15 comments/ 69585 views/ 21 favorites Healing David By: LeanneSinclair Author's note: Oops, I did it again. Not for the first time, I fear I have buried the sexual content under a heap of scene-setting, backstory and chit-chat. If you want rapid gratification, look elsewhere. But if you do read on, and enjoy it, you might offer a little word of thanks to the real Angie (she is drawn from life) whose name is not really Angie, and who does something different for a living these days. ***** Dr Sandhu was polite and patient, as always, but she seemed tired. She took her glasses off and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Your brother's condition is much as it was at your last visit, Miss Wheeler. His psychological condition, I mean. Physically, he is doing well. The wound to his wrist is healing well. He is eating, drinking and sleeping healthily. He looks after himself, washes and shaves - shaving under supervision, of course. He reads his books. He has shown no sign of repeating the self-harming behaviour. But he still has not spoken, nor shown any emotional expression at all. Not a tear, not a smile. He is in an emotionally frozen state, suspended between rage and grief. It has been four weeks now, as you know. I have had a therapist try to communicate with him, but there is no response at all. And I must say I am not prepared to discharge him from the clinic while he is in this state. He needs to talk. I need him to talk. Even a smile would be a start. And until that happens, we wait. I'm sorry, Miss Wheeler, I realise this must be dreadfully distressing for you." "It's all right, Dr Sandhu," said Helen. "I appreciate all you are doing for David." "Miss Wheeler, it is not strictly my place to say so, but I imagine that you are physically and emotionally exhausted. It is important that you look after yourself, and seek support if you need it." "Thank you, Doctor." Helen was, indeed, shattered by the events of a month ago and their aftermath. She thought back to the moment when her safe, comfortable world had been turned upside down. ******* Four weeks earlier A normal Saturday evening in early summer. A knock at Helen's door. Two young, uniformed police officers, a man and a woman. Hats off, serious faces. "May we come in, Miss Wheeler?" Sitting awkwardly on her sofa. "Miss Wheeler, we have some very grave news concerning your brother, Professor David Wheeler. Swiss police have identified two bodies recovered from the scene of a road traffic accident near Lausanne as those of your brother and his wife. I'm terribly sorry." Helen gave a short, high laugh. "But David's in London! I saw him, at his home, at lunchtime today! His wife - Marie-Claude - oh God, yes, she is in Lausanne. A conference. Oh no ... oh no, poor Marie-Claude ... what has happened to her? But David's in London. There must be a mistake." The female officer consulted some notes. "Marie-Claude Wheeler was identified by means of a Swiss passport which was on her person. The passenger in the car was carrying no identification. But his clothing, and what could be discerned of his appearance, matched descriptions of a man who had been staying with Mrs - Doctor - Wheeler, in a double hotel room booked by her for herself and her husband, during an academic conference. Mrs Wheeler had rented the car." Everything fell into place. Marie-Claude. Poor, dead, brilliant, beautiful, faithless, fatal Marie-Fucking-Claude. What have you done, thought, Helen, what have you done to my brother? Helen tried to explain to the police. "You see what's happened, you must see ... the man in the car, in the hotel, it wasn't David ... she was having an affair, passed the man off as David ... oh Jesus, oh God ... you will have to tell him. Please let me come with you, please. He is a ... sensitive man. This will do him terrible damage." The ride in the police car to David's house. You must give him the facts, Helen was telling them. He will not tolerate speculation, evasion or vagueness. Only facts, all the facts. Pulling up outside his house. David answering the door with his shy smile. The police giving him the facts. All the facts. His face turning bewildered, then blank. David saying, very calmly: "Gianluca. Gianluca Biasi. The man in the car. A postgraduate student of hers. I had suspected for some time that she was having an affair with him. Now I know. Thank you. Will you excuse me for a moment?" David going into the kitchen. A moment's silence, then the sound of a glass breaking. Helen and the police officers running into the kitchen. Helen hearing her own screams as if from a distance. Blood, blood everywhere, so much blood. David holding a shard of glass in his hand, his face expressionless. A sickening gash in his left wrist. The police officers' first aid skills. Her own screams, still. The ambulance, the Accident and Emergency department. The duty psychiatrist. The referral to the private psychiatric clinic. Dr Sandhu, polite and patient. ******** "You see, Miss Wheeler, your brother is in a suspended state emotionally, but it is not a stable one. He vibrates inwardly, silently, between rage and grief, each straining against the other. It is vital that I find a way in; a channel of communication, a way of unlocking the tension. I have been trying to think laterally; outside the box, if you will forgive the trite expression. An idea has started to form, but it is unorthodox, and you may be offended by it." "To be honest, Doctor, I don't know what could be worse than this waiting," said Helen. "I am thinking that David, at present, is surrounded on all sides by the terrible events of last month: the simultaneous discovery of his late wife's infidelity and death; his own self-harm. He cannot see past them. I am wondering whether another powerful, unexpected experience - this time a positive one - might help." Nothing offensive so far, thought Helen. The doctor continued. "And the other thing is this. One aspect we have not really looked at so far is the sexual dimension of this case. You may not readily think of your younger brother as a sexual being, but he is. Marriage is to a great degree sexual, and the infidelity was clearly sexual. Part of his loss is a loss of the sexual part of his life; and it has also been violated by his late wife's affair. Miss Wheeler, would I be right in thinking that your brother was not confident in relating to women, and did not have many relationships before he met his late wife?" "Yes, that's exactly right, Doctor. He was a classic withdrawn, socially unskilled academic. He didn't have girlfriends when he was growing up. I remember a couple of names from when he was at college, but never met them. I don't know, but I wouldn't be surprised if he had still been a virgin until he met Marie-Claude, which was when he was 25." Helen recalled the family Christmas dinner when David, shy, unworldly David, had, amazingly, introduced them all to his new (first?) girlfriend. Marie-Claude from Switzerland: a charismatic, blonde, staggeringly beautiful fellow doctoral student. The match was so ridiculously unlikely that it had to work. And for a long time, it did. Their careers flourished as opposite types of the brilliant, high-flying academic: he the ivory-tower recluse, she the cosmopolitan media darling. "I thought so," said Dr Sandhu. "So your brother's sexual self, his sexual identity, was overwhelmingly invested in this one exceptional woman." "Yes, exactly, Doctor. And - how can I put this - she was just very sexy. Beautiful, of course - you've seen photos, I think - but there was something deeply sexual about her. I don't mean slutty or blatant, just ... as soon as she was in a room, people looked at her with desire. It was like she had her own spotlight following her around. She aroused something in pretty much anyone who met her." "What did she arouse in you, Miss Wheeler?" Helen sighed. "I'm not sure. I liked her, enjoyed her company. I envied her: her beauty, her sex appeal, her charisma, her intellect. I thought about her a lot - that's another thing she did, she dominated your thoughts. I was delighted at how she made David happy, and terrified of what might happen if it all went wrong. I don't think I desired her sexually, at least in any way that I understood. I'm straight, Doctor, as far as I know." "Of course, of course. Thank you, Miss Wheeler, this is all very useful to know. So ... yes ... now ... ah ... please forgive what may seem to be prurient detail, but I think it is important. As you know, we have had your brother under discreet 24 hour observation since his admission here, initially every 15 minutes, then more recently every hour. It has become evident that ... ah ... David masturbates fairly frequently. Oh don't worry, nothing untoward has happened - we are just good at detecting these things." Helen was too exhausted to be embarrassed by these intimate revalations about her brother. "It's all right, Doctor, please go on." "Now I regard this as a very positive sign. It means that David's libido is as healthy as his appetite for food or his need for sleep. And it is a form of release, which is exactly what he needs so much. And I think it may give us a way in. A channel which we need to explore and widen, if you will forgive a possibly indelicate turn of phrase, in this context." Helen let it pass. "My idea is this. I genuinely believe that your brother would benefit, psychologically, from a ... ah ... sexual encounter. With a complete stranger who bears no physical resemblance to his late wife. A powerful, unexpected experience - and sexual. Not with any great emotional content. It could even be facilitated by ... ah ... a business transaction. But I am not prepared to let him leave the clinic, which makes things more difficult than one would like." Now Helen was amazed and, to her additional surprise, slightly excited. "Doctor, are you saying you ... you want to bring a ... what ... an escort, a prostitute ... into the clinic to see David?" "You know, it is not as unusual as you might think, Miss Wheeler. There are more enlightened countries in Europe where hospitals and clinics quite routinely make arrangements for the sexual needs of long-term patients to be catered for. They regard it as inconsistent to serve the needs for food, drink and sleep while ignoring that other great driving force in life. Unfortunately, it would illegal here in Britain. I could not possibly suggest or condone it, openly. On the other hand, if somebody were to venture something of this nature ... I would see no reason to stand in the way. I think you understand my meaning." ******** In the days that followed that extraordinary conversation with Dr Sandhu, Helen entered a new world. She began looking for someone who could carry out Dr Sandhu's incredible plan. Internet searches for escorts in London brought back hundreds of thousands of hits, most lurid, some shocking. Helen set herself a couple of parameters: the person would have to be British - her liberal feminist conscience was being challenged enough without bringing in the spectre of sex trafficking. And she would want to meet her first, for a sort of interview, although she had no clear idea of what she might ask, or what she would make of the answers. After an initial, rather haphazard sift she had a collection of phone numbers belonging to escort agencies and "massage" providers. When she called them, once she made it clear that she was not looking for work, and explained her unusual request, she usually got a polite hearing, and an equally polite refusal. She despaired at the extent to which the world of paid-for sex in London was dominated - nearly monopolised - by East European women. She learned the difference between "independent escorts" and "parlours" or "flats". Between "incalls", where the customer visited the flat, and "outcalls", when the escort travelled to the customer. And she started to wonder if all this was really the right thing. You're unbalanced by shock and exhaustion, Helen, she started to tell herself. This is mad. You should be seeking counselling yourself, not spending your evenings phoning fucking brothels. And then she thought that her brother had not spoken or smiled for a month. And she did one more search. She found a website that seemed to carry small ads for providers who did not have their own sites. And a misused apostrophe caught her eye: "English Rose's. 100% British Girls." She called the number, nobody picked up. It was late evening, and she already knew that some places closed surprisingly early. So the next day, in her lunch break, she tried again. The woman who answered the phone had a strong London accent and her voice was harsh and nicotine-stained. Helen told her story, the words coming mechanically now. The woman paused. "Well, strictly speaking this is a working flat, love. We don't normally do outcalls, even normal ones. But there's a girl here who's done a couple, might be interested. She's seeing a customer at the moment. Do you want to call back in 20 minutes?" She hung up. Helen felt a stark realisation that the woman whom she might buy for her brother was, at this very moment, having sex for money. And knew she would be finished in 20 minutes. This was real. Again her resolve wavered. And again she thought of David's soft voice and shy smile, unheard and unseen by anyone for a month. She let 25 minutes pass, and called again. The same woman replied. "Oh yeah, I remember. Just a sec. Angie love, it's that woman I was just telling you about." Helen heard the sound of the phone being placed down, then picked up again. A new voice was on the line: younger, softer and more modulated than the first one. Still London, though less blatantly so, with a faint background note of Caribbean. "Hi, my name's Angie. Rosie told me what you said. Now, I'm not saying no, not yet at least, but I want to meet you in person before I decide." "Er ... yes ... yes of course ... I would want that too ... I ... I work in central London ... er ... where would be good for you ....?" Helen stammered. "OK, good. Do you know ----- Road?" She named a busy main street in West London that Helen knew well, having gone out for a while with a guy who used to work near there. "Yes ... yes, I can get there." "OK." Angie named a pub that Helen knew. "Meet me there at 5 o'clock. I won't have all that much time cos of when my childminder finishes. Look for a black girl in a yellow shirt." She hung up. ***** So it was that Helen found herself entering the pub, as agreed, just before five that same day. It was starting to fill up with the after-work crowd from the nearby offices. Suits, smartphones and loud, confident voices. The perfect place not to be noticed or overheard, in fact. Helen looked around. At a corner table sat a slim woman of Afro-Caribbean appearance, aged probably in her mid-20s, wearing a lemon-yellow, sleeveless cotton shirt. A glass of what looked like orange juice was on the table in front of her. Helen decided she needed something stronger and bought a gin and tonic at the bar. Her heart racing, she approached the woman. "Angie? I'm Helen." "Hi Helen. So you went through with it. Nice to meet you." Angie half rose, and held out a hand to greet Helen. Helen noticed how lean and toned the other woman's arms were, and her long, slim fingers. "Well," said Angie as they both sat down. "You don't look like a maniac, which is a good start." Helen tried not to show how closely she was scrutinising Angie. Angie was really very, very beautiful. Helen cringed inwardly as she found herself thinking of an Afro-Caribbean woman's skin as "coffee-coloured", but she could not come up with a better term. Her hair was pulled back from her high forehead into a short, stiff ponytail, accentuating her huge, darkly glittering eyes with their long, curling lashes. Her lips were full and sensual, parting readily in a wide smile. Her gaze was steady, and Helen had a strong sense of a fierce intelligence behind it. Her poise and movements were elegant and precise. To Helen's surprise, she was reminded of Marie-Claude. "Rosie told me what you're looking for. Now at the moment I'm not ruling anything out. But ... this brother of yours, he's in like a mental hospital, right? I mean, first thing I think is, is it safe?" "Well, it's more a private clinic, really. He has his own room. You wouldn't have contact with any other patients. And David ... God knows he's anything but dangerous ... I'm sorry ..." Tears started in Helen's eyes. Angie placed a slim hand on her arm. "Hey, hey, it's OK. I trust you. Actually I do. This is such a mad thing you're doing that I sort of feel it must be OK. But I still don't quite understand where the idea came from." So Helen told her the whole story. David, Marie-Claude, their marriage, the conference in Lausanne, the car crash, death, infidelity, David's self-harm, his present condition, Dr Sandhu's crazy idea. When she had finished, Angie looked steadily at her with those big, searching eyes, in silence, for a long, long time. Finally, she spoke. "I'll do it. We'll need to work out some of the details, but I'll do it. There are some basic rules. No compromises on these, right? You are responsible for getting me in and out safely. I want you in there with me when I see him, in case anything happens. If anything goes wrong, if we get caught, anything, then I'm gone and it's all on you and this doctor person. As for what I do and don't do: I never do 'A', watersports or hardsports. If you don't already know what they are, you don't need to. I never have sex without a condom. With a condom is fine. I may do 'O' - I mean oral - without a condom, to completion in the mouth, at my discretion. I am OK with uniforms, role play and light to medium spanking. I can give that or receive it. I won't be tied up, or rather I only do that with regular customers I know well. Solo shows are fine, including toy shows. I do hand relief, obviously. Breast relief, too, although I'm not very big up top so they tend not to ask for that. But to be honest, if this is all in a hospital room and we're trying not to be noticed, we'll be a bit limited anyway. I'll work out a price and let you know. Payment in cash, in full, on the day but in advance of me seeing him. OK?" Helen gave a half-sob, half-laugh of relief, even though she was now committed to the biggest, craziest risk of her life. "Thank you. Angie ... thank you". The atmosphere between them seemed to relax a little. Angie sipped at her drink. "So, am I what you expected when you started looking for an escort?" she said. "I didn't really know what to expect. You seem ... nice. Honest, open. I like that. I think you understand this insane situation, the doctor's and my even more insane idea. You seem kind." "The Tart With A Heart, eh?" Angie smiled. "Well, nobody sets out to be a prozzie, right?" "I suppose not." "I assure you, darling, nobody does. It's no young girl's dream. But stuff happens, yeah? I was a chef, you know." "A chef?" "Yep. I went to catering college. I was good. Still am, to be honest. I was just starting out when I had my little girl. Ellie. Her Dad fucked off - pardon my language - a month before she was born. I've never seen him since. Bastard. White English guy, by the way, in case you're thinking this is yet another Jamaican babyfather story." "No, not at all ..." "No, of course, you wouldn't jump to that conclusion. Cos you're nice, middle class, socially aware, right-on, 'Guardian' reading, anti-sexist, anti-racist, all of that, right? Except you've just booked your brother a session with a black hooker who's a a single mum." Helen looked down at the table in embarrassment and shame. Angie touched her arm again, smiling. "Hey, it's OK, just winding you up. You're all right. Weird, but all right. Anyway, where was I ..." Healing David "Your little girl." "Oh yeah, so then it was just me and her. So I could still make a bit of money from the cooking, but there wasn't a steady job with hours that suited the childcare. I still give cookery classes at a posh bistro near here. Saturday mornings. 'Caribbean Flavours', I call it. Very popular with bored, prosperous white ladies in search of something exotic. A bit like the guys who come to see me at Rosie's, only with food instead of sex. I never let them know that I was born in London, and haven't been to Jamaica since I was eleven." She smiled broadly. "But Ellie and I can't live just off that," she continued. "So I needed another way of making money. And what else did I have going for me? My looks and my body, right?" "Right." "So," continued Angie, "I'm a decent dancer, and I found some work stripping in a couple of the small strip bars round the City. Not the big, famous, table dance places you'll have heard of. The small bars. Less pressurised. And that was OK. And then one of the girls I got to know did a bit of escorting. She introduced me to Rosie. Rosie's OK - she seems pretty rough and scary, but she's OK. So I started at the flat, just as a maid first of all." "Maid?" Helen had visions of some kind of period role-play, with Angie in a servant's uniform. "It means receptionist. It's easy work but the money's not great. You answer the phone, do the bookings, look after the cash, generally keep an eye on the place. And of course you're there for the working girl if there's any trouble. Which there usually isn't, to be honest. Well, anyway, a couple of the girls had regular customers who liked a Maid Watching service." Helen just looked blank. She sensed that Angie was enjoying taking her on a tour of London's secret side. "Maid Watching. The guy pays extra for the maid to sit in the room and watch while the girl sees him. It's surprisingly popular." Helen wondered at the euphemistic use of "sees". Why not "has sex with", or "fucks", given the general tone of the conversation? "So I did that when I could," continued Angie. "And then there are guys who pay more again if the maid sits there topless. And even more for the maid to give hand relief as part of the service, if it fits with what the girl is doing. Finishing over the girl's bum, for instance. And then one day the regular girl didn't turn up, and the customers did. I called Rosie. She asked if I'd like to work that day - to see customers - if she came round and acted as maid. I've been doing two or three day shifts a week for about a year now. What with that, the cookery classes and a bit of stripping, it's enough to look after Ellie. So, Helen - how do you feed yourself and your kids?" Helen sighed. "I don't have kids. I'm a civil servant. HR Manager. I don't know what to say. You must despise me." "Not at all, darling. And you know why? Cos I can tell you don't despise me. That's good. That means something. We're not that different, really. I'll do anything to look after Ellie. You'll do anything to look after your brother. You're in a really bad place, I can see that. I know all about bad places, Helen." Angie looked at her watch. "Look, I'd better go. Let's not exchange mobile numbers. You sort out the practical details with your doctor friend. Call the flat when you want to contact me. Rosie will help." She stood to go and held out her hand. "It's been nice meeting you, Helen. I mean it. I hope it all works out for you and your brother." They shook hands. Helen looked at Angie as she left the bar, as did everyone else there. Her own spotlight seemed to follow her. The affection that Helen felt for Angie was tempered by flashes of petty envy: at Angie's ability to walk so elegantly in very high heels, which always made Helen look and feel precarious. At her slim legs, which were subtly flattered by her close-fitting white Capri pants. At her high, round, firm-looking buttocks, which the trousers flattered less subtly. Helen watched Angie's perfect bottom shimmy out of view, finished her gin and tonic, and ordered another one. ****** It was a sunny afternoon when the taxi carrying Angie and Helen drew up outside the clinic. Helen was elated and terrified, high on adrenaline. Her hitherto unremarkable life had somehow turned into a suburban London remake of "One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest". I am smuggling a prostitute into a psychiatric clinic, she told herself. How the fuck did I get here? Some rather oblique conversations with Dr Sandhu, and some more direct phone calls with Angie, brokered by Rosie, had finalised the practicalities. The main problem had been about the timing. The clinic staff observed David at deliberately slightly irregular intervals, on average once every hour. The best chance was for them to get in while Dr Sandhu had all the staff accompanying her on her weekly round. If they were all with a patient at the other end of the building, the coast would be clear, hopefully for long enough. As for what they would actually do in the room - Angie said she had some ideas. She said that it was all about choosing exactly what, and what not, to wear. When she got into the taxi she had on a short, dark blue, flounced skirt and a light denim jacket, despite the warmth, over what looked like a white singlet or sun top. She was bare-legged and wore high heeled sandals. Her make-up was minimal and discreet. Helen realised that Angie was not in fact nearly as tall as she had thought, not much taller than Helen, in fact - initial impressions of a catwalk model's stature had been deceptive, but Angie's long legs, high heels and effortlessly elegant carriage gave an impression of height. In any case, she looked gorgeous, without being blatantly sexy. She carried a small handbag. Money changed hands in the taxi. They approached the clinic's reception desk, where Helen was well known. "Hello Miss Wheeler - here to visit your brother, I presume? And this is ...?" "Angela Headley," said Angie, with a charming smile. "A friend of David's, here to see him." Helen remembered what "see" could mean in Angie's world. "You may go straight to his room, ladies," said the receptionist. Helen led the way up the stairs and to the end of a long corridor. They stopped outside the door of David's room. "Angie," whispered Helen, "do you really need me in there? Shouldn't I keep watch out here?" "No. You standing out here might attract attention. Hang on, let me check something ..." Angie snatched a quick glance through the small glass observation panel that was let into the door. "OK - if I try to stay on the left side of the room and keep him there - that's not the first thing you see when you look in. And that's where the bed is. You stay a bit more in the middle, maybe in that armchair so you can watch this glass window thing. We can't cover that with something, can we?" "No. Very strict rule. If anyone notices anything covering the glass they'll come straight into the room. It's a bigger risk than leaving it uncovered." "OK. He looks nice, by the way." "What?" "I can see him sitting in the armchair. He looks nice. I like tall, slim men. And he has a sweet face." Helen peered through the glass into the plain, simply furnished room. David was sitting in the armchair in that familiar collapsed-marionette position of his, with his long, thin arms and legs folded awkwardly. He was reading a book. His face was devoid of expression. He was young-looking, with rather soft, bland features. An unlikely front for one of the world's finest analytical minds. Or what was left of it. "OK," whispered Angie, "we gonna do this?" Helen nodded. "Watch and learn, Helen. This is gonna be a world first. I bet you don't think it's possible for a girl to do a full strip without taking any of her clothes off except her jacket, to music that nobody can hear." Before Helen could reply, Angie had knocked softly at the door and walked straight into the room. Helen rushed after her. "Hello David," said Helen gently. "This is Angie. I've brought her to see you. I think it will be a nice treat for you." Somehow she could not help speaking to the most intelligent man she had ever met as if he were a child. "Hello David," said Angie. She took her denim jacket off and hung it over the back of a wooden chair that stood in front of a small table under the window. Immediately it was clear to Helen why Angie had worn the jacket. She was wearing a tight, white sun top with spaghetti straps, and it was very obvious indeed that she was not wearing a bra. Although her breasts were on the small side, and firm, they were still large enough to jiggle with her every movement, and would have attracted a lot of attention on the journey and at reception. The single bed was on the side of the room opposite the window. At its foot there were a few square feet of floor space in front of a basin. That corner of the room was not easily visible through the glass panel in the door. "David, darling, do you want to sit at the end of the bed for me?" Angie was friendly but businesslike. On duty. Without a word, David got up, put his book on the table and sat on the end of the bed. She placed her bag on the floor and took from it two iPod Shuffle MP3 players. "Helen, love, you sit in the armchair." Helen obeyed, fascinated. Angie clipped one of the iPods to the hem of her own top, and reached over to clip the other to the loose t-shirt that David was wearing over sweatpants. She put her own earpieces in her ears. David did likewise. Angie leaned over to him: "Three ... two ... one ... go!" She pressed the Play buttons of both iPods simultaneously, and the silent, clothed striptease began. Helen had only ever seen strippers in the background of cop and gangster films, and had no idea what really to expect. Angie gyrated, stooped and stretched, guided by the inaudible music. She never took her eyes off David. Her movements were smooth, full of grace, effortless. A decent dancer, all right. She hooked her thumbs under the straps of her top, feinted pulling them down a couple of times, then did it for real, slipping the top down to her waist, to expose her small, plump, conical breasts. Her nipples were jet black, the areolae very wide. Her torso was lean but not skinny, her musculature delicate. There was a sheen on her skin. Helen could not believe that this woman, with her taut, lithe body and firm, prominent tits, could have borne and fed a child. Angie licked her fingers, played with her nipples. She squeezed her breasts close to David's face. He followed her with his eyes but his expression did not change. Helen, on the other hand, to her own amazement, began to find herself becoming aroused. Now Angie turned so her back was to David, pushed her bottom out, looked over her shoulder and lifted her skirt at the back. She was wearing nothing under it; her magnificent brown buttocks were fully exposed, and the cleft of her pussy was just visible below them. Helen saw a bulge start to form in David's sweatpants. She shifted in her chair, squeezed her thighs together. Angie bent down low, steadying herself by holding on to the basin. She pulled her skirt right up, pushed her arse out provocatively, pornographically. Gave herself a light, sharp spank on one bum cheek, flashing her eyes at David as she looked over her shoulder at him. Helen realised that Angie was only wearing two items of clothing - the top and the skirt - and that both were now bunched round her waist, leaving her exposed above and below. The clothed striptease. Genius. Angie moved her feet further apart so that her cunt was clearly visible, from behind, to David's gaze. She reached underneath herself and probed at her own slit with her slim fingers. Then another spank, harder this time. David was by now very obviously erect, although his face remained impassive. Helen was transfixed. Maid Watching, Angie had called it. Some guys pay extra. Angie turned to face David and dropped into a deep squat, body upright, feet and knees wide apart. She held the front hem of her skirt up. Her tits and hairless pussy were fully exposed. Naked with all her clothes on. She tilted her pelvis up, reached down to finger herself again, probed deeper, pulled her cunt lips apart with her fingers. A flash of pink against her brown skin. She pushed a finger inside. Pulled it out, rubbed the fingertip on both nipples, licked it. She stood up, approached David with a stylised, hip-swaying catwalk gait, pushed her tits in his face again. She lifted one foot onto the bed next to him, skirt lifted, so her naked crotch was just below his face. She gyrated her hips, fingered herself again, licked her fingers, leaned forward and kissed David playfully on the forehead. Then unclipped both the iPods and placed them on the bed. Helen squeezed her thighs together, relished for a moment her own moist warmth. Now Angie began to talk to David. A stream of pornographic patter, in a soft, fervent voice. Helen guessed it was all part of the act, and the words themselves in any other context would have seemed hackneyed and embarrassing, but Angie was so convincing that Helen could not help but be swept along. "Mm, I can see you're getting all horny for me, aren't you, darling? What we gonna do about that, eh?" Angie gently pushed David in the chest; he did not resist, and fell back onto the bed. His erection formed a tent in his sweatpants. "Let's get these off you, eh darling?" David did not resist as Angie pulled the jogging pants and his boxer shorts down past his knees. Helen looked at her younger brother's erect penis, which jutted from his thin body. Not that she had all that much to compare it with, but it seemed to her to be quite large, noticeably thick and with a nice straight shaft, which for some reason she particularly appreciated. For a moment she wondered if she was losing her mind. And she did not care. Angie carried on. "Ooh, you've got a nice one, babe, we're gonna have fun with that, aren't we?" Kneeling upright on the bed, she placed a slim hand on David's balls. "I bet you're all full of cum for me, sweetheart, eh? We're gonna make you shoot a big load, yeah? But we're gonna have some fun first." She took his hand and placed it under her skirt. "You feel that, babe? That's my wet little black pussy, that is. You feel how hot and wet she is? Feel how much she wants your cock, darling?" Angie reached into her handbag and took out a condom in its wrapper. "Let's get this on you, babe." Carefully she rolled it down the length of David's shaft. She pulled her skirt up high, straddled him, held his cock in position and lowered herself down onto it with a satisfied sigh. "Oh yes, babe, ooh that feels nice inside me." She began to rock gently on him, holding the skirt bunched up so her lower body stayed exposed. David reached up and cupped her breasts in his hands. "Mm, yes baby, you like my titties, yeah? You like my little black titties? You like how they jiggle when I fuck you?" When Helen looked back on this day in later life, she could never explain to herself what happened next. What she did next. Keeping half an eye on the glass in the door, she unbuttoned her light cotton blouse. Angie looked across at her and winked. Helen slipped the straps of her bra down off her shoulders as far as they would go. She pulled down both the cups of her bra, and eased her large, heavy breasts out so they were completely exposed. There are guys who pay more again if the maid sits there topless. Angie smiled. "Look, baby, look," sad Angie to David as she rode him. "You're such a lucky boy today. Your lovely sister's got her tits out for you to look at." David looked at Helen as he carried on touching Angie's breasts. "She's so kind to you, baby. She found a horny little black whore for you to fuck, and now she's showing you her lovely tits. It's your lucky day, baby. Angie's little black tits and Helen's big white ones, eh? I bet it was nice having such a sexy big sister. I bet you used to spy on her, try and get a good look at her big titties, didn't you, baby? Well they'e here for you now. You can look at them while you fuck my hot little cunt." David was now gazing expressionlessly at Helen's breasts. He moved his hands from Angie's tits and held her buttocks as she rocked and ground on him. "Mmm, you like my big brown bum, sweetheart? My big round booty? You like black girls' arses, yeah? The way we wiggle them so sexy? I'm a naughty girl, darling, you can give me a little spank if you like." It was David's first active response. He gave Angie a sharp little slap on one buttock. "Ooh yes, yes. I'm such a bad girl, baby. I'm such a filthy little fucking slut, you wouldn't believe. I need spanking, baby." David continued to spank her in a slow, deliberate rhythm. Angie moaned theatrically, although quietly, not quite as lost in the moment as she was making out. Helen pushed her naked chest out. She desperately wanted to touch herself. Angie said, "You know what, babe, I've got a special treat for you, yeah? I think you'd like to come in my mouth, wouldn't you, babe? You'd like my big black lips round your cock till you to fill my mouth up with a big load of spunk?" Still no reply from David. Angie dismounted, easing his prick out of her. She peeled the condom off him, pulled a tissue from her bag and wrapped the condom in it. She kneeled next to him and guided the tip of his cock towards her lips. Oral without a condom, to completion in the mouth, at her discretion. Angie began to suck, softly. And what Helen did next ... well, nobody could have expected that. She got out of the armchair and walked to the bed. From a position where she could still see the door, she bent rather awkwardly so as to lower her naked breasts towards her brother's face. His mouth and her nipple found each other, and he began to suck, as well. The room was silent. Helen had a clear view of David's cock sliding in and out of Angie's mouth. Angie looked at Helen. Her beautiful eyes seemed to smile. David sucked on Helen's large pink nipple in the same rhythm as Angie was sucking his cock, so that for an insane moment it seemed to Helen that Angie was somehow sucking on her breast all the way through David's body. Now Helen could not stop herself. With none of Angie's grace, she shifted so as to prop herself on the bed with one hand, keep her tit in David's mouth, and with her free hand ruck up her own skirt and push her hand down inside her knickers. She was sopping wet. She frigged her clitoris, hard and fast. She needed this too much to be subtle or gentle now. Angie's eyes were smiling even more. Helen felt herself tipping towards climax, breathed heavily, reminded herself not to yell out as she so often did. It hit her; her body tensed and twitched; her own juice flowed over her fingers. Her first orgasm since the car accident. David must have felt her climax through her body and it sent him over the edge too. He gave one last suck, then opened his mouth and breathed "Yes, yes, oh fuck yes." His body shuddered and Helen saw his cock throb in Angie's mouth, where her full lips were sealed around his glans. "Oh yes, yes ..." he gasped again hoarsely. David's first words in a month were orgasmic gasps, with his sister's nipple dangling in his mouth while he ejaculated into the mouth of a prostitute. He needs to talk, Dr Sandhu had said. She had thought outside the box. It had worked. Angie withdrew her mouth from David's still-swollen cock very carefully, keeping her lips sealed. She rolled her eyes comically and made great play of ostentatiously swallowing, then opened her mouth wide. "All gone, see? The best way of not leaving any trace." She took a small bottle of mouthwash from her bag, rinsed, gargled and spat in the basin. "Guys, I've got tissues and wet wipes if you want them." She pulled her top back up to cover her breasts, straightened her skirt, took a wet wipe, cleaned David's cock. She offered the packet to Helen. "For your fingers, babe." Helen, light-headed, cleaned her fingers, pulled her bra back up, buttoned her blouse. David pulled his trousers up, sat up, looked at Helen. Healing David He smiled. In a hoarse voice, he said, "Thank you. Thank you Helen. And you, Angie, thank you." He smiled again. Angie gathered up the wipes, tissue and condom and put them into a small plastic bag, then packed that and the iPods into her handbag. There were voices in the corridor. Angie looked at Helen. "Better go, babe?" Helen hugged David, long and hard. He stood up, towered over her. They carried on hugging. "I love you," mumbled Helen. "Thank you," David said again. Helen slowly disengaged herself. Angie went up to David, stood on tiptoe, kissed him on the cheek. "Nice meeting you, David. I hope that was nice for you. I hope you feel better soon. And when you're out, if you ever need to relax ... well, Helen knows how to find me." One last dazzling smile from her. A shy smile from him. The two women left the room. In the corridor, Dr Sandhu was approaching, accompanied by her nursing staff. "Ah, hello Miss Wheeler. And I assume this is a friend of David's?" "Angela Headley," said Angie. "Pleased to meet you." "How is your brother today?" "Well, Doctor, I must say he seems a little better. He smiled, and said a few words. I think he was very pleased to see Angela." "Excellent. Very encouraging. I will see him now. Goodbye, Miss Wheeler, Ms Headley." In the taxi on the way home, Angie asked the driver to drop her at the retail park. "Gonna spend some of this," she said to Helen, as she transferred the banknotes Helen had given her from an envelope to her purse. "Ellie needs some summer clothes. She's growing so fast. Here, this is a picture of her." She showed Helen a snap of a pretty, smiling little girl, skin a shade lighter than Angie's, hair in frizzy bunches. "She's lovely," said Helen. "Really lovely." Everything seemed like a dream to her now. "Well," said Angie. "Not a bad day. Your brother got what he needed. Ellie will get something she needs. There's a bit left over for me. And you did a good thing. And I think you enjoyed it. Ah, here we are. This is where I get out." She gave Helen a peck on the cheek. "Take care darling. I hope it all works out. And if you need a bit of extra cash I can always put in a word with Rosie. Maybe just as a maid?" The car pulled up. Angie got out and gave Helen one last wave. Helen watched her walk away, her skirt swaying around her perfect bottom, which Helen knew was naked under there.