enunciated Mr Grigson. ‘We must certainly put this on the Official Secrets list. But now I think time for our first lesson in office discipline.’

The cupping hand gave an extra squeeze and then he let go of her and strode over to the door. Linda heard the lock click and Mr Grigson was coming purposefully back. To push his chair back from his desk and sit heavily down. A hand reached out for Linda’s arm and the next thing she knew she was face-down over Mr Grigson’s lap.

The skirt which she had let drop was yanked unceremoniously up again. Strong fingers were being inserted in the top of Linda’s knickers. She focussed her eyes on the pattern of the carpet, no more than a foot from her lowered head. No one would believe you if you told them this sort of thing could happen in the civil service, in the Ministry of Home Affairs. But you couldn’t tell them anyway; it wasn’t allowed. It was an Official Secret. The knickers were down now, round Linda’s stocking tops. Suddenly a large male hand was on Linda’s bare bottom. Sweet Holy Jesus! The very thought was enough to make you come even if you had brought yourself off just five minutes earlier. Linda made gasping gurgling noises as now the hand started smacking.

It hurt all right, sharp stinging smacks of that big hard palm, but at the same time it was enough to blow your mind. The hand kept smacking down, covering and recovering every last inch of buttock and upper thigh. Linda’s bottom responded with a desperate writhing dance of its own devising, while from her lowered head there came a variety of gasping, yelping, mewling cries. After some time the hand did finally stop. There was a pause — and then a banshee-like shriek which easily eclipsed anything that had gone before. For Mr Grigson’s hand was now at all once between Linda’s thighs. Intimately grasping her.

Almost immediately the shriek was replaced by a throaty growl such as might be made by a female cat being serviced. At the same time the writhings of hips and buttocks became less wild and more directed — into a regular rhythmic thrust against the invading hand. The girl’s movements and throaty growls came quickly to a crescendo with an ear-splitting squeal.

Linda was pushed to her feet. She clung trembling at his desk as the mortifying fact of what had happened filled her mind. Mr Grigson had spanked her bare bottom but, much worse than that, she had come on his hand. It was so desperately shaming that she didn’t think she would ever be able to look him in the face again. Linda was still standing there trying to come to some sort of terms with the sheer enormity of what had happened when she felt Mr Grigson’s hand come up the backs of her thighs under her now lowered skirt. Once more those fiendish fingers pushed in under her glowing buttocks.

‘Quite a lively little number, eh Pussy Parkins? Quite a randy little Pussy. I can see we’re going to have an interesting time with you. But right now I think you had better get back to work.’

The hand came away and Mr Grigson sat down at his desk. Linda reached for her knickers which by now were down round her ankles. She fumblingly straightened herself up. Mr Grigson had his head down at his papers as if nothing had happened. She had to say something.

‘Sir… I’m sorry sir… I… don’t know what came over me.’

Mr Grigson looked up and blinked. It was not always the response from a girl he had done that to. He produced a charming smile. ‘Don’t worry, my dear. Everything in order. I won’t tell anyone. Official Secrets Act remember!’

Linda spent the rest of the afternoon in a daze. Was all this possible? Charlotte asked her how her meeting with Mr Grigson went and Linda just rolled her eyes. At half past four, when she was beginning to think about going home, she was called into his office again. He told her to lock the door. Then she found herself sitting on Mr Grigson’s lap. Not unnaturally Linda’s heart was going like an express train once more.

One of his hands started playing with the pert tits. Mr Grigson said he was very pleased with her. Very satisfied. What she had to remember all the time, though, was the Official Secrets Act. The work of the Ministry was highly sensitive, therefore nothing whatever that occurred at the office could ever be divulged outside. Was that clear? She didn’t want to be up in court and possibly sent to prison.

Linda said Yes sir, it was clear and she certainly didn’t want to be up in court. She could feel her nipples had got quite stiff and her stomach was sort of churning. The fact was her boobs were very sensitive.

‘That includes any, ah, personal sort of happenings,’ Mr Grigson went on as he squeezed away at both tits. ‘Yes sir,’ replied Linda. She had rather assumed that already.

And then he started talking about the Pill. It was just like Charlotte had said, Mr Grigson saying that she would have to go on it because the government could not afford to spend large sums training girls if they were going to get pregnant. Linda would be seeing the Medical Officer tomorrow morning and he would put her on the Pill.

‘Yes sir,’ Linda replied, weakly, once again. Mr Grigson stressed that this too was very definitely covered by the Official Secrets Act.

When Mr Grigson had got all this out of the way he said that perhaps before she went home another little session of office discipline would be a good thing. He stood Linda on her feet and told her to take down her knickers. And so Linda’s first day at the office ended with her once more upended over Mr Grigson’s lap with skirt up and knickers down and that large capable hand doing what it seemed extremely experienced at doing.

Back at home everyone naturally wanted to hear how that first day had gone. ‘OK,’ said Linda. ‘Pretty good really.’ Had it really all happened like she remembered it?

‘Of course it is all covered by the Official Secrets Act,’ she added rather importantly.

‘Don’t worry,’ said her dad. ‘We don’t expect to be told any state secrets. Just as long as it went all right.’

‘Oh yes,’ said Linda, blushing pink. Had she really come four times? Two D-I-Y’s and then twice over Mr Grigson’s lap?

Later in the evening Linda’s boyfriend Kevin got the same answer. The Official Secrets Act. ‘There’re quite a nice bunch though. There’s a girl called Charlotte, and my boss…’ Linda gave a gulp, ‘he’s nice too.’

They were sitting watching TV, just the two of them as her parents had gone out. Just think, thought Linda, tomorrow I’m going on the Pill. Mr Grigson had explained that it was really a precaution. Even if a girl wasn’t doing it with her boyfriend or whoever, something could easily happen. At a party for instance if a girl had too much to drink, and then what would she do? Linda didn’t go to parties where she had too much to drink but she could see the logic. She didn’t completely like the idea but on the other hand it was a very grown-up thing. Naturally it would be covered by the Official Secrets Act and she wouldn’t be able to tell Kevin.

She gave him a sexy kiss. In spite of having come four times today — or maybe because of it — Linda was feeling a bit randy. She put her hand down and began stroking the big bulge in the front of Kevin’s trousers. Then, not looking at Kevin, she undid the zip and took it out. Linda’s thoughts went again to that Pill. If she wanted to she would be able to do it. The thought sent a hot shiver through her. She started stroking Kevin’s thing and he began groaning. He loved her doing this but Linda didn’t oblige very often, only when she was extra turned on.

----//----

‘How’s she progressing, that new young girlie?’

Two days later, 5.50 in the evening, and the speaker is Liz Woodbridge, she of the magnificent mammaries, though a casual observer would have to take a second look to assure himself of this. Not that there are any casual observers observing for we are in the well-appointed privacy of Mr Grigson’s London flat. But Liz might not be immediately recognised by, say, her workmates or even her husband for she is arrayed in schoolgirl uniform, almost a parody of one in fact, in that the short pleated navy skirt is ultra short so as to display her black nylons up to their dark welts and beyond to the black suspender straps spanning soft pale thighs. Her feet are in five-inch heeled black court shoes. Above the short skirt is a white school blouse and a red tie. The tie is properly in place but behind it the blouse buttons are unfastened below the neck and the blouse is pulled wide open except for the very top. As Liz is also sans bra this means that those firmly thrusting mammaries are revealed in all their fleshly glory, one on either side of the red tie. The juttingly nippled glands judder heavily as Liz, standing at the side table in Mr Grigson’s hallway, leans over to reach for the phone.

‘Have you had her up here yet,’ she adds, lifting the receiver to a delicate ear.

The word ‘had’ in this context is of course ambiguous, one of those little quirks of the English language which can make it so difficult for foreigners. Not that Liz Woodbridge is a foreigner, she is a lovely country-bred English girl; an English rose, tits and all. Nor is Liz’s companion a foreigner either for he is none other than the owner of this flat, Michael Grigson, British through and through. But here again one might not immediately recognise that senior civil servant for he is sporting, over his blue pin-stripe, the garb of an old-time schoolmaster: long black gown and tasselled mortar-board. In his hand, appropriately enough, is a lissome-looking cane. Mr Grigson gives Liz a brief instruction and she bends down, resting her forearms on the phone table.

‘Hello darling!’ Bare teats pendant, she is now addressing the phone, or, more specifically, her husband, Gavin, for the number she has called is her own. ‘I thought I’d check that you got the message. Yes, it’s a dreadful bore I know, but Mr Grigson says this job’s got to be finished. Shouldn’t be too late, though, darling.’

Liz is keeping her tone as even as possible in the circumstances while allowing a proper tinge of regret that she is not able to be home seeing to her husband’s meal, but of course one does have to work late at the Ministry from time to time. In their two years of marriage Gavin has learnt to accept this. Civil servants do have to work all sorts of hours and as their work is so enveloped in the Official Secrets Act there is not much point in questioning his wife. ‘Nothing very exciting,’ she will say if he does venture a query. Although undoubtedly those duties which take place at Mr Grigson’s flat are extremely exciting.

Mr Grigson has abandoned his cane and is lifting Liz’s short skirt at the back to reveal an absence of knickers. Her full pale bottom is decorated with a number of red cane marks which will have to be kept out of sight of Gavin when she gets home. Mr Grigson is now unzipping the trousers of that excellently cut suit.

Liz Woodbridge remains in conversation with husband Gavin, nothing much, just small talk. The fact is that Mr Grigson gets a special kick from her phoning her husband while he engages in a certain form of activity. Some might see this as an unpleasant trait but it is just his little thing and none of us is perfect. And the lot of a senior Ministry official can be very taxing. Liz is having more difficulty keeping her voice calm now for behind her Mr Grigson has achieved full and complete connection; in the vernacular he is properly ‘in the saddle’. She lets Gavin do most of the talking while covering the phone’s mouthpiece in order to stop the sound of urgent mewling gasps.

Some five minutes later with passion at least temporarily spent the two protagonists in our little drama are seated in Mr Grigson’s sitting room. Liz is still clearly curious about the progress of that new young clerk. ‘Have you had her up here yet, sir?’

Mr Grigson flourishes the cane which is once more in his hand. ‘Remember the Act, my girl; the OSA,’ he pronounces jocularly.

Liz makes a face. ‘Anyway that young lady has only been with us a couple of days,’ he adds. ‘Give her chance to get her breath. And for your information yesterday was Charlotte’s turn for a spot of overtime. Charlotte is a most co-operative girl. As you are also, of course, Liz.’

‘And is our Linda going to be co-operative too?’ Liz smiles.

The cane in Mr Grigson’s hand slashes briskly through the air again. ‘You are being very persistent, Mrs Woodbridge. And for that I think I shall have to cane you again. Yes, and this time we’ll have your skirt off. Get up please.’

Liz gets to her feet with a muttered ‘Oh Christ!’ Mr Grigson’s cane can be arousing but it is also decidedly painful.

‘Actually,’ says her boss, ‘I intend to bring her here tomorrow. Do you think Charlotte’s uniform will fit her?’

Charlotte’s uniform is like Liz’s only smaller. Liz removes her skirt. She is a very fetching sight in unbuttoned blouse and tie and her black stockings and suspender belt. ‘I should think so,’ she says, ‘they’re both skinny little things, aren’t they.’

To emphasise that she herself does not fit this description Liz thrusts out her own melon-heavy nude breasts. Mr Grigson does like slim girls, she knows, but he is also very partial to well-built ones. She stands waiting as Mr Grigson adjusts his gown and replaces the mortarboard.

‘Now, Miss,’ he intones, ‘You have been a very naughty young lady.’

The previously-voted item on the agenda thus having been dealt with satisfactorily, another resolution is proposed and seconded: the vote having been taken the only question remaining is whether the seconder shall be first or second —