Cotcote Girls Exposed
By
Cindy May
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2012 Cindy May
A Freebie trailer with unpublished pilot stories and extracts from the Cotcote Chronicles, about the sexy fun in the picture postcard village in the English Cotswolds. There is non-stop sex as the Countess of Shipston, Lady Annie, the Slutlets, their mum Abby, Zafira and the other village gals drop their knickers (if they ever wore ‘em) whenever opportunity knocks, and it often knocks. ADULT
‘I won’t let you.’
‘Dura - idiot. For the last couple of months, the only way Olga and I have kept out of the hands of the Chechens is by letting some of our beloved countrymen fuck the shit out of us. I had three of them this morning. She had two.’
‘But you could get pregnant.’
‘Dura! Of course I could fucking get pregnant, but at least I’m alive, now shut up.’
Although Tanya was the oldest, the more practical Natasha had taken charge.
*****
‘Yeah, I know it’s confusing. We’re identical twins, and the only way you can tell us apart is that Rach has a mole on her bum and I don’t.’
Liss glanced at her sister.
‘Why don’t you show John what I mean, dear, so he can tell us apart in the future?’
To John’s disbelief, Rach turned round, bent over and put both hands on her bottom, flipping her skirt up. As John looked admiringly at her naked bum, Liss pointed to the mole.
‘See what I mean. It’s a dead giveaway. If you are not sure which of us is which, just lift up our skirts and have a peek. A mole means it’s her. No mole, and you got me!’
*****
The excitement of being fucked with the sun blazing down on her bare shoulders and in a place where they could be discovered meant she had to bite her lip to keep silent. Toni started slamming inside her, slowly at first but faster and faster. His balls were slapping against her flesh.
Her attempts to keep silent so as not to attract attention had long gone and she was grunting continuously, her grunts interspersed with her native German.
‘Ja … Ja … Ja …. Ach Ich liebe dich!’
Copyright 2012
The Moral Right of the author has been asserted. All Rights Reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, Characters, Businesses, Places and Incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Author's note: Explicit scenes in this work of fiction are confined to characters who are 18 years of age or above.
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This FREE ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please download an additional copy for each recipient.. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
The Cotcote Chronicles Series
The Cotcote Girls Exposed
By
Cindy May
Chapter 1
‘I can tell you a story or two about them days, I can tell you.’
Old Frank wheezed into his pint glass as he sat in ‘his’ seat in The Shearer’s Arms, which is our local pub in Cotcote Village. Frank had been born in 1928, so was turned eighty, and for sixty of those years he had occupied the same seat in the village pub. He had first claimed it soon after he had finished a stint as a conscript in the immediate post-war British Army of the Rhine.
The young smart set, some of whom had come into our village, dismissed Old Frank as the village drunk, a simpleton with no education, but we locals knew better. Old Frank was the village poacher and had been ‘larnin his trade’ as he put it, with his Dad, ‘afore he were ten year old.’ Dad was also called Frank and then they were known as Old Frank and Young Frank, so presumably we should call the old boy, if he were still alive, ‘Older Frank’ now.
Seventy years of poaching with his collar felt just once by the law, and that when he was eleven years old, attested to his skills in his chosen profession. Today Frank moved slowly and with some pain from arthritis, but his ability to appear like a wraith was legendary.
Unless Frank wanted you to see him when he was abroad with his nets, guns and traps, he was to all intents and purposes invisible. That meant he saw lots of things. The village accepted some of what he recounted, but many of his tales were regarded as fantasy.
One of the most bizarre was his story of seeing Lady Annabelle Beauregard driving through the village naked in the middle of the night. As Old Frank has also seen fairies, his claims about ‘Lady Annie’ as she was popularly known, were treated with a pinch of salt.
When he wasn’t doing his rounds, Frank enjoyed lifting his arm in the pub, and if you asked him at closing time, he might admit that pink elephants were to be seen in the village as well. Most villagers would agree that pink elephants in Main Street were more likely that a naked Lady Annabelle Victoria Beauregard, heir presumptive to the Earldom of Shipston when her father dies.
Old Frank was in a mellow mood that evening. Four pints of bitter, at my expense, had helped that mood develop. The reason I was making regular trips to the bar to assuage Frank’s thirst was that he had offered to tell me more about our village. Having lived there for over eighty years, no one knew out quirks, foibles and scandals better.
In general we are a well knit and close community, but inevitably there are exceptions. Mrs Bessie Wiggins was in the bar having her usual, and had shot one or two poisonous glances at Frank in the time I had been speaking to him. Everyone knew that Bessie hated Frank’s guts, and that they had not spoken in over sixty years, even though they only lived four doors apart. Frank saw where I was looking and wheezed at me.
‘Yes, Young Cindy, I could tell you a story about ‘er, but Lord help us, it’s dry work, all this talking.’
That was a hint that I was neglecting my duty. I got the village gossip so long as I kept Old Frank’s pink glass topped up. I jumped up and went to the bar. Dave, our cheerful landlord, smiled at me as he served another pint of bitter.
‘Getting some good stories from Old Frank then, Cindy?’
‘I think the old boy had eyes in the back of his head when he was in his diapers.’
‘Very probably, love.’
I walked back to Frank and put the glass down.
‘You’re a good girl, Young Cindy, now where was I? Ohh yes, I remember, Bessie, wasn’t it.’
I could hardly imagine any gossip about Bessie. She had been married to our parish clerk, Edgar Wiggins, from 1944 until his death in 2007. Edgar was a mild little man, just 5ft 2 inches tall. The couple had two sons, the younger son taking after his father, but the older boy was a 6ft 6ins tall giant. Old Frank wheezed.
‘I were out, going about my business, up at the Castle, where I had some traps, and I’ll tell you, most of the women in the village were dab hands at making rabbit stew or cooking pheasant, and with meat in short supply, I were popular with them, I can tell you. Very popular with one or two.’
Old Frank gave a beer flavoured belch, which wafted over me. I smiled, as I could imagine that with meat being rationed in the drab days of wartime, that a ration-free supply of meat would be welcome.
‘There was some fresh meat around the village in those days, I can tell you.’
I wondered if Old Frank was speaking of the rabbits and pheasants, but the twinkle in his eye suggested the meat he was thinking of might not have been fresher than that.
‘Now with all your researches, Young Cindy, I expect you know what went on at the Castle during the war?’
I nodded. It had been the home to one of the training stations to SOE, or the Special Operations Executive. Winston Churchill had set it up in 1940 to set occupied Europe ablaze and give the Nazis a headache. SOE was sometimes known as ‘Stately ‘Omes of England’ due to its penchant for requisitioning castles, granges, halls, and manors.
You could find out what went on at a lot of SOE establishments, but the records for Cotcote Castle had either been destroyed or never declassified.
‘Young Bessie were Bessie Smith then, and ‘er old man were a platelayer on the Great Western Railway. Well, young Bessie left school at sixteen, and she were taken on at the Castle by the SOE lot. They needed kitchen maids to serve meals to the SOE and OSS men and women that were there.’
I stared at him. Old Frank had given me two new pieces of information. I had not known that Cotcote Castle had been joint between the British SOE and its US counterpart, the OSS or Office of Strategic Services. His reference to women was another surprise.
‘There were women there, Frank, as well as the servants?’
‘Yeah, we called ‘em the popsies. Now I could tell you some tales about them.’
‘Lets stick with Bessie to begin with Frank.’
‘All right, Love. Now Bessie must a’ been at the place a couple o’ years and she were a real little tease. She always had been, even when she was a nipper, making up to us boys with her cute blue eyes. The number of lollipops she sweet-talked us out of, with ‘er promises of a kiss and a cuddle round the back of the bike sheds.’
‘As I was saying, I was attending to the needs of some of me reg’lars, who wanted rabbit, pheasant, chicken, you name it, and I were up in the grounds of the castle when I ‘eard a noise. There were sentries posted, but they was townies, and they couldn’t tell the difference between a duck and a fox, so I never had no problems so long as I were careful.’
‘Noise could ‘ave been a sentry, but I ‘eard a giggle, a girly giggle, and with the Colonel, no sentry would play around with a bit of skirt when on duty, so I goes and ‘as a look. Well what do you think I sees? You know, love, talking is dry work.’
I had been neglecting my duties, so I got Frank another pint, and wondered where he put it all. Presumably the old boy had hollow legs! Poaching for rabbits or pheasants was one thing, but how did you poach chickens in the wild? I would love to know, but it might be more tactful not to ask.
After downing half his beer, Old Frank slapped the glass down.
‘Good girl, Cindy. Where was I? I remember, Young Bessie. Well I peeped through the bushes and what do you think I sees? Why it’s Bessie, and she’s wearing the black dress that maids wore in them days. You know, down to below ‘er knees, except that in ‘er case she ‘ad shortened it so you could see ‘er knees, and I’ll tell, Bessie ‘ad good knees in those days. She’s standing with an American officer.’
‘How could you tell, if it was night?’
Frank looked at me pityingly.
‘It was a bright moonlit night love, and if you go poaching you need to have good night vision. The guy was wearing the dark drab green officer’s tunic and he had OSS flashes on his shoulders.’
I decided to test Frank to see if he knew what they were.
‘It were an oval badge and had an orange spear point in it, love. Anyhow this officer whose name was Cyrus Curtis, had his arm round Bessie’s waist, and he was speaking to her.
‘Yeah, baby, I’m from Texas, the greatest State in the Union. We call it the Lone Star state and wherever there’s trouble, the army sends us Texans to sort it out. That’s why I’m here. Specially selected by General Donovan himself.’
Old Frank snorted.
‘Specially selected indeed! ‘E was just one of the draft. Well Bessie is lapping up everything ‘e says. She says.’
‘You must be a very important person, Cy.’
‘I don’t like to boast, but well …’
As Frank recounted those events of almost a lifetime ago, I realised that he was a born raconteur. With most storytellers, you listen to them telling to tale. With Old Frank, I was not sitting comfortably in the Shearer’s Arms with a glass in my hand, but lying next to Frank on a starry night in May 1944 watching Bessie and Cy.
I could visualise Bessie resting her head on Cyrus’s arm as he smiled at her and whispered.
‘Let’s Sit, Baby.’
‘OK Cy.’
Cyrus slipped his arm round her waist.
‘I guess I kinda like you Bessie.’
‘Ohh Cy.’
‘Yeah, when this war is over, I aim to settle down back in Texas, I’d kinda like to find a broad like you.’
‘Ohh Cy.’
Cyrus put his hand to her cheek, turned her face towards him, and kissed her on the lips. Bessie kissed him back enthusiastically.
‘Yeah Babe, we got us a ranch, and I can ride for an hour and still be on my poppa’s land. We got us one of the biggest ranches in the State of Texas, and the farms round here are about as big as our vegetable patch. We got us 20,000 steers, and with the war and the need for beef, waal poppa is one of the richest men in the county now. Say Bessie let’s lie back and look up at them stars.’
As the couple lay side by side, Cyrus pointed out various stars, saying one was the brightest in the heavens. Another was the biggest and so on. He rested his weight on one arm and put his hand to Bessie’s cheek.
‘You’re real cute, baby.’
His hand roamed down the front of her dress, past the ribbon that held her white apron up, and sought her hand. He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it, eliciting a giggle and a response.
‘That’s naughty, Cy.’
Cyrus lowered her hand, resting it on his waist and then eased it lower until it was resting on his crotch. He pressed her hand against his crotch, provoking another giggle from Bessie.
‘Oooh, Cy.’
Cyrus moved her hand back and forth over his crotch and after a couple of minutes, whispered.
‘Everything’s big in Texas, baby.’
‘Yeah, I can tell that, Cy.’
Cyrus let her hand go and unfastened his pants, to take his cock out so that Bessie could play with it. After a couple of minutes he sat upright, pulled her upright and gently pushed her head down on to his groin.
‘Go on honey, you know what to do.’
Bessie opened her lips and took the US serviceman’s penis between her lips. As she slid her mouth up and down his cock, it got larger and harder. She sat up for air.
‘Christ Cy, that’s big.’
‘Baby didn’t I tell you that everything from Texas is bigger. Our steaks are bigger than a whole steer you raise in this country, and if you’ve ridden a Texan bronco or a Texan’s cock, you can ride anything. Stand up Baby.’
Bessie did as she was told, and Cyrus knelt beside her. She didn’t protest as he slid both hands under her skirt. After about ten seconds, he dragged down a pair of baggy white panties.
‘Lift your left leg, baby, …. That’s it, now the other leg, fine.’
Cyrus pulled Bessie down beside him and put his arms around her, kissing her on the lips and running his hands up and down her back. He pushed her down on to the grass, and eased up the bottom of her dress and her petticoat around her waist.
As Old Frank described the events of so long ago, I started to feel aroused, as it was obvious what the young OSS officer was planning to do. Suddenly, Frank was talking to me rather than reliving the events of long ago.
‘Now don’t you go getting too hot, girl, but what you can do is go and get me a refill, as talking is dry work.’
I expostulated with him, as it was just not fair to stop at that crucial moment.
‘Well girl, It’s getting a bit late, so…’
I held up my hands in surrender.
‘OK, OK, another pint of bitter, Frank.’
As I walked to the bar, I could sense Bessie Wiggins eyes were on me. I coloured as I wondered if she had worked out that she was the subject of Old Frank’s monologue. If so, she would probably want to kill him and me. I had to walk past her to the bar, and as I was a yard away from her, she deliberately turned her back on me.
When I got back to the table, Old Frank had a broad grin on his face.
‘I see you got the cold shoulder treatment, love.’
‘Yeah. I did!’
‘Been doing it to me for more ‘n sixty years.’
Frank sipped, rather than drank his beer, to build up the tension. Finally he relented.
‘Cyrus got on his knees between Bessie’s legs.’
I snapped back.
‘Frank I could work that out for myself.’
Old Frank resumed his tale.
‘Cyrus took his cock in his left hand and lined it up with her pussy, and slowly slid it in to her. As he didn’t come to a stand, when he was part way up her, it was clear that Young Bessie was no virgin.’
Old Frank gave a chuckle, breaking the spell. I asked him.
‘What is it, Frank?’
‘Well the Yank was resting his weight on his arms and feet, as he was ramming ‘is cock in and out of Bessie, and innocent little Bessie was humped her groin up to meet each thrust he made in her. She knew what she were about all right. He weren’t her first.’
A glance at Bessie Wiggins was inescapable. She was glowering at me. Old Frank spoke again re-creating the spell he was weaving.
‘The way you’re moving, I guess you kinda like it baby, don’t ya?’
‘Ohh Cy.’
‘Your see, I told you that back in Texas, everything is bigger, baby.’
‘Yeah, I can see how big it is. I’ve never seen a bigger one.’
Cy roared.
‘Yeah, baby.’
Old Frank wheezed.
‘Well you can imagine what he’d just done, Young Cindy?’
I nodded.
‘That were the middle of May ’44, and about a week later, there was a big clear out of OSS and SOE folks from the Castle, so we guessed that ‘the second front’ as we were calling it was about to open up. Well, D-Day came as I expect you know on 6 June ’44 and a few days later word came back to the village that Captain Cyrus L Curtis had been killed in a parachute drop behind the German lines.’
‘For a few days, young Bessie was in a terrible state, and then she started going with Edgar Wiggins again, who she’d dumped about six months before when she started going with Cy. Two months later, which would be the back end of August ’44, Bessie ups and married Edgar.’
‘In February ’45, Bessie has ‘Big Edgar’. As I’m sure you’ll realise, Big Edgar must have been premature. You couldn’t ‘av told it from lookin’ at ‘im, as he were 8 lbs. Funny weight for a premature one, wasn’t it.’
‘Why has Bessie cut you for all these years?’
‘I guess I were a bit tactless. I saw the way she’d played up to the Yank, and a few days after Big Edgar was born, she’s wheeling the pram one way and I stops to pass the time of day, but now Bessie is married she thinks I’m just dirt. She got me mad and I thought that the way she forgot Cy so quickly was lousy.’
‘I said to her what a big baby it was considering it was three months premature, and that I’d wondered if she might have called it Cyrus after her late friend. She had a fit and called me a dirty minded snooper and heaven knows what else, and she’s never spoke a word to me since.’
Chapter 2 The Lady and the Slut
The Cotcote Chronicles is the title for the series of raunchy novels centred on the picture postcard Cotswold village of Cotcote, which is to the north of the A40 Oxford-Cheltenham road, and a short drive from Cheltenham, Stratford-upon-Avon, Stow-on-the-Wold and Broadway. Unlike the tourist centres such as Broadway, Chipping Campden or Bourton-on-the-Water, Cotcote, like most Cotswold communities, is well off the tourist track.
Whilst Mrs Hudson who runs the village shop, or Dave, the affable landlord at The Shearer's Arms, may mourn the lost business opportunities, most folk are happy to see their village slumber in the afternoon sunshine.
Village life is centred on the pub, which is, frankly a bit on the small side, and if the local farmers want to let their hair down they go over to "The Swan" in the next village, where there is a large function room, and the landlord does not bat an eyelid at what goes on there.
Rumour has it that on occasion strippers have strutted their stuff at The Swan, but the landlord just smiles if you ask him. A few folks, perhaps jealous that they have not attended a do at The Swan, have been heard to say that the strippers have been known to do things other than just lose their clothes. Envy and backbiting can be found even in our small community.
The Beauregard family, the Earls of Shipston, has owned much of the land surrounding Cotcote for generations, but death duties have reduced the size of the estate. The current earl, Edward Beauregard is approachable, good-natured and when there was a dastardly plan from County Hall to kill off the village school, the head, Miss Moorhouse roped in the Earl to add his voice in the House of Lords and elsewhere. The Beauregards have lived at Cotcote Manor at one end of the village for over five hundred years.
Old Frank’s stories about seeing the Earl’s daughter, Lady Annabelle Victoria Beauregard driving naked through the village in the wee small hours have done little to harm her reputation. ‘Lady Annie’ is a popular figure in our village, but the story casts doubts on how reliable Old Frank is when he’s rolling home from an evening imbibing at the Shearer’s Arms.
"The Lady and the Slut" in the Cotcote Chronicles series will settle the argument over that for good, if you care to read it. Following a late night car accident, Lady Annabelle sought refuge at a nearby farm, which was owned by the Cotcote Estate, but leased to Jim Forbes.
James and Annabelle went out to the Land Rover. As they were pulling out of the farm drive, James asked her.
‘Lady Annabelle.’
She corrected him firmly.
‘Annabelle please, James.’
‘OK, but how about Jim?’
She nodded. Annabelle had told Jim that she would keep her visit secret so that mummy would not get to know about her accident. If they called at “The Shearer’s Arms” in Cotcote for a meal, word of Annabelle’s presence in the village could get back to the Manor. Jim had suggested the 16th century Kings Head Inn in Bledington village, some 3 miles from Stow-on-the-Wold. The couple had a delightful meal, washed down with a fine bottle of wine.
As Jim was driving, he drank sparingly, so Annabelle consumed more than her fair share of the wine. After their meal, Jim asked if she wanted to return to the farm, or if she would like to spend the day seeing the sights. Annabelle happily agreed to go sight seeing. They had a pleasant time exploring Broadway Tower, wandering around Broadway village, “just as if they were American tourists” as Annabelle joked, and finished up at The Red Lion, another 16th century inn at Chipping Campden.
The meal over, they started to head back towards Cotcote, but Annabelle who was slightly tipsy from all the wine she had consumed, said what a beautiful full moon it was. She suggested they look at Broadway Tower in the moonlight. James agreed and they parked the Land Rover near the gate that led into the field where the tower stands. They walked along side by side and stood looking over the Vale of Evesham set out beneath them.
With nightfall, it was much cooler now and Annabelle shivered. Jim asked her.
‘Cold?’
‘A bit.’
He unbuttoned his jacket and held it out. She murmured.
‘What a kind man, what a kind gentleman you are, Jim.’
She slipped her arms into his jacket and rested her back against his chest. It was nice to be warm. It was even nicer to be treated with such courtesy. She could not recall any of her London dates being that considerate.
His arms came around her and started to fasten the buttons. Annabelle placed her hands on his, holding them in front of her. They stood with Jim’s arms around her for several minutes. To her surprise, he nuzzled and then kissed her left ear. It made her giggle. Their only movement was when he gave her ear a periodic kiss.
They walked back to the Land Rover, and to her surprise, Annabelle found she was holding hands with Jim. He opened the door for her, and then closed it when she had scrambled into the high-slung vehicle. As he went round to the driver’s door, she shrugged off his coat, and offered it to him. He put it to one side. She smiled at him.
Jim slipped his left arm round her shoulder, turning her to face him. He drew her to him, kissing her full on the lips. She was shocked and for a moment she resisted. Then she parted her lips, allowing his inquisitive tongue to enter her mouth. Their tongues fought the unique battle where there were two winners and no losers. Annabelle kissed back enthusiastically and felt a strange feeling of excitement.
She sensed that she was moving her legs open and shut without consciously doing so. Annabelle had been on a number of dates with eligible young men that her Mother would regard as suitable. She had exchanged a few kisses, though she would not have called herself an experienced kisser. Never before had she felt so excited, or felt her body wriggling about as she was in Jim’s arms.
She felt Jim’s right hand, which had been caressing her cheek, slide down slowly to her shoulder and to her neck. She felt him play with the top button of her blouse and then pop it. She knew she ought to stop that. He had been kind when she had arrived soaking wet and in need of help at his front door, but that did not give him free range with the daughter of an earl. He was assuredly not the sort of person mother would expect her to marry.
The hand drifted down and did the same to the next button. Annabelle decided that she really did need to stop this presumptuous young man. She had never let any suitable admirer be so bold, and had anyone tried, she would have slapped his face. The third button followed suit and then a fourth. She was now unbuttoned most of the way to her waist, and it was essential to stop this nonsense. She felt Jim loosen the last button.
His right hand gently opened her blouse, and then cupped her left breast. She wondered why the hell she had not thought to wear a bra. He squeezed her breast gently and then rolled her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. She trembled as she was entering new territory. In fact she had entered new territory when the first button had been popped, but physical contact with her breasts?
Her blouse was now completely open. Their eyes were locked on one another as they kissed. This was odd, as Annabelle had always closed her eyes tight when she had been kissed in the past. Whenever he wished to see her tits, all he had to do was to look, and her breasts would be on full view in the moonlight. Annabelle hoped very much that he would look, and that confused her even more.
She deliberately broke their kiss. He pulled back, unsure for a moment, and then saw the soft smile on her face. She knew he was looking at her breasts, something that none of her boyfriends had ever been allowed to do. It was rather exciting. He leant down and took her right nipple on his mouth and sucked it gently. She arched her back. She had no idea what would happen next, but she had not expected that.
‘Ohh God, yes.’
That was quite the wrong answer. As a Deb, and the daughter of an earl at that, you did not let merchant bankers kiss your bare nipples. Any fool knew that. There was an etiquette to these things. She really did need to stop this nonsense. She felt his hand slide down her tummy to her hips and on to the hem of her skirt. Why was it that whenever she had summoned up the resolve to say “stop it at once”, he did something to confuse her?
His hand touched her left leg and then eased the hem of her skirt up. She knew she was opening and shutting her legs, and that each time, she was opening them more than the previous time. His hand slipped over the top of her thigh and into the valley between her legs. She felt him touch the gusset of her panties, the pink and black panties he had already seen. His finger pressed the thin material of her panties into the moist slit between her legs.
God damn it! The man had no consideration at all for her. Just as she was about to stop him, he did something else that distracted her attention. She arched her back opening her legs as far as she could in the front seat of the Land Rover. Jim continued to press the gusset of her panties into her crotch and she writhed on the end of his fingers.
‘Yeaahhh, O God, yeaahh.’
She thrust her chest forward intuitively, arching her back. As she did so, the blouse started to slip away from her shoulders. It was entirely the wrong signal to send. Respectable young ladies did not let their blouses slip off their shoulders just because some man was fingering them through their panties. Suddenly she realised that Jim’s finger was not pressing the flesh of her pussy lips through her knickers anymore. It was a flesh-to-flesh connection. His fingers were exploring her moist slit.
The damn fellow was doing it again. Contact with her bare breast was inexcusable, but with her pussy? This really had to stop. She made an effort, and found she had just lifted her left leg up to give him the best possible access to her. She felt his tongue drift down to her belly button. She squirmed as his tongue flicked her belly button. She had never imagined anyone doing that to her. Then it drifted down to the nest of pubic hair that surrounded her pussy.
As she writhed on Jim’s tongue, she saw headlights in the far distance. She gasped out.
‘Jim, there’s a car coming.’
As a red faced Annabelle hurriedly slipped her blouse on and started buttoning it up, Jim sat up wiping his mouth with his hand. By this time the car had got close to them. They could see it was a Police car. Thankfully they were both decent albeit a trifle flushed. The police car stopped opposite them and the window was wound down. Annabelle wound her window down.
‘Everything all right Madam?’
‘Yes, we went for a walk to the tower in the moonlight and were just talking about how beautiful it is.’
Annabelle had no idea how she had managed to speak normally, given the way her heart was beating. In fact, she hadn’t spoken normally. The officers had a good idea of what had been going on from her flushed face, heavy breathing and the way that the buttons on her blouse had not been fastened up correctly. As the couple were not doing anything naughty by the time the patrol car reached them, the police officer wished them a good evening and departed.
Jim had been astonished at how far Annabelle had allowed him to go. Less than twenty-four hours previously she had been a bedraggled but arrogant bitch standing on his doorstep, with her airs and graces. By the next morning, she had changed completely. She had been a delightful companion ever since they left the farm for a midday meal. The walk in the moonlight had been romantic, and until the damn patrol car had turned up, there was no knowing how far things might have gone.
Jim turned on the ignition and smiled.
‘We better get home.’
Annabelle nodded.
‘Yeah, I suppose so.’
There was a definite wistfulness to her voice.
When they got back to the farm, Jim parked the Land Rover on the yard and the couple headed for the kitchen. Jim put the kettle on.
‘Cup or Mug, tea or coffee?’
‘Mug’s fine, and how about coffee. White no sugar.’
He made the coffee as she had requested and walked over to where she was standing next to the bench table that had been used in the days when a. score of farm hands were employed. He offered her the mug, and they stood staring at one another. Jim placed his mug on the table, and reached up to the first button of her blouse. He undid it.
Annabelle knew she should stop him right away, before he got to the second or third button, and it became a repeat of what had gone on in the Land Rover. As she thought about this, she vaguely noticed that the second and third buttons were already undone. Less than a minute after he had brought her coffee, she was unbuttoned from her neck to her waist. He placed his hands on her shoulders and looked her straight in the eye.
This was the moment to take charge and tell him to stop it. She gazed back at him, and took a preparatory breath before saying no. She looked in his eyes and gave an almost imperceptible nod. He eased the blouse off both shoulders. She wriggled her arms to help the blouse slide down and soon it was round her waist. Annabelle was puzzled. She should have said no when the first button had been popped. Instead she had wriggled her arms to help the blouse slide down.
She needed to think about this, but she noticed that Jim had taken her in his arms and was kissing her full on the lips. That needed to be stopped. Instinctively, she parted her lips to allow his tongue access to her mouth. It was not a respectable kiss. Only a slut kissed like that. His hands roamed up and down her back caressing her gently. She moaned.
‘Ohhh God, Ohhh God.’
She felt a hand investigating her skirt. She had to stop this presumptuous young man who was not in her social set, and never could be. She broke their kiss to tell him off.
‘The zip’s at the back of my skirt.’
His left hand traced its way round her right buttock to the small of her back and found the zip. She had meant to tell him to stop, but the words went wrong. She needed to stop this lunacy. She arched her back, which made it easier for him to slide the fastener down. She pulled her tummy in, so their bodies were not locked together obstructing the skirt from dropping away.
With his left hand Jim started to ease the skirt off her hips. His right hand was still caressing her back, which she liked. She realised she needed to stop this nonsense before things got out of control. She put her hand down to her other thigh, and eased the skirt downwards. It dropped away to land round her feet. She had actually meant to hold on to her skirt, but for some reason it was lying round her ankles.
They were kissing again, their tongues fighting for supremacy. At least that was harmless. He broke the kiss to her disappointment. Somehow she discovered he was now behind her, caressing her shoulders, and then her breasts and nibbling at her ear, kissing her there and blowing gentle gusts of air at her. She whispered.
‘Stop it.’
‘If that’s what you want.’
He did. After a few seconds, she wriggled her back against his chest. His hands caressed her nipples and then started to trace their way downwards running over her stomach muscles and hips. She knew where they were going and it was obvious what he had in mind. She really did need to stop this nonsense.
The hands reached her knickers, and his thumbs slipped inside her elastic. She opened her mouth to say no, and eased her bottom away from his groin. With her subtle encouragement, Jim was able to ease her the panties down over her hips. Once they were past the broad part of her thighs, they would drop to the floor without any assistance.
She wriggled slightly until they were both sure that he could let them go, and allow gravity to play its part. Gravity obliged. Lady Annabelle Beauregard, heir presumptive to the 10th Earl of Shipston, stood in the kitchen of one of her father’s tenants with her blouse, skirt and knickers lying in a heap around her ankles. Unlike her previous boyfriends, the man was a commoner with no pretence to social status.
On the other hand, he had been kind to her. He had put up with her bad manners, provided her with dry clothes, a hot meal and then put her to bed. He had got her car out of the ditch without involving the police, and he had been considerate to her all day. Even so, she really should not be naked in his kitchen. It was quite wrong and she was confused.
His hands cupped her breasts and tweaked her nipples. She writhed her body against his trousers and shirt and realised that although she was naked he was still fully clothed. She felt his left hand drift down from her bosom, cross over her tummy and touch the bush of pubic hair that surrounded her vagina.
His finger invaded the cleft between her wet lips and she shuddered. When he had done that in the Land Rover it had been good. Even so, she needed to put a stop to it. She was standing with her feet close together, so parted them. Her common sense told her that she ought to have clamped her thighs tightly together, but her thighs had acted differently. Jim was rhythmically sliding his index finger into her pussy all the way up to the knuckle.
There was a tingling sensation in her pussy. Sometimes she had played with herself in bed at night, but whatever Jim was doing to her was far more intense. She ground her bum in his crotch, and a second finger invaded her pussy. She realised that she was soaking wet down there, but this time it was not rain. Two fingers were a lot better than one.
After a couple of minutes, the fingers were withdrawn. It was awful. She moaned in frustration.
‘Don’t stop.’
Jim kissed the back of her neck.
‘We’ll be more comfortable in the living room, Annabelle.’
Chapter 3 Three Brides and One Guy
Just outside the village is Conroy House, the home of Sir Allan and Lady Conroy, plus his sister Abby, who is in her late thirties, and her twin daughters.
Tracy and Phoebe, who is invariably called Phoebs, are blonde and with good legs as everyone in the village knows, as their idea of a skirt does not require a lot of material in it.
Old Frank loves peeking at the girls’ thighs whenever he gets the chance, and has been heard to say they don’t wear panties. He had been lifting his arm all evening when he made this observation, so it might just have been the booze talking.
Like his fairies, pink elephants and a naked Lady Annabelle, Frank’s claim about the twins is taken with a large pinch of salt in the village. He even says he has seen the girl who used to work as a barmaid at the Shearer’s Arms driving naked through the village, but Frank seems to be obsessed with naked women. Probably it is due to a life of drink and snaring pheasants. Franks just confuses one bird for another.
The matriarch of Conroy House is Allan and Abby’s mother, the sixty-year-old Hazel Conroy. She looks to be in her mid-forties, but if you wished to live, it would not be a good idea to call her a matriarch! Hazel is bilingual. She is a “Beeringum gerl” and “prawd of it” but if need be, she will switch from Brummie into English.
When Allan's dad, David Conroy met Hazel she was working as a stripper. In fact he was there the night she went on stage for her first routine, and it was love at first pussy, so to speak. A cute pussy, at that!
Allan’s fortune comes from the successful electronic security business he inherited from his dad, Sir David Conroy, who died when his Cessna light plane came apart over Russia in 1992.
Allan married a beautiful Russian girl called Tanya. Along with her two younger sisters, Tanya had lived in the breakaway province of Chechnya. After Chechen separatists murdered their parents, the girls fled for their lives.
PLEASE NOTE - Three Brides and One Guy is available on Amazon but not on Smashwords at present.
As she stood in the flat trembling, Tanya wondered if the noise on the stairs was her sisters, or the Chechens returning. If it was the latter, she would be rapеd and then receive her facial when her face would be torn apart on the concrete. She heard a gasp, and female voices.
‘Mama, Papa, Tanya?’
It was Olga’s voice. The twins came into the room, their eyes round with shock and horror. They saw Tanya and flew across the room to her. The three girls hugged one another. Natashenka, the most practical of the three looked at the evidence that Tanya had found. A tear trickled down her cheek.
‘Poor mama, poor papa.’
She shook her head slowly, and realised that dusk was approaching.
‘Tanya, we need to get away. Those bastards will come back when it gets dark.’
Whilst Natashenka hastily looked for their internal passports, and other papers. Olga and Tanya gathered a few clothes together and such food as they had, which was what Tanya had ‘bought’ at the market. Less than ten minutes after the twins had arrived, the three girls slipped surreptitiously downstairs. Just as they left the flats they heard a noise, and hid behind the bushes.
A group of young men, most of them no older than the twins, walked across the courtyard. Some of them carried wooden staves or lengths of pipe. They headed directly towards the entrance and went inside. The girls allowed them a few seconds to start up the stairs and then quickly crossed the courtyard and went through the archway that gave access to the street.
Tanya noticed that Olga was trembling. She hugged her sister. Olga whispered.
‘Another couple of minutes!’
At nineteen Tanya was scarcely a grown woman, and the twins were, or ought to be, schoolgirls. Instead of that they were three fugitives, and they were lucky to be alive. Mama and papa had not been that lucky. Natasha looked at her sisters.
‘We have to get away from this fucking place.’
Tanya stared at her helplessly.
‘How? We got no money, no papers. We can’t afford the train fare, and the militsia would stop us without papers.’
Natasha snarled at her.
‘Grow up, you stupid cow. How did you buy that food? Either with your mouth or your pussy. That’s how we get out of here. The passenger trains are no bloody use, as the attendants are mostly women. They aren’t going to want three pussies to play with.’
Tanya screamed at her.
‘Niet, Niet, Niet. You’re too young to do that. I won’t let you.’
‘Shut up you fool. If we don’t spread our legs, we aren’t going to have any legs before long. We’ll be like mama and papa. Trains are no use, so we need to find a truck. There are plenty of trucks in the truck park near the factory. Let’s go.’
‘I won’t let you.’
‘Dura - idiot. For the last couple of months, the only way Olga and I have kept out of the hands of the Chechens is by letting some of our beloved countrymen fuck the shit out of us. I had three of them this morning. She had two.’
‘But you could get pregnant.’
‘Dura! Of course I could fucking get pregnant, but at least I’m alive, now shut up.’
Although Tanya was the oldest, the more practical Natasha had taken charge, and led her two sisters through the ill lit streets towards the truck park. For a modest fee, trucks were parked in the relative safety of the truck park.
Had they been left outside, they would have been broken into, the cargoes rifled, and tyres and other useful components stolen when the driver was away or resting. Had the driver been there when a determined gang turned up, any resistance would have been fatal.
A mesh fence that was over 3 metres high surrounded the truck park. It was topped with barbed wire, and more barbed wire was woven into the mesh. In daytime there were entrances at each end, with elevated guard towers, which were equipped with searchlights and machine guns. At night, one exit was closed and any vehicles came in and out of the remaining entry. Apart from the guard tower there was also a gatehouse.
Useful though the elevated guard towers were, the armed guards who covered the truck park 24 hours a day could not inspect the papers of anyone entering or leaving. This was the duty of the security guard at the gatehouse. In theory, he was supposed to prevent anyone other than vehicle drivers gaining entrance to the vehicle park.
In reality a different regime existed. Some of the drivers were local men, with wives or girlfriends, and they might bring food to their men or comforts of a different kind, so they were usually allowed in to the vehicle park.
Other young women also desired access. They were not married, or if they were, it was not to the drivers. They catered to the guys who had arrived at the vehicle park and had opted to spend the night in the relative safety of their vehicle cabs. It was a convenient fiction that they were wives and girlfriends, but the security guards soon got to know who were the genuine wives and who were the prostitutes.
With jobs for women collapsing and pay weeks or months behind, for many women it was their only income. Natasha knew that a couple of her teachers ‘moonlighted’ at the truck park. One had recently vanished, but whether she had fallen victim to ethnic cleansing or whether she had persuaded a truck driver to take her with him, no one knew.
As a result, the night gateman could expect a flow of attractive young women from their mid teens to their mid twenties begging admission to the vehicle park, to “see their husband/boyfriend”. The genuine wives usually got in without difficulty. The pretend wives had to put up. It could be a banknote tucked inside the propiska they showed to the guard, or it could be a more personal offering.
As they approached the vehicle park, Tanya asked helplessly.
‘How do we get in? There’s a security guard there?’
Natasha looked at her sister scornfully.
‘We’re going to see our papa who is a driver.’
‘But he may not believe us.’
‘He’ll believe a wet pussy you fool. Are you wearing panties.’
‘Da, Da, of course I am.’
‘Then take them off.’
‘Stor - what?’
‘Take your fucking panties off. If you want him to believe you, that is.’
Tanya reluctantly obeyed her more streetwise younger sister.
Natasha glanced at her twin.
‘What about you?’
Olga flipped her skirt up to show that she was without panties.
‘Thank God, you’ve got some sense. OK, now Tanya, the less you say the better, so I’ll talk us in, but if the fucking gate guard wants to stick his cock up you, me or Olga, it’s “Da, Da, No problem”, so remember that.’
As the three girls approached the floodlit area, Tanya noticed Natasha unbuttoning the top two buttons on her blouse. Natasha glanced at her.
‘Undo a couple of buttons, you idiot, like I have. Give the bastard a chance to look at your tits.’
Reluctantly Tanya did as her sister ordered.
The three girls approached the barrier. To their disappointment, there were two guards at the gatehouse. Natasha knew that with two guards, two of them would have to put up. One guard looked at them.
‘OK, Devochki - girls, what do you want?’
Natasha gave a winning smile to the guard and stood close enough for him to look down her cleavage.
‘Prevyet, our papa is a driver. Mama sent us with some food for him. Let us in please.’
‘What’s the licence number of his vehicle.’
Natasha shrugged her shoulders, giving the guard a nice view of her young tits wobbling.
‘Mama knows. She usually comes here, but she forgot to tell me.’
‘No papers, and if you don’t know the truck, I can’t let you in, Devochka - Girl.
Natasha put her hand on the guards arm.
‘Da, Da, of course you can, and we’ll be so grateful. Won’t we girls?’
Olga nodded enthusiastically, Tanya agreed, but less energetically. Natasha let her hand slide down the guard’s arm to his hip.
‘Why don’t you and I go and have a look for the truck. When we find it, you can come back and let my sisters in. OK?’
The guard turned to his companion.
‘Igor, these two stop here. I’ll take this one to find her papa’s truck.’
Natasha and the guard departed into the darkness. Ten minutes later the guard reappeared. He looked pleased with himself.
‘We found the truck Igor. Why don’t you take this pair? I’m sure they want to see papa too.’
Igor looked at Tanya and Olga.
‘OK devochki - girls, lets go.’
When they were out of the floodlit area, the guard put his arm round Tanya’s shoulders. She trembled. He pushed her to her knees and unzipped his flies.
‘OK devochka, get busy.’
Tanya took the guard’s cock in her hand and licked the bell end tentatively.
‘Get on with it devochka.’
She crammed his cock in her mouth and started slurping away, conscious that her sister was less than a metre away watching her sucking the cock of a complete stranger. She hated doing it for food at the market, but having to do it in front of her sister made it even more humiliating.
After a couple of minutes, the guard held her head. A few seconds later, she felt his cum spurting in her mouth and tried to pull away, but he held her rigidly forcing her to swallow until he had finished. He glanced down at her.
‘You’re crap. If you expect anyone to pay you, they’ll want better than that devochka. Well, go find your papa.’
He turned away to return to the guardhouse. Sucking cock was humiliating, but being told you were crap made it even worse. A few seconds later, Natasha appeared from the shadow. She stared at her sister.
‘Tanya, if we are going to get out of this hellhole, you need to make some effort. The next time you need to suck cock, make it look like you enjoy it. Now I think I’ve got a truck lined up where the guy will take all three of us. And Tanya, he is gonna want your sweet pussy, so don’t fuck it up for all of us. OK?’
Tanya stared at her sister angrily. In a resentful tone she replied.
‘All right, don’t go on about it.’
Natasha led her two sisters to an olive green ZIL-131 three-ton truck.
‘Hi Vladimir, these are my sisters. You see we won’t take much room. We’re all small, but we’re lively girls.’
‘Well if they’re as lively as you are, we should have a good time.’
Vladimir looked the two new girls over. He stared at Olga.
‘Have a look in the cab, honey.’
Olga smiled at him.
‘Da, Da.’
Vladimir opened the door, and Olga put one foot on the step and her other foot on the cab floor. She bent over with the hem of her a few cms from Vladimir’s face. He put his hand on her thigh and slid it upwards beneath her skirt. As Vladimir moved his hand in and out, Olga wriggled her butt for him. Tanya was standing less than a metre from her sister’s butt. She looked away.
‘Get in the cab, Devochka.’
She clambered up into the cab and Vladimir climbed after her. He slammed the door. For the next few minutes the only activity was as the vehicle rocked slightly on its springs. Tanya stood beside Natasha with a miserable expression on her face. Finally Natasha said fiercely.
‘He’s fucked me. Even you can work out what he’s doing with Olga, and she’ll be a good ride for him. Unless he’s some kind of superman, he ain’t gonna be able to do you for a while, so with luck, once he’s cum, we can get out of here. When he wants you, just do it, and try to look as if you enjoyed it. Otherwise we’ve got a fucking long walk ahead of us.’
‘OK, OK.
The door opened, and Vladimir looked out.
‘OK you two, get your cute butts up here, and we’ll get moving.’
As she climbed into the cab and sat down, Tanya could smell the sex in the air. If the driver had fucked both her sisters on the seat she was sitting on, that was to be expected. Vladimir switched on the 109 hp 6-cyl petrol engine, and conversation in the cab had to be conducted at a bellow, as silencing was not a strongpoint on Soviet trucks. He slammed the truck into first gear and rumbled down the vehicle park.
At the gatehouse, he leant out of the cab and handed over his documentation. As he did so, the guard who had accompanied Natasha on the search for her ‘papa’ saw her in the cab.
‘See you found your ‘papa’ devochka.’
The guard smiled knowingly as she nodded. Her ‘papa’ must have started his family early, as ‘papa driver’ was about 26 or 27, whilst Natasha was about eighteen.
‘OK, everything in order. Enjoy the ride with your “daughters”, Comrade.’
‘Da, Da, I will.’
The big ZIL-131 truck headed out of Grozny. Vladimir concocted a story to be told at any Militsia checkpoint on the exit from the city. They were heading west towards Ingushetia and Stavropol. As he knew the road, he updated the girls from time to time on a suitable village that they had begged a lift to get home to.
As they approached the border between Chechnya and Ingushetia, he said that story would not get them through the more rigorous militsia checks on the border between the different republics. Rather than try their luck, he dropped them off a couple of kms short of the checkpoint. He told them to walk through the fields and meet him again west of the border crossing.
Fortunately everything worked out, and the girls met up with Vladimir at a derelict building about three kms west of the checkpoint. They had travelled about 50 Kms in Chechnya but once they were in Ingushetia, they turned north, crossing into North Ossetia. Once more, the girls had to walk round the border checkpoint.
Vladimir had decided to stop the night at Mozdok, the first large community after Grozny, as there was a truck park there. With three good-looking teens, he expected to have a good time. As he had already screwed Natasha and Olga, he decided to have Tanya.
To most guys, screwing a pair of sisters was a raunchy but unattainable dream. To have the chance of doing three sisters was the sign of a real he man. Being able to boast to his comrades that he had screwed three sisters would be great. With the truck parked, he turned to the twins.
‘Take a walk you two.’
‘OK.’
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