BIMBEAUVILLE PART 7 OF 7 by Downing Street

Chapter VII: Friday morning

“You have everything you need then?” Derwyn demanded, early the following morning. He and Roger and Gina were standing outside the Winking Fox. The men were sipping coffee. Their cups steamed in the fresh morning air. The Land Rover behind them was stuffed to the rafters with water sampling equipment and Sarah’s new wardrobe.

“I believe so,” Roger replied. “We should be back in the city by late afternoon. You can expect an acknowledgement of the water inspection by post within a week or two.”

Derwyn almost smiled. “You’re an honest barrow-boy,” he conceded. “Let us know when your supply runs low. We’ll be in touch about the Bimbrew.”

At that moment, a pouty movie starlet popped her head out the window of the Land Rover. She fluttered long eyelashes at the two men. “Rogerrrrr,” Sarah purred, “are we going to be on our way soon?”

“Give me one moment,” Roger replied. “Just saying good-bye.”

“K,” Sarah said. She disappeared back into the vehicle, sucking on one finger.

Derwyn said, “How are you going to explain you know her?”

Roger grinned. “I’ll think of something. Anyway, once my co-workers see the new Sarah, I don’t think they’ll ask too many questions.”

When Roger had arrived back at the Winking Fox the previous afternoon, after visiting the spring near Nyllrym’s grave, he had been greeted by an irritated Sarah. Or rather, he had been greeted by a sloe-eyed, soft-skinned, sumptuously curved, walking sex fantasy who looked vaguely like Sarah. “You left me all day!” she complained. She tossed back a lock of thick, yard-long hair and set her hands on flaring hips. Her indignation didn’t carry the same force it had a few days earlier. She pouted like a spoiled teenager. Roger wondered briefly if her bust had grown even larger, or if he was still getting used to it. Either way, her newly endowed rack was fully on display in a low-scooped blouse with long ruffles on the sleeves and neckline. Her lycra skirt, in contrast, was stretchy-tight and maybe fourteen-inches long. Her now-fabulous legs were dressed in high-gloss stockings and tight black boots with the requisite spike heels.

Roger was almost growing accustomed to being tongue-tied. Every time he saw Sarah she looked more amazing than before. “Wow!” he said, followed by, “Wow-wow-wow!” He could almost feel his eyes growing wide.

Sarah sucked on one finger. “What are you staring at?” she demanded. Yet her voice was playful.

“Oh, n-nothing, nothing,” Roger replied, composing himself with some difficulty. “Look, I didn’t really abandon you all day, it’s barely tea-time. Did you finish the report?”

She looked away. “Uhm . . . mostly. I decided to . . . you know, something came up.”

He looked at her. She said: “Gina wanted to take me shoe-shopping.”

That explained the new boots. The rest of the outfit was presumably collateral material. A new thought occurred to him. “Sarah, none of my business of course, but can you afford this shopping spree?”

Sarah looked even more nervous. “Well, actually, about that. I, uhm, sort of charged part of it to the Department.”

“You charged high-fashion clothing to your expense account? How?”

“Uhm, well, the sales girls were really good about entering it as repairs to the Land Rover.”

Roger digested this. Abruptly he began to laugh. “Aw, why not.” He handed her his tablet. “Here’s the last two pressure checks. The system is secure and the water is good quality. Fill in the missing data and finish the report. I’m going to rest in my room until dinner time.”

“Oh, fine then,” Sarah replied. She didn’t appear to mind, or even notice, that Roger was giving her orders. “Thanks for finishing that field work for me.”

“My pleasure,” Roger replied, walking away. “Absolutely my pleasure.”

When Roger came down to dinner, feeling much refreshed, Sarah had finished the report, and was working on her second celebratory beer. She was already intoxicated, and looking intoxicating. The flush in her cheeks only emphasized the healthy glow of her face. She laughed and giggled and drank some more while Roger ate his roast fish. When Megan tottered by, wearing a tiny red scrap of a dress and preposterous heels, Sarah grabbed the two pint glasses off her tray.

“Fine, go away now,” she dismissed the leggy waitress, “I’ll take care of him.” Abruptly she sat down in Roger’s lap. She handed him his beer. “Here you go luv,” she cooed.

“Sarah, what are you doing?” This close, her new-found sex appeal was almost overwhelming.

She drank beer. “I’m jus’ tryin’ to be friendly,” she explained. “I’m tired of always bein’ a bitch.” She paused, reflecting. “I’m a bitch,” she declared. “An’ a witch. I’m a twitchy, witchy, bitchy, bitchy bitch!” She paused again, looking around. “Think m a wee bit drunk.”

A little while later, Roger escorted a very happy Sarah up the stairs to her bedroom. She was laughing and singing and holding onto Roger with both hands. “Whoopsie!” she shouted, as she stumbled yet again. She kept losing her balance. Taking off her hyper-heeled boots apparently wasn’t an option. The sounds of laughter and piano music drifted up from the room below.

At length, and with some difficulty, he got her to the door of her room. He leaned her against the wall. “Ooof!” she cried, then giggled. She began to slide down the wall. She didn’t object as Roger relieved her of her purse. He dug around until he found the key. He held up Sarah with one hand, opened the door with the other.

“You know sumthin,” Roger’s sexed-up supervisor slurred, as he half-carried her into the room. “I’m startin’ to like this little town. Yay Bimbeauville!”

“I think you had better lie down,” Roger said. He tried to steer her toward the bed. He tried to do this without touching her tits. Or her ass. Or any other part of her that wasn’t blatantly erotic. This left him with very few choices.

Somehow he managed to guide her a few steps into the room. She stumbled against the bed. “Uh-oh,” she said. She wobbled crazily, then collapsed on the bed like a deflating balloon. “Thin’ I’ll take lil nap,” she murmured. She fell asleep.

Roger considered her sleeping form. Sprawled prone across the bed, sleeping soundly, she was the epitome of illicit temptation: super-sexy, half-exposed, utterly vulnerable. Her hair tumbled everywhere in curves and waves.

Roger took a deep breath. He unfastened her heavy jewellery and set it on the night stand. He re-arranged her left arm to what looked like a more comfortable position. He had some difficulty getting her tight boots off. He had even more difficulty not looking up her skirt while he did so. Her glistening stockings ended in pink-lace garters at the edge of her rump.

Sarah’s skirt was pale pink. Her underwear was red. Roger’s underwear was decidedly uncomfortable. Finally, he pulled the boot off Sarah’s right foot. He set it on the floor beside the left boot.

He was still holding Sarah’s ankle. Her stocking-clad foot rubbed accidentally against his crotch. Roger froze. A wild image of jerking himself off between Sarah’s feet flashed through his mind. He realized he was a heartbeat away from losing control altogether. He tossed a blanket over Sarah’s sleeping form and quickly retreated from the room.

Several hours later he was roused from sleep by someone standing beside his bed. That would be Gina, sneaking in for a late-night romp, again, he thought with a smile. He turned on the bedside lamp.

Sarah was standing there. She must have awakened some time earlier, because now she was wearing a red lace negligee and high-heeled red mules. In the lamplight he could make out the lines of her lush figure through the filmy material. She looked down on him, sucking on one finger. She looked slightly more sober, but every bit as tempting as she had earlier.

“I’ve been thinking,” she said. “Gina was right. It really doesn’t make sense to rent two rooms. Not when this one has a big comfy bed.” She sat down beside him, kicked off her slippers, and slipped under the blankets. “Your lil bitch is in heat,” she whispered.

They were both very late for breakfast the next morning.

“I told you your assistant had a crush on you,” Gina said, smiling, as she regarded Sarah waiting impatiently in the Land Rover. The innkeeper was looking splendid, as always, today in a low-cut maroon pullover and white denim mini, along with her best white boots.

She stepped forward and slipped her arms around Roger’s neck. “Good-bye, Roger,” she sang. “I hope you enjoyed your stay.” She gave him a long, wet kiss to make sure that he did. He almost spilled his coffee. “You’ll come back some time, won’t you?” she whispered.

Roger grinned at her. Her half-bare tits were rubbing playfully against his chest. “I’ll be back,” he said. “I’m officially an agent for Bimbeauville Water now, Brewery Division. Besides, I’ll need some more water, eventually.”

He gestured to the four carboys of Bimbeauville water strapped to the roof rack of the Land Rover. Nobody seemed to be sure what would happen, if anything, if a Bimbeauville girl were to be weaned off the water. Roger decided to take no chances. This new version of Sarah was far too much fun to let go.

He gave the buxom innkeeper one more kiss, then climbed into the driver’s seat of the Land Rover. Sarah was refreshing her lipstick. Her tangerine stretch dress emphasized her super-charged figure and left her legs exposed to the top of her thighs. “I hope you don’t mind driving,” she cooed, as one hand stroked his thigh. “I’m not sure I can work the pedals in these heels.”

She referred to the gaudy red slides on her feet. The platform soles were three inches high and the narrow heels at least twice that. Roger wondered how she could walk, much less drive.

He looked her over. She looked back at him contentedly, sucking water from a big paper cup through a straw. Her lips were painted deep red. From stem to stern she was pure sexual invitation. Roger grinned. He put the Land Rover in gear and drove off toward the city.

BIMBEAUVILLE PART 6 OF 7 by Downing Street

Chapter VI: Thursday Afternoon

The walk was quickly arranged. Less than an hour later, Roger was once again at the Bimbeauville pumping station. He was standing behind the building, beside the rocky stream that tumbled by from the hill above. The twins, Glenys and Glynis, were each wrapped around one of his arms, reluctant to let him go, as if he were about to depart on a dangerous adventure rather than take a walk in the woods.

“Be careful, promise,” said the beauty on his left. Her tall socks were orange and red today. Her shorts were as tight and brief as ever. She had left her hard hat in the pump house.

“What if you get eaten by a bear?” worried the babe on his right, whose socks were purple with white stripes. Roger had given up telling the two girls apart.

“There hasn’t been a bear in these woods for seven hundred years, my little wrens,” said Wyn, who was standing beside them. His white beard gave him the air of a Moses about to lead his people out of the wilderness. Or in this case, into it. “Besides, Anna knows the way, don’t you lassie.” He smiled at another young woman standing nearby.

“Course I do,” Anna replied, smiling in return. “Uncle Gord Gruffydd took me there a couple of times. Anyway, the path follows the brook, doesn’t it.”

Anna was the grown daughter of Mayor Hites. Her super-abundant curves were packed into a spandex exercise outfit that looked like it had been fashioned from leftover scraps. The straining half-top and the calf-length tights were black with random pink and yellow stripes. Roger was already sure she was wearing nothing underneath.

Her shoes were some drunk fashion designer’s idea of sport shoes, fancy high-tops with thick soles and wedge heels, all in neon pink. She wore a necklace with a heart-shaped, pink pendant and matching earrings. Evidently the notion of walking in the forest had not interfered with her fashion sense. She had a small bag slung over one shoulder.

According to Wyn, Anna worked as a care-giver at the local retirement home. The introduction of Afon Nyllrym water there had created a couple of related problems. The first was that the rejuvenated residents kept making passes at the care-givers. The second was that those passes were often successful.

“I have to go now girls,” Roger told the matching centrefolds pressing in on both sides. “Shouldn’t be gone more than a couple of hou mmmmmm!” Girl on the left decided he needed a good-bye kiss a long, wet, slurping good-bye kiss. When she finally let him go, girl on the right demanded equal time, plus half again. When she reluctantly pulled her lips away, girl on the left decided that wasn’t fair and she needed to kiss him again, while perhaps inviting his hands onto her tits. They would have gone on this way indefinitely if Roger hadn’t physically pushed the panting girls away.

“Let’s go, Anna,” he said, suddenly in a hurry. He turned around so no one would see the pup tent in his trousers.

“I hope we see bunnies!” Anna chirped, almost skipping away.

They headed into the forest. A narrow path, perhaps a fisherman’s trail, wound along the bank of the stream, leading steadily uphill. The lower wood was dense with blackthorns and alder, but these were quickly replaced by open stands of beech, pine and oak. Beside them, the blue-tinged water of Afon Nyllrym splashed and gurgled along.

It was a pleasant walk, even with the added effort as the path grew steeper. Anna negotiated her impractical shoes adroitly on the rocky ground. Roger followed behind, watching the sway of her asscheeks and the flex of her long legs beneath her tights. The multi-coloured spandex rode low on her hips. The outside curves of her breasts were visible from behind. She had tied back her hair in a long ponytail that swished across the small of her bare back with every step.

None of this was helping Roger’s hormone balance. He had been as horny as a rutting tomcat ever since the mayor’s office. The appearance of her jaw-dropping daughter, followed by the untempered affections of Glenys and Glynis, had only upset him further. Now he was alone in the woods with a walking wet dream whose every graceful step wafted sex appeal like the fragrance from a bower of roses. To distract himself, Roger tried to admire the wildflowers. The alternative was the rear view of Anna, which he had already memorized.

Still, there were a lot of wildflowers to admire. Bluebells, columbine, campions, pimpernel and many others that Roger didn’t recognize all seemed to be blooming at once. Wasn’t it late in the season for wild garlic? He wasn’t sure. The forest was quiet and cool. Birds sang in the trees.

“I love walking up here,” Anna offered at one point. “It’s lovely, isn’t it. So many flowers.”

“Are we getting close?” Roger asked. He was a little out of breath. He stopped for a drink of water from his flask.

“A little way yet, that’s what it is. Do you need to rest, luv?”

The front view of Anna was even more impressive than the rear view. She had surprising grey-green eyes and an impish smile. Her giant knockers threatened to break free of the skimpy top at any moment.

Roger closed his flask. “No, I’m fine. Let’s go.”

The pair continued up the hill. The trail had petered out and disappeared, but the forest was open and walking was not difficult. Several times the stream forked. Anna always followed the branch with the deep blue water.

As they ascended, Roger noticed that the forest about them changed. The trees became bigger, stronger. The flowers became brighter and more numerous. Even the chirping of the birds seemed louder. The brook gradually narrowed as they moved upstream, but the colour deepened, intensified, until at last Afon Nyllrym was a tiny spring-brook, barely two feet wide, but it’s water was deep violet.

“Here we are then,” Anna announced.

They emerged into an expanse of open ground, interrupted here and there by jagged outcrops of lichen-spotted stone. Much of Bimbeauville was visible below them. A bit farther off rose the shaft-heads of the abandoned mine. The middle of the clearing was occupied by a circle of oak trees, whose twisted trunks and massive branches suggested great age. “The spring is over here,” Anna said, advancing on the ring of trees.

The trees formed an almost perfect circle, a living hedge, around a large meadow. Wildflowers bloomed everywhere. On the near side of the clearing, a cluster of boulders thrust out of the hillside like a giant’s fingers. From the fissure between them issued the spring of sparkling, violet water that fed Afon Nyllrym.

“This is it then?” Roger asked. “This is where Nyllrym is buried?”

Anna’s ponytail flew as she shook her head. “Gruffydd told me it wouldn’t be an ordinary grave with like bones and stuff. Nyllrym died in a battle of magic, didn’t he. This is where they like, scattered his ashes or laid his spirit to rest or . . . like, whatever.” She giggled, a dangerous activity given the strain on her athletic top. “Try to count the trees.”

Roger did so. At first he thought there were twelve, but he might have counted one twice. He counted again, lost his place, started again, lost his place again, and finally arrived at eleven. Give or take.

He frowned. Several more counts were equally ambiguous. Usually he lost track part way through. Finally he marked one tree as a reference point and turned about, systematically counting, until he saw the same tree again. He was up to nineteen before he realized he was going around the circle twice.

“No one can count them,” Anna said, when he looked to her for explanation. There was laughter in her green eyes. “That’s how Gruffydd knew there was magic here. And the water, of course.” She skipped across the meadow to the spring beneath the rocks. The water bubbled out merrily.

Roger joined her beside it. “Does it ever go dry?”

More swings of the ponytail. “Never ever ever. Not even in the driest summer. Oooh, I wonder what it tastes like!” She bent down to cup some water in her hands.

Roger stopped her. “I wouldn’t do that,” he warned. He had no idea if the concept of concentration and dilution applied to magically enhanced spring-water, but a bit of caution seemed wise. “Here, try this.” He opened his water bottle. It was still half-full. He used one hand to scoop up a few drops of the lavender water and pour it clumsily into the flask. He swirled it about for a moment, then handed it to Anna.

She drank eagerly. She tipped her head back and poured cool water down her throat, swallowing quickly, thirsty for more. “Ooooh, yummy yummy yummy!” she exclaimed, when she finally had to pause for breath.

The change in her was immediate. Roger couldn’t say exactly what changed, she was beautiful to begin with, but in moments her already sensational form became more dramatically curved, more captivating, more intensely sexual. Her hair grew fuller, the gloss on it now deep and shimmering. Her wonderful green eyes grew brighter, as if by a stiff drink. Then they softened to a faraway daydream. Her long lashes fluttered.

She dropped the flask. “Rogerrrrrr,” she purred, in a voice that shivered straight to his crotch, “oh Roger, darling, I want you to love me more than anything in the world right now. Please, please, please darling fuck me with your big tool until I scream from happiness.”

She closed the distance between them as she spoke. She slipped both hands around his neck, pulling herself closer. “You like my body, don’t you Roger darling? You do want to fuck me, don’t you? Please?” She gazed into his eyes with almost worshipful desire.

Roger was speechless. Anna’s every movement, every breath she took, every blink, every twitch of a finger, had become as erotic as a belly dance. Her giant chest was pressing against his. He could see her nipples tenting the fabric. She was undulating her hips, back and forth, back and forth, an inch either way, gently but insistently stroking against his cock, which was fit to burst the zipper on his trousers.

He remembered what Derwyn had said about shifting mental priorities. Anna’s adoring eyes revealed nothing behind them but rampant physical desire. Neural circuits unconcerned with sex had closed the door, shut off the lights and joined the street party. At that moment Roger was unsure whether Anna could remember how to tie her shoelaces.

She was too much to resist. “Oh fuck it,” Roger groaned. He pulled her in for a long, wet kiss.

The kiss was endless, and endlessly stimulating. Anna pulled his head down onto her puffy lips, almost clumsy with heat. That kiss begat more kisses, which spawned even more, a generational lineage of wet lipwork.

Anna dropped one hand to feel the length of Roger’s member through his trousers. She made a tiny sound deep in her throat. Her hands were deft, and quick. In moments Roger’s belt was open and his trousers were slipping down his legs.

Breathing hard, Anna stepped back long enough to grab the bottom of her athletic top and work it up over her breasts, then over her head and off. Her replete bosom bounced and wobbled. The nipples were pink and protruding. “You do like my body, don’t you?” she asked again. She cupped her breasts with both hands, pushing them up and together for his inspection. “It’s all for you, darling. Any way you want. Just please please please fuck me!”

Roger made an inarticulate sound. He yanked off his trousers and shoes, then pulled his undershorts off. His pecker bounced out like an escaping prisoner, free at last. He was hard, as hard as he had ever been, and longer too.

He threw his arms around the semi-naked beauty in front of him and pressed them both down to the ground, onto a bed of bluebells. He was too impatient to wait for her to disrobe. He flipped her over onto her knees, yanked her spandex tights down to her thighs, aimed his pole at the pink, wet folds between her legs and slid right in.

With a grunt he buried himself inside her. Anna let out a long, low gasp. She was soaking wet. Her pussy was warm and snug. It seemed to suck on his wang like a child sucking a lollipop. Roger began to pump in and out. He held Anna by the hips and pulled her ass back against his pelvis with every in-stroke, then flexed his own hips to draw back out. Anna’s hair fell about her face and swept the flowers. Her oversized boobs, bobbing and pendulant, swayed against the bluebells with every stroke. She gasped and moaned and cried out for more.

Roger wasn’t holding back. He couldn’t have done if he wanted to. The sex was too good, the feelings too intense, his partner too beautiful and sexy. He was banging his way toward the release he desperately needed.

It wasn’t long in coming. Roger’s climax was an eruption, and his hot cum was both lava and ejecta. He froze, shuddered everywhere, then orgasmed with a long shout of “Annnnnnna!” that reverberated off the oak trees. His spill was massive, and it seemed to Roger, endless. He spurted again and again, filling her cunny with his seed, white-coating his member and dripping excess on the bluebells.

The feeling of relief was overwhelming. He noticed Anna jerking and quivering beneath him and realized vaguely that she was cumming too. That hardly seemed possible, given how quickly matters had proceeded. She must have been as primed as he was.

At length they were both finished. Roger collapsed on the carpet of wildflowers beside his new lover. He let out his breath. Anna snuggled up next to him. She was glowing, still breathing deeply. “Wonderful!” she declared.

She wasn’t nearly satisfied. She slithered down his body until her mouth was near his crotch, then began using her tongue to clean him up. Her mouth-work was slow and delicious. Eventually, it devolved into an eager blow-job, which in turn led, soon enough, to Roger’s pecker rising again, stiff and ready for more action.

They were patient enough the second time to remove more clothing. The action that followed was every bit as intense as in the first round. Anna locked her ankles behind his back. The coupling couple rolled over and over, crushing wildflowers beneath first his back, then hers, as they screwed across the meadow.

When it was over, again, Roger lay back on the flowers, watching the clouds puff across the blue sky, while Anna knelt over him and lovingly polished his cum-coated cock between her enormous hooters. The outcome of that gesture was a third round of humping, this time with Roger lying on his back and Anna bouncing energetically up and down on his pole. Her hair was damp now. A sheen of perspiration glistened on her skin.

“Roger Roger Roger fuck me forever Roger!” she chanted. She held her boobs in her hands as she bounced. Roger kept a hand on each flaring hip to steady her. She seemed to be skating along at the edge of orgasm continuously, pausing from time to time as a mini-climax took her. Soon enough her chants became louder. Her voice slid up an octave. She rocked and rolled through the big one just before Roger fired his load into her again.

Exhausted, Roger dozed on the bed of flowers. He awoke a little later to find Anna half-lying on top of him. Her breasts were flattened against his chest, one leg thrown over his. She was planting little kisses on his chest. With her free hand she was quietly stroking her pussy down below. “You were wonnnnderful,” she whispered, when she noticed his eyes open.

Anna’s eyes were glassy. Roger decided to experiment. “Anna, baby,” he said, “I want to ask you something. It’s a little quiz. For fun. How many months start with the letter J?”

She thought about it. Or tried to. “Mmmmm, lessee, there’s like January, and then, uhm . . . uhm, there’s . . . . ooooh, I’m still horny.” Her fingers stroked.

Roger kissed her forehead. “Could a person walk from Dublin to Cardiff?”

“I dunno,” came the careless reply. “Wouldn’t you like wouldn’t you like, take an airplane?” She closed her eyes and shuddered.

He decided to try something easier. “Anna baby, can you remember the capital of France?”

She was stroking faster now. Her breath came in little pants. “F-France? It’s uhm, it’s ah! ah! Ah! It’s oh yes, yes, it’s the mmmmmmm! the Eiffel Tower!” She closed her eyes and stroked herself through another peak.

Roger held her as she came. He glanced over at the magic waters of the spring burbling near-by. “Nyllrym, you are one perverted bastard,” he said, grinning.

Eventually he got Anna calmed down enough to re-dress. Somehow the tight spandex looked even better on her than it had before. She spent a long time combing her hair. When they were both composed again they headed back down the hill toward town.

“We’re like, all alone up here, darling,” Anna pointed out, as they passed back into the forest. “And I’m still, you know, sorta in the mood. So anytime you want we can always stop for a quickie.” Roger greatly doubted that option, given the workout his cock had been through. He watched Anna’s ass undulate as she strolled down the trail. Halfway down the mountain, he changed his mind.

Wyn met them when they emerged from the forest. “Did you find what you were looking for then, laddie?” he asked.

Roger said: “I found it.”

“We had fun!” Anna exclaimed. She took Roger’s arm in both of hers. She laid her head on his shoulder.

Wyn noticed the change in Anna. He glanced at Roger. “Bit too much spring water?”

Roger nodded. “I think she’s going to be boisterous for a while.”

Anna stroked Roger’s arm. “What’s boys-trust?” she demanded.

Wyn said, “Let’s go talk to the rest of the board.”

“There’s still one thing I don’t understand,” Roger was saying, a few minutes later. He was back in the Mayor’s office, sitting again with the Board of Directors of Bimbeauville Water. Her Honour had returned to her sales job at Trilby’s Fashion Hive. “And that is the change in me. I’ve never had this much sex at one time before, never could if I wanted to. But I’ve barely touched the water. Not like Sarah anyway. I’ve mostly been swilling beer.”

There were chuckles from the other men in the room. Derwyn said: “Without the mine, this town was doomed unless we could find new sources of revenue. Jobs for the displaced miners. The farmers are doing very well Bimbeauville water produces excellent wool but we needed another industry. At last we hit on the idea of our own brewery.”

Enlightenment dawned on Roger like a desert sunrise. “You mean ”

“You’ve been drinking our special ale,” said Dr. Jones. “We’re working up to large-scale production.” He picked up a beer bottle from the mayor’s desk. He tossed it to Roger.

Roger looked at it. The beer was called Bimbrew. The label depicted two improbably proportioned honeys in broad white hats. They were holding up a banner reading “Brewed right here in Bimbeauville!”

“Ah,” said Roger. “I see.”

Wyn leaned forward. “Now then, laddie,” he said, “what about that inspection report?”

Roger considered the bottle of beer in his hand. He looked around at the four concerned men. “You know,” he said thoughtfully, “if you’re going into commercial production, it might be a help to have an agent in the city.”

Suddenly everyone was smiling.

BIMBEAUVILLE PART 5 OF 7 by Downing Street

Chapter V: Thursday Morning

The sun was well up the next morning when Roger climbed into the Land Rover, pressure-testing equipment in hand. The morning had come with clouds and showers, but the sun was rapidly chasing them away. It would take no more than an hour or two to finish the last pressure checks.

He left Sarah at the Winking Fox. “I think it best for you to stay here,” he told her over breakfast. “I’ll finish the last mains and then we can be on our way.”

“Sure!” Sarah replied cheerfully. She seemed happy to go along with whatever Roger suggested. That was as well. He didn’t want Sarah along for his meeting with the mayor later in the day. Besides, he wasn’t sure how useful she would be in her present condition.

When Sarah came down to the pub, at least an hour late, Roger could only stare. Overnight his transforming supervisor had gone from shapely to sensational. It was as if the blossoming of her face and figure that he had admired the previous evening had been multiplied by three. Her hair was long, rich and glossy. Her face was symmetrical and smooth, highlighted by wide eyes, a cute little nose, and lips made for kissing. Below the neck, her figure had shifted even further toward true Bimbeauville voluptuousness.

“G’morning Roger,” she sang, sauntering toward his table. “What’s for breakfast?”

“Blub blub blub holy shims and shingles!” Roger exclaimed.

She laughed guilelessly. “That doesn’t sound very appetizing.”

Sarah was braless again. She was wearing a wet-look pullover of blue and white that glistened on her ever-inflating boobs like wet paint. Despite the lack of support beneath, her tits bounced high and round on her chest, outlined exactly by the shiny fabric stretched over them. Fabulous numbers ran through Roger’s head. Thirty-nine inches? Forty? Forty-one? He would have loved to take the measurement personally.

Below the waist, when Roger’s eyes finally got there, Sarah was wearing an indigo miniskirt, tight around her narrow waist, but flaring out wide at the hem. A pair of inch-wide suspenders running up from the waistband were positioned so they just covered her nipples, which were otherwise pressing eagerly through her wet-look shirt. Her pantyhose was tight and shiny, topped off with white, platform, court shoes with endless heels.

“Oh, you like this outfit?” she said, when she noticed her partner’s stare. “I picked it up yesterday. Cute, isn’t it?”

“Sure. Cute.” He couldn’t think of anything else to say. He watched as she pranced to the table on dancer’s legs. The wobble in her step from the previous evening had vanished. The waggle of her hips was more pronounced.

Sarah flirted and tittered her way through breakfast. Sitting across from her, it was impossible not to notice her breasts every moment. Not to mention her dramatic big eyes, flawless skin, perfect hair and beguiling smile. A distinct discomfort arose in Roger’s trousers.

Stop that! he scolded his upstanding member. Behave yourself! She’s your supervisor for the luvagod, you can’t be thinking about oh lord those boobs!

Out loud he said, “I’ve started on the inspection report. It’s pretty routine. Maybe you can look it over while I finish the field work.” He handed her his tablet.

“Oh cool, you’ve done it already,” Sarah said. “A girl could get used to having a guy like you around taking care of her.” She gave him a smoky look. His underwear twitched.

“Read it over, see what you think. I used the standard boilerplate.”

Sarah sucked on one finger while she read his notes. She pursed her lips and slid her finger in and out. Roger almost groaned.

“Say, there’s stuff missing here,” she said, pointing at the screen.

Damn, she noticed. “Hey, don’t pan the writer. I didn’t quite finish last night. I’ll fill in any blanks when I get back.”

“OK!” she agreed again. “Is that how you spell potassium?” She began ticking off the letters on her fingers: “P O T A ”

“I’d better get going,” Roger said, rising.

“Don’t leave me alone too long. Tell Gina I need some more water, K?”

It was more than half an hour later when Roger finally left the Winking Fox. He found Gina tidying up the kitchen, which was already as clean as a hospital. Today she was wearing a sky-blue stretch top and miniskirt, although her boots were red.

“I have to go out,” he explained, “but Sarah is going to stay here. She’s asking for more water.”

Gina tossed away her dishrag. She slid both arms around his neck. “Roger, darling, you can’t go out like that! You’re all distracted.” Stepping back a little, she boldly ran her fingers along his erection. “Uh-oh! I think you’re cute assistant has you all worked up.” She giggled like a schoolgirl teasing about a secret crush.

“Gaaa!” Roger sputtered. “She’s not, she’s uhm, not, not my a-assistant. And anyway I can’t possibly be what are you doing?” Slender fingers were already at work on his belt.

“We’re going to take care of that so you can feel better,” Gina said efficiently. His trousers fell to his ankles, followed by his undershorts. “Here, jump up on the table.”

Roger did so. His pole stuck out like a rocket ready for launch. Gina stood in front of him, between his legs. Her hands began to stroke his hardness while the pair shared a long, tongue-filled kiss. “Oh, Roger darling, you’re always so nice and big for me,” Gina cooed, some moments later. Then she bent over and kissed him again, much lower.

Roger made an incoherent sound as Gina’s soft lips engulfed his cock. He leaned back on his hands and admired the oak-beamed ceiling as his landlady went to work. He watched her head bob up and down as she slurped on his wang.

This is all impossible, he decided. It’s some kind of dream. It was inconceivable that he could be so hard, so horny, so soon after Gina had snuck into his bedroom, again, to fuck him into happy, exhausted sleep, again. Yet here he was, a few hours later, hard as an iron bar, enjoying an exquisite morning blowjob from a sexy, stacked blonde, ready, he was quite sure, to fill her mouth to overflowing when he came. He let his head role back. “Fuck, I love this town!” he declared.

Roger did indeed feel much more relaxed when he climbed into the Land Rover some time later. He felt confident now that even the babe-parade of Bimbeauville wouldn’t upset his hormones. A coterie of young women was doing tai chi exercises in the park within the roundabout. The women were all dressed in bright-coloured leotards and shiny tights. Their perfect bodies flowed and flexed in concert as they moved through the ancient routine. Roger drove around the roundabout three times just so he could watch. By the time he left, his blood was running hot again.

He studiously avoided any further distractions. He finished the last two pressure checks quickly. Then he headed straight for an important meeting.

Bimbeauville town hall was a modest building, but set at the end of the longest street, advancing up the hillside, so it overlooked the town below. Of course it was bedecked with flowers. Roger passed under a long arbour of roses to the front door. Inside he found a wooden counter, behind which a woman with very long, sandy-brown hair was fussing with papers. The plaque on her desk said her name was Siwan and that she was the town clerk.

“Oh, hello luv,” she said, when she saw Roger, “lovely day it is.”

“It is indeed,” Roger replied, admiring the clerk. She was a little different. Her curves had a softness about them that Roger hadn’t noticed in the other women of the town. Her waist was trim, but not tiny, and her breasts were ample on her small frame without being ridiculous. There was a fullness to the lines of her face that suggested maturity. Roger guessed she was in her late thirties.

Siwan was wearing a clingy blue gown that extended almost to the floor. The silky material flowed over her curves and outlined the navy blue underwear set beneath. A long gore up one side of the gown revealed that her legs were dressed in tight, navy blue, suede boots that extended well past her knees.

Roger suddenly realized he had been staring. Again. “Oh, I’m sorry. My name is Roger. I’m with the Drinking Water Inspectorate. Oh, are those are those your children?” He indicated the cluster of photographs on her desk.

“Oh, don’t be charming me with birdsong,” Siwan replied. “Those are my grand-children of course, Christina and Prince. Isn’t he a little cherub?”

For a few seconds Roger was speechless. “You those those are you’re but, but you look " he sputtered. He looked up at the still youthful beauty in front of him, then down at the pictures, then back up at Siwan again. More impossibleness.

After a moment he said, “Right. Right. Of course. Lovely children. Grandchildren. Impossible, but lovely. I have an appointment to see Mayor Hites.”

“Yes, I remember. Please, come with me.”

Crystal Hites, Mayor of Bimbeauville, was seated behind a glass-topped table when Roger came into her office, reading a magazine about hairstyles. The mayor’s own hair was an astonishing mane of deep brown locks. She was wearing a stretch-fit micro-dress of forest green trimmed with yellow, and a short yellow jacket with big green buttons.

“Crystal, this is Roger, the fellow who called earlier,” Siwan explained, by way of introduction.

The mayor sprang to her high-heeled feet. “Hi!” she sang in a pleasant alto voice, “charmed and delighted, Roger. I’m Crystal Hites. You can call me Chrys.” She extended a hand.

Roger replied formally. “Pleasure to meet you, Ms Hi-hi-hi-yi-yi!” The mayor had to bend forward over her desk to shake hands. Her brassiere was forest green with yellow flowers, and overflowing. “I I mean, Ms Hites. I appreciate you seeing me on such super knockers I mean, on such short notice. Oh my word.”

The mayor seemed unperturbed by Roger’s slipping tongue. She giggled coyly. “Oh, and this is the deputy mayor, Derwyn,” she said, as another man entered the room. Derwyn was a big man with a stern demeanour and disordered brown hair. Roger was instantly certain he would be as comfortable shearing sheep as working in an office.

Derwyn shook hands briskly. “A problem with our water is there?” he demanded.

“Well, frankly yes.” Roger turned to the mayor. “Ms Hites, as you know I am here on behalf of the Drinking Water Inspectorate ”

“Oh, the drinking water in Bimbeauville is like, super-marvellous, isn’t it!” the mayor interrupted. “The most delicious water ever ever. I drink it all the time!”

“Yes, well, that’s uhm, nice. I am bound to tell you that in the course of my inspections I have uncovered serious irregularities in the treatment of potable water in this town.”

The mayor’s brown eyes went wide. “Oh!” she said. “Oh dear. Our water is portable?”

Roger considered her for a moment. The mayor was wearing eye-catching jewellery patterned in yellow and green, to match her suit. Standing, her little dress stopped above the top of her desk. Green-tinged hose graced her long legs. Her high-fashion sandal-boots were yellow, with wide green straps that wound around her ankles.

“Irregularities?” Derwyn growled. “What does that mean? Nothing wrong with the water here, never has been. No need for you government wags to be running about, barking like a two-headed dog.”

“Perhaps,” Roger said. He tried not to let his nervousness show. “But before I file my report, I thought it best to ask whether the mayor’s office is aware that chlorination of the drinking water supply has been deliberately suspended, apparently for some time. This practice constitutes a public health hazard and quite possibly a criminal offence.”

“What’s clor cloritation?” the mayor wanted to know.

“It kills germs,” Derwyn said. He was looking at Roger. Neither man spoke for several seconds. Then Derwyn picked up the telephone on the mayor’s desk and punched a number. “Siwan? I’m calling an emergency meeting of the Board. Mayor’s office. Right now.”

Twenty minutes later Roger was seated in a stuffed chair in front of the mayor’s desk, along with four other men, collectively the Board of Directors of Bimbeauville Water. Roger wasn’t surprised to see Dr. Jones among them, nor Wyn from the water treatment plant. The man Gina called Uncle Gord was less expected. He introduced himself as Gruffydd.

Mayor Hites was tottering around serving tea and biscuits and eye candy to all the men. Her tiny green dress displayed both her legs and figure to best advantage. Roger found her seriously distracting.

“I told you it wouldn’t work,” Dr. Jones complained. “I told you someone would notice.”

“Be quiet, Kyffin,” Derwyn growled. “Our sources said that woman, Sarah, would be doing the inspections. They never mentioned an assistant.” He cast a disdainful glare at Roger.

Wyn said: “We do regular microbiological tests, all as required, all tidy. There has never been an incident. Nobody wants to drink chlorinated water if they can avoid it. Why do you want to make a buzz about it?”

“Actually, I don’t,” Roger replied.

The men looked at him. Roger said: “Look, from a practical standpoint, you’re right. The water is clean, so why make a fuss. My superiors may not agree, but that’s not why I’m here. I’m trying to unravel a mystery. About this town. And the town water.”

“And what would that mystery be?” Derwyn wanted to know. His dark brow furrowed.

“There’s a pipe running from the well head into a stream nearby. That’s unusual.”

“We told you laddie, that’s an overflow pipe, to bleed off excess pressure,” Wyn said. “The well is ”

“Never mind.” Roger sipped tea. “I may be young and I may be new in town but I’m no fool. That isn’t an overflow pipe. It’s an intake pipe. You’re deliberately siphoning water from Afon Nyllrym into the town water supply. And I think I know why.”

“Oh do you?” Derwyn again. “Why would we do such a thing?”

“Don’t be obtuse,” Roger said. He turned to the only woman in the room. “Mayor Hites Chrys. That is a very pretty dress your wearing.”

The mayor was sitting at her glass-topped work table, leaning on her elbows, calmly listening to the conversation. She had her knees crossed. “Oh, do you think so?” she said, clearly flattered. “I thought it might be like, too bright for the office.” She toyed with the yellow-and-green necklace that hung deep in her cleavage. Her fitted jacket was bright as sunshine.

“It’s lovely,” Roger said. “Those colours suit you.”

The mayor’s smile was dazzling as a summer sunrise. “Oh, you’re just charming the chickens,” she said, beaming. Beneath the glass-topped table, she uncrossed her knees and crossed them the other way. Her hemline floated along the edge of her rump. For a long moment every man in the room was silent.

Roger turned his gaze back to Derwyn. He waited.

The other man heaved a deep sigh. He looked around at the other members of the board, as if searching for consensus. Wyn shrugged. Kyffin Jones flipped a hand.

Derwyn turned back to Roger. He said: “When that mineshaft flooded five years ago, it dealt this town a double blow. We lost both our main source of employment and our water supply at the same time. For a while we had to rely on water trucked in from Vargasville. Of course there was never enough. Some of us started drawing water from the local brooks as a supplemental supply. It didn’t take us long to realize that water from Afon Nyllrym had an effect on women that could be considered " He groped for the right word “Stimulatory.”

“Salubrious,” said Dr. Jones.

“Salutary,” said Wyn.

“And it gave me marvellous big titties!” the mayor chimed in. She opened the green buttons on her jacket so everyone could look. Everyone looked.

“So you see,” Derwyn went on, when the five men finally tore their attention away from Crystal’s perfect pair, “we menfolk quickly decided that the whole town should benefit from the, uhm, health benefits of the water.”

“Improved muscle tone,” said Dr. Jones.

“Effortless weight control,” said Wyn.

“And I love what it did for my hair!” squealed the Mayor of Bimbeauville. She fluffed up her fabulous pile of locks with both hands.

Derwyn spread his hands. “We convinced the government to drill the new well near Afon Nyllrym, so we could, er, enrich the water supply. As a kind of public health initiative.”

“Very similar to fluoridation,” said Dr. Jones.

“Or filtration,” added Wyn. “Done for the good of the people, it is.”

“Floor-a-day-sun,” Crystal Hites said. “That’s a funny word!” She giggled. Her boobs bounced beneath her tight dress. The movement pulled Roger’s eyes away from her legs and gave them something else to stare at.

“Chlorine does ruin the taste,” Wyn said. “And for some reason it reduced the, what’s the word, efficacy of the water. Once we realized that Afon Nyllrym water rendered chlorine redundant, we simply turned it off.”

Roger said: “I had noticed the . . . invigorating physical effects of Bimbeauville water.” Like everyone else he was choosing his words carefully. “What about cognitive capacity?” He gestured with his eyes toward Crystal Hites, who had taken out a hand mirror and was fussing critically with her hair.

“Less affected than you might think,” Derwyn replied. “There’s certainly a reduced attention span. But it’s mostly a change in attitude. The girls tend to become pre-occupied with sex and looking good and . . . well, that’s about it.”

“The twins do competently operate the treatment plant,” Wyn pointed out. “Albeit with close supervision.” He paused. “Abundant supervision.”

Kyffin Jones said: “I haven’t been able to confirm a real decline in IQ. But I can’t get any of the girls to take the tests seriously, so it’s hard to tell.”

“What about the men?” Roger asked. “Why aren’t we affected?”

The doctor answered this time. “Changes to men are more subtle. There is a general increase in vigour and stamina. Also, some modifications associated with what might be termed sexual prowess.”

“Virility,” supplied Derwyn.

“Capacity,” added Wyn.

“Would anyone like more tea?” said the mayor. She picked up the silver teapot from her desk and tottered around the room refilling everyone’s teacup, thus guaranteeing that everyone in the room would be thinking about sex for the next five minutes.

Roger reflected on his own sexual adventures of the past three days. Both his stamina and his output confirmed what Dr. Jones said. “Hold it, wait a minute,” he protested. He closed his eyes for a moment, mostly to stop staring at Crystal Hites. Her bikini panties were green with yellow trim. She kept bending over to pour tea. “You have been submitting quarterly water samples all this time. Why didn’t someone at the central lab notice the water was peculiar?”

The other men looked uncomfortable. “One water sample looks more or less like another, doesn’t it, laddie,” Wyn replied. “Jjyfar and Vargasville submitted samples for us, in exchange for free chlorine. Cost recovery, that’s what it is.”

“Yes, I’ve heard of that,” Roger observed. He set down his tea cup. “This brings us to the question: what is so special about Afon Nyllrym?”

Gruffydd spoke for the first time. He was an older man; his voice was slow and careful. “Afon Nyllrym is magic,” he said. He stated the fact plainly. “The brook carries the aura of Nyllrym ”

“ the Bad Magician of King Arthur’s court,” Roger finished for him.

He was rewarded with four looks of astonishment. “You know about Nyllrym?” Derwyn demanded. He sounded almost offended, as if Roger had betrayed a trust.

Roger shook his head. “Only a little. I took an elective in folklore in my university days. I looked him up last night to refresh my memory. Arthur himself is legendary, probably a composite of half a dozen warrior kings. Nyllrym is even foggier, a myth within a legend.”

“He is real,” Gruffydd said, in the same matter-of-fact tone. “Like Merlin, his origins were supernatural. Unlike Merlin, who had to forgo the flesh to release his magic, Nyllrym was a lecher and an enchanter of women. It was said that his magic was responsible for the seductive beauty of Guenevere.”

“Yes, but didn’t Merlin kill Nyllrym? His first battle and test of his magic, or something like that.”

“He did,” Gruffydd agreed, “but the bad magic of Nyllrym was too powerful to die. The stories say that a spring near where he lies was touched by his aura and the water carries it still.”

“Afon Nyllrym.”

Gruffydd nodded. “Everyone thought the name was merely a gesture to the legend. But now we know better.”

Roger said: “I want to see it.”

BIMBEAUVILLE PART 4 OF 7 by Downing Street

Chapter IV: Wednesday

Sarah was late for breakfast the next morning. Roger was reading a day-old copy of the Guardian, his breakfast already done, when he finally heard the tap of Sarah’s new heels on the staircase. He looked up as she approached his table. He suppressed the urge to whistle.

Sarah was wearing a dress, again. This one was brick red, with a pattern of dark blue zig-zags running horizontally. The dress was as figure-molded as yesterday’s, and shorter too. She was wearing suntan hose and her blue wedges.

“I hope you slept well,” Roger said carefully. He tried to keep his eyes off her legs.

“Ah, I slept like a baby,” Sarah replied, smiling. “And it looks like I overslept a little.” She didn’t seem very concerned. She giggled.

What?

Giggled? This couldn’t be Sarah. Sarah never giggled. Ever. Someone had kidnapped Sarah and replaced her with a sloppily programmed replica.

Roger decided a test was in order. “Another dress?” he said.

“Oh, uhm, well, there was, like, a sale,” Sarah explained, “second dress half price. So I figured, why not?” She giggled again. She sat down and took a deep drink of water.

Roger inspected the imposter Sarah sitting across from him. She was definitely prettier this morning. Her face no longer seemed angular. Her cheekbones were high and well-defined, her lips a cute red bow. Long lashes fluttered over eyes that seemed both bigger and bluer than he remembered. Her hair was longer now too. It fell over her shoulders. Below the neck, the snug-fitting dress made no secret of her expanded twin assets.

“Look, I expect you to be a gentleman about this,” Sarah said, when she noticed where his eyes were lingering. “Until I can get to a shop for some new foundations I’m going to have to go without. All my bras are simply too small. I must be retaining water, I’ve been drinking so much of it.” She giggled again. Her unrestrained blessings bounced. The outline of her nipples was visible against the stretchy fabric.

“Right,” said Roger. If this was water retention, he would make sure Sarah had a full jug by her bedside every night. “We were going to see the town doctor this morning.”

She shook her head. “Boobie-binder first. Doctor later. I am not going to walk around like this all day.“

“Fair enough. When you’ve eaten I’ll drop you off and you can shop while I do some water tests. I’ll pick you up in an hour or so.”

“Make it two.” She raised a hand to signal Gina for some food. Roger watched her new endowments jiggle. If Sarah noticed, she didn’t seem offended.

Bimbeauville’s only doctor kept his surgery on a narrow lane just off the high street, not far from the Winking Fox. It was well into the afternoon before Roger and Sarah arrived. Roger got the doctor’s name and address from the ever-obliging Gina (“Oh, and he’s like the bestest doctor too!), who happened to be sitting in his lap at the time. Then, while Sarah shopped for new underwear, Roger returned to the pumping station, in the Land Rover this time, to do some water tests.

Wyn was glad to see him. The twins were overjoyed. “Roger! You’re back!” exclaimed Glynis, or possibly Glenys, and anyway who cared they were both awesome. She jumped into his arms and gave him a welcome kiss that lasted at least thirty seconds. Then her sister did the same, with tongue. Today Glynis was wearing a pink hard hat and neon-pink stockings with big ruffles at the top. Her sister was wearing a white hat and white lycra tights. The girlish legware looked incongruous with their shiny black boots, but incredibly sexy too.

The water tests took quite a long time. The twins helped. At least they tried to. They kept spilling samples on themselves. Of course Roger, being a gentlemen, was obliged to help clean them up. The girls preferred that he use his tongue.

It was almost noon before Roger pulled the Land Rover up in front of the lingerie shop where he had deposited Sarah that morning. “Sorry I’m late,” he said, climbing out. “The water testing took a little while. I had trouble getting clean results.” Also it was tricky concentrating on procedures while being constantly, and he suspected deliberately, distracted by the water nymphs. They both managed to spill water all over their T-shirts. “Oh, that’s all right,” Sarah said good-naturedly. She tossed half a dozen gaily coloured packages into the back. “I made good use of the time.”

“I would say you did. I thought all you needed was a new bra.”

She giggled her newfound giggle. “Roger, a girl never goes shopping for just a bra. Besides, they have such a fabulous selection here it would be a pity not to take advantage of it.”

That was more or less how Roger felt about the amazing two-tongued blowjob he got from Glenys and Glynis. The three of them spent more time “relaxing” in the break room than actually carrying out water tests. Out loud he said, “Right. Let’s get some lunch.”

They found a caf‚ not far away where the fish and chips were excellent, the service was slow but very friendly and the waitress was (of course) a bombshell. Roger had a pint with lunch. Sarah had more water. The waitress had light brown hair permed into perfect waves and curls around her face. She wore a hooters-style uniform of tight, white T-shirt and canary yellow short-shorts. Her legs were dressed in filmy exercise tights along with white socks and gaudy yellow high-tops. The name tag pinned over her left breast said “Delyth”.

I wonder what the right one is called, Roger wondered. When they’re that big, they should have their own names.

“Hey, Earth to Roger,” Sarah said. “When you’re finished staring at the scenery, maybe we should talk about work.”

“I’ll never be finished staring,” Roger said. He was grinning.

“Men,” Sarah rejoined. “Always fascinated by a nice pair of titties.” She seemed more amused than angry. “Did your water tests turn up anything?”

Roger was watching Delyth prance about in her skimpy outfit, flirting with all the men, mixing up orders, and giving the wrong change. Nylon glinted on her endless legs. “No, nothing. Everything is within guidelines. It’s a good well. Although, there’s something . . .” Again he stopped, considering. Every time he had tried to discuss the matter of chlorination, the twins had sweet-talked him out of it. They were very persuasive.

“Although what?”

“Hmm? Oh, nothing, nothing. Anyway the water is fine.” And so is Delyth’s ass, he thought but didn’t say. He adjusted his hard-on when Sarah wasn’t looking.

“And it’s like, double-luscious delicious,” Sarah said, before draining her glass for the third time.

After lunch they proceeded to the doctor’s office on foot. It wasn’t far. The street lay in the oldest part of town. Sarah’s heels teetered on the cobblestones. Once or twice she had to grip Roger’s arm for support. She didn’t seem in a hurry to let go.

The doctor’s office was set in a modernized brick building with big windows out front. The waiting room was decorated in shades of pink, including the plush carpet underfoot. The wall-paper featured smiling pink elephants clutching balloons in their trunks. None of the half-dozen pink, padded chairs was occupied.

There was a nurse’s station on the far side of the room. The blonde sitting there was working at her computer with great concentration. Her tight, white uniform was deeply low cut in front, the better to display a stupendous rack. Roger gulped. I didn’t know they made them that big, he thought.

“Hello,” Sarah said, approaching her desk. “We’ve come to see Dr. Jones.”

The nurse looked up. She had been playing a simple computer game, trying to get cartoon zoo animals into the right cages. “Oh, uhm, hi,” she said. “You want to see Dr. Jones?” She gave Sarah a look of sympathy, as if she were gravely ill. She said: “You’re not from around here, are you.”

Sarah sighed. “No, we’re from the Drinking Water Inspectorate. Roger and Sarah. I mean, Sarah and Roger. I mean, he’s Roger. I’m Sarah. Whatever. May we talk to Dr. Jones for a few minutes?”

The nurse discovered Roger. She bestowed a smile that warmed the whole room. “Oh! Right, of course. Hi! Roger, right? I’m Lili. Do you like, have an appointment?” She seemed to have lost interest in Sarah.

Sarah looked around the empty waiting room. “Does it matter?”

The blonde was instantly confused. “Well I-I mean, uhm, like I don’t know but, like, most people have appointments, you know? I don’t I can’t let ”

Roger said: “Why don’t we ask the doctor, yes?”

“Oh, for sure!” Relief filled her movie-star face. “We’ll ask Dr. Jones. Follow me!” She got to her feet and led them down a short corridor, past a couple of examination rooms. Her “uniform” was nylon and extremely short. She wore white stockings, gartered just above the hem of her dress, and shiny red, platform ankle boots with white crosses on the side. The uniform transmitted the sway of her behind with every tottering step. Her legs went on forever.

“How does she even walk in those heels?” Roger whispered, behind her.

“I don’t know,” Sarah replied. “But they’re rather pretty, aren’t they.” Roger shot her a glance.

Dr. Jones was a comparatively young man with a head of brown hair and a flamboyant moustache. He was wearing a shirt and tie with an open white lab coat over them. He had his feet up on the desk in front of him. He was reading a technical journal called Advances in Gynaecology.

“Kyffin oh, (giggle) I mean, Dr. Jones,” the micro-skirted nurse cooed from the doorway, “there’s two people come to see you, from like, a drinking water something or other. Roger and his assistant, uhm, Sharon. They don’t have an appointment. Is that tidy?”

He swung his feet down to the floor. “Yes, of course, of course. Show them in, Lili.”

The dazzling nurse stepped aside so that Sarah and Roger could enter. Roger turned to admire her as she wiggled away down the hall. She walked with an exaggerated feminine gait, hands out, one spike-heeled boot set exactly in front of the other. Neither Roger nor Dr. Jones spoke until she disappeared.

“Bimbeauville Water is a locally owned co-operative,” Dr. Jones was saying, a few minutes later. “I see why periodic inspections are necessary. I don’t understand why the DWI would have an interest in town medical records.” Roger and Sarah were sitting in comfortable chairs in front of his desk. Sarah had her knees crossed. Her new dress slid up her thigh. She was wearing dark stockings with a subtle pattern woven into them.

Inexplicably, Roger was finding Sarah’s legs distracting. That concept, like her earlier smiles and giggles, was simply foreign: distracting and Sarah could not be used in the same sentence. Similarly, the grandeur and perfection of the nurse’s tits was impossible, as was the shapeliness of her legs and the deep-sea blue-green of her eyes. He could see the outline of Sarah’s own breasts pressing against the fabric of her dress. How much impossibleness could one man accept?

“Uhm, well, it’s simple isn’t it,” Sarah fumbled, “uhm, this is like, a sort of follow-up thingie ”

Roger said: “When a new water source goes into production, it’s customary to check for incidents of water-borne infections, as a further quality assurance indicator.” He caught Sarah’s look of relief. He was a little better at lying than she was.

“If we had an outbreak of cholera, I think you would have heard about it,” Dr. Jones said.

Sarah said: “Yes, but what about minor ailments. Stomach flu; diarrhea; bloat; whatever.”

“I haven’t seen any of those,” the doctor replied.

“Fevers?” said Roger.

“Of course not.”

“Allergic reactions?”

“That’s more of a big city thing.”

“There was a nasty bout of influenza making the rounds last winter.”

“We pretty much missed that. We’re rather out of the way here.”

“Doesn’t anyone get bronchitis? Chest colds? The sniffles?”

“Well . . . not bad enough to see me about. We’re pretty hardy stock.”

Roger thought about the empty waiting room. He said: “Doctor, do you have any patients at all?”

The young doctor was looking distinctly uncomfortable. “Uhm, well, we do get a few twisted ankles and such. Cobble streets and high heels, an unfortunate combination. And I do devote a lot of attention to . . . uhm, sexual health. Bedroom dynamics, if you will. Family planning. We have quite a few pregnancies for such a small town. Of course they go to the hospital in Vargasville for deliveries.”

Sarah uncrossed her knees and got to her feet. “Thank you, Dr. Jones,” she said formally. “You have been, like, very helpful with our, uhm, inquiries and stuff.” She tugged down her short dress.

Dr. Kyffin Jones looked Sarah up and down in a frankly appraising manner. He said, “You’re not from around here, are you.”

Back on the street, Sarah and Roger compared notes as they made their way back to the Land Rover. “If the good doctor were aiming to grow rich,” Roger said, “he chose the wrong town to set up practice.”

“A town where no one gets sick,” Sarah replied. “Seriously peculiar.” She stuck the end of one finger in her mouth while she thought about it. Then she said: “I don’t think we should stay here any longer.”

“You’re worried about us being affected by . . . well, by whatever it is, if it’s anything?” He shrugged. “I feel fine.” He wondered if his self-assessment should include the incessant hard-ons he kept popping up. He blamed those on an excess of stimulation.

“So do I,” Sarah conceded. “In fact I feel splendid. But . . . I’m not sure . . .” She let the sentence hang. She was sucking on one finger again. Her lips were red and soft-looking.

“All we have left is to finish checking the end-point pressure,” Roger said. “With luck we can finish that tomorrow and be on our way.”

“I suppose,” Sarah replied, uncertain. “I’m just worried that oh, delphiniums!” She stopped to admire an overflowing flowerbed. She bent over to inhale the fragrance from the abundance of flowers. Roger noticed that she leaned forward onto her toes, hands flat, fingers spread, as if the aroma were about to lift her into the air.

Sweet mercy, Roger thought. Is that Sarah’s ass? Sarah did not have an ass like that this morning. He would have noticed. It would have been impossible not to notice, especially in that dress. He would have noticed a female rear so round, so smoothly indented and oh crap he was getting hard again.

“I love flowers,” Sarah said, straightening. “This town is so pretty, full of flowers.”

“Ungh,” said Roger. He adjusted his trousers behind her back.

At length they arrived back at the high street. The parade of beauties passing by did nothing to relieve the strain in Roger’s underwear. A raven-haired fantasy in tiny white shorts and thigh-boots winked at him.

“Do you mind driving?” Sarah said. In response to Roger’s surprised look she added: “Not quite used to the heels.”

“Uh, sure,” Roger replied. “Of course.” This was another precedent; Sarah never let him drive. He hustled around to the passenger side to get the door, then held her hand as she climbed up into the seat. The Land Rover had a high clearance.

“Oh my, a gentleman after all,” Sarah said. She sounded pleased.

Roger did not reply. He was concentrating on not looking at the flash of thigh revealed as Sarah slipped gracefully into her seat. As he got in on his side and started the engine a thought occurred to him. “Does the satellite uplink on this thing still work?”

“As far as I know. Why?”

“I need to use the internet. Cell phones don’t work here and land lines are too slow. I can patch into the Land Rover link on my tablet.”

“Oh. What do you want to look up?”

He started the engine. “Some local history. Taking a leaf from your book and reading up on the sites we assess.”

“Cool. My hair is getting really long. Do you think I should get a perm?”

About an hour later, Roger was sitting in a quiet corner of the pub, working away on his tablet. An empty pint glass stood on the table in front of him. The pub was quiet this time of day. The man Gina referred to as Uncle Gord was quietly sweeping the floor. Roger looked up to see Gina standing in front of him, balancing delicately on her super-high heels. “Another pint, luv?” she cooed.

The bodacious barkeep was looking head-turning, as usual. Her blonde hair swept over one shoulder. She was wearing a tight-fitting top and skirt combo in a red-and-blue pattern. The micro-skirt hugged her ass just as the top strained over her ballooning bust. Dusky hose glinted on her legs, topped off with red suede booties.

Roger considered his glass. “Ah, maybe not right now,” he decided. “Still have a lot of work to do.”

“What’s that your doing?” She was wearing dark eye-shadow, making the blue of her eyes stand out even more.

“Calculating water losses. If we know the diameter of any water main in town and the pressure at each end, we can figure out how much water is leaking out along the way.”

“Ooh, that sounds right hard,” Gina said. Her voice was tinged with admiration.

He grinned. “Not especially. The computer does all the calculations. I just type in the data.”

She looked confused. “I don’t understand. If it’s typing numbers, why doesn’t your assistant do it? I can type numbers!” She beamed with pride.

Roger scanned the flawless exemplar of femininity in front of him. Her legs alone could cause a riot. “Sarah isn’t my assistant,” he explained. “She’s well anyway it doesn’t matter, she’s out finishing the pressure checks.”

“Oh. Does that mean you’ll be leaving soon?”

“Afraid so. Tomorrow, probably. Unless " He pinched his chin in thought. “Honey, who’s the mayor of Bimbeauville?”

Gina clapped her hands together. “Oh, I know!” she chirped, as if she had solved a challenging puzzle. “Her name is Crystal Hites. She’s the mayor!”

“The mayor is a woman?” That was unexpected.

“That’s right. But it’s not like a full-time job, you know? The rest of the time she’s a fashion advisor. She works at Trilby’s Fashion Hive, on the high street.” Her tone implied that Roger knew exactly where that was.

“The mayor is also a shop clerk. I see.”

“Oh, but she’s really good! She sold me these shoes. Aren’t they pretty?” Leaning back against the heavy table, she lifted one bootie onto the edge of his chair, between his legs.

Gina’s soft red bootie had a platform sole at least two inches thick, a curved heel as high as the clouds, and a toe like the bow on the Titanic. Above the shoe, Roger found himself with a close-up view of Gina’s lycra-coated leg, all the way up to the edge of her tiny skirt.

“Now, now listen, honey, I know what you’re trying to do,” he cautioned, “but I really do have to wank I mean work! I have to work, this afternoon.”

“Oh, but Roger darling, you’ve been working for like, hours. You need to take a break. Relax a little.” She leaned back on her hands. Her foot slid forward until the toe rested against his crotch. She rubbed it back and forth.

“Gaa!” Roger expostulated. “No, wait, Gina, I’m serious, come on, stop that!”

She pouted. “Maybe you don’t really like my pretty shoes. That’s tidy, I’ll take them off.” She withdrew her foot, unzipped the side zipper on her red bootie and dropped it on the floor. It’s partner followed five seconds later.

“There now, is this better?” Her voice was soft, an innocent child. She hopped up on the table, letting her hem ride up to the edge of her rump, and placed both hose-clad feet squarely on Roger’s crotch.

“Oh Roger darling, you do need to relax.” There was no disguising the growing stiffie beneath Gina’s massaging toes.

Roger groaned. Even her feet were sexy. “Gina you don’t play fair,” he moaned. “Now come on, stop that!“

In desperation he grabbed her ankles and pulled her feet off his boner. Gina must have anticipated this because she suddenly spread her legs very wide, half-pulling a startled Roger to his feet. Abruptly he was standing close to her, her face next to his, her breasts pressing against his chest.

He made an inarticulate protest. Gina wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him long and deep. He was still holding her ankles. Without breaking the kiss, the super-stacked blonde reached down with one hand and began unbuckling his trousers. Roger gave up resisting. Somewhere in the back of his mind he realized that she had seduced him again in less than five minutes.

More than ten minutes later he and Gina were still there, making out with increasing ardour. Gina was perched on the edge of the table with her legs wrapped around Roger’s back. Both she and Roger were breathing hard. Cutlery and placemats littered the floor where they had fallen, unnoticed. Uncle Gord had discreetly disappeared.

“Wait, Gina, baby, we can’t do this here,” Roger whispered. “Someone might come in!” Roger wasn’t sure when his trousers had landed around his ankles. He had a hard-on like a crowbar. Gina said: “It’s not (pant, pant) very busy right now. I think I’ll, mmmmm, close up for a while.” Extracting herself from his embrace, she hopped off the table, skipped over to the front door, and flipped the sign to “Closed”.

Shortly thereafter, she opened.

It was well after dinner time when Sarah finally arrived back at the inn. Roger was a tad concerned. The pressure checks should have been a few hours work. Had she found a problem?

Roger was lying on the bed in his room, propped up on some pillows. He had his tablet on his lap. The bulky satellite telephone from the Land Rover was by his side, connected to the tablet by a black cable. The Ministry insisted that field crews carry satellite phones for the rare instances when they were out of cell phone range. Such as in Bimbeauville, as it turned out.

Roger was using the satellite link to connect to the internet. He was on a mission. Something about that stream, Afon Nyllrym, stuck in his mind. The name seemed familiar in a far-off way, like a name he had heard in childhood.

It took a while. He was about to give up when he stumbled upon an on-line facsimile of an 1863 monograph entitled “Historical Antecedents and Folkloric Origins of the Legends of King Arthur”, in the Seeley Historical Library at Cambridge. The search engine directed him to page 113.

Roger set the tablet aside. He pinched his lip with his fingers, lost in thought. At length he got to his feet and walked over to the window overlooking the street. The day was bright. The sun was trending westward toward a soft summer evening. The street was quiet, birdsong only rarely interrupted by a passing car.

Roger watched a young mother across the street. She was pushing a baby stroller. She was, of course, spectacularly well-figured. She was wearing a white, spaghetti-strap tank-top coupled with a wide, blue-denim miniskirt made of three overlapping layers that still barely covered anything. She wore white, over-the-knee socks with red spots, and high-topped, white sport shoes with inch-thick rubber soles. Her hair was fixed into two long ponytails on either side of her head.

Roger watched her keenly. Her tank-top looked like it could burst at any moment. Her hips swayed rhythmically, swinging her flippy skirt back and forth.

The woman is walking eroticism, Roger reflected. Despite the number of gorgeous women he had encountered since arriving in Bimbeauville, he still couldn’t get used to it. The woman on the street was bopping along as if taking a walk with her baby while dressed like an adolescent sex fantasy were a perfectly ordinary thing to do.

She stopped for a moment to adjust something in the stroller. Instantly her sculpted, round ass came into view; her bikini panties were white with red spots, matching her socks. “Holy morning sunshine,” Roger muttered. He felt a stirring in his loins.

Therein lay the issue: woman like the babe with the baby were impossible. There was no other word for it. No one could be that attractive, that sexy, yet make it seem so effortless. Just as it was impossible that he could be rising again, so soon after a another ball-draining fuck-session with the irresistible Gina. When he came the second time, he coated her marvellous melons with so much hot, white jism he almost apologized for it. He had never come like that except possibly during the first round a little earlier, when he had been sprawled in the comfortable chair with Gina perched in his lap, bouncing and squealing on his pole until he spurted like a firehose into her.

While he recovered, staring at the ceiling with an idiot grin on his face, Gina slipped off him. Ever the considerate hostess, she dropped to her knees and began to gently clean his dick of her abundant love-juice. She used a handy bit of cloth, which happened to be her underwear, and then her tongue to finish off.

Her ministrations gradually evolved into a suckling blowjob that coaxed his member into rising again, followed by a long, lazy breast-fuck. She used both hands to gently press her giant breasts against his staff, which soon lubricated the valley with pre-cum. By this point Gina was wearing nothing above her little skirt. Yet she somehow found a moment to slip her platform booties back on. She looked up at him adoringly as she gently guided Roger to his second climax.

Roger stepped back from the window. This was all impossible. Fabulous, but impossible. How much impossibleness could one man accept? If his theory about Bimbeauville was right, he would have to accept a little more.

The tap of heels in the corridor outside stirred him from his reverie. That would be Sarah, at last. He crossed the room and opened the door just as his supervisor arrived at her room.

“S-Sarah?” Roger stammered.

In the few hours since he last saw her, Sarah had changed again. The slender, unremarkable figure he remembered had been replaced by a sweep of womanly curves. Sarah’s previously bony hips were now soft and full, and her ass had belled into a pretty round bubble. Yet her waist was as narrow as ever. Roger ogled: she must have gained another inch of bust—since that morning!

Roger could see all these improvements at once because Sarah had changed her clothes. Her clinging minidress from earlier had been replaced by a three-button pink sweater and a stretchy red miniskirt set off with a white belt. Her legs were smooth and bare except for a pair of open-toed, white slides with platform, wedge heels. She was wearing an elaborate gold necklace that matched her long earrings.

“Oh, uhm, hi Roger,” she said. She fished her room key out of her purse (her purse?) and tried to unlock the door. She was carrying several more parcels.

Searching for some way to reconcile the curve-baring party girl in front of him with the Sarah that he knew, Roger grasped at the least significant feature: “You you got you hair done,” he said.

Sarah smiled, nervous, showing perfect teeth and wet-glossed lips. “Uhm, yes, I, I did. I was going to get it cut, it was getting so long, but uhm, when I got in the chair, the stylist, uhm, she convinced me to get it permed instead, and like, well . . . what do you think?” She toyed with a lock with one hand.

“It’s fabulous,” Roger replied, sincerely. “But, how did you end up in a hair salon? Weren’t you going to finish the pressure checks?”

“I I didn’t quite finish. I had to dammit I had to buy another bra. The one I got yesterday was too small, or I’m like, retaining water, or something? I’m so big here now!” She ran both hands down her inadequate sweater, emphasizing the obvious. The pink of her nails matched the sweater.

“So I took, like, a quick break to run down to the shops for a new bra, but, like, when I got there, everyone was so damn friendly, and like, excited about getting me out of my old clothes, as if I had come in soaking wet from a rainstorm or something. After I got a new bra a couple of new bras, several, whatever they insisted I needed lots of other stuff too. Girls kept giving me things to try on and suggesting this and that and fussing over me and telling me how hot I looked and I, I, uhm, got caught up in the moment.” A nervous giggle escaped her. She shook her head.

Abruptly she said: “I don’t think we should stay here any longer.”

Roger said: “We’re not quite finished the pressure checks.”

“Screw the pressure checks. The system is fine, the rest is a formality. I need to get away from this place. It’s it’s making me act strange. I’m like, losing my attention span. I get distracted all the time. I can’t seem to get my mind off I mean, I got into a long conversation with a sales girl in one of the shops, talking about, like sandals. It was interesting. And I can’t stop giggling at everything.”

To prove her point she tittered prettily. The giggles seemed to be involuntary, like hiccups. “Roger, something’s happening to me. I’m, uhm, really horny and confused and and now I can’t even open the freakin’ door!” She wiggled the key in frustration.

“Try turning it the other way,” Roger said.

Sarah did. The door opened. “I’m such a ditz,” she declared, shaking her head. She giggled again. It made her boobs bounce inside the short sweater. Roger could see lace on her pink bra-cups.

Roger said: “Come down to the pub and have a bite to eat. Then we can decide what to do next.”

Sarah was struggling with her bags. “Uhm, right, yes. We’ll do that. I need to eat something. But, uhm, give me, uh, half an hour. There’s like, something I need to take care of.”

“Sure. I’ll see you downstairs.”

He passed on to the water closet to wash. When he came back, the door to Sarah’s room was closed. There were sounds coming from inside. A buzzing sound like an electric shaver, and long, low moans. The moans didn’t sound unhappy. In fact, it sounded like Sarah was He stopped that thought before he could think it. He hurried down the stairs to the pub.

Almost an hour passed before Sarah re-appeared. Roger was sitting at a booth in one corner of the pub, with the water-works map spread out in front of him. The evening crowd was beginning to build. Roger was puzzling over Sarah’s notes; she had made numerous mistakes and crossed them out several times. He looked up when Sarah’s approach caught his eye. “Holy shin-a-ding-ding!” he said to himself.

She was looking much more relaxed. She had changed into another outfit: a rouched white pullover and gold leggings that looked sprayed-on. The leggings rode low on her hips, baring her midriff to below her navel. She was wearing some sort of trendy white shoes, like a cross between a high-topped sneaker and an ankle-boot. The shoes had tall wedge heels, gold laces, and decorative gold studs.

Though still an outlier by the preposterous standards of Bimbeauville, Sarah was looking damn fine. More than her physical appearance had changed. She was smiling, for one thing. Until that morning, Sarah had smiled about as often as the Furies.

Roger watched her walk. Her new shoes did not permit her usual impatient stride. The encumbrance didn’t seem to trouble her. Her hips rolled with each step, advertised by the thin gold leggings. There was a feminine delicacy about her now, a new attitude signaled by long lashes, flashy jewellery and big hair. She was sucking on one finger as she walked.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” she said, as she slid in across from him. “Stuff I had to do.” She giggled.

Roger said, “I ordered for you. It’s roast bobwhite quail. Someone around here raises them. It’s pretty good.”

“Thanks. I’m famished. Thirsty too.”

Megan had clearly been waiting because she appeared immediately with Sarah’s meal. Today the waitress was wearing a red stretch dress, not much more than an elongated T-shirt, along with tan hose and purple, calf-high boots. She served Sarah in the usual way, flashing her red bikini panties, and the yummy ass beneath them, at Roger as she bent to set the plate on the table.

“Oh, champion hair-do,” she crooned, admiring Sarah’s new look. “You look soooo much prettier now. Did Tabby do you?” She flexed her hips for Roger’s benefit.

“Oh, you like it?” Sarah said, flustered by the attention. “I wasn’t sure. Yes it was Tabby Tabby & Co., I think. The girl kinda talked me into it.” She fussed with her hair. New bracelets jangled on her wrist.

“Oh, Tabby can talk a girl into anything,” Megan said with a laugh. “And you should totally let her. That old horse wasn’t pulling the cart. You got your nails done too!

Sarah actually blushed. “Well, I was sitting there in the chair anyway, and it was rather relaxing and everything, so when Tabby suggested a manicure too I said, well, why not?”

“Well now you’re the bright yellow bird, aren’t you. Do you want some water?” She had a pitcher in her free hand.

“Yes, please!”

Megan filled her water glass. Sarah drank half of it at one go. Megan straightened, pretended to tug down the hem of her tiny dress, then waggled her fingers at Roger as she sauntered away. The towering heels on her slick boots no longer surprised him.

Eventually he turned his attention back to Sarah. She was digging into her dinner with gusto. “There’s only a couple more pressure points to check,” he said, indicating the map. “I can do those quick tomorrow morning.”

“Good idea,” Sarah replied. “Then we can get away from here. Bizarre little town. Oh darn, my glass is empty already.”

Roger was distracted. Over by the dartboard, a typical Bimbeauville stunner was trying to play round-the-board with her husband or boyfriend and another man. She was wearing mauve, denim short-shorts, a cut-off red T-shirt, and wildly coloured, platform sandals with what looked like six-inch heels. She had a glass of wine in one hand. She was laughing and flirting and throwing wildly. Sometimes she missed the board completely. She took a sip of wine before each throw.

Roger decided to experiment. “You’ve had enough water,” he said to Sarah. “Try my beer. I’ve barely touched it.” He shoved the pint glass across the table.

“All right!” Sarah said good-naturedly. She took a healthy drink. “Say, that’s not bad,” she opined. “It has a bit of tang. Much better than most local brews.”

“Finish it for me,” Roger said. Sarah did so, and rather quickly. When she was done he signaled Megan to bring her another. It disappeared too, though more slowly. When she started on her third, she drank too fast and spilled some down her chin.

“Oopsie!” she cried, wiping her mouth with one hand. “Look at what I’ve done. A waste of good beer!” She laughed easily. “Oh man, listen to me, I’m a total giggle-head.” To prove her point she collapsed in a helpless fit of giggles that was only ended, finally, by drinking more beer.

Roger was staring. She’s getting drunk, he marvelled. She’s had two glasses of beer and she’s already halfway to happyland. He watched her tits bounce beneath her tight-fitting top. There was a lot to like about this new version of Sarah. Still, he decided on a more prudent course.

“Well, I think I’ve had enough,” he said, rising. He picked up the annotated map. “We should go over the figures before we file our report. There’s a table in my room.”

“No way!” Sarah announced, raising her glass. “I am never never never going to spend my last night in this wacky town doing calc—calcul calcultations!” She nodded toward the growing crowd around the dartboard. “They look like they’re having fun. Time to meet the locals!”

She got to her feet, helped herself to a deep draft of beer, and wandered off to join the merriment. She had to walk carefully in her funky heels. Her low-riding, gold leggings outlined the shape of her ass and telegraphed the new sway of her hips.

Roger watched her go. I didn’t even know they made shoes like that, he told himself. He picked up the map and retreated to his room.

Much later, he heard the sound of Sarah’s footsteps in the outside corridor. He was sitting at the small table in his room, entering data for their report on his tablet. Roger wasn’t really authorized to file inspection reports. He figured he could get Sarah to review and sign it in the morning. Anyway, he wanted to be sure that certain observations were made circumspectly, for now at least.

Sarah’s footsteps sounded unsteady. He heard a giggle, then the sound of her fussing with the room key. Her door opened, then closed. The buzz of her new vibrator began less than a minute later.

It had been a long day. Roger yawned and set aside his tablet. He needed one more piece of information before he could finish the report. That would come tomorrow.

He decided to forgo the inn’s pleasures for once and get a good night’s sleep. He locked the door before climbing into bed. He forgot that Gina had a key.