Pamela Ch. 07: Identical Twins

Today is the seventh day, Thursday, since Pamela, my sexy, slim, platinum blonde, revealed that all her previous lovers before me had been older women. In previous chapters, I have recounted our 'pussy hunting' adventures in striving to attract other women into our bed with some success.

In this chapter, the two gorgeously sexy Asian university students whom we met working in the restaurant of a hotel the previous Saturday (see Chapters 2 and 3) are to attend interview at Harlot Hall, our home. The prospective roles, however, are not quite what they imagined.

As always, feedback is welcomed which will be responded to if you leave an email address. Thank you.

Enjoy!

Frank

*****

The next morning I awoke ahead of the alarm and just lay on my back, gently caressing my morning glory as Pamela slept on. Yesterday had been quite a day: she had jerked me off fantasising about Yuma and Maya first thing in bed, then I had jacked myself off lusting at a picture of Eugenie Bouchard in the office at lunchtime, and, finally, she had sat on my burgeoning cock in bed to bring to a close an amazing evening spent with Lilac Hunt. Three times, and yes, my best friend was tired but still performing!

I slipped out of bed and turned off the alarm, intending bringing Pamela her early-morning tea in bed after I had showered and dressed for work. Twenty minutes later I entered the kitchen and was surprised to find Lilac sitting at the breakfast bar, sipping tea and munching toast and wearing her jeans with another t-shirt.

"Good morning. You're an early bird," I greeted. "Couldn't you sleep?"

She smiled at me and shook her head.

"Not after what Pamela put me through last night," she quipped. "Not to mention wondering about what Anna said. I've a lot of thinking to do."

"Well, I hope you make the right decisions," I cautioned, reaching up for my favourite mug for tea and another for Pamela before dropping two slices of bread into the toaster and taking the butter from the fridge. "What's the next step?"

"Well, I'm on the train this afternoon back to university," she advised, mopping up her crumbs with a fingertip. "I agreed with Anna ... oh, by the way, can you send me the video of the catwalk? I've written my email address on this sheet of paper as I need to forward it to her."

"Of course," I said, looking around for my iPad. "I'll do it now."

Thanks," she replied. "Where was I? Oh yes, I agreed with Anna that I would go to London and see her on Friday, probably staying with friends for the weekend. I just need to understand more about what she has in mind before I make my mind up."

"You mean about the ...," I began before she interrupted me.

"Yes, about being a lesbian escort," she interjected. "I haven't ruled it out but if I do go ahead, I suspect my girl, Helen, won't be impressed."

"Maybe she'll want to do the same?" I suggested. "I mean, the money sounds incredible!"

Suddenly, Pamela entered the kitchen in her dressing gown, carrying what looked like a parcel wrapped in plain paper.

"I thought I could hear voices," she explained, rubbing her eyes before coming over to Lilac to kiss the top of her head. "Then I remembered last night. Oh, is that toast for me?"

"Of course," I replied with a wry glance at Lilac who giggled. "Tea is on its way."

"Thanks, baby," said Pamela, sitting alongside Lilac, and taking her first bite talking with her mouth full. "Don't worry, I'll be ready in good time to set off for work at the normal time. You can stay as long as you like, Lilac."

"No, I'll get back to see my Grandfather, if that's alright," replied the auburn-haired beauty, picking up her plate and cup and heading for the dishwasher. "I just wanted to catch you both before I left to say, well, it was a day to remember."

"It sure was," agreed Pamela smiling. "I hope I wasn't too hard on you."

"Well, a certain part of me is a little sensitive this morning," retorted Lilac ruefully, "but nothing that Helen won't be capable of administering some tender loving care to."

I said nothing, just pictured the scene in my mind's eye as Lilac slipped off her stool and came over to give me a hug.

"Thank you for everything," she said, before moving over to Pamela to repeat. "I'll let you know how I get on with Anna."

"Oh, just one thing," said Pamela, sliding off her stool and picking up the parcel she had brought down with her. "This is for you but don't open it now. I suggest you share it with Helen."

Lilac accepted the long, thin present, shaking it gently.

"Intriguing," she mused. "Right, must be off. Thank you again."

After more goodbyes, the front door finally closed and Lilac crunched her way over the gravel drive on her way back to the vicarage.

"A stick of Little Pissington rock?" I suggested as Pamela ran her arms around my neck.

"Something like that," she replied with a knowing smile, kissing me lightly on the lips before releasing me and starting off up the stairs. "I'll be half an hour. No more, I promise."

"Yeah right!" I said to myself as she headed out of the kitchen.

It was a beautiful day and so, with half an hour to kill, I resolved to take a turn around the garden while I was waiting. I liked gardening but what with working taking up so much time and now spending what seemed to be all the hours of the day pussy hunting with Pamela, it wasn't getting the attention it needed and I was getting increasingly agitated about it.

The fact was that the grounds of Harlot Hall were considerable however the majority was natural broad-leaf woodland, one of the reasons for taking on the place, which didn't need much looking after beyond getting the necessary chaps in to deal with fallen trees every so often. That left the kitchen and floral gardens adjacent to the Hall, the tennis court and bowling green, and a large field at the rear of the property that was being rented as pasture by a local farmer. I did have some designs on turning this field into a cricket field one day but, well, we can all dream.

To keep the tennis court and bowling green in shape, we employed a local gardening contractor to come in once a week but, as far as the kitchen and floral gardens were concerned, they were largely down to me as Pamela preferred sitting in the sun topping up her tan watching me sweat buckets. I went round to take a look. It wasn't a nightmare but it was getting there. Fast.

I moved on towards the tennis court and bowling-green which had both been maintained a couple of days earlier and were looking fine. Between the two we have a rather smart wooden pavilion which serves as the equipment storage but also caters for non-players to spectate out on the decking area at the front and also to indulge at the small bar arrangement I had had installed with a fridge and serving counter inside. A large table in the centre of the room was multi-purpose both in reality and fantasy.

The latter, as far as I was concerned, usually consisted of having Eugenie Bouchard in her white tennis dress, leaning over it with me behind her with my cock buried inside her while she licked Pamela's clit on the table as penance for having beaten her in straight sets. Every time I saw the tennis court, I imagined being umpire of a match between the sexy Canadian and Pamela with the winner having to lick the loser to a climax.

As time was passing, I made my way back towards the Hall, still uncomfortable about the state of the kitchen and floral gardens and not quite sure of the best course of action. Rounding where the cars were parked, I saw Pamela waving at me through the library windows. I hastened on and found her waiting for me in the hall, ready for work and wearing a tight blue two-piece suit over black stockings and heels and holding her iPad in her hand.

"We've had our first applicant to be my lady's maid," she announced excitedly. "Come on, let's get the car and I'll fill you in as we drive."

I picked up my things and we set off along the gravel drive to turn right for the trip to town.

"Right, she's called Jessica Redmond," she began, her iPad on her knee, "and she's interested in the job."

"Go on," I encouraged. "What does she say?"

Taking up her iPad to look closer, she turned it around so I couldn't catch a glimpse of what I assumed must be Jessica's photograph. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her gently bite her lower lip, her eyes giving nothing away. Almost afraid to breathe, something told me not to break her reverie which went on for several seconds. Finally, she lifted her eyes and looked across at me.

"She's nice ... pretty," she said slowly before lowering her eyes back to the photograph. "I like her."

"Really?" I replied, encouraged.

"I want us to interview her," she stated rather than observed. "Do you want to hear what she has to say?"

"Yes, of course I do, but ...," I replied, wanting to see the lady's photograph but let it pass. "Go ahead, read it aloud."

"Dear Miss Hatch," she read. "I am very interested in the role of your lady's maid as described. After an upbringing in England, I moved to France and trained as a beauty therapist before taking on the role of Assistant Governess to a family in the Czech Republic. This led to a promotion to trainee lady's maid to the lady of the house following which I assumed the role itself, soon becoming responsible for the training of new maids in what was a large household."

"Sounds promising," I put in. "Go on."

"Accordingly," she went on, "I believe I have the training and experience to adapt to the role as advertised. I should add, perhaps, my approach with young ladies is one of firm discipline."

"Splendid!" I interjected. "Quite right too!"

"Personally, I am 39 and single," continued Pamela, "and am currently am working as a private beauty therapist in Clitville ..."

"Clitville," I exclaimed, hearing the name of our county town, not twenty miles north of Little Pissington. "That's convenient."

"I enjoy drama and travel and have a wide range of friends with whom I like to socialise," went on Pamela, ignoring my comment. "Later this year I shall commence a part-time degree course at the University studying astronomy. Maybe it is in the stars that I am successful in this application. I hope so."

"She might be right," put in Frank, musing aloud. "Anything else?"

"I do hope you will grant me an interview," continued Pamela. "My availability is general as I can always make arrangements at short notice for special occasions. I very much look forward to hearing from you. Thank you. Jessica Redmond."

"Can I see her photograph?" I asked, fascinated to see her and giving up the pretense of indifference.

Clicking back to it, Pamela looked at it herself momentarily before placing her iPad in the centre of the car dashboard where I could glance at it. I said nothing, not quite sure what I should say being suddenly lost for words.

"She's amazingly sexy, isn't she?" she observed. "Her breasts are just ..."

"I think you could say that," I agreed, taking a second glance at the voluptuous woman with red hair in the somewhat too small white dress with white stockings. "Wow!"

"Any objections?" she asked before qualifying it. "To us interviewing her?"

"Not in the least," I replied, shaking my head in disbelief.

"Or sharing her nipples?" she added mischievously. "Should I take that as given?"

"I think you should," I replied with a smile as we passed the Fucton village sign. "Here's the 'Crumpets' cafe again and ..."

"That must be Charlotte, the manageress," interjected Pamela excitedly, turning her head as we passed slowly by to watch the slim blonde setting the outside tables. "They were right: she is sexy."

"She reminds me of you," I observed, trying to keep my eyes on the road. "You haven't got a long-lost drop-dead-gorgeous sister you haven't told me about, have you?"

"Not that I know of," she replied with a laugh, "and if I did I'd keep it from you!"

"So, back to where we were," I said after a while in silence. "What are we going to do about Jessica Redmond? Invite her for interview?"

"I've been thinking about that," she replied with energy. "I put a deadline for applicants on the 'Maid to Measure' website for Friday."

"Friday?" I exclaimed. "That only gives applicants three days at best."

"Yes, but those who are looking for a new situation will be looking at the website every day, probably more often than that," she explained. "I didn't want good applicants having to wait for interview as a result of a long application period. Besides, I have had an idea."

"Oh no!" I exclaimed. "Go on, out with it."

She hesitated a moment before sharing her thoughts.

"The point of an interview is to try to assess whether or not the applicant is the right one for the position," she began. "That can cover a range of criteria. Agreed?"

"Yes," I replied, predictably.

"For someone to be my lady's maid," she continued, "it's more important that I like her and want her around and that she likes me and wants to be with me, than whether or not she can cook a soufflé better than the other applicants. Whether we can get on is the big question."

"Yes, I can see that," I replied. "So?"

"So," she went on, "an interview for an hour or so isn't going to give either of us a proper sense of whether we are likely to get on, and neither whether she can cook a soufflé or not, if that was important. Do you see what I mean?"

"Yes I do," I agreed, "but what's the alternative? A trial period?"

"Well that would be ideal," she retorted, "but it's not practical to ask someone to use up what holiday entitlement they may have to come here for a week or so, is it, especially if they didn't get the job, and, in any case, if the first one didn't suit, then it could be that the other applicants have found a position elsewhere."

"So what's your little idea?" I asked, sensing she was bursting to tell me.

"From the applicants we think are worth interviewing," she explained, "we choose a number, four I thought would be best, and to invite them to join us for a weekend house party at Harlot Hall, arriving in the late afternoon on the Friday and leaving after lunch on the Sunday. That way, we would have time to get to know each other and if we introduce a series of activities over the weekend, we can get to see what they're good at."

"You mean we organise a competition?" I asked. "The winner gets the job?"

"Definitely not," rebutted Pamela, shaking her head. "I, or rather we, will make the decision as to who gets the job but having a competitive element will show us what each of them is really like, you know, in different scenarios and under pressure. It'll make the decision so much easier."

"What if some of them don't want to play parlour games over a weekend?" I mused. "The chances are they won't."

"Then they don't have a chance of getting the job," replied Pamela, rather coldly. "Simple as that."

"So, if the closing date for applicants is Friday," I continued, "then I assume you're looking at the following weekend."

"Yes," she confirmed. "We'll invite the chosen few on Saturday morning before we set off to visit Nico and her Asian pussy, so they have getting on for a week to organise themselves for the weekend."

"You suggest four applicants," I observed, thinking it through. "Oh, I see, we use the four double bedrooms on the second floor."

"Yes," agreed Pamela. "I thought we would keep it simple."

"But we do have the guest bedroom suite and the Playroom," I put in. "We could invite six applicants."

Pamela shook her head.

"I don't think so for a couple of reasons," she observed. "First, the four rooms on the second floor are essentially identical, you know, en-suite, double bed and so on, but the guest suite is way better. I thought it might appear as if someone was being given preferential treatment, you know, a head start to have better facilities. As to the Playroom, that's more for, how do I put it, special guests?"

"OK, I'll buy that," I replied. "The other reason?"

"Well, as we're proposing to ask Miss Bell on Monday if she would like the housemistress job, if she accepts, I thought we might invite her to join in the party, as it were, and she would have the guest suite," she explained. "She could express her views as to the best applicant, which would be helpful."

"Sound, very sound," I complimented.

"And I also thought," continued Pamela, "if tonight works out as we would like with Yuma and Maya, we could ask them to help out over the weekend and they could share the Playroom."

"Good thinking, Batman," I observed, an image of the two Japanese identical twin sisters sharing the Playroom bed with the new voyeur's lair in place prompted more than a minor movement in my trousers.

By now we had arrived in town and I drew up outside Pamela's office.

"Now, just remember," she warned as she stood next to the car, peering in through the passenger window, "we've Yuma and Maya arriving at six so it would be good if you could pick me up by five so we can get back in good time."

"Yes, mistress," I replied dutifully.

"If you're late," she replied with a stern face, "you might be punished."

"Is that a promise?" I asked with a grin. "See you later!"

I arrived at my office to find, as usual, my business partner, Boz, opening the mail.

"It's time we got someone to look after this place," he complained. "We could spend our time much more profitably out selling business if we had someone here every day doing all the things we have to do now, in fact two people, so there would always be someone."

"Yeah, I agree," I replied, "but we couldn't run to two, I mean, there wouldn't be enough work if both of them were here at the same time."

"Why not?" challenged Boz. "If we had an office manager and an administrator to assist, then the manager could support us in setting up client meetings. In fact, as we expand as we hope to, the manager could be the third one of us selling. It makes sense, just think about it."

I mused to myself as I went to make tea. He was right. Between the two of us, we spent almost half a day, every day, setting up client visits. If that was done for us, we could increase the amount of time we spent actually trying to attract business, which would more than cover the running costs of additional resource.

"I agree," I announced as I returned with two mugs of tea and a chocolate Hobnob each. "Why don't you draw up a job description for the office manager first and we can stick an ad with one of the recruitment websites?"

"Done," he replied with a grin, opening the top drawer of his desk and pulling out a sheet of A4 paper, offering it up to me as I stood next to him. "See what you think."

Impressed, I took a slurp of tea and looked at the sheet.

"Office Manager," I read aloud. "Reporting to the Managing Director of a small but expanding financial services company. A varied role with real potential. Looking for a definite team player, university educated with excellent organisational and communicational skills, willing to 'pitch in' and make things happen. Experience of wealth management, marketing or legal issues welcomed. Must have a great sense of humour. A definite opportunity to get into sales for the right applicant. Interested candidates should ... blah, blah, blah. That sounds great, go for it."

I began to move away from Boz's desk but he coughed in that sort of way that implied he hadn't quite finished.

"Ever come across Hayley Francis?" he asked. I shook my head.

"No, neither have I," went on Boz, confusingly. "I've a mate who went to school with Hayley and they've remained friends ever since. Apparently, after attending a good quality school, she obtained a first-class honours degree in English before attending secretarial college. Afterwards, she secured an excellent position with a legal firm, advancing to the position of PA to the Legal Services Director, a well-remunerated position that offered her excellent working conditions in a modern office in the centre of town with her own parking space. She even had a clothes allowance to ensure she was always suitably dressed, which was an important point, given the financial and social standing of a lot of their clients. Anyway, according to my mate, she's looking for a change. Wants a new challenge. She'll be in her early thirties, I guess."