Stranger in Town
By
Skinnie Stallion
Madame Dark abandoned her hire car off the road on a lane on the edge of town. She'd worn her leather gloves so there'd be no prints. She had considered one of the estate's little cul-de-sacs where there were unlikely to be any cameras, but still best to avoid the twitching curtains and prying eyes. She needed this to be discreet: discreet but memorable. The residents would remember seeing a stranger walking through the village, but they'd be distracted. Distracted by her appearance. Distracted by the sight of someone wearing a black leather trenchcoat, black leather fedora and over-the-knee black platform boots on one of the hottest days of this dire English summer. Distracted by her nerdy glasses. Silently she wondered whether reflector shades would have completed and enhanced her ensemble and made her even more memorable, and less recognisable.
Less recognisable at least to the locals. Madame Dark looked on them with disdain as she passed them in the streets. Dumpy gossiping old women with no fashion sense. But at least it was better than that village where Lady Jane lived. That had been worse. ‘Stupid yokels,’ Madame Dark had thought as she drove through. How could someone as sophisticated as Lady Jane live in such a backward place? Maybe backward herself: maybe sophisticated in appearance but feeble in the management of her boy. That boy needed much firmer discipline. Taking in hand by a proper mistress, not some weak willed sham Auntie.
Living in that village was never going to improve Lady Jane nor her boy. Madame Dark had driven past the church: dull. Strawberry Lane: insipid. Past the pub, The Fullerton Arms: only someone as vain as Jane would have the pub named after her. Nothing exciting would happen there: it’d be full of boozy men getting pickled on cider. And the houses: The Grange, Snowdrop Cottage! So twee. Even the shops had silly precious names: The Hothouse, The Doll’s House. Such insipid names for what she took to be the florist and the toy shop, though surprising that a small village could support such emporia. They must get a lot of passing trade. Rough trade.
The town was somewhat better. She passed ‘The Feathers’, a reasonable looking pub. She was pleasantly surprised to see a branch of B&K in Lanes. No wonder the Sisterhood was planning to locate a branch of B⚥Y? here, the market would already be developed.
Now she just needed to find Lady Jane's car. Her assistant had said she normally parked in the Little Waitrose while she and the boy had their nails and hair done on Friday mornings. So typical of Jane to go with her boy to the salon. Fine to have him primped and made-up. One as pretty as Andy should be kept that way: permanently. But going together implied some sense of equality. Even The Sisterhood wouldn't support that. Given the space Jane had at Fullerton Hall and her money, she should get someone round to do the necessary maintenance on him. She could surely have something set-up in one of the outbuildings on the estate where he could be prettified. It was such a shame that Lady Jane had resisted all those little enhancements to his feminisation when he'd stayed with her Knightley Towers. Permanent enhancements. Still, all that was going to change. 
But there was an upside to her salon arrangement. With Lady Jane and Andy together, she could kill, or at least capture, two birds with one stone. It was so helpful that Lady Jane was a creature of habit. Friday: Park at Little Waitrose at 10:10. Salon appointment from 10:15 to 11:45 . Drive to the Feathers for lunch. Afternoon with her maid before night out with her girlfriend.
“Know where you’re going, dearie?” asked a voice behind her. Madame Dark continued walking, purposefully oblivious to her surroundings. “You’re not from round ‘ere, are you?” Madame Dark realised that person trying to speak to her was going to be persistent. She turned to face her inquisitor, an elderly woman in a shapeless beige coat. “Meeting someone?”
Madame Dark looked at the woman with disdain. “Yes, later.”
“Who’s that then?” enquired the woman.
“Lady Jane Fullerton-Jones, if you must know,” sneered Madame Dark. It might be foolish to use a real name, but it seemed unlikely that such a shabby woman would be acquainted with nobility.
“She’s up at Fullerton Hall,” said the woman to Madame Dark’s surprise. “You wants to go back the way you came and follow signs to the village.”
“It’s all right, I know where I’m going.”
“Where’s that then?”
Madame Dark plucked a name at random of a house that she’d passed: “Strawberry Cottage.”
“Ooh, that’s back the way you came too.”
“I know. I’m early.”
“What you doing here? Selling insurance? Financial advice?” The woman looked Madame Dark up and down. “Personal services?” .
“That’s my business,” said Madame Dark cryptically and strode onwards down the street. She knew the locals were looking at her as she walked away. They could look all they liked provided they didn't get in her way. They also didn't need to know that she was naked underneath her trench. Naked except for a leather harness bra and a leather harness thong. 
Behind her on the street, other ladies gathered round Mrs Tanner. “Who wuz that?” asked Mrs Edgely.
“I dunno ‘er name,” replied Mrs Tanner. “She said she was a friend of Jane’s. She needed directions to Summer Cottage.”
“Oooh, that Jane. She’s a one, ain’t she? ’As she still got that young man staying with her. Her nephew, as she calls him,” added Mrs Edgely.
“Wot, the one wot works in that B&K at weekends? The pretty one?” interjected Mrs Parsons.
“Yes. He’s a lovely boy,” sighed Mrs Edgely. “Keeps her young, I reckon. That there lady dresses a bit like Jane, don’t ya think?”
“Sour faced cow, if you ask me,” grumbled Mrs Tanner. “I used to clean at Fullerton Hall in when the Baroness lived there, and I can’t see ’er being a friend of young Jane despite what she says. Do you think we should tell Jane she’s a-looking for ’er?”
Madame Dark strolled into the Waitrose car park at precisely 11:35. There was Jane's BMW. She pressed the button on her fob. The lights flashed on the BMW. Her assistant had done a good job capturing the signal and encoding the fob. She'd have to give Juliette a reward when she got back to the Dark Villa, maybe a little time with Andy would be nice. Madame Dark could see to Andy later; her first priority would be Lady Jane. That lady needed taking down a peg or two, and she had just the peg in mind: ten inches by two and a half should do the trick, and a nice gag for the bitch's muffled moans. She smiled at the thought. It was going to be convenient being ready dressed for Lady Jane: all she'd need to do was take off her trench and strap on.
She slipped the briefcase under the driver's seat, then went to browse in the Waitrose while observing the car park and the BMW through the plate glass window. She'd trigger the gas canisters to release when Jane and Andy were in the car and the doors closed. Then she'd stroll across, help Jane out of the driver's seat and into the back, then drive away. Two swift jabs with the syringes of ketamine would keep her passengers quiet and ensure they remembered nothing of their journey. They'd wake up in the headquarters of The Dark Institute to a new life of servitude. Servitude to her. Servitude and obedience. Servitude, sex and obedience.
Roll on 11:45.
And as if on cue, her quarry appeared. Holding hands! Pathetic! Smiling! Ridiculous! Laughing! Embarrasing. You’d almost think they were equals. You'd almost think they were lovers. Madame Dark knew she’d been right to part company with The Sisterhood. If they allowed new members like Lady Jane to besport herself in public with her sissy like this, it brought the whole system into disrepute. Madame Dark would remain loyal to the true path for a Mistress. The Dark Villa would be her house of correction. That boy did look pretty though.
