0 comments/ 16585 views/ 2 favorites The Lady & the Highwayman By: Arkontheroof The road to Bracemere was wild an uneven, flanked by trees that writhed like claws in the wind, the moonlit hills stretching out behind them. From the windows of the carriage, Angeline watched them whip by, midnight-dark, against the grey hills and blue-black sky. It was miles to the nearest farmstead, and as she listened to the wheels of the carriage clatter and crash against each rock and rut in the road, she had fears of a wheel breaking or coming lose. But no such accident befell her. When the carriage came creaking to a sudden halt, this had a more dramatic cause. "You know what I'm going to say?" a voice sounded from in front of the carriage. It was firm, confident, slightly mocking. The coachman coughed. "I s'pose." "Well then, Stand, and Deliver! Throw down that musket and raise your hands. Then we'll see what treasures you carry!" The musket thudded on the road. Inside the carriage Angeline blanched. Alone so far from anywhere, a robber on the road might take more from a lady than her silver, and so she pulled the hood of her satin cloak over her head to hide her face and straightened her long skirts to cover her slender legs down to the ankles. Horse-hooves approached, and the dark silhouette of a horse's head and then the rider appeared outside the window. The figure who leaned down to peer into the window was tall and slim, wearing a dark coat, a tricorn hat and a black handkerchief across his mouth. "Well now, what fabulous treasure do I find? And so bashful? Pray, lower your hood, madam." Angeline sat still and silent. She did not obey. The figure reached out his right hand, and levelled a long flintlock pistol inches from her face. He leaned forward and with a move of his wrist he flicked back her hood with the muzzle of the gun. "Such a lady is a rare sight in these parts. You must be the Lady Angeline." Angeline looked surprised. "I see that you are. And here I am on horseback – you must think that I have no manners!" And with that he swung down from his horse and reached up to open the carriage door. A pistol still in his right hand he held up his left towards her. "I have no silver." "Indeed not. Your fortune awaits you at Bracemere. But it is you I am taking not your silver. Come." And he beckoned, the hand still held out to help her down. "I refuse!" she said defiantly. "Madam," he mocked, "you may think it heroic to resist me so that I must shoot you, but if I do that I must also shoot your coachman to remove the witness. I would hate to do that. Harry is a fine man and his kin would miss him. Come down. Do not make me murder your coachman." She grimaced but stood, keeping her cloak grasped in front of her, and dismounted from the carriage without taking his hand. "Now," he gestured to his horse and took the reigns in his left hand so that the horse could not bolt, "we ride from here." Trembling slightly, Angeline climbed into the saddle, and the highwayman leaped up behind, placing his feet in the stirrups but leaving the saddle for her comfort, and spurred his horse on away from the carriage and into the night. His pistol put away, he took the reigns in both hands, one arm on each side of Angeline's slender waist to stop her falling (or jumping) from the horse. Her heart pounded with trepidation, and she adopted a defiant tone, refusing to let him have the upper hand entirely. If protest was all she could do, then protest she would. "You hold me too tight, sir! Unhand me!" "I will hold you as firmly as I wish," she could hear him smiling, "And for now my arms don't hold as tight as your corsets do already." "You are no gentleman sir, but a common ruffian, and should be ashamed of yourself!" "I'm never gentle, but can be much rougher, if you wish. And highwaymen are not known for their shame." They rode for no more than fifteen minutes when they came to a junction in the road by a wood, where a young boy waited. The highwayman dismounted, and indicated that Angeline should do the same. When she reached the ground he raised her cloak from behind and slid his left hand up the back of her dress to the low hemline between her shoulder-blades, where he hooked his fingers over the dress and held it fast in his fist. With his right hand he drew the pistol. "What are you doing, sir!" "Ensuring that you can't run." The cloak had swung open at the front to reveal a low-cut neckline, in the latest fashion. The young lad who had met them gazed at the shadows where her breasts plunged into the dress, and drooled: "Oh, she's a nice one, mister – you'll have some fine sport there!" Angeline blushed and frowned. The highwayman reprimanded him. "Don't think such thoughts. It's disrespectful. Now, take the horse." The boy led the horse away down one branch of the road, and the lady and the highwayman continued on foot, over a stile and into the wood. "Are you saying," she chided him, "that a scoundrel like you has not had such base thoughts." "My thoughts are always base, but I can control my tongue and be civil." Her heart quickened in fear. "So you do plan to dishonour me." He stopped as he walked and she, held by her dress, was forced to stop too. He stepped close behind her, and his face-mask now lowered he put his mouth by her ear. "If you ask me what base thoughts I have right now, I would say that I'd bend you over that fallen tree there and throw your skirts over your head, slap your arse until you had learned to keep a civil and ladylike tone, and then spread your legs and take you faster and harder than any woman has been taken before: I would make you howl with pleasure. But that is not my business, and I suggest that we are silent or return to more civilised conversation. Now, walk." He pushed her forward and they continued on, but she would not fall silent. "You are a robber and a kidnapper. Why stop there?" Her heart still raced, but now that he had said that he would not touch her, the thought of what he would not do had an excitement to it, and perhaps it was not only fear that she felt. "You misunderstand the reason for your abduction. This is for your good." "How so? Explain!" "Tomorrow, perhaps." The highwayman's cottage lay deeper in the woods. It had only three rooms and but one door to the outside – a door which he locked after they had entered. He pocketed the key. In the firelight of the cottage Angeline could see her abductor clearly. He was tall and slender, athletic but not chunky, with a well-defined face that was certainly not unattractive. He was also not cruel. He fetched her bread, cheese and wine, and (though he stood guard a little distance away) he allowed her access to the outdoors privy. At length he said that it was late and they should both sleep, and he showed her to her room. The room was small with a single wooden bed, manacles looped around the bedhead. "You intend to chain me up?" "I cannot have you escaping. The manacles are strong enough to hold a man, so should hold you well, and the chain between the two cuffs is long enough that you will be able to move. Now, lie down." She lay back with trepidation and raised her hands to her head as he instructed. He closed the heavy catches around her wrists, checked that the chain looped securely through the bedhead, and stood back to look at her. Her cloak had been left in the kitchen, so she lay in her long dress, which had ridden up to show her stockings up to the knee. His eyes travelled from her slender ankles, to her hips and waist, to low-cut neckline where her chest rose and fell quickly, to her tender neck and her face, besides which her pale arms were held firm. "It seems uncivilised," he mused, "to make you sleep fully dressed. But however much I want to remove your bodice and your skirt, I feel that that would be more uncivilised. So, sleep well." And with that he cast a blanket across her, turned and left. She heard him move across the main room to the other bedroom, and close the door behind him. Immediately she pulled against the manacles, but found that neither the chains nor the bedstead would give. She lay still and drifted into sleep where she dreamed a strange dream, of meeting the highwayman not as an abductor but a rescuer: she dreamed that he came across her manacled half-naked in the wood, so that she was obliged to find a way to thank him for rescuing her…. And suddenly she was awake, a thought clear in her mind: the manacles! They were designed for the thicker wrists of a man, and hung loosely on her. She squirmed her hands against the cuffs and after much effort and with some grazes she found that she could ease her hands through the hoops and free herself without forcing the cuffs open at all. Now to escape! She made for the main room and realised that the door was locked, the key, as she recalled, in the highwayman's coat pocket. The coat was nowhere to be seen: he must have taken it into his room. Then she realised that he might pursue her and she would also need a gun. His pistol, too, was missing, presumably also in his room. So, with a lantern in one hand she moved cautiously forward and pushed open the door to the other chamber. He lay asleep in a broad bed. His pistol hung from a hook on the wall above and his coat was thrown down on a chair. Then another idea struck her. She returned to her room, unwound the manacles from the bedhead, and carried them carefully back into the highwayman's room. In the coat pocket she found the door-key and the manacles' key. She opened the cuffs and crept forward, leaning over her captor to thread the chain of the shackles through this bedhead. Both of his hands lay on his chest and the chain was just long enough that she could get one cuff to each fore-arm. She snapped the manacles shut one, then immediately the other, and he woke with a start. He tried to sit but the chain from his hands over his shoulder to the bedhead held him down. She snatched the pistol and pointed it at his face. "Don't struggle!" she ordered. She thought now what she should do. She could shoot him. Or flee to the authorities and have him arrested and hung. Her gaze travelled down from his striking handsome face, to the shackled arms that lay over the sheet, over his flat stomach and the clear bulge which lay on it. "Did I interrupt a pleasant dream?" she asked. He looked frightened, but also he blushed. She reached down with her left hand and pulled the sheet away. His cock lay long and fat on his stomach, nearly erect. She reached down and touched the shaft with the tip of her finger, and it twitched. She blushed and smiled. She ran her fingers up and down it, and soon it swelled to be rock hard. There were a hundred and one things that she only half understood, which well brought up young ladies simply would not do with their lovers, but here, with a highwayman, miles from anywhere, no-one would know what she did, and she didn't have to care. She found herself growling with pleasure at the thought of it. She leaned forward and, still pointing the pistol at the highwayman's face, let the tip of her tongue flick around the head of his penis. "This was never my intention!" he protested. "You're this hard, and it isn't your intention?" She laid the gun on the floor and stood up, loosening the chords at the back of her dress so that she could slither out of the tight gown and let it drop to her feet. She stood before him, in a lose chemise that barely covered her breasts, her nipples clearly hard through the thin fabric, a tight corset over this about her waist, linen knickers, and white stockings held up by garters of blue ribbon. She slipped her fingers down the front of her knickers and looked the highwayman in the eye. She moved her hips against her hand and sighed. His eyes were fixed on her crotch. "You have no dishonourable intentions? I don't believe you." She climbed onto the bed and knelt between his legs, holding his hip with one hand and taking his shaft in the other, holding his cock straight so that she could lick and suck at the shaft from every side. She slipped him between her lips again and filling her mouth with spit she sucked hard and persistently. He groaned repeatedly, and she dreamed of sucking him until he exploded in her mouth: she growled again with pleasure at the thought, but knew that he would then be spent and that that would be a waste. She pulled back and let her hands caress his dampened cock. "Plesae, we should discuss this." Recovered from his groaning, he began to protest again. "I didn't want to take advantage of you." "Well, I'm taking advantage of this!" and she took him again in her mouth. But another unladylike thought occurred to her and she let him drop. "But if you're going to complain, I'll have to find another use for that overly gallant tongue." She crawled up to the head of the bed, wriggling out of her knickers as she did so, and knelt astride his head, one stockinged shin on either side of his face. She took him by the hair and pulled his mouth to her. "Lick me!" He licked. She grasped for the bedhead and nearly screamed with pleasure. His tongue found her clit immediately, sliding across it gently again and again. She could stand no more than thirty seconds of it before she pulled away. She slid back down the bed until she straddled his grain, and reached down to his hard cock. "Now, I have every intention of being magnificently dishonoured" she told him, "so don't hold anything back!" She guided him into her gently at first. He was a good size, but she was wet and ready for him. She wimpered as she slowly lowered herself down onto him, until her mound pressed against his stomach and the whole length was buried inside her. She took his shoulders in her hands and began to ride him, as he moved to meet her movements. "Yes, yes!" Faster and faster they went, he reaching up with shackled hands to grasp her linen-clad breasts, her hair spilling down to brush his face. "Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes….!" The quicker they went the better it felt, and soon she was thrusting as fast as she could, but still wanting more. Desperate to find a faster position, she pulled off him and turned around, guiding him firmly into her again, with her back now to him. She leaned forward, grasping his ankles as his cock slid in and out at this new angle. She braced herself against the firm mattress so that he could set the pace. "Get on with it! Just do me!" and the last traces of lady-like politeness disappeared. "Just fuck me as fast as you can!" Suddenly he was sitting upright, and one hand reached out to grab her hair roughly. He was free of the manacles – and she realised that she had left the key in the lock. But so long as he kept ramming her, she didn't care. "As fast as you can take!" he told her, and pulled her off him, almost throwing her down onto the bed face-down. She raised herself onto her hands and knees as he got behind her and thrust deep into her. She fell forward onto her elbows and he took her by the hips, pulling her back onto him as he pushed forward, fucking her at an amazing pace, his hard cock ploughing unceasingly into her wet hole and his belly slapping on her buttocks. "Is that what you wanted?" "Yes! More! Anything! Everything!" she gasped. "Every filthy thing you can think of!" He moved one hand across her arse, sliding the thumb down between the buttocks to toy with her anus. She hadn't even thought of that! "No time for everything! I'm going to come soon." He kept slamming into her, hard and fast. "Then what do you want?" she gasped. "I want to keep fucking like this, then spray my cum over your beautiful breasts!" "Oh yes!" she pulled the chemise off her right shoulder so that her breast hung lose, and grabbed his hand, pulling it to her. He grabbed it roughly and held firm as he slammed into her. Soon the force of his thrusts had pushed her forward onto her stomach, so that she lay flat, her hips tilted to let him in, he ramming her from above. His breathing deepened until each breath was almost a grunt, and suddenly he pulled out. "Turn over - now!" She turned over just in time, as he started to shoot the first fountain of thick white cum over her breasts. She grabbed his hips and pulled him towards her mouth, so that the third jet shot across her chin and neck and only on the fourth did she get her lips around him. His cum was thick and sharp, splashing over the roof of her mouth and down her throat. He collapsed next to her, panting, exhausted. She was panting, too, but she came to her senses first and she remembered that this man was her kidnapper. She leaped over him, onto the floor and picked up the gun. He looked up at her. He seemed not to care. She looked down at his beautiful body, and she knew that she was still horny. It had been fantastic, but she hadn't come. "Don't move." She told him as, her right hand still levelling the pistol at him, she leaned back against the wall, parted her legs and slid two fingers of her left hand down to her pussy to rub each side of her clit. She stroked herself furiously, softly, then firmly, then softly, then firmly. He lay there watching, exhausted but enthralled by the sight of her fingers working her clit and her breasts jiggling with her efforts. She screamed when she came, the orgasm so powerful that it brought tears to her eyes. She staggered forward, stepping into her dress and wriggling it back up to her hips. At last the dress hung loosely from her shoulders. She kept the pistol pointed at the exhausted highwayman as she tidied herself up, wiping the last drops of his cum from her breasts with her fingers and licking it off. "Just one thing." She told him. "When next we meet you won't have to be so coy. You now have my permission to absolutely fuck me." The Lady and The Highwayman ONE As she gazed out the window at the beautiful countryside north of the town of New York, Lady Huntington wondered what all the fuss was about. In the last few years the situation had become downright unpleasant. It seemed to Charlotte that when she was a child there were none of these problems, no talk of independence, no factions among the colonists. Now the world seemed to be divided, split into those troublemakers who spoke treason against King George, and others, like her husband, who remained loyal to the Crown. Lord Huntington was a wealthy and powerful Loyalist, quite likely to be the next colonial governor. At twenty-three, his wife was twenty years his junior. The beautiful young woman was considered one of the most important hostesses in the New York social scene. Behind her back, the other ladies hinted that, given her husband's age, she was not above a flirtation or two, but there was no evidence that she had ever been indiscreet. She managed Lord Huntington's household with an iron hand, and had a frosty aristocratic bearing entirely appropriate for her husband's lofty position. On this spring morning her thoughts turned to the last two years as the wife of Lord Huntington. Shortly before Charlotte Randolph's wedding her mother had taken her aside for a discreet word of advice. She reminded her daughter what a fortuitous match had been made in Lord Huntington, and delicately broached the subject of a wife's duty to her husband. Mistress Randolph explained that men had certain needs and that Charlotte must allow him to satisfy these needs. He would come to her bed and expect her to submit to his ardor, and this was necessary if she was to provide him with an heir. If her husband was gentle and considerate, it would be over soon and she need not suffer unduly. Mistress Randolph suggested that Charlotte might wish to occupy her mind with thoughts of sewing or perhaps silently sing a hymn to help her get through the ordeal. "Mother," Charlotte had asked, "does a wife not experience pleasure in this act?" "Ever since Eve women have been tempted by their passions," explained her mother. "It is the responsibility of a woman of quality to resist those temptations. Only a common strumpet would allow herself to revel in carnal delight! Besides, Lord Huntington would no doubt be appalled if he thought he had married a woman who cannot control her passions." Thus prepared, Charlotte awaited the event with some trepidation. The first time she was rather nervous, but Lord Huntington was indeed gentle, and upon discovering that it was not as unpleasant as she had expected she was more relaxed in subsequent visits. These visits were, in fact, rather infrequent. Apparently Lord Huntington was able to control his own passions admirably. In more than a year of marriage, Charlotte's husband had only come to her bed about half a dozen times. Always it had been in darkness, and being a Lady of quality she had never dared to touch him, so she was rather unsure as to what a man's private parts looked like. Sometimes, when Charlotte had received him inside her and he was moving against her, she thought she began to experience a sensation that was not entirely unpleasant. There was a kind of—friction—that occurred that she found intriguing. On several occasions she was actually disappointed when he finished, wishing it could have gone on longer. Of course she kept thinking about what her mother had said, that proper women did not enjoy this sort of thing, and she was embarrassed by the prospect that she might find it pleasurable. Did this mean that she was harboring indecent urges? Best to banish such thoughts from her mind and not let it haunt her. Lady Huntington now reflected on the situation with the colonists that necessitated her traveling to New York. It seemed they were perpetually dissatisfied, writing the most disloyal and inflammatory tracts in an attempt to foment rebellion. Did these malcontents not understand what it meant that King George was monarch by the Grace of God? Her husband believed that they must be dealt with harshly. He often said that hanging a bunch of them might be just what was needed to get their attention. And now the troubles were worse. At Lexington and Concord in the Massachusetts colony there had been fighting in which men had been killed, and the rebel army was growing. War seemed imminent, and Lord Huntington was concerned for her safety. He said that if things got out of hand the Crown would send a large fleet of ships, full of soldiers to suppress the troublemakers. Her husband assured her that the British army was the best in the world, and they would make short work of this ragged bunch of malcontents. But just to be sure, he wanted his wife in a safe place. Lord Huntington decided that Charlotte would be safer in town. They owned a house in New York on Wall Street, and if it became necessary to leave the colonies until order was restored it was a short distance to the sailing ships that would carry her to safety in England or Canada. Servants had been sent ahead, with numerous trunks of the Lady's wardrobe, to open the house and prepare it for her arrival. Lady Huntington and her maid were ready to depart on the two-day journey by coach. They were accompanied by the driver and a footman, both carrying loaded pistols in the event that they were accosted by bandits. There had been some stories circulating that highwaymen were operating in the area, and Lord Huntington wanted the men armed. He kissed Charlotte and told her not to worry; he would join her soon, and waved good-bye as the coach rolled away toward the City. The length of the trip required them to stop overnight, and arrangements had been made at a refined inn along the way. As the day wore on and the travelers approached their rest stop, Lady Huntington was becoming somewhat short-tempered. "I don't see why I should be inconvenienced so, Betsy," she complained to her maid. "The house in town is not nearly as comfortable as the country, and I always find the city to be noisy and dirty." "Yes, my lady," Betsy replied. "And staying the night at this inn is really more than anyone should have to bear," Lady Huntington continued. "Yes, my lady," said Betsy. "Who is driving? I didn't even notice." "Edward is driving, my lady. And Jonathan is serving as footman," Betsy answered. "I can never tell who is who on the staff. Except Walters, who runs everything, and my own girls, of course," she said with a nod in Betsy's direction. "Thank you, my lady." "I doubt that I shall get a wink of sleep. No doubt it will take me a week to recover when we get to town." "Yes, my lady," Betsy responded agreeably. As the coach rattled over the Post Road toward the inn, none of the travelers, including Edward and Jonathan riding outside, were aware that they had an escort. The two riders who followed their progress at an unseen distance were quite experienced at remaining concealed on the road. TWO At the Wellington Inn, Lady Huntington and Betsy were shown inside by the solicitous innkeeper and his wife, while the driver and footman attended to the horses. The two men would spend the night in the quarters adjacent to the stables. The coach had been closed for most of the trip to keep out the road dust. Nonetheless, Lady Huntington ordered Betsy to take her traveling dress outside and beat it, then to prepare a bath to wash away the 'dreadful dust' from the journey. Betsy helped her bathe, and afterwards the maid brushed her mistress's long black hair until it was dry, leaving it soft and shining. A light supper was prepared and served, but Charlotte did not have much of an appetite under these trying circumstances. In spite of her tribulations, Charlotte slept surprisingly well, and in the morning she arose refreshed. They consumed a light breakfast in the rooms, and Betsy attended her mistress as she dressed for the remainder of their travels. Lady Huntington decided that stays would be too uncomfortable in the coach and instead wore a cotton chemise with a front-lacing bodice, half-sleeves and a full skirt. After Betsy drew the laces on the bodice she helped Lady Huntington into her travel gown, which covered her to the neck, then arranged her hair with ivory combs. After fetching her hat they were ready to set out on the road again. As the footman helped Lady Huntington into the interior, Betsy was overseeing the innkeeper, who was loading her mistress's luggage on the back of the coach. When she came around to the door, the footman had already gone around to the rear to check on the bindings, so she entered the coach unassisted. Betsy looked after Lady Huntington and as the two women settled in, the footman closed and fastened the door and climbed up with the driver. With the curtains drawn the interior was dimly lit, and the swaying motion rocked the ladies until they dozed off. Lady Huntington had no idea how much time had passed when she was gently shaken awake by her maid. "My lady? My lady?" Betsy spoke in a hushed voice. "Hm? What is it Betsy?" Lady Huntington asked as she opened her eyes. "Are we there yet?" "No, ma'am. I'm not sure where we are," the girl replied, keeping her voice down. "What do you mean? And why are you whispering?" "I don't think we are on the Post Road anymore," said Betsy. "What? Nonsense. Where else would we be?" "I don't know. Maybe I'm wrong, but I don't remember traveling this way to town before. The road is narrower than the Post Road, and judging from the sun I think we are heading west, not south." Charlotte pulled aside the window curtain and peered out, squinting in the afternoon sunlight. It did indeed appear that they were heading west, and the road was quite narrow. But that did not necessarily mean they were lost. The road might turn west for a bit, and certainly the driver knows what he is doing. "Oh, don't be such a goose, Betsy. I'm sure the driver...what's his name again?" "Edward, ma'am." "Yes, of course. I'm sure Edward knows where he is going," Lady Huntington assured her. But Lady Huntington was not entirely assured herself, and during the course of the next hour she found herself frequently peeking through the curtains. The route continued west, and finally she told Betsy to open the little door in the roof that allowed them to speak to the driver. They could see the backs of the two men through the hatch, and Lady Huntington told Betsy to ask them why they had been heading west. Without turning around the driver called back, "It's a short-cut, ma'am. It will save us at least three hours." "Well, I suppose he knows his job," commented Lady Huntington as Betsy closed the hatch. THREE They had traveled for another hour when the coach came to a stop. The ladies could feel the carriage rock as the two men climbed down, and Lady Huntington pulled the curtain aside and looked out. "What is it, Edward?" she asked the driver. "We can rest and water the horses here, my lady. It will be a short while. If I may suggest, this would be a good time to stretch a bit, if it pleases your Ladyship." Lady Huntington pulled the curtain all the way back and looked around. There was a house, and a barn, and a well nearby. A drink of cool water would be welcome, she thought. "You may fetch us a drink of water, Betsy. And then perhaps I shall get out here." "Yes, my lady," Betsy replied, as she opened the door. The footman pulled out and set the step, and offered his hand as the maid emerged from the dark interior of the coach. Betsy squinted in the sunlight, keeping her eyes shaded with her hand as she walked toward the well. Through the open coach door, Charlotte saw Betsy disappear from sight as she walked around to the well. A few minutes later the maid appeared in the open doorway, framed in the light. In her hand she held a cup of water, and as Charlotte looked up at Betsy's face she was startled. The young maid had a most alarmed look on her face, her eyes wide in what might be terror. The girl leaned in to hand the water to her mistress and as Charlotte reached for the cup Betsy spoke to her in an urgent tone. "It's not them!" she said in a frightened whisper. "What? What are you talking about, Betsy?" "It's not them! It's not Jonathan and Edward! I've never seen these men before," she said, trying to keep her voice low. "Are you sure? Maybe Walters changed the staff at the last minute." "No, no! It was Jonathan and Edward when we set out, and they were at the inn last night!" Betsy seemed on the verge of tears. "Well, what about when we left this morning?" "I was so busy getting the baggage settled that I never looked at their faces," the maid said. Lady Huntington was distressed by Betsy's allegation, and unsure what to do. But before she had a chance to decide anything, her maid flew backwards from the open doorway. As she was pulled away by a muscular arm wrapped around her slender waist, Betsy shrieked, her feet off the ground and kicking. Charlotte, who had been leaning forward toward the doorway, drew back in fright, her hand over her mouth. In the next instant a man's face appeared at the opening. He was wearing a loose white shirt, open at the neck, and a leather waistcoat, the front unlaced. He wore no hat, and his long dark hair was secured back in a ponytail. If Charlotte had been in any condition to notice, she would have regarded him as handsome, though in a dark and hardened way. "My God, what is the meaning of this?" she managed to say, in spite of her fear. "Please come out of the coach, madam," said the man in a calm, deep voice. "How dare you handle my maid that way? I demand an explanation!" she ordered, attempting to gain control of the situation. "Out!" he commanded, ignoring her demands. When she failed to comply, he seized her wrist and pulled her forcefully, causing her to tumble forward through the doorway of the coach as her hat went flying off. He caught her before she could fall forward onto her face, and she tried to pull free, but his strong arms gripped her like iron. "Release me, unhand me this instant, sir! How dare you touch me!" she yelled, still struggling. She saw Betsy, a few yards away, in the grip of the other man. The maid was no longer struggling, but she was terrified, and was crying. "You are in no position to make any demands, Lady Huntington. You and your maid are our prisoners," replied her captor as he released his grip and allowed her to stand on her own. She stepped back and looked at this man who had had the audacity to handle her so. His black breeches were tucked into high leather boots, and he had a buckskin bag on a long strap that spanned his broad chest and crossed over his shoulder. And he carried a pistol in his belt. After composing herself, Lady Huntington smoothed the front of her dress and asked in a calmer tone, "Prisoners? But why? Who are you?" He did not answer her immediately, and she continued. "You must be rebels. Are you with the colonists who are opposing the King?" "No, madam, we are not with the revolution," he replied. "You might say we already have our independence." "Are you bandits, then? Highwaymen?" "Some would call us that," he said with a slight bow of acknowledgement. "My name is Jeremiah Hudson, but most call me Jack." "Well you shall not get away with this, Mr. Hudson," she warned him. "If it is ransom you seek I assure you that you shall end up hanging instead." The man looked at his accomplice and smiled. "Do you hear that, Tom. The lady says we are to hang. What do you say to that?" "Let them catch us first, that's what I say," said Tom with a hardy laugh. Thinking that the bandit was distracted by the banter, Lady Huntington bolted and ran for the nearby woods. It was a pointless attempt, as she hadn't gone twenty feet before her captor caught up to her and seized her arm. "Let me go, you filthy beast," she screamed as she tried to twist away from his grip. She swung around with her free hand and tried to strike him on the face, but he grabbed that arm, too, and held her immobile. "I fear I shall have to convince you of the futility of any attempt to escape. You would not last long in these woods, and I happen to know that there are Indians in the vicinity. You would not want to fall into their hands, I assure you." The outraged aristocrat was not listening, but continued to struggle. The highwayman took her wrists and began to pull her toward the well. When she resisted and lost her footing, he simply dragged her along to the stone circle, her feet trailing in the dirt. "Stop! Stop! What are you doing? Let me go!" she yelled, but he ignored her as he lifted her bodily. "You speak of hanging? I shall give you a taste of hanging, you obstinate brat," he laughed as he turned her upside down and held her over the open well. He shifted his grip to her ankles and lowered her into the dark abyss. Charlotte was too terrified of falling to struggle. She heard her voice echo off the wet stones as she cried out to her tormentor, "Please, no! Oh God, don't! Don't drop me please!" The long skirts of both her travel dress and the cotton chemise had fallen toward her head, and only her pantalets shielded her legs from his view. However, the implications for her modesty were the least of her concerns as she felt the cold damp air of the well and prayed he would not let her fall. As the blood rushed to her head she began to feel faint, and she could hear Betsy, as if from a great distance, screaming hysterically. "What now, my lady? Do you fancy a swim?' Jack Hudson said, amused at her distress as he lowered her a little more into the well. "No, please, I beg you," she pleaded in a hushed voice, as if yelling might cause him to drop her, "I shan't attempt to escape. I give you my word," The highwayman lifted her effortlessly from the mouth of the well, and swinging her over the side, dropped her on the solid ground. She was dizzy, and lay on the grass while she waited for her head to clear. Her skirts were in disarray, and she pulled them down to cover her pantalets. As Charlotte started to rise the brute did not even offer her his hand, instead she was forced to get to her feet unassisted. She smoothed her skirts, and pushed back the strands of her hair that had fallen over her face. "What is it you want?" she asked quietly, chastened by the harrowing experience. She had never been used this way, by anyone. Though she regarded her husband as her master in many respects, she was used to being pampered and treated with the utmost respect. But in a very brief time this man had established his dominance over her and demonstrated that he was firmly in control. He looked into her eyes, his stony gaze unwavering as he said, "I mean to have you." At first the words did not register, their significance so far from anything she could conceive of that she did not understand. As he continued to hold her eyes with his, the implication began to dawn on her. He could not mean what she thought, it wasn't possible. "I don't understand," she said softly. Her heart was beginning to pound in her breast, and her breathing was becoming more rapid. "What you understand or do not understand does not concern me. I will have you, you may be certain, and in ways you cannot imagine," he said confidently. Lady Huntington's heart was thumping with such force that she thought he might be able to hear it. Was he intending to ravish her? What did he mean when he said 'in ways you cannot imagine'? "No," she said in a barely audible whisper. "You wouldn't. It is not right," her protest sounding weak even to her own ears. Without a word he bent over, put his arm around her slender waist and lifted her over his shoulder. She began to struggle and object when her eyes fell on the well, and her protestation stuck in her throat. She saw the look of horror on Betsy's face as the highwayman carried her past the house toward the barn. The Lady and The Highwayman In her position over his shoulder her head was hanging down and her face was pressed against his back. It was hard and muscular, and she could smell his masculine scent. Charlotte lifted her head to try to look around, hoping for some sign of help. As they crossed in front of the house the door opened and two men stepped out onto the front porch. They would save her! "Help! Help!" she yelled to them. "Please help me, I am being kidnapped!" She expected the bandit to drop her and run, but instead he stopped and put her on her feet. He took both her wrists in one of his hands and held them behind her back. The combs had come out of her hair, and long black tendrils hung over her face. "Yes, by all means," he called to the men on the porch. "Come and help the lady." Why was he doing this? Was he not concerned that he had been discovered? The men walked over showing no sign of urgency, and it began to dawn on Charlotte that they knew him. "A very nice one this time, Jack," said one as they approached, and her heart sank. "Yes, a beauty indeed, no mistake about it," said the other. The men stared at her, their eyes traveling boldly over her from her face to her feet. She was not used to being regarded so rudely, and she realized with a shock that her nipples were hardening as if she had been caught in a draft. "I'm taking her to the barn," Jack said. "Give me some time and then join us. Meanwhile, take the lady's maid into the house and lock her in a room." Charlotte was horrified. What did he mean when he asked them to join him in the barn? What was going to happen to her? She swallowed and tried to maintain her composure as she spoke sternly. "I warn you, sir. My husband is Lord Huntington and he will have half the British army looking for me," Charlotte said, in a desperate attempt to dissuade him. "Well, that will be an improvement, as presently the entire British army is looking for me," he laughed, and the other men joined in. They seemed to have no fear of the power of the Crown. "Besides, we left your men well tied up in the woods behind the inn. By the time they are discovered we will have traveled far from the main road." She noticed for the first time a scar on his cheek, as if he had been wounded in a sword fight. It added to the cruel cast of his handsome face, and only increased her anxiety. As the two associates walked off toward where Betsy was being held, Jack Hudson lifted Charlotte off her feet and tossed her over his shoulder again, bottom up. Her dread of the unknown fate he had in store for her made her forget her fear of the well, and she struggled to get free. "Stop squirming," he scolded, and he brought his powerful hand down hard on her raised rear. Even through the padding of two skirts and the pantalets, she felt the sting of the blow. "OH! You struck me! How dare you?" she screamed. But he ignored her cries and continued to land harsh smacks on the outraged lady's round behind until her eyes filled with tears and she stopped struggling. Charlotte could feel the heat rising in her chastised bottom-cheeks, and felt her hardened nipples pressing against the bodice of her chemise. She was outraged beyond words, and yet she felt an excitement that she quickly pushed from her consciousness. At the barn the highwayman used his foot to push open the door far enough to carry the frightened girl inside. Although the light was subdued inside the barn, several windows and openings in the upper walls allowed enough daylight in so that it was not dark. As her eyes adjusted to the lower light, she saw that although most of the floor of the barn was dirt covered with straw, there was a slightly raised wooden floor in the center of the space. Around this platform were several pillars with iron rings to which ropes were tied and in the center a long wooden table with a thick post rising up from the middle of each side. He placed Charlotte on her feet on the platform and went to close the barn door. She considered attempting to escape, but there seemed to be no place to run. Jack Hudson approached the lady and stood looking down at her upturned face. When he raised his closed hand and brought it near her face she flinched, thinking he might strike her, but instead he stroked her soft cheek with the backs of his fingers. She was somewhat surprised by the gentle touch, and felt a flutter in her stomach like butterflies. The mixture of fear and forbidden excitement was confusing to the aristocratic woman, but she was still horrified when he said, "Remove your dress, my lady." She hesitated, then refused firmly with a vigorous shake of her head. "I can do it for you if necessary," he threatened. She remained unmoving, then spoke in a near-whisper. "I am a woman of virtue, sir. I may not be able to prevent your evil intentions, but I shall never submit willingly. Do what you must." "Very well, I shall enjoy this," he said as he pulled her over to one of the pillars with the iron rings. Taking both of her hands in one of his, he raised her arms over her head and tied the rope around her wrists. When he finished, the rope was securely fastened to the ring and allowed little movement. Raising herself on her toes to relieve the pressure of the rope, she pulled at the bonds, but they would not yield. She tried one last time to dissuade him. "Please, don't do this. Lord Huntington will pay a large ransom for my return." "Ransom is of no interest to me, my lady. You are a very beautiful woman, and a treasure in yourself," he answered, shattering her last hope. He then bent over, and reaching into the side of his boot withdrew a large dagger. Charlotte could not suppress a sharp intake of breath when he brought the blade up and laid the cold steel against her cheek. "I suggest you refrain from any further struggles, lest you get cut," he warned. The terrified aristocrat held her breath as he pulled the collar of her dress away from her slender neck and sliced down the front about six inches. The highwayman replaced the blade in his boot, then took the cut pieces of her bodice and effortless ripped her gown down the front. The fabric parted from top to bottom, revealing her cotton chemise and the upper swells of her tightly laced breasts. He brought out the razor-sharp blade again, and she watched in horror as he used it to cut open her sleeves all the way down, until her beautiful velvet travel dress fell to the ground, a worthless rag. Charlotte was breathing rapidly as her captor stood close to her, looking down at her upturned face. He placed his hand on her waist, and she tried to recoil from the touch, but there was nowhere to go. She felt his hand slide down, tracing the womanly curve of her hip and causing a tremor to ripple through her belly. She looked down and saw that her hard nipples were obvious now, raising the cotton fabric at the front of her chemise. She could feel the stiff tips throbbing, and hoped he wouldn't notice. But he did, and he reached up to brush the front of his open hand over them, his fingers bumping along like a washboard. Charlotte gasped at the feeling, at the same time embarrassed by this intimate liberty. No man, not even her husband, had ever handled her breasts. "Please, don't," she whispered. Jack Hudson walked over to a table on which sat several bottles of Madeira and goblets. He pulled the cork from one, poured some wine and drank deeply, then refilled the glass and returned to stand in front of his captive. The front of her white cotton chemise was laced with a pink ribbon, fastened in a bow. As Charlotte stood trembling before him, the highwayman took the end of the ribbon and pulled, untying the bow and causing the top row of lacing to relax. He pulled the ribbon out of the eyelets, and continued down the front, removing the pink ribbon one row at a time. Finally the bodice was completely unlaced, her generous breasts just barely covered by the fine cotton. "Oh, no. You mustn't. Please, please," she pleaded, but to no avail as he pulled aside the fabric and her naked breasts were revealed. Lady Huntington was mortified, blushing furiously as a strange man looked at her uncovered bosom. Her nipples were terribly stiff, and she told herself it was the cool air and nothing more. Dipping his finger in the goblet, he transferred a drop of wine to her erect nipple, and then repeated it with the other. Hudson ran the tip of his finger over the puckered aureoles, spreading the dark liquid over the sensitive ends of her breasts, causing the poor girl to whimper softly. He bent his head and kissed her nipple, then placed his lips over the wine-soaked flesh and sucked gently. Charlotte's whimpers turned to moans as her captor stimulated her breasts as no one had ever done before. He placed his hand on her back and pressed her forward, pushing her into his mouth. As he suckled on the sensitive tips his hand slid down her back and over her round, firm bottom. He cupped and squeezed the globes of her behind, stimulating her through the skirt and pantalets. Charlotte tried to resist the feelings that were raging through her body. God help me, I must not submit, she thought. I am a married woman. "No, no, stop, please," she begged him, but he paid no attention. The handsome bandit released her over-stimulated nipples and stood up, towering over the helpless aristocrat. With no warning or hesitation he seized the open front of her chemise in his powerful hands and tore it asunder in one movement. He then easily ripped the sleeves and flung the ruined tatters aside. Clad only in her ruffled pantalets and shoes, Charlotte stood before the cruel bandit naked from the waist up, her arms bound above her, her lovely bare breasts firm and high on her chest. He cupped the generous mounds and rolled the erect nipples between his fingers, bringing more moans and protests from the helpless beauty. She knew what was coming next, but she had still harbored some shred of hope that he would leave her last bit of dignity. Of course it was not to be. He roughly pulled her flimsy cotton pantalets down to her ankles and off her feet, removing her shoes at the same time and throwing all onto the straw-covered ground. Horrified, trembling with fear and shame, the lovely young Lady Huntington was completely naked before this heartless beast. She pressed her silken thighs together to protect her womanhood, trying desperately to preserve some modesty. She watched, confused, as the highwayman picked up a three-foot long wooden rod with a small iron ring on each end and knelt before her. She was mortified by the proximity of his face to her sex, but he seemed to ignore this as he seized one of her feet and wrapped a strip of rawhide around her slender ankle several times before tying it to the ring in the end of the rod. When he took her other ankle and similarly secured it to the other end of the wooden shaft her feet were forced apart in a most unseemly manner. Now, with her bare feet bound to the spreader bar, she could not close her legs, and her arms pulled on the rope above her head. She was helpless and naked and so embarrassed that a deep rosy color spread from her scalp to her upper chest. As if her nudity were not humiliating enough, her long shapely legs were forcibly spread so that she could not protect her delicate sex. As the cool air wafted between her thighs, she could feel that she was moist, and this was even more distressing. How disgraceful it would be if she became aroused and he found out. Her mother had said that only a 'common strumpet' would allow herself to enjoy carnal pleasure with her husband, so what did it mean if she was becoming stimulated by this horrible man's shocking abuse? Charlotte closed her eyes as Jack Hudson ran his hands along her sides, reaching around to stroke her back and then squeeze her bottom cheeks, allowing his fingertips to rest in the deep crevice between them. Her face was against his shoulder, and she could smell his masculine scent, his leather vest, the smell of the outdoors and the roads he traveled. His hand caressed her hip and slid over her naked belly, and she gasped as his fingers moved between her legs. Her mound was covered with a patch of silky fine hair, and below that the lips of her sex were almost bare. He stroked the tender soft inside of her upper thigh and then touched her pussy, his fingers stroking along the dewy crease. God help me, she thought, I am wet and he knows it. His finger slid through the cleft, not just wet but soaking. Her juices were flowing freely, coating his fingers and lubricating the violation of her body. "No, please stop. You must not...must not...must not..." she chanted as his finger slid between her the plump petals of her innocent sex and stroked the slick inner flesh. He found the erect nub of her clit nestled at the top of her crease and rolled it around under his fingertip. She gasped and moaned, her eyes still tightly closed and her head thrown back. She had never felt anything like this before, had never imagined that such sensations dwelt within her own body. "You can't...I never...I had no idea..." she whispered as he played with her pussy like it was an instrument, drawing beautiful music from her throat. The highwayman pressed one finger inside her, moving it around and rubbing the snug inner walls of her canal. He slid deeper, stimulating her secret core and making her cry out. By the time he stopped exploring her pussy, her juices had trickled down her thighs in little glistening trails all the way to her knees. She had never been touched like this, both literally and figuratively. She had some time ago lost the strength to stand on her spread and bound feet and simply hung by her arms from the ropes. When she felt her captor lift her around the waist with one arm, Charlotte opened her eyes and looked up to see him untying her hands. She had regained some of her senses and tried pleading with the handsome bandit again. "Please, I can't let you. Please release me, stop this, stop this, please," the dark-haired beauty begged. As he held her off the ground with one arm, the highwayman reached between her thighs and stroked her moist slit. He made her feel that her most private place belonged to him, was his to do with as he wished. "Can you say that this does not please you? That you truly want me to stop?" "It's not my fault, please, I can't help it," she whimpered. "I don't want you to touch me!" "Liar!" he accused her, as he wiped the evidence of her arousal on the side of her breast and carried her over to the table with the posts on the sides. The hardwood top was several inches thick and the surface was smooth and polished. He placed her on her back and lifted her hands over her head, tying each wrist to a ring at the corners of the table so that her arms were once again bound. He then untied the spreader bar from her feet, dropping it to the floor. He lifted her legs and bent them back until they were straight up in the air, then tied each foot to the corresponding post on the side of the table. Lady Huntington, accustomed to being treated with the utmost respect and deference, was now doubled back and bound to the table in the most appalling, obscene position imaginable. Her naked crotch was spread wide open, and her behind was elevated, exposing her tight bottom hole. Her pussy was soaking wet, cream running down to coat the little pink ass pucker and then collect in a little puddle on the polished wood tabletop. "Oh, God, please, what are you doing?" she moaned. She was completely helpless, more exposed and open then she could have ever imagined possible, and utterly at the mercy of this cruel, depraved outlaw. He walked around to stand at the foot of the table, facing her spread crotch. She looked down over her heaving breasts and through her elevated legs. The hard face that looked back terrified her, his long hair tied back, his cheek deeply scarred. Jack Hudson stroked the backs of her thighs, then ran his fingers over her open pussy, sliding up and down the center of her slit. He rolled her clit around and then slipped a finger inside her again and removed it, tormenting the poor girl with conflicting feelings. But in her wildest imagination she could not have expected what he did next. The wicked man bent forward so that his face was almost touching her most secret and private place, and gently kissed her on the sex! "Oh, no, no, you mustn't! What are you doing?" she pleaded. But he ignored her and used his tongue to tease her throbbing slit, licking along the center and finally flicking the tip over her hard, twitching clit. This was beyond all decency—rude, obscene, vile—and the most wonderful thing she had ever felt. He continued to lick her, traveling from her clit all the way down to probe her pussy hole and even tease at her bottom pucker, then back up to Charlotte's twitching clit again. The noble lady was moaning continuously, tossing her head from side to side, beyond shame, beyond caring that this was so wrong, just melting with the incredible sensation of having him use his mouth on her. When he stood up she didn't want him to stop, and was momentarily bold enough to say so. "Oh, God forgive me, don't stop. I never imagined, never." "There will be plenty of time for that later, my lady," he said with a triumphant chuckle. "I have other plans for you right now." Charlotte was more confused than she had ever been. The depraved act he had performed on her helpless body should have repelled her, but instead it had felt intensely pleasurable. She knew she must fight that reaction, she must preserve her virtue in spirit even if she was helpless to stop the ravishment of her body. She could be forgiven for what she was powerless to prevent, but not if she surrendered to base carnal urges. Then she would become, as her mother had warned, a common slut. While she had been resolving this, her bandit captor had brought over a leather bag, which he hung from a hook on one of the pillars. Opening it he removed some small metal objects and came to stand beside the table. Charlotte felt dreadfully vulnerable. Her legs were bound in the air with her most private area forcibly spread open. She pulled at the ropes that held her arms, trying to get loose and perhaps be able to cover herself with her hands. But it was pointless—she knew that even if she did manage to free a hand the beast would just tie her up again. Jack Hudson opened his hand and Charlotte saw that he held two pieces of metal, their purpose a mystery to the helpless lady. He placed one on the table and took one in his fingers. When he squeezed it at one end a pair of metal jaws opened at the other. It was a small silver clamp! "What...what is that? What are you doing?" she asked desperately. But the highwayman ignored her question as he took the tip of her breast between his fingers and placed the tender flesh inside the jaws of the clamp, releasing it to close on her nipple. "Oh God, no! Stop, stop, what are you doing?" she cried as the metal device pinched the delicate end of her breast. She was staring wide-eyed at her nipple, near panic as she anticipated the most excruciating pain. It did hurt, but not as badly as she expected, and he waited while she calmed down a bit. When he repeated the brutal offense with her other nipple she was less agitated, but still alarmed. While Lady Huntington was pleading with him the remove the clamps, she was not aware that her exposed pussy was pouring forth a stream of juice. Jack Hudson put his hand between her legs and patted her soaking sex, eliciting a whimper from the tormented woman. "What is this all about, then?" he taunted her. "You protest, my lady, while your precious little pussy tells a different story." And he punctuated the accusation by slipping a finger inside her and stirring it around. The Lady and The Highwayman "No," Charlotte moaned, "please, I can't help it. It is against my will." The highwayman removed his finger and spread her wetness over her silky skin, painting the cream over her labia, the backs of her thighs and along the crease between her smooth bottom cheeks. He rubbed the tip of his finger around the tight little pucker of her anus, causing her to protest weakly. "Please, you must not touch me there, it is a sin!" she whimpered. "Only one of many to come, darling, only one of many," he chuckled at her distress. As if to emphasize his power over her he pressed his finger against the clenched circle, and her copious lubrication allowed him to easily slip inside the tight orifice. "Oh, oh my goodness. Stop, please!" But he continued to stimulate the forbidden entrance to her innocent body, and she soon was biting her lip in an attempt to suppress a moan. This was unthinkable. He was violating her in a most offensive manner and she was beginning to like it! "Mmmm," the sound escaped her moist lips as she involuntarily clenched her muscles, squeezing his finger in her bottom. He continued to stimulate her ass, and when he finally withdrew she started to protest, but quickly caught herself. "Wait...don't sto...," she whispered, the word 'stop' cut off in mid-syllable. "You were enjoying it, were you not, lady?" he challenged her. "No, never! What you are doing is awful, awful!" she lied. "I think perhaps the lady's bottom is as randy as her pussy," he said, the rude language shocking and arousing her at the same time. Perhaps I am a slut, she thought. How could I have found pleasure in what he was doing? Her pink nipples, trapped in the silver jaws of the cruel clamps, were sending continuous pulses of intense sensation through her heaving breasts. What had begun as pain had somehow transformed into a puzzling irritation that Charlotte could not distinguish from pleasure. This sensory harassment made it hard for her to focus her mind, interfering with her mental resolve to resist the monster's attempts to break her will. Her eyes were closed and she was panting, the tip of her delicate pink tongue periodically slipping out to moisten her full red lips. She gathered her will, forcing herself to concentrate, and opened her eyes. She wished she hadn't, for standing beside the table was the outlaw Jack Hudson completely unclothed. He must have undressed while her eyes were closed, and now she stared at the naked body of a man for the first time. Her husband had always come to her in the dark, and in any case had worn a nightshirt. Now a man, a stranger, was naked beside her in daylight. She knew she should look away, but she could not. His body was lean and muscular, with a slight covering of dark hair. Try as she might, she could not stop her eyes from traveling down to the junction of his legs. Charlotte bit her lip when she saw his male organ. It was much bigger than she had imagined, having never seen or touched one before. Lying on her back on the table, her face was on a level with it, and it was so close. Hudson moved closer, and the frightening thing was barely more than a foot away. As he wrapped his fingers around the rod of flesh and stroked it to full hardness, the innocent woman was shocked to see it grow even larger. She knew that if he intended to ravish her, he would attempt to put it inside her. How could it possibly fit? It seemed that her body could never accept such an intrusion. Looking closely, she could see prominent veins along the shaft, the collar of his gathered foreskin, and the round purple head. The more she stared at it the more curious she became. She contemplated what it might feel like to touch, and even dared to wonder what it would be like to take it in her mouth, God forgive her for thinking such a thing. She was sure such a thought would never have entered her mind if he hadn't used his mouth on her, raising the forbidden possibility for the first time in her life. While she pondered this, he moved closer, until the pole in his hand was inches from her face. She saw a drop of clear fluid perched at the small opening at the tip, and looked down to see his heavy sac at the base. Her lips remained slightly parted, and she made no attempt to close them. She was hypnotized by it, staring at the formidable instrument. The highwayman slowly brought his cock near her mouth, watching as she unconsciously licked her lips. When the tip was almost touching her, he stopped and just held it there. Seconds passed, then Lady Huntington's tongue slowly slipped out of her mouth and tentatively reached for the head of his cock. When the tip of her tongue contacted the forbidden male flesh she did not pull it back, but kept it there, feeling the heat and the velvet skin. The aristocratic woman slowly began to explore the head of his cock with her tongue, licking around the top, tasting the fluid that leaked from the end, probing at the collar of his foreskin. After a few minutes of exploration, Charlotte gazed up at the face of her captor, and while looking into his eyes she opened her lips fully to accept him into her mouth. He obliged, moving forward and sliding the head of his hard cock along her warm tongue. She opened wide, letting him in fully, filling her mouth. When he was in as far as he could go, he stopped, and she instinctively began to work on him, sucking hard and rubbing the surface of her tongue along his cockhead. She heard him make a low sound of appreciation, and she was thrilled that he approved of her efforts. Charlotte had never felt so possessed and dominated. She was helplessly bound, her legs spread and in the air, clamps on her tender nipples, and a vile outlaw was using her mouth in the most obscene manner imaginable. It was so thrilling she was almost delirious with excitement. She wanted to submit completely to his power, to his lust. The highwayman reached between her legs and patted her soaking sex, sending jolts of pleasure through her pussy. He explored her slit, and when he found her erect little clit and pushed it around she moaned and sucked harder on his cock. The juice that leaked from the tip trickled over her tongue to the back of her throat, and she swallowed it eagerly. He placed a hand on her head, stroking her hair and her cheek, then placing his fingertips lightly along her stretched lips to feel his cock sliding in and out of her dripping mouth. He was moving faster now, using her for his pleasure, stuffing her face. With the hand at her crotch he slid two fingers inside her heated pussy, filling her at both ends. Charlotte was trying to move her hips, wanting to meet his fingers and draw them deeper inside. She was consumed now with lust, all thoughts of refusal or resistance banished. The noblewoman only wanted to be taken and used by this rough and crude outlaw. She could feel pleasures, sensations that she had never experienced before from her pussy to her nipples to her mouth. Lady Huntington, squirming, moaning, sucking wildly, felt something was going to happen to her that had never happened before. Her whole body seemed bathed in sexual energy—she was a vessel filling rapidly until she would overflow with joy. But suddenly something was intruding, pulling her back from the edge. She was aware of a sound in the barn, the sound of the door being drawn open. Her mind was instantly alert, no longer concentrating on her body she was trying to see what was happening. She heard voices, men's voices! On my God, no! Others were entering the barn, and she was naked, bound on this table, legs raised in the air and spread open. Her mouth was filled with the bandit's cock, his fingers were inside her pussy and men were walking over. The bound woman twisted her head and Hudson's rod popped from her mouth, a mixture of her saliva and his cock-juice drooling down her chin. Charlotte did not know what to do, the shame and humiliation were overwhelming. She pulled violently on the ropes that held her arms tied to the corners of the table, struggling to get free. As she twisting about, her naked breasts shook and wobbled on her chest, and her writhing hips lifted off the surface of the table and slammed back down. "Easy, girl, easy," he commanded, as if calming a skittish horse, and slapped her across her big firm breasts to get her attention. "No, no, you can't, please, please cover me, cover me," she pleaded. The shock of what was happening was almost too much to bear. There was no way for Lady Huntington to assimilate this, instead she felt she would faint away. Her eyes began to roll back in her head until only the whites showed, but Hudson slapped her on the cheek to stop her from swooning. "No no, lady, don't faint now," he admonished. "Wake up, stay with us." Charlotte came back, her eyes just slits at first, then wide with fear when she saw the three men standing by the table. "The maid is tied up in the house," said the one that Hudson had called Tom. "She'll be safe while we join the festivities here." "A good choice, my friend. I venture that our young aristocrat here will do a splendid job of entertaining us all," Hudson said. "You can't do this to me, please. This is horrible, horrible," she moaned, tears running down the sides of her face as she began to cry. "You certainly seemed to be enjoying our little interview before my associates arrived," the highwayman reminded her. "Don't feign modesty now." "It was wrong, I don't know what came over me, please, I'm so ashamed," she sobbed. She looked around at the other men and saw them gazing down at her naked, helpless body. They were staring between her spread legs at her wet, swollen pussy and looking at her bare breasts, with the tips compressed in the silver nipple clamps. "She's a juicy wench, isn't she?" one of the men said while reaching between her thighs to stroke her slick pussy lips. Charlotte jerked when he touched her, but there was nowhere to go. She was forced to endure the humiliation of having her sex fondled and discussed in front of these four brutal outlaws. The man withdrew his hand, his rude fingers quickly replaced by others. "You are right about that, she's wetter than any slut I've seen," the next man said, deliberately using language intended to add to her mortification. His fingers explored her glistening flesh casually, as if inspecting an animal. He pressed his thumbs along her bare labia and pulled them apart, opening her even more. Knowing exactly what he was doing, he continued to tug at her tender flesh, stimulating her against her will. The cruel bandit let his fingers 'accidentally' brush over her clit several times, and all the men could see that her pussy was responding by pouring forth more sweet juice onto the table. He slid one finger inside her and moved it around, probing her snug canal. "Tight, too. Seems not to have had much use." "Oh, please," she moaned. "Have mercy, I beg of you." But the coarse treatment was having a most unwelcome effect on the beautiful young captive. Their crude language and probing fingers added to the absolute helplessness of her situation to revive the state of arousal she had experienced before. She had tried to resist, shaking her head in protest, but slowly that gesture had turned to a gentler tossing from side to side, her breathing rapid now. Her long black hair was scattered in disarray, spread around her head on the table, shiny strands falling over her face and sticking to her moist forehead. "Oh please, please," she repeated, but now it came out sounding like encouragement instead of resistance. The men were looking at each other and smiling, the lovely woman's surrender imminent. As the man who had been handling her sex withdrew, yet another took his place. He also pulled her open, this time concentrating his attention at the top of her swollen slit. He pulled up on her mound to draw back the delicate folds of pussy flesh and expose the twitching nubbin. He stroked the tiny bump, causing the poor girl to groan in response. "She seems to have a sensitive little button," he remarked as he rubbed and stroked her clit. "Look how she wets herself when you play with it." As if to emphasize his point, he ran his fingertip in circles around the slippery bump, and the helpless Lady Huntington started to rotate her hips in sympathy. The heady aroma of her overheated pussy filled the air, and her inner thighs glistened with cream that ran down the crevice between her bottom cheeks. One man took hold of the clamps that compressed her nipples and pulled and twisted the ends of her breasts. She cried out at the rough treatment, as little shocks of pain shot through the sensitive mounds. "Aaaahh, stop, it hurts," she pleaded. He did release the tormented flesh, but only so that someone else could take his place. The next man amused himself by slapping the soft mounds until the skin of her chest was flushed crimson. Hudson tangled his fingers in her hair and turned her head to the side so that she was once again facing his erect cock. "Open wide, Lady Huntington. We have unfinished business," he said. She looked up at his scarred face, then back to his rod, still wet from her mouth. With one man abusing her nipples and another attending to her clit, Charlotte could not think clearly. She obeyed automatically, opening her mouth to give him access, and his hard flesh slid along her tongue. It felt good in her mouth, hot and smooth, and she sucked without being told. The men had their hands all over her trembling body, squeezing her flesh, slapping her ass, smacking her breasts, pulling the nipple clamps. There was a finger inside her pussy, then two, and someone added one in her ass. They used her as they pleased, an object that belonged to them. And she responded by sucking harder on Hudson's prick, her saliva mixing with his pre-come and dripping from her lips. When he pulled out of her mouth she kept it open, wiggling her tongue to coax him back. He held his fat erection and slapped it against her tongue, then on her wet cheek. Charlotte was making little whimpering sounds, moaning as her lust grew out of control. Hudson nodded to one of the men at the top of the table, who released her hands while the highway man untied her ankles from the posts. Jack Hudson lifted Charlotte and stood her on her bare feet facing the foot of the table. Putting his hand on the back of her neck he bent her over until the side of her face rested on the polished surface. Her breasts were flattened under her, the clamped nipples pressed against the table and the pillowy flesh spilling out the sides as men took her arms and held them extended along the table. Bent over like that her round and succulent bottom was raised invitingly, and Hudson used his foot to push her feet apart. "Spread 'em, darling. Wide." Lady Huntington obeyed—helpless, scared and excited all at the same time. The insides of her thighs were glazed with the liquid evidence of her arousal, and her captor put his hand between her legs and stroked the silky wet skin. "Ahhh," she moaned as he moved higher and made contact with her overheated pussy. He stroked her sex, rubbed her clit, slid a finger inside her. The highwayman held her bottom cheeks and spread them apart, letting them all see her aroused slit, the lips open and her clit erect and twitching. Her wrinkled little bottom hole was exposed, and it too was coated with her copious juices. He rubbed his finger around the tight pucker, already somewhat loosened by the previous handling, and pressed it inside. Charlotte moaned again, embarrassed to be opened and used like this, but unable to resist the intense excitement she felt. When he pulled his finger from her ass she could not stop herself from wiggling her bottom, raising herself up on her toes and moving her hips to invite him back. Hudson took his hard cock in his hand and moved against her, sliding into the gap between her spread thighs. He let the length of his rod rest in her wet slit, then slowly thrust forward and back, slipping along the crease and stimulating the whole surface of her sex. With each forward move the fat cockhead bumped her clit, riding over the throbbing nub and driving her mad. When the captive aristocrat was whimpering and moaning continuously, he took hold of the hard instrument and placed the fat plum against the entrance to her tight canal. Charlotte held her breath, waiting to be entered by this cruel outlaw. He pressed forward, and at first her pussy resisted the intrusion, but slowly, inevitably, it yielded. The highwayman's cock opened her up, sliding inside and filling her full. The other outlaws watched intently as she gasped, moaned and panted. Soon Jack Hudson was freely plunging in and out of the beautiful Lady Huntington, who was up on her toes moving her hips back to meet each thrust. The men holding her arms released their grip, and to the surprise and delight of the bandit crew she wasted no time in reaching back and grabbing her bottom cheeks with both hands, pulling herself open to take him deeper. Charlotte was reveling in her subjugation to this dangerous man. He was a thief, and he had stolen her virtue, her pride and her dignity. But this very fact was what thrilled her so much. He was unimpressed by her wealth and her station, he only wanted to use her as a plaything. He awakened in her the deepest feelings of submissive lust, so that she wanted only to be possessed, to be taken by a man who had no regard for her wishes. This was a man who did not need her consent, he could have her as he pleased. And right now it pleased him to fill her sweet young pussy with his big, hard cock. He plowed into her squeezing tunnel, pushing the soft hot walls of her canal ahead of his cockhead in electric ripples. With each forward thrust a wave of intense pleasure crashed through her belly and washed over her entire body. The tender lips of her sex were stretched tightly around his fat member, and his movements repeatedly tugged at her vibrating clit. The silver clamps squeezing the tips of her breasts were pressed into the tabletop, and it felt as though her nipples were somehow connected directly to her pussy. Each pulsation in her clit sent shocks to the tortured globes, and Charlotte was transported to a world where nothing existed except her stuffed pussy and her aching breasts. She was no longer conscious of her surroundings or of the gang of brutes watching her debasement. Her eyes were closed and her lips were open, a trickle of saliva running from the corner of her mouth onto the polished surface of the table. Once again she could feel that wonderful, strange sensation building, swelling, filling her up. Jack Hudson was stuffing her from behind with such force that Charlotte let go of her bottom cheeks and held on to the sides of the table, so that she could shove back to meet his powerful thrusts. No longer a passive receptacle, this refined, noble lady was meeting him lunge for lunge, going after his cock and actively swallowing it with her gushing pussy. With each forward push she would relax her pussy and shove back to get him as deep as possible. Then as he pulled back she gripped his cock as hard as she could with her vaginal muscles, holding him tightly as he withdrew. "Oh, dear God, yes!" she exclaimed. "Fill me, fill my pussy you evil bastard!" "Fuck her good, Jack!" Tom shouted. "Yes, fuck me, fuck me, fuck meeeee!" screamed Lady Huntington in the grip of her first climax. Her words trailed off into a long, sustained orgasmic wail as she slammed back against him. Her juice squirted from her cock-filled pussy and ran down her legs. "Oh yes, fill me, fill me you filthy beast!" she screamed. "We certainly caught ourselves a randy little whore, didn't we boys?" laughed one of the men at Lady Huntington's total surrender.