Pamela Ch. 07: Identical Twins

"Sounds like she might be worth seeing," I replied.

"Yeah, she probably is," retorted Boz with a grin. "According to my mate, she's a natural blonde and has a fabulous figure. She was Head Girl at school too and he reckoned that every male teacher used to go home and jack off after she'd been doing a reading on the school stage during assembly, wearing a tight white blouse and tie, short skirt and high heels."

"Then get her in," I urged. "Soon as you can!"

I returned to my office and closed the door before logging onto my desktop. There was an email from Pamela. It read; "Call me when you're free." I shrugged my shoulders and fished my mobile from my inside jacket pocket.

"Hi, baby," I greeted. "What's up?"

"You might me when you've seen what I've seen," she replied convolutedly. "Have you got your personal laptop with you?"

"Sure," I replied, intrigued, reaching for it in my briefcase. "Hold on a second."

It didn't take long to access another email from Pamela with an attachment. I clicked on it.

"O ... M ... G ...," I exclaimed as I took in the photograph of a dark-haired woman, lying on her front on what looked like a sofa with one hand holding up her head, wearing just black lingerie with white trim along with black elbow-length black gloves and cream and black stilettos. Her eyes, looking straight at the camera, were dark and her red lips were enticing. She was gorgeous.

"That's what I thought," observed Pamela. "She's called Lianna Poznan and she's from Poland."

"And has she applied for your lady's maid position?" I asked, deducing the obvious as my eyes traced over the lady's satin-covered rear. "What does she say?"

"She says: Dear Miss Hatch, Thank you for the opportunity to apply for the position of your lady's maid. I am 43, which I know is above the age limit in your advertisement on the 'Maid to Measure' website, but I hope this isn't a mandatory limit as I believe I have what you are looking for ..."

"She's confident," I put in. "Never under-sell yourself, that's what they say."

"I am from Poland," continued Pamela, "but have been living in the UK for fifteen years training local girls to be successful maids to mainly American rich families. A graduate in fine art, I am a keen amateur photographer (and took this selfie doing my ironing!) and enjoy sharing tips with others."

"Wow!" I interjected. "I can see you'll have to get your sexy kit on next time when you're ironing your stuff!"

"The role you advertise appeals enormously," she went on, ignoring me. "I enjoy my current role but would wish to take on a new challenge combining looking after my mistress but bringing forward new recruits to the same standards I insist upon for myself. Indeed, a smaller household with potential to expand is very exciting to me. My approach is to understand completely the needs and wants of my mistress and ensure these are met without exception. With this understanding, I can develop those maids under my control to replicate the same, not being afraid to discipline when required, all with the objective of continuous improvement. If I had to describe my style, it is a combination of empathetic encouragement with a determined edge with the objective of rendering my team and me invisible but with the results of our efforts clearly seen."

"Well put," I mused.

"Having had two unsuccessful marriages," she continued, "I have been somewhat disillusioned towards seeking further long-term relationships with men and have cultivated a wide range of friends of both sexes so have a wide and varied social life arranged around my 'maiding', as I like to call it. I can play piano and have learned to dance, both contemporary and ballroom so can contribute positively to most gatherings. I do hope to have the opportunity to meet you at interview to offer an opportunity to expand on this summary and my C.V., with a view to convincing you that I am the right candidate. I look forward very much to hearing from you. Thank you."

"So that's two?" I asked, knowing the answer. "Jessica Redmond and Lianna Poznan. Two more to make up your four for the weekend house-party."

"I ... I think so," she replied, hesitating. "Lianna seems a little full of herself, and she's older than I originally wanted, but she does have the experience, and she's sexy and if that photograph is anything to go by, she knows it. I'll think about it, but yes, for the minute, that makes two."

"That's great," I said, seeing Boz hovering outside my office door. "Listen, I've got to go. Pick you up at four-thirty if you can make it?"

"Brilliant!" she cried. "See you then."

"Sure, no problem," I replied. "Bye."

I waved my hand and Boz opened my office door and came in.

"Hayley Francis," he said simply. "Can you do three o'clock today, here?"

"Today?" I retorted incredulously. "You don't waste time, do you?"

"Strike while the iron is hot," he said with a grin. "After our chat I called my mate and he called Hayley and gave her my number so she called. If we can see her, she'll arrange to take the afternoon off, presumably going home first to put on her schoolgirl uniform before coming around here."

"I need to be away by not long after four but, yes, how could I refuse such an offer?" I replied, a vision of Pamela in her schoolgirl uniform in Miss Bell's study from two days ago streaming back. "Sounds good."

"I'll get back to her," said Boz with a nod, closing the door behind him.

The morning went according to plan and I glanced at the clock to see it was approaching one o'clock just as I completed what I was doing. I thought I would get myself my standard tuna mayonnaise sandwich and go for a stroll in the sunshine to the park to eat it. Leaving the office, I made my way along the streets without realising I was still on 'pussy hunt' mode, having noticed more than one rather attractive young lady dressed for the weather. I laughed, pulling myself together. Ten minutes later I was in the park eating my sandwich sitting on a bench.

Not having bought my Daily Telegraph, as yet, I was left to people-watch and muse to myself on what had been the most amazing week ever. Smiling to myself, I shook my head in disbelief. It was all down to Pamela too, that's what it made it so unbelievable. How many guys have their girl actively encouraging them to make their own fantasies real? Not many.

Finished my sandwich, I was just about to start off to get back to the office when out of the corner of my eye I glimpsed a mass of white ringlets approaching along the path. I turned and held my breath when I saw her. She was simply beautiful.

"Is anyone sitting here?" she asked, indicating the space on the seat I was on with a hand that carried a paper bag, presumably holding her lunch.

"No, no, please," I replied, with a purely instinctive wave of my hand.

"Thank you," she acknowledged sitting on the bench, leaving a gap between us and resting the bag on her knee. "It's a lovely day, isn't it?"

"Yes it is," I replied with a smile, taking the opportunity to turn my head but couldn't see her face as she leaned over slightly to open the bag, allowing her long hair to flow over her shoulders. My eyes instinctively took in her breasts pressing impressively into the black pinafore velvet dress she wore over a long-sleeved white shirt and black leggings with flat shoes. Then I saw her long fingers extract a bottle of water which she tried to undo.

"Please," I urged without hesitation offering a hand, "allow me."

She turned and her face appeared, smiling. My initial impression was accurate. She was beautiful, absolutely indescribably so. Her blue eyes sparkled through her rimless glasses and her delicately lips were perfectly made-up.

"Thank you," she replied in a soft eastern-state American accent, passing me the bottle which I unscrewed and passed back to her.

"Thank you again," she said, taking a sip before replacing the screw-top a little less tightly than before and placing it on the bench between us."

"A pleasure to meet you," I offered, deciding she must have been at least fifty years old. "I'm Frank McMahon."

"Gail Lawrence," she replied, her ringlets endlessly moving. "It looks like this was somehow pre-determined. Haven't I seen you walking up The Street in Little Pissington with a lady?"

I looked her in the eyes and smiled.

"Guilty as charged, along with Pamela," I admitted, intoxicated by Gail's beauty. "What an amazing coincidence. Do you live there too?"

"Yes, but only from a week ago," she explained. "It seems like a nice village. Have you lived there long?"

"No, not really," I replied. "Just a few weeks. We're still settling in. There never seems time to get everything sorted but we're getting there slowly."

She nodded, suddenly rising to cross the path to dispose of the paper bag with my eyes following her, taking in her curvaceous rear as he walked. Her arse wasn't slim by any means but her lower legs appeared shapely in their leggings. That said, it was her hair that did it for me. And her tits as I tried not to stare at them as she returned and resumed her seat. The whole scene seemed alive with eroticism, or at least as far as I was concerned. I watched her take another sip of water and failed to suppress a nervous laugh.

"What's funny?" she asked, a sparkle in her eyes suggesting she knew what had prompted it.

"Nothing," I lied, slowly shaking my head.

"OK, as we're seemingly destined to get to know each other, maybe I should start," she began, turning slightly to face me more. "My name you already know. I hail from Norfolk, Virginia, where my father was in the US navy. I'm fifty-five years old, I'm financially self-sufficient from starting-up and subsequently selling a number of businesses over the years and I have homes in Virginia, Italy and London as well as a little cottage in Little Pissington that I think I am going to grow to love."

"I hope you do," I observed, noting her voice suggested nothing that could be seen as 'blowing her own trumpet', just facts."

"My third and definitely last divorce was ten years ago," she went on, "and until a week ago, I lived alone in a rather nice townhouse in Notting Hill being looked after by two English maids, both spinsters in their mid-thirties, keeping myself as busy as I wanted to be. Now, before you begin to speculate incorrectly, perhaps I should advise that I meet my continuing need for the pleasures of the flesh most often, but not exclusively, by the hiring of one or more accomplished gentlemen, adventurous young Asian ladies or both, a service that I am unsure how to obtain in the middle of the English countryside."

I opened my eyes wide with some surprise.

"What else?" she continued, noting his reaction but not seeking any comment. "Oh yes, I have a wide circle of friends with whom I like to socialise. I like to travel, enjoy fine wine, play poker, buy expensive designer lingerie and also talk with attractive men on park benches who are proficient in opening water bottles but less-so at disguising their sexual interest in me. Your turn."

With that, she took the top off her water bottle and took a sip, her eyes shining, prompting another nervous laugh from me.

"Well, I'm not sure I can top that," I replied, prompting a reciprocatory laugh from her as I glanced around to see if anyone had entered hearing range, which wasn't the case, "but I'll see what I can do."

"Please do," she urged, clearly enjoying herself.

"Strangely enough, I'm from Norfolk too," I began, "but the one in eastern England, and until relocating to an eighteenth-century house in the village with Pamela a few weeks ago, I had lived there all my life. I am in my mid-forties and single."

"Go on," she encouraged with another smile, using a hand to sweep her flowing ringlets out of her eyes, prompting a thrill of arousal to sweep through his body, giving him palpitations.

"I have my own wealth management business that, I am glad to say, is thriving," I continued, "and, along with Pamela, that's Pamela Hatch, am busy establishing the household, and coincidentally to your scenario, are hoping to engage two identical twin girls from Japan, who are currently studying for their degrees and who live locally, to help out."

She looked him in the eye and gave him a knowing smile.

"Perhaps I might arrange to have a professional consultation regarding my investments and possibly have the pleasure of meeting Miss Hatch," she observed quietly. "Maybe I might be served tea by your maids. I think I would enjoy that."

I laughed, not sure how to respond but tried.

"I'm sure that might be arranged," I said, reaching into his pocket for a business card. "Here are my contact details."

Gail picked up his card and studied it as he watched. Seemingly satisfied, she unfastened her handbag and extracted a small silver case.

"Here's my card," she said, opening it and passing one over which he took with great interest, noting her full name was Gail Isabella Roberta Lawrence. He smiled and remarked at her initials.

"Yes," she commented, appreciating it, "my parents wanted to make sure I knew what I was,"

"I don't think there is any question of that," he retorted instinctively before regretting it.

She smiled again as he continued to review her card, noting her address was the last house on the left before crossing the bridge over the River Piddle in Little Pissington to pass onto The Street. Slipping the card into my top suit jacket pocked, I saw her take another sip of her drink.

"Please continue your story," she begged. "I do so want to know more about you and, maybe, Miss Hatch if I'm not being too intrusive."

"Please call her Pamela," I replied, extracting my iPhone from his inside pocket and quickly flicking through my picture albums of Pamela before handing it to her. "Here she is."

Gail took it and saw a shot of Pamela standing at the bar in Harlot House. She was leaning on the bar counter and smiling sideways at the camera, her platinum hair surrounding her lovely face and shining eyes, wearing a white t-shirt and tight jeans, revealing her slim body with almost non-existent breasts removing the need for a bra of any kind. Gail looked up and smiled.

"She's absolutely beautiful," she observed earnestly, handing my iPhone back. "You're a lucky man."

"I know," I admitted, taking it and restoring it into my inside pocket.

"There's not much chance of Pamela and I being mistaken for each other," she quipped. "I wish I had had her figure when I was younger."

"Now that's exactly what she would say to me after meeting you if she did," I retorted, shaking my head in mock frustration. "She has always craved having what she hasn't, no matter how many times I tell her she's everything I ever wanted."

"That's because she's a woman," observed Gail, taking yet another sip of her drink. "Do go on."

"Well, I'm not sure there's much else," he cautioned. "I drink far too much, enjoy watching cricket, reading the Daily Telegraph, oh yes, and do less running than I should, but basically enjoy life."

With that, she drained her water bottle before slowly replacing the cap, seemingly lost in thought.

"Are you faithful to Pamela?" she asked simply, her face almost expressionless.

I looked her in the eyes, astonished at the question.

"Why do you ask?" I asked after some seconds of silence. She reflected.

"Because if you said you weren't," she replied quietly, "I would suggest we went to a hotel and spent the afternoon together."

"And if I said I was?" I suggested, hardly breathing with tension. "Faithful, I mean."

"You don't need to answer," she replied. "You've already told me. There's nothing more to be said."

"Not quite," I challenged. "Let me ask you a question."

"Go ahead," she said

"You're right in that I'm faithful to Pamela," I acknowledged, "but that doesn't imply we're monogamous."

"You mean ..." she replied, trying to decipher my statement.

"Pamela and I share other women provided we both want to," I interjected. "If one of us doesn't wish to go ahead, that's the end of it for both of us."

Gail reflected.

"And would you like to share me with Pamela?" she asked quietly. "Assuming she was willing."

"Yes," I replied instantly. "I think you're very attractive."

She reflected once more.

"Do you think she would like to?" she asked. "I would."

"May I take a photograph of you?" I asked. She laughed.

"So long as you don't want me to take off my clothes here in the park," she quipped, sweeping her hair out of her face with one hand as I reached inside my jacket once more for my iPhone.

"No, I'd prefer that where it's a little less public," I retorted, turning to face her. "Just here?"

"Sure," she agreed, shrugging her shoulders. "Glasses on or off?"

"Oh, definitely on," I replied, hitting the camera keys to set it up. "Don't ever take them off for me!"

She ran both of her hands through her hair sending a thrill of excitement through me then composed herself as she sat back on the bench. I framed the screen about her lovely face and hit the button as she smiled.

"Another, please," he begged, leaning back to try to get more of her in view. "Don't smile this time."

Five seconds later, I passed across my iPhone to show her my efforts but she held up her hands in horror.

"Oh no, I don't like to see photographs of me!" she recoiled in horror before laughing, rising to dispose of her water bottle. "Goodness knows what Pamela will think!"

I smiled, wondering the same and how I was proposing to find out as I stood up.

"Perhaps you'll let me know whether our relationship is to remain strictly business," she asked, holding out her hand which I took, a thrill of electricity running through my body at her touch. "It's been nice to meet you."

"I'll do that," I replied, "and you too. Bye."

With that, Gail smiled and turned to walk away the way she had come, my eyes following her until she turned a corner and was gone prompting me to consult my watch. It was gone half-past two so I hastened back to the office.

It was five minutes to three when Boz appeared at my office door window with his thumb up.

"It'll be Hayley," he said, opening it. "I'll go and get her from reception."

I stood up and made my way into the small boardroom to receive our guest. I remained standing as I waited, noting that Boz had already set out the tea, coffee, water and some of chocolate Hobnobs in a saucer. A sound of the main office door opening preceded the arrival of Miss Francis, closely followed by Boz.

For me, my first impression of Hayley Francis was that of a supremely confident, assured woman who knew how to handle a situation. She had an air of professionalism, of experience, and, above all, knew how to create an impact with her long blonde hair left loose, her make-up understated and her black and white outfit the right balance between making a show and being irrelevant. My second impression was that she was fucking gorgeous. This lady was something else.

"Hello, I'm Frank McMahon, the Managing Manager, and you already know Boz," I greeted, holding out a hand. "Thank you so much for coming in, particularly at such short notice. Please take a seat."

"Pleased to meet you, Mr McMahon," replied Hayley, taking it before taking the nearest chair to the side of the table, opposite where I had rested my papers for the interview. "I'm delighted to be here, thank you."

Boz took a seat at the end of the table.

"Please, call me Frank," I begged, with a smile, becoming aware that the effect that Hayley was having on both of us was palpable. "May I call you Hayley?"

"Of course, Frank," replied Hayley, rewarding me with a gracious smile from a mouth that just oozed the vision of a blowjob from heaven.

"Will you have coffee, Hayley?" asked Boz. "Tea?"