Shake Down on Sacker Street

Note: Submitted for the 2020 Nude Day contest. All Characters are 18 years of age or older.

*

Yvonne smoothed down her elegant, electric blue dress and sucked in her tummy.

"Still got it, girl," she said to her reflection.

Taking another deep breath, Yvonne attempted to calm her nerves. Today was a big day. Her small catering company had been hired for a prestigious event, 'Women at The Top'. The city's movers and shakers would be there, and all were women. Make a good impression and doors would open.

"You've worked hard, girl," she told herself. Forty-Two, trim figure, shoulder-length dark hair, divorced from a jackass of a husband, a beautiful daughter and a thriving business she had built from tea cakes, crumpets and scones.

Her phone pinged. 'We are here and ready to set up, Ms Summer'. It was Anne, the company's no. 2 and its main chef. 'Down soon', she messaged back. Yvonne had booked a room at the Sacker Street Hotel where the event was being held.

"Go wow them, girl!" Pep talk delivered she headed for the main reception hall.

Anne was busy with her small team, prepping the nibbles and fancies for the guests. Yvonne checked over the arrangements and some of the dishes

"We need some more of the smoked ham and lentil terrine with briôche and port reduction, and can we tidy up the beef carpaccio with feta fritters and sun-dried tomatoes? Oh and make sure we dress the seared scallops with cauliflower purée and black pudding beignet and highlight our speciality, the dressed crab with pickled beetroot salad and sourdough crisps." Yvonne rapped out instructions, and the catering staff scurried around to do her bidding.

Yvonne turned her critical eye on the temporary waitress staff she had been obliged to hire for the occasion. "And smarten up those outfits, I want elegant, not stripper," she said sharply.

The waitresses looked at each other and shrugged. "Yes, Ms Summers," said Cara, who seemed to be the unofficial leader of the group.

Anne put her hand on Yvonne. "Why don't you mingle with the guests while we finish up and start bringing the food out?" She suggested.

Flustered, Yvonne grabbed Anne back "Yes I'm sorry, nerves," she giggled then hiccuped. "God, I'm in a right state!"

"Try a dressed crab, new supplier, meant to be the best," said Anne reassuringly. "It will go really well with the champers."

Yvonne smiled weakly and popped the speciality into her mouth. It was divine, the taste sweeping away her nerves.

Drink in hand, Yvonne stepped into the main banqueting room and fixed a smile to her face. A handsome blonde woman in her fifties gave her a quick embrace.

"Lovely to see you, Yvonne, you have done wonders with your catering company and your daughter has been tirelessly promoting your food," said Mary Cummings.

Yvonne caught her daughter's eye in the crowd, and they signalled their affection for each other. Forrist Summers shared her mother's dark complexion and wavy black hair and was doing her best to charm the older women around her.

The chit chat amongst the women was light, friendly and more inclined to salacious gossip than the businesses and industries in which they excelled. This lunch was a reward for hard work, and everyone wanted to enjoy themselves.

Circulating freely, Yvonne matched her daughter's charm until a brief announcement of 'Lunch is served' was made followed by enticing aromas as the waitresses brought through trays of food. Yvonne had opted for grand entrance over laying out the food beforehand. It was more dramatic and kept the food fresh.

The expectant buzz and delight as the high powered guests tucked into the fare was music to Yvonne's ears.

Mary Cummings caught her eye and smiled, waving a smoked salmon delicacy as she did so. Yvonne raised her glass in acknowledgement, ignoring the sudden sharp pain in her tummy. Nerves, she thought.

One of the waitresses, Ingrid, was looking at her, a slight smile on her face. Frowning Yvonne rubbed her tummy and was about to tell the waitress to keep bringing the food when an even sharper pain and an ominous rumble became the harbinger of a more serious problem.

"Oh, no," she gasped and hurried to the restroom. Pulling frantically at her dress, she got to the cubicle, but already knew she was a fraction too late.

With a sigh of relief, she plumped herself down on the pan and let go. It wasn't pretty, nor was it silent. Embarrassed Yvonne prayed that no one else would come in.

She groaned as she examined her panties. They hadn't come through unscathed, even her lovely new dress was stained. Thinking quickly, Yvonne remembered there was a baby changing facility at the back of the restroom.

Flushing the evidence away, she gathered her panties in a wad of tissue and dived out of the cubicle and into the changing facility. Stripping off her dress she began rinsing it out, hoping to shift the stains. It was only partly successful. Damn, she thought bitterly. Absorbed as she was by her predicament, the screams and yells from the banqueting hall barely registered. The crashing sound from the restroom and sudden banging on the changing facilities door jolted her into full awareness.

"Fuck's sake, open this door!" A less than lady-like voice could be heard in between the banging.

What? A sudden chill hit Yvonne. It wasn't only her! And then the inescapable conclusion hit her. The food! Her food! A cold numbness swept over her, colour draining from her face. She had given everyone food poisoning. But how? And so quickly?

Yvonne put on her sponged dress and ditched her panties. Steeling herself, she opened the door. It was carnage. An elderly silver-haired woman in her fifties, with her elegant black dress hitched around her hips, glared at her.

"Too fucking late!" And then she and Yvonne were roughly pushed aside by a black woman.

"Coming through!" The black woman yelled. She didn't bother closing the door, just sat down and shuddered with relief. "Oh god, that feels good."

The silver-haired woman, 'Janice' according to her name tag, sank to the floor and sat in her own filth, sobbing.

Yvonne stepped over her gingerly and saw all the cubicles were occupied, with several women banging on the doors in desperation. Others had sunk to the floor, it was a sea of poop streaked limbs and despairing women.

"This is your fucking fault!" An angry Mary Cummings said from her seat in the sink, her legs dangling down, and neatly coiffured hair flopping over her sweat drenched face.

Yvonne instinctively covered her nose and mouth as Mary continued defecating in the sink.

"It was the smoked salmon," Mary snapped.

The woman next to her, Alice Decker, shook her head. "No, it was the dressed crab!"

"It was the beef," moaned Isabella Bacas. She was squatting over the wastebasket, which for once was living up to its name.

Puzzlement creased Yvonne's brow "That's not possible," she blurted out. One dish maybe, but all of them? And to act that fast?

Keeping her face covered, Yvonne walked out into the hallway.

"Please!" It was Mary Soames, the CEO of Plush Inc, manufacturer of luxury toiletries and bath products.

Embarrassed, Yvonne helped the half-naked woman out of the large plant holder stand and steered her toward the men's restroom. Mary suddenly gripped her arm and dived into another plant holder.

"I'm so sorry," she gasped as a rasping retort sprayed the unfortunate Banana plant.

Yvonne smiled weakly, not sure where to look.

Mary used some unsullied foliage to try and clean herself but soon gave up. Her clothes were badly soiled, and Yvonne reluctantly helped Mary out of her dress and panties.

"Thank you, dear," said Mary, who waved Yvonne away as she slumped to the floor. "Please go and help some other poor unfortunates."

Gratefully, Yvonne headed into the men's facilities and found others with the same idea. Five women had jammed themselves into the urinals, one of whom was her daughter, Forrist. Her face was sallow as she looked up in embarrassment and saw her mother.

"Mum," she croaked while letting out a spasmodic splurt. "Oh, mum," she groaned again.

Yvonne made her way carefully around an expanding pool of mess escaping from Belinda Hawkins, and hurried over to her daughter, momentarily gagging on the smell.

"Darling!" she exclaimed. "Are you okay?"

Exasperation creased Clare's face. "Well, of course, I'm not fucking okay, I've got my ass wedged in a men's urinal for god's sake," she stopped, guilty at having sworn at her mother.

"I'm going to sue you for this!" Cheryl Forster snarled as Yvonne flapped around her daughter. Cheryl was stuck in the urinal next to Forrist. The other women on urinal row echoed Mary, in between bouts of gaseous splurging.

Yvonne turned on them. "It's nonsense!" she snapped. "There is no way my food could have done this. You didn't all eat the same thing, and it happened far too quickly. Somethings not right."

"Somethings not right!" shrieked Agnes Waters, the CEO of Delicate Pottery, half rising out of the urinal in fury before hastily jamming herself back in as poop cascaded down her legs. She moaned in distress, embarrassment dissipating her anger.

"No, mum is right. This isn't normal," insisted Forrist.

No sooner had she uttered the words, then the door crashed open and in walked the waitress, Cara, a bandana around her lower face.

"Cara, thank god you are okay, we need help and we have to call for medical assistance," said Yvonne.

"Medics are on their way, and the hotel manager, Pierre, has locked us in. We told him it could be infectious, plus he didn't want you lot stinking out the rest of his hotel," her tone was cold.

"There is no need to be like that young lady!" Yvonne looked down at the baton Cara produced, which was prodding into her chest.

"Shut the fuck up, and the rest of you out!" Cara banged the baton on the tiles which produced another round of explosive, anal ordinance from the stricken ladies. "Come on my shit afflicted lovelies. Out! NOW!"

Yvonne heard other voices yelling in the corridor outside, one she recognised as Ingrid, screaming in German, "Raus! Raus!"

Helping Forrist and Agnes out of the urinals, they made their way out of the men's restroom.

In the corridor, the rest of the waitresses were also wearing colourful bandanas and waving menacing batons as they corralled the bedraggled, half-naked women back to the main banqueting room.

"Ms Summer!" A voice cried. It was from Anne. She was squatting over one of her giant pans. Several women were doing the same with other utensils. Anne had been pragmatic with her assistance.

"Anne!" Yvonne cried out in return. She propped up Agnes with her daughter and rushed over. "Are you okay?" She must stop saying that Yvonne thought, annoyed with herself.

One of the waitresses, a black girl with a London accent half blocked her.

"Where do you think you are going, sweetheart?" The girl said roughly.

"To help my friend!" snapped Yvonne.

The girl, Beth, turned to look at Anne. "She seems fine to me. Although I wouldn't use that pan for cooking again!" She added, laughing.

"I don't care what, oww!" Yvonne rubbed her sternum where the baton had prodded her hard.

"You had better start caring, now shut the fuck up and stand over there with the others. And get the rest of these pathetic, pooping puppies off their potty pans!" Beth barked at her crew.

Two of the waitresses rushed over and started pulling Anne and the other two women off the pans. There were shrieks and protests as they tried to take the pans with them, but several raps with the batons dissuaded them.

Anne, wincing and holding her stomach, moved next to Yvonne. "It wasn't the food, Ms Summers," she said anxiously. "I only had a few bites to check the taste, and a glass of champers to celebrate when the first batch was sent out."

Realisation dawned on Yvonne. Of course, it was the drink! She had taken a few sips herself without even thinking about it. If the drink was spiked, that would explain why everyone was afflicted so quickly.

"Okay ladies!" Ingrid yelled. "First let's have all your jewellery."

There was resentful muttering from the ladies as two of the girls walked up the line carrying plastic bags.

Yvonne noticed their discarded handbags, clutch purses and phones had been stacked on one of the tables.

"Its a heist!" Yvonne whispered.

Forrist looked at her mother and nodded unhappily.

"I see we have some dissenters," grinned Ingrid. Her bandana was pulled down. She turned and shouted: "Bring out the hoses!"

Two girls came from the restrooms, unreeling a hose each, which they passed to Beth and Cara.

"You ladies seem to need a washdown, so I suggest you take off those shit stained garments and let us start cleaning you up."

The waitresses tittered at this. Beth and Cara pointed the hoses at the women menacingly.

Reluctantly some of the women, Yvonne included, began stripping off their dresses. Underwear had already disappeared in most cases, so it wasn't long before most were naked, joining the rest who had long abandoned their soiled clothes.

"No!" It was from Mary Cummings. Isabelle Baca nodded sullen agreement. "I'll see you rot in jail first," a jet of cold water cut Mary off. Shrieking, she put her hands up but to no avail. Isabelle got caught in the wash and began to hastily strip. Alice Decker followed suit. All fight extinguished.

Ingrid walked down the line of naked, sullen women, smacking her baton into the palm of her left hand. She stopped by Janice Warne, head of publishing for TechTalk. Using the baton she trailed it over the older woman's breasts and down to her tummy. Sniffing, Ingrid rolled her eyes in exaggerated disgust.

"The stink is awful with this one. Hose her down."

"Yes, Boss," said Cara, a malicious gleam in her eye.

"Please, no!" Janice gasped. "I have money," she added in a wheedling tone.

Ingrid paused and said: "I know." She nodded to Cara who turned on the hose, aiming at Janice's exposed rear. There was a shrill cry as Janice tried to shield herself.

"Enough!" Ingrid ordered.

Reluctantly Cara turned off the hose. Beth turned to her and gave her a fist bump.

"You see the table over there? With all the phones on it?" said Ingrid.

Miserably, Janice nodded.

"Do you have access to your bank account on your phone?" Ingrid continued in a reasonable tone as if she was asking for directions.

Janice nodded again.

"Well?" said Ingrid.

"Do, do you want me to get it?" Janice mumbled.

"Ja, I want you to get it!" Ingrid screamed.

Janice half yelled in fright and ran to get her phone. The girls directing rude comments at the plump blonde as she wobbled past them, naked boobs and bum jiggling.

"Scheisse!" Ingrid muttered as a trembling Janice held out her phone. "Access your account and transfer $25,000 to this account," instructed Ingrid, holding out her screen.

"I, I can only do a maximum of $10,000," stuttered Janice.

"Hose!" Ingrid barked.

"No, wait I can do it!" Janice shrieked.

"I know," said Ingrid, "we have done our homework."

"It's there, Boss," the waitress at one of the tables working on a laptop said after a few minutes.

"Danke, Alice." Turning to Janice, Ingrid said softly: "Were you attempting to deceive me?"

"No, I, I just forgot," burbled Janice, pawing at Ingrid's arm. "Please not, not the,"

"Turn on the hoses!" Ingrid screamed, moving smartly to one side.

"Yes, Boss!" Beth and Cara turned them full onto Janice who danced around trying to avoid the jets of water that were trained first on her naked ass and then her boobs as she twisted and turned.

Ingrid signalled a halt.

"You smell better now, ja?"

Sobbing, Janice just nodded.

"Back in line," ordered Ingrid.

The other naked women closed ranks around Janice. Claire Peters of Luxury Holidays put her arm consolingly around the drenched woman.

Some of the women caught Ingrid's eye and moved to get their phones on her command. The same ritual followed. The girl on the laptop was getting excited. She was a thin girl, still in her late teens.

"$225,000!" Alice yelled, then fell silent when a more senior girl gave her a smack around the back of her head.

Yvonne watched the dynamics play out. Laptop girl, Alice, had been very nervous she remembered. Beth and Cara, good, but snotty. Head smacker, a big girl, Jane, had barely said a word. The rest hadn't stood out much. Ingrid had been very polite, even subservient. A far cry from the blonde Valkyrie striding up and down the line of holdouts. Those that had paid the ransom had formed their own resentful huddle.

"So not worried about the hoses, ja?"

Mary shrugged. "I'm already wet," she pointed out, her nerve restored at the prospect of losing $25k.

"And I could do with a wash," added Isabella.

Ingrid nodded and stopped in front of Yvonne. "And you?"

Yvonne crossed her arms over her naked boobs. "Reckon I can take it," she said defiantly.

"Ach, ja, I have no doubt," Ingrid turned to Forriest. "And who is this pretty, young thing?"

"You can go fuck yourself," said Forrist, turning to look at Beth, holding the hose. Her young breasts quivering with outrage.

Ingrid smiled a cruel smile. "Or I could fuck you instead, ja?" she hefted her baton, her intent clear.

"Hold on a minute!" Yvonne protested in alarm.

"Ah, Mutti is concerned. That is so sweet." Ingrid speared Yvonne with a questioning look.

"I'll do it. I'll get you your blood money," said Yvonne, tight lipped.

"Surely it's 'paying the Dane Geld', nein?" Ingrid said, putting her arm around Forrist and kissing the young girl's nose. "So pretty, so stinky."

"Leave her alone!" snapped Yvonne. She strode over and fetched her phone. It only took a few minutes for the transfer to go through.

"See everyone is happy now," said Ingrid, releasing Forrist who went to her mother.

Clara Dicks, the black woman who had pushed Yvonne aside earlier, stood alongside Mary, Isabelle and three others. Clara, who ran and owned an upmarket security firm, scowled at Ingrid.

"So we have eight left. Beth if you please," said Ingrid.

Beth stepped forward and began recording the naked women on her phone.

"Hoses no, pretty little daughters to protect, no, but reputations, ah those you do value. We have clips of you pooping onto plates, into plant pots and even into your panties and here you are now, naked and smeared in scheisse."

Clara looked uneasy, Mary tried to cover herself to no avail. Betty Borrows, a haughty woman in her fifties, and chairwoman of 'Women on Top', broke ranks and went to fetch her phone.

"You will delete the videos, yes?" Betty asked anxiously.

Ingrid shrugged and turned to Clara, calculating that if this woman broke, they all would. She went for a different approach.

"You should think of us as benefactors. You can recoup your losses on your insurance. The police will have fun putting their training and latest toys to good use in trying to track us down, and we will spend our ill-gotten gains in some tourist hotspot bringing happiness to local businesses and boosting the economy. The media get to report an exciting crime, and millions are entertained. We should be thanked, ja?"

Clara listened stone-faced.

"But the one thing you ladies do not want is these clips being put online for gentlemen who like their ladies decorated in shit. How will you feel negotiating that next big contract, knowing that the people opposite are picturing you naked and shitty? Is 'smearing' your reputations worth $25,000?"

Yvonne watched as various emotions played out on Clara's face.

"There is still the press, the publicity," pointed out Clara.

Ingrid smiled. "Maybe not."

"Go on," said Clara, interested despite her reservations.