Emma could feel the hot tears running down the side of her cheek, as she stared at the two men who were “taking care” of her sister. The cups, plates and cakes still sat on the coffee table, ready for the other guests to arrive, but it was obvious to her that this particular coffee morning was going to be different.
She still had her baker’s apron tied over her floral print mini dress, but the towel that had been tucked into her waist strap was now pulled tightly into her mouth, as the men pulled the ropes tightly around Sharon’s arms and legs. Who were they? Why were they doing this to them? And why did they keep talking about Suzanne as if she was the guest of honour?
“Mary - oh what a sweet girl,
Lips like Strawberry Pie.
Sandra, long hair and pigtails,
Can’t make up my mind...”
Mary turned her head and looked at Sandra, the white tape stuck firmly over her mouth. Her long dark hair was indeed platted into two pigtails, which fell over her shoulders and along the line of rope that went around the back of her neck and under her arms. The bands of white rope contrasted with the black pinafore dress she was wearing, the skirt barely covering her upper legs as the flesh was visible down to the tight black leather boots she was wearing.
Mary was no better off - her white go-go boots were lashed together at her ankles, as were her legs over her white tights. She tried to twist her arms free as the sound of the record player drowned out the sound of her flat been ransacked.
“If you will forgive me for saying so, Sir, I believe that a strategic withdrawal may be in order at the moment.”
I nodded as I turned my head to look at my faithful retainer. “Quite so, Jayes, quiet so,” I said as we both backed slowly down the hallway of the apartment block. The gentleman should always seek to assist a damsel wherever possible - but when the damsel in question is my beloved Gladys, then a certain latitude has to be allowed for her to use her own considerable skills.
Of course, it was most regrettable that we had to leave her maid on the bed, securely and comfortable bound with a thick cloth tied between her lips, but then Gladys had done that to her in preparation for the evening. After all, if one is going to stage a robbery at one’s New York apartment, one has to follow the correct etiquette, what?
So when we backed into what I took to be a brick wall, but turned out on closer inspection to be the very formidable bulk of Clydesdale Horseman, I can tell you that I got a fright. Not Jayes, though - he knew exactly what to say.
Madame X was at her desk, studying carefully a report she had just received, when there was a knock on the door.
“Come,” she called out, and Penelope entered, wearing a stunning red dress with gold lame sewn in to it. The dress was cut off one shoulder, the arm on the other side encased in a fitted glove sleeve. The front of the cress was cut to allow her to reveal her stocking clad legs, and she wore a pair of stiletto heels on her feet.
“Ah Penelope,” Madame X said, her warm and inviting voice soft and gentle in the tone, “How was the reception?”
“Most illuminating, Madame,” Penelope said as she sat down. “I believe I know the layout of the Manor House well enough to allow us to complete our plans, although I do have one question.”
“Then you must ask it, Penelope.”
“Would it not be simpler to detain his daughter and wife at a more private moment, rather than at the next ball?”
“Perhaps, Penelope,” Madame said as she sat back, “but I have a personal reason for wishing this to happen in this way...”
What is it about my choice of men? Is it something about me, the way I dress, the way I act? I mean, I’m not like Katy, who wears skirts so short they could pass for belts instead, or Denise who thinks that hot pants over tight leggings is a good idea - and with her thighs as well!
Yes, I like to wear boots - this pair in particular is one of my favourites, with the cuffs turned down to give it that special look, and yes I like to wear tight tops, but I don’t flaunt it - I think I make it look good.
And its Valentine’s Day for goodness sake, so red was the obvious colour for my outfit. A little cleavage, but now too much - a leather skirt of just the right length - and a fitted jacket to match the boots. I looked stylish, not slutty.
So how the hell did I end up here, tied to the bed with my hands above me and my legs tied tightly down - and what is he doing with my favourite silk scarf?
One of the things that used to, and still do, amaze me is how different members of the same family can be - even those who you think would be the most similar of all, such as twins or even triplets.
It would have been early 1979, and I had entered a house in the outskirts of Sheffield to see what I could collect. I had completed my search of the upstairs rooms, and was looking through the bookcase in the main room when the door opened and a tall, slightly larger blonde haired woman came in. She was wearing a short sleeved light grey jerkin over a brown high necked jumper with a scarf, a long brown suede skirt and high heeled baggy leather boots, and had a beret the colour of her jerkin on her head.
Well, she was going to scream, so I grabbed her and put my hand over her mouth - just as tow more women came in. One was slimmer, wearing a pair of tight silver pants that looked like they had been sprayed on, and a bustier top of a similar colour under a faded denim jacket. The other one was wearing a torn black t-shirt, and trousers with straps between the legs, with a studded collar around her neck.
That wasn’t the remarkable thing, though - even with different styles and hairdos, I could tell they were sisters, and possibly even triplets, so I said “Hello - I’m your cat burglar for today. Are you related?”