The Con Artists Graveyard

The housekeeper, Mrs. Warren, led Nicola and Geraldine into the drawing room, a space adorned with opulence and history. "The Vicar will be with you in a minute," Mrs. Warren said with a warm smile, leaving the two women to themselves.

Nicola returned the smile and thanked Mrs. Warren. Geraldine settled into one of the sumptuous overstuffed leather chairs, her eyes taking in the grandeur of the room. Nicola, however, was drawn to the full-glass French doors, which offered a breathtaking view of the Backfields, the Esplanade, and the River Medway.

As she gazed out at the familiar landscape, a mix of emotions washed over her. She had always loved this view, a sight that had brought her both joy and a sense of connection to her late husband, Robert. However, her love for the view was tempered by a deep disappointment. Robert, in his business acumen, had purchased the vicarage, completely refurbished it, and then leased it back to the church for a mere one pound a week. Nicola's eyes narrowed at the thought, her mind drifting back to that fateful night.

She beat him severely that night and locked his cock away for a month. It was one of the very few times Robert hadn't apologized, a testament to his deep-seated emotions and the significance of the church to him.

Later, Robert confided in her, revealing that he had been a choirboy at the church. The church, he said, had been a lifeline for him and his family, providing food, clothes, and even securing a scholarship for him at the prestigious King's School. Nicola, despite her anger, understood the depth of his gratitude and the importance of the church in his life. It was a complex web of emotions and memories that she now navigated, standing in the very room where so much of her past had unfolded. 

Nicola's thoughts were suddenly cut off by the jingle of chains, a sound both familiar and exciting. She turned to see Mrs. Warren bringing in a nearly naked Vicar, his head bowed in submission. The Vicar wore a metal collar with a chain attached, and his wrists were cuffed with a chain between them. He carried a silver tray with tea and sandwiches, his body barely covered by a small frilly apron over his caged genitals.

The Vicar placed the tray on a small table in the center of the room, his movements precise and practiced. "Go greet your guests," Mrs. Warren ordered, tapping his behind with a small stick. The Vicar fell to his knees and crawled toward Nicola, kissing her right foot with a reverence that reflected his training and submission. He then crawled toward Geraldine, repeating the act before returning to his position beside Mrs. Warren.

"Now serve," Mrs. Warren commanded, and the Vicar poured the tea, knowing exactly how each of them liked it. He offered sandwiches, his movements smooth and efficient. Nicola and Geraldine took their drinks and sandwiches without a word of thanks, their silence a testament to the power dynamics at play.

The Vicar, having finished his task, knelt down again beside Mrs. Warren, who was now sitting comfortably in her chair. Geraldine, her eyes shining with amusement, looked first at Mrs. Warren, then at Nicola. The older ladies shared a knowing smile, and Nicola nodded silently, giving a subtle signal of approval.

Geraldine clapped her hands, then clicked her fingers, and the Vicar crawled beside her, his movements swift and obedient. She sat back in the chair, contentedly stroking the Vicar's shaved head, treating him like a pet. "You'll spoil him, you know," Mrs. Warren said playfully, her voice laced with a mix of amusement and pride.

As Nicola watched the scene unfold, she felt a sense of satisfaction. The Vicar, to the outside world, was a figure of authority and respect; here, he was a plaything, a symbol of the power she and Geraldine had. 

As the afternoon progressed, Nicola and Mrs. Warren engaged in a lively discussion about business and charity events, their conversation a mix of strategy and camaraderie. Despite her appearance, Mrs. Warren was a sharp and astute businesswoman, her mind as sharp as a razor. Nicola, aware of this, valued the depth of Mrs. Warren's insights and her ability to handle the complexities of their shared ventures.

Their friendship reflected the unpredictable nature of life. Long ago, Mrs. Warren operated a private BDSM club in London, renowned for its elite clientele and the quirky practice of accepting luncheon vouchers as payment. Over time, she underwent plastic surgery and gained a significant amount of weight, leaving her almost unrecognizable from her previous self.

Nicola, in her youth, had been a runner for a small newspaper in London. It was during this time that she secured an interview with the then-famous Madame Smith, now known as Mrs. Warren. Their connection was instant, and Madame Smith invited Nicola to several private parties, forming a bond that would last for years.

When Nicola needed help in managing and training the Vicar, she naturally turned to her old friend. Now, Mrs. Warren was the one calling the shots, her influence reaching far beyond the vicarage. The Vicar now found himself signing off on decisions made by Mrs. Warren, his role reduced to a mere formality.

However, when it came to church matters, Mrs. Warren typically left those decisions to the Vicar. It was a delicate balance, one that Nicola and Mrs. Warren had perfected over the years. Their friendship, rooted in trust and mutual respect, enabled them to navigate the complexities of their shared world with ease. 

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Stephen and Vicky sat outside the pub at Allington Locks, a peaceful spot on the River Medway, where the occasional pleasure barge navigated the locks, moving up and down the river. The scene was calm, a stark contrast to the plans that occupied their minds. They enjoyed a hearty lunch consisting of beer and a ploughman's—a simple yet satisfying meal for two con artists. The meal included thick bread, cheese, Branston pickle, a pickled onion, and an apple.

Vicky, her eyes scanning the calm waters, broke the silence. "When do you think she will call?" she asked, her voice a mix of curiosity and anticipation. Stephen, taking a sip of his beer, replied, "Who knows? She's a smart woman, so she's probably weighing her options. We gave her until 5 pm tomorrow. Then we'll tighten the screws a bit."

Vicky nodded, her mind already racing with possibilities. "I've got some fake social media clips, Instagram, TikTok, YouTube, that kind of stuff all prepared just in case," she offered, her voice filled with pride in her preparation. Stephen replied, "The way she goes on about her 'holier than thou' husband and his charities, I'm sure she'll do anything to protect that image."

Their conversation was a dance of manipulation and strategy, each word carefully chosen to ensure their plan unfolded as intended. Vicky smiled at Stephen, her eyes sparkling with a mix of love and cunning. Stephen, returning the smile, said, "I love you," his voice soft yet firm. Vicky, her heart warm with affection, replied, "Back at you, handsome," and blew him a kiss, a gesture that spoke volumes of their twisted yet passionate bond.

As they sat there, the river flowing gently beside them, Stephen and Vicky felt confident that their plan was moving forward. They had set everything in motion, and now they just had to wait for Nicola to act. With their fake social media clips and their leverage over her, they believed she would do whatever was necessary to protect her image and secrets. 

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Geraldine, her thoughts drifting as they waited at the corner of Watts Avenue and Maidstone Road for a bus to pass, suddenly spoke up. "I like her," she said casually yet thoughtfully. Nicola, curious, asked, "Who?" Geraldine replied, "Mrs. Warren."

Nicola, a smirk playing on her lips, responded, “Ahh, yes, she's a good one." Her mind was already racing with possibilities. "I might get her to help with our little problem. I'm sure she'll have a blast," she continued, her tone laced with a mix of mischief and strategy.

Geraldine agreed, "That's a good idea. Do you have any idea what your next move will be?" Nicola, already formulating her plan, replied, "I think I'll call them this evening, string them along a bit, let them get a little cocky, and see where it goes."

As they waited for the bus to pass, Nicola's mind wandered to more intimate thoughts. She turned to Geraldine, her eyes shining with desire. "Do you still have that cute little waitress outfit you wore last night?" she asked, her voice low and suggestive.

Geraldine, with a playful smile on her lips, replied, "Yes, why?" Nicola, her hand already moving to Geraldine's thigh, said, "Maybe you could wear it later, with a nice pair of stockings and heels." Her touch was firm, her intent clear.

Geraldine, her eyes meeting Nicola's, teased, “Mrs. Woods, are you trying to seduce me?"

Nicola, her voice tinged with desire, replied, "You know it," her hand climbing higher on Geraldine's thigh, a promise of the pleasures to come.

As they finally turned onto Maidstone Road, the promise of their evening ahead was a tantalizing distraction from the schemes and manipulations that occupied their minds.