Fuck Biscuit free porn video

It didn’t feel like Monday morning but that was what Linda Woodhead’s bedside clock was telling her. Linda hated Monday mornings. It always seemed so rude to be dragged out of bed by her alarm after two days of blissful lie-ins. But this Monday morning was different, which was the cause of Linda’s confusion. She was awake and felt energised. Even though her alarm wasn’t scheduled to go off for another 23 minutes, she simply couldn’t stay in bed. She needed to get up.

The room was cold. The heating hadn’t come on but that didn’t seem to matter in the way that it normally did. The cold was refreshing.

Linda had never felt refreshed; at least had never felt refreshed without having downed a glass of something alcoholic first. Sleep didn’t seem to have any effect on Linda’s wellbeing. It didn’t seem to matter how long she spent in bed, she never felt truly revitalised. Linda actually bounced out of bed. Well her breasts did as she hit the floor. They seemed heavier than they usually did and they definitely looked fuller as she caught a glimpse of her profile in the mirror. Linda felt good; great even.

And that was before her morning coffee.

Linda often didn’t attain a noticeable level of consciousness until she had most of her morning coffee inside her.

Looking in the bathroom mirror, Linda found it hard to fathom the change in her. Was this what a good night’s sleep did to a woman? There were no bags under her eyes, and even her skin looked younger. “It’s perfect timing to be having a good day,” Linda thought. You always hope to be at your best when you’re having an interview.

Linda skipped to the kitchen, caught herself skipping and took a more measured approach. Setting the coffee, she grabbed the copious notes which had scattered themselves on the kitchen floor and fought to put them into some sort of order. They were the notes for her presentation. There were a lot of them since she didn’t really know what kind of job she was being interviewed for. It was something to do with promotional material and advertising by the sounds of things. Linda was desperate and ready to give anything a go. Ungluing yesterday’s coffee cup from the table, she set the fresh coffee and decided to take advantage of her new-found energy before whatever magic wore off.

“Bleugh,” she spat, tasting the coffee for the first time. It was disgusting sweet poison. She couldn’t even bring herself to swallow it; instead scampered over to the sink and spat it out. Perhaps the milk was off.

Linda gave the milk a wary smell test but found it perfectly acceptable. In fact, it was considerably more appealing than the coffee had been and rather than try another coffee, Linda took the milk back to the table and took a long draught straight from the bottle. The cold of the milk was strangely satisfying and she felt compelled to take another glug.

“Mornin’,” Samantha chirped, with obvious approval sounding in the tone of her voice.

“Mornin’,” Linda replied brightly.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you up so early this morning.” Linda knew that Samantha gave bonus points for early risers. Linda hadn’t earned a bonus point in months. Samantha had the same thought and her tone turned suspicious. “You have been to bed haven’t you? Tell me you haven’t pulled another all-nighter?”

“Of course I’ve been to bed. I just got up early to…” Linda couldn’t quite think what she had been intending to do. She just hadn’t wanted to waste any of the day lounging around in bed. There were things to do.

That sounded odd now that she thought about it. It sounded like something Samantha would say to be ‘motivational’.

“Hold the front page! ‘Lazy’ Linda got up early?” Samantha gave her friend a wink. ‘Lazy’ was a label which had stuck since their school days. Other labels included ‘late’, ‘lovely’ and ‘luscious’. “What time did you get to bed?”

“Oh I don’t know, about two-ish?” That made it doubly odd to be feeling so good, not that Linda was complaining.

“Have you seen the milk?” Samantha asked, after hunting through the jungle-cum-rubik’s cube that passed as a fridge.

“Sorry,” Linda grinned, wiping her top lip with her bottom lip before giving a satisfied smack.

“You drank the all the milk?” Samantha stopped and studied her friend as she sat at the table. “Are you feeling OK?” Samantha actually bent down to study Linda.

“Fuck off,” Linda replied playfully, wafting her hands for emphasis as though Samantha was an irritating fly trying to get at her breakfast. “I drink milk.”

“Not without putting it in that Columbian filth you call coffee first, you don’t.”

“Hey! That stuff’s expensive.”

“So is caviar. Doesn’t make it taste good. Well, I can’t stand around here nattering all day. So long as you’re feeling OK. Let me know how you get on at the audit- sorry interview. Perhaps the milk will help.”

“Help with what? You haven’t even told me what it is I’m going to be doing exactly.”

“Oh don’t worry, you’ll be fine. A natural.”

“A natural what?” but Samantha was getting ready somewhere out of earshot. Linda turned back to her notes – where had she got up to? It was amazing but every page she read, she already knew every word. It was as though the whole set of notes had been tattooed into her memory.

“Bye, then,” Samantha called from the hall.

“What about breakfast? You want some toast or something?” Linda shouted.

“Haven’t got time. I’ll just grab a biscuit or… hey are you OK?”

“Nurrrgh.”

“Hey, Woodhead, look at me,” Samantha said, with genuine concern in her voice as she crouched over the prone from of Linda Woodhead. “Are you having a fit or something?”

“I’m fine,” Linda gasped, pulling herself up onto a chair. “I just erm, slipped. You’d better go. You’ll miss your bus.”

“Well, yes but… as long as you’re OK?”

“I told you, I’m fine; go!” Linda Woodhead was better than fine. She’d just had her best orgasm in months.

*** 
Orgasms were hardly a rarity in Linda’s life but she’d never had a spontaneous orgasm before. It left her feeling kind of shocked on top of the mellow warmth that always followed her orgasms. Perhaps she had had some kind of especially sexy dream. Could that explain the way Linda had been feeling since she’d woken up?

Why had the orgasm fired when it did?

Linda hadn’t been having any sexy thoughts. She’d been leafing through her notes for one last time. Had there been something subliminal in there; something so rude and sexy that it had made Linda orgasm on the spot?

Linda went to the shower. Her breasts definitely felt fuller as she soaped them. Linda had made a mental note to shave everywhere after something she’d read in a magazine about being prepared; about being strong and confident during interviews – however there didn’t seem to be anything to shave. Everywhere was silky smooth already.

Today was a good day. Super smooth; super sexy. Linda felt right. Especially between her legs. Samantha had already left, which meant Linda was alone. Her fingers moved slowly at first, cleaning. Then they were doing more than cleaning.

Minutes passed. More minutes. Linda felt her clitoris throbbing underneath her fingers. It had been woken from its slumbers but seemed surprisingly reluctant to follow-up on what had happened to Linda in her kitchen.

Linda braced herself against the wall with the shower spraying down her front. She rubbed harder; pulling her fingers up harder. Her pussy was burning with a strange friction; where there should have been pleasure there was only disappointment and discomfort. Linda wished she had never started; wished she had been satisfied with Samantha and her bloody biscuit.

Pleasure blossomed without warning. Linda’s groan echoed back to her; “Nurrrghhhhaaa,” as her fingers instantly slipped down into her pussy and rubbed. They should have helped to draw out the orgasm, heighten the peak as her hips rotated with the rhythm of her spasms.

All that should have happened. But it wasn’t happening.

Linda’s orgasm was empty. It still flared like a sexual firework but it was like watching that firework from a distance – the light and sound were still spectacular but they were completely disassociated from Linda’s body. Her pussy and clitoris were completely oblivious to what was happening.

Linda frowned. “What kind of woman has an orgasm every time someone says 'biscuit'? Nurrrghhhh.”

*** 
“Everything’s fine mum, I just thought I’d pop round.”

“But you never pop round. We’ve lived here for seven years and you’ve never popped round once, has she George?”

“Hmmm?” George muttered from behind his paper. George Woodhead was extremely reluctant to drop the newspaper as to do so often resulted in an hour or two of hoovering or other miscellaneous tasks. He didn’t read the paper, although he made sure to hold it the right way up. It was just a prop, something he used to protect himself from his wife.

“I have popped round,” Linda said, somewhat defensively.

“When?” Dorothy Woodhead persisted.

“Now. This is once.” Linda saw her mother’s face crack for a moment as she realised that her daughter had outmanoeuvred her in this instance.

“You’ve got that job interview today, haven’t you?” Linda fought down the irritation at her mother’s questions to which she already knew the answer. “George, she’s got that interview today, isn’t that right?”

“Yes, Mum.”

“What time is it?”

“9:32,” George said promptly from behind his paper, just to prove that he was following the conversation. Time keeping was an area with which George felt comfortable making a contribution.

“The interview, silly.” Dorothy rolled her eyes.

“It’s at 12:30.”

“Oh good. Plenty of time for a cup of tea and a biscuit.”

“Nurrrghhhh,” Linda groaned, sliding down onto the sofa. When she looked up, her father was peering at her from behind the business section of the Daily Telegraph.

“You OK, love?” he enquired.

“You do look a little flushed, love,” Linda’s mum added.

“I’ll be much better after I’ve had a cup of tea and a…”

“Bisc…”

“Have you got any custard creams?” Linda asked sharply.

Dorothy frowned at being so rudely interrupted. “I think so.”

“There’s a packet at the back, on the third shelf behind the vegetable basket,” George recited, keeping the paper between himself and the female members of his family. He liked to keep everything in its place, as he had done during his time in the army kitchens.

Dorothy made a face as she did some mental calculation and then leant forward and patted her daughter on the knee. “Your period’s due, isn’t it?”

Linda scowled. “Muuum!” Linda used the universal dual-tone reply of exasperated children everywhere, despite the fact she was a 28 year old woman of independent means.

“Well, it is.”

“I am not on my period.”

George leapt across the room. “I’ll make the tea.”

“Don’t forget the biscuits,” Dorothy called out.

“Nurrrghhhh.”

“Are you feeling alright love, you’ve gone a very funny colour. George, hasn’t she gone a funny colour?”

George marched back into the room. “The custard creams are missing,” he said, accusingly.

“Missing?”

“AWOL. Unaccounted for.”

“Ah yes, I took those to the crochet class at the library.”

“Why didn’t you sign them out?”

“Sign them out? Oh don’t be so silly, George, just bring in the HobNobs instead.” George was about to start moaning about the fact that no inventory system had a hope of working unless everyone abided by the rules when he had a thought.

“The chocolate ones?” he asked, hopefully. The chocolate HobNobs were reserved for special occasions. As far as George was concerned, just making his way through each day without killing Dorothy made a day special. He didn’t wait to hear the answer.

“There you go love,” George said, placing the cup on the table closest to Linda. “And I’ve put a couple of…”

“Chocolate HobNobs,” Linda interrupted.

“On the saucer.”

“Thanks, Dad.” Linda looked up gratefully. She took a sip and screwed up her face. It tasted like someone had spilled the contents of a sugar refinery into the cup and the milk was definitely off.

Linda waited. Her parents never had spoiled milk. She watched as they downed their drinks without complaint. It was her; she’d changed. Her tastes had changed overnight.

“So what’s this job you’re going for?” Linda found herself making something up, since she had no idea what the post actually entailed and then got a bit carried away and made out that she was the ideal candidate.

The corner of the business section dropped. “Sounds like someone’s properly prepared.” Linda thought back to the late nights. They had been booze-fuelled, not research orientated. It had been four weeks since she’d even looked at the advert. And even then, Samantha had merely made her sign something. It seemed odd now that she thought about the smears, smudges and coffee stains on her ‘application’ paper. What was the worst that could happen?

“Are you going to have those biscuits, love?” George asked, hopefully.

“Nurrrghhhhaa.”

“Oh good.” George popped over and helped himself to the HobNobs and disappeared back behind the main section of the Daily Telegraph.

“Mum… have you ever had a response?”

“A response? What kind of response?”

“Sexual.” There was a choking sound from the paper. Or somewhere immediately behind it.

“Linda! You know how it upsets your father to talk about… delicate matters.”

“Well, I’ve got a problem…”

“You’re pregnant!” Dorothy shrieked with excitement. “That’s why you’re not on your period!” There was a great wheezing noise from the corner of the room and the newspaper started to shake between tightly gripping fingers.

“I am not pregnant,” Linda exclaimed. “Or on my period.”

“You’ve caught something,” Dorothy said, accusingly. “One of those SDTs.”

“I have not got an STD!” Something heavy hit the paper from behind; something head shaped pressed out into the room unnoticed.

“Have you ever had an… orgasm…?” Linda began.

“Of course I have dear, your father is extremely… Oh goodness, look what you’ve done to him! George!”

“Dad!” George’s paper had dropped to the floor with George’s face attached to it. The face was almost unrecognisable to that which had hidden itself from view just seconds before. Its skin was purple; the eyes bulging horribly and there was a desperate wheezing noise coming from his mouth.

“I told you he couldn’t stand women’s talk. You’ve killed him. That’s what you’ve done. You’ve killed your own father.”

“He’s not dead Mum, he’s choking!” It was impossible to perform the Heimlich manoeuvre on her father where he was and equally impossible to move him without the assistance of her hysterical mother. Linda did the only thing she could think of. She kneed her father in the stomach.

“You really are killing him!” Dorothy cried, running round in a little circle. “What will the neighbours say?” Linda pushed her knee in under George’s ribs again and a semi-circle of chocolate HobNob rotated across the room like a sycamore leaf and came to a spinning halt on the sofa.

“That’s why I don’t let you have the HobNobs, you greedy old goat,” Dorothy scolded, as George took a desperate breath. “You’re supposed to chew them first.”

“Mum! He could have died.” Colour was returning to her father’s face.

“What’s happening?” he asked, starting to look more like his usual composed self.

“You nearly died, you great wally.”

“Mum! Be nice.”

“She is being nice.” George fell back into his chair and ran his finger along the inside of his collar. “I don’t think your mother will let me near the biscuit tin in future,” he said with a chuckle.

Linda collapsed to the floor and clutched her belly. “Nurrrghhhhaa.”

“I hope you’re not expecting me to do that thing with the knee,” Dorothy said. “If I got down there, I’d never be able to get back up again.”

*** 
Linda had to get away. By the time she had persuaded her mother to get a taxi to take her father to casualty, much of her ‘bounce’ had been used up. Worried as she was about her father, it was what had happened to her which she couldn’t stop thinking about. It simply wasn’t right that both of her parents had made her orgasm.

Would it look a bit keen to arrive for the interview 90 minutes early? What would happen if they offered her a biscuit?

Linda knew the answer to that. She’d already had more orgasms in a single morning than she had managed in the previous three weeks. And those had been productive weeks – the little Lelo had proved to be the most reliable partner she’d ever known. “I might not be needing it quite so much in future,” Linda thought. Linda found herself wondering what it would feel like to use the toy and then utter the ‘B’ word.

“All I need to do is think about… HobNobs and I can have all the orgasms I can handle. I wonder if I should see a doctor about it?”

Linda had a stab of doubt. What if the doctor was able to stop it? Would she actually want that?

No-one was watching, so Linda sat down on someone’s wall and braced herself. “Biscuit,” she thought. Nothing. “Biscuit! Biscuit, biscuit.” Nothing happened. Not even a twitch. “Biscuits?” Nope.

Linda wrapped her fingers under the lip of the wall. “Biscuit,” she whispered. “Nurrrghhhhaa! Oh Jesus!” Linda waited for her head to stop spinning and her thoughts to refocus. Each orgasm was the same. A duplicate, a copy. There was no variation; they didn’t get stronger or weaker and unlike ‘ordinary’ orgasms, they didn’t feel any different for having already had one or six. Six! Linda had never had six orgasms in a day before. And she could choose to have more.

That might be fun.

“Biscuit,” she whispered. “Nurrrgh – biscuit - Nurrrghhhhaa! Biscuit Nurrrghhhhaaaa!” Linda realised that her hand was instinctively clutching at her crotch and her legs were sticking out straight in front of her like a marionette. Fortunately, there was no-one close enough to notice the multi-orgasmic girl slumped against a gatepost.

Linda let her feet rotate down to the ground and started smiling. This was brilliant!

*** 
Linda was so early and so full of energy that she decided to walk to the interview. It was as she walked that she noticed that there was something wrong with her breasts. They were hurting and nothing she did with her bra did anything to alleviate the discomfort. By the time she arrived forty minutes later, Linda was in pain. Each and every breath caused daggers to penetrate her bouncing bosom.

“How many I help you?” asked a dazzling smile from behind the reception desk.

“I’m Linda Woodhead; I’m here for an interview?” she said to the glamorous girl on reception. “I’m a bit early.” The headlight smile didn’t waver for a moment as ‘my name is Lucy’ turned the page. “Oh yes, here you are.” Linda smiled as Lucy gave her entry a big friendly heart, rather than the normal tick.

“Is there a loo that I can use to freshen up?”

“Of course. Through the doors, first on the left.” Linda hobbled as directed. These shoes weren’t designed for walking. They were designed to look good.

“Great shoes,” Lucy observed from behind the counter. Linda tried to smile but wasn’t sure how the expression looked.

Linda could barely breathe by the time she’d chosen a cubicle in the ladies. Her blouse seemed to be constricting every breath. She undid the buttons and then gasped. Her breasts had escaped. Forget the kind of boost a girl got by slipping a chicken fillet into the cups; it looked as though Linda was smuggling a whole chicken in each cup. The relief when Linda unclipped the bra was tremendous but what had been revealed didn’t look right.

Linda listened carefully and once she was sure she was alone, she opened the door. The sinks were offset from the cubicles, so she had to tiptoe over to the basins, where she gasped. Her breasts looked like a pair of barrage balloons. They weren’t swollen or tender, although there was a nasty welt where her bra had cut into the flesh. But she had never seen these breasts before in her life; she’d seen similar ones on covers of magazines but never in real life.

They were breath-taking.

They were hers.

They were huge!

“Oh, sorry!” Linda clutched at herself as she heard the voice behind her. Her hands weren’t really big enough and there was significant flesh escaping as she looked in the mirror to see Lucy approaching.

“No, no it’s… I was just…” There was no point trying to explain. She had been admiring her new breasts in the mirror in the toilets of a company she was about to interview for. Simple as that.

“I just came to check that you were… you’d not got lost?” Lucy said. There was an uncomfortable pause as the two women looked at each other. Lucy, being fully dressed and on home turf, held a distinct advantage.

Linda had a brain wave. “It’s my bra,” Linda said, lifting an arm. It’s a new one and it’s…” she let her voice fade as she revealed the abused flesh.

“Oh my god, you poor thing!” Lucy’s perfect brow probably would have furrowed if the muscles in it hadn’t been suffering from acute Botox poisoning. Linda jumped as Lucy’s fingernail touched her and dragged along the red and purple welts. She had something in mind and felt rather guilty as she let Lucy explore.

“These are great tits; who did them?”

“Did them?”

“Your surgeon?”

“No surgeon; they’re natural.”

“No way!”

“Way!” Linda said, feeling extremely uncomfortable at using street language. What would her father say? Linda’s stomach tightened. She hoped he was OK.

“Can I…?” Lucy asked but she was already cupping her hand and moving it with obvious intent. Linda watched in horror as Lucy first cupped and then squeezed her breast. “Wow. I’ve never felt a real one before. It’s… wow. So, you know?”

“I know!” Although Linda had no idea what they were talking about. “The thing is, I can’t go into the interview without a bra.”

“Uh-huh,” Lucy said, nodding vigorously.

“So I was wondering if I could…”

“Borrow mine?” Linda could tell that the perfectly crafted eyebrows would have shot up to emphasize the question had they been capable of any movement at all. As it was, Lucy’s face remained entirely neutral. Impossible to read.

“Just while I go for the interview,” Linda clarified. “I’ll give it you back on the way out.”

“Oh sure. Yeah, no problem.” The fake posh accent had dropped now that Linda and Lucy were bosom buddies, so to speak. “You can have a feel of my tits and see what you think,” Lucy enthused. Linda was careful to keep her thoughts to herself as Lucy stripped and exposed two of the most amazing breasts she’d ever seen. “Snap,” Lucy said, and Linda was amazed to realise that all four breasts lined up in the mirror did look alike.

“What size are you?” Linda asked, trying to show a bit of interest in what were probably Lucy’s most prized assets.

“I’m a DD.” Linda noticed the way Lucy was turning from side to side, admiring her breasts in the mirror. “Come-on, don’t be shy. I know you want to have a squeeze. ” The very last thing Linda wanted to do was squeeze Lucy’s titties but she really wanted to borrow Lucy’s bra for the interview.

“Mmmm,” she faked, as she stood behind Lucy and placed her hands over the woman’s tits.

“Go on, have a proper squeeze!” Linda gave in. She contracted both hands and felt the flesh adjust. So that’s what it felt like for a man.

“You showing off your bazookas again, Luce?” The voice was that of another woman who had just entered the toilets. “She paid a lot for those, you know. Likes to get her money’s worth by showing them off to anyone who’ll take a look. Or a feel.” Linda withdrew her hands immediately and used them to cover her own breasts. “Did you see Mr Ashworth as well? He’s really good. Yours almost look real.”

“Mine are real!”

“No way!”

“Way!” Lucy confirmed. “I didn’t believe it either but Linda let me have a squeeze and they totally are.”

“Can I have a go?” Linda couldn’t risk offending her new best bra-lending friend.

“Of course,” she replied, with fake enthusiasm. Lucy took the opportunity for a second grope.

“They’re so…”

“Real?” Linda asked, feeling a certain sympathy with cows all of a sudden. “Ow!”

“You felt that?” Of course I bloody felt that, you nearly pulled my nipple off.

“Wow. I’ve hardly got any sensation in my nipples.” Linda watched in horror as Lucy’s nameless, shameless friend started unbuttoning her blouse. Her breasts weren’t nearly quite so enormous as Lucy’s but they were big and brash on such a small framed girl, like an American RV pulling up at a muddy campsite in Yorkshire.

Linda was now surrounded by enormous breasts; her own, Lucy’s and anonymous’ plus the reflection of all six breasts in the mirror. There were hands roaming over all the breasts, poking and squeezing all the way. It was many a freshman’s fantasy but it was enough to make a straight girl puke.

Only that wasn’t how Linda was feeling. Not at all.

“I think I should be getting dressed,” Linda said, desperately. “I need to prepare for my interview.”

“Don’t go yet,” Lucy cooed, wrapping her arms around Linda’s waist. Linda’s skirt fell from her hips. “Oh god, you mucky cow,” Lucy exclaimed. “I don’t mind if I do!” Lucy blew herself an air kiss to the mirror before dropping to her knees. With Lucy’s arms wrapped around her legs, Linda could no longer escape, even if she’d wanted to. Part of her mind was screaming at her to get away; another part was just screaming.

She was stuck, unable to move. “Oh my fucking god,” Linda screamed in shock. Lucy’s mouth had pressed against her pussy and it felt wonderful.

"This is too weird." Linda thought, but even as she thought those words, her legs were opening and her fingers were pressing into Lucy’s thick locks.

She didn’t understand what was happening to her but felt compelled to continue. Is this what happened to women? Was this some latent lesbianism rising to the surface? The real Linda? “Please…" Linda heard herself beg. What she really wanted was an explanation but she knew that Lucy was unlikely to provide one of those. Not with her mouth so busy…

“Turn over,” Lucy said, in a new commanding voice. Linda didn’t know what that meant until she saw that the girl was holding a butt-plug and a tube of lubricant. It shocked but thrilled Linda to obey.

Lucy pulled Linda’s knickers down in a flash. Linda’s bared bottom was now at the mercy of the receptionist. A cold slug of lubricant touched Linda’s arsehole and within seconds Lucy had her finger stuck up Linda’s arse. Linda’s mind span; it felt like a fantasy, although Linda couldn’t remember having ever fantasised about anal fingering. A part of her was still shocked to be doing such intimate things with two women only seconds after meeting them. But another part was utterly thrilled. How was this possible?

“That’s a great little bum you’ve got there,” anonymous added, as she added her finger into the mix. A noise which Linda had never heard before escaped from her throat as the second finger wormed its way in past the first and penetrated much more deeply. Linda couldn’t help but groan with pleasure as the two girls finger-fucked her arse.

“Oooh, someone likes that,” Lucy observed dirtily. “Well, if you like that, you’re going to love this,” she said, and pressed the tip of the butt-plug against Linda’s well-lubed opening. Linda was confident of one thing: something that big was never going to fit up her bum; she’d struggle to get it in her pussy.

Lucy pushed and pushed, fighting Linda’s sphincter until the widest part had passed through into the cavity beyond. The stretched sphincter muscles closed gratefully and in doing so, pulled the whole of the toy fully into Linda’s rectum.

“Huh!!” Lucy laughed. “Your little ass must be bigger than I thought to swallow that thing.”

“It’s… inside me?” I Linda asked.

“Oh yes, it certainly is,” Lucy replied happily. “All in.”

“Oh god,” Linda groaned. It wasn’t the kind of groan you normally hear during a sex act; more the kind you’d hear from the stands when the favourite horse falls at the last jump. Linda’s fingers explored: sure enough, the flat base was welded firmly between her buttocks. “I’m an anal slut,” she wailed.

“Yes you are, you dirty bitch.” Linda’s stomach knotted but then seemed to get caressed from somewhere deep within. Had she triggered something? It was beyond Linda’s wildest nightmares. Powerful vibrations were caressing from deep inside her ass.

“Oh fuck,” Linda groaned, clawing at the base, trying to pull the wretched thing out. She was doing well but at the point of maximum width, she met maximum resistance and Linda lost her grip so that the damn thing slithered all the way back inside.

“Oh you want it like that, do you?” Lucy asked, and without waiting for an answer she began pulling the plug back and forth, alternately stretching Linda’s hole before allowing it to relax. “How the hell did I get myself into this?” Linda thought. “And how do I escape?”

Linda knew exactly what she needed to do.

She groaned expansively, wriggling her bottom as though dancing in the privacy of her own bedroom. For each movement of fingers or toy she let out a satisfied gasp. Linda felt like she was giving a good performance; as though she couldn’t resist the pleasure that Lucy and her friend were giving her. But how much was an act?

“Oh, God!” Linda exclaimed, deciding to bring the session to a climax. “You’re going to make me come!”

“Really?” Lucy whispered. Linda felt a thumb jab into her pussy and rub. And then she felt a tongue licking... down there. 

“Oh fuck biscuit!” Linda cried. “Nurrrghhhh.” Linda was bent in half with her legs spread wide as the withering orgasm gripped her body and wrung the pleasure out of it. It did feel even better when she’d been stimulated. Interesting.

Linda gathered herself to find Lucy smiling contentedly, her skin glowing, flushed with her own sexual satisfaction. As Linda didn’t think to look down, it took her a moment to realise why Lucy was looking so happy. She was sitting on anonymous girl’s face. “You eat really good pussy,” Linda said, which was the best compliment she could think of.

Lucy nodded in a way which suggested that her body was no longer attached to the rest of her body. “But I’d better get going in case they come to interview me.”

“Of course,” Lucy said, briefly goosing Linda’s pussy. Linda backed away, grabbing a boulder-holder of a bra and went back to her cubicle to get dressed. Leaving the upturned toy on the cistern, Linda managed to button her blouse over her borrowed bra. The bra was absolute bliss, although her bum was hurting so much Linda barely noticed.

As Linda came out of the ladies, she found two men had entered the waiting room. There was something wrong with them; the way they caught each other’s eye as they clocked Linda made alarm bells ring. By sitting in opposite corners they looked unnatural – maybe by being so inconspicuous, they were being utterly conspicuous.

Linda was glad that a cleaning lady was humming mindlessly to herself as she dusted the immaculate counter until she was called upstairs.

*** 
Lucy’s desk phone had buzzed three times before a head popped around the key-coded door which led into the rest of the building. Linda was desperate to get to the interview. The two suits were freaking her out. Not once had they responded to the sounds emanating from the Ladies. It wasn’t natural for men to sit expressionless with a background of sighs and groans being punctuated by cries of, “Oh, fuck yes!” and “Faster, please you must… oooh!”

At least these weren’t her orgasms; at least there had been no mention of biscuits.

However, thinking about the events of the morning to the background of pneumatic lesbian love-making had left Linda feeling rather traumatised.

The face took on a puzzled frown. “Have you seen…?”

“Lucy?” Linda filled in helpfully. The two suits looked at each other again. Just a flickering connection but Linda caught it.

“That’s the one.” There was a particularly loud screech from the toilet followed by a crash.

“I think she having a bit of…” Linda fought for inspiration. “Lady trouble.”

The eyes widened. “Oh, yes right. Well then. Erm. I suppose you’d better.”

“Come through?”

“Exactly,” the face said, looking relieved. There was a blood curdling scream just as the door clicked shut and something collided with the door, making it resonate, which Linda thought was odd as it was a very solid wooden door.

“Do you think she’s…”

“Mrs Wiley is as tough as old boots. I’m sure she’ll be fine.” Linda took a deep breath as she set off after her nameless guide, and watched helplessly as a button pinged away from her blouse. Crouching down to pick it up, she felt a rather odd draught and realised that her skirt had fallen down around her knees. It was like one of those nightmares, where you turn up for the interview and suddenly realise that you’re naked.

Only this was most definitely happening.

Linda clutched at her skirt with one hand and held her bulky portfolio with the other. As they waited for the lift, Linda checked the notch on her belt. It was already on the tightest hole, yet it had just effortlessly slid down over her hips and her big fat bottom. Linda knew that she didn’t really have a big fat bottom but that was what she called it whenever there were cakes or biscuits around.

Oh Biscuits!

Linda bit her lip and hoped that there wouldn’t be any dry, small thin varieties of cake on offer where she was going.

As it was, Linda didn’t get to find out about the biscuit situation in the interview room for as soon as the lift doors opened, she and her host were violently wrestled to the floor and handcuffed.

** 
Mrs Wiley, the cleaner, didn’t like what was happening one bit. First there had been the disturbing sounds coming from the Ladies loo. At first, Mrs Wiley had assumed that the noises were those of someone having a particularly difficult toilet. However, when she found Lucy to be away from her desk, she felt reassured; Mrs Wiley knew to leave well alone in such circumstances. Lucy often ‘entertained’ VIP guests.

But she knew something was seriously wrong when the two gentlemen who had been waiting so patiently suddenly vaulted the desk as Mr Ponson took the young lady off to be interviewed. Unfortunately, Mrs Wiley was between the door and the would-be intruders. As they tried to force their way past her, Mrs Wiley drove her knee into the first gentleman’s private area as hard as she could and clouted the second man on the head with her bucket.

The first gentleman cried, “Man down, man down,” into his lapel but as he started getting up, Mrs Wiley put an end to that by giving him a really good wallop with her bucket. There was the sound of smashing glass from behind the security door, followed by dozens of heavy feet on the stairs. Mrs Wiley opened the security door and stuck her head into the corridor for a few seconds. Something terrible was happening.

Mrs Wiley did the only thing that seemed sensible. She rang 999. “Police, please.”

“What is the nature of the emergency?” the operator enquired.

“There’s something going on in the interview room,” she said. “It sounds like they’re trying to kill the girl I’ve just sent up there.”

“Have you seen an assault, or is it just an argument?”

“It sounds like more than an argument. There was smashing glass. Perhaps we’re being robbed?”

“Have you witnessed an actual assault?”

“Not up there, no,” Mrs Wiley admitted. “But I’ve witnessed two assaults down here,” she added brightly. “There are two unconscious gentlemen in the reception area.” The police dispatcher’s interest notched up at the news of there having been actual assaults and that there were two men currently unconscious; she quickly set about taking Mrs Wiley’s particulars.

Several policemen burst through the front door. “That was quick,” Mrs Wiley, said. “I haven’t even given you my address yet,” and put the phone down.

“Police,” said the sergeant.

“Yes, I can see that,” Mrs Wiley replied, adjusting her glasses.

“This is a…” The sergeant didn’t finish the sentence as he spotted four legs sticking out from behind the desk. “Someone call an ambulance for these two; anyone know first aid?” the sergeant asked, peering down at the prone forms. “What’s the meaning of this?” he asked, addressing Mrs Wiley.

“Didn’t the girl tell you?”

“What girl?”

“The girl on the phone.” The sergeant was thoroughly confused.

“Here, Sarg. These guys are ours.” One of the guys was coming round. Sergeant Stevens looked down at the groggy face. Even with the horrible swelling on his forehead, Stevens recognised him as a member of the Drugs Squad.

“You’ve got a horrible lump there, Knightley.” Stevens resisted the urge to touch the egg-sized swelling on the drug officer’s head.

“Oh my god, you can see them though my trousers?” Stevens crouched down next to the wounded officer and placed a restraining hand on Knightley’s shoulder as he started trying to get up. He’d heard about head injuries on Match of The Day.

“Just you stop here, lad. I think you might have a concussion.”

“Concussion? My balls feel like fucking water melons!” Knightley groaned, clutching at the affected area to assess the damage as delicately as possible. Stevens helped to prop him against the reception desk. Mrs Wiley leaned in behind the sergeant. “You want to stay away from that bitch,” Knightley snapped. “Knobbiest knees I’ve ever seen.” Knightley speared Mrs Wiley with a hard stare – the only thing that was going to get hard for a few weeks by the feel of things. “I should do you for fucking assault.”

Sergeant Stevens sighed. “Perhaps we should, as they say, start at the beginning. And for God’s sake will someone go and see what that bleeding racket is. It sounds like they’re filming a lesbian porno down there.”

Stevens felt that he was just beginning to get a grip on events when sirens wailed in the street outside and a second wave of police officers surged into the tiny reception area. Stevens suspected that every on-duty policeman for 30 miles was currently squeezed into this one small space. One officer elbowed his way through the crowd. “Suspected assault?” Inspector Richards enquired, as lead officer of the second wave.

“Actual assault more like,” Sergeant Stevens replied, nodding at the pair of wounded officers, one of whom was still unconscious.

“I was looking for a girl?” Stevens resisted the urge to quip a response. This was not the time. They both looked Mrs Wiley up and down. Mrs Wiley adjusted her spectacles and pulled her cardigan more tightly around her sturdy frame.

“I wouldn’t call her a ‘girl’ as such. Maybe one of those two?” Both men turned to where two women were huddled together, surrounded by policemen who were pretending not to notice that neither woman was wearing a bra, despite their obvious physical need.

Stevens shrugged. “I wouldn’t call what they were doing to each other ‘assault’ as such. But I suppose…”

“Really?” Richards asked, picking up on the tone of the information. “Perhaps I should go and have a word?” The door which had remained closed through the entire exchange suddenly burst open and a half naked woman was pushed through.

“Oh my God,” Mrs Wiley, wailed. “Please tell me that the police got to you in time?”

“In time for what?” Linda snapped. “In time to assault me?”

“Perhaps she’s the one you’re after?” Stevens suggested.

“Looks like it,” Inspector Richards agreed. “I’ll go and have a word.”

“Excuse me madam, have you reported an assault?”

“Not yet I haven’t, but I’ve a bloody mind to,” Linda shouted. “I only came here for a sodding interview. I stepped out of the lift and these clowns jumped on me and Mr Parsons.”

“Mr Parsons?”

“One of the senior partners,” Mrs Wiley said. “Such a lovely chap. So mild mannered. Wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“And where is Mr Parsons now?”

“One of your lot Tasered him.” Linda scowled. “Resisting arrest apparently. All he said was ‘excuse me but’ and they zapped him.”

“Is this true, Stevens?”

“I can’t see how it could be. My men haven’t even got Tasers.”

“It was one of them.” In the absence of pointable hands, Linda used her hips to indicate the men being treated by the reception desk. Linda was annoyed that most of the eyes in the room simply stared at her panty-clad groin / bottom.

“The drugs squad?” Inspector Richards whispered. “What are those fuckwits doing here?”

“I haven’t the foggiest,” Stevens answered. “To be honest, I’m not sure what any of us are doing here.”

“What happened to your skirt?” Mrs Wiley asked Linda. It was the kind of question which drew even more attention to Linda’s legs. Those members of the police force who hadn’t been looking at Linda’s bottom half, found themselves doing so. Inspector Richards looked to the men escorting Linda out of the building for an answer.

“It… ah…” one of the arresting officers explained.

“Came off,” his accomplice completed.

“Are you trying to tell me that this lady’s skirt just… fell off?”

“Like one of them lizard’s tails what come off when they’re attacked.”

“And were you attacking Ms…”

“No, off course we wasn’t.”

“You were,” Linda said sharply. “And poor Mr Parsons – don’t forget him. He looked most upset after he’d been Tasered.”

“Ms…” Inspector Richards insisted, doing his best to calm the situation.

“Woodhead,” Linda completed.

“Ms Woodhead. I’m Inspector Richards and I’m trying to work out what on earth is going on here.”

“You and me both,” Sergeant Stevens murmured.

“Why don’t we all go down to the station and have a nice little chat…”

“Am I under arrest?”

“No, no,” said the Inspector. His reassurances were contradicted by muttering to the affirmative from behind.

“Let’s just say you’re helping us with our enquiries,” Richards said, using his best soothing voice, the one he usually reserved for terrorist negotiations and trying to get out of spending Sunday afternoons with his mother-in-law. “Maybe we could rustle up a cup of tea and some biscuits.”

“Nurrrgh,” Linda stumbled as an orgasm ripped through her, and fell against the Inspector. The Inspector wasn’t a tall man and Linda’s forehead was really rather hard; much harder than the cartilage in Inspector Richard’s nose.

“Jesus Christ, this one’s at it again! Get her in the van right now; resisting arrest, assaulting an officer.” Hands grabbed Linda by the arms and hauled her still-spasming body through the throng of angry policemen and pushed her into the back of the waiting police van. Through its blackened windows, she watched as three wounded policemen were brought out – two on stretchers and one in what looked suspiciously like a pair of birthing stirrups. Mrs Wiley was helped up the steps to take the final place on offer in the waiting ambulances with her badly-bruised knee. As Linda plonked her panty-clad bottom onto the cold bench of the police van, she shook her head sadly. This was turning into a hell of a day.

“Fuck biscuit! Nurrrghaaaa.”

** 
“So tell me what you know about SPIN,” Sergeant Stevens asked. He wasn’t really qualified to conduct a drugs investigation but since one half of the local drugs squad was still unconscious and the other was delirious with serious head and groinal injuries, it fell to him to start proceedings.

“Spin? What like Shane Warne?”

“Shane who? Is he your dealer?”

Linda frowned. “He’s a bowler, isn’t he?”

“You tell me.” The sergeant made a play of taking a deep breath but it was a front. He hadn’t conducted any drugs related enquires in years and wondered whether he was out of touch with the current street lingo. If he was, the lads in the office would have a good laugh at his expense when they played the interview tape back. “Just tell me where you’re getting the drugs.”

“Drugs?” Linda asked, sounding genuinely alarmed.

“The drugs.” Sergeant Stevens sat forward intently. “There’s no point denying it, or didn’t you think we’d find them?”

“Find them? Where did you find them?”

“So you want to play it like that?”

“Play what like what? You come in here asking about spin and drugs and that you’ve found them. I don’t know what you’re fucking talking about,” Linda snapped. “I thought we were going to have tea and bis…” Linda stopped herself just in time.

“That was before you assaulted an officer of the law. The drugs. In your bra?”

“My bra? Oh.” Some pieces of what seemed to Linda a very large and complex puzzle fell into place, but Linda knew that she would have to play this very carefully. “That wasn’t my bra,” she said, as calmly as she could.

“Of course it wasn’t.” Linda saw the little smile play on the sergeant’s face. He didn’t believe her, and why would he? But she had to tell the truth; tell the story and make him believe it.

“It belongs to the receptionist,” or maybe her friend? Linda had been in such a hurry to get out of that lesbian love nest that she had picked up a bra. She wasn’t entirely sure which of the girls it belonged to.

“So you didn’t know anything about the drugs concealed in it?”

“Of course not.”

“So you just borrowed it?”

“That’s right.”

“Because…”

“Listen. I was going for an interview and the bra I was wearing was cutting into me something rotten. It made me look like I had four boobs…”

“And whose bra was that?”

“Which bra?”

“The one you were wearing when you set off for ‘the interview’?” Sergeant Stevens punctuated the air with his fingers when he said ‘the interview’. They didn’t believe that she’d been going for an interview. So what did they think she’d been doing there?

“That was my bra.”

“So let me get this straight. You set off to an interview wearing a bra that was so ill-fitting that it made you look like you had four boobs?” Sergeant Stevens consulted some notes he’d made in his pad; he was making notes although there were tapes recording every word that being spoken. “And then you swapped your bra with the girl working on reception?”

“Lucy.”

“So, presumably you know this Lucy pretty well?” Linda wriggled on the chair. Parts of her body knew Lucy rather better than she would care to admit.

“I’ve never met her before today. As I say I was there for a job interview.” Subtle Lucy, they’d be able to make enquiries about the job. The police would find the adverts in the papers and stuff. They’d be able to confirm that part of her story. It was a piece that Linda could build upon; a foundation stone for her to clear herself.

Stevens ignored Linda’s response entirely. “And yet this girl willingly lent you, a complete stranger, her bra?”

Shit. “I know how it sounds,” Linda said, changing tactics on the fly.

“And how does it sound?”

“Insane.” Sergeant Stevens allowed himself a proper smile.

“But that’s the best you could think of, right?”

“No!” Linda said, firmly but calmly. “It’s the truth. My bra didn’t fit so I asked if I could borrow Lucy’s. We went into the toilet and…” Linda didn’t want to go into details about what happened in there with Stevens.

“You swapped bras?”

“No.”

“No?”

“I didn’t give her my bra.”

“But you did give her the money?”

“What money?”

“For the drugs.”

“I told you, I didn’t know about the drugs. I just needed to borrow the bra for the interview.”

“Right.”

“So I took Lucy’s bra and went back to reception and waited…”

“You left Lucy in the toilet?”

“Yes.”

“Was she alone?” Linda went scarlet. She didn’t dare lie.

“No.”

“Who else was there?”

“She was still there when the police arrived. I don’t know her name.”

“Was she a dealer?”

“How should I know?”

“What were the three of you doing in the toilets… together?”

“What do you mean?”

“According to drugs squad, you were in there for a very long time.” In fact only one man was in a position to estimate the time Linda and Lucy had spent together in the toilet and he thought he was six months pregnant, no doubt a combination of concussion and the birthing stirrups in which his legs had been strapped to protect his abused bollocks. Stevens knew that the information wasn’t necessarily reliable. “What were you doing if you weren’t cutting a deal?”

Linda swallowed. “We were feeling each other’s breasts.” Sergeant Stevens shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He had very strong feelings about women feeling each other’s breasts. As far as he was concerned, it was an activity that should be strongly encouraged.

“And?”

“And then things got a little out of control.”

“Are you a lesbian, Ms Woodhead?” Linda followed through the logic if she told the truth to this question. How else could she explain what had happened in the Ladies with Lucy and an anonymous woman? Wouldn’t it be better to admit to being a lesbian than a drug user?

“No,” she said, as softly as she could. “Not a lesbian. I have sex with men.”

Had she gone too far the other way? Linda concentrated, studying Stevens’ reaction. “Mostly,” she added. Linda saw a flicker of something; a muscle twitching under the officer’s right eye. Think Linda, think! Her stomach knotted. This could work.  “You’ve seen what those two look like; imagine standing with them topless in the toilets. I mean who wouldn’t, right?” Linda thought about every porno she’d ever seen and the mystery that a Ladies loo might hold even for an officer of the law. Whatever else Sergeant Stevens was, he was still a man.

“It wasn’t something that I’d planned but…” Linda let her words trail off and dropped her eyes in what she hoped was an obvious trail of breadcrumbs leading into the mysterious fertile forest of Stevens’ own wild lesbian sex fantasises. She’d completely derailed his line of investigation, which was all to the good.

“So to be completely clear: you’d never met Miss Sparkle or Miss Sweetheart before this morning?”

“Who?”

Sergeant Stevens consulted his notebook, flicking back through the pages. “Lucy and Anita.”

“No. I’d never met them before.” Lucy Sparkle and Anita Sweetheart? Linda had an awful sinking feeling.

“So just what kind of job did you think you were auditioning for?” The sinking feeling grew deeper.

“Auditioning?” Linda whispered.

“Auditioning,” Sergeant Stevens confirmed. “When you were having ‘unplanned’ lesbian sex with two of the most popular lesbian sex stars in the country? That was your audition.” Linda’s fingers clutched at the chair so hard they hurt. “Or do you want me to believe that a woman who goes for ‘an interview’ at the UK’s number one producer of erotica for women and has full lesbian sex with Lucy Sparkle and Anita Sweetheart upon arrival genuinely doesn’t know what she is getting herself into?” Linda felt light-headed. All her blood seemed to be draining somewhere else. Perhaps under the chair?

“Next you’ll be telling me that you didn’t know about the cameras.”

“Cameras?”

“You were being filmed, Linda. In the toilet.”

“Filmed? Don’t you need a release clause or something?” Linda asked, desperately trying to find her footing in the rapidly shifting sands.

“You mean one of these?” Sergeant Stevens asked, unfolding a piece of paper before sliding it across the table. “That is your signature, is it not, Miss Woodhead?” Linda’s world folded in on her. It was her signature, although she hadn’t known it was a release clause at the time.

“Oh fuck biscuit,” she murmured. “Nurrrghhhh.” Linda slid off her chair. The pleasure was there but her heart wasn’t in it, not really.

“Miss Woodhead?” Sergeant Stevens’ worried voice only penetrated the fuzzy edges of Linda’s consciousness.

“I don’t know,” she murmured. “I don’t know anything.” For the first time in years, Linda Woodhead started crying. “What’s happening to me?”

*** 
“Is this the one for the detective, aharrrr?” the duty sergeant asked.

“She be the one, Jim lad. Aharrr!”

“Why is everyone doing that?” Linda asked. She was feeling much better after a quiet night alone in a cell.

“Doing what?” the duty sergeant enquired.

“Making pirate noises.”

“Pirate noises?” The duty sergeant’s face was stony.

“Pirate noises, raaawk?” A voice repeated behind her.

“Was that supposed to be a parrot?” Linda scowled at the police officer leaning with his back against the counter.

“No-one’s making pirate noises. Anyone heard anyone making any pirate noises?”

“No, Captain.”

“I thought he was a sergeant?”

“I am,” said the sergeant.

“So why did he just call you ‘Captain’?”

“It’s something of an honorary rank.” Linda shook her head. These coppers were a very weird bunch.

“Well, I suppose the sun’s over the yard arm. Better take the prisoner below decks.”

Linda was led to Interview Room 1. “Avast thar!” one of the coppers said, laughing.

“Time for me to walk the plank?” Linda asked. The two coppers grinned, happy that the prisoner was getting into the spirit of the thing. One them knocked and pushed the door open. As soon as Linda saw the man sitting behind the cheap wooden desk, she understood everything which had gone before. The man was wearing a black eye patch.

The one remaining eye glared hard enough for two eyes. “Not a bloody word from you two. Not a bloody word.” Linda would have laughed if her situation hadn’t been so serious; it might have been restful but a night in a cell had had a sobering effect.

She hadn’t been able to work out what was happening to her or why.

“Linda. I’m Detective Pietersen.” Linda gave a curt nod and took her place at the desk without waiting for an invitation to sit. “The good news,” detective Pietersen continued, “Is that I know what’s happening to you.”

“You do?” Linda asked, trying to work out where abouts on the detective’s face she should focus. The good eye? The patch? That being the greatest of her worries, Linda decided that today was a good day. But then again it was Tuesday; Tuesdays were always so much easier to handle than Mondays.

“We went round to your house for a few items and ended up bringing Samantha in for questioning.”

“Sam? What’s she got to do with all this?”

“Would it surprise you to know that your housemate is also known by the moniker Samantha Sweet? Although from what I’ve seen her doing, the moniker must be something of an ironic statement. That girl is as far from ‘sweet’ as it’s possible for a girl to be.” The detective slid a DVD case across the table. Linda hadn’t known what ‘Pegging’ was and wished that she could have the knowledge wiped immediately.

“I didn’t know…”

“No. Samantha had kept her… activities close to her chest, so to speak. The detective looked unsettled by his own choice of idiom. “As far as I can work out, the woman’s been making a living doing… this since her husband left her.”

“Perhaps it helps her with her anger? She has been a lot less angry lately…”

“What she does to those poor men is enough to make your eyes water.”

“I’ll say.”

“It may interest you to see this.” Linda winced as detective Pietersen slipped a photograph across the table. “Don’t worry; this one’s definitely not as bad as the last one,” he said with a wink. Or perhaps it was just a long blink? It was difficult to tell with only one eye visible.

It was a photograph of Linda and it was really rather flattering, despite the lack of clothes in the shot. Linda smiled. “Linda Goodhead? That’s really rather clever.”

“You do realise what was happening there?” Pietersen asked, sternly.

“It looks like I was about to become a porn star.” Linda had guessed as much already but it still felt odd to say the words to someone else. The thing was she felt… pride. She liked the way she looked on that shot. Oh Linda knew that she should feel violated or shocked maybe. But there was just nothing there. Would it really be so bad to star in ‘When Anal Lesbians Attack 7’?

“How did you find out?”

“It’s just your basic coppering,” Pietersen said, leaning back against the chair. “You have to be able to recognise patterns in my line of work. Of course, my ability to recognise patterns is down 50 per cent at the moment,” Linda gave Pietersen a grateful smile at the joke, at the human contact as he played with his eye patch. “But even I can see this pattern.”

“And what’s the pattern?”

“A woman with ill-fitting clothes; her skirt falling off, buttons missing from her blouse, claiming that her bra doesn’t fit. It’s SPIN.”

“That’s what the sergeant said yesterday. Spin.”

“Did he tell you what it is?”

“No, he asked me. I don’t think he knew.”

“Well, SPIN – all capitals S, P, I, N is a drug.”

“I’m not a druggy. I’m not taking anything.”

“Oh but you are. You’re taking a whole cocktail of drugs.” Pietersen blushed. “Maybe cocktail isn’t the best choice of words in the circumstances.”

“I don’t know how many times I have to tell you guys: I’m not taking drugs!”

“It was in the milk, Linda; the milk in your fridge.”

“Oh. Right.” Linda slumped back in the chair. “I didn’t know that; I thought you meant injecting or smoking something. Hang on, the milk?”

“Your flatmate has been on this stuff for months but she needed to keep it refrigerated without you asking about it. She decided that the best way to do that was to keep it in the milk. She only drinks skimmed and you hate the stuff, so it seemed like a safe thing to do. And to be fair, it worked for months. Samantha’s been doing it since her divorce, since she came to live with you.”

“So this SPIN, capital letters,” Linda said with a smile. “What does it do?”

“We’re still doing tests…”

“But?”

“But… it’s an engineered cocktail, sorry, of various drugs. There was something that they were researching which they hoped would help prevent breast cancer. It didn’t but what it did do was cause a very significant increase in breast tissue mass.”

“Like a non-surgical boob job?”

“Maybe? I’m no expert but that’s how I got to wear this,” Pietersen said, pulling his eye patch away from his eye again. “One girl overdosed on the stuff, took a deep breath and ‘ping’ one of her button hit me in the eye, scratched my cornea and gave me an infection.” Linda grinned. “No pirate jokes, please.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Apparently, it also does all that guff you see on the adverts – younger, firmer skin, plus increased libido, lower inhibitions, and the whole shebang.”

“So why aren’t they selling this stuff? They’d make millions.”

“It’s one of these conspiracies I expect. Can I ask you something personal?”

“You can ask. I might not answer. I don’t have to answer, do I?” Linda asked, looking at the recording unit on the table.

“No,” Pietersen, laughed. “This one is definitely voluntary.”

“OK.”

“Have you got a thigh gap?”

Linda frowned. “A what?”

“It’s a diamond-shaped space between your thighs immediately below your… erm.” Linda liked the way Pietersen flushed. He’s was very old school and seemed like he had good manners. If she’d met this guy in a bar rather than an interview room… well, maybe?

“Below my knicker gusset?” Pietersen gave a relieved smile but she thought she saw a glint in his one good eye.

“That’s the one.”

“No, I haven’t.” Linda said. “I like puddings and pies.” There was a glorious moment of shared intimacy.

“Just have a look.” Linda didn’t move, but she did wriggle a littl