Fantasy Holiday

by

Rob Willson

 

Chapter 16

 

At an earlier time, Helen had arranged to attend a conference, where she was going to be one of the guest speakers. Originally, Peter had intended to accompany her, but now it was not possible to leave Joan alone, so it was agreed that they should stay behind with Joan playing at being Peter's nanny.

Peter saw Helen and Joan with their heads together and concluded that they were cooking something up for him between them. This feeling was reinforced when several parcels arrived from Fantasy Holidays, which Helen did not show him.

The scenario they had decided upon was one where Peter would be an eight-year old boy called Richard, who was being put with a strict nanny as a punishment.

So, on the night before Helen left, he was put to bed in one of the spartan 'servant's' rooms. His hands were encased in flesh-coloured rubber mittens, which meant that he lost all dexterity in his hands. He was then given several tablets to swallow. Of course they had been provided by Fantasy Holidays and were some of their 'designer drugs'.

One of them would prevent any possibility of him having an erection and would also inhibit the growth of facial hair, so that he would not need to be shaved, since he was supposed to be an eight-year old boy!

Another affected his voice, so that he found it difficult to say, or rather 'pipe', any long complicated sentences. With this tablet, Peter realised that those cruel and painful tongue injections he had been subjected to on Fantasy Island, when he had been 'babified', had been totally unnecessary. From the practical point of view, that is. They had been necessary from the psychological aspect.

A final tablet put him into a receptive drugged state to listen to the audio tape loop, which conditioned him mentally into being eight-year old Richard.

So, when he awoke next morning as Richard, he remembered that 'mummy' had put him into the care of a new nanny and that the rubber mittens were to make him completely reliant on Nanny's help for almost everything. Just like a little baby!

Then Joan came bustling in dressed in a starched nanny uniform.

"Oh good! You are already awake. And how is my little man this morning?"

This was one of those meaningless questions that adults inflict on young children that he was obviously not intended to answer.

She took off the nightdress he had been wearing and started to give him a bath. His protestations that he was eight years old and perfectly capable of bathing himself were completely ignored.

Then she put him into a pair of tight rubber pants and a short cotton vest. Next came a light blue cotton blouse. Once again, he tried to say that he could dress himself and, this time, he did get a response. Joan was in the process of buttoning the neck of the blouse.

"Alright, Dickie. Show me that you can manage these buttons all by yourself."

He put his hands up to his neck and then realised that the rubber mittens made it impossible for him to be able to do the buttons up, followed by the realisation that there would be many normal things he would no longer be able to manage for himself. Hence the rubber mittens. It was a very crude, but effective, way of reducing him to virtual helpless babyhood.

"You see, Dickie, you are not yet grown up enough to manage buttons for yourself."

The blouse also had six buttons round the waist and she pulled up a matching pair of cotton pants, which buttoned on to the blouse. A very babyish form of dress!

Next Peter tried to insist, with his impeded speech, that his name was Richard and not Dickie.

This brought a short decisive answer.

"Yes, Dickie, when you are grown up you will be called Richard and probably be known as Dick to other boys, but, here in the nursery, you are just little Dickie!"

She finished dressing him with a pair of blue socks to match the rest of his clothes and a pair of strap on shoes. This time she invited him to do the straps up himself. Once again, his mittened hands could not manage it and he felt severely humiliated and helpless as he wondered just what he might be able to do for himself – if anything!

The very next problem was breakfast.

"I now expect you to say that you can feed yourself without making a mess. I have my doubts, but I suppose I will have to let you try."

She changed her starched apron for a nurse's white latex one. From her own submissive experiences on Fantasy Island, she knew quite well what the reaction to the sight and sound of it was!

She then took him to the nursery table, which had a plastic tablecloth and a bowl of porridge on it. It looked both lumpy and liquid and he soon found out why. But before he was allowed to start, Joan brought out a cotton-backed plastic pinafore.

At the sight of it, he managed to say, "No Nanny. I am much too old to wear a bib when I eat and only little girls wear pinafores."

Joan replied, "Well, considering that you are not able to dress yourself yet, I doubt very much that you can feed yourself without spilling food all down your front, or over the table cloth. However, I am not going to allow you to make a mess of your clothes and then put you into a pinny. It will be done the other way round. I say you will wear an apron until you can prove to me that you can keep your clothes clean. Being a boy or girl doesn't come in to it."

She then turned the apron so that he could see the front of it. It was shiny bright pink and had the blue letters, 'Dickie's Own Little Pinny' on the bib, with the picture of a little girl in a blue dress and white ruffled pinafore, reminding him of Alice, from Alice in Wonderland, underneath. Now Peter knew what the parcels had been about and he wondered how many more surprises Joan had waiting in store for him.

Refusing to accept any argument, Nanny proceeded to put him into the pinafore. The neck loop had been cut in the middle to make separate strings, which she used to tie the apron high and tight under his chin, just like a bib. It still fell some way below his knees, so, when he saw himself in a mirror, he looked like a child wearing an apron that was intended for a much older boy or girl and so was much too big for him. In short, it made him look quite ridiculous!

The combined effect of the 'too-large' brightly coloured apron with his own name on it, had a completely devastating result on eight-year old 'Richard' and he burst into tears.

He then had to suffer Joan holding a handkerchief to wipe his tears away and for him to blow his nose. Then came the humiliating experience of trying to feed himself in the mittens, as he found out their main purpose.

He was sat in front of the bowl of porridge and Joan produced a special plastic spoon with a large wide flattish bowl and a very narrow smooth round 'handle' about the thickness of a knitting needle. He could not even pick it up himself and Nanny had to push it into the palm of his hand, with the bowl end sticking up from between his thumb and fingers. It was impossible for him to hold and use it like one normally does with a spoon.

Peter, 'riding in the background', then remembered once seeing a very young child trying to use a spoon and holding it in a very similar way. Also, the bowl of the spoon had been very much larger than the child's mouth and so now, he, as 'Dickie', was having exactly the same difficulty.

However, he discovered that the ingenious design also meant that, if he picked up a lump of porridge with the spoon and it was not absolutely central on the bowl, it caused the spoon to twist in his fist and the lump to fall into the liquid, which then splashed all down his pinafore and over the plastic table cloth. He cried again with frustration, as this happened almost every time he tried to eat a mouthful.

Eventually, Joan exclaimed, "There I think that proves my point that you are not big enough yet to feed yourself without spilling it all down yourself. Now Dickie has made Nanny quite angry."

She then picked up a normal spoon and proceeded to scrape the food off the apron and the plastic cloth and transfer it to his mouth. Then she spooned the rest of the bowl after it.

She then gave him a baby's bottle of the foul-tasting mock milk to feed himself. Even with this simple act, he found he had to use two hands, because the rubber was too tight over his palms to let him use only one. At least, he managed to handle this part of the meal, without causing any further mess on his pinny.

When he had finished it, Nanny took him into the bathroom and roughly wiped his face clean of the meal's debris and then wiped down the apron. Finally, she brushed his teeth for him.

She then said, "I'm afraid Nanny is now going to have to punish her little Dickie for two things. First for making such a mess with his breakfast, because, if I don't do that, you will never learn how to feed yourself and, secondly, for telling me lies about how you could do it and didn't need to wear a pinafore. I'll be back in a minute.

When she returned, she was wearing a familiar yellow rubber spanking apron and carrying a strap and a wooden paddle. She was also accompanied by Mrs Curtis.

"Now you naughty little boy. Hold your hands together in front of you."

Peter obeyed her and found his hands tightly strapped together.

Mrs Curtis then stood behind him, reached round him to seize his wrists and pulled his arms straight above his head. As she held him like that, Nanny reached under his apron and undid the buttons on his pants and blouse. She dropped the pants to the floor and made him step out of them and then lowered the rubber knickers to his knees.

He was surprised when she then undid the apron strings at his waist so that, when she lowered him over her lap, the apron swung forward from his neck and allowed her to push his blouse and vest up as high as possible, which meant that his naked body lay across her apron.

In past similar episodes, his penis and body had always reacted to the situation and the touch of the rubber, but this time, although he still felt the mental stimulus, possibly even heightened Peter thought, his penis stayed flaccid and limp, as it had when she appeared in her rubber nurse apron.

She then began to wallop his bare buttocks with the wooden paddle, until they were very sore and he was blubbering like the little baby she was making him out to be.

She dragged him over to the corner of the room, where Mrs Curtis had laid a ridged scrubbing board down for him to kneel down on.

"You can kneel there for fifteen minutes thinking about the next punishment you are going to get for telling Nanny fibs and boasting about being old enough to do things that I have since proved you cannot do. Now be quiet and I don't want any fidgeting."

When the fifteen minutes were up, both women returned and Joan was back in her starched apron. This time Mrs Curtis was wearing the spanking apron and he was positioned on her left side and draped across her lap. Peter's thought was 'I don't remember that Mrs Curtis is left-handed'.

Then Joan, who had crossed to the cupboard where she had put the away the paddle, came back carrying a long supple cane and he realised that Mrs Curtis was only there to hold him still.

"Now I'm going to give you six hard strokes of this cane, which you will come to know at school later on as 'six of the best' and, after each stroke, you are to repeat, 'I must not tell fibs to my Nanny!' Do you understand, because, if you forget to do so, that stroke will be repeated?"

"Yes, Nanny", Richard/Peter muttered tearfully.

The slashes of the cane on his already bruised arse HURT, but he did not forget to say the required words and gave an inward sigh of relief when the sixth stroke fell and he expected to be let up. Oh no!

"Now you are to get six more and this time you will say, 'I must not tell fibs of any kind to anyone'.

Six more agonising welts were raised on his behind and it was over – for the moment!

The apron strings were re-tied round his waist and Richard then realised that it was not only a matter of wearing a plastic pinafore to eat in, but that he was destined to wear it all day long.

Next Nanny decided it was play time and she took him into the garden with a tennis ball. She tossed it to him to catch, but, once again, he found that he could not do it one-handed as normal. He also found it very it almost impossible to throw it back using both mittened hands.

He was very glad when the frustrating session was over, particularly as his bladder now needed to be emptied very urgently, but how was he to manage that?

"Please Nanny. I need to go to the toilet" he managed to stutter.

"Well, Dickie, do you want to wee-wee, or poo-poo?"

He blushed at this baby talk and muttered, "The first".

"Well ask me properly. Say, 'Please Nanny, will you help Dickie to do a wee-wee".

Scarlet-faced with embarrassment, he repeated the baby phrase.

To his surprise, she picked up the strap with the buckle and led him back to the bathroom.

This time, she buckled his hands behind him and then repeated the lowering of his pants and knickers. She then nudged him forward until he was close to the lavatory bowl and stood behind him. She reached round and lifted his pinafore up and to one side with one hand and then took hold of his penis.

"Right! We are ready. I've got your 'Willy' in position. Now make wee-wee for Nanny."

Despite his very urgent need, he found it difficult to begin, under these circumstances.

This brought forward the threat, "You haven't been fibbing to me again have you, Dickie?"

This threat of another beating made him begin and she directed the stream of urine into the bowl. He didn't think his humiliation could be any worse and then she capped it by shaking his 'Willy' until all the last drops had been shaken off. Then she dressed him again.

Next, Nanny decided that he was probably too tired to play again and needed a rest, so he was strapped into a large-sized baby's pushchair, which had come with the original house purchase, and left him to brood over what had happened and wondering what was still to come.

He found that the cushion he was sitting on was full of irregularly shaped hard knobbly pieces and sitting in the chair was the equivalent of kneeling on the washing board. It would have been very uncomfortable even if his bottom had not been so badly treated so recently, but, as things were, quietly sitting there and 'resting' soon became extreme discomfort.

Nanny told him that this was known as a penitent's cushion, because anyone, who had to sit on it for any length of time especially after a beating, soon became truly penitent. He had to agree with that!

He was very relieved when she came to take him in and released him, but found that it was time for lunch and that he was to eat it with the same cushion on his chair.

"I think I should allow you a cushion, as I had to spank you so much earlier, but don't always expect such kindness from me, if you continue to be so naughty", said the hypocrite.

She brought his meal in and he saw she had ominously again changed into her white rubber apron. Once again, he felt the usual apprehensive reaction inside himself, but his penis would not respond.

It was a normal meal, which had been cut up into little pieces so that he could eat it with a spoon. The problem was that he was given the same stupid spoon as before and was soon dropping bits of the food into the gravy on the plate, which caused it to splash both himself and the table cloth.

This led to more tut-tutting from Joan and he was not surprised when she went out and returned wearing the spanking apron.

After washing his face and apron once again, she said, "If you obey me, I will not have to fetch Mrs Curtis in to help me spank you. It is up to you."

He nodded his agreement and she went to the cupboard and came back this time with a thick rubber paddle with holes drilled in it.

She strapped his hands together in front of him and told him to hold his arms above his head. He obeyed. She then undid his apron strings and took down his pants.

Then it was over her knee and another severe spanking until he cried.

"There you naughty boy. You must try to learn to feed yourself without making a mess."

She changed back into her normal uniform and then surprised him by removing his pinafore, at long last, and then his blouse and pants. Much to his chagrin, these were replaced by a short very frilly pink dress, over ruffled bloomers, with matching socks and shoes. A fancy bib with 'Baby' written on it and a bonnet on his head completed the outfit, but then she tied a transparent plastic apron over the whole ensemble.

"Oh dear! I've forgotten something", she said.

He was made to bend over again and his knickers were lowered and something was pushed up inside his rectum and held there by a butt plug. He soon realised that it was a piece of ginger. That was going to give him an uncomfortable afternoon!

She then sat him in the pushchair and started to take him for a walk round the garden. He soon started to wriggle and fidget in acute discomfort, but this was ignored.

After a time, she stopped by a garden seat and gave him a bottle of 'milk' to drink, while she read a novel. Then Mrs Curtis came up, playing a passer-by.

"Oh what a dear little baby. What is her name?"

"Her name is Dickie, because he is a boy."

"Really. He looks very cute dressed like a little girl. But, doesn't he mind?"

"I don't honestly know. What he 'minds' doesn't come into it. I dress him the way his Mummy, and I want him to be dressed. At home he has to wear a little pinny with his name on it and certainly he doesn't seem to like that, but he can't be trusted yet to keep his clothes clean."

"Well, it was nice to have met you both. I'll leave you to enjoy your book and her, oops, I mean him, to enjoy his bottle. Goodbye".

She bent down and tickled him under the chin.

Joan said, "Where are your manners Dickie? Say bye-bye to the nice lady."

Peter removed the teat from his mouth and did as he was told.

When they went back inside, Peter couldn't put it off any longer and had to ask Nanny to help him 'make poo-poo', which he found to be another very humiliating experience.

Later, dressed once more in his boy's outfit and his pinny, it was mealtime once more, but, to his delight and relief, Nanny spoon-fed him the entire meal and so he wasn't spanked again for spilling his food.

Soon it was "an early bed time for a tired little boy".

Nanny got him ready for bed and then he found he had to undergo two bedtime rituals.

First was a rubber bib and three large spoonfuls of 'fake' castor oil and then Joan brought in a cane and told him he was to be punished for general naughtiness during the day. He was made to kneel on his rubber sheet with his nose pressed to it while she gave him another twelve strokes on his still very sore buttocks.

Fortunately, after his 'poo-poo', she hadn't replaced the ginger or the butt plug.

Finally, she left him to a disturbed sleep.

Peter had three days of this treatment, with the incapacitating drug renewed every night, and was glad when Helen returned home.

When Peter came down to the evening meal, he was wearing his normal clothes, but he had chosen to wear his 'Dickie' pinnie tied tightly up under his chin. Helen's hoot of laughter told him that it was the first time she had seen it and she hadn't known in detail what Joan had planned for him in her absence.

They then had to explain, in great detail, what they had been up to.

Peter said that Joan had turned out to be an excellent dominatrix and Nanny and Helen said, "I know!"

"How do you know that?" asked Peter.

"Simple. Mrs Curtis told me the she was very impressed by Joan's performance. She said that she was a 'natural' and already good enough to be a professional dominatrix, if she wanted to."

"How about that Joan? Does that solve your employment problems?"

"No, actually" replied Joan. "I have something quite different in mind."

Peter then went on to tell Helen about Joan's 'penitent cushion'.

"I never saw one on The Island. How about you?"

Helen hadn't either and asked Joan to fetch it.

When she had done so and Helen had examined it, she then lifted her skirt and dropped her knickers and then plonked her bottom down on it.

"Ouch!"

She jumped up and then lowered herself more gingerly down on to the knobbly bits, with a grimace.

"Tell us how you came to came into contact with this, if you will excuse the dreadful pun."

Joan explained, "I had another scenario with a teacher who did not use a cane at all, but had a three tailed, extra heavy, genuine Lochgelly tawse, made by the legendary saddler John Dick. She also had a bucket of brine in the corner of the classroom, where several birch rods of different severity were soaking. She used both of these instruments on us with as much glee and expertise, as Miss Love did with her special cane.

"Incidentally, she introduced herself as Miss Joy!

"Apparently there is a small wood of birch trees cultivated specially on The Island to supply switches for these rods. Miss Joy and her friends call it The Sacred Grove!

"Well, she used both tawse and birch with regularity during the morning, so we all had thoroughly painful arses by lunch time. She then started the afternoon with a special punishment, where we all had to sit on a penitent's cushion for half an hour without getting up.

"You were allowed to move around a little bit, because, as Helen is finding out already, there is absolutely no way that you can sit comfortably on it, but you were forbidden to stand up and get off it completely."

At this point in the story, Helen decided that she had had enough.

"I think that is about all I can stand of it – and I haven't got a sore bot. How did you all manage to sit on one for half an hour? Assuming you all did manage it?"

"All but one girl did force themselves to last out the time, because we were warned that the penalty was a further six hard strokes of the tawse and then six of the heavy birch, after which you would be strapped tightly into a special chair on the cushion. There you finished the first half-hour and then immediately started a second half-hour. None of us could simply face the idea of that and we were proved right by the girl who became the exception.

"After she had the extra beating, Miss Joy put an inflatable rubber gag in her mouth to stop the noises she was making as she endured the discomfort of the cushion."

Helen asked, "But why didn't she stick it out like the rest of you? If you could all manage it, why not her?"

Joan said, "I asked Carol from Management about that and she told me that the girl was a slave undergoing a severe punishment, rather like that one that Peter had in his class of schoolgirls, and that this one had been given a signal when she had to stand up to incur the extra punishment. I asked Carol why she would obey such an instruction to incur extra punishment deliberately.

"Carol gave me a wry look and explained that no slave ever disobeyed such an order, because they knew the consequences would be far worse. Sometimes they were told what would happen if they disobeyed, and sometimes not, but they knew without the slightest doubt that it would be a terrible mistake to do so."

The next morning, Peter found the girls in the kitchen wearing black dresses and new aprons, which he hadn't seen before. These were of bright white shiny plastic and had pictures of their own heads on the bibs.

"These are my present, which I ordered before I went away. There will never be any argument about which apron is whose, with these", grinned Helen. "Go and change into a black dress, Peterkins, and then you can have your one."

Once in a matching black dress, Peter looked behind the cupboard door and found his new plastic apron, with his face on it. The thing was that each of the photos had been taken on holiday and the camera had caught each of them with tears streaming down their cheeks and a grimace of pain as yet another stroke fell on target.

Mrs Curtis then came in and photographed them again in their new pinnies. She told Peter to imagine that he was a little boy, who had just been told that his female cousins were about to arrive and would see him in his personal pinafore.

He imagined this scenario and the camera flashed just as his face registered dismay at the thought.

They then, all three, changed into matching blue and white striped dresses and housemaid caps and aprons. Peter was back in his favourite rτle of Doris the housemaid.

As they lined up, waiting for Mrs Curtis, playing 'Housekeeper', to return and allocate jobs, Peter was relieved and gratified to find that his 'John Thomas' had now recovered from the drug and was reacting 'according to specification' at the sight of those neat uniforms and the fact that he was now wearing his favourite apron.

In spite of all the maid uniforms and fancy and bizarre pinafores he had acquired on holiday, this apron, which he had bought on eBay some time before going on his first Fantasy Holiday, remained his firm favourite.

At first sight, it seemed to be a standard Housemaid's apron, but it was made of rubberised material, which made it look like a well-starched uniform apron and it was heavy and stiff enough to hang like one too. Finally, it made a satisfying authentic 'rustle' as they bustled about their maiding.

'They'? Well, yes. As soon as Helen had seen the rubberised apron, she had got one too and they had recently supplied Joan with a matching one.

One advantage that this apron had over the standard starched one, was the feel of the rubber surface on his bare arms, but the apron was quite unlike the latex ones that nurses on Fantasy Island wore to terrorise the slaves and the submissive guests. The kind that Joan had also worn recently to intimidate him as his Nanny.

[At the time of writing this episode, February 2003, these rubberised aprons are still available from a Canadian seller on eBay. Search for 'Nurse Rubber Apron'. They are old surplus Government Issue to German Military Nurses (in about the 1960's) and so are real aprons meant for hard use and are definitely not fancy dress ones. They are well made, as you would expect from such a source, and the 'Buy Now' price of $7.99 makes them a real bargain for an apron of such quality. You might even be lucky enough to get one for the usual opening bid of $6.99!]

Then Mrs Curtis came into the room to allocate the housework. She was wearing the same kind of uniform, with a rubberised apron, but without a cap to show that she was now definitely in charge as Housekeeper. She was also carrying her symbol of authority and Peter was relieved to see it was only a short light Prefect's Cane. Don't get the wrong idea though. These canes were misleading in appearance and name, since, in the right hands such as Mrs Curtis's, they could sting like hell. They just didn't raise the ridged weals that the more 'serious' canes did.

"Right! Now the housework has been rather neglected over the past few days, so there is a lot to be done and I want you to put your backs into it. If I catch anybody slacking, I will put my back into using this to encourage them to do better."

As she said 'this', she swished the cane through the air and, despite the fact that they were now quite used to the sound, before it was usually followed by a streak of fire across their arses, all three flinched and winced.

Several days later, another parcel arrived from Fantasy Holidays. They now each had yet another plastic apron with a full-length picture of themselves wearing the previous apron. So, when Peter looked at himself in a mirror, he saw his face above an apron with a picture on it of himself looking very apprehensive, whilst wearing an apron with his face on the bib.

"Well, Peter. What do you think of that as the ultimate in punishment pinafores, eh? Just imagine being back on The Island wearing it in front of a lot of jeering little girls."

"Yes", agreed Peter, "It must be the final word in punishment pinnies".

* * * *

Then, one night, after the evening meal, Peter dropped a bombshell.

"It's slightly bad news I'm afraid Joan. You know that we are consultants? Well a job has come in which will take us several weeks to complete, and so we won't have time to play any more games with you, as much as we have all enjoyed them.

"However, there is no need for you to leave, if you don't mind rather being on your own for most of the daytime, because we will really be up to our eyes in this thing, or you can go back home and pick up our own life, if you prefer."

"Well", she answered. "I could stay here and housekeep for you both, I suppose, but I will soon have to go home and look for a job. As I said before, I don't really need a job, because I am financially independent, but I can't just sit around for the rest of my days because of that. Can I have a short time to think about it, please?"

"Sure, but whilst we are on the subject, you have never told us what kind of job you intend to look for".

Joan replied, "I really want to work on computers, but not the ordinary day-to-day type of job, that would soon send me crazy. My Dad wants me to work in the computer section of our family firm and eventually (note that word carefully), eventually end up in running it.

"He wants me to start at the bottom and gradually work my way up as he did in his father's day with the general running of the firm. He can't seem to understand that I have done the equivalent of 'his' training at university and also that computer expertise is really a matter of either having the 'flair' for it, or not.

"He just won't listen when I tell him that, not only could I turn up and run the section competently tomorrow, but that I could revise the department, fine tune it, and save quite a bit of money almost immediately. You see, I know I am far more competent than the man I am supposed to learn from and, in fact, I know more about computers than the whole of Dad's computer section put together.

"He wants me to start at the bottom, almost as tea-girl, for almost a minimum wage and that's just not on. Apart from anything else, it would soon drive me mad."

"You see, when I was at university, I did some special research and trouble shooting and that is the kind of work I would like to find, but I hardly know where to look and see if anyone does that type of thing on a regular basis. I believe there are one or two firms that specialise like that, so I need to get home soon and start enquiring."

Peter asked casually, "Just what special thing was it you did at your university and which one was that?"

She told him the name of the university and said she had traced down some hackers and had completely re-vamped the Uni's computer security to prevent it happening again.

"Yes," said Peter, "I remember reading about that and you were given a very good write-up for the job. You should have no trouble getting a job on those lines if you ask in the right area and mention that incident in your CV."

He glanced at Helen and received a quick nod.

He continued, "Look Joan, we, too, have never told you what area we consult in, but we solve specific computer problems ourselves. Of course, we are working at a high professional level, but, if you like, you can sit in with us and see if you can learn anything while you watch. You understand that we won't have time to actually teach you until the job is finished, but if we think you can assist us, we will pass bits over to you and will pay you the going rate for what you do. How about that? It will be better that twiddling your thumbs to pass the time, or housekeeping."

"That's great. I couldn't ask for anything better. It sounds just the sort of thing that interests me."

The next day, they briefly explained what the problem was and what it entailed, while Joan sat and watched.

The next day, Joan began to butt in and ask intelligent questions and, soon after, to make suggestions and they very soon gave bits of the job over to her, as she obviously had the right idea. The next morning, she turned up for work dressed in a housemaid's uniform and in a parlourmaid's one for the afternoon and worked away at her own terminal.

The next day, Helen and Peter followed suit in wearing maid uniforms and, by the fourth day, Joan was working as a fully-fledged member of the team.

With three of them working full time on the problem, they were able to relax more in the evenings, although one of them would often disappear to try out a new approach to the problem that was churning around inside their brains.

Eventually, after only two and a half weeks, it was finished and a very elegant solution to the problem it was too. The client would be very satisfied with it.

When they realised it was completed and tested, they all relaxed and smiled at each other.

Joan chuckled when they explained that the client had allowed them three to four months to come up with a solution and that they would give him the answer after about eight to ten weeks, which would please him very much and enhance their reputation for fast work.

"Why won't you give it to him quicker?" she asked

Peter said that if they did that, then a very short time scale would become the expected 'norm' for them and clients would probably also begin to query their fee scale, whilst, at the moment, they were quite happy to pay the charges, as being 'very reasonable' for the quality of their 'fast' solutions.

Helen then added, "Well, Joan. You are a real professional now and you mustn't sell yourself short when you go out into the big computer world, but Peter has something to say to you first of all."

"It's really two things I have to say," he said. "First of all, here is a cheque for the work you have done and we will write you a strong recommendation based on what you have shown us."

Joan looked at the amount and burst out, "Oh No! I couldn't really accept that amount for only two and a half week's work, especially when it has been so much fun."

"Nonsense," said Helen. "That is the going professional rate for the job (that is why we can afford to work so little and still take holidays with Fantasy Holidays), but I don't think Peter has finished yet, have you Peter?"

"Not at all. The alternative suggestion Joan is that we tear that cheque up and offer you a permanent job with us back-dated to when we began."

Again, he mentioned an annual salary that made Joan gasp and he pointed out that she would have the advantage of living with them and being able to continue their fantasy life-style in between jobs.

He added, "We have all got on so well together since you came to stay, that Helen and I were not looking forward to your leaving and this would solve all the problems. By the way, we are not being 'kind' to you as a novice. You really did pull your full weight on that job. Some of your ideas were excellent and we would hate to lose your expertise as well as your company. Now what do you say?"

Joan said slowly, "Of course I will accept your generous offer, because I like being here with you and sharing in your life style, but I do have one small niggling reservation. I feel I should be completely honest about this at the beginning."

"Oh!" said Helen. "What is it then? Perhaps we can help with it."

"Well, as you are in the computer business I can add what I didn't say before, because I didn't know it would mean anything to you then. You see, my Professor at university said he knew of at least one company who did the kind of work I seemed to be specifically looking for and that he thought they were probably the best in that field.

"Your offer is so brilliant, with all the perks added on, that I cannot turn it down, but now I will never know if I could have landed a job with the 'best in the field', will I?"

Peter said, "Well don't keep us in suspense. Tell us the name of the company he recommended."

"It is called Hel-Pet Computer Solutions. I suppose you must actually know them?"

"Oh yes, we know them, don't we Helen?" he said stressing the word Helen very heavily.

"Yes indeed, Peter. Isn't it such a pity? And she seemed such a bright little housemaid too!"

On hearing the way the words were stressed, Joan looked from one to the other.

"Oh, I am stupid aren't I? Helen and Peter! Of course, you are Hel-Pet, aren't you? Well, that makes my dreams complete, doesn't it?

"Yes my dear. Welcome to the firm," said Helen holding out her arms.

"Ditto," said Peter giving her a hug in his turn.

"Now get out of those aprons and put your glad rags on, we are going out to celebrate our new partnership."

Joan added with some satisfaction, "Then I will go back home to collect my things and to tell my father that I have landed a 'proper job' at last"

"Why don't you telephone him from here with the news?"

"Oh no! I want to be there to see his face when I tell him my starting salary. In fact, I won't tell him straight away. I'll let him bring it up first and offer me the job as tea girl again and then I'll tell him."

"Well you can also tell him that there will be annual bonuses too."

"And a new apron now and then", added Helen with a twinkle in her eye.

Joan said, "If he hasn't heard of Hel-Pet, then I am sure his computer staff will have and he might be even more impressed with that, than with my salary. Why, I might even come back with a commission for one of your consultants (meaning me) to sort out his computer section after all. That would be a turn up for the book, wouldn't it?"

Helen grinned, "Just as long as you don't turn up there capped and aproned. That's not the official Hel-Pet Company uniform you know."

"Yes that would really shake him to his boots. You see, I never even wore a pinafore as a little girl. If I had done so, I might not have had this apron fetish now – and then I wouldn't have had such fun, as in the past couple of months. AND I wouldn't have landed such a marvellous job with such wonderful people, would I?"

Peter broke in, "Now come on girls. Let's stop the chitchat and start the celebration, shall we? We'll go out for a slap-up meal and then come home to a satisfactory thrashing to go to bed on."

Helen said, "And as it's a special occasion we are celebrating, I think it should be twenty strokes each instead of twelve".

"As it is such a very special occasion, why not make it twenty-five, with us not wearing anything but our personal punishment aprons?"

Peter and Helen looked at each other in amazement. This from that very shy girl they had met only a few short months before.

"Agreed!" they both said.

Peter added, "Now it is an evening of Champagne, Aprons and a Thrashing – probably in that order."

"Indeed yes," said Helen.

Perfect", said Joan, "and if I can't have all three, then I'll dump the champagne!"

At this, they all burst out laughing linked arms, and went out to celebrate their new partnership.

* * * *

 

To be continued? – MAYBE

 

But for the moment,

THE END

 

Post Script.

Hello to all those who have followed Peter and Helen through all 16 episodes and a special 'thank you' to those who have already made comments on the serial.

So, now that it is finished, would anyone like to make a general comment, especially about any parts that you didn't like! You do know that you can make an anonymous comment without giving your email address if you want, don't you?

As I said, it is finished for the moment, but I suppose I can always send them on another trip to Fantasy Holidays in the future, maybe!

And, by the way, I would especially like to see a comment from anyone who buys a German Nurse Apron.

 

 

 

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© 2002 by Rob Willson. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, and compilation design) may be printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.