Corrupt the Midwife

BY : JayDee
Category: -Misc TV Shows > FemSlash - Female/Female
Dragon prints: 1994
Disclaimer: I do not own Call the Midwife or any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Corrupt the Midwife
Description: A shop in an unfamiliar street loans new cyclist Chummy a special bike that is a little too exciting to ride, and begins to affect her thoughts about the other midwives, leading to carnal waking dreams.

Content Codes (Part 1): ChallengeFic CR OC Solo

Disclaimer: I do not own Call the Midwife or any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Part 1: The Pawnshop

“I rather think I’ve taken a wrong turning.”

She’d meant to go down the main highway, but there had been rather a lot of association football fans engaged in a frank exchange of views. Now, lovely old buildings, quiet shops, the street must have been missed by the rotten old Luftwaffe. Almost like stepping back a century. Poplar went back a long way. Peering through her glasses, she looked around for the street name, high on the wall. It was grubby and part obscured but seemed to read Dis Street.

“Diss, surely? Norfolk town. Won’t be Dis, Divina Commedia and all that.”

“Sure, don’t they say talking to yourself is a sign of madness?”

She turned around to see a woman leaning in the doorway of a shop. She sounded Irish, wore a plain dark dress with a frankly too short skirt for 1957, well polished black boots, black hair, bright eyes with a lot of intelligence in them. Above her head the ancient sign of three orbs proclaimed a pawnbrokers; one of oldest professions, to be sure. A smaller sign proclaimed “Things bought, Things sold”. Chummy took it all in before coloring slightly to be caught speaking aloud to herself. She’d had quite her fill of girls mocking her at the school and the hospital. At least the midwives of Nonnatus House seemed a decent sort of people. Mostly.

“Ahh, yes. Quite right. I, uh-“

“I think ye might be only one I see out of Nonnatus not on two wheels.”

Frightfully forward, this girl. Chummy assumed she’d been recognized from her uniform, or possibly in the company of the others. She was very tall for a woman in the East End after all; only natural to be spotted, really. Chummy hadn’t seen the Irishwoman around, she thought, but there was little reason why she would. She straightened her self-modified uniform and frowned. It was a bit of an odd comment really.

“Yes, that’s me. Beastly things, velocipedes, but one will master it before the year’s out. I say, would you mind awfully pointing the way to Nonnatus House from here?”

“Aye, straight on all the way down, take the left hand path, and then back on the highway. Here, I’ve got something you can borrow to get ye there faster. Local inventor fella pawned it, won’t be back for at least a week. Claims it’s so perfectly balanced anybody can ride it as long as they sit firm. Get your confidence up on it, sure ye will. Just bring it back by Friday.”

She bustled back into the shop before Chummy could protest, assuming she was about to be touched for money she couldn’t spare, and emerged leading something that had much the same basic design as a bike and yet… different. Sleeker. Saddle seemed the wrong shape. Painted a sort of… indigo?

“Oh, thank you, you really are too kind Miss, uh…”

“Shannon. Dubheasa Shannon.”

“Du… I say, would there be an anglicized version?”

“Would there buggery,” she began, seeming to Chummy to become rather irate, before immediately softening, “oh, forgive my French. Please, Miss Shannon or even just ‘that Shannon girl’ is fine. I’m just a shopgirl, sure I am.”

“We all have our roles in God’s creation. Now, everyone calls me Chummy. Midwife, oh, yes, you knew that. Ah… Well, very decent of you to offer but one really couldn’t impose. Anyway, Lovely to talk to you… just straight down here you said? Well, best-”

“Oh, don’t be such an ingrate there Miss Chummy. Let me do ye a favor, for all that ye are. Get to putting your leg over this machine and give her a whirl. Cross me heart, I’m not asking for money, nor even a receipt. I know where it is that ye live, after all.”

No stranger to suddenly feeling awkward, it seemed the easiest option was to humor the girl.

“Rather afraid I shall make a horrific mess of it, and you’ll be scraping me off the cobbles.”

“Sure, you’ll be grand.”

Chummy swung her bag down into the basket and sat astride the blasted thing. It took a moment or two to adjust her skirt. She jumped when Miss Shannon gave her a pat on the derriere that seemed a trifle too encouraging. The balance did seem better and with a lift of the feet atop the pedals, Chummy found herself moving away down the road, and gaining speed.

“See ye on Friday!”

The voice disappear in the rear distance, but Chummy was already finding a problem with the saddle. The shape of the thing, and the undeniable fact that it vibrated all the more as she went faster across the cobbles, was having an effect through sensible skirt and even more sensible unmentionables.

“Oh, gosh!”

An attempt to lift her nether regeions from the saddle seemed to unbalance the machine. Chummy saved herself from a nasty spill only by pressing back down hard against the warming seat. Almost instantly, she was riding safely again, but a growing heat and wetness below reminded her of certain self explorations back at the old Roedean School. She took the indicated left hand path down a narrow little alley, and emerged in a more familiar road. The saddle’s vibrations seemed to increase, and Chummy found herself making a most unladylike cry. She sped up, keen to press on rather than face those who had turned to look.

She was absolutely certain that beneath her cardigan, and her uniform, and her brassiere, her nipples had grown hard and sensitive. Chummy was sure that if her hands were not engaged in steering the bike she would be fighting the urge to fondle herself right there in the street. Oh, it really was too much. As Nonnatus House came into sight, she thought she might scream.

The bike came to a halt. Chummy sat astride it, trembling, so very close to release. Barely aware of her surroundings, she needed-

“New bike, Chummy?”

To be continued…

A/N: Part 1 written for AFF forum weekly prompts 142/143 – Ingrate Irate Indigo.

I’ve wanted to do a Call the Midwife Season One set story for a while and couldn’t get going on it. It was to be called “Ball the Midwife,” but I couldn’t get going on it. I’ve started this one instead.

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