Shake Down On Sacker Street free porn video

“Still got it, girl,” she said to her reflection.

Taking another deep breath, Yvonne attempted to calm her nerves. Today was a big day. Her small catering company had been hired for a prestigious event, ‘Women at The Top'. The city’s movers and shakers would be there, and all were women. Make a good impression and doors would open.

“You’ve worked hard, girl,” she told herself. Forty-Two, trim figure, shoulder-length dark hair, divorced from a jackass of a husband, a beautiful daughter and a thriving business she had built from tea cakes, crumpets and scones.

Her phone pinged. ‘We are here and ready to set up, Ms Summer’. It was Anne, the company's no. 2 and its main chef. ‘Down soon’, she messaged back. Yvonne had booked a room at the Sacker Street Hotel where the event was being held.

“Go wow them, girl!” Pep talk delivered she headed for the main reception hall.

Anne was busy with her small team, prepping the nibbles and fancies for the guests. Yvonne checked over the arrangements and some of the dishes

“We need some more of the smoked ham and lentil terrine with briôche and port reduction, and can we tidy up the beef carpaccio with feta fritters and sun-dried tomatoes? Oh and make sure we dress the seared scallops with cauliflower purée and black pudding beignet and highlight our speciality, the dressed crab with pickled beetroot salad and sourdough crisps.” Yvonne rapped out instructions, and the catering staff scurried around to do her bidding.

Yvonne turned her critical eye on the temporary waitress staff she had been obliged to hire for the occasion. “And smarten up those outfits, I want elegant, not stripper,” she said sharply.

The waitresses looked at each other and shrugged. “Yes, Ms Summers,” said Cara, who seemed to be the unofficial leader of the group.

Anne put her hand on Yvonne. “Why don’t you mingle with the guests while we finish up and start bringing the food out?” She suggested.

Flustered, Yvonne grabbed Anne back “Yes I’m sorry, nerves,” she giggled then hiccuped. “God, I’m in a right state!”

“Try a dressed crab, new supplier, meant to be the best,” said Anne reassuringly. “It will go really well with the champers.”

Yvonne smiled weakly and popped the speciality into her mouth. It was divine, the taste sweeping away her nerves.

Drink in hand, Yvonne stepped into the main banqueting room and fixed a smile to her face. A handsome blonde woman in her fifties gave her a quick embrace.

“Lovely to see you, Yvonne, you have done wonders with your catering company and your daughter has been tirelessly promoting your food,” said Mary Cummings.

Yvonne caught her daughter's eye in the crowd, and they signalled their affection for each other. Forrist Summers shared her mother’s dark complexion and wavy black hair and was doing her best to charm the older women around her.

The chit chat amongst the women was light, friendly and more inclined to salacious gossip than the businesses and industries in which they excelled. This lunch was a reward for hard work, and everyone wanted to enjoy themselves.

Circulating freely, Yvonne matched her daughter's charm until a brief announcement of ‘Lunch is served’ was made followed by enticing aromas as the waitresses brought through trays of food. Yvonne had opted for grand entrance over laying out the food beforehand. It was more dramatic and kept the food fresh.

The expectant buzz and delight as the high powered guests tucked into the fare was music to Yvonne's ears.

Mary Cummings caught her eye and smiled, waving a smoked salmon delicacy as she did so. Yvonne raised her glass in acknowledgement, ignoring the sudden sharp pain in her tummy. Nerves, she thought.

One of the waitresses, Ingrid, was looking at her, a slight smile on her face. Frowning Yvonne rubbed her tummy and was about to tell the waitress to keep bringing the food when an even sharper pain and an ominous rumble became the harbinger of a more serious problem.

“Oh, no,” she gasped and hurried to the restroom. Pulling frantically at her dress, she got to the cubicle, but already knew she was a fraction too late.

With a sigh of relief, she plumped herself down on the pan and let go. It wasn't pretty, nor was it silent. Embarrassed Yvonne prayed that no one else would come in.

She groaned as she examined her panties. They hadn't come through unscathed, even her lovely new dress was stained. Thinking quickly, Yvonne remembered there was a baby changing facility at the back of the restroom.

Flushing the evidence away, she gathered her panties in a wad of tissue and dived out of the cubicle and into the changing facility. Stripping off her dress she began rinsing it out, hoping to shift the stains. It was only partly successful. Damn, she thought bitterly. Absorbed as she was by her predicament, the screams and yells from the banqueting hall barely registered. The crashing sound from the restroom and sudden banging on the changing facilities door jolted her into full awareness.

“Fuck's sake, open this door!” A less than lady-like voice could be heard in between the banging.

What? A sudden chill hit Yvonne. It wasn’t only her! And then the inescapable conclusion hit her. The food! Her food! A cold numbness swept over her, colour draining from her face. She had given everyone food poisoning. But how? And so quickly?

Yvonne put on her sponged dress and ditched her panties. Steeling herself, she opened the door. It was carnage. An elderly silver-haired woman in her fifties, with her elegant black dress hitched around her hips, glared at her.

“Too fucking late!” And then she and Yvonne were roughly pushed aside by a black woman.

“Coming through!” The black woman yelled. She didn't bother closing the door, just sat down and shuddered with relief. “Oh god, that feels good.”

The silver-haired woman, 'Janice' according to her name tag, sank to the floor and sat in her own filth, sobbing.

Yvonne stepped over her gingerly and saw all the cubicles were occupied, with several women banging on the doors in desperation. Others had sunk to the floor, it was a sea of poop streaked limbs and despairing women.

“This is your fucking fault!” An angry Mary Cummings said from her seat in the sink, her legs dangling down, and neatly coiffured hair flopping over her sweat drenched face.

Yvonne instinctively covered her nose and mouth as Mary continued defecating in the sink.

“It was the smoked salmon,” Mary snapped.

The woman next to her, Alice Decker, shook her head. “No, it was the dressed crab!”

“It was the beef,” moaned Isabella Bacas. She was squatting over the wastebasket, which for once was living up to its name.

Puzzlement creased Yvonne’s brow “That's not possible,” she blurted out. One dish maybe, but all of them? And to act that fast?

Keeping her face covered, Yvonne walked out into the hallway.

“Please!” It was Mary Soames, the CEO of Plush Inc, manufacturer of luxury toiletries and bath products.

Embarrassed, Yvonne helped the half-naked woman out of the large plant holder stand and steered her toward the men’s restroom. Mary suddenly gripped her arm and dived into another plant holder.

“I’m so sorry,” she gasped as another rasping retort sprayed the unfortunate Banana plant.

Yvonne smiled weakly, not sure where to look.

Mary used some unsullied foliage to try and clean herself but soon gave up. Her clothes were badly soiled, and Yvonne reluctantly helped Mary out of her dress and panties.

“Thank you, dear,” said Mary, who waved Yvonne away as she slumped to the floor. “Please go and help some other poor unfortunates.”

Gratefully, Yvonne headed into the men's facilities and found others with the same idea. Five women had jammed themselves into the urinals, one of whom was her daughter, Forrist. Her face was sallow as she looked up in embarrassment and saw her mother.

“Mum,” she croaked while letting out a spasmodic splurt. “Oh, mum,” she groaned again.

Yvonne made her way carefully around an expanding pool of mess escaping from Belinda Hawkins, and hurried over to her daughter, momentarily gagging on the smell.

“Darling!” she exclaimed. “Are you okay?”

Exasperation creased Clare's face. “Well, of course, I'm not fucking okay, I've got my ass wedged in a men's urinal for god's sake,” she stopped, guilty at having sworn at her mother.

“I'm going to sue you for this!” Cheryl Forster snarled as Yvonne flapped around her daughter. Cheryl was stuck in the urinal next to Forrist. The other women on urinal row echoed Mary, in between bouts of gaseous splurging.

Yvonne turned on them. “It‘s nonsense!” she snapped. “There is no way my food could have done this. You didn’t all eat the same thing, and it happened far too quickly. Somethings not right.”

“Somethings not right!” shrieked Agnes Waters, the CEO of Delicate Pottery, half rising out of the urinal in fury before hastily jamming herself back in as poop cascaded down her legs. She moaned in distress, embarrassment dissipating her anger.

“No, mum is right. This isn't normal,” insisted Forrist.

No sooner had she uttered the words, then the door crashed open and in walked the waitress, Cara, a bandana around her lower face.

“Cara, thank god you are okay, we need help and we have to call for medical assistance,” said Yvonne.

“Medics are on their way, and the hotel manager, Pierre, has locked us in. We told him it could be infectious, plus he didn't want you lot stinking out the rest of his hotel,” her tone was cold.

“There is no need to be like that young lady!” Yvonne looked down at the baton Cara produced, which was prodding into her chest.

“Shut the fuck up, and the rest of you out!” Cara banged the baton on the tiles which produced another round of explosive, anal ordinance from the stricken ladies. “Come on my shit afflicted lovelies. Out! NOW!”

Yvonne heard other voices yelling in the corridor outside, one she recognised as Ingrid, screaming in German, “Raus! Raus!”

Helping Forrist and Agnes out of the urinals, they made their way out of the men's restroom.

In the corridor, the rest of the waitresses were also wearing colourful bandanas and waving menacing batons as they corralled the bedraggled, half-naked women back to the main banqueting room.

“Ms Summer!” A voice cried. It was from Anne. She was squatting over one of her giant pans. Several women were doing the same with other utensils. Anne had been pragmatic with her assistance.

“Anne!” Yvonne cried out in return. She propped up Agnes with her daughter and rushed over. “Are you okay?” She must stop saying that Yvonne thought, annoyed with herself.

One of the waitresses, a black girl with a London accent half blocked her.

“Where do you think you are going sweetheart?” The girl said roughly.

“To help my friend!” snapped Yvonne.

The girl, Beth, turned to look at Anne. “She seems fine to me. Although I wouldn't use that pan for cooking again!” She added, laughing.

“I don't care what, oww!” Yvonne rubbed her sternum where the baton had prodded her hard.

“You had better start caring, now shut the fuck up and stand over there with the others. And get the rest of these pathetic, pooping puppies off their potty pans” Beth barked at her crew.

Two of the waitresses rushed over and started pulling Anne and the other two women off the pans. There were shrieks and protests as they tried to take the pans with them, but several raps with the batons dissuaded them.

Anne, wincing and holding her stomach, moved next to Yvonne. “It wasn't the food, Ms Summers,” she said anxiously. “I only had a few bites to check the taste, and a glass of champers to celebrate when the first batch was sent out.”

Realisation dawned on Yvonne. Of course, it was the drink! She had taken a few sips herself without even thinking about it. If the drink was spiked, that would explain why everyone was afflicted so quickly.

“Okay ladies!” Ingrid yelled. “First let’s have all your jewellery.”

There was resentful muttering from the ladies as two of the girls walked up the line carrying plastic bags.

Yvonne noticed their discarded handbags, clutch purses and phones had been stacked on one of the tables.

“Its a heist!” Yvonne whispered.

Forrist looked at her mother and nodded unhappily.

“I see we have some dissenters,” grinned Ingrid. Her bandana was pulled down. She turned and shouted: “Bring out the hoses!”

Two girls came from the restrooms, unreeling a hose each, which they passed to Beth and Cara.

“You ladies seem to need a washdown, so I suggest you take off those shit stained garments and let us start cleaning you up.”

The waitresses tittered at this. Beth and Cara pointed the hoses at the women menacingly.

Reluctantly some of the women, Yvonne included, began stripping off their dresses. Underwear had already disappeared in most cases, so it wasn't long before most were naked, joining the rest who had long abandoned their soiled clothes.

“No!” It was from Mary Cummings. Isabelle Baca nodded sullen agreement. “I'll see you rot in jail first," a jet of cold water cut Mary off. Shrieking, she put her hands up but to no avail. Isabelle got caught in the wash and began to hastily strip. Alice Decker followed suit. All fight extinguished.

Ingrid walked down the line of naked, sullen women, smacking her baton into the palm of her left hand. She stopped by Janice Warne, head of publishing for TechTalk. Using the baton she trailed it over the older woman's breasts and down to her tummy. Sniffing, Ingrid rolled her eyes in exaggerated disgust.

“The stink is awful with this one. Hose her down.”

“Yes, Boss,” said Cara, a malicious gleam in her eye.

“Please, no!” Janice gasped. “I have money,” she added in a wheedling tone.

Ingrid paused and said: “I know.” She nodded to Cara who turned on the hose, aiming at Janice's exposed rear. There was a shrill cry as Janice tried to shield herself.

“Enough!” Ingrid ordered.

Reluctantly Cara turned off the hose. Beth turned to her and gave her a fist bump.

“You see the table over there? With all the phones on it?” said Ingrid.

Miserably, Janice nodded.

“Do you have access to your bank account on your phone?” Ingrid continued in a reasonable tone as if she was asking for directions.

Janice nodded again.

“Well?” said Ingrid.

“Do, do you want me to get it?” Janice mumbled.

“Ja, I want you to get it!” Ingrid screamed.

Janice half yelled in fright and ran to get her phone. The girls directing rude comments at the plump blonde as she wobbled past them, naked boobs and bum jiggling.

“Scheisse!” Ingrid muttered as a trembling Janice held out her phone. “Access your account and transfer $25,000 to this account,” instructed Ingrid, holding out her screen.

“I-I can only do a maximum of $10,000,” stuttered Janice.

“Hose!” Ingrid barked.

“No, wait I can do it!” Janice shrieked.

“I know,” said Ingrid, “we have done our homework.”

“It‘s there, Boss,” the waitress at one of the tables working on a laptop said after a few minutes.

“Danke, Alice.” Turning to Janice, Ingrid said softly: “You attempted to deceive me?”

“No, I-I just forgot,” burbled Janice, pawing at Ingrid's arm. "Please not, not the,”

“Turn on the hoses!" Ingrid screamed, moving smartly to one side.

“Yes, Boss!” Beth and Cara turned them full onto Janice who danced around trying to avoid the jets of water that were trained first on her naked ass and then her boobs as she twisted and turned.

Ingrid signalled a halt.

“You smell better now, ja?”

Sobbing, Janice just nodded.

“Back in line,” ordered Ingrid.

The other naked women closed ranks around Janice. Claire Peters of Luxury Holidays put her arm consolingly around the drenched woman.

Some of the women caught Ingrid's eye and moved to get their phones on her command. The same ritual followed. The girl on the laptop was getting excited. She was a thin girl, still in her late teens.

“$150,000!” Alice yelled, then fell silent when a more senior girl gave her a smack around the back of her head.

Yvonne watched the dynamics play out. Laptop girl, Alice, had been very nervous she remembered. Beth and Cara, good, but snotty. Head smacker, a big girl, Jane, had barely said a word. The rest hadn't stood out much. Ingrid had been very polite, even subservient. A far cry from the blonde Valkyrie striding up and down the line of holdouts. Those that had paid the ransom had formed their own resentful huddle.

“So not worried about the hoses, ja?”

Mary shrugged. “I'm already wet,” she pointed out, her nerve restored at the prospect of losing $25k.

“And I could do with a wash,” added Isabella.

Ingrid nodded and stopped in front of Yvonne. “And you?”

Yvonne crossed her arms over her naked boobs. “Reckon I can take it,” she said defiantly.

“Ach, ja, I have no doubt,” Ingrid turned to Forriest. “And who is this pretty, young thing?”

“You can go fuck yourself,” said Forrist, turning to look at Beth, holding the hose. Her young breasts quivering with outrage.

Ingrid smiled a cruel smile. “Or I could fuck you instead, ja?” she hefted her baton, her intent clear.

“Hold on a minute!” Yvonne protested in alarm.

“Ah, Mutti is concerned. That is so sweet.” Ingrid speared Yvonne with a questioning look.

“I'll do it. I'll get you your blood money,” said Yvonne, tight lipped.

“Surely it’s ‘paying the Dane Geld’, nein?" Ingrid said, putting her arm around Forrist and kissing the young girl’s nose. “So pretty, so stinky.”

“Leave her alone!” snapped Yvonne. She strode over and fetched her phone. It only took a few minutes for the transfer to go through.

“See everyone is happy now,” said Ingrid, releasing Forrist who went to her mother.

Clara Dicks, the black woman who had pushed Yvonne aside earlier, stood alongside Mary, Isabelle and three others. Clara, who ran and owned an upmarket security firm, scowled at Ingrid.

“So we have six left. Beth if you please,” said Ingrid.

Beth stepped forward and began recording the naked women on her phone.

“Hoses no, pretty little daughters to protect, no, but reputations, ah those you do value. We have clips of you pooping onto plates, into plant pots and even into your panties and here you are now, naked and smeared in scheisse.”

Clara looked uneasy, Mary tried to cover herself to no avail. Betty Borrows, a haughty woman in her fifties, and chairwoman of 'Women on Top', broke ranks and went to fetch her phone.

“You will delete the videos, yes?” Betty asked anxiously.

Ingrid shrugged and turned to Clara, calculating that if this woman broke, they all would. She went for a different approach.

“You should think of us as benefactors. You can recoup your losses on your insurance. The police will have fun putting their training and latest toys to good use in trying to track us down, and we will spend our ill-gotten gains in some tourist hotspot bringing happiness to local businesses and boosting the economy. The media get to report an exciting crime, and millions are entertained. We should be thanked, ja?”

Clara listened stone-faced.

“But the one thing you ladies do not want is these clips being put online for gentlemen who like their ladies decorated in shit. How will you feel negotiating that next big contract, knowing that the people opposite are picturing you naked and shitty? Is 'smearing' your reputations worth $25,000?”

Yvonne watched as various emotions played out on Clara's face.

“There is still the press, the publicity,” pointed out Clara.

Ingrid smiled. “Maybe not.”

“Go on,” said Clara, interested despite her reservations.

“Who has to know outside of this room, what exactly occurred? No police, no press, we just disappear.”

“But you've already called for medical assistance, unless,” Yvonne stopped, realising she only ever had Cara's word for it.

There was a banging on the door which Ingrid ignored. One of the waitresses opened it after a brief conversation with the people on the other side.

“As promised. Our medical team,” smiled Ingrid.

“Your medical team?” Clara queried.

Two young women in EMT uniforms wheeled in several gurneys.

“We will fetch the trunk next, Boss,” one of the EMT's said. A striking redhead, she wrinkled her nose up and then hurried out.

“Yes. Our medical team. Well Jane, the redhead, did star in a porno playing a nurse, but as no one is seriously ill, just temporarily incapacitated, you should be fine,” Ingrid paused and looked at Clara and Mary. “But she is very good at eating pussy if that’s of any interest to you?”

Mary went red, and Clara stiffened in anger, but neither woman responded.

Yvonne, filing away the little nugget of information that Ingrid had let slip, asked: “What's in the trunk?”

“Clothes. Jumpsuits. Keys. The trunk is padlocked,” Ingrid walked over to where the EMT's were manhandling a large metal box with a padlock on the lid. “We leave in the ambulance, lock the banquet door behind us and in 30 minutes or so I will message you the combination so you can cover your dignity, and no one is any the wiser.”

There was silence.

“It is a good deal, ja?”

Yvonne went to Clara and Mary. “It's the best offer we are going to get under the circumstances,” she said to them.

Both naked ladies looked at each other and then nodded. Clara added: “We can go after the bitch later.” Her voice was hard.

Yvonne went over to Ingrid. “You have a deal.”

“Das ist sher gut!” Ingrid signalled to Beth to collect the rest of the phones and hand them to the rest of the hold outs.

“Do you mind telling me how you did this? It was the drink right? Not the food?” asked Yvonne anxiously.

Ingrid laughed, she was enjoying Yvonne's naked humiliation and her desperate need for reassurance.

“It was the drink and the food. Two agents that by themselves will do no harm but mix them, one in the food, one in the drink, then 15 minutes later, boom! The shit hits the fan!”

Yvonne burned with anger. Her lovely food contaminated! She checked her fury. It could wait.

“And how did you know about this event, you've planned this and researched us, so who tipped you off?” Yvonne asked, her calmness masking her churning emotions.

Draping her arm around Yvonne, Ingrid whispered: “Young girls are so impressionable when they are in love.”

Crushing despair overwhelmed Yvonne as she followed Ingrid's gaze to her naked daughter. Forrist, as if sensing their gaze, turned, guilt and shame washing over her face.

“Your daughter does love eating pussy,” continued Ingrid maliciously. “Of course she didn't know exactly what I planned. Steal some baubles, a necklace or two. But all this? No. I doubt she would have tucked into the food and drink quite so heartily. Tell me why such an unusual name?”

“She was conceived in Ardel Forest.” replied Yvonne, still in shock over the revelation.

Laughing, Ingrid held Yvonne tightly. “How romantic, and a pretty name for a pretty girl. You are pretty too,” she said, openly groping Yvonne, who wriggled from her grasp.

“You fucking bitch!” She spat out furiously.

“Ja, This is true,” agreed Ingrid good humouredly.

“All done, Boss!” Laptop Alice announced.

“Well can‘t stay all day chatting you ladies up.” Ingrid whistled to her crew. “Okay start packing up, get on the gurneys and look ill for the benefit of any watching eyes.”

Ingrid beckoned Clara and Mary over. “The box has clothing. In 30 minutes I text you,” she looked at Yvonne, “with the combination and you ladies can sort yourselves out. We will disable all your other phones. Remember, no cops! We still have the videos, ja?”

The three nude women nodded. Their thoughts and feelings were evident from their expressions.

Yvonne went to her daughter as Ingrid and her team made preparations to leave. They didn't take long. In six minutes they had cleared the room and relocked the door behind them.

Forrist looked miserable as Yvonne tackled her.

“Sorry, mum. I was stupid and it all sounded so exciting and I,” she stopped, looking embarrassed.

“You were smitten with Ingrid,” Yvonne finished for her.

“Ingrid? Hell no! It was Beth.” Forrist corrected her.

There was a frustrated bang. Yvonne turned and saw Clara was trying to force the lock. Finally, Clara gave up and stalked off to fume in a corner by herself. Mary eventually drifted over to join her.

All the women, now more conscious of their nakedness and soiled appearance, were quiet until Agnes and Isabella decided to shake them out of their despondency. They roped in Anne and began cleaning out pans and ferrying hot water in them along with paper towels and soap dispensers from the bathrooms. Yvonne and Forrist joined the line to get cleaned up.

“Are you meant to meet up with Beth or anything?” Yvonne.asked.

“No. She said she would make contact next week, but,” Forrist trailed off unhappily.

“But now you think that’s unlikely. My dear sweet girl, how could you be so stupid?” Yvonne took her daughter in her arms and let her cry. She was still angry with Forrist, but she wasn’t the first to do something stupid for love. Yvonne had married a loser for love.

“I thought you liked boys?” said Yvonne, still trying to understand.

“I do, it’s just Beth was so funny and confident and I just kind of fell for her. And then when she said she had pulled a couple of jewel heists, well I was just wow! The whole bad girl thing sort of made me go gaga for her.”

Shaking her head, Yvonne gave up. “Well just don’t tell anyone for gods sake.”

Sheepishly Forrist nodded. Yvonne pushed her forward and Anne helped Forrist wash down using paper towels.

“Sorry,” said Anne as she scrubbed the young girl’s naked bottom. Embarrassed, Forrist faced her mother as Anne wiped down the back of her legs and then discarded the towels in a plastic bin liner.

Yvonne stepped forward to replace Forrist. “I’m not too bad, I think,” she smiled at Anne and turned to let her employee wipe her down, before returning the favour.

Morale amongst the nude women had risen with the cleanup and everyone was counting down to the 30 minute mark and the prospect of clothes.

Yvonne snatched up the phone when it pinged.

“Combination code is SHIT,” she announced. What the? Yvonne cursed under her breath and looked at the keypad on her phone. "7448."

Clara and Mary were first to the box. Clara knelt and lined up the numbers as the rest of the nude women gathered around expectantly.

Fumbling with the clasp Clara pulled it aside and flung the lid open, her face turning from astonishment to fury as she saw the contents.

It was Pierre Peepier, the hotel manager. Bound, gagged and just as naked as the women who were looking down at him in disappointment.

Yvonne broke the standoff and helped the man to his feet. He was looking bug-eyed at the naked women and despite his predicament clearly enjoying what he was seeing.

“He’s French,” said Yvonne by way of explanation. The other women nodded and relaxed. Yvonne removed the gag, while Clara cut off the restraints.

“My apologies mesdames,” spluttered Pierre, covering his manhood. “I was just overwhelmed at seeing so much naked beauty.”

Yvonne rolled her eyes, two of the older women tittered coquettishly.

“What happened?” Clara demanded.

“My kindness and good nature were most foully abused by a red-headed devil in female form!” He thundered.

“Really?” Mary said sceptically.

“She was upset and asked for my help. She said she had lost her purse and phone and had nowhere to stay, so I naturally took her into my office to see if I could help.”

“I bet you did,” said Yvonne, her scepticism matching Mary’s.

“Oui, madam, and once there I was attacked and forced to disrobe!”

“Okay, I think we have a pretty good idea of what happened.” Clara cut him off as she suddenly spotted keys at the bottom of the trunk. “Aha!”

“Looks like we can get out of here at least!” Agnes said with relief “Question is how do we get to our rooms?”

“Or how do we get clothes to you ladies here? I will arrange it. Permit me,” said Pierre after Yvonne had briefly explained what had happened.

He took the key off Clara, unlocked the door and opened it.

“There they are!” A voice yelled, followed by a stampede to the door.

“Sacré bleu!” Pierre exclaimed in horror, desperately trying to close the door. “It’s the press! I am ruined!”

The women screamed and Clara yelled: “The bitch double crossed us!”

At that moment Yvonne’s phone pinged. ‘The evening news should be fun, ja? I informed the media there was a surprise National Nude Day event at the hotel today. Oh, Beth sends love and kisses to Forrist. Auf Wiedersehen, leibchen. Ingrid Gruber'.

“Run for it!” screamed Mary.

Galvanised by Mary's anguished cry, one naked Frenchman and twenty-four naked women, of varying shapes and sizes, scattered like startled deer as the press and cameras burst into the room.

Yvonne grabbed her daughter’s hand as they rushed towards the kitchen, a female reporter began firing questions at their naked rears as she hunted them down. Anne and Pierre were just ahead.

“I’m sorry mum!” gasped Forrist, trying to cover herself with her hands.

“Run, Forrist, run!” Yvonne yelled.

The three women and Pierre barged through the kitchen door, with Anne using her larger bulk to block the reporter and then slamming the bolts home.

Anne slid to the floor, trembling from the exertion. Her eyes widened. “Oh, god,” she said.

Yvonne turned to see two gentlemen with clipboards and Health Inspector badges around their necks. She exchanged panicky looks with her daughter and Anne.

“Mon Dieu!” Pierre gasped and fainted. Yvonne caught him just in time and eased him to the floor.

“He’s French,” explained Anne to the bewildered officials.

As he lay there, Pierre opened one eye and surreptitiously grabbed Yvonne’s arm, “Offer them food,” he whispered urgently. Startled, Yvonne looked puzzled. “I need leverage, otherwise I am finished! Je suis fini!” He pleaded.

Understanding, Yvonne stood up, turned to face the two men and fixed them with a generous smile.

“I’m afraid Monsieur Peepier is feeling a little tired and emotional. In the meantime, can I interest you in a crab delicacy or a seared scallop?” Yvonne picked up two unserved platters and waved them in front of the two men, distracting them from the commotion at the bolted door. “Perhaps a glass of champagne to go with it? Anne, could you fetch the champagne, please. Have you been waiting long?”

“No. Not really,” replied the senior of the two officials, finding his voice.

“That’s good. Lovely weather we are having at the moment,” continued Yvonne.

“But you, you are all,” the official spluttered to a halt as Anne appeared at his elbow and poured him some champagne.

“Naked? I know. Now please, you must try the crab delicacies. They go especially well with the champagne, don't they ladies?”

The other two women nodded and smiled encouragement as Yvonne turned up the charm. “Just one little nibble, gentlemen,” she coaxed. “That’s it, and now try some champagne, it will help you appreciate our and Monsieur Peepier's predicament, on what has been a very trying day for us all.”

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