Windows Bk. 02 Ch. 03

"Be ready for work when I get home at 5, and the next time I give you a cheque, I expect a kiss to be a little more appreciative.... Mrs Smith."

She whimpered as I called her Mrs Smith, she knows full well I meant it to suggest I am her husband. Oh the delight I feel, in that and her reluctant kiss. I thought I'd start to exert a little dominance. I'm going to be dreaming of her all day. To my sheer delight the photos in the book seem to interest her more than she would want me to know, but time is on my side now. The lion has the gazelle just where he wants her.

I sit in my study, contemplating the confession I heard from the headmaster not long after Sylvia was fired. He finally admitted he tried to force himself on her. I've since told him she has moved in with me as a lodger. At first I could see the disbelief, and then jealousy in his eyes, since then he has asked about her, and told me she is a scheming bitch, and not to be trusted. Now as I sit here after telling him she kissed me this morning, to try and get out going to work, and being groped by the chip shop owner, I play his words over in my head. How he would love to get another crack at her.

She stands in the hallway as I enter the house. She's wearing her yellow uniform and white high heels. Her hair is tied back in a yellow nylon scarf. Her tights are tan in colour, but I have a surprise for her.

"Go put these on."

She looks at the pack of yellow tights.

"They'll make me look like a banana," she says with a gulp.

"I bought them for you Sylvia."

"Thank you," she mumbles finally, ever so quietly.

She stands in front of me looking a little embarrassed.

"You're right, they do make you look like a banana," I look deep into her eyes, "but you're wearing them."

I tip my head to one side and tap a finger on my cheek. She bends, kissing my check, as my hand goes up the back of her uniform. I pinch her ass, and she jumps a little, but doesn't complain.

It is nearly closing before his wife goes up to the flat; he's looked at me, making no secret of his thoughts several times tonight.

"Go in the storeroom and get a tin of beans for tomorrow."

I move past him and he gets off the stool. I move the ladder, with him behind me, leant on the door frame with his arms crossed. I reach up to get the beans, and I feel his hands, greasy with frying fat, on my calf. Perhaps I could offer him something a little more for a few pounds.

"White panties today then Sylvia, I bet it's been a long time since you were a virgin."

Both his hands are on my thighs now. The greasy fingers push up, taking my uniform up to my waist. In my mind I hear cameras clicking, recording it all. I feel his lips on my bum, kissing and licking. I push my hand behind me, trying to get his face off my backside, but then I stop and hold the ladder. I let him kiss my backside, pushing it back a little. I'm about to offer him what he wants for payment, when the door opens.

"What the hell are you doing, get your hands off that girl!"

"Deb, she, she asked me to steady her."

"Don't be so fucking stupid. I wasn't born yesterday, you disgusting pervert!"

I watch the slap land on his face.

"Sylvia, go home, I'm sorry for this, my husband it seems is up to his old tricks."

"Deb I swear, she."

"She what, asked you to feel her up? My god no one in their right mind would believe that. I'm going to Pauline's you'll be hearing from my solicitor."

"Deb, no wait a minute, we should talk."

I lay in bed, still feeling his face pressed on my backside, and the booming sound of his wife's voice filling the little storeroom. I lay wondering how far Dave the chip shop owner would have got, if his wife hadn't have come back down from the flat above. I thought about offering myself to him, well just a hand job for money, while he groped me.

Fantasy takes over, as I imagine that his wife was not at home, and he got to have his way with me. Behind him waiting for their turn would be the headmaster, and then Jake. Behind them would be Ron, with his camera.

I stare at the cactus plant Ron gave me when I moved in with Sean. Next to it the porcelain antique of the Victorian woman walking a little dog. I flick the book open, the new book which I found on my bed when I got home.

I turn through the pages quickly, and then go back through them slowly. I take in every detail on every page. The delight on the faces of the men in a little boat, as a woman swims desperately toward them. The shark fin is getting closer and closer in each shot. The next few pages have a girl on them, being chased through the streets at night. Her face is filled with terror, as a mass of what looks like zombies closes in her on. She wears a knee length red dress with a split up to her thigh, showing off white above her dark brown stockings. In the next photo tangled in her long blonde hair is a hand, the hand is grey in colour, with long nails which are jagged and rough. The last photo she is on the ground trying to crawl away. The woman's now exposed breasts, because her dress has been ripped off to her waist, has the grey hand gripping it. There are no more shots; I guess you have to use your imagination after that.

I close the book, and wonder why with all of these photos there is no build up to what is happening. Why was the woman swimming being chased by a shark? Why were there zombies chasing the girl in the once smart evening gown? Why in the other book, was a woman tied to a bench with that huge saw coming towards her? I close my eyes, wondering what it would be like to be each of those poor women, moments from whatever was going to happen to them.

"It didn't take long for us to get new neighbours."

I move beside Ron watching a middle aged couple moving in to my old house. I can feel his eyes watching me, as single finger pushes a cheque along the windowsill. I go to pick it up but he presses his finger harder on it.

"Maybe we should go and introduce ourselves?" he asks.

"Of, course," I reply slowly, despite knowing he is up to something.

I watch him put a ring on the cheque. I can't take my eyes off it.

"Well, I can't very well introduce you as Mrs Smith, without a ring, can I?"

"But you said all I had to do was not correct it, if people assumed we are married."

I watch him open a note book.

"At the top my dear, you will see the grand total you owe various parties. The first column is what I have paid off for you. The second column is what you have paid me back, doing chores. The third column is what you owe me for renting the room, and the food you eat."

"What, you didn't say that."

"My dear Sylvia, it was you who said about renting the room, doing a few chores isn't going to pay my bills, is it? I have only charged you half of what I could. The last column is what you now owe in total."

"B, but the total I owe is going up. It's more than what I owed for the rent arrears, the television rental, and the television license in the first place."

"Sylvia, look on the bright side, all your debts will be soon owed to me. You'll owe me the money, and not every Tom, Dick, and Harry. It'll soon come down when you start modelling."

"How much will come off for wearing that ring?" I almost spit, nodding at it.

"Now you're getting the idea," he says, with a smarmy smile.

"If you keep it on, indefinitely, I'll drop the rent and food charges for the rest of the time you are here, under my roof."

"And what if I say no?"

"Then I'm afraid I'll stop paying your debts, and take you to court for what you owe me."

My shaking fingers pick up the ring and I slip it on.

I watch him scribble in the book. £20 comes off the total that I now owe Ronald Smith.

"You see how easy it is for you pay me back? You just wear the ring this week, and act as my wife in front of the neighbours. Also there is a new skirt I bought for you; oh I'm not charging you for the clothing, seeing as how I get pleasure out of you wearing my selections."

He takes me up to my room. Laid out on my bed are some of my clothes, and some I haven't seen before.

"Now while I find a nice cactus plant for our new neighbours, I think you should change. Put on that nice black velvet mini skirt I bought for you, the white thin transparent blouse, and that purple bra I've seen hanging on the line, and these new purple panties, you can put your tights back on, then your black high heels."

He goes out of the room and I change. I pull the silk panties up, which just about covers my pussy, the waistband is hanging below my hips. My bum sticks out of the top of the panties, and the material feels much too small to cover me properly, like my cotton panties do. I put my tan tights back on, my purple bra and the white blouse. I can see the purple bra with the pink and yellow flowers on it under the blouse.

I pull up the tight velvet A line skirt, with three big buttons in white on the front of my left thigh. The material is so stiff it won't smooth down on my thighs. I can see the control tops of my tights in the reflection in the mirror. I bend forward a little, and a flash of my purple panties looks back at me from the mirror. I slip on my black high heeled slingbacks, and it boosts me up a couple of inches.

He comes in and leers at me. He drops a purple eye shadow and a bright purple lipstick on the bed. I sit and apply it all, as he stands behind me, mesmerised by my reflection in the mirror.

I stare at his round pasty face with the big red Roman nose. His dark eyes are close together, and his hair is black but grey at the temples. He's bald on top, and his arms sticking out of the rolled up shirt sleeves are pasty like his face. I stand up facing him. I'm a few inches taller than him. It is now I decide to jump in with both feet.

"How old are you?" I ask.

"I'll be 51 in a few months, why do you ask?"

I really thought he was older than that. I remember the letter I found in the drawer the other day. He grabs my arm gently, but in a way, forcefully.

"Don't you think you can play my wife? Am I too old for you?"

Everything he says seems to stab in my brain. It's like it is all some sort of test. Every word sounds like it is considered by him to cause some affect, to dig in to my mind and stick.

"Do you like the thought that the couple next door will probably talk about us when we've gone?" I ask.

"Does it make you tremble with humiliation, them thinking about what we do in bed?"

"They'll wonder how we got together; they'll wonder what I see in you."

"Yes my dear, and when they go to bed, the woman will be thinking, how you could let me fuck you, and the man will wish he was in my shoes. Yes my dear Sylvia, their stupid insignificant thoughts excites me beyond words, as much as it humiliates you, but the humiliation you will put up with excites me even more."

I shudder and pull my arm out of his hand and I'm about to tell him I know his secret, but he starts talking again.

"Be a good girl, and keep your fucking mouth shut when I'm talking to them, because if you contradict anything I say, I will leave you to the wolves who you owe money to, do you understand?"

I can see the seriousness on his face, as well as hear it in his voice. The threat this time is far more sinister than those that have come before. This time the smarmy smile isn't on his face. His face looks like the devil himself is standing before me.

My mum told me once about the serial killer John Christie, who killed 8 people between 1943 and 1953; he was hung later in 1953. I wonder if my landlord is anything like John Christie. Ronald Smith has never told me how his wife died, but for a split second I'm wondering if he could be a serial killer. Then there was the murder Neville Heath who killed women in Bournemouth. He was hung at the age of 29, and dubbed the lady killer. By what I've read he was handsome and women flocked to the court. Sean thought I was mad reading about him, but I did. The books and magazines Ron buys should warn me off, but I find them just as interesting as he does.

"Who gets your money and house when you die?"

He looks at me with a furrowed brow.

"Well look at me. I'm dressed how you want, living under your roof, posing for you, and even pretending I'm your wife. We both know I'll never get out of debt to you; you've made sure of that. So what if I did really marry you, would you leave everything to me?"

I stand here staring at her, wondering if I've imagined everything she has just said.

"You would give up your liberty to be my wife?" I ask slowly, like I still can't believe what she is suggesting isn't a dream.

"I'd give up my liberty to know what is in your bank account, and this house comes to me in your will, and I want it confirmed in a prenuptial agreement."

"I'll expect everything for those terms."

"If you're talking about sex, don't you think I haven't noticed the way you've look at me, since the first day you saw me?"

I'm gob smacked, and I want to savour her words, but I'm sure my gazelle has been snooping and found the letter I was going to show her, but for the moment I'm happy to play along.

"My dear Sylvia, you would make me a very happy man. You'll want for nothing, but I'm not going to make it easy for you."

I watch her pull off the ring.

"We've got an hour before the shops shut. If you want me as your wife I want a new engagement ring. One I can show off to our new neighbours, one that leaves them in no doubt why I'm marrying you."

"Oh this is going to be fun," I say, with big satisfied grin.