Anyone for Tennis, Dennis? Ch. 16 - Sex Stories

Anyone for Tennis, Dennis? Ch. 16

... desk sat a guy who reminded me of the Sumo-wrestlers I had seen at the night-club in Manchester. He was built as though he could play prop for a national rugby team.

"Yeah?" He asked, looking up from his book.

"Mistress Rene. We look for furniture special? Mistress Abi recommend this place for the 'SPECIAL'"

Remy seemed to be trying to emulate Dennis' stumbling Franglais. I wanted to smile at her attempt.

"Sure. Go on in. " The grunt grunted, returning to reading his book. I was surprised to see the title -

'The Rough Guide to Climate Change by Robert Henson.'

' Well you never can tell. I think I was expecting a Playboy magazine or something.

Inside, the main unit had a high ceiling with lots of metal triangles and a row of fluorescent tubes hanging down. The far side of the building, at the highest point, had a row of metal wired windows letting in a small amount of the grey daylight.

The floor was stacked with furniture laid out in several long rows. To start with there was the usual; wooden tables, chairs, etc. Dining tables. Occasional tables, kitchen tables etc. There were cupboards, wardrobes, and all sorts of other bits and pieces. We passed one desk that was a rich mahogany with detailed inlaid pattern. The price label showed £8000.

'Eight ferking thousand ferking pounds? For a desk???' I mouthed quietly to Remy. She just shrugged, and continued her slow walk down the aisle.

Beyond half way down maybe more, there was a large black ...

... curtain, dividing the building in two.

Remy walked slowly in that direction, stopping quit often to look at one thing or another. Sometimes she would run a finger over the wood to appreciate something.

We were about halfway towards the curtain when we heard footsteps.

"Ah I see that you must be after something special. Maybe I can help."

I recognised that voice. I froze and kept my face looking away.

Bloody Armstrong.

That was what this whole day was about.

SHIT!

"Ah so you understand us. Oooui?" Remy's accent became even thicker. "Mon ami... my frrriend Meeestress Abigail. She tell me about his playyce. Yes? I am afterrr somsing a beet spessiaaal Yes?"

"Good. Good. Yes. Special. Of course." He chuckled an evil, horrible, little, laugh as he stepped closer.

I carefully studied a table and chair set to keep looking away.

"Hey! Do I know you? Weren't you up at that Dennis LongTampon's place? You look familiar."

I didn't see Remy's face. I hoped she was a good actor.

"Non Monsieur." She said quite calmly. "Ah know of Monsieur Longchambon. He is friend to Meestress Abigail yes?"

"Oh yeah. Right. Sure."

"But they say you are good for zee spessiaaal foorneechure. Yes?" Yeah Remy was acting. I suppressed a giggle.

"Sure. Yes. Good. You follow me." He overtook us to head towards the curtain. I kept trying to look away, but followed Remy at a safe distance.

Armstrong pulled at a fold in the black curtain to show an opening, then stepping ...