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Lured by Luxury

By: Rex Siter



She was the first one I noticed as I entered the cafe. Sitting in a booth by the window she looked up briefly from contemplating her coffee cup. A pale, pretty face, no make-up, vivid blue eyes, that I thought, in that brief moment, may have been crying. A full, but not oversize bosom, emphasised by the short-sleeved blue summer dress she was wearing.

Taking a seat at a table in the next aisle, from where I could keep an eye on my new truck, I was also able to keep the pleasant sight of her in my view. A waitress with a bosom that was four times that of the lady in blue took my order for coffee and pancakes. She treated me to an up and down stare from eyes blackened in eye shadow. "Haven't seen you in here before," she hummed.

"You're off my normal route," I told her, my eyes looking across at the lady in blue, who appeared to be near to tears again as she kept her eyes down over her coffee. 

"But not off limits," the waitress said provocatively, as she waddled back to the counter, where a huddle of hefty truck drivers was sitting. As she passed, one, an ugly looking guy with about four days stubble, reached out, placed his fingers under her right breast and flicked upwards.

"Time out for a quickie, Beryl?" he growled, while the others laughed.

"In your dreams, Bolo. I've tried your style before." But she showed no anger at his touch, as she added with a grin, "All I got was a sore throat.". Behind the counter, I watched her place my order, before she turned back, said something quietly to Bolo, while nodding in the direction of the girl by the window.

Bolo followed her direction, nodded and his lips pursed appreciatively. Smirking, he turned to the others and said something quietly, and mocking responses were audible, "No chance." "Too fancy for you." "Save some for me."

Stubble chin lumbered between the tables, glanced briefly at me, before perching himself in a seat opposite the girl, who I had time to estimate, was somewhere in her early twenties.

"What's a bonny lass like you doing out in the wilds on your own?"

The blue eyes looked at him warily, "I'm hoping to get a lift."

Bolo shuffled in his seat, "A lift, is it? Lifts can cost."

"I've got some money," her voice was weak and uncertain.

"Money? Aye, that' s one way." And he turned to smirk at his watching mates. I didn't like the route this was taking and could sense his intentions far too easily.

The waitress arrived with my coffee and pancakes, and when I'd paid her, she glanced across to the other table, "That Bolo," she said, sotto voce, "just can't keep it in his pants. He's only heading for Glasgow—but listen to his patter. You might learn something." She half turned away before adding, "He's in for a hell of a shock."

Puzzled, I watched the pair, while I spread jam on a pancake, and took a big hungry bite.

"Oh, that's too bad," Bolo was saying, and his tone of voice was so insincere I almost choked on my pancake. "So where do you need to get to?"

The girl hesitated before answering," Near Nottingham."

That made my ears prick up, since I was carrying my cargo of whiskey back to my home base of Derby, which meant passing Nottingham. Then I heard Bolo's response, "Lady, this is your lucky day. I have to pass through there."

"Cost?" she asked tentatively.

"Oh, we can discuss that when we're out of here." Again he turned to his mates and I saw his wink. I gulped at my coffee, sensing that some kind of involvement might be necessary, if things took the course I feared. This young lady was too neat, too sweet, to be a floozie that this Bolo guy might be used to.

Bolo glanced at his watch, "Hey, I should be on the road right now. You finished your coffee?"

The girl looked uncertain, "You're sure this will be all right?"

"What? Giving you a-lift? Of course it will." His pause said it all.

Bolo heaved himself to his feet, "No luggage or anything?"

Beginning to slide from her seat, the girl shook her head and reached for her handbag. Bolo lumbered toward the door, giving a little thumbs up to those at the counter, where the waitress was wearing a strange, anticipatory smile.

As the girl struggled from her seat, she looked rather clumsy, and as she straightened, the reason became very clear. The front of her dress bulged hugely below the waist. God, she must have been at least seven months pregnant!

There were a few gasps, and some chuckles, especially from the waitress. Bolo's face was a picture as he stood holding the door open, staring at the girl's bump. He ushered her out of the door, and when she was out he leaned back in to his crowing mates to say, "She still has a sexy mouth."

The door closed, and the room was almost in uproar. I knew I couldn't just sit there. There were two pancakes left and I wrapped them in a serviette, stuck them in my pocket, and strode to the door.

"Fancy some?" A voice called behind me, as I stepped outside. There was no sign of either of them, and I knew that they could not have travelled the space to where the trucks were lined up. Then, from my right I heard a whimper, and a growl of Bolo's voice, "Come on, you want it. Pay time."

Again the girl's pleading whimper, as I hurried to the corner, I heard Bolo's angry command, "Get your fuckin' mouth around that."

Around the corner was a small enclave containing waste bins, and Bolo was standing with his back to me, clutching the kneeling girl's hair as she desperately tried to keep her head turned away from what he was offering. 

There was no time for discussions. Bolo was big, but he was no bigger than me. I'm no superhero, and normally stand well back when trouble looms. Truth was, I had never struck anyone in anger, but not too many years back I had been a keen user of the local gym, and had donned the boxing gloves a number of times Right now, I was bloody angry, so, without further thought, I stepped closer and called urgently, "Bolo!"

His head turned, and my fist caught him sweetly, on the nose and mouth, as I shouldered him to one side so that he didn't fall on the girl. He went down without a sound and his head bounced off the paving, his exposed erect penis collapsing like a deflated balloon. As he lay there groaning, I turned to the girl, and reached out to lift her to her feet. 

Eyes filled with fear, and still on her knees, she tried to back away," Don't touch me. Please, don't hurt me." There was a red mark on her cheek that hadn't been there before, so Bolo must have struck her. I gave him an extra kick in the ribs for that. Hell, I was in a bad mood all right.

"I'm not going to hurt you," I said, trying to make my voice gentle, and contain all the truth of that promise. Definitely the original knight in shining armour, but this lady was going to take some convincing. Carefully I reached down, put my hands under her armpits, and gently lifted her trembling body to her feet. Even then she tensed away from me.

"Look, there are others in there who will gladly want to finish what that bastard started."

"All men are bastards," she said flatly.

"All right. Anything you say, but we must get away from here,"I said, and I reached out for her hand. Tentatively, she took it, and followed me out towards the trucks.

"Whatever you do to me, you won't do anything to hurt my baby, will you?" she asked, as I tried to make pace commensurate with her condition.

"I'm not going to hurt you or your baby," I assured her, as we reached my truck, and with some difficulty I helped her up onto the passenger seat, where she sat back clutching her swollen belly. "You all right?"

"Just need to get comfortable," she said, and her worried eyes looked down at me as she asked, "Where are you taking me?"

"To Nottingham, I hope." And the brightening of her features was worth waiting for. I hurried round to the driver's door, climbed in, and I had the engine roaring in no time. From the road, I saw the cafe door open and a small group of men came out to look around. I wasn't expecting any follow up. But that place was off my list of watering holes.

"I've got a little bit money," she said, after a while.

"I really don't want your money," I told her.

"What is it you want, then? Anything, as long as it doesn't hurt my-"

"Will you stop saying that? Can I spell it out to you? I-am-not-going- to -hurt-you-or -your-baby. Is that clear?"

"All men are bastards."

Exasperated, I shrugged my shoulders, "You must have had a bad time of it. Want to talk about it?"

"No."

"How far on are you?"

Her hands spread over her belly, "Eight months."

"Eight? Almost due. Christ, I'd better drive faster."

And it was a relief to hear her give a little, if slightly bitter, laugh. The first she'd had for a while, I guessed. "You're strange," she said, and I could sense those vivid blue eyes trying to search into my brain, seeking evidence of the bastard man. What kind of men had she been associating with?

"What do I call you?"

"Linda." she said. "Linda Parr."

"I'm Frank. Frank Beasley. Pleased to meet you." A sideways glance at her puzzled face as she looked at me had me wondering if anyone had ever been nice to her.

After fifteen minutes of silence, I felt a nudge against my left shoulder as her head lolled there. I didn't know when she had fallen asleep, but it made me feel good to have her resting against me. Was I to be her comforter? What were the circumstances that had brought her to that roadside cafe, with no luggage, no other clothes, so pregnant and vulnerable? 

We were on the A9 south, in over two hours we were through Inverness, and out into open country where the truck was suddenly buffeted by strengthening winds, while rain spattered across the windscreen. A traffic screen lit up with the words; STRONG WINDS. HIGH SIDED VEHICLES DRIVE SLOWLY.

I needed no urging because I had observed what high winds can do to careless truck drivers. The thudding of the wind against the truck must have roused Linda, as her head jerked up and away from my shoulder, and she uttered an anxious little "Oh."

"You were tired," I said calmly, slightly bemused by the way she was checking her handbag, and tugging her skirt down, as though fearful that I had performed some nefarious act while she slept.

"I didn't get any sleep last night," she said flatly.

When she made no attempt to explain why, I asked, "No luggage?"

"No."

"I'll listen if you want to talk about it, "I said, but she turned her face away to look out of the window without making any response.

The truck rocked under the force of the wind. The rain had become increasingly heavy, so that I was driving most carefully as the wipers struggled to keep the rain at bay. It had become so dark that I had the headlights switched on, as I peered out at shrouded hills..

"Quite a storm," I said, and Linda gave a nervous nod. I turned on the cab radio to hear that winds were gusting up to seventy miles per hour, and high sided vehicles were being advised to seek shelter.

"I'm going to have to pull over," I told Linda. I knew this route pretty well and soon found the lay-bye I was looking for, a short loop of road with a fringe of trees that would cut off the battering of the wind. 

Switching off the engine, I turned to Linda, "Are you hungry?" I asked, noticing that switching off the engine had already made her edge well away from me. I reached into my pocket to recover the pancakes I had picked up at the cafe. The serviette looked rather rumpled, and whenI opened it out it was to find that the pancakes were in misshapen pieces.

"What did you expect?" I asked her plaintively. "A three course lunch?" It was good to see her giggle, as she looked at the mess I was offering. "Go on," I kidded her, hoping to break her depression, not to mention her distrust of me. "Spoil yourself."

I picked up a piece, and began chewing it, making a grand show of how delicious it was. Another slight smile as she reached for a piece, and popped it into her mouth. I glance at my watch. It showed a quarter to three. I should have been in Pitlochry, over an hour ago. Yet we were still some two or three miles from there, and we were stationary.

I realised that Linda was tucking into the pancake fragments, as though she hadn't eaten for a week. "I see you were really hungry, "I said lightly.

She looked at me guiltily before saying, "I'm sorry. I forgot you wanted-"Her voice trailed away as that fearful look returned, as if she was expecting me to punish her in some way.

"Hey, go ahead and finish it. I'd prefer to eat big. There's a bottle of water under the dash there if you're thirsty." 

I watched her find the water, unscrew the top, and take a couple of hearty gulps. Her face had attracted me in the cafe, and now I looked and admired the frail yet sensual quality about it. High cheek bones, fair skin, delicate slightly upturned nose, and those vivid blue eyes. All made slightly puffy by her condition, I guessed, but still quite lovely when framed by the dark hair, still slightly dishevelled, after the rough handling by Bolo.

She caught my gaze and a little colour appeared on her cheeks, "What are you looking at me like that for?"

"Like what?" I asked, keeping myself pressed back against the door, so that I would appear less threatening.

"Like -I don't know—funny—"

"You have a face that demands being looked at. I like it."

The reddening deepened, and she looked as though she'd taken that as a threat. She looked out at the rain and wind-tossed trees. "How long are we going to be here?" she asked.

I told her that I was thinking of taking a chance , and trying for Pitlochry. "I could do with a good meal-somebody ate my pancakes."

I tried to keep my tone light, and accompanied it with a smile, so she would know I wasn't complaining. She rewarded me with a smile of her own, as she said, "I was hungry."

I needed to call my brother, Harry, who was also my business partner, to let him know where I was. As I dialled on my mobile Linda's face showed some anxiety, as though she suspected I was ringing to arrange an orgy where she would be the main attraction.

"Frank, where the hell are you?" Harry's voice was immediate.

"Couple of miles north of Pitlochry."

"Pitlochry? Hell, I was hoping you might be over the Forth Bridge."

"No chance, What's the weather like there?"

"Beautiful day. But I've heard on the news about the high winds up there. And, Frank, they're going to get worse."

"They couldn't get any worse."

"That's what I was going to tell you. They say storm force. And there's talk of closing the Forth Bridge to high-siders."

I glanced at Linda who had relaxed a little. But it was looking as though our time together was going to be extended.

"No good diverting then?"

"No, take care of our investment. Stay off the road if that's advised." It sounded like he was more concerned about out brand new truck than about me. He'd have had a fit if I'd told him that I had a pregnant woman on board.

"My brother," I explained as I pushed the mobile back into my jacket pocket. "We share the business."

Her eyes wandered around the cab interior, "Looks very new," she said.

"Our pride and joy," I told her. "Only had her for three months. Look," I went on, as I started up the engine," I don't know whether you heard any of that but this wind is going to get worse. So, it's Pitlochry or bust," I affirmed, and pulled out onto the road, into the howl of the wind.

On the way, I told her about how, when our father had died, four years ago, leaving us money to set up a small haulier business. The purchase of this big beauty was testament to how well things had gone.

Harry, my brother, would be worried about the high wind but he'd be more concerned if he knew I had a passenger. We had made specific rules which included no passengers, under any circumstances. I wondered whether he'd appreciate this particular circumstance.

It was four o'clock and Pitlochry was busy. But I managed to find space in a truck parking area. The rain had eased, but the wind was still fierce as we left the truck. I knew a place that served meals and let out rooms. Luckily, they had one room left.

First, I had to square things with Linda. "You said you trusted me. There's only one room if we have to stay the night. You trust me that much?"

A momentary frown crossed her face, and I mentioned that she might prefer to find someone driving a car who would give her a lift. It only took her a few seconds to turn that idea down. "No, I think I trust you."

"The devil you know, eh?" I joked, but at the same time, I was wondering why I should be so pleased that she opted to stay with me. God, what a pretty face can do to a man's better instincts.

"Could I use your phone to try my sister's number?" Linda asked.

I handed her the phone, showed how it worked, and watched her tongue show between her lips as she concentrated on dialling. After a moment, she said, "Sounds engaged." And she handed me the phone to listen. There was a dead line buzzing. I didn't like to tell Linda that it was no engaged tone. "I tried her a couple of times from different towns we were in, but,"and she shrugged, "always the same."

Just a little concerned I took her through to the dining area, where we both dined voraciously on steak, sausage and mushrooms, finishing off with a coffee. "I need to repay you in some way." she said, once again.

I held up a hand, "Payment is not necessary." Then I paused as a thought struck me. "There is one thing you can do for me."

Immediately her eyes clouded, as she turned her head away, "And that would be?"

" I've been with you for -what?—six hours, and I know nothing about you. You might be an escaped convict." That brought an awkward smile, "Or an axe murderer."

A laugh, this time, before she said, "I could have been that, given the chance." Then that she said, "I need the toilet. When I come back I'll tell you what I can."And she shuffled away to the door marked, 'Ladies'.

Sitting there I figured I must have made some kind of impression on her if she had decided to tell me about herself. Why would I be pleased to make an impression?. 

Time ticked by and I was beginning to wonder if she had made a getaway, when she appeared across the room, and I was transfixed by the change in her. With her dark hair combed out and lightly curled outwards at the shoulder, she would have looked highly alluring if it hadn't been for that obvious bump. But the face, washed bright and shiny, unhindered by any make up was almost child-like.

"I could do with some fresh underwear," was the first remark she made when she got back to the table. A brief discussion, a query with the owner and we were out and visiting a lady's outfitters, which fortunately, given the pressure of that wind, was just down the street.

I asked if she wanted to take her goods up to our room. After only a moment's hesitation she agreed. The room was neat enough, and I was relieved to find it had twin beds. She begged for a moment to change into the fresh wear, and then I asked her where she wanted to talk, in the room or down in the lounge, where we could have another coffee.

The lounge won, and soon we were sitting, side by side, at a table in one corner near the window, with two lattes in front of us.

"Just take your time," I urged her. "Just tell me what you want to."

For a moment she looked uncomfortable, her eyes casting around the cosy lounge. Within minutes it was me who was feeling uncomfortable as she outlined the things that had happened to her. At first her voice was low and tentative, but as she progressed it took on a deep hardness, that matched the expressions that crossed her face. Anger filled my head as I listened.

At age nineteen she had been studying journalism and English literature at university, but had dropped out when her parents were killed in a car accident. Devastated, Linda, had been so low that employment, briefly, became unimportant. But when she recovered, she had been unable to get a post with any newspaper or magazine and was working as a clerk with a firm of publishers, which at least, she felt kept her within the umbrella of the written word. But the work she was given was fairly menial and she had been looking for a fresh outlet.


Lured by Luxury



One night, she and her flatmate Angela had ventured into a night club together, which was slightly above their means. It turned out to be, for Linda, a fateful venture, for it was there that she encountered Barton Franden, the man who was set to change (ruin?) her life.

Tall, with a broad handsome face, so handsome that Linda's heart leapt at the first sight of him. Cooly dressed in a fawn jacket, with dark pants and a dark brown shirt that was open to reveal the beginnings of a hairy chest. He spoke with seductive charm in his deep brown voice. When he asked her for that first dance she was entranced. It was all too good to be true. Two more dances and he drove her to her flat, gave her a chaste kiss on the lips, and arranged to pick her up the following night

The second night and two nights after that were magical, insofar as they involved dining at a high class hotel one night, and a top of the range restaurant the next. In both, Barton acted like a real man-about-town, who drove a top of the range Jaguar. She was hooked, and the things that happened subsequently only signified how blindly hypnotised she became with such luxury.

He spoke only loosely about his business, which he said took him all over the country. "Living in posh hotels can be so trying," he told her with a mock mopping of his brow. That had made her laugh, and she was so taken in by his relaxed manner and charm that when, on their fourth date he had asked if she would like to see his current hotel suite, she had no hesitation. Not a hotel room, a hotel suite. She knew she would not find a better location in which to lose here virginity.

There was little doubt in Linda's mind that this would be the outcome of such a visit, and the suite was everything she would have expected. Immaculately furnished lounge and dining area, with a bedroom that contained a massive bed. On that bed, without too much preamble, he removed her clothing, ogled her body for a moment, before removing his own pants, briefly stroking her breasts before shockingly plunging his erect penis, into her with only a slight hesitation at her tightness. For Linda, the occasion was pure agony, and she couldn't prevent a squeal that marked the pain of it. Especially excruciating was the fact that she felt him coming almost immediately. "I've fancied you so much," he gasped in her ear. "Next time will be better."

Hurt and disappointed, she may have been, but she was still able to accept his invitation to give up her job and travel as his companion around the country. He was so macho, so handsome, so in control of his whole destiny, it seemed, and it promised life in the upper reaches of society, which, to an easily impressed Linda, was represented by the high class hotels they would be staying in. 

The first doubts she had about her choice came early, when she found that his promise of next time being better was short of the truth. It came four days into their travels, in a wonderful hotel overlooking the Mersey, where, without any kind of foreplay, he once again pushed his swollen member through the resistance of her only slightly moistened vaginal walls. Yet, in spite of that, her concerns were quickly dispelled by the quality of life she was leading. While Barton went off to follow his business involvement, Linda was free to shop, have beauty treatment, and generally indulge herself.

Eating, talking, dancing with Barton were all fine, and, although his sexual demands were surprisingly limited to every four or five days, he showed no sign of doing anything other than, enter her without preamble, shoot his load, and withdraw. Any attempt to talk about it led to him becoming angry, and comments like, "You want out of it?" And she accepted his functional use of her body because the sessions were thankfully brief. 

Often the thought would play in her mind that sex was supposed to be a pleasurable experience. But as she got used to knowing when he expected sex, she would retire to the bathroom, tease her own clitoris until she knew she was good, moist and ready, before returning to his bed, and accepting his easier entry. In fact, on a couple of occasions she had done such a good job on herself that the feeling of his eager penis moving up her vaginal passage, short term as it was, occasionally had her panting, and closing in on a climax that she never quite reached. He appeared not to notice the difference.

There was never any open response to her enquiries about his work. His dark eyes glaring at her, he would shrug, and say something like, "It wouldn't interest you." Linda blindly just lapped up the affluence of it.

About four weeks into their travels, they were in a hotel in York, where Linda had prepared herself for Barton's usual assault, but to her dismay, he said, "I want my cock (his word) in your mouth." It wasn't a request it was a cold statement as he waved his erection in front of her face. It wasn't something Linda had even contemplated, but she knew to refuse would be dangerous.

"But what if you—"she began, fearing the obvious outcome.

"Don't worry, I'll pull back. Go on," he urged, "lick it."

Cringing inside, she tentatively stroked her tongue over the purple head, and felt him shudder at the touch. His hand pulled at the back of her head as he growled, "Open, come on, open."

Linda parted her lips and felt the warm rod pass over her tongue, felt the head gliding along the inside of her cheek. Actually it wasn't a bad sensation, warm and almost comforting. There was nothing in it for her, but if he liked it, then it would be a reasonable way to stay in Barton's good books. Just so long as his stuff didn't come into her mouth. She knew well enough how quick he was. His hand pulled on her head to push himself deeper into her mouth. His tip touched on the back of her throat and she feared for a moment she might gag. Teasingly she wriggled her tongue to make a tight sucking motion with her cheeks.

That was when she heard his moan, felt the tension in his loins, knew he was about to shoot. He had promised to pull back, but as she started to move her head away, his two hands clasped tightly on the back of her head, keeping him deep in the back of her throat. "No," she tried to say, as she heard his ecstatic moan, but the word came as a gurgle as she felt his hot cream pour into her throat. Mortified, she swallowed as quickly as she could, as his hips flexed to release each wave. She suffered the clingy stickiness of his stuff around her tonsils, and down her throat

His penis quickly became limp, and as he eased back it trailed over her tongue, depositing whatever residue was left, and the salty bitterness was all she was aware of. The very thought of it sickened her.

"That was great, wasn't it?" he enthused, his limp penis trailing down over her breasts.

"You said you'd pull back."

"Well, I did, didn't I? Back and forwards, back and forwards." And he laughed at his unfunny joke. "Like the taste?"

"Not much."

"You'll get used to it," he affirmed. Did that mean that awful act would be repeated? It did, and it was. It didn't get any better for Linda, but she began to realise that using her mouth on him was arguably a better route than having him heaving his penis into the dryness of her unready vagina. Plus, there was no fiddling with condoms. She learned that by sucking and tonguing vigorously she could bring him to a very swift conclusion, less than three minutes most times, and the rest of the evening was always peaceful.

Then, about four months into their relationship, a new and more disgraceful episode signalled a further downward step in her time with Barton. They were in a superb hotel in Glasgow, and Barton had told Linda that he might be a little late because he was taking a business friend for a drink. This news had pleased Linda because she had already discovered that Barton under the influence of drink was all but impotent, so she could happily look forward to a relaxed night.

Accordingly, she took a long slow bubble bath, and dressed only in a thin silk negligee, she sat nibbling a few chocolates and watched an old film on television. At just after eleven o'clock she turned in, looking forward to snuggling , naked, in the sumptuous sensuousness of silken sheets. 

She hadn't fallen asleep when she heard the apartment door close and two laughing voices. Guessing Barton had brought his friend back for a night-cap, and no doubt to show him the kind of luxurious hotel space he could occupy, Linda let herself doze. The laughter of the two men occasionally roused her. Just once she thought she heard her name mentioned. At last the talking stopped, and there was silence, and she tried to be asleep before Barton arrived. Then the bedroom door opened and closed, and she heard him struggling out of his clothes, as he always did on his drunken nights. 

For some reason tonight he switched on the bedside light. She kept her eyes closed, as she felt the sheets being raised as he prepared to fall into bed. They seemed to be raised for longer than usual, her naked body on view. Then the mattress moved slightly as he rolled under the sheets, but she kept her back to him. 

She was a little surprised when his hand smoothed down her arm before moving over her breasts, fingering at the nipples. Linda's eyes came open. Barton didn't usually touch her with such intimacy. The next second she was doubting whether it could be Barton, as she felt the hard nudge of a very erect penis against her buttocks.

Half turning, she said, "Have you not had a drink, Barton?"

The voice that replied wasn't Barton's, "He's passed out through there, but he gave me permission to keep you happy. He told me you had a gorgeous body, and I've just seen how good."

Desperately, Linda struggled to sit up as she protested, "You can't-

But her struggle took her onto her back and his weight was instantly pinning her down, his legs clamped over hers forcing them apart, as he worked his penis between her thighs and into her unready vaginal passage. Linda knew that crying out would be futile, but the grinding solidity of his penis was hurtful, and she longed for it to be over. Well, that's the way it would have been with Barton.

But the movements of this man were lustier and much more prolonged. It was something that Linda had no experience of. His penis was being driven to its hilt before drawing back and driving again and again. Linda became aware that, after the initial discomfort, this continuous pounding inside her was making her own juices flow, so that before long she reluctantly had to admit to herself that it was no longer unpleasant. Her hands were actually clutching at his twitching buttocks. How much she might have enjoyed it, she wasn't due to find out as, suddenly, he tensed before thrusting massively up into her with a loud gasping groan, and his movement signalled the spurting of his stuff.

Linda found her emotions very mixed. She was disgusted that she had been taken so easily, yet forcefully, by a complete stranger, and that Barton had obviously sanctioned it. Yet there had been the first tiny elements of what exciting sex might be like. That lengthy, lusty occupation and movement in her inner passage, could have been enjoyable in other circumstances. Still, he had forced her, and, without a condom, she now realised, as his fluid trickled down her thigh.

"That good for you?" he grunted, looking down into her face. In the faint light he looked square jawed and not bad looking. But he was heavy sprawled there on top pf her.

"Not really," she hissed, "and would you kindly get off me now."

He eased up, but only slightly, maintaining much of his weight on her legs, and chest. She was still virtually imprisoned under him. "Just recovering my strength," he replied and his lips nuzzled over her breasts, sucking and licking around each nipple in turn.

"What do you think you're doing?" she gasped at his audacity.

"Trying to get you worked up," he said, and she did not like the sound of the chuckle in his voice. His lips continued to roam over her breasts. Desperately she tried to convince herself that she didn't like it. She could only be still as he played.

Horrified, she felt his penis beginning to pulse against her thigh. God, it was hardening. Was he going to enter her again?

Almost in answer he whispered, "Bart tells me you give good head."

"What?" she hadn't heard the expression before, but his next moves left no doubt.

He gripped her upper arms tightly, as his body rose up over her, and he slid his buttocks up over her belly to straddle her chest. This left her legs free, but all her kicking and wriggling had no effect on his intent. He seemed so practiced in his action. His hands moved from her arms, but immediately he moved higher, his groin right over her face, as his lower calves, maintained the pressure on her arms. Now his free hands, grabbed her hair at the back of her head, and forced it up and forward. She cried out with the pain of the weight on her arms, and upper chest, and the pull on her hair.

His massively erect penis was there, right in front of her face. She could smell herself on it, as he urged her, "Open nicely now."

"No!" She cried out, kicking her legs wildly, and futilely, trying desperately to shake her head away from the menacing rod. But his grip on her hair was forcing her head to stay in position.

"I don't want to hit you to make you open. Might break your jaw." And the penis head was pressed against her lips, which she kept firmly together. One of his hands released her hair and his fingers gripped her nose. It only took a few seconds for her to open her mouth to draw in some welcome air, but, as was his intention, his purple headed rod forced its way between the parted lips. She was so tempted to bite on it, but something advised her against such a provocative move. What might he do to her then?  

Near tears, she could only give way to the various pressures that overcame her; his shins on her arms, his hands pulling on her hair, and his large penis pistoning its way into her mouth. Her own taste was there, along with traces of the semen he had dispelled in her vagina. Compared with Barton's, his erection felt massive in her mouth, filling it, ravaging along her cheek right to the back of her throat. His hips kept up a thrusting motion which got faster and faster, harder and harder. There was nothing but violence in his actions.

He drew the penis head back, almost to her lips, but by now she was too exhausted to take any advantage. Immediately, it was clear that he had only pulled it back to ram it forward again, so deep she thought she would choke, and then she knew he was about to spurt as his almost frantic hip movements increased. However much he had expelled in her vagina earlier, it felt like load upon load was being pumped down her throat. For a moment she thought she would vomit. Then he lay quietly, still in her mouth, where his detumescence seemed to take ages. At last the limp member slid down her jaw, down her neck and over her breasts as he began to dismount from her.

Freed, she leapt from the bed and hurried to the en suite, and heard his ironic call, "Thank you, Linda."

She ran the shower, desperate to rid herself of the semen that coated her thighs, her face and her breasts. If only she could remove as easily the memory of the whole event, wash out the guilt of those brief moments when she believed she might have enjoyed it in different circumstances. Out of the shower, she took the disinfectant mouth wash and tried to flush away the foul tastes that lived in her mouth. Was the luxuriant living worth that episode?

Back in the bedroom she found that her abuser had gone. She opened the door to the lounge to see Barton, in unbuttoned shirt and trousers, slumped across a sofa, dead to the world and snoring loudly. Angrily she climbed back into her bed, believing that she wouldn't sleep. But she did, and well at that. 

Next morning, it was late as Linda pulled on her thin robe and went through to the lounge. Barton, in towel dressing gown, was sitting on the sofa with a tray of dishes in front of him. He looked up and smiled as she entered.

"Good morning, my dear. Hungry?" His smile was teasing.

"Did you really do that?" she asked, trying not to sound too angry.

"What?"

"Give that man permission to -go to bed with me?"

Barton threw his head back with a harsh laugh, "No, I didn't give him permission to—" and his pause was accompanied with a mocking sneer, "—go to bed with you—How quaint you sound. I merely gave him permission to screw you—with maybe an added blowjob" He reached out and picked up his mobile. "I've had an email from him. Want to hear it?"

"Not really."

Despite her refusal he began reading, "Good body, just like you promised. Not a lot of juice, but the mouth, once opened, was good. Still needs extra practice, I would say." His dark eyes looked up at her, "He could be right—and that is bound to happen—the extra practice, that is."

"A stranger? Just like that?. Shouldn't you have asked me first?"

Barton was instantly on his feet, and before Linda could step back he had grabbed her by her robe and pulled her close, snarling, "I don't have to ask you. Most of the time you're having an easy life. You can't object to doing something for the cause. And he was not a stranger. He was a new client. I always offer little surprises to a new client." 

Linda's heart was pounding, and much, much later, she would be telling herself that had been the moment when she should have called it a day. To hell with the easy living, she should have said. The price was too high if she was going to be treated like that. But all she said was, "It makes me sound like a whore."

Surprisingly, his voice softened, as he kissed her forehead, "No, no, never that. Such clients are few and far apart. Anyway, aren't you my special?" And, as he said it, he was pressing her to her knees with one hand while the other pulled open his dressing gown to bring her face close to his rampant penis.

So the weeks went by, and their travels took them from city to city, and she noticed he had a different car, a new car, practically every two months. She was only having to give herself to Barton on a roughly twice a week basis and was surprised that he was not more demanding. It was so much easier when she used her mouth to speed the moment through. Yet on some of those occasions she found herself having an unexpected moistening between her thighs, and the failure to have that fulfilled, she knew, was a gap in her life. Still, she kept telling herself, she was living the high life, wasn't she?

Everything began to change, when, after about six weeks since the incident in the Glasgow hotel, Linda suddenly realised she had missed two periods. That could mean only one thing, and one day, while they were in York, she plucked up courage to visit the hospital. A short examination and the doctor congratulated her on being approximately five weeks pregnant. He appeared surprised that she was not enthused about the news, so, while her own mind was racing, she told him she was worried about the amount of travelling she was doing.

"Just keep in touch with any Health centre you happen to be near."

For Linda, the big questions were, how to tell Barton, who would know that he was not the father, being so condom conscious, and did she really want to have the baby?

The latter question took less time to resolve. All right, the likely father had been a bastard, but he was gone out of her life, and this baby would be hers alone, hers to love, to care for, to hold close to her heart. God, she found she wanted this baby more than she had ever wanted anything in her life. What if it did break into her easy living? She would live with that if it happened. 




Lured by Luxury



Having resolved that problem she knew then that she could not tell Barton immediately. He would tell her to get rid of it. So those early months passed, with only Barton's frugal demands on her body to cloud the issue. Her breasts became just a little tender on the rare occasions he spent much time on them, and it gave her a special thrill to stand naked and sideways to a mirror, and see that subtle bulge develop.

About that time, she began to worry when Barton demanded to enter her vaginally. More and more, she directed him to her mouth, the three minute job as she thought of it. But on the few times he did part her thighs he did not give time to noticing her growing lower belly.

Then, on his way out one night in Bristol, just when she was thinking that Barton would have to be blind not to notice how her belly was beginning to blossom, he told her that he would be bringing a new client home with him. His look at Linda had told her that she would be on offer. It had been a long break from this unknown factor, but now she was worried. Would this guy notice? He was bound to.

Knowing it was going to happen she bathed, and lay in bed resolving to touch herself to moisten any severe intrusion. When the internal phone rang she was taken by surprise. It was Barton telling her he would be back at about eleven, and ordered her to wear loose fitting clothes, specifying things she might be finished with.

Before she could question this unusual request Barton had hung up.. Puzzled, she searched out a bright orange blouse, a flaring cotton skirt, which hid her bump well. Thin bra and panties were no problem, but the why of it all bothered her. So when eleven arrived, she was dressed to order and anxious.

Just after eleven she heard the outer door open and close, followed by rough laughter. Voices were low pitched, but she heard occasional odd words and phrases-"Good, pure stuff, that hairy. A supply of dust a bonus." "that door." "been told." There was a long silent pause, before the door handle turned, and Linda drew in a deep breath, before standing up to meet this prospective intruder to her body. 

The dark haired man was in white shirt and dark pants. He was tall, seemed well built and his eyes defied colour identification. With his back to the door, he appraised Linda, his eyes moving from her face, slowly down. He nodded with approval, before nodding to a chair, "Sit yourself down, while I get undressed. Call me Ralph."

Immediately, he stripped off his shirt to reveal a muscular chest. When he lowered his pants she saw a well toned belly. Sorry, I can't reciprocate, she thought crazily. His boxer shorts dropped and she was looking at a very large erection. He grinned, "Like what you see?" And she was chilled when he added, "Fancy a bit of rough?." Her head shook numbly.

"You might like it," he said, moving towards her, gesturing for her to stand. As she gained her feet, he grabbed her shoulders, pulled her close, and his mouth smashed wetly against hers. Hungrily his hands tore at her blouse, causing the buttons to pop, and Linda could see the reason for Barton's instructions. Her bra was quickly dragged away and his mouth and hands were clawing and biting at her tender breasts, so that she could not resist a whimper of pain.

"Ah, yes," he gasped, sucking hard on her nipple, "I knew you'd like it like this. Now let's have the rest of it."His hand immediately drove between her thighs, rubbing hard before he was tugging at her skirt. Once it was split away, he stepped back his hands on her panties, ready to tear them off. He stopped, and she saw the stunned look on his face as he gazed at her belly.

"Jesus, you're pregnant. He didn't tell me that."

"He didn't know." Linda told him.

"Hell, I can't-my wife—"He stopped himself, before he grabbed her , turned her and pushed her so that she was leaning forward with her face on the bed. Her panties were quickly ripped away, and his hands parted her thighs. All his movements now seemed laboured, less certain.

His large erect penis ploughed into her vagina from behind, but it didn't push hard, and he stopped halfway. She heard him curse and pull back out of her, "Can't do it," he moaned, as his hands forced her to turn and go down on her knees. "Just suck me off, will you? For God's sake." It seemed he was still trying to be the tough man but was failing.

Linda, once again, resisted this oral intrusion. But in the end she succumbed to his extra strength. As his penis was forced into her mouth, she fond that it had faded to only semi-erect, but that made the tastes on it more obvious, as he ordered, "Suck it back to size."

His softened rod lay along her tongue as she slowly sucked on it, occasionally pushing the head into her cheek. It wasn't long before Linda felt her mouth filling as his erection grew and hardened. This Ralph now began thrusting his hips, carrying the bloated head so far down into her throat that she retched, before he drew back, and thrust again. He was adopting a steady rhythm as his hands stroked her hair and cheeks. 

Then, he started rambling about how his wife had been pregnant three times, and they had two children. His wife wouldn't do certain things that he wanted. "Like this, for instance," he said, touching Linda's cheek where it momentarily bulged with his penis head. "And the rough stuff— something in me needs that."

He was quiet as his breathing quickened, and his pushes into the back of her throat increased. She heard him groan, and prepared herself as his hands tightened on the back of her head, making it quite clear that there was going to be no escape from the eruption that was coming.

When it came, his climax was mind boggling. Glancing up she saw his head thrown back. Here it comes, she thought. But the force of his penis slamming into her throat as it threw out cascade after cascade of his stuff, filling her throat, filling her mouth, almost choking her, was beyond anything she could have imagined. Even when the flow had eased, his penis remained erect, as he gently swayed into her face. Then, as it softened, he removed it swiftly, wiped it with a tissue, and said a quiet, "Thank you."

Next morning she was awakened by Barton storming into the bedroom, waving his cell phone in the air. "You fucking bitch," he screamed, and Linda was sure he was going to strike her as his hand reached out. But he pulled back the covers to reveal her naked bare belly.

"Listen to this. Listen!" His voice was almost a screech as he began to read from the phone, "Bastard. You didn't tell me she was up the stick. Bloody good head though."

"He knew before I did."

"I told him that."

"Get rid of it," he snapped.

"It's too late for that, "she told him without much conviction. 

"It's never too late. Get rid."

She had known it would come to this. "It's over the twenty four week time. Abort it now and it becomes murder. Can we afford that?" She had no idea about the legality of that, but it put him on pause before he scowled at her, and said, "Bloody good head, eh? Prove it."

Relieved, she proceded to do a job on his limp penis, which meant it added two minutes to the normal routine.

Strangely, after that, life was not so bad for Linda. She continued to swell, she was sure her face puffed up too, and her breasts were very sensitive. Of course, Barton's attitude changed. He was less generous with any money he allowed her, but knowing about the pregnancy meant that he was only interested in using her mouth. He rarely even touched her body, and Linda was perfectly happy with their brief three minute sessions even though, she told herself, she would never get used to the taste. 

Frequent visits to different clinics had kept her reassured about the condition of herself and the baby. But, as her time moved closer, she began wondering about how she would handle things when the baby arrived. That thinking had not developed far when that fateful night came along. They were in an, as usual, posh hotel near Wick, up in the far north of Scotland. A fishing port, so she guessed Barton was probably collecting his usual supply. She had noticed how their travels always included a port before moving inland.

He had been away most of the afternoon, and well into the evening. Linda was in bed when she heard the door open and close, and there was laughter and voices. She listened more closely. There were definitely two men, one being Barton, but there was a third voice—a woman's voice! Linda heard her high giggling , as she said, "Now? If you want," Her voice dropped for a moment, before Linda picked her up again. "Up or down?" A man's voice replied, "Both." The woman responded, "Greedy. Come on then."

It was clear they had gone into the adjoining bedroom. Linda heard chuckling tones, "Don't make a mess in there." And what Barton said next brought a chill over Linda's skin, "Don't take too long. I might fancy giving her a taste of what she can look forward to."

A warm night and the bedroom windows were open, and Linda could hear something of the activity. The woman's eager voice, "Ooh, you are big. I'll bring it down to size." Chuckles.

Sounds of pleasure from the man, "Oh, yes, oh, baby. Down?"

"No, no, up me, up me. Oh, God, yes, fill me, fill me,"

Linda had heard enough. She needed to know what was going on, but before she went out she decided that she wouldn't be dressed provocatively. She wanted no part of what was happening here. Quickly she shed her thin nightgown and pulled on panties, a bra and her blue summer dress. Try to look normal, with a jutting belly.

In the lounge, Barton was leaning back on a sofa, a drink in his hand, and he appeared to have his ear cocked towards the other room.

"What's going on, Barton?" Linda asked, trying to make it sound like a reasonable request.

He looked at her, and just smiled, "Ah, Linda, fancy a drink?"

"You know I don't now." She had cut out alcohol many months earlier. "Who are they?"

"Strangers in the night," he chuckled, half singing it. "At least he is. It's their first meeting. Busy aren't they?" He looked towards the closed bedroom again, "Yes, indeed. Oh, I did remember you only take milk at night. Look it's there on the sideboard for you."

Too agitated to speak, she went to the sideboard, collected her milk, took a long, pleasingly cool, gulp at it, before coming back to stand over Barton, wishing she had the guts to pour the milk over him.

His eyes swung up and over her,"God, Linda, you look really swell-really, really swell." And he laughed delightedly at his stupid joke. Furious, Linda took another mouthful of drink.

At that moment, the bedroom door opened, and a totally naked blonde, with large breasts, half staggered into the room, started to say, "My God, he's an ani—"She stopped and grinned stupidly at Linda, who couldn't taker her eyes off the shaved pudenda. The woman mocked, "Ooh, nice belly."

This one looked like the mother of all harlots, but what was wrong with her? As Linda looked the woman's body bent crazily sideways, behind her a fattish man in only boxer shorts was coming through a crooked doorway and he looked twisted. In fact everything was twisting. Desperately Linda blinked her eyes, as from a great distance the woman's voice hooted, "Fucked one too many, dearie." Linda just had time to look at her glass in realisation as it slipped from her hand, and fell. She too, was falling, falling unable to keep herself from the blackness that opened up to swallow her.

Slowly, very slowly, Linda wished the black horses would stop galloping past. Not horses, water. Water rolling like the sea. She opened her eyes to see a dark night, with few stars above her. Where was she? Lying on wood, and she was chilled. She closed her eyes, allowing her senses to come back.

Gradually, the image of a naked blonde, sneering, came to her. A half naked man behind her. Everything twisting. Why? How was she out here? Out where? Where was Barton? The milk! Had he put something in it? 

Cautiously, she moved her legs until her feet were on the ground, and she could sit up. She was on a bench set back from the road, and all she had on in the cool evening air, was her blue dress. Across a field she could tell, in spite of the dark, that the land fell away, and beyond was the glow of a heaving sea. Now she heard it, rolling over rocks. 

She had been dumped out here, alone. Barton, the bastard. This was his way of disposing of her and the baby.. She climbed to her feet, hoping and praying that the drug, and this exposure had not hurt her baby. The sky appeared lighter over the sea.. If that was sunrise, then that was east and if she wanted to follow the coast to her right, that would be south. 

Linda began walking, while her mind teasingly played with the thought, 'If something appears to be too good to be true, it probably is." The cruelty of that lay heavily over her.

It was morning when she spotted what looked like a cafe ahead, and there were trucks lined up outside. Maybe she could get a lift south.

The eyes looking at me were filled with tears, as she shrugged, sipped at her coffee, and said, "And that's it. I was in that cafe an hour and a half before you came in." Her mouth puckered before she added, "Virgin to slut in less than twelve months."

I don't know at what point in Linda's story I had covered her hand with mine. I suddenly realised it was there, and she hadn't flinched away from my touch. Her account had been so open, so frank in her revelations, that shock, surprise and disgust had flowed through my head. Not for her, but for those who had treated her in that way.

I was uncertain of how to handle the anger I was feeling, as I asked her, "What was one of the first things you said to me?"

Linda looked uncertain before shaking her head.

"All men are bastards,"I told her, "and I can see exactly why you'd come to that conclusion."

Her head tilted to one side as though in apology, "I didn't mean -"

"You had every right. My God, those men—that Barton character—they couldn't even accept the gift of your body with any kind of respect."

My anger could only burst out in words, and Linda could only stare at me, her blue eyes wide in surprise at my vehemence.

All I could do in my feeling of futility, was talk big. "Linda, you know when I punched that guy back at the cafe?"

Linda nodded, still unsure of my mood, "He was the first person I have ever struck in anger, but, right at this moment, if I had the guys you've told me about here in front of me I would cheerfully smash them to pieces."

Yes, it was a little extreme, but it was a release for the frustration I felt."I'm sorry I made you angry," Linda said softly," but I'm glad as well. It means you believe me."

Her hand was still there under mine, and I gave it a squeeze.

"Why are you being so kind to me?" she asked, then suddenly grunted in shock, and her mouth went into a little 'ooh' shape.

"What's wrong?" I asked anxiously.

But she gave me an enigmatic smile, lifted my hand, and pulled it to a certain spot on her swollen belly. Any embarrassment I might have felt was instantly dispelled by a sudden thump against my hand.

"Feel it?" she asked. "It's kicking time."

I couldn't help laughing with the pleasure and relief of it, "Does that happen often?" 

"Lately, yes."

"I'd say you've got a centre forward in there."

We laughed together for just a moment before her eyes looked into mine again, "You didn't answer my question."

"Don't you think it's about time someone was kind to you?" 

"Yes, but -"

"Linda, clear your mind, there is nothing I want but to see you safely delivered to your sister.."

Later, after a little supper, and more chat, we went back to the room. She asked for my phone to try her sister again. I hadn't the heart to tell her that she was getting an unavailable response. 

When, once again she shook her head, told me it was the same tone, I brought up the subject she had recently talked about. "You're pretty sure it was drugs, he dealt in?"

"I heard him, when he brought what he called clients back to the room, always talked about 'quality', about 'dust' and once it was about 'a large supply of 'hairy', and not wanting anything weakened."

I'd heard the term 'hairy' on the road, I knew it referred to heroin. "His car, would you know its registration number or make."

"I know it exactly," she said, a little frown furrowing her brow." He just got it a couple of weeks ago. He changed cars about every two or three months."

"A sure sign of wanting to avoid recognition. Did he change his name at hotels?"

Linda shook her head, "I never watched when he checked in. But this car was a Jaguar, dark blue, and the number was RD 7."

"Just that?"

"Yes," she laughed, "otherwise I mightn't have remembered it."

"The name of the hotel back there?"

"The Linstock."

"And it's Franden, Barton Franden."

She nodded, "Why are you asking these questions now?"

I took a breath, "Linda, I can't punch this guy's lights out but the police might be very interested in his activities."

Her face showed utter dismay, "Oh, not the police."

Gently I placed my hands on her shoulders, looked into those azure eyes, and said, "Linda, There'll be no involvement. I'll only go to a public phone box, ring Inverness police, and give them what basic information you've given me. That's all. If they want to act on that, then fine, if not—well, at least we tried. But, no involvement to worry about. Okay?"

Still looking dubious, she nodded, and gave me a weak smile. "While I'm out, have a good soak in the bath" I suggested. "There are towels, and then tuck yourself up in one of those beds."

After much searching for a public phone, and then waiting to get through I finally spoke to a sergeant , who wanted my name, but I told him that the only name he needed was Barton Franden, adding that he might not be using that name. After identifying the car and giving the name of the hotel, I hung up. It was up to them now.

By the time I got back only Linda's head showed above the covers of the bed nearer the window. She appeared to be asleep, but as I closed the door she opened her eyes, and said, "I was lying here thinking you might not come back."

"Forget that," I told her firmly. "Anyway, job done. The police will act or they won't. Anonymous phone calls could be hoaxes."

Linda pulled the covers closer around her bare shoulders, and, as she settled down, she murmured, "Thank you, Frank."

It was the first time she had used my name. Now why should something as simple as that give me such a buzz? I stripped down to my boxers, climbed into bed, and pondered this unlikely situation. Here I was sharing a bedroom with what I considered was a most beautiful young lady. Had I ever shared a bedroom with a good looking woman before? Yes, quite a few times, but never without a full sexual outcome.

Many had been, during my travels through the country. Some had been when I had taken overnight stops, and had been lucky enough to encounter a willing evening partner. A few of my encounters had been in the open air, in a handy wooded area, in an enclosed field, or, more hastily and less satisfying, against a wall outside a pub. In general, I chose carefully, and tried to obtain, as well as getting a degree of my own satisfaction, some rousing response from my partner. .

It is not a wild boast to say that in most cases I was able to leave the lady well serviced. That success was due, without any doubt, to my three month affair with Lorna Brewis, a twenty eight year old divorcee, who I met when I was in my second year at Loughborough University, which was not far from my home in Derby and conveniently close to hers. Before meeting her I'd had one fumbling, clumsy, failure with a highly frustrated university colleague. I failed too, on my first drunken encounter with Lorna. It wasn't just the drink that gave me rose tinted spectacles. She was a gorgeous lady with an amazingly curvaceous body, which I got to know extremely well in our short time together. 




Lured by Luxury



I can only think that she pitied me for my first pathetic, drunken foray upon her body, for she offered to see me again. True to say that all I know about satisfying a woman, and bringing her sensual pleasure, I owe to Lorna. In the following months she took me through, almost step by step, lessons. First was in gaining some concept of whatever lady I was with. "Different folk, different desires." Using a first kiss to judge when the tongue comes into play, "Sometimes immediate, sometimes not. Learn to read your partner." Caressing and stroking she showed me at some length, "Erogenous zones vary from woman to woman, Touch my breasts, and, as you know, I go berserk, and that sets everything off." Skin on skin was a major factor in her instructions, "Just that gliding over each other can be so erotic." When she talked of finding the clitoris she was very specific. "Finding mine is no problem, because, if you've touched my breasts, I'm already juicy and ready." I found that out on the second occasion, when my tentative fingers roamed between the lower lips and discovered an already erect clitoris. "Not always like that. If she's not far enough roused, you may need to tease it out of its hood—and that might be accomplished quicker with your tongue." 

I recall being shocked when she asked me to put my face down there, but then had been surprised at how pleasant it had been. There were other lessons on entering for the first time, how to tease, move and listen. When I questioned 'listen', she said, "For her breathing, her vocal noises, it will vary but you will learn what to listen for." On our third meeting she took me into her mouth, and at the time it was my first blowjob, and I was spurting before she'd taken much other action, and I was ashamed at the way she swallowed. "The offer won't always be there, but if it is treat her with respect."

Remembering that, as I lay in the single bed, I couldn't help thinking about Linda's treatment. There had been no respect in her case.

Anyway, after three months of total access to her gorgeous body, I was dismayed when she told me that she had to move down to Devon. But I reckon I had been a good student because on our last session together, she asked me to do everything she'd told me and to bring her to a massive orgasm. Maybe she faked it, I'll never know for sure, but she claimed, as her breathing eased that I had passed with flying colours. 

With good thoughts in my mind I, at last, fell into a deep sleep.

The morning after the storm was bright and clear, and apart from some obvious tree damage there was little sign of the ferocity of the previous day. Linda looked good, refreshed by a settled night, and her face was well worth a second glance.

Breakfasted, we were on the road by nine o'clock. It took about an hour and three quarters to get to Edinburgh. A brief coffee and toilet stop at Dunbar, and we were over the border and down to Newcastle by about one thirty. On the way Linda admitted that she had only tried to phone her sister once while travelling with Barton, because she hadn't been sure how to tell her about her lifestyle. "She was always a bit straight laced." She said with a little sad shrug. "I got no answer then, either."

"You had nothing to be ashamed of," I tried to console her, very concerned at the dead phone at her sister's number.

I could only guess at the look on her face as she said, "The more I think about it, the more I tell myself I could have got away from it. But that level of living-the travel—"

"Linda, it's easy to understand. You were dazzled by the lure of luxury. Feel like eating?"

She agreed and I pulled into a service station just beyond Newcastle. Three quarters of an hour later we were back on the road and I estimated we would be in Nottingham by about six o'clock. It gave me a jolt when I realised that would be goodbye time. Bloody idiot, why should that bother you? But it did. And I had to admit it.

An urgent toilet stop at Harrogate was intended to be brief, but that was when what I'd half feared the whole trip, actually happened. Linda's waters broke. Luckily a grey haired lady had been in the toilet when it happened. When she heard what I was driving she offered to drive us to the local hospital. "You'll never get a large wagon in that car park."

Within twenty minutes we were in the hospital, Linda had been checked and it was confirmed that she was close. I heard a nurse report, "Yes, definitely two fingers. Action time."

When they wheeled Linda out she looked in more pain, and I held her hand as the nurse said, "The pains are steady and getting more frequent. It might be a quick one. Follow us. Deep breaths, Linda."

As I was deposited in a waiting alcove and the nurse wheeled Linda away,she managed to raise her head to ask anxiously, "You will wait, won't you?"

Foolishly, I almost said, "Forever." But I did manage, "I've come this far. I'm betting it's a boy."

Her smile was weak, and then she was gone through one of the multiple doors along the corridor. I sat down with no idea how long I would have to wait, but I knew I had to ring my brother. He was not going to be very pleased. 

He was bloody furious, "A what? Maternity hospital? How the fuck did you manage that?"

I tried to explain, but he was near apoplectic, and didn't want to know anything except when I'd be back. My answer was very guarded, since I had no idea how long this would take. It was turned five o'clock now. My brother said he'd advise the distributor waiting for the whiskey that it would be later. His final words were, "Just phone when you're on your way."

I was as agitated and as restless as the standard image of an expectant father. I just prayed that Linda would come through it all right. That was the crunch. My major thoughts were not of a baby but of Linda, this woman who I'd only known for some thirty six hours!.

The clock showed exactly five minutes to seven when the nurse appeared smiling, "Linda has had a baby girl, six pounds ten ounces, all intact, and mother and baby are both well. They're just tidying her up, then you can see her."

I could not believe how my heart was beating like a hammer. It wasn't my baby, for God's sake. But when finally I was shown into the ward and saw Linda, face flushed, but looking exhausted, my heart swelled in my chest. "You owe me a thousand pounds," she said softly.

I shook my head, not knowing what she was talking about. Was it delirium. But she was smiling weakly as she added, "Was I dreaming? Or did you not bet me that it would be a boy?"

Having only touched her hand once, I was compelled to go directly to her and kiss her forehead. She looked almost startled, as she indicated the small cot at the other side of the bed. I went round and looked down on a tiny, pinched red face topped by a mop of black hair.

"She's beautiful," I said, while staring into the cot, and then, looking up, I added, gallantly or truthfully. "Just like her mother." And Linda blushed.

"Oh, thank you for staying," she sighed. 

I then told her of the pressing need I had to get to my destination. She nodded her understanding, but looked sad, and that gladdened me as I outlined my intentions, to be in touch with the hospital and be there to pick her up, whenever that was.

"But that will be too much trouble for you."

"It will be my pleasure," I told her. "Now you rest, and think of a name for your baby."

As I reached the door, she called gently, "Frank,-"And as I looked back she said, "-not all men."

I was halfway down the corridor before I recognised the significance of what she'd said.

A taxi took me back to the truck and I was able to deliver the whiskey by ten that evening, and returned the truck to the small lock-up yard where we had our office. As always my Ford Mondeo was left parked there and I drove to the three bed-roomed house which I'd purchased two years earlier. I had been living in a relatively cosy flat, when the house came on the market, priced down for a quick sale. I told myself I didn't really need it, but the moment I saw it, I couldn't resist. Three bedrooms, a good size kitchen, lounge and dining area, decent gardens, but it was the open country at the rear of the house that sold it to me. I loved walking in the open, and to also be able to look out of my upstairs window and view stretches of fields and woods was just ideal. All right, it was too big for one person, but, as Harry convinced me, I wouldn't always be just one person.

"If anybody will have you," he had added whimsically.

Next day I phoned the hospital to be told that mother and baby had had satisfactory nights, and that Linda would be released the following day. I could hardly wait to see how she looked without the bulge. Yet warning myself that such a meeting would be brief. I tried her sister's number again, with the same result. So what would we find when we got to Nottingham? 

My brother had the truck that day and it was my turn in the office where I cleared up some paper work. The day dragged, the night too, but at last I was in my car and heading up towards Harrogate. 

Linda looked tremendous. A subtle touch of make up, presumably loaned by a nurse, enhanced a face that, I knew needed no enhancing. Her figure was as trim as I had imagined it would be, with just a slight suggestion of a swell when she stood sideways. Crazily, I wanted to take her in my arms, and had to remind myself that we had only just got to the forehead kissing stage. But I boldly put my hands on her shoulders and kissed her on the cheek. She didn't resist, and I tried to read something into the closeness she brought her body against me, and the look in her eyes.

Outside, the baby hugged close to her she voiced her surprise on seeing the car. "I know you're used to Jaguars but-"I began.

"This is just wonderful," she enthused.

As I drove she told me what she had decided to call her little girl. "Frances," she said emphatically, "to remind me of someone who I'll always be grateful to."

The emotional impact of that statement hit me hard because, as well as the compliment, it contained the elements of a farewell. That was something I did not want..

However, when we reached Nottingham, and finally Linda's sister's street, one of the first things I saw as we moved down the numbers was a 'For Sale' sign just ahead. Sure enough it turned out to be the correct number, and it was immediately clear that the property was deserted. A neighbour told us that her sister's husband's work had taken them off to South Africa, and the house had been empty for three months.

"No wonder we got no answer," I said stupidly, knowing exactly what I was about to suggest now.

There were tears in her eyes as she looked down at her baby and then up at me. "What'll I do?"

I made my offer, feeling that my whole future rested on the nature of her response.

"You have a house?"

"No, I live in a cave," Relieved to bring a smile to her worried face. "Only if you trust me."

"Of course, I do. But will it be all right?"

"Let me show you. It might be all right, until you find somewhere."

I may have broken the speed limit to Derby, and to my place out on the outskirts. Linda was absolutely taken with it. "If this is not a form of luxury, what is?" she declared. Then her face fell."But how can I pay you in the time I'm here?"

"By getting used to your baby, by tidying up after me," I said that only half joking. More seriously, and watching her reaction closely I added, "I would like you to stay as long as you feel comfortable. You'll have your own room, of course."

"But—but—I can't impose on you, like this."

"Maybe I need the company. You'll stay? No strings."

Her blue eyes held mine for a brief moment as she said, "What if I want strings?"

My breath felt caught up in my throat, as I tried to hide the feelings that would not be suppressed. Later in the day when I went alone, to see my brother, Harry, and told him all the facts, and the arrangements we had come to, he gave me a hard stare before saying, "Bloody hell, you're hooked, aren't you?"

And that was the first time I was able to admit it to myself. I was hooked, totally. I wanted to be near her, to hear her voice, to look at that lovely face, but, until everything was certain, not to touch.

Before I visited Harry, Linda and I had already been out on a shopping expedition. "I'm sick of that blue dress," I said lightly. So we bought her a variety of clothes including nightwear, and then spent considerable time loading up with items essential for having a baby in the house. I couldn't help thinking, domestication gone wild.

A visit to my doctor fixed her and the baby with a regular check up over the next six weeks. 

Since I had to continue with my work we quickly settled into a routine. Harry was good enough to ensure that I only made the trips that did not involve any overnight stays, so that I was home every night. Linda quickly showed what an asset she could be, buying food at the local supermarket, and having good meals ready for me at night. Being on her own through the day was obviously allayed by caring for baby Frances. 

When I took Linda and baby to meet Harry and his wife of four years, Sandra, they immediately took to her, and Sandra was gaga about Frances, "Oh, she's adorable," she cooed, and glancing at Harry she added, "I think we'll have to have another one." They already had little three year old, Jack.

Harry glared at me, "Troublemaker," he snapped.

Could I see something promising in Linda's eyes eyes when she looked at me? I wasn't sure, but things seemed to be moving into a new area. Then after about five weeks, I was unexpectedly delayed one night, because of traffic. Being in the Peak District I couldn't make a signal with my mobile. So, when I walked in the door, ready to apologise, Linda was rushing across the room to fling her arms around me, crying, "I thought you'd had an accident."

Holding onto her, I looked down into her troubled face, which seemed to come up to meet me, and without any further thought we were kissing, gently, mouth to mouth. The warmth of it increased my heartbeat. When we broke her eyes definitely held a new light . "Oh, we must practice that again sometime."

"You think so?"

"I've wondered what it might be like-with you."

"You really feel that way?" 

"Only since Pitlochry," she laughed. Then she reached up to place her hand on my face. "I've stopped bleeding, Frank."

Her touch was electrical, and I knew it was me who held all the reticence. "Linda, my mind is too full of what others have inflicted on you. How long is it before you are medically clear?"

"Only a few days."

"So let's keep it right."

Reluctantly, Linda agreed, and for the next few evenings we sat arm in arm on the sofa, occasional kisses were allowed, as we watched the television.

On the evening of the day her final check up was due, I arrived home, and she gave me a chaste kiss on the cheek. Rather cool, I thought. Over our meal, I asked her how the medical had gone, and all she said was, "Fine."

"Nothing wrong, was there?" 

"No,"she said, bluntly, clearing the dishes away, as I stood to help her.

"You go get your shower, you usually do that before eating." It was almost a scolding tone, and, like a naughty schoolboy I did as I was told.

Showered, and rather worried by her coolness, I came downstairs, and sat on the sofa to watch the evening news. I heard Linda going up the stairs, and was sure she had been given some bad news.

When shecame back I heard her go to the window and draw the curtains. That made me alert. The fact that she was wearing a silken dressing gown, added to that surprise, and I was relieved to see the broad lascivious smile on her face, as she stood in front of me, and asked, "Did I ever show you what's left of my pot belly?" And she opened her gown wide.

My breath caught in my throat at my first real sight of her naked body. Her breasts, brown tipped and erect, pointed straight at me, and there was only that very slight swell to her belly. With her shaved area only just acquiring a stubble, I could make out the first crack of her labia. My penis gave an instant response.

I tried to act cool, "I can't see the telly," I said.

"I'll just go then, should I?"

Laughing I grabbed her arm and pulled her down beside me, my hands instantly pushing the robe from her shoulders, as our mouths came together in mutual passion. She smelled of lavender, jasmine and roses, and I knew she'd come direct from the shower. I stroked her shoulders, loving the smooth curve of them, before moving my hand down to her breasts, to enjoy the firm, yet soft, roundness. 

Breaking the kiss I moved my lips down over her breasts, kissing and licking, lingering around her nipples, which made her giggle with her comment, "Sorry, no milk left, but, God, don't stop." Her hand moved to rub over my erection crammed inside my pants.

I longed to treat her to all the moves I'd learned from Lorna ten years ago, those moves that I had used so successfully on many occasions since that time. But this was a very different case. A case so delicate that while longing to possess her, I feared that I wouldn't have the skill to overcome those things she had experienced, was it just over six weeks ago?

Looking up into her lovely eyes, I told her this.

"Frank, I have no fear while in your arms, and this isn't just gratitude I'm feeling," she said, moving her hand from my erection onto her own pudenda. "Down here, I have a physical ache, which isn't from childbirth. I'm sure of that. It came on every time you looked at me after Pitlochry. It's from wanting you."

While she spoke she had unfastened my belt and I eased my body up so that my pants could be pushed down and away. So gratified by her words, I bent to bestow more kisses on her breasts, and felt her fingers trail over my erection. "Ah," she murmured, "this holds no fears for me."

Without moving my lips from her nipples, I allowed my hand to trail down, spreading my fingers as they passed over her belly. Practically, walking my fingers over her shaved, bristly pudenda, I moved my head up to resume our kissing. Her tongue latched onto mine as we melded together.

Slowly, carefully, I moved my hand so that the tips of my fingers tickled at the beginning of her labia, as though I'd turned a key, her thighs parted, and I felt her hand tighten around my penis, while her tongue ran wild around my mouth.

Probing along her labia, I allowed my fingers to sink into the moistness that was already there. I guessed her clitoris might not be too hard to locate. Sure enough, within seconds, my finger tips picked up that little erection inside her, and when I rubbed over it, she tore her lips away from mine to gasp, "Oh, Frank, Frank. That is so-it's -no one has—Oh." Her hand worked feverishly over my erect penis, pulling at it, fumbling into my scrotum, and I knew I was going to need all my will power to stay in this game. This game was new, even to me, for this game was full of feelings which were not all physical.

My fingers continued caressing on and around her clitoris. Normally, I would have made some play in and around her vagina, but something held me back from that. Linda's breathing had become heavier, more a kind of panting. Then, suddenly her whole body stiffened, and she sighed, "Oh, Frank, I'm almost—put it in me—please."

"But it might still be painful,"I warned her. "Harry told me how Sandra found that-even after six weeks." I didn't mention my other fear, connected to the harsh treatment of entry she had experienced with those other men. 

Linda's voice was a strangled cry, "I'm going -please, Frank, in me." And she heaved on my penis, desperately trying to draw it to her vagina.

I took a deep breath, fearing this, yet longing for it, and I allowed her to place my penis head at her vaginal opening. The heft of her own hips drew me inside her. Feeling the need to play my part, I pushed slowly, gently into her warm wet passage. Her vaginal walls felt to be rubber rings that heaved on my rod. Again I heard her cry out, and with that cry, her hips gave a mighty heave, and, along with my own cautious efforts, I knew I was filling her completely. I also knew that her gasps, groans, and yelps had little to do with pain. She'd had her first orgasm, and I was so relieved.




Lured by Luxury



As she slowly relaxed, I realised that I had been so cautious, that my scrotum was still aching for release. A few more, less than regular, pushes inside her warm and welcoming interior brought me to my own guarded release. I seemed to be bucking for ages as I pumped the last drops into her.

Lying there, her head on my chest, perspiration welding us together, she sighed, "I just knew it should be like this."

I told her of the relief I felt at hearing her climax, and she gave another sigh, "Why couldn't I have met you a year ago?"

"Uneasy as it was, I'm just glad we met."

She raised her head, and her eyes were bright as she asked, "When did you know you wanted me?"

I had given that much thought already, and there could only be one true answer, "The moment I walked through that cafe doorway."

She reached up to kiss me, and that was when we heard Frances protest. For the next half hour we were busy with feeds, and baby baths, While Linda was giving Frances her bottle, I casually flicked on the television. It was in the middle of a news bulletin, and there was a picture of what appeare to be a hotel. It was the words that caught my attention:

"—was tracked from the north of Scotland, to several locations around the country, after an anonymous tip off. Police say they had already some knowledge of the man who is thought to be the ring leader, and several other people have been arrested. Police believe it is one of the biggest drug cartels ever arrested.—"

I turned to look at Linda, but she was staring open mouthed at the screen. "Those hotels, I know some of them."

I laughed, "My God, could this night get any better?"

When Frances was settled and we'd shared a few minutes of savouring an element of vengeance , I talked Linda into taking a shower with me. The sheer sensual pleasure of standing close together, skin on skin, as the water cascaded over us, was marvellous. My hands soaped over her breasts down her trim waist, ran up the incredible smoothness of her inner thigh, and she gasped as my hand nestled, pressed against her labia. At the same time, her hands were a delight on my shoulders, chest and belly. Reaching my semi-erect penis and my scrotum, her touch became a massage of tenderness, stroking, squeezing with such delicacy.

"Ooh, "she laughed," it's growing."

I kissed her as the water ran over our faces, and I said, "He has to be back on duty soon."

"Does he know?"

I knew exactly what I intended now that first nervous breakthrough had been made. I was longing to reveal to her what real loving care felt like.

Out and dried, we lay on the bed, side by side, kissing, gently at first, fingering each others genitals, which, naturally, increased the intensity of the kisses. But, with my index finger on her clitoris, I knew the next move was important. Breaking the kiss, I slid down the bed, as my mouth and tongue relished her breasts and belly.

Deliberately, I moved directly down so that my erection was beyond her reach, and she made a little protest. I assured her, "You'll soon get it back."

My lips had moved on down to her rough pubic area, and again she voiced a question, but by that time her labia were under my tongue, and her body momentarily tensed with the thrill of it. Within seconds I had my head completely between her thighs, my lips on her labia, and my tongue lapping at her clitoris, already roused by my finger.

"F-Frank, oh, God, that's -it's—"And her voice trailed away as her hips pushed up at my face. I continued licking her sturdy clitoris, always staying alert to her breathing pattern, which was, already, quite rapid. For myself I was relishing the musky aroma of her and the creaminess under my tongue. Then, on impulse, I allowed my mouth and tongue to venture back and deeper, to draw circles around her vagina. Devilishly my tongue tip entered her, withdrew, and then entered again.

Sounds emanating from her lips were pure gibberish, and I knew she was fast approaching the high I had wished for her. Briefly, i drew my face back just to gaze on the rose petal wonder of her. Then my tongue swooped again on her clitoris, and I tensed my legs, knowing from her noises, and from the trembling of her hips that she was right on the verge. Another rapid flick of my tongue, and as she called out, I moved my body up and over her. As my lips brushed over her breasts, I was directing my throbbing penis into her heaving vagina. 

Her desperate panting was music to my ears as I was able, all inhibition gone, to thrust long and strong into the very heart of her, as she rose up to meet my eager invasion. Was it thirty seconds, or longer that we heaved together, practically raised from the bed? It felt as though her whole body had opened up to accept my gushing semen. For a further while my erection held so that i could stroll it back and forward gently along her passage, as she whispered my name over and over into my ear.

At last I was able to say, "That is what I wanted you to feel. Did I succeed?"

"I thought I would never come down from wherever you took me. It was magical, Frank."

I handed her a tissue to clean herself up and took one myself. Then she said with mock anger, "But you are doing it all, and I owe you so much." Her hand reached down to touch my limp penis.

"Too late. He's dead."

She laughed and we lay quiet for a while. After just a few minutes her breathing gave me a new message. She was sound asleep. Realising that, I wasn't far behind.

I knew it was a dream, because I was lying in a field of gold. Buttercups were they? I was naked, and something fluttered over and around me. Fairies? Imps? Fluttering over, and touching my penis, making it rise. No nightmare this, as they closed in around it, and they were moist as they moved along it like a tongue. It was a tongue.

I opened my eyes. The curtains showed daylight, but the treatment my erect penis was undergoing was more obvious. Linda was bent over me, and through the mask of her hair I could see her mouth firmly clamped on me. I could not see my penis as I felt it touch the back of her throat.

I reached for her head, "Linda," I croaked, "you don't - have to—"

Momentarily, she drew back her head, while her hand kept a firm hold down there. "I do have to, Frank. You are mine and I am yours, but only you can wash away any remnants of what happened to me."

"But not all the way—"

"Yes, yes. I want you to replace the memory of that taste that lingers in my mind."

And with that she enveloped my erection with her lips, and her tongue flickered around and under it as she pushed me to the back of her throat. Drawing back she bulged her cheek, and I gasped at the delightful feeling of my penis head riding along that velvet path. Looking down I saw her cheeks draw in as she actually sucked on me. Fearing any guilt I might feel I reached down for her head, but her eyes looked up at me threateningly, as her teeth tightened around my penis. With a quick nod she continued her activity, moving faster and faster, touching me to the very back of her throat. 

When her fingers closed around my scrotum, I knew I was beyond any redemption. She relaxed for a moment, drawing her lips back to my foreskin, before immediately, plunging her head forward, her lips tight, her sucking fierce, and I groaned as my load emptied into her willing throat. Pulse after pulse, I released, and she took it all, her eyes fixed on my face.

When it was over, and my limp penis began to slide from her mouth, she caught it in her hand and her tongue licked away any stray semen. 

As she slid up the bed towards me she said, "Done. You have genuinely exorcised all other memories of what has taken place in my mouth. You have washed away my sins. And you don't taste bad either."

She laughed before I kissed her gratefully, "No sins to wash away," I told her. "Only bad memories. From now on we make our own memories."

"And I'll get better at that over the coming years."

"Yes," I sighed, "all those years ahead."