E Daymuir - Betwixt Natasha

'So is she Sal or Sally?'

'Some will call her Sal – I call her Sally. The meeting starts at eleven and we usually work through until all issues have been covered. Sometimes we have a buffet lunch, which is brought into the boardroom at one, but if John Toddleigh considers we can conclude business before two, he will delay lunch until then. I used to make my excuses and leave as soon as the meeting was closed, but Sophie tipped me off that Sally Barnard made mischief as soon as I left, so now I tend to stay until everyone drifts away.'

'Is there any specific issues I should know about?'

'Difficult to cover everything, but I try to anticipate what questions may come my way. I’ve jotted those down, with my answers, under ‘notepad’ in my laptop. You can take that with you into the meeting, its accepted practice to refer to it if required. If anything unexpected does crop up, stall for time by saying you’ll look into it and provide the board with a written answer. You may get a bit of stick from Sally, but most of the others will be supportive.'

'What about your laptop and computer? Do I need a password?'

Shit! Barrie hoped her face had not betrayed his moment of panic. He hadn’t thought of that. Was there anything on the computer he didn’t want her to see? He stalled for time.

'Guess what the password is?' He smiled what he hoped was a disarming smile, but it was difficult to tell when he was relying on her facial muscles.

'I haven’t got a clue, come on, what is it?'

He was frantically thinking through anything that could possibly drop him in the mire. 'Go on, have stab at it.'

'We haven’t got time for games.'

She was beginning to sound a bit testy. He was pretty sure the computers were clean – well almost. 'Come on; join in the spirit of the situation we find ourselves in – say the first thing that comes into your head.’'

'For heavens sake, Barrie!'

'No, that’s not it.' He could see the anger beginning to build. 'Okay, if you’re not even going to try I’d better tell you.' He paused for what she took as effect, but he was in fact completing a mental run through of any files that could possibly cause a problem. No – he was definitely watertight.

'The password for both is… Natasha.'

'Natasha! Hooray! No one would ever think of that.' She managed to load his voice with heavy sarcasm, but Barrie simply shrugged her beautiful shoulders and poured them both a second cup of coffee. They followed the normal routine of taking the coffee up to the bedroom to sip as they dressed for the day, but there was nothing normal about the rest of the routine. Natasha had to explain to Barrie about the pill. She was halfway through her cycle so he would have to remember to take one pill every morning, with his second cup of coffee, until the pills ran out. Her body would then have its period and he would start on the next batch of 21 pills when it ended. Hopefully they would not remain as they were for that long, but if they did, she would have to show him how to use a tampon. When it came to dressing, Natasha struggled with Barrie’s tie, but strangely, he had no difficulties whatsoever. Inheriting Natasha’s slender, nimble fingers made everything easy.

The package that Dudley Wink delivered contained the silk chemise, made to Natasha’s design by one of their out workers. It was creased and would need a warm iron over it, but they had all those facilities in the small room on the third floor at DebTash. The other items, including the hand made French knickers and bra, were laid out on the bed in the fitting room – the room opposite Debbie’s bedroom. He would use that to change in. They had already rearranged the furniture in the living room to provide a sort of catwalk area. He could check with Debbie how she wanted each item presented, it would not seem out of place to go over everything again and anyway, it would never occur to Debbie that Barrie was locked in her partner’s body.

'Just leave it all to Debs. She’ll direct operations and do the selling; all you need do is model the pieces in the right order.' She kissed him briefly before adding. 'And for heavens sake make sure you don’t put anything on back to front. Double check: All labels at the back.'

Barrie locked the cottage as Natasha opened the garage doors and looked at his BMW. It was a monster compared to her sporty Mazda – and she had never driven it before. This was going to be her first real challenge in Barrie’s body.

In the copse, Dudley Wink reviewed all the material he had captured on camera – stills and movie. The sex on the bed was priceless, although he was a bit miffed that her husband was so well endowed. Anyway, it was the still shots of her posing alone at the window, which really turned him on. His favourite was the one of her holding her right breast with her left hand and her right hand straying down towards her pussy. She was doing it just for him. He propped the camera in the shade by the gear lever and looked at her as he masturbated. She was watching him – encouraging him and he ejaculated so quickly he almost missed the back of the envelope.

Simon Niggard closed the door to the Production Manager’s office, shutting out the mechanical clatter of the Meltcon Bar production line. He smirked with satisfaction as he examined the production figures on the computer. Less than two hours into the shift and he was ahead of target. He drooled over the figures as he scrolled back through previous shifts to check the performance of the competition. The three other Production Managers on the Meltcon line were below target. Counting and comparing brought him such joy. He chuckled when he saw the line had stopped twenty one minutes for repairs during the evening shift. Poor old Adrian Jones; what a sucker! He’d blown what little chance there was of making up his deficit. He hunched forward in eager anticipation as the screen scrolled back to show yesterday’s day shift. Sod it! David Stewart had reduced his deficit. How the devil had he managed that? He looked at the line engineer’s reports for a clue. Bunford had reported overheating in the conveyor drive two hours before the end of their previous shift and asked for permission to stop the line to investigate. Of course it had been refused; the line never stopped on his watch. He never allowed it to slow down, let alone stop. Bunford should know that by now, he was getting difficult, as was that quality control girl, Lydia Baxter. She was continuously pestering him to slow the line down to maintain quality. They were definitely in cahoots those two.

He looked out through the long window which afforded a full view of the production line and sure enough, as if on cue to fuel his paranoia, they walked along the line towards each other, meeting close to the spot where the conveyor had overheated yesterday. Or had it really overheated? How had David Stewart managed to get through a full shift with hot bearings? They could only cool if the line had slowed or stopped and that had obviously not happened. Were those two plotting against him? He watched keenly as Peter Bunford knelt down on one knee and placed a hand on a bearing casing. Lydia Baxter steadied herself with a hand on his shoulder, crouched down beside him and said something in his ear. He turned and said something into hers. It was noisy down there, but why not shout? What was so private? Now Bunford was pointing along the line towards the chocolate enrobing section. What were they up to? He was about to storm out of his office to confront them when Bunford stood up, held both hands down to Lydia Baxter and helped her to her feet. They seemed to hold hands a few seconds longer than was necessary. Was there something going on between those two? He licked his thin lips. Perhaps he’d found a way of getting rid of both of them. It was not against company rules for workers to develop a relationship, but Peter Bunford was married and the company frowned upon that sort of thing. She stood on tip toe to say something in his ear. Or was she giving him a crafty kiss? He would keep a very close eye on them, although to be honest with himself, he could not think why Peter Bunford would be interested in Lydia Baxter. She wore thick spectacles, had mousy hair, no figure to speak of and was barely five feet tall. Hardly a match for his wife who was a fine piece of womanhood, more suited to Bunford’s stature. He was well over six feet and muscular with it. Used to play rugby – kept himself in good shape, but, that was no reason why he shouldn’t start a destructive rumour mill. A whispered comment here – an innuendo there. With a bit of luck and the help of the gossip mongers on the line, a case could be created against them, which senior management would find it difficult to ignore. He would be shot of both of them and it would not be seen as his decision, which was how he would like it.