Freebie Ch 01

All of my stories include descriptions of sex scenes that could cause offence to some people. Please do not read this story if you are offended by perverse sexual material, or if you are under the legal age of consent for your own country. These stories are pure fiction and are not based on anyone living or deceased.

"4 3 6 5 8 7"

After giving my number I paused to listen to who was calling.

"Hello, this is Mr Spencer."

"Mr Spencer? Do I know you?"

"I'm assuming I'm speaking to Mrs Kendal?"

"Yes, I'm Mrs Kendal. But I'm afraid I don't know any Mr Spencer."

"Your husband works at D F H distribution? Well I'm his boss."

"Oh yes. I'm sorry, the name never clicked. Oh my god! Has something happened to Gerry?"

"Well in a manner of speaking, yes."

"Oh no. Is he alright?"

"Yes, he hasn't had an accident or anything, but I have to talk to you about him."

"Why what's happened?"

"It's too complicated to talk on the phone, I was just ringing to make sure you'd be in if I called around to see you."

"Well yes, when will you be coming?"

"Right away if that's ok, I can be with you in thirty minutes."

"Ok I'll be waiting."

With that I put the phone down and began to worry. If Gerry hadn't had an accident, then what else could be wrong? Then I thought about Gerry's 'perks of the job'. You see Gerry works in a distribution warehouse, and the products they store vary widely. And if a large pallet of, for instance, washing-up liquid slipped from a forklift whilst being loaded, then the whole pallet would be written-off as damaged, and should then end-up in the waste bins. But obviously, only a few of the bottles would actually be damaged, so it was common practice for the warehouse lads to share out the undamaged boxes, as freebies. This was what Gerry called 'the perks of the job'. Now I know this is not strictly legal, but we never considered it stealing. But as I rushed around tiding-up before his boss arrived, I racked my brain to think what else he could be coming to talk to me about. And why me? Why wouldn't he just be hauling Gerry over the coals?

As I was busy putting things into one of my kitchen cupboards, it struck me just how petty these so called perks of Gerry's were. The top of this cupboard I'd opened was stacked full of bottles of vinegar. I'd given away bottles to various relatives, all of my neighbourhood friends, and even though Gerry is only 24, and I'm only 25, we'd still got enough bottles to last for the rest of our natural lives. That was the trouble with all his freebies, they were of little value, and always came in large quantities. So I'm busy trying to work out what this man will want to talk about, when I hear the knocker on the front door.

"KNOCK KNOCK. KNOCK KNOCK. KNOCK KNOCK. "

The sudden noise makes me jump, and then after a quick look in the mirror, I dash down the hall and open the door.

"Hello. I'm Graham. Mr Spencer. We spoke a few minutes ago on the phone."

"Yes, yes. Err. What is it? What's happened?"

"Well I was hoping we could talk inside."

I backed away from the door, and as I did I ushered him into the hall with my open palmed hand.

"Oh I'm sorry. Come on in. We can sit in the lounge, it's the first door."

He walked past me into our hall, and then turned into the lounge; I followed and entered behind him.

He had made his way across to the sofa, but was stood in front of it as if ready to sit down.

"Yes sit there if you want."

I sat opposite him in the chair nearest the TV. As we both sat down, we both were about to talk at the same time, but we both stopped. Then I said,

"No, you go first."

"Well Mary. Oh, I hope it's alright me using your first name."

I had no idea how he knew my name, but I wasn't about to get on the wrong side of him by objecting.

"No, of course not."

"Ok then. As I was about to say, I've got a bit of a problem."

"What kind of problem?"

"Well just recently, I visited my sister; she lives just in the next street to you. Tudor Road."

I nodded but didn't make any comment.

"And she was talking with her neighbour, a Mrs Harris. Thelma; I think is her first name. Maybe you know her?"

Yes. But although I know her, and she's one of my closest friends. Gerry and I often go to the pub with her and her husband Frank. But I didn't want to admit too much to this man.

"I think I know who you mean."

"Well she was telling my sister all about her friend whose husband gets all kind of knocked-off stuff from work. And being as the wastage; that's what we call any goods at work that get damaged or stolen. Yes, being as the wastage levels for this last six months has risen by seventy percent; I was interested in what she was saying. So later when she'd gone, I asked my sister to surreptitiously find out who this Robin Hood character was."

He paused, as if waiting for me to say something, but I kept silent.

"I thought maybe you'd have guessed his name, he lives in this street."

Again He paused, waiting for me, but again I kept silent.

"I see the cats got your tongue."

"Well this so called good Samaritan is called Gerry Kendal. So you see Mary, I thought maybe it would be a good idea to watch your Gerry a little closer. I've got CCTV cameras all around the warehouse, but most weren't working and those that are; nobody ever looks at the hours of stuff they record. But last weekend I had all the cameras brought back into a working condition, and today I spent the day sitting watching your husband as he went about his job. Now what do you think I saw?"

"I I don't know?"

"Do you like yoghurt?"

"Yoghurt?"

"Yes. Strawberry yoghurt."

"Why?"

"Well I've got a premonition that when Gerry gets home you'll be getting a box of 120 Strawberry yoghurts. So I hope you like them."

It was obvious he had got Gerry, as they say, 'bang to rights' or 'caught red handed'. So I thought maybe I could put in some kind of mitigating plea on his behalf.

"But please Mr Spencer. It would all have just been thrown in the waste bins. It can't do any harm us using them up. You know with all this talk of re-cycling and not wasting food, you could even say he's doing his bit to save the planet."

He took a small pen like object from his pocket,

"I assume you have a computer?"

"Yes it's in the other room."

"Do you think we could take a look at this video I've recorded?"

We went into the back room and I turned on the PC. I know it always feels like forever waiting for a PC to boot, but sitting here, with him holding what I now could see was a memory stick; one I assumed with incriminating evidence, it was like my life force was ebbing from my body. Then as the windows screen appeared, he said,

"Do you mind if I take over?"

I didn't answer, I just moved to one side allowing him to sit in front of the PC.

He plugged in his memory stick and in seconds the video was showing a fork lift driving down an isle in between tall stacks of pallets. He kept moving the slider bar until we got to a place where the fork truck driver turned around, obviously checking in every direction to make sure he wasn't being watched, and then he drove slowly backwards, getting ever closer to a steel girder that protruded from the floor and reached up to support the roof. As the edge of the pallet made contact with the stanchion, he slowly reversed until the pallet was dragged off the forks, and overbalanced. It slipped off as if in slow motion, and as it hit the floor, the boxes stacked on it slipped. Then the other side of the pallet dropped back to the floor, almost shaking the boxes back to their original position.

The driver then jumped down, and with a long steel bar from the back of his truck, he ripped open the banding holding the boxes, and pushed one of the boxes to the floor where it burst open. Then as he went back to the truck and began to fill in some paperwork, Graham said,

"I hardly think damaging a box of yogurts is going to help save the planet."

The video was so clear my Gerry was instantly recognisable, and there was no way anyone looking at this video could call this accidental damage. But I didn't reply, I just stood alongside him at a loss for words.

"Well my dear, nothing to say?"

"I I I'm sorry. I never realised. He just said it was a sin to see the stuff thrown away into the bins."

"Well now you know how it's damaged, what's your opinion now?"

"I I'll tell him as soon as he gets home."

"Tell him what?"

"I don't want him to bring anymore things home. And that it's not right to damage stuff deliberately."

"I think this is a little bit more serious than that. First its malicious damage; and I'm thinking if I check back on the recorded files from the other cameras over the last six months, I'll find a lots more occurrences. Second it's stealing, and not just the one box; I'll bet over the last few months my car park cameras will have caught him loading his car plenty of times. Then there is fraud, filling in the insurance records as accidental damage. Fraud of that sort carries a prison sentence. And lastly, if that pallet had jammed onto the forks, he could have bent the girder; and that would have brought the whole roof down. Now that's a health and safety issue, and these days, they'd lock him up and throw away the key for that."

"Oh my god! But what can I do to help?"

"First, tell me, has your Gerry got a garden shed or workshop?"

"He's got a shed, but he hasn't got any of the stuff he's brought home out there. For one thing it lets in water, and anyway it's only just big enough for the barbeque, lawn mower and his tools."

"I wasn't thinking about where he's stashed his ill gotton gains, I was wondering if that could be where he'd hang the free calendar I give to each of my staff at Christmas?"

"Do you mean the one with views of the Lake district?"

"Well that wasn't the one I was referring to, but now you've mentioned it. What did you think of the pictures?"

"Ok, I guess. But I'm not much into mountains and lakes."

"I was meaning more the camera work. Did it look professional?"

"I guess so, why?"

"I took those photos myself, it's my hobby. But I was actually wondering if you'd seen the other calendar?"

As I realised which calendar he was talking about, I felt my cheeks get hot as I blushed bright red. Not that I had any reason to feel embarrassed, I wasn't one of the scantily clad models displayed in the calendar he was referring to. But before I replied to his question, he said,

"I guess by your response, you've at least seen it?"

"Yes."

"It wasn't that bad, was it?"

"Well from what I can remember, the girls' weren't leaving much to the imagination."

"Do you know where your husband has put his?"

"Yes, it's hanging on the back of the door in his hobby room upstairs."

"So I can take it from your reaction that you didn't think much of my camera work? I thought I'd struck the right balance; keeping it sexy, but not being too crude."

So from this I gathered this was another example of his handiwork, and not wanting to get on his wrong side, I didn't want to criticize what he actually seemed quite proud off.

"I didn't mean it was crude, but looking at girls is even less appealing to me than mountains and lakes."

"But I guess you're wondering what my obsession with photography has got to do with the predicament your Gerry has got himself into?"

In truth, I was beginning to think that he was maybe going to try to blackmail me into posing in skimpy underwear, like the models in his calendar, but not wanting to put unwanted ideas into his head, I just answered,

"Well yes, I was looking for some kind of connection between his foolishness, and your generosity in giving out free calendars."

"Well it's like this; I've got an idea for next year's workshop calendar. That's what I call the girlie version, cos it normally gets hung up in garages or workshops. I was thinking of a masquerade. You know, the girls faces concealed behind those masks on sticks like at the high class balls."

I didn't comment, but just nodded to show I understood what he was talking about.

"And then last week I saw your Gerry showing his holiday snaps to one of the lads, and the chap he was showing them to, passed them to me. Not that I was too interested in most of them. But there were about three of four with you in a bikini. And I have to say they got me to thinking."

Again I said nothing, but by now his intentions were getting pretty obvious.

There was a silence for a few seconds, and then he asked,

"Well, what do you think?"

But still trying to play the innocent I answered,

"About what?"

"Well I thought you'd be a bit brighter than that."

"What do you mean?"

"Ok, it's your loss. If you think I'm going to make a proposal you can take to the police, then you must take me for a fool. I've given you a lifeline, and if you're too dumb to take hold, then you'll just have to suffer the consequences. I'll wish you goodbye."

With that he got to his feet, and I realised if I let him leave with things as they stand, my Gerry could soon be in real trouble.

"Please Mr Spencer, don't go. I I didn't mean to annoy you."

He didn't re-seat himself, but just stood there and said,

"Well?"

"I I I'm not sure what you are asking?"

"Young lady. Can't you understand? I'm not asking anything. It's your husband who is in trouble. And I've told you about my hobby, and about a calendar I'm about to start shooting for next year. Maybe I didn't make myself clear, but when I said seeing your photos gave me an idea, what I meant, was you have a body every bit as good as any of the models I'm about to hire. Now if you felt like making me some kind of offer, then I think you'll find I'm not an unreasonable man. Even though your husband has been swindling me."

"Are you saying if I was to agree to model for you, you wouldn't report my Gerry to the police?"

"I haven't asked you to model for me, so it's not a case of you agreeing to anything. If I did ask, that would be bribery. But if you want to offer to model, then that's your prerogative. And as I've said, I'm a reasonable man, and the last thing I'd want to see is a generous young lady being dragged down by a foolish mistake made by her husband."

I thought for a minute or so, but I could see he was getting restless, and I sensed he was about to speak. Fearing he was again going to threaten to leave, I said,

"I'll model for you on condition its just swimwear. I won't do topless or underwear."

"Right my dear, what are you saying, you'd like me to consider you for a modelling job in my next calendar?"

"I I guess so. But like I said; nothing as revealing as that other calendar."

"I don't know what you take me for. But I can assure you, all the girls who model for me are free to accept or reject any of the costumes I select. Or for that matter, if they don't feel comfortable with any pose I ask for, then it's always the model who has the final say."

"I I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply there was anything dirty going on. But I just don't want you to think I'm agreeing to pose nude or anything."

"Let's forget this topic, if you want to pose for me, then there will be nobody forcing you to do anything you're not happy with. Now to the details, have you anything planned for tomorrow?"

"I don't think so."

"I need a yes or no. If I'm going to arrange a makeover team, then it can't be just a 'don't think so'."

"Well no, I have nothing planned at the moment."

"Well you do now. There'll be a car here at nine in the morning, and you'll be at my place by nine-thirty. The makeup team should have you sorted by eleven-thirty, and by twelve we can start shooting. That'll give me a good three hours. And you can be back here by four, ready to make hubbies tea. So is that settled?"

"I guess so. But what am I going to tell Gerry?"

"Nothing. Just let him go off to work as normal, and he'll never know a thing about it."

"But what about him? What if he does the same thing again, and damages any more stuff?"

"I don't think he will; I've told the warehouse supervisor to give all the lads a talking to, and let them know all the cameras are now back in action. I can't think he'll be silly enough to do it again."

So with that he went on his way, and I began to wonder just what kind of situation I'd got myself into.

Gerry arrived home from work as normal, and as Graham had predicted, he had a box of Strawberry yoghurts. I was bursting to say something to him about this stupid habit, but knew it would only make the whole thing more complicated, and wouldn't really solve anything. So the night passed without incident, and the next day after Gerry had gone off to work, I began to get myself ready for the car that was to collect me. If I tell you I was on edge and having second thoughts, then I'm sure you won't be surprised.

But at the stroke of nine a car arrived, and in I got. In less than thirty minutes I was being shown into a magnificent studio in the back of a very large country house. This was the kind of house you'd expect a Lord of the Manor to own, built inside a walled estate, with its own big iron gates at the end of the long drive. But once inside the studio, I was shown into a room which was obviously designed for the purpose; equipped with everything the team of three beauticians required. For the next two hours all three of them worked on every inch of my body, and when I emerged at around eleven-thirty, even I had difficulty believing the stunning girl in the mirror was actually me.

It was then that Graham appeared, and he escorted me into a changing room, where there were at least five racks of clothes. Ranging from full ball gowns, to jeans. With every other kind of garment with the exception of outdoor gear such as coats etc. I at this point only had on a dressing gown, and was completely naked underneath. He showed me along the racks explaining all of these clothes had been selected especially for me, and they should all be my size. Where there was a dress, along with it I would find the appropriate underwear that I was expected to wear. I would be expected to start at the first rack, and work my way along from one outfit to the next. But as we moved on to the final rack, the clothes had progressed onto first swimwear, and then from about half way along the rack I could see there were panties and bras, but no dresses, or skirts and blouses to go with them.

I stopped and said,

"You won't be expecting me to model these without wearing a dress on?"

"Not if you don't want to. But let's just start with the others, and if you still feel uneasy about modelling in underwear, then nobodies going to force you."

"Ok. But I don't understand, I thought you only wanted me to model swimwear, and that my face would be covered. I can't model any of this stuff if you're going to put it in a calendar, I can't have my face recognised."

"Today is nothing to do with the calendar, this is just to get you used to being in the bright lights, and letting you get acclimatised to the whole situation. When I shoot the calendar shots, I want you to feel totally at ease."

"What so I've got to come back again?"

"Yes. Is that a problem?"

"I guess not."

"Ok, I'll be out on the set; I'll send one of the girls in to help you dress. Then when you're ready, just come on out."

The day went by with me in some kind of daze, and far from being sordid or sleazy, I felt like I was some kind of super-model. I was pampered and preened in between every change of clothes. And no matter how revealingly cut the outfit, I felt completely at my ease showing off my assets in any pose requested. And by the time the outfits progressed onto the swimwear, I was already so at ease with showing my underwear via splits in skirts and plunges in blouses, that the first of the one piece costumes actually felt quite unexciting. Gradually as we moved to the bikinis and thongs, I got a little more self-conscious, but I still posed in whatever was the requested position. Surprisingly, when all the swimwear was done, and all that was left were bra and panty combinations, the point I'd been dreading, I found the first of these to be so stunning, and relatively speaking modest, that I actually re-appeared on set with a feeling of elation and excitement.