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The afternoon sky was gray and gloomy and snow flakes were beginning to fall as Mary Poole stopped before the door of Bailey & Bligh haberdashers. She pulled of her mittens and stuffed them into the pocket of her cloak, then checked her reflection in the gold-lettered window. She retrieved a mitten to wipe her runny nose, set her hat at a jaunty angle and entered the shop.
Bailey & Bligh’s was cozy warm and filled with the wonderful smell of new and expensive things. Mary moved among the racks of gentlemen’s apparel admiring the stylish hats, her fingers drawn to rich fabrics. She was stroking her plump cheek with the satiny sleeve of a shirt when a cadaverous young man, pince nez clamped to his nose, emerged from behind a curtain at the rear of the shop.
“May I be of some assistance, Madame?”
Mary turned to face him. The man considered her over the rims of his spectacles, then frowned and said,” Oh. Wait here.”
He crossed the room to knock lightly on a frosted door pane, then opened the door and spoke a few words that Mary couldn’t hear to someone she couldn’t see. Leaving the door ajar, the young man turned back to her and said primly, “He will be with you in a moment,” then fussily busied himself with a display of silk cravats.
Mary waited patiently until the door opened wide to reveal a tall, ruddy-faced man in a black frock coat and matching trousers. His graying hair was parted in the middle and he sported a thick mustache along with fashionable side whiskers. He looked the girl up and down, then smiled benignly.
“You’ve come about the position, Miss?”
“Yes sir. I seen the notice in your window, I did.”
“Quite so.” He touched a finger to his mustache as he regarded her again. “Please step into my office, young lady. There are some formalities that must be observed.”
“Yes sir, Mr. Bligh.”
“Oh, I’m not Mr. Bligh,” he said. “No, no indeed. I am Robert Bailey. Mr. Bligh is no longer with us, I’m afraid. In fact…” He paused to stare at a point in space. “It was seven years ago this very day that old Bligh went to his eternal reward. Hmm. Yes, well…” he said, smiling again at Mary, “nothing to be done for it is there?”
“I’m sure you’re right about that, sir.”
“Just so. Please come in, Miss.” He moved aside to let Mary pass through his office door but not so much she wasn’t forced to brush against him as she did.
“Mr. Merton,” Bailey called. “Mind the shop, if you please. We’ll not want to be disturbed.”
Bailey closed the door and ushered Mary to a stiff-backed wooden chair that stood before a large, ornately carved desk.
“What a lovely desk, Mr. Bailey.”
“Yes. Yes it is. Kind of you to say,” said Bailey. “Teakwood, you know. From my days in India.”
Robert Bailey removed his frock coat and hung it on a peg behind his desk. “With your permission, Miss, I’ll conduct our interview in shirt sleeves. Dreadfully hot in here, isn’t it? Our boiler’s a mind of its own, I’m afraid.”
“Ah, but it feels wonderful to me, sir. It’s a cold walk from ‘Aymarket square.”
“You’ve come a long way then,” he said, loosening his cravat and collar. “You must want this position very badly.”
“Oh, yes sir. What with me poor mum so sick and Christmas just around the corner as it is.”
“Yes, so it is.” Bailey showed no interest in the health of Mary’s mother, but unbuttoned his waistcoat and seated himself behind his big Indian desk. He took a sheet of foolscap from a drawer and laid it on the blotter, pushing the paper this way and that until he was satisfied with its alignment. He dipped a pen into a bottle of ink and held it poised above the page. “Let’s begin with your name, shall we?”
“Mary Poole, sir.”
“Poole. That’s p-o-o-l-e?”
“Sounds about right, sir.”
“I take it you’re not well lettered then, Miss Poole?”
“Beg pardon, sir?”
“Never mind.” Bailey scratched something on the paper below Mary’s name. “Are you totally unschooled, Miss?”
“I know me numbers. Most casino şirketleri of ’em anyway.”
“Splendid..” He scribbled another line. “Have you ever worked in haberdashery before?”
“Beg pardon, sir?”
“Gentlemen’s apparel, I mean. Have you any experience working with men’s clothing?”
“Oh, yes sir. I ‘ave indeed. Not always with such fine togs as you sell ‘ereabouts, mind you, but…”
Bailey cut her off with a curt, “I see,” and another scribble. “Have you references then, then Miss Poole?”
“References. Credentials of some sort.”
Mary pursed her full lips and shrugged.
“What I mean to say, Miss Poole,” said Bailey, “Is what do you bring to Bailey and Bligh that we might consider assets to our firm?”
“Well, guv…I’ve got these.” Mary opened her cloak and then the bodice of her dress. Her breasts, round and pale, spilled out before Robert Bailey’s startled eyes.
“Oh, my,” he croaked.
“If them’s not assets, I don’t know what is,” said Mary with pride.
“Um…yes,” said Bailey. “They’re lovely, of course, Miss Poole. Goes without saying. But they’re not exactly what I had in mind.”
“Oh, no? Well, I’ve got more, you know. Just you watch, your Lordship.”
She sprang to her feet, shucking the worn cloak. In a thrice, she’d shed her dress, several petticoats and a shift and stood naked but for her high boots and hat, now perched askew on her blonde curls. Mary gave Bailey a mischievous grin and turned her back. Bending slightly from the waist, she wiggled her shapely bum at the speechless haberdasher.
“Now ‘ow’s that for an asset, guv’nor? ‘Ave you ever seen a sweeter nancy?”
“Um, no…Er, I mean to say…My word!”
“And what about me cunny, sir?” Mary said turning to face him. She twined a finger in the golden curls of her mons and said sweetly, “I’d be bringin’ this to the firm, wouldn’t I? D’ye think it might not be considered an asset?”
Bailey shot to his feet crimson and dotted with beads of sweat. “Yes, it’s very nice, Miss…Er, ahem! This…this is most irregular, Miss Poole.”
“Aw, now I’ve gone and upset you ‘aven’t I?” Mary affected a contrite look. “You’re all flushed and discombobulated and…Well, no wonder!”
She scurried to him and laid a hand on his bulging crotch. “Your trousers are so tight they got the blood rushin’ to yer ‘ead, guv. Let’s get you out of these kecks, shall we?”
Mary pushed Bailey’s braces off his shoulders and then dropped to her knees to unbutton his fly. She pulled the loosened trousers down below his knees and the haberdasher’s erect member sprang free and pointed at her from between his shirttails.
“Why, Mr. Bailey, sir! You’re not wearin’ any under drawers. But I can certainly see why.”
“Indeed I can, sir. Why with such a fearsome amount of manliness to tuck into your pants, there’s simply no room for linens, is there?”
“Oh, well…” Bailey sucked in his generous belly and preened. “You flatter me, Miss Poole.”
“I don’t sir…not a smidgeon. You’ve a magnificent willie. And your bollocks…” She cupped his scrotum in her soft hand. “I seen a prize bull once, guv’nor…At a county fair it was. That ol’ Aberdeen didn’t ‘ave arf so full o’ pouch as yours, sir.”
“Why, Miss Poole!” Bailey beamed like a schoolboy who’d done his sums and got full marks all around.
Mary grasped his merely adequate shaft and squeezed his no more than average sized balls. “May I, sir?”
Bailey answered with a resigned sigh and Mary bent to her task. She twirled her tongue around his swollen crown for a bit, then opened wide to accommodate him, humming merrily while she sucked.
After a few minutes, Bailey whispered her name. “Miss Poole? Mary? I want you.”
“Oh, Robert that’s sweet of you to say.” Considering what had already passed between them, she felt entitled to address him by his Christian name. She rose to her feet and backed away, her hips swaying seductively.
“So casino firmaları which will it be, luv?” She reached down and fingered the tender lips of her cunny. “Would you pierce the flower of me womanhood? Or,” Mary turned and bent low from the waist. She spread her firm cheeks and showed him the brown star of her bung. “Would ye prefer the servant’s entrance?”
“Oh, well…Oh, my! I don’t…They’re both so wonderfully delicious. I…I can’t decide, Mary.” Bailey wrung his hands and looked as though he might weep.
“It’s all right, Robbie. And it’s all good, too,” she said with a lewd wink. “Tell ye what. We’ll start ‘ere with the front portal and later, if you’re still a game rooster we’ll slip around to the rear.”
“Excellent suggestion! Absolutely capital. Er…May I have a look first, Mary? A close look, as it were?”
“Now what kind of shopgirl would I be to keep secrets from my employer? And it’s all part of the interview, is it not?”
“Oh, it is. It is.”
Mary hopped up on the big desk, leaned back onto the blotter and opened her legs wide. “Go on, Robbie dear. ‘Ave a good long look at these ‘ere credentials.”
Bailey dropped to his knees and with his thumbs, spread her pouting lips. “Exquisite!” he exclaimed.
“And sweeter’n any pie your dear old mum ever baked, I’ll wager. Go on and ‘ave a taste, luv.”
He mashed his face between her creamy thighs, exploring her inner secrets hungrily and making muffled, slurping sounds.
“Oh, that’s delightful, guv. You toffs do know ‘ow to do a girl proper,” said Mary.
“Mnnff, mnnff,” said Bailey.
He licked and nibbled ardently – if not artfully – until his curiosity was satisfied. Then he stood and aimed the tip of his joy prong at Mary’s steamy, wet opening.
“Oh, not here, Robbie. Please? This desk is Gawd-awful ‘ard.”
“Of course, my pet. How inconsiderate of me. Where then?”
Mary took hold of his jutting member and led Bailey to the wooden chair from whence she’d first displayed her assets. She bade him sit and then straddled his legs and lowered herself onto his lap. Reaching between her legs, she took him in hand once again and guided the crown of his cockstaff up and down the tender furrow of her credentials.
Bailey moaned softly as Mary positioned his swollen head in her soft folds and sank slowly down over the length of his shaft. He tried to rise up to meet her but found he had little capacity to thrust, from his seat beneath her.
“Take you ease, guv,” she said. “Mary’s on the job.”
She bounced like a happy youngster. Her breasts were a glorious riot of young flesh, bobbling and jiggling before his eyes. Her hard little nipples danced wildly. Bailey’s lips snapped at the pink ornaments but like madcap children, they skipped away too quickly.
“Oh, Robbie, you’re so big,” Mary fibbed. “Ye’ve plumbed me very depths with your enormous tool.”
“Mary, my Mary. You’re a wonderful girl.”
She stopped suddenly and stood, drawing his face into her soft belly.
“But pet,” he mumbled into her navel. “I’m so close.”
“Just changing the seating arrangements, luv. Won’t take but a second.”
She backed away a step, then turned her luscious arse to him and regained her straddling position. “We’ll save the buggering for another time, eh Robbie?” she said as she eased down into his lap, engulfing his anxious prick.
Bailey moaned – loudly this time. He grasped her narrow waist with both hands but Mary took his large, soft mitts and placed them over her breasts. “‘Ang onto me mams, Robbie. Yer in for a bumpy ride.”
Impishly, she wiggled her bum and then began to bounce again, more furiously than before. Bailey’s breath blew in and out is short bursts as her lovely haunches slapped rapidly and rhythmically against his thighs. Bap, bap, bap. Mary reached between her legs again, but this time her fingers sought some small pleasure for herself.
And where’s the ‘arm in it? she thought.
With the pad of her forefinger güvenilir casino pressed tightly to her eager nubbin, Mary’s romp on Bailey’s willie became even more frenzied. “Oh, oh, oh,” he called out behind her in cadence to her own, “Yes, yes, yes.” Bap, bap, bap.
They exploded in prefect unison, a novel experience for Mary Poole, to be sure. So lost was she in her own tingling sensations, she barely felt the hot spurts Bailey loosed within her. But Mary was a trouper and she only took a minute to catch her breath before disengaging from the haberdasher’s spent and wilting member.
Bailey indulged his pounding heart a while longer, and when that well-exercised organ resumed its normal beat, he and Mary tidied themselves with fresh towels, conveniently stored in a bottom desk drawer. They dressed quickly and Mary re-pinned her hat while Bailey combed his hair and whiskers.
“So, Mr. Bailey, sir,” she said, obliged now to address him according to his station, “do ye think I’m qualified for a position in yer fine shop?”
“Um, yes. Ahem. I do indeed, Miss Poole,” he said buttoning his waistcoat. “I’ve no doubt you’d make a fine addition to any establishment, in fact. But I have other appointments to attend to. Other young women who wish to apply for the shopgirl’s position.”
Bailey donned his coat and shot his cuffs. “I must see them first, you see before making a final decision…allow them the opportunity for an interview, also.” He cupped her chin in his hand. “You understand how I must show them that small courtesy, don’t you, Mary?”
“I suppose it’s only right, sir,” she pouted. “But I’ve come so far and me mum’s so very…”
“Ah, yes. Your sick mother,” Bailey interrupted. “Well, we can’t have you walking all the way back to Haymarket Square in the cold, can we?” He plucked a five-pound note from the watch pocket of his waistcoat and pressed it into her hand.
“You will return by hansom cab, Miss Poole. I insist.”
“Yer a true gent you are, Mr. Bailey, sir. And I’ll not forget this kindness.” Mary showed him a curtsy that would have pleased even the dour queen of the realm. “Happy Christmas, sir.”
“And a Happy Christmas to you, Miss Poole.”
Mary kissed his ruddy cheek, tucked the fiver between her breasts and skipped out into the shop, nearly colliding with a familiar figure.
“Peg,” she said. “What are you doing here?”
“Same as you, I expect. Lookin’ for work. ‘Ow’s the pay?”
“‘e gave me a finny! Well worth the long walk to get ‘ere, what?”
“Bailey and Bligh’s always been a quality shop, luv.”
“You’ve been ‘ere before then?”
“Oh, me and Robbie’s old chums, we are,” said peg. “‘Arf a dozen times a year ‘e puts that silly sign in the window, and every time ‘e does, I come runnin’.”
“I see,” said Mary. “I’m sorry ye came all this way for nothing, dearie. But its first come first served, am I right?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, ‘e’s coppered, ain’t ‘e? And rightfully so. I give the ol’ boy quite a drubbin’, I did.”
“Not to worry on that score, Mary dear. I reckon I can perk ‘im up again. I know just what ‘e likes.” Peg poked a sharp finger through a hole in her mitten. “A stiff digit up the arse and Robbie Bailey will be right as rain.”
The girls burst into raucous laughter, and Merton rushed over to shush them. “None of that in here, you tarts.” He looked down his thin nose at Mary Poole. “If he’s finished with you please leave the shop,” he said, before returning to the counter.
“Bloody poufter ain’t ‘e?”
“Oh, ‘e takes it in the bum, all right,” said Peg. “You can see it in ‘is walk.”
“Well, I best be goin’ then. See you later, luv?”
“Let’s treat ourselves to a nice supper at the Pig ‘n’ Whistle, why don’t we?”
“We’ve certainly earned that small pleasure. See you there.”
The shop door closed behind Mary Poole just as Robert Bailey’s office door swung open. “And who do we have here?” he said.
“My name is Margaret Darling, sir. I’ve come about the position.”
“Just so. Please step into my office Miss Darling. He held the door so she might brush against him as she entered. “Oh, Merton?” he called.
“I know sir,” said the skinny clerk. “You’ll not want to be disturbed.”
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