2 comments/ 19288 views/ 4 favorites Fiona Ch. 01 By: oggbashan ************************ ************************* Copyright Oggbashan December 2009 The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons. ************************ ************************* Chapter 1 Square Dance I blame my little niece Molly. She wanted someone to drive her and her friend to a square dance. She'd exhausted all her usual sources of transport, so in desperation she asked her "aged" Uncle Alan. I wasn't keen. The idea of a square dance in the 1990s seemed like the enthusiastically promoted church youth club dances that I had endured in the 1960s. I should have suspected that it might be another matchmaking idea from my sister Karen. Ever since my wife May had died ten years ago, Karen had been trying to get me married again. She kept telling me that I "was too good a man to waste". I was fond of Karen and thought that my younger brother Ralph was a lucky man but I wish she'd leave me alone. I didn't suspect Karen this time. I was just happy to help Molly. Like her mother, she could charm birds out of trees so I agreed without finding out the details. On the evening I drove up to their house in my 9 seat MPV. I thought that Molly would have more than "a" friend for me to transport. I was right. I was greeted by a gaggle of young ladies dressed in full-petticoated dresses looking the female chorus from a production of Oklahoma. They had mid-calf hems on their brightly coloured satin skirts. They made me wish I was 20 years younger. They were an attractive bunch and full of life. The rustle of silk, taffeta and net reminded me of the dresses girls wore when I was young. Looking back to check that they were all seated I saw a sea of petticoats billowing around them. Each was wearing so many flounced slips that the car's seats and most of the windows were covered. They had left the front passenger seat free. Molly leant over from the back. Her ballooning skirt tickled the back of my neck. "Uncle Alan, could you drive to Station Road, number 73, please? We need to collect Fiona." "OK" I replied, thinking that Fiona was another one of Molly's troupe. She wasn't. She was an attractive lady about five years younger than I. I'd vaguely seen her around the town at various functions but we'd never met. As I pulled up, Fiona came out of her bungalow dressed almost like the others but her hemline was ankle length. She was carrying a briefcase but limping with an arm crutch. I hopped out to take her case and let her in the passenger door. I had to help her in to the front seat and she leaned heavily on me. She was as tall as I am and slightly taller on her heels. Her royal blue satin skirt fluffed up over the dashboard and spread sideways. I had to stuff it in to shut the door. I wondered why she was going fully dressed to the dance when she had such obvious difficulty. Molly explained before I asked. "Fiona, this is my Uncle Alan. He's our driver for this evening. Uncle Alan, this is Fiona Owens. She's the pianist who will be accompanying some of the dances. She sprained her ankle on Thursday otherwise she'd have driven herself." I was slightly embarrassed because I had to push Fiona's skirt aside every time that I changed gear. It didn't seem to bother her. She and I exchanged light conversation as best we could above the hubbub from Molly and her friends. I found out that Karen had persuaded Fiona to help at the dance and warning bells began to ring. Was this another of Karen's plots? At the barn - it actually was a barn, shades of my youth, but restored and improved to be a village hall - Molly and her friends rushed off heedlessly, leaving me to assist Fiona. She was in pain and I half-carried her, bundling her skirt around her legs. I sat her down at a table and went to get cups of tea for us. This seemed even more like a re-run of the 1950s. I intercepted Molly. "No alcohol? Tea, coffee or soft drinks? What sort of event is this?" "You should know, Uncle Alan. It's a 1950s evening. We've tried to re-create the sort of dance that would have been held here then." "You've done very well. It's much as I remembered it except for the musical equipment." "It is! That's great!" What I didn't say was that the girls' skirts had too many petticoats. The skirts stood out far more than those I recalled. I got a kiss suitable for an "elderly" uncle as Molly rushed off. Fiona seemed amused. "Molly treats you as if you are very old." she said. "I suppose to her I am. When I was her age my uncles seemed impossibly ancient. I don't think they were any older than I am now but they were battered. Perhaps it might have been the effect of fighting in the war." "And the way people dressed then didn't help," Fiona added, "Women seemed to go into 'old-lady' clothes in their late 30s. They wouldn't have dared dress like this." She shook her skirts and petticoats. The sound brought back memories of youthful affairs. Was it more fun when girls dressed like girls? I was drifting away in reverie when Fiona brought me back to the present. "I'm going to have a problem with getting to that piano. The only way to the stage is up the steps and I haven't climbed a step since Thursday." I shifted my chair to beside Fiona so that we both had a clear view of the stage. "We get you up there somehow. There are a lot of healthy young men around. Even Molly and her friends are fit enough to lift you. If I were younger..." "I'm sure you still can. You're not exactly decrepit. I dare you!" "Dare me do what?" "Carry me on to the stage. I'm sure you can do it." "And what if I accept your dare?" "I'll give you a reward." Fiona's eyes twinkled at me. "You're on. When you want to, I'll carry you on to the stage, and off again afterwards." "Thank you, Alan." She leant over and kissed me. Not an aged uncle kiss - this kiss was from an attractive and mature woman who knew exactly what she was doing. That kiss woke feelings in me that I thought long dormant. I wished to dance with Fiona. She couldn't, so we watched the youngsters. The girls were twirling to show off their skirts and petticoats but overall the dances were too laboured and mechanical as they tried hard to follow the caller's instructions. Then Molly came over. "Dance with me, uncle, please?" I looked at Fiona. "Go on, Alan! Show them how it's done." Molly and I took the floor and joined a set. I knew that Molly could dance so we let ourselves go. We upstaged the other pair shamelessly. I threw Molly around and she twirled around me as if we were in a competition. At the end of the dance Molly caught my arm and dragged me off to the caller. "Can we do a solo, please?" she asked him. "I don't see why not. You, sir, know how to dance." He bowed to me. I bowed back. We took the centre of the floor and then ... I admit it. I showed off! I threw Molly around, swung her, twirled her, lifted her up in the air -I did all the fancy moves I knew. Everyone had a good view of her swirling petticoats - but no more. She was wearing so many that it would have been impossible to tell what she was wearing underneath. She could have been wearing tights or stockings and panties or stockings and nothing. Even if I had turned her upside down the petticoats were so tightly stuffed under her skirt that I think it would have stayed in place. That was the error that I had noticed earlier. Of course I didn't turn her upside down. An uncle has responsibilities to his nieces! The man's part in this sort of dancing is to enhance his partner. That I did. The whole place stopped to watch Molly. We ended with her cradled in my arms and her head on my shoulder. I carried her off the floor to a storm of applause. When we got back to Fiona, Molly kissed me hard. "Mum told me you were a good dancer, but that was wonderful!" I murmured something about a mis-spent youth but Molly and Fiona agreed that I should dance more. Molly kissed me again and rushed off to receive the congratulations of her friends. I sat down and Fiona squeezed my hand. Then she held it gently. "You know that you've made her evening?" "What? For a dance with her uncle?" "Her uncle made her the belle of the ball. She won't have a free dance for the rest of the night. You showed her off as a woman. She'll have the young men round her like flies tonight. And the women will be queuing for a dance with you." "I'd rather dance with you." I said impulsively. "I wish I could. I think I'd enjoy that," she said wistfully. "Your ankle won't always be sprained." I said. "No ... I could walk on it in a few days. It will take a few more before I could dance like Molly." "Then how about dancing with me next weekend?" Fiona looked at me carefully. "Are you asking me out?" "Yes. Is there any reason why I shouldn't?" "I don't know," she said. "I've been divorced a long time, but you...?" "I'm a widower. My wife died ten years ago." Fiona looked at me again. "OK. We'll go to a dance next weekend and see." "See what?" "We'll see if my ankle will stand it, whether I can dance as well as you, and..." her voice trailed off sadly. "Let's leave it at that. We'll just see if we can dance together." Her hand stroked mine. It was a long time since I'd had my hand held and enjoyed it. "Thank you, Alan. It's nearly time for you to perform your dare." I looked back at the stage. While the band was still playing there were signs that they were preparing to break. "OK. We'll get you on your feet first." I helped her to stand leaving her crutch by her chair. She leant on me, clutched her briefcase to her and we moved slowly towards the stage as the dance ended. I picked Fiona up in my arms. No one seemed to notice us. She settled against my shoulder as if she belonged there. Her full skirt slithered and her petticoats rustled as I walked up the steps. I carried her like a delicate and fragile doll but I was very aware that there was a well-proportioned woman in my arms perhaps the same weight as I am. I took her to the piano and lowered her on to the piano stool. She spread her skirt around her covering a large area of floor. As I released her she kissed my cheek. "You are not abandoning me here. Stay and turn my music." It was an order. She didn't even know if I could read music. I collected one of the band's chairs and sat beside her. "Ready?" she asked. "Ready." She looked at the caller, who nodded. Then she was away. Her playing was strongly rhythmical and foot-tapping. Despite the reduced volume compared with the amplified band the floor soon filled with eager dancers. After twenty minutes the band began to return. When Fiona ended she had an ovation from the floor. Then in silence she gathered her music, lifted her arms to me and I picked her up. I carried here down the steps and to our table watched by the audience. Then they clapped me. "You did it!" she grinned at me. "You'll get your reward, later." The rest of the evening was pleasant. I danced with most of Molly's friends but talked with Fiona more. We seemed to have a lot in common. This was one lady I wanted to see again. We discussed where to go for our dance date. We didn't reach a conclusion because neither of us knew what was on where. Molly solved it for us. She sat with us to rest for a few minutes as we were talking. "There's a charity dinner dance next Saturday at the Oddfellows' Hall. Why not go to that? Those going will be more your age than mine. Even Mum and Dad are going." With that she left us to join the swirling dancers. All too soon the event ended. Molly gathered up her troupe to join me by the MPV. I seemed to have danced with most of them during the evening. They treated me very differently now. I was surrounded by them and lost in a sea of petticoats. I had a hug and kiss from each as they entered. Fiona from her perch on the front seat found them amusing. I was just enjoying myself. It had been a long time since I had been kissed so often. Fiona and I had to wait a long time as I drove round the town depositing girls one by one. Finally I dropped Molly. She came round to my window, leant in and kissed me hard. "Thank you, Uncle Alan. That was a great evening and I loved dancing with you. Look after Fiona, please." Then she left in a rustle of petticoats. I drove the short distance to Fiona's bungalow. I helped her out but as she touched the ground her sprained ankle was obviously in pain. She leant on me but when she stumbled I caught her. I lifted her into my arms. "Don't be stupid," I told her. "You've overdone it this evening." She relaxed in my arms. She opened the door with a key from her briefcase. I carried her across the threshold and into her sitting room. I lowered her on to the settee. "Will you be all right now?" I asked. "Wait!" she ordered. I waited. "I haven't given you your reward for the dare." "Forget it." I replied, "You're a nice armful to carry. That was reward in itself." "I intended to make you some coffee but my ankle has had it. I don't want to impose, but I think I need you to help some more. Will you?" "Of course." "Then please put me to bed." My eyes opened wide. She laughed. "I don't mean any more than on the bed." "If that's what you want." "Yes, please." I picked her up again and carried her into her bedroom. I laid her on the bed. Her petticoats ballooned about her legs. She caught my hand. "Sit down, Alan." I sat beside her. As we talked she eased her shoes off and pushed them off the bed. "Molly and her friends thanked you properly. Now I want to..." "But you are afraid that I might take advantage." I finished for her. "Well, yes. We don't know each other that well yet." "Why not leave the thanks until our date next week." I suggested. "No. I don't want to. I want to thank you now." "I'll try not to overstay my welcome but you are an attractive woman and I've had few opportunities the last few years." "Poor Alan!" She stroked my cheek then she said abruptly: "Turn your back to me!" I turned. "Give me your hands." I put my hands behind my back. She grabbed one, placed it over the other then I felt something soft and silky on them. Suddenly she pulled and my hands were forced together. She'd tied my hands behind me. Then she pulled me backwards on to her lap. I fell on to satin cushioned by billowing petticoats. I looked up at her face leaning over me. "Now I can say thank you safely." Fiona's face came down, her hair fell like curtains either side as her lips sought mine and we kissed. It was not great because she was upside down. She pulled away. "Swing your legs on to the bed." she told me. I did and she settled me on her bouffant skirt. Then her hair hid me again. This time the kiss was prolonged and arousing. Her legs moved under my head pushing me up. She pulled her lips away and held me against her breasts. "I wish I wasn't so crocked," she said. I didn't comment. My mouth had a very satisfactory breast against it. If I'd wanted to say anything I'd have to pull away. I might have to anyway if I wanted to continue breathing. "Do you like that?" she asked, realising that I couldn't reply. "Mmmm," was all I could manage. "I'll take that as a "yes"." she said pushing her clothed breast further into my mouth. "MMMM!" I responded. "That's better!" Fiona said complacently. "This is the sort of reward I had in mind for your dare. Do you approve?" I nuzzled against her top and my hand sought her other breast. "Ahh! That I like. Do it again!" I did. I swapped breasts, stroked and tongued and nibbled through the silky material. Eventually Fiona lifted my head off her and laid me down on her lap. "Don't speak yet, Alan." Her hand pressed a thick fold of blue skirt across my face to emphasise her order. I struggled to breathe as she said: "There's one last thing I want to do tonight before going to bed. I like dressing up in full skirts and petticoats but rarely have an excuse. I'd like to do something while I'm still wearing them. Is that OK with you?" I didn't know what the "something" was and couldn't speak because of the skirt smothering me. I nodded as best I could. "Was that a nod?" I nodded again. "OK." She uncovered my face. Gingerly she slid out from underneath me. My head flopped back to the bed. Then her skirts and petticoats swept up. She held them out as the good leg crossed my body. She hitched herself up until her legs were outside mine. She lowered the bundled hems over my head. My face was concealed under her skirt and petticoats and she was pressing them over my mouth and nose. My nose enjoyed the perfume of her clothes mixed with her own more basic scent. Touch contrasted the satin, silk, lace, taffeta and net wrapping my head. My ears were picking up the rustle and swish. My brain - I was lost and enjoying the sensations she was giving me. Fiona held her position for but a few seconds before rolling off me. "That's just a sample!" she laughed. "Was it a nice sample?" "Yes." I managed to say. What else could I say? I'd been celibate for nearly 10 years and in one evening I'd been kissed by Molly and her friends and now had a sample of what Fiona could offer. "I'm glad you liked it. I was taking a risk. I wanted to thank you for an enjoyable evening but I was afraid I went too far." "No. You reminded me of the time when girls dressed like girls." "I thought so. I saw you watching the youngsters dancing tonight. You couldn't take your eyes of their dresses - when you weren't looking at mine." "It wasn't only the dresses. I'd forgotten how good women looked in full skirts enjoying themselves." "They were, weren't they? Particularly when you'd showed their partners how it should be done." "I wish..." my voice trailed off. "What do you wish, Alan?" "I wish I'd been able to dance with you." "So do I. However if it wasn't for this ankle you might not be where you are now." Her hand pulled my head on to her shoulder. "And you might not have got this..." She kissed me. Her satin swathed leg covered mine. "Ouch! I shouldn't have done that!" I extricated myself from her and moved down her body. It was difficult because my hands were still tied behind me. I lifted her skirt with my head and kissed the injured ankle gently. "There!" I said. "That's a kiss to make it better." Her sound leg raised and her nylon covered foot stroked my head. "I'd like another, please, Alan." "As many as you want, Fiona." I kissed the ankle again and again. "I think that had better be enough for tonight. We don't want to go too far on our first meeting, do we?" "No. I'd like there to be many more." "Perhaps there will be. We'll see on Saturday when we dance together." "Are you sure about dancing so soon?" "Well..." "I'd rather wait for the dance until you are fully fit. We could do something else that evening and go to a dance later." "No. We'll go. If I can't dance - then I can't. If I can we'll take it easy. Please don't throw me around like you threw Molly." I laughed. "I was showing Molly off. I don't think next Saturday's dance will be that sort of event. A foxtrot or cha-cha might be as far as they go." "So I might manage if your kisses work." "I'm sure they will - if you rest that ankle this week. Oh! I've just realised that I don't know what you do for a living. Will you be able to work this week?" Fiona Ch. 02 ************************ ************************* Copyright Oggbashan December 2009 The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons. ************************** *********************** Chapter 2 Laundry I had met Fiona at a Square Dance last night. She had sprained her ankle so I had had to help her to the stage so she could play piano. She had promised me a reward. I had enjoyed that before putting her to bed. We had a date for a dance next Saturday and arranged to meet for lunch today... I went by taxi to collect Fiona for lunch. I thought it might be easier than trying to get her into my normal car. I had to hold a large umbrella over her as the rain lashed down. At the restaurant a waiter came out with an umbrella. As I took her coat off I saw that she was wearing a grey calf length dress with a flared skirt. I helped Fiona hobble to our table. She winced as she settled herself. "Still hurting?" I asked. "Of course it is." She retorted. "Sorry, Alan, I didn't mean to snap at you." "How did it happen?" "I tripped over some equipment in my garage. I think there had been a break-in that was disturbed. They had thrown things around. I didn't notice in the dark until I turned my ankle on a brick that shouldn't have been there." "What was taken?" I asked. "Nothing. That was odd. There were several saleable items in the garage. They just cleared every shelf, opened every drawer and left a mess. Neither I nor Keith can think of anything missing." "Who is Keith?" "Sorry. I keep forgetting how little we know about each other. Keith is my ex-husband." "You still keep in touch?" "Yes. It wasn't an acrimonious divorce. We just couldn't live together. He had his work that kept him busy nearly 24 hours a day. I had my business. Eventually we decided that it was pointless being married when we didn't see much of each other and little in common when we did. Things haven't changed. We are still far apart in our lives but we like each other. We can meet as friends but there is nothing left of the love we once thought we had. On the rare occasions when either of us want a partner for a formal event we will oblige each other if there is no one else available. Keith would have taken me last night but he was in Silicone Valley this week, getting back tonight." "What does Keith do?" "He's a software developer and very good at it. He started in the spare bedroom here in the evenings and weekends. That's where he wrote the basic code that underpins almost all his products. Now he has his own company but he delegates everything so that he can write his programmes. In theory he is Chairman and Managing Director but he has appointed a Chief Executive who runs everything so that Keith can do his own thing. It works very well. Keith sets the general policy and chairs the Board meetings but as he owns forty-five percent of the company he has control." "Who owns the rest?" It was an idle question to kill time while we waited for our first course. I had begun to realise that I knew Keith. Even so, the answer surprised me. "I own forty percent. The other fifteen percent is split between the other board members." "So you are part of the board?" "Yes. I'm a sleeping partner..." Fiona laughed. "Perhaps I'd better rephrase that. I'm a non-active partner. I support Keith if he needs it. He doesn't. The company is very sound. Sometimes I put the Chief Executive through some hoops to make sure he is not sidelining Keith but it isn't really necessary. They work well together. One thing has been bothering both of us recently. A competitor, James Smith, has been hinting that he wants to buy the company. Because it is privately owned and financed, he can't. James even wrote to me, wanting to buy my shares. Keith doesn't want to sell. Neither do I. James has been very insistent and Keith is annoyed." Our first course arrived. The subject dropped. "I suppose you won't be wearing your square dance dress on Saturday." "No, Alan, it's not appropriate. Don't look so disappointed. If you ask nicely I might wear it another time just for you." "I'd like that." "So would I. I enjoy having the swirl of petticoats round my legs when my legs are working properly. I'm sure Molly and her friends will arrange another dance. Last night's one was a hit with them." "I'll drop a few hints." "You don't need to go that far to get me to wear that dress again. Just ask me nicely." "Please?" "OK. But not today. It needs washing. I've a lot of washing to do because most of the petticoats Molly and her friends wore last night were borrowed from me. She brought bags of them round this morning." "Couldn't they wash them themselves?" "I'd rather do it. They don't know how to." "So you are going to spend hours doing the washing?" "It takes hours but I do have a couple of industrial washing machines and dryers. I just set them going and relax." "How about loading and unloading with that ankle?" "I'll manage even if I sit on the floor. Why? Are you offering to help?" "Why not?" "I'm beginning to think that you have a fetish for bouffant petticoats. Have you?" "If you are wearing them then perhaps I have." "It would be nice to have some help..." Fiona said slowly. "Then why not? I'll try to be as unobtrusive a laundry maid as possible." She laughed. "OK. You are appointed. When?" "When would you do the washing?" "I'd like to start this afternoon so that I have the week free for my work. I'm going to be slower than I should because of this ankle. But wouldn't you rather do something else this afternoon?" "I'd like to be with you. I had thought of taking you for a drive in the country but the weather isn't ideal." I looked pointedly out of the window at the driving rain. "Then washing it is." After the meal and coffee another taxi took us back to Fiona's house. The umbrella was still necessary. It was quite a performance managing the umbrella and supporting Fiona as well. As she fumbled for her front door key I was exposed to the full force of the driving rain and soaked to the skin. Inside the front door Fiona looked at me in dismay. My wet clothes were dripping onto the hall floor. "Alan! You are drenched." "Yes." What else could I say? "And I don't have anything for you to change into. Anything in the car?" I shook my head. "You can't stay like that. Strip!" It was an order. I stripped to my boxers. Fiona took my clothes away and brought a towel to rub my hair dry. Then she looked at my shivering body. "You volunteered to be a laundry maid. I think you had better dress as one." "What?" "Alan. You can't stay like that. Your clothes will take hours to dry. You need something to wear. You could wrap in a sheet or blanket but then you wouldn't be much help. I think I've got an old dress that would fit. No one will see you in the utility room. It's in the basement." I protested but Fiona kissed me. I accepted the necessity. We went downstairs to the large utility room. It was heaped with drifts of petticoats and piles of satin skirts. Fiona hobbled across to an old wardrobe. From it she took a full length blue denim shirtwaist dress. She looked inside it, shook her head, and reached back into the wardrobe. This time she took a long slip off a hanger. "Put these on." I eased myself into the slip and then the dress. The sleeves had drawstrings at the wrists. I tried to fasten them one-handed. Fiona pushed my hand away and tied them for me. Then she tied the back ties pulling the waist tight. She stood back. "That should do. You just need the apron." I was feeling warmer already and getting excited at the feel of the slip slithering around my legs. Fiona reached back into the wardrobe for the apron. It was heavy white cotton reaching from the waist to the floor and wrapping almost completely over the skirt. She tied it on. "Sometimes I wear these clothes if I'm bleaching or dyeing. It doesn't matter if I splash them." I looked down at the vast snowy expanse of the apron. It was perfect. I raised my eyebrows. "Aprons are easy to make," she answered my unspoken question. "Even so I try not to stain my clothes. Try walking." I took a few steps. A few inches of the skirt trailed on the ground and the hem tangled my legs despite the stiff material. "I might be able to manage." "OK. Then we'll make a start. Bring that pile to this machine." I struggled to bundle up the heap of petticoats. They seemed to have a life of their own. Eventually I gathered them all into my arms. I had to shake my head to free my face from the billowing material as I crossed the room. Then the dress's skirt tangled my legs and I dropped the heap as I stumbled. Fiona giggled. "I don't think you can manage that dress. Bring the petticoat I wore last night. It's over there." Fiona's petticoat was longer than the others and very bulky. "Put it on." I hauled the skirt up and eased the petticoat up to my waist. It had several layers of net sandwiched between silky nylon inner and outer layers. I dropped the denim skirt and shook it over the petticoat. The dress's hem now cleared the floor but the dress spread out around me. It seemed that I would have to stretch to reach anything. "Now try walking." I walked across the cellar and back again. The straight slip and bouffant petticoat impeded my stride only slightly. The dress moved as I moved and stayed well clear of the floor. "Pick up the heap again, please, Alan." As I did I felt the back of the dress rise behind me. "Now load them in one by one. Shake each one out as it goes in." Fiona was filling the detergent drawer as I loaded the petticoats. As I shook each one out I sensed the perfume of the last wearer. Some of the perfumes I could identify with Molly's friends. At last I shut the machine's door. Fiona started it. "Now that pile in this machine." The second load was easier. When the machine started Fiona leant back against the wall wincing. "What now?" I asked. "We have to wait until the wash cycle finishes, then two rinses, the final treatment with starch, and then into the dryers. While these loads dry we put two more loads in the washing machines, and so on. But now all we can do is wait." "How long?" "About an hour." "What do we do for that hour?" "I'm going to sit down. Perhaps you could make some coffee?" I helped her to sit down. I went upstairs to the kitchen and made coffee for both of us. Negotiating the stairs in a long puffed out dress was awkward. I couldn't see my feet. Coming down with the coffee was difficult. I could see that Fiona was laughing at me. I felt ridiculous. The bow on the apron caught on the end of the stairs and came undone. I put the coffee down and tried to do up the apron again. I failed miserably. "Come here." She said. "Turn round." I turned my back to her. "Give me your hands." I put my hands behind my back. She tied the apron's long streamers around my hands. She turned me and kissed me hard. "Now I'm back in control, aren't I?" "Yes, Fiona, but why?" "I feel so weak and pathetic with this ankle. Now I can do things to you and you can't object, can you?" "I probably wouldn't object anyway." "Perhaps. But it isn't the same as being unable to." Fiona pushed a three-legged stool out from the wall. "Sit, please." She said. She lifted my skirt, petticoat and slip so that as I sat down they splayed around in a circle on the floor. She knelt down and gathered the masses of material in her hands. Before I realised what she intended she pulled the inner slip upwards. With my hands tied behind my back I couldn't stop her as she bared my legs and wound the dress's skirt and petticoats around my torso. She stood up gingerly lifting the inner slip above my head. I disappeared inside the dress's embrace. I felt her knot the slip above my head, trapping me under yards of dress and petticoats. As I swayed on the stool and made muffled protests she tied my ankles to the stool. "Now, you are unable to object." She said. Her hands reached for my boxer shorts and eased them down. My erection sprang into her view. I groaned as her hands stroked and then gasped as her warm lips surrounded me. She played with her tongue and gently took more and more of me inside her mouth. I spluttered an objection but a hand reached up and stuffed material deep into my mouth. Just before I came she withdrew her mouth and impaled herself on me. Her head rested against mine. Her arms wound round the enveloping petticoats holding me tight. I shuddered in climax as one of her hands stifled my moans of ecstasy. As I relaxed her head rested on my shoulder. She loosened the knot in the slip's hem and uncovered my perspiring face. "That is how I wanted to say "thank you" last night." She said as her muscles squeezed around me. "Do you like the thanks?" I nodded. I didn't have enough breath to speak. Her dress and petticoats had nearly suffocated me with a faint trace of her perfume. I could breathe normally through the layers of material but not enough when approaching my climax. Fiona rode me again, this time kissing me throughout with my head framed by petticoat. At the end she replaced my boxers, untied my ankles, let the slip, petticoat and dress drop to the floor and finally untied my wrists from the apron. Then we drank the luke-warm coffee. The rest of the afternoon we washed and dried petticoats and skirts, punctuated by kisses and cuddles while we waited for the loads to finish. About five o'clock I suggested another coffee break. I took the mugs upstairs to the kitchen. As I filled the kettle I heard a noise upstairs. "Who's there?" I called, hoping that no one was. In a denim dress and bouffant petticoat I didn't want to meet anyone. I heard a scuffle of feet. A window was flung open followed by thuds as two people jumped into the back garden. I peered out into the rain to see to dark hooded figures clamber over the back garden fence. I rushed upstairs, tripping as I went. When I reached the landing the draught from the open window directed me to a bedroom. It was a mess. Every drawer and cupboard had been opened and emptied on to the bed. Fiona's lingerie was strewn on the floor and covered by a trail of muddy footprints leading to the wide-open window. I walked carefully around the mess and looked out. A short ladder was propped below the window. I could see no sign of the intruders so I walked carefully back to the landing and downstairs through the kitchen to the cellar. "What was it?" Fiona asked. "Some burglars, I think. I must have disturbed them. They've gone." Fiona sank on to the stool I had recently been tied to. Her face was white. "Why me? What have I got that I get burgled twice?" I hugged her. "We had better call the police." Fiona had a faint smile. "I think you should change first. The police might get the wrong idea. Your clothes should be dry now." They were. I changed. Fiona called the police who took half an hour to arrive. As far as Fiona could tell nothing had been taken -- again. The police didn't seem particularly interested. They took the ladder away and dusted the window and bedroom for prints. Apart from Fiona's prints all that became visible were the smudges from thin latex gloves. They took photographs of the muddy footprints but the marks were not distinct enough to identify the type of trainers or even the size. Throughout the evidence gathering Fiona leant on me. The police asked who I was and what I was doing in the house. Fiona answered for me. "This is Alan Andrews, who is my friend. He has been helping me with my laundry because I have twisted my ankle." The police let her think they were satisfied but while Fiona showed them the mess in her bedroom I was questioned in more depth. Their attitude changed when I mentioned the chain of shoe shops I own. One of them went into the hall to speak quietly into his radio. On his return he asked: "Do you know Councillor Jones, sir?" "Yes." "Do you know his nickname, sir?" "Yes. He is called "Digger Blue"." "Why is he called that, sir?" "Because he was Australian, he fought in the Desert campaign in World War 2, and he was a redhead before he went bald. Australians call redheaded men "Bluey"." "Thank you, sir. That confirms your identity. Do you remember what other public offices Councillor Jones holds?" "We are school governors together and -- of course -- he's a magistrate." "Thank you, sir. Can you think of any reason why Ms Owens should be targeted by burglars?" "No. I haven't known her very long. I have known of her as a member of the community but we have been friends for only a short time. As far as I can tell she has no apparent enemies and no collections of valuable items that might attract a burglar. Even her audio system and TV are not particularly valuable." "Yet this is the second burglary in a week, sir. Whatever they want must be small otherwise they would not have conducted such a thorough search. Did you hear them enter or during their search?" "No. We were in the cellar with two washing machines and two tumble dryers working. I doubt we would have heard anything except a telephone or a very loud noise on the ground floor." "Who might have known that you would be in the cellar, sir?" I thought about that. We had decided at lunch to come back. It was unlikely we were overheard. "I don't think anyone would have known. Someone might have assumed that Ms Owens was out since it was no secret that I was taking her out to lunch. However they should have expected her back by five o'clock." "There are no cars outside, sir. Where is your car? Where is Ms Owens' car?" "We came here by taxi. I had some wine with lunch so I didn't drive. My car is at home." "Very sensible, sir. And her car?" "I don't know. She hasn't been able to drive since she twisted her ankle. I assume that it is in her garage. You will have to ask her." "So the burglars might have assumed the house was empty, sir?" "I suppose so. We were in the cellar. There were no cars outside and no lights switched on except in the cellar until I came upstairs to the kitchen to make coffee." "OK, sir. Thank you. If we think of anything else to ask where can we contact you?" I handed him one of my business cards, the one that gives my home address, phone and mobile numbers. That was it. We had more laundry to do. Almost all Fiona's underwear needed washing. By the time we had finished it was nearly nine o'clock so we ordered a Chinese takeaway. We ate it sprawled on the living room settee, listening to Louis Armstrong on vinyl. We cleared up a few points. Fiona had arranged for her car to have a major service and have a few cosmetic repairs done while she couldn't drive. It should be ready tomorrow morning. I agreed to take her to collect it. She couldn't think what the burglars were after. She had nothing worth the effort of professionals and the police had established that both burglaries were professional not local youths raising cash for drugs or alcohol. They had ignored several items that could have been sold for cash. Tomorrow she would to ring Keith, her ex-husband, and ask him if he had any ideas. Fiona didn't want to be left alone. I took a taxi home then returned with a change of clothing. We spent a quiet night together in each other's arms and just slept.