The spy who came into the Pavilion plus Wednesday round up

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Hi Everyone

  Sorry, this is a bit of a short midweek round up, Wednesday has caught me on the hop, plus my computer is giving all sorts of problems again "Grrrrrr!!!!!", but never fear we have the important bit which is the next chapter of Mistress LeatherBeths awesome story, plus a few other bits an bobs.

Firstly another lost audition, in which Andy tried out for the role of  Princess Tamina in the film Price of Persia. The role went to the gorgeous Gemma Arterten  

As my machine is playing up, it might be appropriate to do a classic clip show and re-run some old captions, some might have over looked.

Hey! if is works for the BBC it will work for us.

Then how about I let you do some work and let us see if these inspire ideas in your naughty minds in the same way they do me

By the way, Yes that is a boy!!!!!!

So now the main event, I place you in the hands of Mistress LeatherBeth

XXX

http://smoothslicknshiny.blogspot.com/2021/05/wednesday-fun-starring-spy-who-came.html

The Spy Who Came Into the Pavilion 

By Mistres LeatherBeth

Chapter 6

Yevgeny regained consciousness again and discovered that he was lying in a ditch at the side of a lane. He slowly scrambled to his feet and looked around. And there, a couple of hundred metres away, in the field into which the lane faded, was the Civic. As he stumbled toward it, he tried to piece together what had happened. He checked his phone and it was almost one thirty pm, so he had nearly four hours to account for. 

The last thing he remembered was getting out of the car to stretch his legs. He’d heard a faint sound behind him, but before he could turn to see who it was, there had been a sharp prick in his thigh. Within seconds nausea had become unconsciousness. Now here he was, seemingly in the same village. Whichever FSB operative had incapacitated him had not thought it necessary to kill him, for which he was obviously grateful. Part of him just wanted to get as far as possible from here. But he was as greedy as most of the human race. He knew the potential profits to be made from the game he’d got mixed up in and was loath to quit just yet.

The long spell of warm weather had made the lane hard and bumpy, and progress was slow for someone in Yevgeny’s condition, so he had plenty of time to hear the sounds coming from the other side of the hedge. He peered through a gap and saw a group of locals performing one of their ancient rituals, the one which he believed was called крикет, apparently pronounced ‘krkyet’. Really, if they had to have these ridiculous observances, why did they not just delegate such tasks to their peasantry?

He was about to turn away and retrieve the Civic, when he suddenly did a double take. Was that Mr Cooper, wearing a white coat and straw hat, who appeared to be undertaking the function of a dancing master to the proceedings in the field? Yevgeny began to think. He’d never actually met Mr Cooper, only seen a photo of him, so he wouldn’t be recognised. Maybe all was not lost. Maybe he needn’t flee the village. Maybe he could rescue some profit from this exercise. Maybe he could at least get himself a vodka while he got some of the stiffness out of his neck and planned his next move. He squeezed through the gap and, keeping close to the hedge, began to circle the field.

“Andy, I’m sorry I’ve been delayed,” cried Jane, as she briskly but gracefully mounted to the front of the Pavilion via the side steps. All heads turned as she made her entrance. It was a close run thing between the length of her shorts and the height of the heels on her ankle boots, both measuring about 16cm, and once again Andy marvelled at his Aunt’s unique style. If Jane thought an outfit looked good, she wore it, and such was her confidence that no one would ever think to disagree. She’d paired the shorts with a blouse which on anyone else would have been considered two sizes too small; Jane had obviously decided that the this was not bra weather, and the metallic silver material clung. Anyone wanting a definition of the word ‘cling’ would simply need to have observed Jane that afternoon.

“I’ve not missed anything, have I?”, she asked.

“Just the toss,” said Andy. “Derrington won and put us in, so Will will be batting first wicket down.”

Jane turned her attention to Kerry. “Hello,” she said. Andy could see that Kerry was reeling slightly from Jane’s entrance and style, and helped out by making the introductions.

“Aunt Jane, this is Kerry, Mr Cooper’s PA. Kerry, this is my Aunt Jane.”

“Your Aunt?” gulped Kerry, and then recovered.

He said, “Hello, pleased to meet you. Andy has told me a little bit about you. Could I get you a drink?”

“I’ll go,” said Jane. “They never get my Pimm’s just as I like it unless I keep an eye on them. Do you two want top ups? By the way, Kerry, dear, I love your shoes,” she said over her shoulder as she vanished into the Pavilion.

“That’s your aunt?” gulped Kerry, her expression a wide eyed mix of confusion and amazement.

“Yes, why?”

“it’s just that, well, when you said aunt, I pictured someone middle aged, or even an older lady. And your Aunt Jane doesn’t fit either of those descriptions.”

“Hardly!” said Andy, smiling. “We’re not actually related. She’s a family friend, but I’ve called her Aunt since I was little.”

“And she always dresses like that?”

“She dresses exactly how she wants to dress. Her own taste is all that matters.”

“She looks like the ideal person to help bring out the girl inside. You’re happy with that?” asked Kerry.

“I am now,” said Andy. “In the beginning it was terribly embarrassing, but Aunt Jane knew best. And now I have Will, and I couldn’t be happier. How long have you been Kerry?”

“Well, I told Mum when I was 15, but, looking back, Kerry had been just below the surface since forever.”

“And your Mum was OK with that?”

“She’s the most open minded person you could imagine,” said Kerry.

Their conversation was interrupted by the appearance of George Cooper and Matt Crawford, striding out into the middle, closely followed by the Derrington team, who went into a huddle halfway to the square.

A few seconds later the opening batsmen, Alice Aldridge and Darren Swift, appeared, and made their way to the middle, swinging their bats in a 360° arc and stretching them above their heads in the time honoured manner. Alice remained at the wicket at the Pavilion End, whilst Darren went on and took middle and off at the Grange End, ready to receive the first delivery. Chris Mills set an attacking field; three slips, a gully and a backward short leg, together with third man, extra cover, mid on and deep square leg. George Cooper lowered his arm, and Chris Mills came in off his long run up. Game on!

Olga’s plans were undergoing a rethink. In her mind she’d got everything set up. Cooper and the pretty boy should by now have been wetting themselves at the thought of what they’d let themselves in for. Yet they were looking untroubled. Certainly, if they’d been at all worried they’d hardly have been spending time at the cricket.

It was plain that George Cooper would be otherwise engaged for some time, and she doubted that she could isolate Haskins in the short term either. Best just to recline the seat in the Audi (parked in the shade of the trees overhanging the nets) and wait.

It’s generally agreed that bowlers don’t usually make the best captains; they over bowl themselves, for one thing. But Chris Mills considered himself an all rounder, so he thought that the accepted wisdom didn’t apply to him, and his ego was able to explain away his barely adequate stats. So it was a surprise to almost all present when his first delivery pitched just back of a length an inch outside off, reared, took the inside edge of the bat, and Darren played onto his leg stump for a duck, a golden duck. Zero for one after one ball. Cries of “unlucky, Daz” accompanied him as he trudged up the steps and back into the Pavilion.

Darren Swift, b Mills 0 (0/1)

Will was still adjusting his gloves as he crossed with Darren and clattered down the Pavilion steps, to be greeted by a smirking Chris Mills.

“Scraping the bottom of the barrel already, aren’t we? A schoolboy and a woman vicar? We’ll have this this game won inside an hour.”

Aha, thought Will. You want to sledge, do you? OK, then. He replied, “You might need to do that if you don’t want a couple of your team missing their bedtime,” said Will, nodding towards a couple of lads who were probably no more than fifteen, and looked younger. Budgie had made it clear that one of the reasons why Derrington were so unpopular was their objection to female players when they had been admitted by the League a few years earlier, and Chris Mills had been the leader of their opposition.

Will took middle stump, and Mills charged in again. This time, however, he overstepped by several inches. Will had anticipated this, and swept the resulting long hop through the unoccupied long leg area for four, taking the score up to 6 (including the two extras for the no ball).

And so the match settled down. Derrington’s other opening bowler was more accurate and consistent, but of no great pace, and Will and Alice began to put together a useful second wicket partnership.

Olga stiffened as agent TB12 hobbled into view down the side of the Pavilion before joining the Haskins party. She really needed to know how the Bulgarians were involved, so she quietly but swiftly stepped out of the Audi. Carefully moving from one patch of shadow to the next she approached the Pavilion’s kitchen door, which had not been locked the last time that a bag of rubbish had been put out. In her dark charcoal calfskin boiler suit she was barely visible outside direct sunlight. The kitchen contained only two people, both with their backs to her as they prepared tea. They were listening to ‘Haslemere FM’ (“Serious hip hop for South West Surrey”). Unknown to them, Olga tiptoed through the other door and turned right towards the Pavilion’s front door, from where she could eavesdrop on TB12 and the others. And the first words she heard were from Kerry, “…and at that very moment, the Hummingbird went off on a ten setting, and I nearly had a heart attack!”

Hummingbird, thought Olga. The code name for some type of secret weapon, maybe? But everyone seemed to find the reference hilarious. Everyone, that is, except Agent TB12. He was such a master of deviousness, thought Olga, with his expression of total and utter confusion and bewilderment, plain in spite of the Ray Bans.

TB12 maintained his silence, and Olga realised that she was unlikely to pick up anything worthwhile. He and Haskins would be unwilling to discuss business in front of their companions. Olga studied both of these. “Я бы никого из них не выбил из постели”, she thought. (‘I wouldn’t kick either of them out of bed’). Both had lots going from them. The younger was edibly cute, not very experienced, perhaps, but with a sultry vibe. Meanwhile the elder exuded style and hot sex from every pore. Maybe, she thought as she made her way back to the Audi, when she and Cooper had concluded their business, Olga just might ask to be introduced.