Jack the Who - and Primrose.

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This story is purely a work of fiction for personal enjoyment. The story does NOT describe real events and the characters are fictional. Any resemblance to real events or persons is coincidence. In keeping with its fictional nature, the events and activities described in the story may not be legal, ethical or safe. This site does NOT endorse or recommend their enactment.

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JACK THE WHO?
By Lea Hoars.

THE YEAR IS 1888

QUEEN VICTORIA HAS REIGNED OVER THE BRITISH EMPIRE FOR 50 YEARS.
JACK THE RIPPER PROWLS THE STREETS OF LONDON.
KAISER WILHELM II IS EMPEROR OF GERMANY.
BENJAMIN HARRISON BECOMES PRESIDENT OF AMERICA.
JOHN DUNLOP DEVELOPS THE PNEUMATIC TYRE.
KODAK THEIR FIRST CAMERA

and

PRIMROSE PROPER JOINS THE METROPOLITAN POLICE FORCE IN LONDON.


In the distance ‘Big Ben’ chimed out the hour before midday on another cold November day in the City of London and I had a feeling that the hour and day, the eleventh of the month, were to be a significantly remembered time in my life and possibly also for a future generation of men and women.

The insipid coal fire struggled to warm the room on this dank foggy morning. I shivered as the droplets of moisture slid down the inside of the windowpanes whilst I waited in the dismally cold room that was the office of the ‘Pride’ of Scotland Yard, Inspector Nobbs.

First in a long line of Nobbs in the police force, he was in charge of major investigations in London during the reign of her Majesty Queen Victoria. And I was the first woman Police Officer to be allowed to work alongside this fine body of men who protected the citizens of our great city.

The Inspector had summoned me and I wondered what task he had found for me to do.
As the last chime reverberated around Westminster I heard heavy footsteps echoed along the wooden floorboards of the corridor and the Inspector’s large rotund frame entered the room and dropped heavily onto a creaking well-worn leather chair.
“Good to see you, Primrose!” he boomed out “We’ve a job for you that could be the making of your career!”
“Thank you, Sir” I replied.
I was honoured that a man of his importance should even know my name – The Right Honourable Primrose Proper, daughter of Sir Reginald Proper.

Inspector Nobbs, his eyes fixed firmly on me, leant forward across the sturdy desk.
“I’ll explain why we need a woman to do this job rather than a man but this is all hush-hush and top-secret, so lets keep it that way!” he said in an authoritative manner. “We need you to help us capture a villainous man who is terrorising the females of London Town and he must be stopped!”
“You mean you want me to help you catch ‘Jack the Ripper’?” I asked incredulously.
“No, no, no, not that idiot! We know who he is!” said Inspector Nobbs, knowingly tapping the side of his nose. “The Chief Constable has had a chat with him and the ‘Ripper’ has agreed to stop his naughty ways! The man you’ll try to apprehend is a far greater threat to the female population than the Ripper is chap is!

The Inspector sat back in his chair and took a deep breath.

“Some weeks ago, early in October, this villain came to our attention after complaints about his bizarre actions.” he started to explain.
“A plump lady, Miss Fanny Eyres, was trying to obtain ‘business’, if you get my meaning, in Whitechapel. A man approached her and, for no apparent reason, tipped a large strawberry cream pie into the top of her bodice.
The cream found its way past her ample bosom, slid over her enormous stomach and disappeared into her voluminous bloomers. She initially screamed in surprise but she didn’t complain to the Police until much later. It was only when she heard, the following day, that her next ‘Gentleman client’ had a lot of trouble explaining to his wife why there were large dollops of cream on his shirt tails – and why he had a pink moustache!"

A smile briefly flickered across Inspector Nobbs normally stern face as he contemplated the client’s experience.
He continued.
“In the same area of Whitechapel the following week a lady of Chinese extraction, Maud Ling, saw a gold sovereign on the pavement, bent over to pick it up and had her skirt lifted from behind.
A sherry trifle and ice cream were tipped into the back of her underwear. The shock of the freezing ice cream and sloppy mess around her nether regions gave her palpitations and she fainted – but apparently with a smile on her face.
When she was revived her husband Mr Ling had to close his Chinese restaurant for a few hours to satisfy her unexpected, but welcome, sexual appetite and his sale of prawn balls suffered as a result!”

The Inspector seemed to stare even more intently at me as he took time to take a deep breath before proceeding.
“There'll probably been other unreported events at the hand of our villain but one brought to our attention yesterday was the worst so far!” he said gravely.

Breathing deeply and emphasising almost every word, he related the event.

“A woman of breeding, Lady Norma Snockers, was exercising her horse in Hyde Park when she stopped to water the animal at a trough. As she dismounted a man approached and offered to assist.
“Thank you Sir. That would be helpful” she replied.
No sooner had she spoken than he lifted her up in his arms and threw her into the stone trough”.
Inspector Nobbs was obviously emotionally distressed.
I saw his shoulders started to tense, his chins began to wobble uncontrollably, his hands began to visibly shake, his tongue moistened his top lip and a grimace appeared across his face.

“But” he continued with gusto “But Scottish Oats had been mixed with the water and it was a thick grey sticky solution that broke her fall. She submerged into the slimy depths with the sound of masculine laughter ringing in her ears.
Embarrassed, screaming and struggling to stand, falling backwards twice more, her dilemma was spotted by some of the lower class who watched her predicament and they thought it a hilarious occasion.

Eventually she climbed out, her sodden clothes clinging to her like a second skin and dripping from head to foot, she ran home at enormous speed leaving a trail of sloppy porridge in her wake.”
“Her husband, Lord Snockers, sits in the House of Lords and he is furious! He demands immediate action to apprehend the instigator of this crime.
Lady Snockers had arrived home in such a flustered and sexually aroused state, stripping off her outer garments in the twinkling of an eye, that his Lordship had to postpone a meeting with his Mistress and was forced to roger his wife instead!”

The flustered Inspector paused for breath. His sweat covered brow and signs of dribble around his mouth were a testament to this distressing train of events.

For a few moments I pondered the plight of these poor women.
I could only guess what distress they had suffered at the hands of this monster roaming our streets.

I was certain that the messy sticky surprise and shock at being the victim of such outrages would certainly make me feel revulsion.
And I could only wince at the thought of sloppy substances being plunged deep into my underwear or being soaked in porridge for the gratification of this man.

The Inspector seemed to regain his composure and I ventured to speak.
“But why should this involve me?” I enquired.

“Well, Primrose my girl, we want you to be this rascals next ‘victim’!” He replied with a faint smile on his face “We want you to be the fly in the spiders web, the bait in the trap, the honey in the pot and a fine slim fair haired well endowed wench like yourself would make any man want to – to – to ---!”

His voice trailed to a halt midst a mild bout of coughing and spluttering.

“Are you all right, Sir?” I worriedly asked.

“Yes! yes! yes! I just need a moment to compose myself again”. He bravely replied, dabbing a handkerchief over his perspiring forehead.

“Primrose, we need you to tempt the chap – and we’ve given him the code name ‘Jack the Wammer’- into our clutches and into the cells pretty damn quick. What we want from you is above and beyond the call of duty. Distressing events may happen to you, heaven only knows where it will end, and there is always the possibility, however slight, that my officers may not be able to rescue you in time.”
We’ve all been issued with the newest, and loudest, type of police whistle but if you’re out of range of its penetrating blast then you’ll have to rely on your feminine charms and wits. I can only emphasise, once again, how dangerous this job may be.
Will you do it?”

Me, a mere slip of a girl at twenty-one, had very little experience of the outside world.

I’d attended a well respected girls academy of learning in Harrow, owned and run by the nuns of Saint Libidious the Grateful, and I had little contact with the lower orders of society who make up a large proportion of the populace of the City of London.
Male companions were few and far apart, due to my parent’s strict control and I’d never known the meaning of a full and loving relationship with a person of the opposite gender.
The only physical contact with my suitors had been the occasional peck on the cheek when my chaperon had been distracted briefly and I suppose
I was little naïve about life in general.

But I also wanted to prove to myself that I was worthy to serve my fellow citizens to the best of my ability. My father had wanted me to marry, have children and settle down to a life of opulent luxury but I wanted more from life.
When I first told him I wished to join the Police Force he had spluttered and almost choked on his whisky and cigar.
Muttering under his breath ‘Too bloody prim and proper for my liking!’ and he had tried to make me change my mind.
But because of my determination he eventually and reluctantly agreed to use his influence within the Police service to help me join the thin blue line that fought for law and order on our city streets.

I knew where my duty lay.
“Yes, I’ll do whatever it takes to help you bring this monster to justice!” I finally replied to the Inspectors question.

The relived and cheerful smile on his face lit up the dark room.

“Good girl, I’m proud of you. I’m sure you’ve made the right decision!” he gushed. “Well, here’s the ‘modus operandi’.
First you need to be dressed in the appropriate clothes to tempt the chap and then we will take you to the areas that appear to be his stalking ground.
No time like the present so you’ll lay the trap today. Use these clothes, I ‘borrowed’ them from a lady friend of mine, they should be about your size.
We need your outfit to be as obvious as possible to attract the attention of this monster prowling our streets on the lookout for potential ‘victims’ and these clothes should do the trick.
Get changed here in my office whilst I go for a quick stroll around the building.”
He levered himself from the protesting chair and, with a backward glance at me, he left me to my own devices.
I spread the ‘borrowed’ outfit over the chair. I removed my own regulation police uniform, a loose white fitting blouse and a full-length black skirt, and stood shivering in my dowdy underwear and studied the new clothes.

My underwear was to consist of a white boned lace corset and a pair of lacy white bloomers. My outer clothes were a low cut silk red blouse with short sleeves, a red skirt many inches shorter than my normal police skirt, a small black bonnet, black-laced shoes and a red shawl to protect my shoulders from the chill air
I wanted to tell him that I would be embarrassed to wear such a revealing outfit in private, never mind in public, but I had agreed to help him catch the villain and I realised I couldn’t back out at this stage of the proceedings. The entire force relied on me!

I quickly slipped out of my own underwear and put on the beautiful corset.


It fitted perfectly, hugging my waist and pushing up my breasts until I thought they might fall out of the top of the lacy material.

Glancing down at my firm rotund bosom held in its grip I began to understand why the Inspector had been staring at my chest throughout our meeting. I thought he’d been admiring the new shiny police whistle dangling from a chain around my neck.
I’d been told that men seem to appreciate well-endowed bosoms on young women but had never considered mine to be of sufficient size to attract attention, until this moment.
The short bloomers were an extremely tight fit around my lower half, clinging to my firm cheeks, and only extending half way down my calf. I fastened the skirt, much shorter than a lady of taste and high morals would normally wear, around my slim waist and slender legs, and a few inches of frilly white ruffle on the bloomers gripped my legs and were clearly visible - so short was the skirt!

I put on the red blouse but I had great difficulty fastening the buttons. The blouse was definitely too small and I had to take a deep breath to fasten all the buttons.
As I bent forward to lace up the black boots my breasts were struggling to stay within the confines of the outfit provided and I had difficulty peering over the soft round flesh of my newly formed bosom.
I was quite out of breath from the effort of dressing, and the excitement of putting on such a daring set of clothes, but I eventually finished lacing up the high-heeled shoes, placed the bonnet on my head and draped the shawl over my shoulders.

I heard the Inspectors footsteps approaching along the corridor. A knock on the door and a happy man entered the room.

“Good heavens Primrose!” He exclaimed as he surveyed my new image. “If I was a few years younger I’d take you out myself. You look fantastic, almost good enough to eat!”

“But Sir!” I said “Surely you must be worried that this demon ‘Jack’ may cause me some distress by trying to inflict some kind of substance abuse to the fine garments you have provided. Will your lady friend be upset if the items are not returned in pristine condition?”

Despite having a duty to the citizens of London I was beginning to have a worrying foreboding that the evenings events may cause me some discomfort and secretly I hoped he might have second thoughts.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about the finer points of tonight’s foray. The lady in question has a professional attitude to losing her clothes and will already have forgotten where she removed them, so don’t worry about them.” Inspector Nobbs said.
“I have a fine body of men willing to follow your progress and halt the devious attacks by this ‘Jack’ person so the likely hood of any problems are minimal.”

“So, wasting no more time, we’ll take a carriage and deliver you to his known stalking grounds. There are a few hours of daylight left so we’ll take you first to Hyde Park and then to Whitechapel after dusk if you don’t encounter him in the Park. Remember, if you do see him give a loud blast on your new whistle and all my men will rush to your aid!”

We were silent as the carriage took us to our first destination but my mouth was dry and my palms began to sweat despite the chilling mist that hung around London

“I’ll wait here for you,” he said as I left the carriage and the rotund Inspector at the gates to Hyde Park, the cold dank mist filling my nostrils with its pungent odour.

I walked steadily along the broad paths in the hope of tempting and ensnaring our villain, even stopping alongside the horse troughs but to no avail.
Gentlemen who passed by weren’t very polite in their attitude to me, something that rarely happened when I dressed in my Police uniform or normal everyday clothes.
Visits to the theatre, clubs, public houses or even dark alleyways were offered in a most forward manner and the offer of monetary reward was frequently mentioned.

‘Most disturbing’ I thought but consoled myself with the knowledge that England’s finest police officers were within range of the blast on my whistle.
My legs were beginning to tire after three-quarters of an hour and dusk was almost upon me.

I returned to the gate of my arrival, opened the carriage door to find the guardian of law and order in a deep slumber.

“So sorry, must have nodded off for a moment!” He declared after I had prodded him in the ribs, buried beneath the layers of clothes and fat.
“Off we go to Whitechapel and hope you have better luck there” he said.
The carriage wended its way for an hour or so towards the dark narrow roads, alleyways and passageways that make up the homes and shops of the residents of the district of Whitechapel.
The driver was unable to take us any further, the narrowing streets with overhanging houses a barrier to his progress.
“This is as far as we can take you Primrose. You’ll have to walk the rest of the way but remember all my officers are at this moment patrolling the area and they will be nearby should you need assistance. Best of luck!”
He gave a cheery wave and then disappeared out of sight into the misty night.

I was alone in this dark claustrophobic area of run down properties where the lower end of the social scale lived and worked.
The smoke filled alleyways, pungent fumes from coal fires and rotting waste filling my lungs with a disgusting rancid taste on that freezing November evening.

No girl of breeding would normally be seen in this part of the city, especially at night, without a male chaperon in attendance. The closed shutters of the houses and the infrequent lighting made this a dark and dangerous place for anyone. Loud laughter and raucous voices filled the air whenever I passed an Ale house or Tavern, the inmates drinking the brew of the Devil and having to live with its consequences. Minute by minute I was beginning to regret my involvement in this operation.

Shadowy figures hurried and scurried passed me in the gloom from time to time, each one a potential threat.

Suddenly the shape of a man appeared at the end of a narrow alley and he staggered towards me.
Could this be ‘Jack’?
The hairs on my neck began to stand up and a droplet of sweat ran amongst them. Now we were face to face and I’d nowhere to go – I was trapped.
By the faint glimmer of light from a partially opened window I saw the evil grin on his unshaven face and I could smell the stale beer on his clothing and breath.
“Hello, young lady! Is there anything I can do for you?” the man asked in a husky tone, with the emphasis on ‘do’, “I’ve been looking for a young woman to give me relief!”

“Go away or I’ll call a Police Officer!” I replied, my trembling voice betraying my worried emotions.
I knew this was the time to call for help from my colleagues in the Constabulary. My hand fumbled for the silver police whistle hanging from its chain around my perspiring neck but in my desire to put it to my lips the chain broke.
I failed to grasp the small object, it eluded my fingers and a metallic clang resounded from the cobbled floor as the whistle vanished into the darkness.
I felt the vagrant’s hand grab hold of my tight blouse and pull the silk material; I heard the sound of the seams ripped apart and of my shawl being torn away in his efforts to hold onto me.

I screamed as loud as possible in an attempt to summon help and the noise reverberated around the narrow alley.
How I regretted volunteering for this assignment as his hot alcoholic breath bounced off my face.

Behind the man I heard swift moving footsteps coming towards us. He wheeled round to see who was approaching. I heard my assailant gasp out loud and then collapse to the ground, still clutching my blouse and shawl, as the newcomer hit him violently with a heavy wooden walking stick.

“Quickly come with me!” said my rescuer.
I ran swiftly after him, my head-wear lost somewhere in our desperate escape and we eventually reached the comparative safety of a flickering lamppost, the single gaslight breaking through the gloom of this dark and dangerous area.

“Thank you Sir!” I breathlessly panted to the fine figure of a man who had helped me from the dangers in the alleyway. “I feared that the man was ‘Jack the Wammer’ as he tried to assault me and luckily you arrived in the nick of time. I will be forever in your debt, Sir”
“I’m sure you are grateful, but - who is ‘Jack the Wammer’?”
He spoke in a cultured voice and I relaxed a little after my ordeal.

Despite a slight reluctance I felt I had to confess to this heroic man.
“I suppose I really shouldn’t tell you this but I am a Police Officer and I, and my colleagues, are trying to trap a man who has been attacking the fairer sex with sloppy substance abuse.”

A smile crossed his tanned face. “Really, I didn’t think anyone would do that type of activity to young girls and ladies. The man must be stopped as soon as possible. Perhaps I can help you catch this person before he becomes an even bigger threat to society. What do you say, dear lady?”
I certainly was in a bit of a pickle; lost among the passageways of Whitechapel, some of my clothing missing, the cold night air chilling my partially naked body, the other police officers probably a long way behind us and an injured ‘Jack the Wammer’ possibly looking for revenge.

Before I could answer my new companion made a suggestion. “Follow me and I will take you to a place of refuge until dawn. Then tomorrow you can return safely to Scotland Yard!”
I had to admit that sounded a good idea. I didn’t want to wander amongst this maze of dark inhospitable misty by-ways for the rest of the night.
“Alright, lead on!” I agreed.
He took hold of my hand, his surprisingly soft gently fingers sent a tingling through my skin, and we moved quickly and silently through the maze of passages.
A few minutes later, my mind and body disorientated by the twists and turns of our journey, he stopped outside a shop; the closed shutters masking its interior. He turned a key noisily in the lock and the door swung open on its squeaking hinges.

He closed the door behind us and I heard the key turn once again and a bolt slip into place.
“In here we should be safe from ‘Jack’ your assailant!” he commented.

He struck a match and a gaslight struggled to illuminate the room.
A coal fire’s dying embers flickered in the grate, taking the chill out of the air. A shiny shop counter, an old chair, a couple of tall cupboards and a few shelves were the only items in the small room.
He threw a couple of logs onto the fire and crackling sparks burst into life.
My warming shawl and blouse had been lost in the alleyway during the struggle, but the exertions and excitement had given me a dishevelled appearance, my hair was askew and my perspiration-covered breasts were heaving up and down. I noticed my guardian angel had his eyes fixed firmly on my cleavage and I saw him slowly run his tongue over his lips.

I tried to divert his attention.
“Is this where you live?” I asked the tall stranger.

“No, this is the property of Mrs Mindges. She’s not here at the moment so we won’t be disturbed all night. I’ll get a small drink to relax you!”

He opened a cupboard door, took out two glasses and a bottle of Cognac and offered me a drink.
“Thank you, Sir, but I rarely touch alcoholic beverages. It is the drink of the devil and, I’ve heard, it can cause loss of sense and reason in a young lady.”
“I’m sure one small glass will be of benefit to keep out the chill night air!” he implored.

Pouring a large measure into both glasses he handed one to me. “Just try this one and see if I am right or not! No need for another if you don’t like it!”
He had saved me, helped me escape, it would be a long night and his reassuring manner allayed my initial fears of the drink he offered.
I closed my eyes, drank the brown fluid in one gulp and felt its warmth against my throat on its way down.
“Is that better?” He politely enquired, having only partially finished his own drink. “You can have another if you wish!”
The only time I had taken spirits was for the traditional tipple of Sherry or Port on Christmas Day and the brandy he had offered certainly revived my own flagging spirits after the distress of the attack on me.
I smiled shyly at him.
“Just a small one, please, if you don’t mind”.

The ‘small one’ looked even larger than the first but I didn’t wish to appear ungrateful or unsociable in his presence. The second drink vanished into my mouth and raced down my throat. I shook my head as the potent liquid found its mark deep inside me.

Suddenly I found my legs were hardly able to support me and my ankles seemed to wobble about!

“Please may I sit down? I feel a little unsure on my feet!” I asked.
“Certainly Officer, I’m sure we can let you rest for a little while”.
He placed the chair behind me and I sat down heavily.

“Whoops” I exclaimed and started to giggle out loud. “What can you think of me, Sir? Showing myself up in this way. Any more of the brandy and I’m not sure what I might do!”

“That’s what I hoped might happen, young lady! For someone sent to trap a man capable of ‘who knows what’ you have landed yourself in a terrible mess, haven’t you?”

I struggled to understand what he meant by the last remark. Slowly through the hazy thoughts racing in my mind, I started to wonder about the intentions of this man.
What was he doing in the depths of Whitechapel after dark? Why had he locked and bolted the door? Why had he not offered his own coat to keep out the cold and cover my exposed breasts, as any gentleman would normally have done?
And how could I have been so stupid to drink two large glasses of Cognac, especially when I wasn’t used to the devilish brew?
I tried to rise from the chair but my legs didn’t seem to want to support me.

“Feeling a little groggy, my dear? Don’t worry, your problems are only just beginning!”
He said, leaning over me with his eyes fixed once more on my breasts.

The tight white corset uplifted and accentuated them and the firm material struggled to hold them as my heavy breathing and pounding heart caused my breasts to heave alarmingly. He seemed to struggle as he tried to avert his eyes from watching the voyeur’s fleshy view before him.
Eventually he moved slowly away from me and opened another of the cupboard doors, took out a large jug and started to laugh out loud.
“I’m sure Mrs Mindges, the shop owner, won’t mind me using tomorrows culinary delights. I do get so much pleasure from seeing the reactions of my ‘victims’! And you, silly girl, are about to suffer at my hands.
You now see before you the man that your stupid colleagues have called ‘Jack the Wammer’!”

His voice rising and falling as he spoke the words that chilled me to the bone and his laughter echoed in my ears like a clap of thunder.
I sat there, my bare shoulders and cleavage in such a vulnerable state. If he had tied me to the chair I could not have been less able to defend myself from the man who was causing messy mayhem among the female members of London. I hardly dare dwell on my impending fate.
He lifted the heavy pot jug above my head and tipped its contents onto my hair.

Soft yellow cream oozed through my fair locks, dribbled down my face, over my shoulders and flowed onto the heaving breasts enclosed in the corset.
The cool cream found a narrow passage between my wobbling orbs and slid slowly within the corset down my flat stomach.

I could only sit and let the cool creamy fluid meander over my tingling skin.

I suppose he expected me to shout for him to stop or possibly cry out for help but I did neither.
I was made of sterner stuff than his previous victims. Not only did I fail to show any feminine weakness, despite an unexpected surge of pleasure as the slow moving cream engulfed my breasts, I kept my composure.

This was extremely difficult as we both saw that the slow moving solution was encouraging my hardening nipples to push against the restraining lacy white corset. I seemed to hold my breath and my chest moved ever upward. The sloppy covering of cream encased my breasts and waves of excitement shook my body, my breasts now in danger of bursting out of the top of the corset.

Good grief! What was happening to my emotions?

As a Police Officer I knew that somehow I must try to stop him but I was in no position to do that at the moment although Daddy had always said that attack was the best form of defence. I was a woman who had just been messily abused for this mans pleasure and I knew I had to take the initiative!

“I have been told of your dastardly deeds against the ladies of London but I’m not one to give in to your loathsome ways. Do your worst - but I will not succumb to your evil desires!”

The perpetrator stood smiling in front of me with his gaze directed at my soggy upper half.
‘Attack! Attack!’ I thought – do something!
I scooped up a handful of the soft cream from my chest, grabbed hold of his waistband and pushed the sticky mess deep into his immaculate trousers. He jumped back in surprise, but not as surprised as myself!

Why did he have a large stiff object in his trousers?
My hand had pushed against something standing to attention and the cool cream had hardened it even more!

Then I realised what it was!

Some years ago there had been a scandal at the school I attended, St Libidious.

The Mother Superior had seen two of the teaching Sisters sanding and polishing chair legs into unusual shapes during carpentry classes and both of them, Sister Clitero and Sister Orgasmo, had been observed smiling during time set aside for reflection and penance.
This had alerted the Mother Superior to a potential problem and, after catching the Sisters indulging themselves with a pair of newly turned and highly polished beech chair legs, she decided to give us all a lecture entitled ‘The Worrying Contents of a Gentleman’s Trousers’.
Normally her lectures were sparsely attended but the ‘Trouser’ one had all the pupils in the school hanging on to her every word.
How she knew so much we could only surmise but her depth of knowledge and graphic description of the ‘problem’ lurking within a Gentleman’s apparel alerted us all to the dangers that could be found in the confines of a Gentleman’s trousers.

But unfortunately for the Mother Superior she had aroused our girlish interest and from that day forth all the woodwork classes had excellent attendance’s and were by far the most popular activity in the school curriculum!

And I also remembered how my fellow officers had grinned and nudged each other when I commented on the size of the truncheon I’d been issued with!

Somehow, without realising it, I had stirred the stranger’s feelings in his trousers and I could be on the receiving end of his lust and passion.

My mother had once quoted an old Chinese proverb during a boring chat about birds and bees; ‘Girl with skirt held above waist runs faster than man with trousers around ankles’.
That could be the answer!
If I could summon the strength to rise from the chair and somehow get him to drop his trousers I might just have a chance of reaching the door and making my escape!

My head and thoughts, fuzzy with the devil’s drink, were beginning to clear slightly. I struggled to my feet by gripping hold of the shiny counter. Thinking only of England, my duty to my country and the Police Service I released the clasp of my skirt and it dropped lightly to the floor, to reveal the tight white translucent bloomers covering my lower half.

I was forceful, I was adamant and I was shaking like a leaf.

“Do your worst, you evil individual, for no good shall come of your actions against the women hood of our great nation! I alone will suffer on behalf of the female population! I defy you to defile me!”
My heart was pounding and my creamy breasts were heaving. I only needed him to release his belt and buttons supporting his trousers and I would be ready to make a desperate attempt to unlock the door to freedom and his ultimate downfall.

His response to my striptease was a surprise.

His reactions were much quicker than my own and instead of loosening his trousers, and attempting to have his evil way with me, he suddenly reached into the open cupboard and lifted out a large dish. He swiftly grasped the front of my bloomers and tipped a cold sloppy fruit trifle into the depths of my underwear.

The slop slithered and oozed around inside the thin tight material. I jumped back in surprise as my legs found new strength. I looked down to see the bloomers were not only moist but now completely transparent as well!

Some of the cream and soft fruits began to slither slowly down the inside of each leg but the majority of the mess clung to the area of my body that Mummy called the ‘Harbour for Daddy’s battleship’ – whatever that meant!

Luckily my fair bushy hair was hidden behind a bulging pile of gently moving cool pink trifle but the gentle massage around the area between my legs was causing me great concern.
After my initial fear of his dastardly actions it was becoming obvious to me, and also him, that I had remained almost motionless with little attempt to stop the sloppy mess caressing the ‘harbour’ entrance.
I gradually felt a pleasurable emotion stirring within the confines of my lower body and this took away any thoughts of escaping from the man who had deliberately abused me.

‘Oh, what should I do?’ I thought to myself, and after a moment’s hesitation, I moved my hands down to cover my dignity and avoid his prying eyes.

Clutching the wet material in both hands I suddenly realised that the fingers on both my hands were gently rubbing the front of my soggy underwear and a newly found surge of excitement started to develop.

A faint smile crossed my face and my eyelids started to close.
My tongue moved back and forth across the inside of my top lip, my knees closed together and I couldn’t stop my calves gently and rhythmically rubbing together.
Droplets of the cream eased themselves beyond the restraining frilly ruffles of the bloomers and, hair by sensitive hair, moved remorselessly down my legs, creeping into my boots and moistening the soles of my feet

‘Jack’ stood before me with a huge grin on his face and his stiff manhood bulging inside the tight trousers. His quiet voice broke the long silence.
“I think the young lady is now undecided what to do next, am I right?”

The only noise in the previous minute had been the sharp intake of breath I had taken to try and make sense of my emotions at this moment in time. If this was sloppy substance abuse then it was no wonder the other ‘victims’ had not complained when they first experienced the wet and messy activities provided by the attractive well-built, and well-endowed, man who was my companion in this small room.

He looked straight at me, the warm glow of the fire in the metal grate reflecting in his blue eyes, and tried a little friendly persuasion.
“Perhaps some more of the same and we might come to a decision before the night is over!” he cajoled.

I struggled in vain to control my emotions and slowly, but surely, I nodded my approval of his last request with my duty to the Police Service now far removed from my mind.
The next long minutes of activity remained in my thoughts for many years; the cool clammy enveloping sloppy custard pie that he pushed and twisted onto my face, the yellow filling sliding down my neck and sticking to my wobbling breasts; the slimy eggs he cracked open, one by one, into my already saturated bloomers, slipping and slithering around the hairy and willing pussy lurking at the top of my legs; his speedy fingers unfastening the front of my corset and the way he fondled the soft skin of my breasts as he applied a coating of thick custard, my nipples solid as iron; the swift forceful way he removed the rest of my underwear to reveal my eager womanhood for his approving gaze.

His belt, trousers and underwear seemed to vanish in a hazy blur to give me the chance to grasp his throbbing staff in both hands and urge it to greater heights.
I took the opportunity to take hold of a long chocolate éclair, separate the two sticky creamy halves and then clamp them both firmly around his solid manhood.
A disturbing whimper and a sharp intake of breath were heard deep in his throat a few seconds before he grasped my buttocks with his strong fingers and pulled my body towards him.
My legs parted and my now well-oiled soft and fragrant entrance allowed his rampant battleship to take up its position in the turbulent fluids within.

The shiny counter had never before taken such a pounding as it did that night as we consumed our lustful appetite upon its smooth cool surface.

How he managed to clean away the substances covering my body in such a short time was an amazing act in itself but the effort I put into fulfilling his sloppy aspirations surpassed even his wildest dreams.
We smeared each other in pies, cream cakes, eggs, trifles and even a healthy application of butter to lubricate our bodily parts – such was the enthusiasm of our endeavours.

Both of us, our happy tired throbbing bodies satisfied at length, eventually retired to the back room of Mrs Mindge's Confectionery Shop to recover under a warming blanket until the thin watery sun rose above the horizon of a new dawn.

Luckily the owner of the shop was a late riser and we were able to leave the premises before her arrival.
I dressed in the remnants of my previous nights attire, the blanket sufficed as an outer garment, we hailed a passing Hansom cab and he escorted me back to Scotland Yard.
Ten loud chimes from ‘Big Ben’ echoed around Westminster as I bade him a fond farewell and made my way to the office of Inspector Nobbs.

“What happened to you?” The Inspector thundered. “We had a couple of men out looking for you all night, they searched taverns and ale house for hour after hour in a bid to find you! Where the devil were you?”

The truth hit me like a bombshell!

“You mean there were only two of them and they probably spent most of the time from dusk till dawn drinking the ‘devils brew’” I shouted at him.

Taken aback by my aggressive attitude, he blurted out. “Well, they had to calm themselves – worrying about you. One of them has managed to sober up already and only the other one was completely paralytic!”

I was livid.
“So the top and bottom of the situation is that they were incapable of helping me, despite the danger I was in, and you were fast asleep in bed - am I right?”
Inspector Nobbs crimson embarrassed face gave the game away and any spluttered apology would have been as welcome as a cat in an aviary.

I took the bull by the horns!
“I’ve had enough! If you think I’m going to continue working with your bunch of incompetent drunken oafs, then you can think again, you fat lump!”
It was at this point that my career disappeared up its own back entrance.

The apoplectic face of the guardian of the laws of our land sitting opposite me spewed forth an almost in-comprehensive set of words that seemed to indicate that I should depart forthwith and never darken his doorstep again. I understood the gist of the message he garbled in my direction and rose to leave the room.
But, I couldn’t resist picking up a pot of stewed tea from his desk and poured the brown congealed fluid over the crutch area of his baggy police regulation trousers. His chair shot backward, hit the wall and tipped him onto the floor where he laid, legs akimbo. Despite the initial shock the liquid had instantly fired up his sexual instincts and his member stood stiffly to attention. I undid his trouser buttons and released his hard manhood for all to see; but as an act of compassion I placed his pointed helmet over the top to hide his pride and joy from the gaze of his fellow officers of the thin blue line.
And that is the story of my brief role in the Police Service. I was the last serving female officer for many years; but you can’t keep a good girl down for long and I was quick to plan my next career move.

The night after my abrupt dismissal from the Police service I was once again walking the dimly lit streets of Whitechapel dressed in a newly bought outfit, rather flamboyant in a cherry red blouse with a low cut top and short skirt, as I sought to find ‘Jack the Wammer’ once again.

The dark alleyways along which I wandered were, I knew from recent experience, a scary place but I put on a brave face in the hope of meeting the man who had propelled me to the feelings and desires of the previous night.

I turned the corner into Slackalice Lane and there it was in front of me. A gold sovereign placed on the cobbled road surface to trap the unwary. I took a deep breath and bent forward to pick up the glittering coin.
I heard soft footsteps approach from behind and I braced myself.
The back of my skirt was gently lifted, the bloomers pulled away from my waist and to my utter delight a cool concoction of wet and messy slop was tipped into the rear of my underwear.
I spun round to face the person who had taken advantage of me.

“You!” He grinned at me. “I thought I recognised those round receptive rosy cheeks that I saw only last night. What on earth are you doing here again? Are your fellow officers lurking in the dark shadows waiting to pounce on me?”

“Fear not, ‘Jack’!” I soothingly told him. “The only reason I am here is to take advantage of you in the confines of Mrs Mindges Confectionery Shop. Quickly let us make post haste to the shop before the moist caressing contents of my underwear bring me to an early climax!”

Our speeding feet barely touched the floor in our desire to take advantage of the confectionery delights in the shop.

Fallen droplets of cream oozing out of my bloomers the only sign of our swift race to the wet and messy substances that were to be applied to our bodies in the following happy and exciting hours within the confines of the warm room.

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Daddy was so delighted that I had left the Police service that he gave me a hundred pounds and with that money I bought the Confectionery shop from Mrs Mindges.

Now the name over the door states ----

‘Primrose Proper and Partner
Pies, Pastries and Profiteroles for the Public’

And in the window we have a large notice ----

Our aim is your happiness.
If you want it - we will let you have it!
Thick and sloppy satisfaction guaranteed!
Come inside to let us give you one!

We serve the thickest creamiest pies in the whole of London for our expanding number of clients and our products are used by the entire top Circus and Music Hall acts.

Among then are Ben Dover and Phil McRavity the first gay slapstick comedians, Angel ’Pie me and stop one’ Delight the armed forces favourite and the five girl group The Splat Girls, who all like to feel a hot bun in the oven or something cool trifling in their knickers.

We had the Prince of Wales in last week. He likes to slap a pie or two into the face of his wife, Lady Chameleon Parker-Bowels.
His merry wit came to the fore – ‘Don’t tell anyone’ he laughed ‘She looks better when covered in a cream facial!’

Even Inspector Nobbs came in recently but I sent him away with a couple of fairy cakes and a small banana; they reminded me of our last meeting in his office.

‘Jack’ and I are business partners and he has asked me to marry him. I said ‘yes’, I would be pleased to be his bride as long as I was given a large wedding cake as a present. I can hardly wait as he’s promised to fulfil my dream by slapping a cream pie in my face.
Then covering me in a gigantic sloppy messy pile of cream and moist fruits whilst still clad in my wedding dress.

The thought of all that cream engulfing my satin clad body, it’s cooling soft movement over my tingling skin as it stealthily flows down into the depths of my silk underwear, has brought to a shuddering climax on many occasions as I have lain on my bed at night.
After the wedding reception, I hope gooey mixtures can compliment our honeymoon night; cream pies, raw eggs, congealed custard and any other substances that can help us attain a high degree of sexual satisfaction.


And I will make sure his rampant manhood will be used to stir up my wildest dreams employing all my feminine ploys to keep his pride and joy up to the task in hand for as long as possible.

I look forward to many happy years of substance abuse and I hope you too can call into our shop and experience the joyful feeling of wet and messy ingredients of confectionery and that they will enhance your life as much as they have enriched mine.

Bless you all --- from Primrose and ‘Jack’.

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[ruegger]

That's fucking hot! I would love to see a sequel where she gets her dream of getting messed in her wedding dress. Thanks for posting!