London, the Quality Enclave, May 17th 2010

 

‘Miss Moncrieff,’ Thrift declared, ‘to see Dr Molloy.’

‘He is expecting you,’ the receptionist answered. ‘If you would care to go in?’

Thrift responded with the smallest of curtsies and started for the door to Dr Molloy’s room. Miss Simms followed, as quiet and nervous as ever, casting a backward glance at the receptionist as she closed the inner door behind her.

‘Ah, Miss Moncrieff, my dear,’ Dr Molloy said as he accepted Thrift’s notes from his nurse. ‘Now, let me see...’

As he began to examine the notes Miss Simms sat down in her customary chair by the window and Thrift came to stand by the familiar couch, on which she had lain for so many inspections, courses of injections, enemas and more.

‘A single injection?’ Dr Molloy said, with a hint of disappointment in his voice before he rallied. ‘Nevertheless, that is no reason to dispense with proper routine, is it now? Be so kind as to remove your clothes, all of them.’

‘I know you prefer me nude, Dr Molloy,’ Thrift responded, deliberately coy, ‘but for a single injection perhaps it would suffice for me to bend over the couch?’

‘Nonsense,’ he responded, ‘although naturally you may wear a modesty gown if you wish, it really is quite foolish for a little slip of a thing like you to worry about being seen in the nude by your own doctor, conceited even, some might say. Now come along, off with those clothes and let’s have no more silliness.’

‘I would prefer to simple bend over the couch,’ Thrift insisted, ‘a position quite suitable for a woman due to receive an injection, and indeed, in the circumstances I think I would prefer Miss Simms and your nurse not to be in the room.’

Dr Molloy looked puzzled, then suddenly pleased. At a nod from Thrift Miss Simms rose and left, closely followed by the nurse.

‘Could it be,’ Dr Molloy remarked, ‘that you are at last beginning to realise how suitable it is that young ladies should allow their elders and betters the occasional little indulgence of nature’s bounty?’

‘Perhaps,’ Thrift responded, ‘or it might simply be that I have learnt something while in France, something from which I expect you will benefit.’

‘Indeed, indeed, to be sure,’ he answered, his face now red and a bead of sweat already forming at one temple, ‘but why won’t you undress?’

‘Never mind that,’ Thrift insisted. ‘Continue to work, as if nothing were out of the ordinary, and to talk, loudly and clearly, but listen to me.’

As she spoke she had bent over the couch and reached back to throw up her skirts and petticoats, exposing the bulbous seat of her corset. Eight tiny catches held the rear panel closed and he had begun to work on them with feverish urgency as she went on.

‘I have been in France, as you know. There, I met Godfrey Charles Hugh Quigley. He wants you to come to France, without delay.’

Dr Molloy had been busy getting Thrift’s bottom bare and didn’t even pause in his attention to the catches and buttons barring him from access, but his voice faltered as he replied.

‘Godfrey Quigley, the defector, who used to be Director of European? Why ever would he wish me to come to France?’

‘Why do you think I am in England?’ Thrift responded as the panel of her drawers was pulled down and the full, bare globe of her bottom put on inspection. ‘I was caught, but Godfrey and I have reached an accommodation, also with the French Bureau. In warning him of my arrival in France you have compromised yourself. At present nobody suspects, but it is only a matter of time.’

‘What nonsense!’ Dr Molloy responded, but his hand was shaking badly as he applied an alcohol swap to Thrift’s skin, and for the first time she could remember he failed to take advantage of the intimate contact. ‘Now then, relax.’

Thrift winced as the needle was driven home into the flesh of her bottom. She waited, allowing him to push the plunger home and administer the vaccine, then place the syringe and needle back onto the trolley she spoke again.

‘Everything is arranged,’ she insisted. ‘I have French passports in the name of Monsieur and Madame Rossignol, money, and tickets for the Belle Imperatrix, which leaves this Thursday. They are between my corset and my chemise. Why else did you think I wouldn’t undress in front of Miss Simms? She is a Foreign and Colonial chaperone, you realise?’

‘Of course,’ he responded, nervously petting Thrift’s bottom as he spoke, ‘and yet...’

‘You must come,’ Thrift urged, ‘otherwise I myself will be compromised, don’t you see? As it is you need merely make me a fresh appointment for Thursday, which will allow you to put your affairs in order. We will order Miss Simms and the nurse to leave the room, and we can escape through the back while they think you’re molesting me.’

Dr Molloy barely seemed to hear what she said but gave a sudden, urgent nod.

‘Yes,’ he said, ‘that is the best way of it, and I dare say I will be able to set up a new practice in France. Yes, yes, and the girls are lovely, so I understand from Godfrey, and always ready for dalliance, as indeed you seem to be yourself?’

‘I have learnt a lot,’ Thrift admitted.

‘Yes, yes, so I see,’ he said, and his hand had once more returned to her bottom.

Thrift glanced at the door, but it was firmly shut and she could hear nothing from outside.

‘Perhaps then, just quickly?’ he said, his fingers now at his fly.

Thrift hesitated, then nodded. His fly slid down, his hand delved into his trousers and he had pulled out his cock and balls. His cock went straight into Thrift’s mouth as he once more began to play with her bottom, now teasing in her slit and smacking her cheeks as well as squeezing and stroking. A finger found her anus, tickling the tiny hole until she’d begun to giggle on her mouthful of rapidly swelling penis.

As he began to fuck her mouth he turned his attention to her cunt, penetrating her with one finger and then two before pulling free to go behind her.

‘Not in my...,’ Thrift began, but it was too late, his erection already pushed in up her cunt hole until his balls were pressed to the mound of her sex. ‘Dr Molloy! Just over my bottom or something, please!’

He grunted in dissatisfaction, but whipped his cock free to masturbate over her upturned bottom with furious energy. In just seconds he’d come, spattering Thrift’s bare cheeks with globules of thick, white spunk, at which point the door finally burst open to admit Miss Simms, four powerfully built young Foreign and Colonial agents and lastly Sir Blenheim Finch.

‘It’s all on tape!’ he declared, holding up the recorder to which the microphones concealed in Thrift’s corset fed. ‘We’ve got the lot!’

‘So have I,’ Thrift sighed.