'Confucius, he say, wife with small hands make manhood seem bigger.' Oh, no! It was one of Barrie’s dreadful jokes and it was her voice telling it. She opened her eyes and looked down at the slim hand as it stroked Barrie’s penis. There was an element of truth in the joke. She looked at her own face. Did she always look that wanton, or was it because Barrie was in her body? Well, she would show him. She would show him how to control his ‘old boy’. She put a hand down and stopped the action.
'That’s enough, Barrie,' she said primly. 'I need to go to the bathroom.'
'Too right Tash. You can’t give me a good seeing to when you’re bursting for a piss.'
His normal manner of speech sounded all right coming from him, but when the words spilled from her mouth, they sounded course and crude.
'There won’t be a good seeing to until – until – I have come to terms with – with – this situation.'
'Course there will, Tash. Just point my old boy at the porcelain and I’ll be ready and waiting.' Natasha gasped in horror as he rolled her body onto its back and played with her clitoris.
'Leave that alone. That’s my thing you’re playing with.'
'No it isn’t, right now it’s mine. So, why don’t you take your cock to the bathroom?'
Natasha would have stopped to argue but the need to urinate was overwhelming. She rolled his body awkwardly out of bed and walked towards the bathroom. The large penis waggled from side to side. She always knew Barrie was well endowed, but this was ridiculous. She put a hand down to bring it under control.
'Don’t you go snapping that off now, I want it back here and all in one piece as soon as you’ve finished.'
She ran the last few paces into the bathroom and struggled to point the erect penis down towards the toilet bowl. Having achieved what she considered to be the right angle, she relaxed. A stream of urine, under immense pressure, squirted sideways and upwards, hitting a high note as it struck the shaving mirror.
'Help! How do you control this – this – thing!'
There was no reply, only a series of delighted squeals from the bedroom. She pinched the tip of the penis between thumb and forefinger to stop the flow and hobbled to the bathroom door. Barrie was lying on his back in her body with legs spread, the right leg flat on the bed and the left raised with knee turned outward. The left hand was caressing her left breast and most of the right hand was inside her with the thumb working feverishly on her clitoris.
'For heavens sake, stop that and help me with this thing of yours.'
‘Can’t I’m…’ His answer disintegrated into a series of moans and squeals and it was obvious to Natasha, from the way her hips were lifting off the bed, that she was about to have an orgasm. Of course, she played with herself when the mood took her, but it was a private thing. Why did Barrie think it was all right to masturbate in front of her? He never did when he was in his own body. She hated him for it, yet the penis she was desperately squeezing obviously had other ideas; the erection was harder than ever.
'Barrie! I need a pee – help me.'
'You’ll have to sit on the loo,' he gasped. 'Jam it down and – oh – oh – oh.'
Her body writhed as it reached orgasm. The incredibly stiff penis really hurt now. She scuttled to the bathroom, crouched over the toilet, wedged the erect member under the lid, eased her bottom – his bottom, onto the seat and waited. What a relief, at last she had some control and as the erection eased, she let go. No squirting up to hit the shaving mirror this time – the stream of urine shot out from under the toilet seat.
'I have just peed over the back of your legs.'
'No, they’re your legs.' Barrie was leaning provocatively against the door, looking at her with a wicked smile and sucking at fingers, which until a few moments ago, had been inside her vagina. He stopped sucking to give her some advice.
'Try jamming the ‘old boy’ under the rim, that always works for me.'
She growled at him and surprised herself with the menace his voice carried. Infuriatingly, he smiled back sweetly as she eased herself off the seat, repositioned the penis as advised and emptied his bladder.
'You gonna give me a good seeing to then?'
'Certainly not, I need a shower and I have to wipe the floor, unless you want to do it?'
'No problem, I’m the lady of the house.'
Natasha watched apprehensively as he danced her body out from the bathroom. Apprehension turning to serious foreboding when she heard him singing ‘I’m so Pretty’ from West Side Story, as he skipped down the stairs. Barrie was treating the whole thing as a joke but, how long would the joke last? If it lasted for a month or two, what was he going to do to her body, the body she looked after and kept in such good shape? What was she likely to get back? She would certainly have one or two very sore places if he carried on as he had started.
She looked in the mirror at her new manly physique and quite liked the idea of being tall and strong. She clenched Barrie’s fists and tensed his arms across his chest. Her eyes – Barrie’s eyes – watched the biceps flex. His eyes were dark brown – almost the same colour as his moustache. She liked his moustache even if he had let it get a bit out of hand recently. She would give it a light trim when she had time to do it properly. Her attention was drawn to his hands. It seemed strange to have such large, square, hairy hands. The skin on the back was tanned dark brown. Hers was a honey gold colour, which never darkened, no matter how much it was exposed to the sun. Barrie’s could go almost black, especially after a beach holiday. She rubbed at the stubble on his chin. She would shave after the shower then plan her day. They were presenting some lingerie designs to a specialist buyer. Debbie, the other half of DebTash, thought it would be good to expand the business, but she was not happy with the thought of selling stock pieces and all the outwork involved. Pausing with one foot on the shower tray, the true facts of her situation began to strike home. She would not be helping to present the designs, Barrie would. She would have to attend the board meeting at Travel Plan.
CHAPTER TWO.
On the other side of town, the sun heralded the beginning of a new day with a dazzlingly display in the black reflective windows at the top of Hamsworth Tower, the tallest office building on the Hamsworth Trading Estate. Fifteen stories below, a car drove swiftly through the shadows, following a well-worn path towards the Meltcon Chocolate Factory. Meltcon never closed, working at full capacity day and night, three hundred and sixty five days a year to meet the demand for their popular chocolate products, especially the Meltcon Bar. Soon more cars would stream past in preparation for the shift change at 6am. Then, weary night shift operatives would reverse the flow, speeding home to catch valuable minutes with families, all bound by the Meltcon treadmill.
The car park to the rear of Hamsworth Tower was deserted, save for a small red van which straddled two parking spaces close to the back entrance of the building. Royal Mail decals had been removed, but the name was forever etched in bright relief on a surface dulled through years of exposure to the elements and traffic pollution. Transparent stickers across the bonnet and on the left-hand rear door identified the new owners as ‘ProClean’. ProClean had only one cleaning contract, but it was with Travel Plan plc, one of the most successful package holiday companies in the country. Travel Plan was the largest employer in Hamsworth, after Meltcon and their Head Office occupied the top four floors in Hamsworth Tower.
On the fifteenth floor, a tall, slender, attractive woman in a figure hugging white work coat, walked gracefully down a plush carpeted corridor, flicking delicately with a feather duster at framed original paintings of exotic holiday destinations. Lucinda Lovebrace, the joint owner of Pro-Clean, looked after the directors’ offices. The industrious Julie Bunford, her partner in the cleaning venture, looked after the other three floors.
Julie, who had cleaned Lucinda’s penthouse flat for almost two years, was the catalyst for this wonderful business opportunity. The light dawned when Julie announced that she was going to give up cleaning.
'I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to leave and get a fulltime job. People are not prepared to pay a decent hourly rate for a cleaner anymore, present company excepted, Miss Lovebrace.' She gave a deferential bob of the head, which characterised their relationship. Lucinda Lovebrace nodded to indicate her understanding as she re-appraised Mrs Bunford. God only knew why she was a cleaner. Apparently, she worked for a Bank when she was younger. Now a strong handsome woman in her late thirties, Lucinda found her very attractive. High cheekbones, a generous mouth with full lips, natural auburn hair and light blue eyes. She had all the attributes and a good figure, although it was usually well hidden under loose fitting clothes. The business antennae, which stood Lucinda Lovebrace in such good stead over the years, virtually shrieked for attention. An opportunity to gain valuable information for one of her
