Anne of Browndale Ch. 05

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Amateur

(This is a new story which I’ve also posted elsewhere. I hope you’ll enjoy it but if watersports and power games aren’t your thing, you may decide to give it a miss.)

*****

Anne Glenson made her way through the sliding doors to reception and the receptionist, a girl of about twenty busily engaged in the important business of painting her nails, looked up.

“Can I help you, madam?”

“Yes, I’ve come to see Mr Faulkner. It’s Mrs Glenson – Anne Glenson – by the way.”

“I’ll just see if he’s free.”

Picking up the phone, the girl continued, “Mike, I’ve a got a Mrs Glenson to see you. Can I send her through?”

Anne heard what she thought sounded faintly like a muffled groan followed by “Send her through.”

The girl looked up.

“Yes. Mr Faulkner’s free to see you. He’s through the door on the right there, just down the corridor.”

“Thank you.”

Anne knocked loudly on the door.

“Come in!”

Mike Faulkner got up from his desk and extended a slightly clammy hand in welcome.

“Good afternoon – Mrs Glenson I believe. Do take a seat. Can I get Tracy to bring you some tea or coffee?”

Anne sat down.

“No thank you. I’ve got some water on me. It’s far better for maintaining hydration. Anyhow, I’m sure you must be busy Mr Faulkner, so I’ll cut to the chase and get straight to the point. I’ve come about the grant application which my colleague and I submitted some time ago. Has your committee had time to consider it?”

Mr Faulkner reached for a file.

“Ah yes, the application from Holding for Life. I see you’re listed as one of the directors, along with a Miss Sarah Worthington.”

“Yes that’s correct.”

“I just need to check a few personal details with you if that’s alright Mrs Glenson?”

“Yes of course.”

“Full name.”

“Anne Maureen Elizabeth Glenson.”

“Date of birth.”

“10th April 1975.”

“Marital situation?”

“Married.”

“And your address?”

“The Rectory, Church Lane, Browndale.”

Mr Faulkner beamed.

“Oh, lucky you. I wish I lived in a splendid old rectory. The ones I see advertised in Country World are such glorious old piles.”

Anne frowned.

“Mr Faulkner, it’s a glorious old Georgian rectory. It’s a brutally functional 1960s rectory – the meanest and cheapest the diocese could come up with too. Strange though it may seem my husband, Fr Archie Glenson, just happens to be the rector.”

“I’m sorry Mrs Glenson. It was an honest mistake on my part – I just assumed…”

“You’re not the first and I doubt you’ll be the last. Now if we could please focus on my grant application as I haven’t got all evening. My husband needs me to serve at Benediction at six thirty, after which I’ve got to do my domestic goddess bit and prepare supper for the deanery synod.”

“Yes of course, Mrs Glenson. A couple of committee members raised slight concerns about what you do at Holding for Life. They seemed to think there was some slightly – how shall I put it – kinky stuff – going off there.”

Anne intentionally crossed and re-crossed her legs. Not for nothing had she decided to don a slightly tight pair or jeans for this interview. She needed to pee pretty badly, having not released her bladder for over nine hours, but certainly wasn’t desperately uncomfortable by any means.

“Such as?”

“Well it’s rumoured that you make your clients – or is it service users – hold their pee in all day at your courses. Is that correct?” illegal bahis

Anne crossed her legs yet again, not because she had to but for effect.

“Mr Faulkner, Miss Worthington and I are both highly qualified urology nurses who maintain current registrations. We both hold current DBS clearances and have all the required safeguarding certificates. With regard to the first point, we are caring, compassionate, professional people. We certainly do not force our service users to hold their pee all day. Yes, there are some toilet restrictions and for good reason, but much of the work we do with clients as you call them, involves Kegel exercises which are about strengthening sphincter muscles by peeing in a controlled way. Our courses are designed to empower people and give them options so that they don’t have to panic and think about tracking down a toilet as soon as the need to pee arises.

My colleagues and I certainly don’t demand anything from our service users of which we ourselves are not more than capable.”

“I’m sure you don’t, Mrs Glenson. I have heard a rumour though that you make some use of humiliation on your courses. Is that correct?”

Anne coughed, gave Mr Faulkner a slightly disdainful look, and took a swig from her water bottle. Noticing that Mike Faulkner’s right hand had slipped beneath his desk and he’d begun to stroke himself, she couldn’t resist crossing and re-crossing her legs yet again.

“Mr Faulkner, many – though not all – of our service users are high profile people. Not unnaturally some of them present with challenging attitudes and at any one time we have service users who regard our courses as jolly japes. If they are to derive a long-term positive benefit from coming on our courses, such attitudes have to be countered robustly and, if we have to wipe smirks off a few faces, so be it. We do not take people on our courses who are medically incontinent but we rely on service users to be honest with us about any ongoing health conditions, including bedwetting. If a service user hasn’t been honest with us and if they don’t abide by the rules of the course they are required to account for it. That’s why all beds are checked by matron every morning and we have adjudication in a group setting after breakfast. By the way, we have a zero-tolerance policy on masturbation, Mr Faulkner! Having worked extensively in urology, Sarah and I have seen more than enough of its unhelpful and counter-productive effects.”

Mr Faulkner quickly withdrew his hand from his crotch area.

“Quite Mrs Glenson. Now turning to your grant application, I see that you applied for fifty five thousand pounds towards the repair of a gymnasium roof.”

“That’s correct. My colleague and I have both sunk a lot of our own money into the venture but, even taking into account income from service users, we’re stretched to find money for re-roofing the old gymnasium to a standard which will keep it watertight for the next 20 years. Our premises are based in an old secondary modern school which County Hall wanted to dispose of cheaply and you could say that fabric was an ongoing challenge.”

“Hmm. As a matter of interest, what do you charge your service users?”

“Usually two thousand pounds. That covers an intensive weekday course with induction on a Monday afternoon followed by three and a half days of serious work followed by the award of certificates after lunch on a Friday.”

“I see. Have you thought of increasing your fees?”

“We keep them under review but we illegal bahis siteleri think two thousand is a fair fee to charge most users at present. Part of it goes towards a bursary fund for service users who would benefit from attending a Holding for Life course but cannot afford to pay or require some level of subsidy.”

Mr Faulkner nodded.

“I see, Mrs Glenson. Clearly your operation is run in a responsible way. Despite the reservations expressed by some committee members we are happy to award you fifty thousand.”

“Only fifty? We asked for fifty five.”

“I know, but that’s our decision and we must abide by it. Mrs Glenson, I hope it’s not an impertinence but I’ve noticed you crossing your legs and moving about quite a bit. You don’t need to pee by any chance?”

Anne smiled.

“No more than anyone else who hasn’t peed since seven this morning! Don’t worry, I need to go but it’s not an emergency.”

Mr Faulkner could barely contain himself.

“Mrs Glenson, you must be bursting. I know it’s a big ask but I’ve never seen a lady pee. Would you be willing to pee for me? I keep a container – an empty pickle jar – in here just in case of emergencies. Here it is. One of the joys of working in offices shared with other organisations is that the loo’s always occupied.”

Anne smiled broadly.

“I’d be more than happy to oblige Mr Faulkner.”

Anne, deftly removed her dark blue stone washed jeans and, leaving her white maxi panties on, squatted over the pickle jar. She peed a little hesitantly at first but her stream soon became a strong one and Mike Faulkner watched, amazed, as she completely filled the litre sized jar, almost overflowing it. Although in middle age they occurred less readily than as a young man, he found himself developing an erection of a kind he’d not experienced for at least a decade. Without the aid of any kind of manual stimulation, he found himself ejaculating uncontrollably into his underpants, an experience he’d not met with since his twenties. Anne finished as abruptly as she started, got up and handed the jar to him. Carefully removing her pee stained panties she tossed them in his direction before slipping back into her jeans and zipping them up with the same ease that she’d removed them.

“You may as well keep those knickers as a little souvenir, Mr Faulkner. I’m sure you’ll find a use for them. By the way, I look forward to receiving the cheque for sixty thousand by Tuesday’s post at the latest.”

Mr Faulkner looked bemused.

“Sixty thousand? I thought we’d settled on fifty.”

A broad grin crossed Anne’s face.

“My dear Mr Faulkner, we settled on nothing. I applied for fifty five thousand and you offered me fifty. Now I’m sure you wouldn’t like your interest in women peeing to become public knowledge, would you? It would be so embarrassing, wouldn’t it, especially for a charity trustee?”

Mr Faulkner went pale.

“You’re not try to blackmail me, Mrs Glenson, are you?”

“No of course not. That’s such a horrible word, don’t you think? Let’s just call it incentivising discretion, shall we? That extra ten thousand will fund five places for services users who wouldn’t otherwise be able to attend. Look, if it makes a bitter pill any sweeter, I’m willing to offer you a free place on one of our courses.”

Mike Faulkner knew he wasn’t going to get out of this one easily. How could he have been so foolish as to walk into such a trap?

“Mrs Glenson, I’ll speak to the committee canlı bahis siteleri and see what I can do. Thanks for the offer of a place on one of your courses but I’m not sure whether it’s really me.”

Anne smiled.

“Sixty thousand by Tuesday’s post, Mr Faulkner. You can send it to the rectory by courier or one of the signed for delivery services if you like. Anyhow, I must get a move on or Archie will wonder where I am. It’s a pleasure doing business with you.”

With that, she turned and took her leave.

Two hours later, Mike Faulkner pushed the door of Browndale Church open. The air was thick with a haze of incense, making him cough. As he struggled to get his bearings he was greeted by a genial priest in a long, Roman-style cassock, who’d been making his way towards the door.

“Good evening, sir. If it’s Benediction you’ve come for, I’m afraid we finished five minutes ago.”

Mike Faulkner coughed again. The incense was really affecting his throat.

“No I’ve not come for the service. Are you Fr Archie by any chance?”

“Yes. How can I help you?”

“Fr Archie, it’s really your wife that I was hoping to see – on an item of business.”

Fr Archie chuckled.

“Well the last time I saw her she was in the vestry, just by the tower arch there, although she may have taken the thurible outside to empty. Got to return the contents to their native earth you know.”

Mike cleared his throat.

“Thanks Father. This doesn’t seem like normal C of E though.”

Fr Archie laughed.

“We don’t do normal Cof E here and, as for my wife, she’s certainly not normal!

Ah, speak of the wife, here she is. Anne, there’s a gentleman here to see you. I’ll leave you two in peace. Remember to lock up when you’ve finished and don’t forget the deanery synod supper at eight, darling.”

Anne beamed at her husband as he took his leave.

“How could I forget darling? Praise God for supermarket cocktail sausages, ready made dips and mini scotch eggs.”

Leading Mike into the vestry, Anne removed the girdle from her waist and, with the slick effortlessness he’d seen earlier, removed her server’s alb to reveal the same top and jeans that she’d worn earlier in his office. Turning to him, she gave Mike a smile he’d earlier learned to mistrust.

“Well this a surprise. To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“It’s about our discussion earlier…”

“I hope you haven’t come to tell me that the sixty thousand isn’t going to be forthcoming.”

“No not at all. I doubt the committee will agree to more than fifty but I can find the remaining ten thousand out of my own pocket. After all, I think it’s a price worth paying in view of the alternative.”

“Good. I’m so glad we understand one another, Mr Faulkner. Was there anything else?”

“Yes, it’s about your kind offer of a free place on one of your courses. I’ve been thinking and I’d like to take it up.”

Anne hugged him and the smell of the incense which clung to her clothes, nearly caused him to pass out.

“Splendid! You won’t regret it. As it happens I have a place available for the course starting Monday 1st October. If I get my sixty thousand by Tuesday I’ll email or post you all the details including the medical form and the disclaimer which we ask all service users to complete and sign. By the way, I think we can afford to drop the formalities. From now on you can call me Anne if I can call you Mike.”

“I’m happy with that. Good night Mrs Glenson – I mean Anne.”

“Good night Mike! Look forward to seeing you on the 1st October.”

Mike walked out into the gathering gloom of the September evening sky, not quite knowing what he’d let himself in for but hoping that it wouldn’t be too bad.

THE END

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