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Whitehall Primary School was in the last week of a mid-term break and with only a few members of staff on the premises and no obstructions from interfering children, it should make his survey a lot easier to complete. The car tyres crunched in the deep snow and the windscreen wipers squeaked across the windscreen as he manoeuvred the car carefully through a pair of black metal gates before pulling to a halt in the school car park. He waited until Lou Reed had finished singing ‘Perfect Day’ before stepping from the car. The buzzer on the door intercom panel crackled announcing his arrival, an abrupt voice on the other end asking him to wait until someone could attend to him. Brushing snow from his face and taking shelter under a small canopy above the door, his back against the wall, his clip-board and tape measure held firmly against his chest, the brief interlude giving him a moment to reminisce, memories of his recent holiday on the sunshine island of Tenerife finding their way inside his head. When a friend suggested spending a couple of weeks relaxing on a sun-soaked beach rather than face the bitter winter weather in the UK, it didn’t take him long to pack a suitcase. They soaked up the sun by the pool during the day and fucked at night. Then he met Fiona. It was a flirtatious acquaintance embroiled under a haze of clandestine confusion, a fleeting extravaganza of impossible circumstances, but a holiday narrative that he would always cherish with furtive amusement. A meeting of eyes and a brief conversation at the hotel reception was all it took. It was almost four in the morning when they eventually got back to their hotel. Even before the lift doors had opened, Fiona was pooling between her legs and he was sporting a noticeable lump inside his pants. And with pulse rates accelerating at the speed of sound and both overcome with an urgent desire to be inside each other, by the time they reached his room they were almost sprinting. For the next two hours he fucked her and she fucked him, a mutual engagement of give and take, the sex raw, hungry and extremely physical, probing and penetrating, exploring every orifice, a turbulence of endurance and an overwhelming climax of emotional passion, both swimming in perspiration and both drained of energy. The sun was beginning to rise when Fiona staggered unsteadily from his room, her knickers left on the floor, her breathing ragged, her heels clicking along the corridor, her legs sliding apart like Bambi’s on the ice, an outstretched hand gripping a handrail for support, bending over and removing her shoes, cursing under her breath as the lift doors closed in her face. The early morning aroma of food drifting up from the restaurant reminded him that sleep would have to wait until after breakfast. Slipping into a t-shirt and shorts and tucking the abandoned panties inside his pocket he left the room and headed to the escort restaurant on the ground-floor. After filling a plate with a mixture of fried food that would make any heart surgeon frown in disgust he was surprised to see Fiona sitting at a table having breakfast. He mumbled a greeting and pulled up a chair at her table. A crippling moment of unnerving silence hung over the table. She glanced around the room at the empty tables, shuffled nervously in her chair and forced a smile. He thought the re-acquaintance of her knickers might break the apprehension. It didn’t. She just stared in horror and disbelief at the flimsy underwear on the table, forced another smile and kept her eye on the floor manager. A mouthful of greasy food and a couple of gulps of black coffee, the cobwebs of anxiety and her pretence of innocence dismissed in a coronary heartbeat, his enthusiasm brutal and uncompromising, her virtue and modesty fading by the second, a detailed narrative of their night of impetuous pleasure spilling between mouthfuls of food. He told her that her oral sex was a mind-blowing and unforgettable experience, apologising for making her gag when he delivered his sticky mess into her mouth. She choked back a nervous lump in her throat and shifted her weight in her chair, never once taking her eye off the floor manager. A friendly hand on his shoulder interrupted the shadier details emerging about the anal sex over the balcony, the unexpected gesture prompting him to look over his shoulder. The shock, the surprise and disbelief, his eye wide open, his jaw hanging loose, his face a comical mask of uncertainty, turning back and staring at the girl sitting at the table, moving his head back and forth like a spectator watching a game of tennis, opening and closing his mouth in wordless confusion, the cold chill of nausea sweeping over him, the weight of dread dropping into the pit of his stomach, his breakfast threatening to make an appearance. “I see you’ve met my twin sister Lorna,” Fiona replied, a playful smile curling the corners of her mouth, removing her hand from his shoulder and pulling up a chair at the table. “Can I help you?” a serious voice enquired, interrupting his holiday reverie. Turning quickly on his heels and almost losing his balance, a short pleasant looking fat man with wire rimmed glasses perched on the end of his nose and sporting a neatly trimmed moustache peeked suspiciously through a gap in the door. “My name’s Mark Brand. I’m a building surveyor. I’ve made arrangements to carry out a survey for the building improvements,” he said, his words evaporating in a cloud of white mist, the fat man ignoring his outstretched hand as he opened the door. “I have a nine o’clock appointment with a Mrs Julie Reid,” he confirmed, lowering his hand and pulling his leather glove back, checking the time on his watch. The fat man escort bayan brushed hair from his face, raised a cynical eyebrow and gave him a long look. He was clearly not interested in exchanging pleasantries and despite appearances he was disrespectful and ill-mannered. “Come inside,” he invited, the authority in his voice and persuasive hand gesture, more in the way of a command than an invitation. “I’m sorry but my secretary, Julie Reid has been delayed due to the severe weather conditions,” he said, pointing a finger of disapproval at his shoes bleeding snow on the floor. “After you’ve wiped your shoes I’ll take you to see Caroline Spencer. She’s one of the teachers at the school. Caroline will show you around the premises,” he volunteered, fiddling with a plastic card hanging from a silver chain around his neck, displaying his name and photograph. “My name is Mathew Grainger,” he announced, in a refined ‘I’m-In-Charge voice,’ proudly lifting the card. “I’m the Head of school,” he added, extending his hand. Caroline Spencer greeted him with a soft voice, friendly smile and a business like handshake. The slightest touch from a beautiful woman with dark eyes, firm breasts, slender figure and insanely long legs blossoming from a pair of heels and finishing somewhere under her arms was enough to spark a swelling inside his pants. The feasibility study and the endless meetings with The Headmaster, The Chair of School Governor’s and members of the delegated Parents Group proved to be more extensive than he had anticipated, but the architectural fees were very attractive, so his employers didn’t complain about his time or his input as long as he satisfied their client’s objectives. He made any excuse to visit the school. The meetings and surveys a pretence to see Caroline. And even though their acquaintances were sometimes only brief, it wasn’t long before he worked his charm and she eventually agreed to have dinner with him. It wasn’t going to be easy getting Caroline into bed. After their first date he quickly discovered that if he wanted to get between her legs he would have to be patient. Even after their fourth date things hadn’t improved, the routine predictable and frustrating, dinner at a restaurant, a few drinks and then back to his flat. And although she appeared to be extremely sexually aroused at his advances and even interacted in brief exchanges of foreplay, when it came to sexual intercourse she always managed to control her emotions. At first he was a little frustrated with her denial, but there were positive signs and he knew it was only a matter of time before she would surrender to the natural forces of human sexual response and welcome him into her body. Her mother and father always left the country during the cold winter months, a peaceful cruise on a luxury ship somewhere in the Caribbean. Caroline didn’t bayan escort mind. She had the house to herself. Buckingham Palace was the last time he had seen metal gates that were so impressive. Snowflakes danced in silent pirouettes from the early morning sky, floating in whispers of white feathers before settling on the ground like a butterfly resting on a flower. The car tyres crunched in the fresh snow, the windscreen wipers squeaking a painful tune across the glass, the splendour of the tree line drive and the endless row of snow covered conifers a guiding light to the imposing Georgian mansion welcoming their guests. A brief moment of fleeting glances, eyes meeting in captured smiles, a drooping jaw a clear sign of his admiration, his mind confused with furtive apprehension, his smile slowly fading, a bothersome thought nagging inside his head. My father worked in a hospital and my mother worked for a firm of lawyers. She told him. A fucking hospital porter and a clerk in an office…. I fucking don’t think so. “My father was The Head of Paediatric Neurology in one of the largest hospitals in New York and then he worked for a short time in Boston and Chicago before returning to live in Northumberland,” she said, rather matter-of-fact, interrupting his thoughts. “My mother was a barrister and before she retired she worked at The Royal Courts of Justice, in London. They still occasionally travel around the world to attend and chair lectures, and they’ve both written books on their respective professions,” she concluded, circling a white marble water feature of a gracious biblical lady holding a child before pulling the car to a halt in front of a huge garage forecourt. “I think you’ll like this,” she smiled, taking his hand and heading towards four garage doors, the snow crunching underfoot, a remote control activating the timber doors, his eyes taking a quick tour of the dark enclosure, his jaw dropping again, a beautiful Mercedes-Benz 300, an E-Type Jaguar, a vintage Bentley and the unmistakable image of a magnificent Rolls Royce hidden beneath a diaphanous shroud, sleeping quietly in the shadows. The main entrance hall with high ceilings and ornate covings was gracious and cavernous. A delightful collection of baroque style art, ceramic ornamentation and bronze sculptures sat imposingly on exquisite period tables and an impressive display of oil paintings arranged in a discerning montage decorated one of the walls. On the opposite wall a colourful painting in a bronze frame hung alone, the obscure arrangement of what looked like jigsaw pieces that didn’t fit together, hinting at the work of Picasso. Two large winding staircases with decorative wrought-iron handrails led up to a first-floor gallery landing. At the top of the stairs a magnificent stained-glass window – that wouldn’t have been out of place in Durham Cathedral – reflected slithers of coloured light over an imposing glass chandelier hanging in the main entrance hall. It took his breath away. He stood for a moment gazing in awe and admiration. He felt like he had stepped into a Clarke Gable movie. He clenched his teeth, making sure his drooping jaw didn’t make another appearance.
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