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Amanda Zimmerman was our first maid. She was the first girl Mrs. B hired for the explicit reason of giving me somebody to woo. We got off to a slow start … so slow that Mrs. B bribed her with a part in the stage play “Shrew” to seduce me.
Shrew turned out to be a resounding success even if Amanda only had a minor part. Lily Langford had a death grip on the role of Katherine, the leading lady and star of the show. A remarkably healthy woman, who hadn’t missed a performance in eighteen months, Lily was said to be type cast for the role of the pampered man hating bitch who lived to make other people’s lives miserable. If you could believe the tabloids, she remained in character both on and off stage.
Amanda was Lily’s understudy. She knew all the lines and had to be ready to step in for Lily at a moment’s notice. Yet, after a year and a half on the London stage, Amanda had yet to step off the chorus line and into the spotlight.
The only reason Mrs. B let me pursue my request was that it put several of my newly acquired skills to the test. Using a different disguise every day, I followed Lily for a week, getting a feel for her patterns … where and what she ate … what she did on show days and off days … when she slept … and with whom.
I picked the lock on her apartment door when she was on stage one Saturday night to discover a completely white motif. White couch, chairs, carpet, bedspread and cat. The hidden cameras I left behind later established that she was a vegetarian, a true blonde, and infatuated with an eight-inch battery powered sex toy which lived in the nightstand next to her bed.
Just like the character she played on stage; Lily was not into domestic chores. A daily maid service took care of the mundane household tasks of cleaning, bed making and laundry. Her meals were delivered to the theatre on show days, and on her two days off, she frequented the Pampered Princess … the lone vegetarian restaurant she found suitable for her rather particular taste buds.
Neither Mrs. B nor I found the Pampered Princess’ menu appealing, but we ate there anyway. It was all part of my plan.
“Blimey, I could get a good steak for the price of these sauteed brussel sprouts,” Mrs. B said, “and I wouldn’t have to pretend to enjoy the steak.”
We weren’t there for the food. This was to be my first of many interdictions … a fancy term for eliminating a person who stood in our way. It was a Thursday night. We arrived a half hour before Lily Langford normally arrived and spent the time sampling their questionable menu while we made our final plans.
“That’s Jennifer,” I said, pointing to a dark-haired waitress who did an excellent job of filling out her blouse. “Lily always sits at the corner table and Jennifer is usually her server.”
“Does she eat alone?”
“Rarely. She’s often joined by two or three others. Theatre people, I think. They spend most of their time complaining about the producer and making fun of the people they work with.”
“You know this because …?” Mrs. B asked.
“Standard audio bug stuck to the bottom of her table. I know they’re expensive, as are the cameras in her apartment. I promise to retrieve them when this is all over.”
“Only if you can do it without getting caught. We want to make this look like she succumbed to natural causes. Finding a bug or camera in the target’s apartment might raise suspicions with the local authorities but catching you in her apartment with a video camera in your hands will place the blame directly on your head.”
After a plate of some disgusting fake meat, I decided to satisfy my hunger with grains and hops while Mrs. B chose fermented grapes for her nightly intake of calories. I was two pints into dinner when Lily Langford made her entrance.
The maître de immediately escorted Lily and her three friends to their table, showing a deference no other customer received. Her companions, two women and a man who walked and talked like a switch hitter, patiently stood while Lily signed an autograph for the couple at the next table and then took their seats … but only after the restaurant manager personally seated Lily.
It took a full sixty seconds before the bitching began.
“Where the hell is that waitress?” Lily asked loud enough so that half the restaurant heard. “If I don’t get something to drink in the next two minutes, my tonsils will shrivel up and I won’t be able to perform tomorrow night.”
“It is damn near impossible to get good wait staff,” one of her companions said.
“The girl obviously doesn’t know who you are,” another Lily groupie chimed in.
Jennifer, who’s only sin was delivering another table’s meal before fawning over Lily Langford and her entourage, rushed over as soon as she heard the ruckus. Lily took several minutes to explain to the hapless waitress how her job depended on keeping “the important customers” happy. Once properly shamed, Jennifer took their drink orders and left as quickly as she could for the bar.
This Ankara Ucuz Rus Escort was the tricky part. Mrs. B rose from our table carrying her glass of Merlot and took a position at the bar. I waited until the busty waitress passed and then followed a short distance behind her. There was a partial wall between the bar and dining area and, if you weren’t careful, you might not see a person coming around it … especially if that person was in a hurry to get to the bar so she could get an obnoxious customer her drink.
Jennifer rounded the corner at almost a dead run and started to shout out her order to the bartender when she came face to face with an attractive woman carrying a glass of Merlot. Jennifer might have been able to stop before running into the woman if not for the tall young man who picked that instant to also round the corner and accidently slam into Jennifer’s back, pushing her into the lady carrying the wine, which ended up on what used to be Jennifer’s spotless white blouse. And if that didn’t completely ruin Jennifer’s day, the young man who rear ended her instinctively reached out to help and accidently got a hand full of blouse.
Now normally a slight tug on a high-quality item of clothing won’t do any structural damage. But in this case, the blouse was already stretched to its limits by Jennifer’s more than ample chest and the extra strain of the young man’s strong hands separated eight of the nine buttons from the shirt which previously kept Jennifer’s boobs hidden from sight.
I felt like a prime-time asshole when Jennifer looked down at her wine stained, dysfunctional blouse and broke into tears.
“Oh my dear, I am so sorry,” Mrs. B said. “But there’s no need for tears. It’s only a blouse. I’ll be glad to purchase you a new one.”
“No, it’s my fault,” Jennifer said between sobs. “I was in too much of a hurry and now I’m going to lose my job.”
“For getting wine spilled on your blouse? I certainly hope not. If anybody should pay, it’s my young friend behind you.”
“She’s right,” I said. “I was distracted and wasn’t looking. I should be the one who pays.”
“It’s not about the blouse,” Jennifer sobbed. “I’ve got another one in the back. But I don’t have time to change my blouse and get Miss Langford her wine. She’ll eviscerate me if I make her wait any longer.”
“Listen, let’s agree it’s nobody’s fault,” I said. “Give the barkeep your order, tell him to put a rush on it and while you change blouses, I’ll take the loud-mouthed woman her wine.”
“Are you sure? Miss Langford can be a real bitch at times.”
“Don’t worry,” Mrs. B said. “My associate is extremely adept at handling both wine and women.”
I gave Jennifer my coat to cover herself, she gave the barkeep her order, told me which wine was destined for Lily’s lips and ran off to change.
Two minutes later, I placed a slightly altered glass of Pinot Grigio in front of Lily, gave her friends their drinks and start to withdraw when Lily stops me by saying …
“What have you done to my wine?”
“Nothing,” I answered. “It’s straight from the bottle to the glass to your table.”
“Well, it tastes different. Slightly sweeter than usual. Are you sure this is Collio?”
“Yes ma’am. From the hillside vineyards of northeast Italy. This is a ninety-three vintage. You’re probably used to the ninety or ninety-one. They had a wetter than normal spring in ninety-three which might account for the added sweetness. It’s preferred by our more discerning customers, but I’d be glad to take it back if you’re not satisfied.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t like it. I was just commenting on the difference. Here, give it a try Mable. Tell me what you think.”
Lily passed her glass of poisoned wine to a table mate who took a sip, made an inane comment and then passed it to the next person. Once the entire table had a taste, Lily pronounced it acceptable, and I was dismissed.
“They all drank the wine?” Mrs. B asked as we walked to the tube station.
“Lily drank most of it, but the others had a sip or two.”
“How many drops of the poison did you use?”
“Doctor Bob recommended three to six per glass. I used seven, just in case.”
“Next time stick to the lower end of his recommendation. He always overdoses and, despite what he says, too much of the stuff can change the taste.”
“Should I have stopped them? I mean the other three didn’t do anything wrong.”
“No, my young prince. In our line of work, we must think of the greater good. There will always be an element of collateral damage. No matter how hard we try, we can’t always protect the people who willingly socialize with our targets. Call it guilt by association or just plain bad luck. They put themselves in the line of fire. The mission always takes priority. You either pull the trigger or find another profession.”
“Yes ma’am. I understand.”
The following night, I escorted Yenimahalle Rus Escort Mrs. B to the evening performance of “Shrew”. We purposely got seats in the balcony where it was impossible to be seen from the stage. An announcement was made just before the curtains parted.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we regret to inform you that Miss Lily Langford will not be with us this evening. The part of Katherine will be played by Amanda Zimmerman.”
I flinched when the entire audience groaned at the news. Amanda was in the first scene and had to hear their disappointment. There were a few boos when Amanda proudly walked on stage for her opening speech but, after just a few minutes, she had them. Her shrew was both funny and sexy. The audience laughed as she chastised her husband and cheered when she bared a breast showing him what “he wouldn’t be getting tonight.”
But my favorite part was just before the intermission … the scene where Petruchio, her husband, got so fed up with the shrew’s antics that he turned her over his knee. When he lifted her dress to give her a swat on a panty covered ass, he discovered that Amanda had left her undies in her dressing room. Not to be undone, the actor spanked her with the palm of his hand. And when Amanda said …
“Is that all thou hast?”
… he gave her naked bum another smack. And then another. And continued to redden her well-shaped bottom until the curtain closed to a standing, cheering audience.
During the second act, Amanda kept the audience spell bound as she gradually changed from the evil bitch of the west to a loving wife. She received a thunderous standing ovation at the end and was forced to make three curtain calls before the raucous crowd would leave.
Mrs. B didn’t like waiting in crowded lines. “Always leave yourself an out,” she reminded me. “By far the best place to stick a needle in an unsuspecting arm is in the crush of a crowd … be it a tube station, soccer match or leaving the theatre.”
We waited in our seats until the auditorium was nearly empty, reveling at how well Amanda performed, and didn’t make our way to the stairs until the last of the audience had already exited. Two rather large men, with the word “SECURITY” emblazoned on their jackets, blocked our escape.
“Excuse me sir. Please come with me,” one of them said in the no nonsense tone cops use.
“We were just leaving. Give us a minute and we’ll be out the door.”
“That will have to wait. I’ve been sent to collect you.”
“This will be much easier if you just do what we ask,” the second man said.
Shit. They know I poisoned Lily.
My initial thought was to take out one of the guards and bet on the fact that I could outrun the other to the door. Once I was on the street, I would disappear into the crowd and count on the Company to get me out of the country. But Mrs. B was with me. As smart and beautiful as she was, I didn’t think she was going to outrun anybody in her three-inch heels. So, I let the two men escort me down the stairs, figuring I’d make my break when Mrs. B had time to get in the clear.
I fully expected a paddy wagon full of London Bobbies waiting for me in the main lobby, but it was nearly empty with most of the audience already out the door.
There must be some sort of jurisdictional agreement between the theatre security service and local cops. The security guys escort the suspect to the door where the real law enforcement guys take the criminal into custody.
We didn’t go out the front door. Which made sense. They wouldn’t want the theatre going public to know that there had been a murderer in their midst. The exchange would be better handled in a side alley or back parking lot … cuff me, throw me in the back of a cop car and whisk me off to jail where I would wait for my trial. I could already see the headlines.
“American arrested for poisoning stage star Lily Langford.”
As we walked backstage, I sized up my two captors. They were both large men. The one on my right appeared to have visited a gym sometime in the last few months while his compatriot apparently spent most of his free time in the pub. Most people would take out the couch potato and hope to outrun his stronger partner. But most people don’t know how to disable someone, no matter how strong or talented, with a single blow. My plan was to drop the macho man to his knees with a blow to the larynx and give the pub-dweller a heart attack as he tried to run me down.
My fist was clenched, my legs positioned, and I was just about to strike when my target suddenly stopped walking and knocked on a door.
“Who is it?” a voice asked.
“Security. We’ve got him.”
“Bring him in.”
The couch spud opened the door and then stood aside as muscle man pushed me into the room.
“You want us to stay?” he said.
“No. Leave us,” the most wonderful voice in the world answered. “I can handle him.”
I closed the door behind me and turned to catch Amanda in my arms.
“You’ve got some serious explaining to do,” she said after a long and passionate kiss.
“What? A guy’s not allowed to go to the theatre?”
“Not after a year and a half. That’s how long it’s been since I left Mrs. B’s house. And not once did you come see me perform.”
“How could you possibly know that?”
“I look for you every performance and check with the box office for any tickets sold to a Mrs. Bancroft.”
“Is that how you found me tonight? There’s got to be more than one woman named Bancroft in London.”
“I had a friend sneak up into the rafters during the intermission with theatre glasses and a picture of you. ‘Middle section, fourth row back,’ she told me. By far the best-looking man in the house.”
“So why the drama with the security goons? Couldn’t they just tell me that ‘Miss Amanda Zimmerman, the star of the show, requests your presence in her dressing room?'”
“I wanted to see if you’d run.”
“Run. What man in his right mind would run away from an invitation to spend time with you?”
“Maybe the man who poisoned Lily Langford to help an old friend get a break. Come on. I don’t see you for eighteen months and the first time Lily gets sick, you happen to show up. I don’t know exactly what Mrs. B is training you for, but I’d bet a thousand pounds it involves both a cloak and a dagger.”
“Did I mention you were absolutely incredible tonight?” I asked.
“Is your non-answer an admission of guilt?”
“I especially liked the ending of the second act. It brought back memories of what we used to do together.”
“Fine. If you’re not going to answer, at least tell me if she’ll be okay?”
“Lily Langford you dumb ass. Is she going to die?”
“Would you like her to? That would be a fortuitus event for you. Especially after tonight’s performance.”
“If you’re offering to kill Lily so I can further my career, the answer is no. Just tell me if she’s going to recover from whatever you’ve already done to her.”
God I missed Amanda. I missed the way we could talk about anything. I missed helping her learn her lines. Even after a couple of dozen replacement maids, I still missed making love to her. And I missed arguing with her. I know that sounds strange, but every argument we ever had eventually ended with a long kiss followed by the best sex a man could ever want.
“Have you had your shots?” I asked.
“Quit trying to change the subject and tell me if Lily is going to die.”
“Mrs. B insisted I get mine. Especially the flu shot. This year’s flu is supposed to be particularly nasty. Not deadly, but if you get it, you’ll be out of commission for at least a week.”
“You gave her the flu? How the hell do you give someone –?
Amanda pretended to fight the kiss. She put her hands on my chest in a weak attempt to push me away. But her lips remained locked on mine and our tongues danced like the old friends they were. Her robe slipped off her shoulders like the curtain falling on the last act. But in this case, instead of marking the end of a performance, the show was just getting started.
Act one was a slow and sensuous removal of her bra and panties followed by a quick action scene where my clothes magically transferred from my body to a pile on the floor in less than ten seconds. I took a moment to visually soak in the sensuality of her succulent body.
Her breasts, while on the small side, were perfectly shaped with round areolas accenting thimble sized nipples that begged to be sucked. Her waist was so thin I could almost encircle it with the thumb and forefinger of my two hands. The flare of her hips led to slightly exaggerated ass cheeks which, while conveniently sized for grasping, also made the perfect targets for a loving swat. And her pussy … oh my god, her pussy. That petite, smooth, hairless mound — centered at the apex of the best set of thighs you’d ever want to spread — called to me like the Sirens called to Odysseus.
Yes. I wanted to fondle Amanda’s cute little boobs. I yearned to reach around her thin waist and squeeze her ass cheeks in my strong hands. But my fingers, tongue and pecker all needed to be inside her pussy.
Act two started with a demonstration of strength as I slipped my hands around her tiny waist and lifted Amanda’s tantalizing tits to my hungry mouth. I kissed, sucked and licked her sensitive nipples until they swelled to twice their normal size and then gently placed her on a couch … boobs up, butt down. My lips and tongue initially protested when I pulled them off Amanda’s tasty tits but when I started the southward march with a line of kisses down her breastbone, they realized their ultimate destination and only paused for a moment to tickle Amanda’s belly button before arriving at the prize.
I’ve heard it said that the nipples of small breasted women were more sensitive than those attached to Double D udders. I can’t say for sure if that is a scientific fact — although I am more than willing to be a full participant in the study — but Amanda’s response to my titty teasing seemed to prove the theory. When it was time to finally focus my complete attention on her clean-shaven pussy, her sexy slit was more than ready for whatever I had in mind.
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