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Divine Intervention

By: mpqm1968



Hi, I'm Richey Davis and this is the truly amazing story of my day.

Have you ever been 'singing' a tune in your head, only to turn on the radio and hear that very same song being played over the airwaves? Bizarre I know, but that was how my day started. The song, 'Don't Marry Her' by the Beautiful South had invaded my dream sleep and lodged itself so firmly in my awakening brain as I moved groggily between bedroom and bathroom that, by the kitchen, I was singing it aloud.

As songs go it was quite apt, given my particular circumstances, a wry smile at the acerbic lyrics that spilled from my lips. But then to flick on the radio and immediately hear the self same song blaring out stopped me dead in my tracks, mouth agape, a shiver running down my spine. At the time I had little idea what the incident foretold, dismissing it as pure coincidence.

After the events of the previous day, to say I needed a boost was an understatement. Not only had I managed to lose my job, have my car stolen and throw away a grand playing cards, I'd been dumped by my girlfriend just as I was on the verge of proposing.

Being fired I could handle. Unhappy in my job for a good six months and constantly on the lookout for something better, it could well do me a favour in the long run. The theft of the black XR3i was harder to take, more for sentimental reasons than monetary. The last link to my rapidly eroding youth, it had been my most faithful companion for nearly two decades. The loss of the £1,000 I really could do without, given my newfound unemployment, though hopefully the insurance payout would just about cover the debt.

So whilst they were irksome losses, they were not terminal. Unlike the fourth and final indignity when Debbie, my girlfriend of three years, informed me that I was history. I had a week to pack my things and get the hell out of her life and, no, she didn't want to discuss it. So not only did I be lose the lover I'd considered spending the rest of my life with, but the roof over my head too.

As bad days went, yesterday had been the worst ever in thirty-five years on earth.

* * *

Still in a dressing gown as the Beautiful South serenaded my broken heart, I glanced despairingly at the mound of unpaid bills that were a major contributory factor in the break-up. Okay, I should have spent less time in the pub and the bookies, a lot less money too, but that was part of my cheeky chappie appeal, wasn't it?

As the song on the radio, my song, came to an all-too-abrupt end, I sighed whimsically for the past, craving a nice cup of tea. Searching desperately in the fridge for milk, the telltale cereal bowl on the draining board did not bode well. Sure enough, next to it stood the empty carton. Crap, Debbie's daughter Shannon had used the last of the milk on her cornflakes. In my current state of body and mind, the prospect of a ten-minute walk to the shops held little appeal. "Give me a break," I pleaded, looking skyward.

It was then that the doorbell rang and I pursed my lips in surprise. Tugging the front of the dressing gown together, I trudged off down the hall, trying to introduce some positive thoughts into the malaise. Perhaps some nymphomaniac blonde who wanted to shag the life out of me stood on the other side of the door or, failing that, the milkman. I smiled inwardly, at least my legendary sense of humour prevailed.

As the door came open in my hand I was forced to do a double-take. Did wishes really come true? Had I not just asked for...? Standing on the step, bathed in sunshine, was possibly the sexiest blonde I'd seen outside of the movies. My eyes dropped in deference at this rare beauty. In open-toe red and white sandals, she was all legs, legs that seemed to go on forever, until a pair of skimpy yellow hotpants intervened.

My eyes elevated past the crotch, an outline of pussy just visible, to settle on a pair of boobs that were to die for. Pleasantly conical with hard thumb-sized nipples that pressed enthusiastically at a tight white tank top, they jiggled as she shifted position.

After those other treasures, it stood to reason that her looks might not add up, but none of it. This indeed was my lucky day. She had large and expressive egg-white eyes were populated with piercing blue irises, a small aesthetically pleasing nose and what can only be described as blowjob lips. It was a perfect combination the geeks from Weird Science would have struggled to better. But to top things off nicely, her hair was a shoulder length sun-bleached blonde. Wow.

Shaking my head to ensure it wasn't a dream, I noticed she was holding a cup, whilst smiling reticently, lips pouting like a goldfish. "Hi, I'm Zara, I just moved in next door. I know this, um, sounds a little corny," she began with a nervous yet endearing giggle to her voice, "but can I borrow some sugar?"

The oldest pickup in the book, I had to smile at the irony and of my own plight, thinking quickly on my feet. "Tell you what, Zara, I'll trade my sugar for a drop of your milk."

She smiled back, a beautiful angelic sight. "Well why don't you bring your sugar next door," she added, handing over the cup.

"I'll be two minutes," I replied, hoping beyond hope that she was alone.

* * *

Well not only was she alone, but ALONE, I learned, after the cup of tea I'd yearned for was quickly followed by her life story. Recently divorced, she confided, she was making a fresh start in a new neighbourhood. Astounding as it was to believe, there was some guy out there crazy enough to reject this exquisite beauty. His loss, my gain, I thought, getting way ahead of myself.

I noticed that a few boxes in the hall still needed to be unloaded and, anxious for an excuse to spend some more time in her company, I enquired: "Can I give you a hand with anything while I'm here?"

Zara contemplated the offer before consenting: "Yeah okay, I could do with a strong man to help with some of the heavier stuff."

Subconsciously I found myself flexing my muscles. "I'm Richey, by the way.

"Hi Richey, pleased to meet you," she acknowledged.

As we carefully transported a cumbersome mirror with a chunky gothic gold frame up the stairs, I couldn't help but look down Zara's tank top as it lowered at the neck to reveal her firm breasts. No bra, the nipples nonetheless remained intriguingly out-of-sight, nestled in the front. A silver dolphin pendant dangled in the cleavage, focusing my attention and my cock responded by upping a notch, coming to rest uncomfortably against the crotch of my jeans.

With a little huffing and puffing and several furtive glances, we managed to haul the hefty artefact upstairs, both stopping on the landing to wipe forearms across clammy brows. Manoeuvring the mirror through the door, we entered an airy bedroom that seemed to come straight out of Wuthering Heights or some other period piece.

The four-poster bed creaked as Zara sat, bemoaning her lack of fitness. I'd beg to differ; from here she looked fit as fuck. The beauty pouted those bee-stung lips before disclosing ruefully that she would be turning thirty in a fortnight's time. What a perfect age, I thought. Sexy, single and a woman of the world, could it actually get any better? And could this really be happening to me after the endless shit of the previous day?

Next I helped transport a set of bedside drawers, once more savouring the opportunity to gaze down on her breast tops that were glazed in a light film of perspiration from our exertions. That was followed by a stereo system, upon delivery of which just a single box remained.

As I lifted it single-handedly in a macho manner, I couldn't help but notice the ten-inch pink ribbed dildo that rolled from side-to-side. Zara reddened when she realised the cause of my little chuckle. But then the downstairs telephone rang to spare further blushes. "Ooh, the first caller at my new house," Zara observed with a smile before excusing herself.

Hmm, I'd love to know what you're all about, Zara, I said to myself as I breached the stairs and entered her bedroom once more. Perching on the edge of the huge bed, my eyes were drawn to a photo wallet jammed beneath the dildo. I knew I shouldn't, but other people's pictures were so intriguing and Zara some enigma. "Oh my," I gasped as the top snap revealed my new neighbour on all fours clad in a rubber cat suit, slits cut at the breasts.

Flicking through anxiously, the next revealed what appeared to be Zara tied to the bed by her wrists and ankles, a ball-gag in her mouth, stretched like a starfish in just bra, panties and an eye mask. A third photo showed her belly being caressed with a cat o' nine tails. Subsequent ones revealed a series of welts and the first spot of arousal on the front her panties.

I swallowed hard, absorbed in the elicit collection. Shuffling through the remainder, Zara posed alternately in various states of dress, both with men and women in outrageous fetish gear, holding whips, being restrained with chains and thoroughly enjoying the whole masquerade. Hearing footsteps on the stairs, quickly I placed the wallet back beneath Mr Pink. Hopefully his days were numbered.

I stood, trying not to look too guilty and was in actual fact aroused beyond relief. Those were the sorts of things I fantasised about regularly but which Debbie would never ever contemplate. In a way it felt like I'd lost out.

"Oh yeah," Zara said, almost as an afterthought as she ushered me downstairs and to the front door. "I'm throwing a housewarming party tonight, nothing special, just a few friends. Would love if you could make it, and bring your girlfriend."

"We're, um, not together any more."

Was that a sparkle in her eyes?

Oh thank you Lord, I thought, a guilty glance skyward as I wandered away in a daze. Now if only my finances were as easy to fix...

Well would you believe it? Barely the other side of the gate, suddenly I was accosted by fair-weather friend and long time debtor, Bobby Noble, or Bobby No-balls as he was better known. One of those debts that had dragged on so long I'd forgotten how it had arisen in the first place, it had been unofficially written-off ages ago. Surely it was too much to expect, wasn't it?

Well no actually, it wasn't. Thrusting a fistful of mullah into my grasp, he said something about a yankee coming up on the horses. With that he was gone, wishing me luck. Not that I needed any, it seemed. I pondered matters: first Zara, now this. For a brief moment it crossed my mind that some sort of divine intervention was afoot. Not being a religious man, however, I readily dismissed it.

Seeing Debbie's 18-year old redhead daughter Shannon sashay into view like an ill wind brought me back to earth with a bump. We'd hardly seen eye-to-eye since Debbie moved me in a year or so back and an air of tension always seemed to prevail even in the most minor of situations. She resented having me around and I loathed the way she was able to manipulate her mother so easily. Well, at least one good thing had come of Debbie's decision to dump me: I'd be seeing the last of this stuck-up little bitch. "You still here?" she spat like a venomous snake.

"I'll be gone soon enough," I responded, trying not to rise to the bait. "Aren't you supposed to be at school?"

The spoiled brat tossed back her auburn hair and sneered. "Mind your own fucking business, loser."

Well I was only human and hearing that sort of taunt coming from a teenager's mouth, when I really didn't need it, naturally enraged me. I raised a hand to slap her, pulling back only at the last minute. Shannon flinched yet stood her ground, staring me down, arms folded across her chest. "Go on then, I dare you and you see what happens," she glowered.

I fought to bring under control the seething anger. "It's the least you deserve," I said with disdain. "Maybe if your mother had been firmer..."

Shannon took a step towards the gate, the cockiness seeming to abate, issuing the kind of look that I couldn't readily translate. Either way, my newfound menace succeeded in silencing her for the first time ever, no attempt to get in the last word before she hurried past and up the path to the door. A little lingering glance over her shoulder, she slipped inside the house. I rubbed my chin thoughtfully, electing to hold the thought for later. A habitually mild-mannered fellow, I wasn't quite sure what had come over me. Maybe Zara's fetish pics, along with the kinky thoughts of what I'd like to do to her, had twisted my brain momentarily. For now, however, there were more pressing matters to take care of.

Without my precious car, I was forced to walk into town, though it was a sweltering hot day, the English summer at its zenith. The run of good fortune at the forefront of my mind, passing the newsagents I decided to test the theory with a scratchcard. It'd be nice to win the ten grand jackpot, I thought, as the edge of the coin scraped over the boxes. My handiwork revealed three stars. Whoa. Not quite the jackpot I'd wished for, £200 was about as much as they'd pay out over the counter. Maybe this was indeed going to be my day after all. I intended to find out.

* * *

With £700 in my pocket that, never in my wildest dreams had I envisaged, was now just £300 short of the debt to my arch nemesis Ronnie Carver. In my current vein of form, a retrieval mission was definitely on the cards. Heading along with urgency to The Crown, a dingy little pub on the junction of Water Street and Broadway, it was time to enter a twilight world where day and night intertwined, where cards was played around the clock and where girls shed their clothes at lunchtime for a motley collection of lowlifes.

At mid morning The Crown was akin to a late night disco, only the choking fumes that hung in mushroom clouds were not simulated by a smoke machine. Availing myself of a pint of lager from Saskia, one the few decent things about the pub, I made the usual punter / barmaid small talk. A pretty looking but cold-hearted bottle-blonde student originally from Eastern Europe, she dispensed pints until lunchtime came around, when she dispensed with her clothes. A warm smile from the ice maiden took me somewhat aback. Maybe the bush telepath had forwarded news of my recent bachelorhood, or maybe it was something less explicable to do with the inner workings of the female mind.

Either way, I hadn't time to dwell upon it as there were bigger fish to fry. Edging away from the bar to hover on the fringes of the card game, I made furtive eye contact with Ronnie, Jonesey, Mac and Shorty, the usual suspects. I stood to watch, sipping at the pint for a quarter of an hour before Shorty made enough money to cover the weekend's drinking and gracefully gave up his seat. To show willing, immediately I repaid half of the debt to Ronnie, counting out to £500 which left me £200 to speculate with. Now to see if my early luck could hold, a brief glance skyward.

As ever, the first few hands with a new player at the table were cagy, like boxers sparring. A few quid changed hands but nothing of note. A second pint was needed and Saskia obliged, making a point of addressing me in her broken English: "How you do, Ree-chee, you win yes?"

Unless I was mistaken, she deliberately brushed a breast across my cheek as she bent to place the frothing pint on the table before me.

Five more minutes of sparring, finally the beer took hold and things started to loosen up with Ronnie announcing: "A fiver blind."

For those unfamiliar with the game of three-card brag, the novelty is the 'blind' element. Players elect when to look at their cards depending on the size of their balls, with those not looking deemed to be playing 'blind'. Since a blind player can never be seen or raised by an open player, opening up too early can be a real headache because to stay in the hand, open players are obliged to pay double the blind. Of course, blind players could be holding zilch, but a mid pair soon shrinks when forced to pay double. And that was exactly what was revealed as I lifted the cards and smoothed them apart: two eights. A marginal call, I tossed in a crisp tenner more in hope than confidence.

When Jonesey threw in a speculative fiver blind, there were two blind players, he and Ronnie, playing against my open hand. The betting returned to Ronnie and he announced a raise to £20 blind. That meant that to stay involved I had to chuck in £40, something I did grudgingly given the lack of strength in my hand. Jonesey picked up his cards, looked them over, and decided it wasn't worth paying almost a week's worth of incapacity benefit to stay in.

Ronnie gave me the once over, assessing his erstwhile opponent whilst chewing on a cigar and exhaling a thick canopy of grey smoke overhead. "Okay I'll take a look," he mumbled, clearly disgruntled that the raise hadn't managed to push me out.

I watched closely as he palmed the cards and looked. As ever there was no kind of tell volunteered on those calm features. "A hundred quid open," he announced nonchalantly, letting the bet do the talking instead.

I raised my eyebrows. £100 was pretty much what was left in my pocket and a pair of eights really wasn't worth risking it for. He needed to have a weaker pair or be on the bluff. Damn, I wished it were the prial and not just the vulnerable pair in my hand. Now three eights would take some beating. A final look before folding, as the cards fanned out in my hand, I had to look again as the third card I was convinced was a nine was revealed as an eight. My God, I did have the prial after all.

A glance to the ceiling in silent thanks, I agonised how to extract as much money as possible from the situation. No longer did I want Ronnie to have a weak hand, but one that might attract a call or, heaven forbid, a raise. I chucked in the last hundred in my pocket, accompanied by the announcement: "And another monkey on top. I'll owe it."

Thankfully my credit was good.

"Five hundred quid more!" Jonesey gasped, his ferret like eyes darting from me to Ronnie and back again as things suddenly took an interesting turn.

Ronnie looked me up and down, deferring the decision. He knew that if I had nothing in my hand that was the sort of bet I'd make to try to steal the pot. Or he might just have a real monster hand himself and be trying to get me to commit more by acting unsure. He gave it a couple of minutes before announcing: "Okay, let's not fuck about, let's make it a grand."

A rumble ran around the three other guys at the table. Pots like this came around about as often as Halley's Comet.

Unlike me, Ronnie always had the money on him, digging a lump of notes from his jacket pocket and tossing it in. The centre of the table resembled something out of the World Series of Poker. Now I faced a dilemma, my confidence having drained like a deflating balloon. Three eights was good, but far from guaranteed to win when faced with another £1000 to call.

My whole body was shaking, beyond the point of caring about giving away a tell. Fuck it, I've a prial of eights, I told my wavering conscience. Win and there was over three grand in the pot, lose and I owed £1500. "Okay, I'll see you," I confirmed, heart fluttering.

Ronnie turned over J-Q-K of hearts, an awesome hand.

He grinned, clearly expecting to win. Yet a running flush was no match for my prial in the game of three-card brag. His face dropped as I made the revelation, still unsure in my mind where that last eight had come from. The others at the table blew hard, eyes bulging, and would still be talking about the hand for months if not years to come.

As I scooped in the money, it dawned on me that some sort of divine intervention really was taking place. It was too much just to be pure luck. I began to wonder just how far I could go to exploit the situation before it ran out, and was about to find out. "That grand and a half I owe you says you can't beat me at pool," stated Ronnie, anxious to get his money back.


Divine Intervention



Author's note : I'm very interested in any feedback anyone has for me so please leave a comment or get in touch with any thoughts you have on what is good and what could be done better. All votes and comments are much appreciated.

The characters in this story are 18 years old. The school system mentioned is that used in my native Scotland, I hope it doesn't cause anyone confusion. This story is not an attempt to evangelise or criticise faith or religion, please don't take it as such.

"Hey! Hey Jesus! Do a miracle for us Jesus!"

Athlai didn't reply. He didn't even look round to see who it was. There would be five of them, all in their first year of high school and they had been following him on his walk to school since the start of the year. Briefly he wondered if they deliberately set out to intercept him each morning or if their own route simply joined his. Whatever the truth of the matter was they certainly took a great pleasure in shouting taunts at him all the way to the school. The first time they had done this he had made the great mistake of asking them to stop it. This had amused them even more and guaranteed that they would persist in doing it all year.

Mercifully they drifted away as the first bell of the morning rang to signal registration. There was a last shout of "Where's your bible, God-botherer?" as he climbed the stairs and then he had peace for a few minutes. Athlai was the first to enter the room and immediately made his way into the far corner and sat down. Moments like this he quite enjoyed, when there was nobody taunting him or exhorting him to work harder or trying to talk to him out of pity. For just a few minutes he was left alone with his thoughts. 

All too quickly the peace was broken. Students filtered into the room in pairs and small groups. Nobody liked to be seen by themselves for fear of being branded a 'loner'. Athlai didn't let that bother him, he had far worse labels to endure. He watched them come in and sit down in huddles around the room. None of them sat very near him, he didn't care. For close to six years he had sat in a room with this group of people every morning and he had never felt inclined to speak to any of them. It occurred to him how much he had changed in that time. The world seemed a much colder and less inviting place to him than it did when he had first come to this school.

Further movement caught his eye as more classmates darted through the door just as the final bell rang. Kelly Nixon and two of her friends quickly sat down and he saw her smile apologetically at their registration teacher. Seeing her reminded him there was an exception to his disinclination to speak to any of this group of students. Kelly was beautiful. 

A lot of his peers talked about girls being hot. Athlai didn't use such terms because as little as he liked to admit it, his parents had drilled him to avoid the use of slang and it was such a deeply ingrained habit that he never did. Even if they hadn't he wouldn't describe Kelly as hot. Unquestionably those same peers would have no hesitation in doing so. 

She was around 5"8 and had the perfect figure that was slim without having harsh angles and curved without any hint of being overweight. She didn't dress provocatively like a lot of the girls at the school did – "wanton hussies" his dad would call them- but she always looked good and had an air of class that was obviously lacking in those same hussies. Her skin was tanned a golden brown but he was sure she didn't employ the bottle tan, that left a number of her peers an ugly orange hue, because of the way her skin tone waxed and waned with the seasons. Brilliantly expressive blue eyes were set above that melting smile and framed by her long blonde hair which today was tied back in an elegant ponytail.

To Athlai it would not be a fitting description to simply call her hot. He knew there was an element of his parents' moral conservatism in the view but he felt that to use a term used so crudely by his peers as a measure of sexual desirability was to sell her short. Like any teenager he found her attractive but there was more to it than simple hormones. Every time she smiled or laughed it tugged at his heart, not just his libido. She captivated him. And yet he had barely ever spoken to her. She was well liked and always around friends that shared the same attitude toward him as the rest of the school so he had never felt confident enough to approach her and have a conversation.

The voice of his teacher tore him out of his reverie as he called their names in turn.

"Athlai Parsons?"

"Here, sir," he replied.

The same man had taken his registration class for six years and had never bothered to pronounce his name properly. Every day he called him "Aff-lie" and after a couple of years he had given up telling him it should be "Ath-lah-ee." His parents had shown either a gift of foresight or a cruel sense of humour in naming him, in English it roughly translated "whom God afflicts." As far as he was concerned it told the whole story of his life.

The rest of the registration class passed quickly and Athlai got up and trudged toward the door with the rest of the class when the bell signalling the start of the first class of the day rang. From his starting position in the corner he was last to make it to the door and cursed his tactical error when the teacher handed him the register to take to the school office. Quite why the school couldn't use the network to register pupils electronically he had no idea but he didn't rule out the possibility they just liked to screw with him.

Inevitably after fighting his way against the flow of bodies to reach the office it took him longer than normal to get to his first class of the day – English with Mr. Kaplinski. Most of the students found it amusing that an Estonian was responsible for teaching English but as far as he could tell the man himself had never laughed in his life. Kaplinski was a short, dour man with grey hair, a nearly impenetrable accent and a permanent expression of glum resignation.

The old Estonian was in what haltingly passed for full flow when Athlai knocked politely on the door and entered. Shutting the door quietly behind himself he turned to Kaplinski, who had looked up at the noise, and said "Sorry I'm late sir."

The man in front of him fixed him with a disapproving glare and walked towards him, dashing Athlai's hopes of slipping into a seat relatively unnoticed. He knew that he wasn't his English teacher's favourite person and had a sinking feeling he was about to suffer for that.

Not for the first time, Athlai found his life made more difficult by the interference of his parents. They were not content simply to subject him to their hard-line religious and moral views. They kept a close eye on everything he did at school and attempted to meddle there too. Kaplinski had drawn their wrath for setting the class erotic poetry to study. His father, a single minded man that Athlai was sure would have been an inquisitor had he been born earlier had turned apoplectic when he had read some of it.

After ranting and raving for a good half hour about the "pervasion of filth in society" and the "decay of morality" he had declared that he would take the matter up with "that corrupt man." Athlai knew from the reactions of his classmates that in truth it was fairly tame material but there had been no reasoning with his parents. They had phoned up the school and demanded to speak to Kaplinski. After questioning his integrity at length they had demanded he set different poems and had been quite taken aback when he refused. 

After that they had made a series of complaints to the school about his attitude and competence. Ultimately the school had politely but firmly brushed aside their grievances but they had been obliged to be seen to be investigating diligently and the experienced had not sat well with Kaplinski. Ever since he had been noticeably unfriendly to Athlai.

"You are late," he said.

"Yes sir, I had to take the register to the office before-"

"Whatever your excuse, the fact remains you are late," he said, a rare smirk on his face. Athlai instantly decided he didn't like it or the spark of petty vindictiveness that flashed in his eyes. "Your attitude recently has been poor, I am going to arrange detention for you."

"What?!" Athlai snapped at him furiously. "Because I was a few minutes late? People are late for your class all the time!"

"Sit down Mr. Parsons or I will ask you to take your objections to the headmaster."

Athlai stood where he was and glared down at the obstinate teacher. The injustice of it stung him, he was being punished for his parents lunacy and he hated their fundamentalism more than anyone. He knew what Kaplinski was doing was unfair and he opened his mouth to say as much. 

"Sit down!"

He stood for another long moment when thoughts of walking out or lashing out ran through his mind and eventually calmed himself and stalked furiously to the back of the room and flung himself into a seat. He sat, fuming, as the old teacher started to speak again, uncomfortably aware of the amused smirks on the face of the class.

The rage generated by the confrontation had barely faded by the time lunch arrived. It had simmered away in his subsequent classes as he lurked at the back of the rooms. Like most of the student body, Athlai usually walked to the local high street to get something to eat. Nominally the school forbade any student from doing so but this was ignored by students and staff alike. Naturally his parents insisted he should follow this rule anyway. It was a trivial act of defiance but it felt good to make even a small decision that they opposed.

He walked quickly, eager to make it to the shops before the swarm arrived. Going into the least occupied shop he could see, he bought a sandwich and set off again. There was a path back to the school that went through the adjacent woodland. Most of the students avoided it because it added ten minutes onto the journey time. Athlai liked to take it because it offered some rare time to himself.

It didn't concern him too much when he saw a couple of figures standing a short distance along the path in front of him. He'd grown accustomed to people stopping to give him the benefit of their razor wit. It was only when he was closer he realised they weren't students. They looked to be in their early twenties. One had a hopelessly overgrown beard and the other sported a livid scar on his right cheek. They were looking at him with intense expressions that he felt could not be good for him.

"Alright mate," the bearded one chirped.

"Just fine," he replied and kept walking.

Scar moved in front of him as he attempted to pass by. Athlai looked at him in resignation.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

"My friends and me have had a bit of bad luck," said Beard. "If you could give us some money that'd be really helpful."

"I only have a couple of pounds," he said truthfully.

"Then you could give us something else," said Beard. "That looks like an expensive watch. Is it real gold?"

"My grandfather left me it," he replied.

Footsteps approached from behind. A nod from Scar told Athlai the newcomers wouldn't be helping his cause. He ran for it. An outflung leg tripped him and he sprawled onto all fours. As he tried to rise a hand grabbed his backpack and pulled him off balance.

"This doesn't have to get unpleasant," said a voice in his ear. "Just hand over your stuff and we'll leave you alone."

He struggled to break free and got shoved to the ground. Pain flared along his ribcage as boots struck him. Rolling away only bought him a brief respite, as soon as he tried to stand he was floored by a blow to the knee.

"Stop making this hard for yourself."

Another kick forced the air out of his lungs and his vision darkened for a moment. Hands tugged at his backpack again. There was a groan and a thud behind him. The grip on his back was released and someone fell beside him. 

He looked up to see Scar swing a punch at another man, that he hadn't seen arrive, who leaned out of the way and kicked his legs out from under him. Beard struggled upright and staggered towards him but the stranger spun him easily and threw him into the third thug that had lurked behind Athlai.

Deciding that this was more trouble than it was worth to steal a few trinkets, Scar got up and hobbled away as quickly as he could. His colleagues limped after him. Athlai's rescuer extended a hand and pulled him up.

"Are you alright?" he asked.


"Just bruised I think," Athlai replied, wincing. "And thanks, I owe you big time."

"Oh I always like to fight the good fight," he said. "I'm Mike."


"Athlai."

"Your parents read the wrong baby name books. Athlai hasn't been in fashion for a very long time."

"Tell me about it," he said with a wry grin.

"That was a brave thing, to refuse to give them what they wanted," said Mike. "Some would have just done what they said to protect themselves."

"It wasn't theirs to take," he said wearily. "My grandfather left me his watch."

"Would he have wanted you to risk your life for it?"

Athlai sighed. "I don't have much of a life to risk."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

Mike scrutinised him for a long moment.

"Let me buy you lunch," he said, gesturing at the sandwich that had been knocked out of Athlai's hand. "Yours seems to have been put beyond use."

They walked back to the street and ordered lunch in a café. Nobody bothered him for once, Mike cut a commanding figure alongside him. Athlai looked up as he saw Kelly walk past the window. Mike followed his gaze.

"Is she your girlfriend?"

Athlai turned to face him, half expecting to see a mocking grin rather than the polite interest that was there. He sighed.

"I wish."

Michael gave him a curious glance as he drank his coffee. "Why's that?"

"Doesn't matter," he said, shaking his head. "Trust me, you wouldn't find my problems interesting."

"I'll take that chance. No really," Mike added as he saw Athlai shake his head. "You said you owed me one, you tell me this and we'll call it even."

Athlai looked and saw Mike was earnest.

"If you insist," he said, grinning ruefully. "My parents are religious. Ultra religious. When I was growing up they just bombarded me with it. Church several times a week. They would stand over me to make sure I prayed a few times a day. We don't even have a TV in our house. I grew up with God on the brain and I didn't really understand that most people were different.

It was a real shock to the system when I went to high school. The other kids thought I was a fruitcake when I spoke about God or living like a Christian. I became a laughing stock really. Everyone in the school knew who I was.

I guess that's what started my doubts. After a year or two I found myself questioning everything I had been told. I really enjoy maths and science and the more I thought about things the more I changed my mind. All the things I had been told were true suddenly didn't seem to make sense any more.

It didn't matter though. Some of what they forced on me is who I am and doesn't change, I never lie to anyone and I can't bring myself to cheat in any way. I was still 'the Jesus boy' to the school and I shut myself off from them. Now I just want to get away from the place. It's my last year and I'm fed up of being the circus act."

Mike had been quiet, nodding along as he had talked.

"You probably think I'm weak and ungrateful," he said bitterly. "I know there are millions of people worse off than me."

"That is true," said Mike. "But it doesn't mean you haven't had a hard time. The question is, what are you going to do about it? Anyone who isn't happy with their life has three options open to them. They can end it. Personally I don't advise it, there's very little future in suicide. They can continue as they always have and hope it gets better. I wouldn't go for that either. Actions changed the world, hope is a wonderful thing but it makes a poor strategy. So the last option is to change it."

"Just like that," he said dryly.

"Being simple doesn't make it easy," said Mike. "But things are always easier than you think. Try. See what happens. Do something small to change. I bet you wish you had a different name, right?"

"Yeah."


"Well maybe changing it isn't a good move right now but why not tell people to call you Lee instead?"

Athlai nodded. "Can't hurt."

"You will find life is not as bad it seems to you now. I know you will. Now, let me give you a lift home."

***

The same group of first years were waiting for him when he gingerly made his way to school the next morning, feeling rather the worse for wear. 

"Sore leg?" one of them called, "Why haven't you healed yourself?"

Athlai continued walking but then thought back to his conversation with Mike. Maybe there was a way to change things.


"You know how it is," he said. "I was up late last night raising the dead. Too tired to do any more miracles till lunch."

The rest of the group laughed and the speaker looked unhappy at this new development, tried to come up with a witty reply and found he couldn't. Athlai hobbled on with a smile on his face. Maybe Mike was right. 

Certainly he was a man of unusual talents, Athlai had told him not to waste his time speaking to his parents but he had insisted and surprisingly had made a good impression on them. Mike had rather overplayed Athlai's role in the version he told and his parents even seemed proud of him for once.

As usual he was the first in the room for morning registration. Mike's words were in his mind, do something small to change. He glanced at his usual corner and sat down at a desk in the middle of the room.

The rest of the class drifted in and sat themselves down. By accident or design they all avoided his table but he didn't really care. If nothing else, his change of location had brought him closer to Kelly. She had sat down at the table in front of him with her friends and was chatting animatedly. 

"I'm telling you," she said. "Bats aren't blind."

"Why do you say 'blind as a bat' then?" retorted Jenny. "Anyway, everyone knows they do that sonar thing."

"It's just a saying. Doornails aren't really dead either you know."

"Hah! You're talking rubbish."

Athlai was overcome by a sudden compulsion to support her argument.

"Kelly's right," he said. "Bats can see pretty well."

"Who asked you?" Jenny hissed. "You're just trying to suck up to get into her pants. Mind your own business."

He raised an eyebrow and said nothing. Getting venomous remarks thrown at him was nothing new for him, he had grown good at just ignoring them and waiting for the perpetrator to get bored and leave him alone. Jenny turned away from him with a satisfied smirk. 

Do something small to change.

"They only use echo-location to help out when it's dark or they're blinded by the sun," he said. "Dolphins use echo-location too, nobody thinks they're blind."

Jenny's face grew livid but the bell cut her off before she could start ranting. Kelly looked on with amusement and gave him a bright smile as she got up to leave the room.

The morning passed quickly for Athlai, for the first time in years he felt cheerful about life. Physics was his last class before lunch. His teacher was something of a maverick, prone to having days of boundless energy and others of complete lethargy. The school tolerated him because his pupils got excellent marks despite his unorthodox style.

"Right you lot," he shouted. "Pair up, find an experiment to do and pretend you're doing a write up on uncertainties. I've got a film to watch."

It was far enough through the year that the class didn't find this announcement too surprising and set about following his instructions. Athlai didn't bother looking for a lab partner, he'd long since grown accustomed to working by himself. 




Divine Intervention



It took him by surprise when a warm hand touched his forearm and he looked up to see Kelly beside him.

"Hey," she said, smiling and tucking a strand of flaxen hair behind her ear. "Mind if I work with you?"

"Sh-sure," he stuttered, inwardly wincing at his own awkwardness.

"Did you have something in mind?" she asked, waving at the equipment cupboard.

"Yeah," he said, glad she had given him the opportunity to make an easy reply on ground he was comfortable with. "I thought it'd be easy to calculate density of wood using different size blocks."

Kelly nodded agreeably.

"You know, he doesn't care if we work today or not."

Thoughts rattled around his brain. Instinctively he was about to point out that working hard was its own reward and that he didn't like to disobey an instruction even if it wasn't given with any real intent. A deeper part of his brain tripped that thought up and dragged it into a back alley, leaving another one to say 'If she doesn't want to work then she's only speaking to you because she wants to.'

"You're right," he said. "Let's just get a few things out for the look of it."

"Thanks for backing me up this morning," she said.

"No problem, you were right after all."

"I wish more people took me seriously."

Athlai looked at her in surprise, she sounded almost wistful.

"Who doesn't take you seriously?"

"Guys mostly," she said, frowning. "They think I'm good looking and can't be smart. Or just don't care enough to find out."

"I apologise on behalf of my gender," he said with mock solemnity, which earned him a smile. "It's a mistake for them to do it though."

"You know I can't believe we've never spoken much before Athlai." She stopped when he wasn't quite able to mask the wince at the mis-pronunciation and looked abashed. "I'm sorry, I've never been sure how to say it properly."

"Don't worry, call me Lee," he said, grinning. "I've never liked that name anyway."

***

Athlai didn't share any more classes with Kelly that day but he spent the afternoon with a smile on his face despite the discomfort from his bruises.. He was walking home when he heard someone running behind him.

"Godsquad! I want a word with you!"

Athlai turned to see Steve Campbell approaching him. Steve was a fairly typical student, not too intelligent, obsessed with proving how macho he was. More vilifying still, he had dated Kelly for a few weeks recently.

"Stay away from Kelly," he growled.

At least he got to the point quickly.

"Why?"

"She's my girl and you need to keep your holy hands away from her."

"I'm pretty sure she dumped you."

"She doesn't know what she wants. You stay away from her, understand?"

"If she doesn't want me around I'm sure she'll tell me."

Steve punched him in the face. Athlai staggered.

"You're going to get much worse if you don't stay away from her."

***

Kelly rushed over and sat down next to him at registration the next morning.

"What happened?" she exclaimed as she saw his black eye.

"War wound," he joked. "I had a er, difference of opinion with some guy, he didn't have a sense of humour. Nothing serious."

"If you say so," she said doubtfully. "What are your plans for the weekend?"

"Oh nothing much," he said. A seldom used part of his brain suddenly balked at his stupidity and fought for his attention. A split-second of fear, excitement and hesitation racked him. "Would you like to do something with me? Er, I mean go somewhere or"-

"Yes, I'd love to," she said, laughing warmly as he grew flustered and placing her hand on his arm to reassure him.

***

Athlai was beginning to think that God did exist after all and he was making fun of him. As he made his way home he was once again faced by menacing figures on the path. He recognised them as Steve and several of his simpleton friends.

"I warned you," Steve rumbled.

Athlai was considering his options when he saw one of the goons produce a knife.

"Don't be stupid," he said, backing away.

"This is what you get, God-boy."

They fanned out around him. Looking left and right to try to find a way out he saw only approaching figures. God help me, he thought. Backing up again, he braced himself to sprint away when the first lunge came. It didn't. Another figure approached and they lost their nerve and ran off.

"We've got to stop meeting like this," said Mike.

"Are you following me around?" Athlai asked. "Not that I mind, I seem to be getting myself into all sorts of trouble these days."

"Bad habit to get into," Mike agreed. "So how have you been?"

"Good, actually," he said, somewhat surprised to realise he meant it. "You were right, life isn't so bad when you give it a try."

"Glad to hear it."


"I asked Kelly to go out with me at the weekend."

"What did she say?"

"She said she'd love to."

"That's great," he said, slapping him on the back.

"I know, I've thought about asking her out for so long."

"But?"

"I'm terrified," he admitted, "I don't know what she'll expect. I don't know where I should take her, what do normal people do on dates? My parents will go crazy and I know I can't lie to them."

"You worry too much," said Mike, grinning at him. "You're not normal, don't try to be. Be honest, be yourself, with your parents and with Kelly. Trust me, my advice has worked out so far hasn't it?"

***

"Hey, Kelly," Jenny called, jogging up to her in the corridor as they moved between classes.

"Hey."

"Look, I don't know what you're doing with the bible guy," she said, pausing as Kelly gave her a disapproving look. "Sorry, with Lee. But I thought you should know that Steve has apparently been giving him a hard time."

"What?" she fumed. "Are you sure?"


"My brother told me his friend and a few others had gone with Steve to rough him up but some guy showed up and they bottled it. It was Steve that gave him the black eye too."

"That little shit! I'm going to kill him," she exclaimed. A rare frown creased her features. "Thanks for letting me know."

"Are you sure you know what you're doing with him?" she asked doubtfully.

"He's... different to other guys. He's not obsessed with trying to be cool or prove what a stud he is. I like him."

Jenny merely shook her head in bafflement.

***

"Give me a minute guys," said Steve as he saw Kelly striding towards him with a furious scowl.

"What is your problem?" she snapped.

"My only problem is you haven't come back to me."

"And I'm not going to, you idiot. I'll make this simple for you, leave me and Lee alone."

"This is about him?" he said, incredulous. "He came running to you because we scared him a little? He's a pussy. Real men don't shit themselves when they see a knife."

She slapped him viciously.

"You pulled a knife on him? You're unbelievable. Stay away from me and stay away from him or I'll get a restraining order."

***

"Lee!"

It took him a moment to realise she was calling for him. He turned and grinned as she drew level with him.

"Have you got a minute?" she asked.

"Of course."

She led him into an empty classroom and hopped up onto a desk.

"I heard about Steve bothering you," she said, eyes wide. "I'm so sorry he did that to you."

Athlai shook his head. "Don't be, it's not your fault he's an idiot."

"I'm surprised you're still talking to me, you have to take your life in your hands just to be around me."

"It's worth it," he said.

She was suddenly standing in front of him. Close to him. When he inhaled her perfume filled his lungs. His heart raced as her hand cupped his cheek.

"You're not like the others," she said softly.

"No," he breathed, transfixed by her closeness. "I never have been."

"I like that."

Their eyes closed as their lips met. Kelly led him gently, knowing he was nervous. Athlai's breath caught as she tugged on his bottom lip. Her tongue probed his lips and he opened his mouth to her, revelling in the sensation as their tongues met.

Athlai dimly realised this was the best moment of his life. Time stopped for him as he savoured the taste of her mouth, the tickling of her nails on his neck and the touch of her tongue.

They parted, breathing heavily. She traced his jaw with her finger.

"I'll see you tomorrow night," she said, shooting him a sultry look over her shoulder as she left

***

Athlai felt as if he were walking on air as he made his way home. The prospect of informing his parents he was going out the next night with a girl of no particular religious schooling was enough to temper his mood. 

Eventually he decided to just tell them straight out and suffer through the gnashing of teeth.

"I'm going out tomorrow night," he said as they sat down for the evening meal.

"Where?" asked his mother.

"I'm having a meal with Kelly Nixon."

Athlai waited for the explosion to come.

"All right then," said his father. "Have a good time."

Startled, he looked at his parents faces to find some clue as to why they weren't flying into a rage. Powerful curiosity battled the feeling that he should quit while he was ahead.

"I had a phone conversation with a Belgian missionary earlier," his dad said by way of explanation. "Very interesting man. Chap called Michail. Made me think that to really find your own faith you have to follow your own path to a certain degree."

Athlai, not believing his luck, just nodded and bit down a grin.

***

"Would you like to come back to my place?" she asked. "My parents are out of town this weekend, it'll just be us."

"Okay," he said, trying to conceal his nerves.

"Don't worry," she said, squeezing his hand. "I'll be gentle with you."

Athlai smiled sheepishly and kissed her lightly before they set off, hand in hand. The night had gone well, he was surprised just how easily conversation flowed between them. Once again he had followed Mike's advice and avoided trying to be anything he wasn't. They had gone to a nice restaurant in town and Kelly had been impressed that he hadn't dragged her to a bar or nightclub and tried to ply her with alcohol like Steve had.

Kelly unlocked the door and led him inside. He sat down somewhat rigidly on a leather sofa as she kicked her heels off.

"Relax," she urged, straddling him on the sofa. "I'm going to take good care of you."

Her hands guided his on to her chest and she gave him mewls of encouragement as she nibbled at his neck.

Athlai felt a thrill of pride to feel her hard nipples beneath the satin of her dress, amazed that he could be involved in arousing this goddess. She gave him a deep, lingering kiss.

"Let's go upstairs," she said.

She took him by the hand and led him up the stairs. Releasing his hand she backed into the doorway of her room and curled her finger in a come hither gesture. Athlai groaned as he followed her. 

She lay down on the bed, propped up on her elbow and gestured for him to join her. Athlai's heart pounded in his chest as he slipped off his shoes and lay down beside her. She kissed him hungrily as her hands ran over his chest and started unbuttoning his shirt.

Athlai groaned as she straddled him, peppering his neck with soft kisses as she slid his shirt off his arms and tossed it aside. She swung her legs off him and slipped out of her dress before lying on top of him, clad just in her black lace panties

"Tonight is for you," she said, moving her hips to rub her crotch against the bulge in his trousers. "Next time I'll show you some nice things you can do for me."

Bare breasts pressed into his chest. Long golden hair fanned around his face as she leaned in to kiss him again. Athlai felt his hips move of their own accord to grind against her.

"Are you ready sweetheart?" she asked, looking lovingly into his eyes.


He nodded eagerly and her eyes crinkled with good natured amusement.

She rose to a crouch, pulled her panties down and flicked them off the bed with her foot. There was a hungry look in her eyes as she squatted over his groin, he had never seen anything with such raw sensuality in his life. Locking her eyes on his she undid his belt and tugged his trousers and underwear down his legs, dragging his socks with them and dumping them on the floor. His erection sprang upright, throbbing in time with his heartbeat.

Athlai held his breath as she held his cock and eased herself down onto it. She smiled as he sighed and his eyes fluttered in pleasure. Sliding up and down his cock slowly she lent forward to kiss him. 

"Don't worry about finishing too soon, just enjoy it."

He could only grunt in reply as she sat back and began to rock harder and faster. His hands found the soft globes of her ass. The room was flooded with the sound of slapping flesh.

Athlai was overwhelmed with sensations as she flooded his senses. As she rotated her hips around him he felt his muscles tense as his orgasm approached. Kelly sensed it too and bent forward again. 

"Cum for me," she whispered in his ear, cradling his head with her hands.

Two more silken thrusts and he felt the point of no return overtake him. Great pulses shot through his groin. Kelly smiled down at him as she continued to rock her hips through his ecstasy. She gently lifted herself off him and lay down on her side beside him.

"How was that?" she asked as he caught his breath.

"Incredible. You're amazing."

"I try," she said, leaning in to kiss hm.

***

Athlai woke early in the morning. Kelly was asleep beside him. A huge smile spread over his face as he realised he'd fallen asleep with a naked Kelly Nixon in his arms. A noise downstairs caught his attention. Kelly had said her parents were away for the weekend. Deciding he better investigate he eased out of bed and slipped his trousers on. He crept downstairs and did a double take.

"Hello Lee," said Mike.

It took him several seconds to find his voice

"What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to talk to you."

"At 3am? In someone else's house?"

Mike grinned at him.

"I have a.. complicated schedule," he said and waved at a sofa to indicate he should take a seat.

"So how is life Lee?"

"Life is great," he said. "I can't believe how things have changed in the last week."

"Good. I am delighted to hear that."

Mike paused and stared at him.

"Now there are some things I must tell you. I haven't been honest with you Lee. I am Michael. I am the first Michael."

"What do you mean?"

What happened next defied description. For the briefest of moments the world changed around him. The room in front of him grew dim, shadowy, but the figure of Michael glowed a brilliant white.

Athlai leapt to his feet in shock.

"You're an angel?"

"That's not the word we use," he said. "But yes, I am the one you know as the archangel Michael."

"I don't believe it," said Athlai faintly. 

"I apologise for the shock and I am sorry to have deceived you but I judged it to be the best way to help you. But now that you have seen the joy of life I wanted you to know the truth."

Athlai sat down again, heart thumping in his chest.

"I guess my parents were right to tell me to go to church all these years."

"There are lots of good reasons to go to church but frankly God doesn't care if you do or not. Religion is for people, faith is for God. He doesn't care what you do on a Sunday morning, he's interested in how you live your life."

Athlai started laughing, he didn't meant to but he couldn't help himself.

Michael looked at him inquisitively.

"Sorry," he said as he regained his composure. "I'm in Kelly's house. I'm talking to an angel and he's telling me not to bother about going to church. This is one weird morning."

Michael grinned. "What you know of angels comes mostly from the Church itself, we are quite different from the common perception."

"Why are you here anyway? Why me?"

"It's a big world and there are a lot of people in it that we can't help. I feel obligated to help those that I can."

"I still can't believe it. I feel like my whole life has changed in a week thanks to you."

"I only showed you the way," said Michael. "The changes you have brought about were your own doing."

"Thank you anyway."

Michael smiled and offered his hand to shake. Athlai looked at it and something clicked in his mind.

"I'm never going to see you again, am I?"

"We will meet again my young friend," he said. "Far from here."

Athlai stood and shook his hand.

"Now I must leave."

Michael pulled a scabbard from under his coat and drew a gleaming white sword from it.

"I cannot give you this but I will leave you my scabbard. In times of darkness it will remind you that you are never alone. Goodbye my friend."

And then he was alone with an ornate leather scabbard in his hand. Setting it down reverently he grinned to himself in the dark and went back upstairs.

Moonlight streamed through the open window, softly lighting her face. That wonderful hair covered the pillow like a silver mane. Athlai indulged himself, taking in her beauty for several minutes with unfamiliar joy in his heart. Settling back into bed he put his arms around Kelly and smiled into her back. Life was good.



Divine Intervention Ch. 02



Author's note: For the purposes of characterisation and plot development you may wish firstly to familiarise with chapter one, though a brief synopsis is provided. Things take a dark turn in this sequel, hence the categorisation. Therefore, if scenes of reluctance, coercion and force are likely to cause upset, you may wish not to read on.

*

My name is Richey Davis and this is the continuing saga of the most amazing day of my entire life, a day in which nothing – so far – had gone wrong. It was as if some inexplicable kind of divine intervention had taken place overnight to right the wrongs of the previous 24 hours.

Dumped by my long term lover Debbie on Thursday night, Friday began with the discovery of an angel living next door. And my new neighbour Zara was no regular angel but one with the sort of devilish tendencies I could barely wait to uncover.

Wiped out at the card table on Thursday afternoon, the corresponding lunchtime had seen the losses retrieved with interest. Not only that, I'd gotten one over on arch nemesis, Ronnie Carver, the win made so much sweeter by the fact that he was Debbie's former husband. He'd been trying to split us up for ages and I suspected his bragging had prompted Debbie's decision to end the relationship. Well he'd succeeded, but who'd had the last laugh?

Then a few hours ago, by some strange twist of fate, I'd recovered my stolen car, a near vintage XR3i, the marque of the boy racer from which I'd evolved. Being back behind the wheel gave me such a buzz.

And, as if that wasn't enough, I'd just enjoyed the most mind blowing threesome imaginable with two uninhibited East European strippers. Taking turns, Saskia then Natalya sucked my cock raw, after which they performed a girl-on-girl show to savour. It was all I could do to drag myself away.

Not a bad start, it was the promise of what might lie ahead that caused goose-pimples to erupt all over my body and my groin to throb. My mind in overdrive, the time had arrived to up the ante and see just how far I could push the envelope.

* * *

The journey from Saskia's flat the outskirts of town was peppered with continual interruptions from her friend Natalya, the girl I'd selected to help with the next piece in the master plan. "Ree-chee, what you want from me?" she enquired in her East European whine. "Where you take me, Ree-chee?"

On and on she persisted until it became annoying and I was minded to silence her. Yet, desperate to keep her sweet, I didn't rise to the bait. For what I had in mind couldn't work without her. Biting my tongue, I staunched the urge to retaliate, thinking ahead to when this particular episode would be over, and the opportunity to move on to better things. Some eight and a half hours of the day remaining, that was a cheery thought.

But for now my mind was focused on Laurie Johnson and a bitter revenge. Johnson had been my line manager for a year or so until yesterday when he helped get me fired. The sort of boss that loved to talk the talk, like many power mongers he couldn't walk the walk. Transparent and full of bullshit, lies and hollow promises, I'd sussed him straight away.

It would be no boast to say that, with my negotiating skills and encyclopaedic knowledge of the business, I'd almost single-handedly made our department the most profitable in the organisation over the past twelve months. But did I see any of the proceeds? Did I fuck? Johnson took the plaudits and the bonuses as well, lining his own grubby pockets at my expense. Five per cent? That hardly covered my bar bill.

Unsurprisingly, that kick in the teeth six months ago coincided with my declining attitude. Once it became apparent that no matter how hard I tried or how many extra hours I put in, I was going to be overlooked, all enthusiasm ebbed away and naturally I started to slack. Silly things like turning up late in the morning, taking the odd long lunch and bad-mouthing the customers started to become commonplace.

Little did I know that my days at the firm were numbered, in any event. Unbeknown to me, my every move was being watched hawkishly and that the misdemeanours rigorously catalogued. Had I known, I might have jumped ship earlier.

Yesterday it finally came to a head. £200 down in The Crown during the lunchtime stint, I was hardly inclined dash back to the office. So I played on, ignoring the clock and chasing my losses. The only trouble was, by 2.30 the debt had doubled and I was in a foul mood.

Upon my grudging return to the office Johnson was waiting, his arms folded and face thunderous. Frogmarched unceremoniously down to HR like an AWOL soldier facing a court martial, the threat of "You're for the high jump this time, Davis," rang in my ears. 

I could undoubtedly have bluffed my way out, issued a humbling apology and promised never to do it again. That way I might well have escaped with little worse than a verbal warning. But, so wound up at losing at cards and Johnson's supercilious attitude, I chose instead to deck the little gimp, utilising a sweet right hook. Johnson fell like a Portuguese footballer, clutching his bloodied nose.

That it happened right under the watchful eye of the MD gave me little mitigation. There was no excusing that kind of behaviour and I was sacked on the spot for gross misconduct. What made things worse, if that were possible, as I trudged away Johnson had made a miraculous recovery, sporting a huge grin. Like a mug I'd fallen for the oldest trick in the book.

One small consolation, however, being dismissed in that manner meant I could return to The Crown to chase my losses even further. Though, as you know, those losses had snowballed to £1000 before the day was out. When Ronnie Carver turned up the fateful hand I realised my relationship would soon be history too. It would be fair to say that yesterday hadn't been one of the better days of my life.

But, as the saying goes, that was then and this is now. 24 hours on and my luck had never more been healthy. The worm had turned and taking Carver for three grand had been oh so satisfying. Now it was Laurie Johnson's turn to feel my wrath.

* * *

As we headed across town to the industrial estate, a plan began to crystallise in my mind. Being Friday afternoon, Johnson was due to meet a broker in a few minutes. That presented me with the ideal opportunity. I'd always suspected these Friday afternoon 'business' calls were five-minute excuses to start the weekend early, but had never been able to prove it. "That's him," I mouthed cryptically across to Natalya as my former boss came out into the hot summer's day, eyes adjusting to the brightness.

"That's who?" she asked.

I really couldn't be arsed to explain, electing to speak in terms I knew she'd understand: sex and cash. Reaching into my pocket to extract £100, I stated: "Just do what you do best, darling."

Natalya nodded. It seemed she understood fully. "You want me to fuck that man, yah?"

"Spot on," I confirmed. "Do good job and I give you hundred more," I added, cursing that I'd been reduced to speaking like her.

Sure enough the broker visit was over in a jiffy, my hunch holding good. We trailed him at a safe distance to the local park, parking up and pursuing on foot. Johnson stopped to admire two teenaged girls playing tennis, issuing lecherous glances at their bare legs and jigglesome breasts. Happily married, he claimed, I'd always suspected from the manner in which he ogled the younger girls in the department, that good old Mr Johnson might be a sex pest. "Go to work," I whispered to Natalya.

The filthy fucker could hardly believe his luck when the half decent girl almost half his age took a seat on the same park bench. Natalya's tiny denim skirt had ridden half way up her thighs and immediately drew the first furtive glance and grin. But with Johnson still not prepared to make the first move, it needed Natalya's guile to make the breakthrough, 'accidentally' dropping her phone to the grass. Reaching down like the true gentleman he scooped it up, handing it back with an asinine grin. Natalya offered a pouted thank you, before engaging him in the first stilted lines of conversation.

Keeping a safe distance, I hoped Johnson would be stupid enough to fall for it. Natalya, it seemed, was a natural, the foreign accent and broken English making her appear easy prey for a man of Johnson's standing. Within minutes he was leading her off into the bushes.

Creeping closer, I ensured to capture it all on the videophone feature of my mobile, at the same time aiming to maintain Natalya's anonymity the best I could. It was Johnson's life I wanted to ruin, not hers, though knowing Natalya as I did she would probably get off on being filmed.

Crucially, the time, 15.46, was displayed. There could be no doubting that he was doing this during company time. As Johnson went to kiss her, Natalya lowered to her knees, wrestling with the zipper to his suit trousers. "Mmmm, you're a keen little slut, aren't you?" observed my ex-boss, surely unable to believe this incredible 'turn of events'.

Okay it was a honeytrap of the lowest kind, but did I care? Did I hell. He deserved everything that came his way and I could think of worse ways to go down.

Natalya fished out the shrivelled penis, working her lips around the swollen purple head, sucking eagerly and getting him hard. She stroked the stiffening shaft before undertaking a deft deepthroat manoeuvre, swallowing the entire length. Reaching into her hair, Johnson took a firm grip gave it a good hard tug. Natalya yelped and pulled back, the spittle-coated and erect manhood slipping clear. "Hey, none of the rough stuff, yah?"

That was a veiled challenge, if ever I'd heard one and Johnson issued a dark scowl. Used to getting his own way in all facets of life, he wasn't going to be spoken to in that manner by some cheap foreign tart. Raising a backhand he delivered a cruel slap across her face. Natalya cried out in pain and surprise, wobbling on her knees. As she went to stand, Johnson cuffed the back of her head, sending the disorientated girl face first into the undergrowth.

Trousers at his ankles, my furious former boss wasted no time in pinning his prey to the ground, his full weight on the back of her knees. Lifting up the denim miniskirt and after allowing a brief moment to admire her arse cheeks, he started fumbling with her panties, wrestling them down. Head unclouding, Natalya bucked and kicked out, trying her utmost to wriggle clear. Her steely determination elicited in Johnson a really ugly side rarely witnessed before and he slapped her around the arms and shoulders. "You fucking cheap little foreign whore," he spat as Natalya protested over and over to leave her alone. "You know you fucking want it, you filthy slut."

It wasn't entirely clear as I filmed the unfolding scene whether Natalya actually did want it or not. Her heightened squeals and desperate pleas for clemency carried an air of authenticity as Johnson struggled to force her thighs apart. It may be that she'd bitten off more than she could chew in trying to please me. The harder she fought back, the rougher and more foul-mouthed Johnson became.

With several warnings to shut the fuck up going unheeded, he lifted Natalya's head by the hair and rubbed her face in the dusty undergrowth, twigs snapping beneath. I watched as Natalya's fingernails scraped the surface and it was at that point that I feared things had seriously gone too far. I contemplated wading in to help the poor girl and finish off what I'd started yesterday with the stray punch. But that would have meant giving the game away and seen the whole carefully constructed plan disintegrate to little more than a minor humiliation of the man who'd cost me my career. No, I had to hold back and trust my instincts.

And those instincts were based upon what I recalled having heard from guys down the pub who'd been with Natalya. Apparently she had some rather unusual kinks and wasn't averse to a little rough play between the sheets. Some claimed she'd toyed with bondage and rape fantasies. Certainly she seemed to derive an odd thrill from walking home alone late at night after a shift in The Crown. This wasn't exactly the safest estate to be around, even in broad daylight.

That probably explained some of the exotic bruises she'd sported during the shedding of her clothes. And word had it she absolutely adored being tied up, being hit and bitten. Whilst those were the sorts of things most of the guys could cope with in small measures, they tended to run a mile when she asked to be held tightly by the neck during copulation.

I'd never quite understood that fetish but evidently it heightens the orgasm. And now, with Johnson of all people, her wish was coming true. Hands at her throat he squeezed purposefully whilst trying to silence her. I agonised over the right thing to do, becoming genuinely unsettled by my ex-boss' ferocity, desperately checking that her face wasn't turning purple yet. It was a tough call but I surmised that if she WAS genuinely in distress, knowing I was there watching, she'd have summoned me to help by now. So instead, and perhaps against my better judgement, I maintained my distance as she gasped and cried and struggled. I was mightily relieved when Johnson eased his grip.

It had the desired effect on at least one of them for he had become rock hard once more, stabbing with the bloated head between Natalya's legs. Clenching tight, the feisty East European denied his urge. Growing impatient, Johnson drew a penknife from his pocket, holding the blade to the girl's spine. Drenched in sweat and fear and feeling the cold sharp length of steel, immediately Natalya complied, parting her thighs. Johnson blew hard and slid in forcibly from behind. It wasn't clear whether the ability to impale in one easy thrust owed more to his hardness or Natalya's wetness. It was probably 50/50.

Biting her neck and drooling in her ear, he pumped purposefully downwards as Natalya laid spread-eagled and helpless, her tits crushed to the sun-dried ground. In and out he pumped brutishly for two minutes, during which he called her all manner of slut names. I looked on uneasily, struggling to believe the intensity of the attack. He was like a man possessed.

Natalya was reduced to issuing short whimpers, hands clenched into little fists, banging the ground. Gripping her neck once more, he tightened until she gagged, driving his cock deep and mercilessly. Pausing momentarily to wipe a paw across his soaked brow, Johnson spat: "You're so fucking wet, you're loving it, aren't you."

When Natalya failed to respond he lifted her by the collar and we both feared for a short moment he'd suffocated her. "Yes, oh God yes I love it," she panted.

I couldn't be sure whether she meant it or was trying to appease him. Again it was probably 50/50.

Johnson pressed back down and administered a series of short sharp thrusts, bringing himself to the verge of orgasm. With a pained grunt, his face contorted and he unloaded inside her, lying on top till every last drop had been milked. I felt sure Natalya stifled a cry for more, or was I just trying to excuse my complicity in the sorry episode?

Clambering to his knees, Johnson wiped his sticky cock head on her panties before lifting them back up her thighs and patting her bum. Natalya moaned under her breath, remaining motionless on the ground.

Standing to compose and pull up his trousers, my ex-boss glanced straight at the lens. He looked guilty as sin and genuinely appalled at the demons that had made him do that to the helpless girl. Dusting down, excuses were already slipping from his lips as the enormity of the situation dawned. "She came on to me, yeah the filthy slut was gagging for it," he whispered under his breath in an attempt to exonerate blame.

In my hiding place I found myself breathing equally as heavy, unable to believe my eyes or my luck for that reason. I'd only intended to catch him messing around in work hours, the 'rape' element a somewhat unexpected bonus. Jeez, was he for the high jump. Johnson stumbled past through the bushes, meeting the sunlight and starting to weep, a horrible strangled sound. "Oh God, what have I done?"

Wow. Even if my nasty little plan to get him fired didn't come to fruition, I imagined he'd be scarred for life by the incident and be beating himself up mentally for the rest of his sorry life. I almost felt pity. Almost. Well that'd teach the cunt to mess with me.

I fingered the phone, hesitating. A new pay-as-you-go model, bought cheaply off one of the crowd in the pub, I'd be amazed if anyone could ever trace it back to me. I looked down at Natalya, body quivering, breath heavy. Fuck you Johnson, I said to myself, firing off a copy of the video to the MD at the office and another to Johnson's home e-mail address, hoping his wife might be on the net. My work done, I'd let fate take its course.

As Natalya climbed to her feet, she sucked in the air through gritted teeth, looking sheepish and forlorn, before cracking a grin. "I do good, yah Ree-chee?"

I smiled back, a mix of satisfaction and relief. Her reaction told me ptreety much I needed to know and I doubted we'd need to get the police involved. "Yes, you did good, Natalya honey."

* * *

Dropping her back at her place on the other side of town, I counted out £400 more for a job well done. "Ah Ree-chee, you promise me much less than this, sweetie."

She gave me a warm kiss on the brow and I smiled, feeling benevolent yet suddenly moralistic. If only Johnson had done the same and shared the wealth among the deserving in his team, he wouldn't be in the mess he was in now. As she went to alight, Natalya enquired if we might go out some time.

Mulling it over, I enquired whether she'd like to come to the party with me tonight. It would be good to have some company in a strange environment and, from what I'd seen in the photos, Zara's friends were pretty strange. Based on her performance in the park, Natalya would doubtless fit in swimmingly.

If things worked as I hoped and Zara wanted me as much as I wanted her, I was quite sure Natalya could amuse herself elsewhere. It would be fair to say that I was looking forward to the party like nothing before and in my current run of good fortune, who could tell what might happen?

As I passed the house, I caught sight of Debbie's bratty redhead daughter, Shannon, in the lounge and immediately my good mood turned sour. There were further issues in need of resolution before playtime. I felt my teeth grind.

To be continued...



Divine Intervention Ch. 03



I'm Richey Davis, caught up in the kind of day that will surely live on in my memory forever. So far good fortune, sex, revenge and more sex had come my and the day was still young.

To park the car, I needed to proceed down a side lane to a row of spaces behind the house. That meant cutting through the back garden, a journey I was glad I undertook. For just the other side of the fence, new neighbour Zara was busy soaking up the late-afternoon rays. Stretched out on her stomach on a sunlounger, one leg raised, Zara's chin was perched on the back of a hand, whilst the other held a novel at the spine.

My gait slowing almost to a halt, I savoured the gently roasting flesh of Zara's shoulders and back. The straps of her bikini top had been loosened and eased aside to prevent a horizontal tan line from spoiling the golden brown effect. My eyes travelled down a luscious spine to a bikini bottom that was little more than a string thong, her bum cheeks displayed like two ripe mangoes. It was some sight and, after the incident in the park with Natalya, all that watching and no doing dictated that my urgings had reached critical proportions and my balls were near to bursting. "Nice day for it," I observed.

"Mmm very," she affirmed without looking up or acknowledging my presence though seeming to know I was there via some mystery female intuition radar.

"A real sun trap out here this time of day," I added.

Head turning aside, Zara laid down the book and pushed a pair of designer rimless shades off her nose as I peered over the waist-high fence that separated us. "Still up for the party later?"

"You bet," I replied before enquiring: "What's the, um, dress code?"

Zara wrinkled her nose. "If it stays this hot, t-shirt and shorts. We'll probably have a barbie out here."

I nodded. Just as well, I thought to myself, my fetish gear being in the wash and all.

"Sorry to be a pain, but can I beg another favour, Richey?" Zara enquired, twiddling a few stray strands of her around a finger.

"Depends what it is," I replied playfully.

"Nothing too strenuous this time, I promise."

"Oh go on then," I replied, mock-grudgingly. "Seeing as you asked so nicely."

She smiled. "You can save the physical exertion for later."

I raised my eyebrows. "Well I'm usually the first up to dance," I replied with a grin, adding: "And the last one off."

"Oh reallllllly?" she purred. "Most of the men I know have two left feet."

"Not me, salsa...lambada...breakdance, it all comes naturally."

Zara smiled. "So we've established you have stamina in bundles and a good pair of feet. Do you happen to have a good pair of hands too?" she said with a grin, reaching aside to take the plastic orange suncream dispenser in hand. "You couldn't do the hard-to-reach bits before I burn to a frazzle, could you?"

I was over that fence quicker than Ed Moses in his prime.

To be honest, she looked athletic enough to manage an all-over lotion, but I wasn't about to argue, perching on the edge of the sunlounger, my bum brushing her near thigh. Upending the bottle, I squeezed a dollop of cream into my palms and rubbed them together, heaving a deep long breath. She lifted the feather light ends of blonde hair and I touched a neck that was as elegant as a swan's. Slowly my hands dispersed a light film of cream over the warm skin. "Oh you DO have great hands, Richey," she purred.

Palms shifting to her shoulders, I rubbed gently at first, becoming more purposeful as I reached the shoulder blades, using my thumbs to indent the soft flesh below. "Oh gosh, that's wonderful," Zara sighed, immersed in the sensual massage.

I worked the remnants of oil from my fingertips into her upper spine, before reaching once more for the bottle. The next squeeze unloaded a dollop of cool lotion directly on her mid back and Zara shivered. "Mmm, that's it, work it in hard," she mouthed hoarsely.

Palms flat, I dispersed the oil on and around her hips, peering down longingly at the raised curve of her arse. She seemed to read my mind. "Do that too, Richey, please."

I flexed my fingers in readiness but sadly it wasn't to be, the voice coming harshly from the other side of the fence: "Oh I see you haven't taken long to forget mum."

In the excitement of the afternoon I'd almost forgotten about my ex's troublemaking daughter Shannon. Our eyes met and she spat: "Why don't you just fuck her here in the garden?"

My temperature rose to boiling and my brow crinkled. "Um, sorry about this, Zara," I whispered, considering it best to go before Shannon caused any more of a scene. "I'll see you at eight."

"See you, Richey."

Clambering back over the fence, I shot an indignant look Shannon's way. Though annoyed, it was going to take a lot more than some jumped-up kid to spoil my fun. "Jealous are we?"

Shannon snorted. "Jealous? Yeah right," she added with heavy sarcasm, before returning inside through the patio doors, her meddling done.

I followed, wondering whether to get my own back or leave it. A tough nut to crack and accustomed to getting her own way, Shannon was usually capable of giving as good as she got. My benign demeanour said let it drop and indeed I would have, were she not so intent on screwing up the rest of my afternoon by hanging around like a bad odour.

Flush from a morning fleecing her father, Ronnie Carver at cards, I reached into my jeans. "Shannon, here's fifty quid, why don't you run along to the cinema for a couple of hours?"

Shannon surveyed the money covetously before turning up her nose and raising a middle finger in defiance. I knew deep down she wanted the cash, and she knew that I knew she wanted it, but she didn't want to allow me the satisfaction. "Typical Shannon, always cutting off her nose to spite her face," I observed wryly.

"Cut off my nose and I'll cut off your balls," the belligerent schoolgirl retorted, tossing back her chestnut mane.

"Grow up," I replied, the best comeback I could muster, the quick and insightful lines exhausted for now, staunched by the bratty teenager's bad attitude.

Fuck it, I thought, I could play games too. Taking a seat in the armchair adjacent I decided to stay put and watch MTV2 with her. Out of the corner of my eye I could see her growing ever more frustrated. I suspected that by now she regretted not accepting the £50, hoping I'd become bored soon enough. In actual fact I was quite enjoying both the music and the teenager's discomfort.

In desperation she tried to get shot of me by flicking onto C-Beebies. It failed miserably. "Awesome, I love SpongeBob," I gushed in genuine appreciation.

Shannon frowned. "Okay, okay, I'll take your fucking money," she said resignedly.

Once a negotiator, always a negotiator and I stifled the urge to grin. "That offer's long been withdrawn."

She gave me a fuck-you glare before standing.

Getting into the little game, no longer was I burdened with having to bite my tongue for the sake of keeping the peace. I'd be gone in a week. So what if I pissed her off? As she went to depart, I stated firmly: "Excuse me, but did I say you could leave the room?"

She hovered in the doorway, still in the mistaken belief that she was in control. Little did she realise. "You what...? Who the fuck are you to tell me...? You're not my dad."

Bingo. The rabbit had fallen into the trap. "Oh yeah," I observed matter-of-factly. "I saw your dad in The Crown this lunchtime. When was the last time you saw him?"

Immediately I touched a nerve. If she deemed me a loser, and I admit I've had my moments, her father wrote the book on losers. "He gave me all his money. No wonder he never paid a penny in child support for ten years, he was always gambling it or pissing it up the wall."

Shannon's bottom lip quivered. She knew it well enough, just wouldn't admit it in front of me. Fathers are supposed to be hero figures right? Well, she was defending the indefensible and could only come out looking stupid if she argued her father was anything other than a waster. Not only that, she'd conveniently forgotten my contributions that had put her through school this past year. I'd been more of a father to her in a year than Ronnie had in eighteen. But again it wasn't something she'd acknowledge, let alone admit.

"I don't suppose you've met his new girlfriend yet," I commented, adding bitingly: "GIRL being the operative word. Some horrible little tart of a thing she is, about your age, if not younger. He seems to like his girls young does your dad."

Shannon was starting to flush with anger and upset, her cheeks a match with her flaming hair. Of fiery Irish stock, she spat back: "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"I'm only reporting what people have told me. Quite a reputation he has..."

Suddenly Shannon flew at me, the nerve end I'd touched now exposed. Little powder-puff clenched fists glanced off my chest as she worked herself into a hissy fit.

"Shame you didn't fight him off quite so readily," I countered when she'd finished.

Ouch, now that was below the belt.

Shannon floundered, mouth agape and caught somewhere between rage and hurt. "My dad never touched me," she remonstrated, eyes reddening.

I smiled inwardly, maintaining the cool exterior. She was, it seemed, very adept at giving it out, not so adept at taking it when it was so close to home. Erupting in tears, she made as if to flee.

"Oh no you don't, young lady" I taunted, standing to reach out and catch hold of her wrist, reeling her back in like we were ballroom dancing. "You really do disappoint me, Shannon," I continued, adopting a paternal demeanour. "I thought you had more spunk in you than that."

She remained still and silent but for a few stray tears, my grip on her wrist tightening until she whimpered. The truth was that, despite a hard exterior, now exposed as a veneer, she was just a naïve little girl. She tried to pull away, though the harder she tried the more it hurt her wrist. "It's time you learnt a valuable lesson, young lady."

It took the girl by complete surprise as I hoisted her up and across my knee. She bit and scratched and wriggled and caterwauled which was a concern. I didn't really want Zara thinking I was some sort of abusive fiend. "If you make any more noise, young lady, I'm going to get an orange and put it in your mouth. Then I'll duct tape it in place. That stuff rips off layers of skin when it's removed. Do you understand Shannon?"

Suddenly she stilled from thrashing and stopped screeching, my threat taken seriously as she issued a little whisper of acknowledgement. It was power like I'd never felt before, all the more intense doing it in front of SpongeBob. Almost subconsciously I found myself idly fondling the girl's arse cheeks through the skirt. "So is this what your daddy used to do to you, Shannon?"

"Nooooooo," she protested, keeping the volume to a minimum. "He never, ever laid a finger on me, I swear. Now, please let me go, I've learned my lesson."

"I'll let you go when you tell me the truth."

"I am telling you the truth."

I sighed long and hard to convey an ever increasing annoyance. "Okay Shannon I'm going to give you one last chance. I just want to know if the rumours are true. That will help explain a lot about your shitty little attitude this past year, and then we can move on."

The inbred Celtic defiance prompted Shannon to wriggle like an eel in a vain attempt to break free, issuing further pained denials. Either she was telling the truth or she wanted to test how far I was prepared to go. "Okay," I sighed in frustration.

I felt her relax noticeably and she must have believed I was going to let her go. Instead, I reached down and tugged at her cut down jeans, a quick jerk and her bare arse was exposed. As she wriggled, the wiry mesh of a bushy nest chafed my upper thigh. I grinned. Having seen so many shaven twats of late, to feel a little hair was quite refreshing. "Nooooooo," she screeched far too loudly, the resistance returning.

"Right, that's it, I'm getting the orange and the duct tape unless you shut the fuck up right now," I warned, feeling her go limp once more. "Lift your arms above your head, Shannon – NOW" I ordered, my words met with immediate compliance.

The t-shirt slid up and off, ruffling her tangle of red hair and revealing shoulders that were generously freckled. "W-what are y-you g-going to do to m-me?" she mouthed, naked now, the words little more than a whisper.

I allowed a moment to pass before speaking. "What do YOU think I should do?"

"Let me go," she suggested in hopeful optimism.

"You think I'd do that after the crap you've given me this past year? Not just me but your poor mother too."

Her head dropped as she took a moment to reflect upon the trouble she'd caused with skiving school, thieving and staying out late nights repeatedly.

"So, what do you think I should do?" I repeated in hushed tones.

"Let me go," she maintained.

Of course, things had now changed completely in our relationship, the power having shifted away from her and back my way. I'd been treading on eggshells for the past year for her mother's sake, unable to speak my true mind. Frankly, I couldn't care less if she told her mother what I'd done. My only real fear was the police and I could hardly see that happening. I think Shannon realised it too and that I had little to lose. Deep down I liked to hope that she knew it was deserved. "Well I'm not going to let you go, so you can get that thought out of your head, not at least until we've wiped the slate clean," I clarified.

I heard Shannon swallow, her throat constricting in fear.

"Personally I think you need to be taught a lesson in manners. I think you might even want it."

Verbally she denied it, yet bodily she was betrayed, almost subconsciously grinding her moistening young twat down on my lap. As she shifted position, the first telltale drops of juice leaked through the nest at her middle to dab my thigh. "T-taught a l-lesson? H-how?"

"I'm going to spank you, Shannon."

"Nooooooo," she squealed, a last vain attempt at defiance.

I let her twist and squirm until she was breathless and it was out of her system. "And while I'm spanking you I want you to call me daddy, you understand Shannon?"

No verbal response, the lips of her pussy dragged on my thigh like a snail. Angling her back into the prime position, her belly on my lap, her rump prominent and plumped up, it had to be the most spankable bum I'd ever laid eyes upon. Not that I'd ever spanked one before and God alone knew what possessed me. I was, it seemed, being galvanised by Zara's photos and Natalya's roughing-up.

Raising a firm hand I let it rest shakily at shoulder height, Shannon's backside quivering, her heavy breathing the only sound in the room. The air rippled as my hand descended. SPANK! "This is the least you deserve," I cried. SPANK! "That's for making me spend six hours at the police station that time." SPANK! "That's for making your mother have to beg the headmaster to let you stay on at school." SPANK! "That's for waking me up at four in the morning more times than I care to remember."

"Owwwwwww," she moaned, shaking furiously. "No more, oh God please no more..."

SPANNNNNNK! "Tell daddy what you are, Shannon."

Her lower cheeks blushing nicely to match the upper ones flushed with embarrassment, she hesitated a brief moment. Catching the breath that had been shot from her lungs like a ball from a cannon, she struggled to re-compose. "Tell daddy what you are," I commanded.

"I'm daddy's naughty little girl," she responded breathlessly.

A smug look settled on my face.

The volley of slaps had pushed her cunt back onto my lap and she was busily rubbing herself. "Oh God, yes you are," I heard myself saying in throaty tones.

She reached up to touch her arse gingerly, purring gently as the initial pain turned into liquid desire and I couldn't be sure who was the more turned on. Ignorant of the protocol and, having enjoyed the feeling of spanking her and her reaction to it, I issued four more, enough to be felt, yet not so hard as to inflict any more than a sensual pain. At least that was what I imagined, judged by the way her body reacted, a puddle pooling on my thigh. "Oh daddy, no more please. Your little girl will make it up to you."

Her voice, an adult speaking in a childish tone, was so arousing my cock sprang up fully to attention, scraping painfully on the canvas crotch of my jeans. "And how do you intend to do that?"

Shannon lifted up and eased off my lap, a mischievous little look on her face as she slid to the carpet before me. I could hardly get my fly open quick enough, my cock springing out telescopically and very nearly poking her eye. She reared back as if it this were the first time she'd seen a man's excited cock. "Shannon...?"

It was then that the confession came. And boy was it ever a revelation. Evidently it WAS the first time she'd seen a man's excited cock in the flesh, the admission of being a virgin taking me by complete surprise. It seemed that whilst she'd been indulging in mindless truancy, underage drinking and shoplifting, boys had figured lowly in her list of priority. She'd felt one through a pair of shorts, she conceded, head bowed, but that was it.

I guess this admission succeeded in getting her real father, Ronnie Carver, off the hook from the accusations flying around the pub, which was a shame because I couldn't stand the bloke. On the other hand, taking his daughter's virginity, as I intended to do so, offered ample compensation. Her lips were pursed in readiness, there seemed little point messing around with oral sex with a nervous and inexperienced cocksucker. "Some other time," I dismissed selfishly. "Now lie down."

Leaning back, supported on her elbows, she watched as I dismounted the armchair and took up a position beside her on the carpet. Her breath was erratic and she was shivering. "Daddy, I'm a little scared."

In silence I leaned across to bestow our first kiss, something that yesterday hadn't even figured in my wildest fantasies. Instinctively she shied away, my lips brushing her cheek. I whispered assurances, lowering to nuzzle her earlobe. Shannon groaned beneath her breath, a breath that quickened as I found her neck. Closing her eyes, she allowed me to kiss, then suck then nibble the tender flesh. Lifting a hand to her cheek, I guided her face back round ninety degrees. This time she held fast, our lips moulding. "Ohhhhhhh daddy," she moaned back, the words muffled as our tongues touched tentatively.

Within no time we were exploring one another's mouths, tongues lashing. We remained entangled, licking, sucking and slurping. Shannon eased back and I bent forward with her, not for one moment breaking the embrace. As she flattened out, bathed in my shadow, I saw her smile contentedly. As I lowered, her pert breasts became pressed tight to my chest. Reaching over I caressed the auburn twines of hair at the temple. Still the kiss persisted and, going beyond the point of comfort, I craved oxygen. Finally we uncoupled, exhaling like marathon runners.

I took a moment to admire the naked 18-year old, her hands instinctively crossed at her crotch. Placing a hand on her inner thigh I stroked up, sliding my hand beneath hers. She gasped at the intimate contact, the heat radiating from between her legs warming my palm. Bending my thumb I moved it the length of her slit and back, scooping up a light film of cunt dew. Bringing it to my lips I sucked, tasting the bittersweet deposit with delight.

Shannon lay dreamily, half-smiling and twitching nervously. Lifting her hands, she placed them by her sides. "Take me now daddy," she mouthed.

I smiled reassuringly, cocking my legs across, knees resting between hers. At the same time I lifted her arse, slipping a plumped-up cushion beneath. Her mound, fringed with auburn curls, pulsed gently. Jockeying for position, my cock head scraped the soft flesh of her inner thigh.




Divine Intervention Ch. 03



As Shannon arched her back, the spongy head met a willing young pussy. Hands at her shoulders I pushed gently yet purposefully. Shannon gasped as she was split for the first time, her elbows tight to my neck, hands clasped. The tip nudging open the soft moist labia, hers was a cunt that was extraordinarily tight, like nothing I'd felt for a good two decades. As I pushed in inch by inch, Shannon issued a series of oohs and arghs, chewing at her bottom lip as she was stretched.

Further penetration was impeded by the intact hymen, causing the two of us to catch a huge breath. Bodies pressed tightly together at the middle and basted in sweat, we exchanged awkward glances. Shannon knew the significance, offering a little nod of acknowledgement and encouragement before clamping her eyes shut. I blew, a short sharp stab busting through her maidenhead in one. Taking her mouth in mine to muffle the short whimpers of pain, we kissed like long time lovers.

Drawing back my buttocks, I set out on a gentle, affectionate rhythm, savouring the tightness, Shannon's virgin cunt gripping my inflated cock tightly like a finger of OJ's glove. In and out I probed, becoming ever more forceful, until the teenager opened up like a flower. Her nails dug the flesh of my shoulders as she beckoned me deeper.

My buttocks pumping up and down with yet greater purpose, Shannon spread her thighs wider, heels hooked around my lower leg. "Fuck me hard, daddy," she begged, hands shifting from my shoulders to my arse.

With her assistance I began to pump furiously, ravaging the tight young pussy. "Yes daddy," she screamed. "Harder!"

Stealing a lungful of air I started to slam harder, our bodies locked in ecstasy. My pumping became so intense the stuffing was very nearly knocked out of the cushion. Shannon moved with me, quickly picking up on what was expected of her like a fledgling filly finding its feet. Up and down I pounded, the constricted pussy walls bringing me ever closer.

Suddenly Shannon came with a little whimper, her pussy growing more malleable and enabling me to plough deeper and harder. Unable to hold back any longer, such was the vice-like grip of her tight cunt walls on my rock hard cock, one final hammer and I exploded inside her. She squealed, seeming to experience a second orgasm that lasted ten times as long as mine, before we collapsed in a heap.

* * *

I awoke some time later, with Shannon curled up in my arms, issuing a glance at the clock – 7.05. My day, or maybe that should be MY day, was in its late autumn. Yet there was still so much to look forward too, a contented sigh slipping from my lips at the prospect of Zara's party. Gingerly I slipped away from the drowsy teen to shower and get ready. I had a feeling that the best was being saved for last. 



Divine Intervention Ch. 04



As the first dusky stain of night tainted the sky, I reflected on a day that – so far – had exceeded my wildest dreams. Surreal yet so real, a combination of good fortune, sweet revenge and incredible sex had ensured it would remain in living memory. And there was still Zara and the party to forward to.

The air thick with the sort of heat that threatened never to abate, I chose comfort over style, combining a lime green YSL polo shirt with a pair of three-quarter length black sports pants and beach sandals. Hovering at the window in heightened anticipation I observed a number of guests arrive next door.

Finally, my chaperone for the evening, Natalya, pulled up in a cab, fashionably late. As I strode out to pick up the fare, she waved me away, evidently still flush from the £500 bonus earned from helping to set up Johnson. A prime example of mixing of business and pleasure, Natalya had been the perfect foil. Tonight she was wearing a pair of tight white cords with a thick leather belt, a red polka dot shirt with an orange shawl for later when the wind got up.

Glancing up as a second taxi swung obliquely into the pavement, before screeching to a halt, I issued a secret smile as the cab emptied out all but for the stunned looking driver. One by one its three sexy female occupants alighted and assembled by Zara's gate, adjusting short skirts and tight blouses. A cosmopolitan trio, they comprised a statuesque Afro-Caribbean beauty queen with braided hair and voluminous breasts, a cute little Oriental geisha-type and a drop dead gorgeous Caucasian brunette. Let the games begin!

We followed those gorgeous arses down the side of the house whereupon I caught sight of Zara through the small crowd. In white hotpants and a figure-hugging blue chamise she looked as delightful as I'd imagined she would. She glanced over yet seemed to look right through me, almost as if I wasn't there. Resorting to a less-than-cool wave still failed to elicit even a hint of acknowledgement. Perhaps playing hard-to-get was Zara's way of dealing with potential suitors, or maybe she was just shy in company.

No sooner were we at the fringe of the assembly than Natalya and I were accosted by a pot-bellied middle aged chap with a cheery demeanour and a round bald head. "Hi, I'm Tom," he chimed. "Zara's father...pleased to meet you...we haven't met before."

"Richard, I live next door," I confirmed. "And this is Natalya."

"Mmm what a lovely exotic name," Tom drooled, checking out my East European companion's bum in the tight cords.

"Yeah, but I prefer Richey," I replied drolly.

Tom sniggered before commenting: "Zara's mentioned a lot about you."

I felt a warm glow. That was encouraging, but why the hell wasn't she so much as even looking at me? A glance her way elicited no hint of recognition, let alone the huge hug I rightly deserved. Instead, she was joking with the three beauties that had led us in. Perhaps she was saving me for later.

A youngish guy, in his early twenties I guessed, appeared through the crowd. "Ah, this is my son Zack, Zara's brother," Tom revealed. "Meet Richey from next door and Natalya."

Zack offered a hand in greeting before moving on with a promise of "catch you later."

Zara glanced up again in my direction but then away just as quickly.

"Drinks?" enquired Tom.

"I'll do the honours," I offered, a chance perhaps to brush past Zara and jog her memory.

However, as I got within three strides, she turned and moved away and, disinclined to make myself look stupid, I headed inside. It did bug me though. Surely she hadn't forgotten already an afternoon in which my firm hands had caressed her taut baking flesh and she'd all but invited me to rip off her thong and fuck her hard – before we were so rudely interrupted.

Little pockets of people numbering perhaps two dozen littered the patio, an unattended barbecue on the grass billowing smoke. All were chatting enthusiastically, seemingly familiar with one another. "Richey, this is Mary, my wife, Zara's mother," Tom announced.

It was obvious where Zara's looks came from. Mary had to be fifty yet with elegance and poise that could easily pass for her daughter's age. And that was without the cosmetic adjustments favoured by so many other women her age. She gave me that 'I've-heard-all-about-you' look, complimented by a demure smile and I thought wickedly that if the daughter wasn't going to play ball tonight, I might just chance my arm with the mother instead.

The introductions extended to an aunt and uncle and a clutch of adult cousins with their other halves. Some had little kiddies of their own, circling erratically at our ankles like angry wasps at a picnic. The party was nothing like I'd imagined: a real family affair. Indeed, with the exception of the three girls who'd arrived at the same time as we did, everyone else on the patio was either related to Zara or married to someone related to Zara. My odds looked favourable, yet Zara was acting as cold as a fish.

Five minutes later the first 'competition' arrived, two good-looking guys with muscular physiques, slicked back hair and Ray-bans, offering nods of greeting. Immediately for some reason they latched onto Natalya, my companion doing what she did best and taking the competition out of commission.

A further five minutes passed and another new guest appeared on the patio. I could barely contain my annoyance. "What are you doing here?" I enquired with a scowl, taking Shannon aside.

"I was invited too," she replied with a slur, having evidently already enjoyed a glass or two of vino at home first, her lips a bloodstained hue. "Are you going to spank me again and send me home to bed, DADDY?" she enquired, somewhat too loudly for my liking.

"Shush," I replied in horror, gripping her arm tightly.

"Owww," she complained. "Daddy, that hurts."

Fuck I'd unleashed a monster in the girl that afternoon, eminently preferring the Shannon of old with all her tantrums, unreasonable demands and scowls. At least I'd known where I stood then. Now it was impossible to tell.

"Oh, is this your daughter?" enquired the keen-eared Tom, ambling over to join us.

I struggled to offer a plausible reply and Shannon came to my rescue, sort of. "We're sooooooo close, me and Richey, and he has been so kind to me since my real daddy left that I see him as my daddy," she enthused.

At least Tom bought it.

Fifteen minutes passed, making small talk with a variety of folk and drinking too much. I did at least manage to satisfy my curiosity, establishing that the three girls were flight attendants who worked with Zara, and the guys were pilots from the same airline. Incredibly, during that time, there'd not been as much as a smile from Zara.

About to fill up my glass once more and chance my arm with one of the trio of girls, I felt a tug at my sleeve. It was Shannon and by now she was half-cut and tilting. I issued a stern 'what-is-it?' type of look, but she was insistent, dragging me away unwillingly to the bottom of the garden. Whereas our garden next door had been cleared at the bottom and concreted over to create a parking space, Zara's garden contained a thicket of fruit trees. "Come quick," insisted Shannon, tugging on my hand.

We threaded through the mini orchard, heading out of sight of the rest of the party, their voices becoming inaudible. Shannon was slurring at me to be quiet. Just the other side of the clump the cause of her excitement was revealed: three semi-naked bodies, two men and a woman, intertwined and enjoying themselves. I didn't need to see the face to know that the female was Natalya, her features obscured in the groin of one of the pilots.

The other pilot stood behind and, easing the big leather belt from Natalya's waist, he tugged down her jeans, unveiling a thong-clad arse. I flinched as Shannon's jerky hand reached across to cup my balls through the sports pants. Issuing a stern admonishment I brushed it away. I should have turned and headed out of there in double quick time, but instead I found myself rooted to the spot, mesmerised by Natalya's latest performance. Besides which I was still wounded from Zara's ongoing rebuke.

The cherubic Shannon hardly helped, sliding in front of me, her back tight to my chest, her bum to my crotch with my chin resting on her shoulder. Issuing a glance aside, the cute little redhead melted into me. "Mmmmmmm daddy," she groaned beneath her breath.

Up ahead in the clearing, the pilot who wasn't receiving the blowjob lifted back his arm and lashed out with the belt. The leather met the soft flesh of Natalya's arse with a thwack and she jerked. However, the resultant sigh was muffled in the pubic hair of the guy she was busily deepthroating. A subsequent volley of lashes fell, each greeted with further jerks from Natalya's body. Her mouth going into overdrive, the guy getting the blowjob pulled out suddenly, crying out. Cum spurted like a champagne bottle being uncorked, splashing in Natalya's face and hair. Hungrily she swallowed what she could, tongue hoovering up the excess.

Shannon purred and pushed back tight into me, my cock rubbing her soft arse as my hands reached to stroke her belly. Grinning lustfully, she lifted and placed my hands over her breasts. A perfect fit, my natural reaction was to squeeze. Wearing just a light cotton dress, white with a brown floral design, elasticated at the neck and beneath the breasts, with no bra to impede, the feel was exquisite.

Something of a late developer, her tits were just starting to bud and ripen. I cupped the undersides, letting those lovely orbs rest on my palms whilst my thumbs teased the edges of each hard nipple through the light fabric. Shannon moaned deliriously, the sound fortuitously drowned out by Natalya's breathy squeals as she took her punishment like a good slut. "Oh God, I bet you want to tie me up too," the East European nymphomaniac moaned with a wicked look, clearly intent on putting ideas in their heads.

The two handsome pilots grinned at each other, clearly wallowing in Natalya's uninhibited demeanour. She made to flee but 'accidentally' tripped over, playing the helpless female victim to perfection. Taking a leg and arm each, they marched the captive to the very end of the garden.

Shannon let out a little whimper and I wouldn't have mind betting she'd have swapped places. "Mmm, you're such a dirty little slut," I mouthed as I worked those lovely young sweat glazed breasts, kneading, pawing and compressing until she was exhaling like crazy.

Evidently Shannon did not dispute the claim, rubbing herself more purposefully against my aroused crotch. Easing aside the elasticated neck of her sundress at the shoulder I gave the exposed soft skin a sensual kiss, before nuzzling. She shivered and rose up my body trying desperately to hump my bulge. "Oh God daddy, give it to me," she whispered.

I couldn't have resisted even if I'd wanted to. Reaching down, Shannon lifted the hem of the sundress above the hips. No panties either, her pussy was revealed as I wrestled down my sports pants. Lifting Shannon's lightweight frame under the armpits, I allowed my rock hard cock to nestle between her legs.

Shifting, I positioned the angry and bloated purple tip at her pussy's tight entrance, letting it rub lightly. Jeez, the drunken little slut was wetter than an Amazonian rainforest and equally as bushy, my cock tip siding through the forest of auburn hairs to split her cunt lips apart. She gurgled with pleasure as I ploughed into the depths of that fabulously tight young pussy, buried up to the balls.

Meanwhile up ahead, Natalya had been stretched between four trees like a hammock, her bra and ripped panties shredded to make lengths to secure her wrists and ankles. She was wailing in broken English for them to leave her be, thrashing and protesting. It had to be the least convincing performance since Dick Van Dyke's cockney accent in Mary Poppins.

Passing the belt back and forth, the guys took it in turns to lash her body, each impact met with a shrill yet sensuous squeal. Leaving the nasty stuff to his partner in crime, the one that had yet cum took up a position between Natalya's outstretched legs. She struggled and squirmed but the binds held tight, scoring the flesh the harder she fought. As one whipped her belly and breasts in a merciless rhythm, the other bucked at her cunt, his buttocks pistoning.

Natalya played the victim to a tee, and it was a wonder her heightened squeals didn't summon the rest of the party to the secluded spot. If they had, they'd have not only been treated to the sight of the East European slut being whipped and fucked but 'the-nice-man-next-door' shoving his hard cock deep into his 'daughter's' sopping wet pussy. Turned on beyond belief by Natalya's servitude, I banged with such purpose my thighs slapped Shannon's buttocks repeatedly.

Shannon just got wetter and wetter, her young cunt taking only its second pounding ever. Yet already she was an accomplished young fuck. "I'm going to cum daddy," she groaned.

It seemed she wasn't the only one, the guy between Natalya's legs cumming with a flourish. At the same time I exploded hard in Shannon's tight pussy, flooding it with reams of seed. It felt like I'd never stop cumming. It was then that I heard a voice the other side of the trees. "Is anyone there? Grub's up."

As I scrambled to get my sports pants up, inadvertently I pushed Shannon away, falling to her knees with a crash. The trio at the bottom of the garden glanced up as I headed the other way to try to salvage the situation and spare the blushes of this nice family. "Hi Tom, yeah it's only me," I assured as I shepherded him away from the scene.

I glanced back just in time to see Shannon down on her knees between Natalya's legs, supping the pilot's cum from her pussy. She was drinking and licking and sucking all at once. Fuck it was a damned shame I'd be moving out soon. The girl was blossoming into a slut of the highest order. I was sure also that the sound of whipping carried on the air for another ten or so minutes.

Back with the main party, I availed myself of a burger and another drink before deciding it was time to front out Zara. "Excuse me," I said, gripping her arm and easing her away from the huddle.

"Excuse you indeed," she replied indignantly, shaking herself free.

I didn't know what say or do. It was as if she didn't know me, as if our intimate, albeit brief, moments of foreplay that afternoon had been erased from memory. "Is this, um, is this one of your games?" I enquired, galvanised by the alcohol. "Would you prefer if I went home?"

She issued a strange, incomprehensible look. "We haven't been introduced properly," she said. "I'm guessing you must be Richey."

I pursed my lips, confused.

"Oh I see you two have met," rang out a voice from behind.

I turned and Zara was behind me at my shoulder. No, she was in front of me, wasn't she? "Sorry Richey, I forgot the baps for the burgers and had to pop out. Trying to find somewhere open that hadn't sold out was a nightmare. That's why I'm so late. Everyone must have the same idea for barbecues at the moment."

With that I received the greeting I'd longed for, a brief moment of guilt at what I'd just done with Shannon, though how had I to know? Zara's lips were as soft as silk. We stopped short of pressing our tongue together, but only just. Mmm, heaven.

Glancing back and forth between the two girls, the resemblance was uncanny. "I'm Zoe," the identical twin clarified, offering a hand.

Having finally recovered from the embarrassment, I chuckled inwardly before lust-fuelled thoughts took over. Twins, oh my fucking word! Did this party rock or what!

As the evening proceeded with the alcohol flowing freely, a thought crossed my mind. Though they were twins, Zara and Zoe had such wildly different personalities. Something I overheard seemed to reinforce the theory when Zara saying to her sister: "The photos from Ben's party have been developed. You seem to be in most of them."

Zoe laughed. "Yeah I did enjoy myself that night."

"Mmm, it sure looks like it," added Zara.

"Wonder if tonight will be as exciting," Zoe mused, catching my eye.

Zara issued that 'keep-your-hands-off-my-man' kind of expression girls do well, causing Zoe to grin wickedly. So for that matter did I. If I had this right, Zara was the girl-nex-door whilst Zoe was the kinky one of the two. I issued a breathy growl.

As night came down like a black sheet, someone cranked up the stereo and a string of fairy lights that ran around the perimeter of the garden was activated, sparkling in pink and green and yellow. As Zara's parents made to take to the centre of the verdant dancefloor, I felt a gust of warm breath on my neck. "I thought you were always first up dancing."

With that, I took Zara's hand and led her forward, her parents reining back to allow us our moment. As the song ended and another began, a handful of other couples joined us. We boogied for fifteen minutes before the tempo dropped with a slow song, prompting Zara to press herself to me. Within moments she'd tilted her head and our lips were locked. Tongues darted though stopped short of penetration. Pulling back she smiled and whispered: "You never told me you were such a hot kisser."

"There are a lot of things you don't know about me," I said with a wink.

"Mmm," she purred, allowing one of my hands to slip down her back and cop a feel of a gorgeous arse cheek.

Out of the corner of my eye I couldn't miss the look Zoe gave us. Competitive, as only identical twins can be, I imagined a power struggle could be about to erupt and here was I right in the middle of it. My hunch was evidenced when Zoe insisted on having the next dance. Zara looked a little put out but eased aside as graciously as possible. Subtlety clearly wasn't in Zoe's vocabulary for she pressed up tight to me and whispered in my ear: "I want you Richey. I want you now."

I smiled uneasily, wondering whether it was ME she wanted, or the guy that was with her sister. Laughing it off, I whispered back: "Sorry honey, but I'm taken."

As we smooched, I was relieved to see Shannon was off the booze and getting intimate with the girls' younger brother Zack. A guy closer to her age than those two pilots, it was one less hassle to endure, though Zoe's suggestion had barely helped.

The moment the song ended, Zara claimed me back, a series of scowls and glares exchanged between the pair. Clearly they were not the kind of twins that shared everything. "Did you manage to get the mirror up?" I asked as we danced.

Zara smiled. "Yeah, would you like to see?"

Now that was what I hoping she might say, a glance at my watch showing it was 10.47. Just over an hour remained of this most wonderful of days. Then what, back to normal? I felt like Cinderella. And I didn't want the day ever to end.

To be finalised soon...



Divine Intervention



I exhaled long and hard till my lungs were empty. Now don't get me wrong, I've been a pretty good player in my time, a sometime hustler if the truth be known. But a one-off frame for such a huge stake? I'd be crazy to accept.

It was Saskia's fault. She'd been watching the developments in the grey corner of the pub with a keen eye. "Go on Ree-chee, be man not mouse," she goaded in that broken accent of hers.

* * *

Five minutes later I was sick to the very pit of my stomach as Ronnie addressed the black ball. A straight-ish shot, he could hardly miss. Lifting back the cue, he launched, the money ball fired into the dead centre of the pocket to retrieve a grand and a half I could really have put to good use. A relieved sigh slipped from Ronnie's lips.

Yet for some reason, unbeknown even to the man himself, he'd put some top on the white ball. We all watched, mouths agape, as the white began to travel down the baize, hot on the heels of the black. God knows where the momentum came from, but it rolled...and rolled...and rolled. Ker-plunk, it sunk in the same pocket as the black. Game over, I'd won by default, but won nonetheless. I took the bulging three grand wad and stuffed it firmly in my pocket, refusing the hopeful plea of 'double or quits'. No fucking way.

Drinks all round, Natalya, the other East European barmaid did the honours. Not as attractive as Saskia, she was a few years older, in her late twenties, with crow's feet around the eyes and a nose that was a little too long for my taste. Yet what appealed most about Natalya was an air of being a dirty-as-hell bitch, the sort of girl you could take out on a first date and guarantee getting in her knickers before the evening was out. She gave me a sly smile that had as much to do with my newfound wealth as any deep seated attraction.

With lunchtime pressing, the pub began to swell with office workers, arriving for the usual midday antics. A hush ascending, all attention focused on the stage at the far end, lined with garish silver tinsel. Saskia had taken up position and was gyrating sexily at a strategically placed pole, her outer clothing shed piece by piece.

Swinging around to face away from the audience, she thrust a pair of firm buttocks, separated by a black cheese-wire thong, in time to a funky disco beat. The staccato movements mesmerised the odd mix of grimy all-day drinkers and bespoke perverts. Whilst all this was going on, at ground level Malcolm the landlord moved among the herd, collecting the compulsory toll in a sturdy pint mug. Benevolently I treated the vanquished card players to a freebie, pressing a crushed fiver into the glass.

Up on stage, having lowered the thong down her thighs and calves, Saskia stepped out of it, naked now but for a pair of skyscraper heels. Palming her perky tits whilst licking her lips, Saskia's thighs were clamped tightly together to conceal her snatch from the heavy breathing audience. Tilting forward, she squeezed her breasts into a cleavage whilst pouting at the baying onlookers.

Taking to a chair at the centre of the stage the young stripper rocked back, kicking a pair of long slender legs high in the air. Slowly they parted to form a V-shape, revealing the knot of a puckered anus and the sheen of a baby smooth pussy. The crowd mumbled its approval and I felt the first stirrings in my groin.

Saskia issued a seductive smile through her legs, stroking a finger up the mound of her pussy whilst groaning. The fingers trailed up over her belly, between the cleavage and to her lips. Retrieving the micro thong and stretching it between each thumb, Saskia parted her legs and worked the slender length of nylon back and forth across the frictionless groove. She moaned as her pussy lips petalled. Jumping up, she curtseyed before disappearing amid a ripple of applause.

A tame show by East End standards, it nonetheless satiated those that couldn't get it elsewhere, and all for a pound. A few minutes later, the star of the show appeared back behind the bar, fully clothed once more, to count the spoils in the pint mug. A paltry share after Malcolm had taken his half-cut of the proceeds, discreetly I slipped a tenner into Saskia's hand, my generosity rewarded with a peck on the cheek.

A further five-minute recess and it was Natalya's turn to take to the stage. Less attention to the strip than Saskia, the older girl knew what the audience craved, positioning herself at the very front of the stage, legs spread and dangling over the edge. Blowing a kiss, she reached aside into a little handbag, extracting a smooth black dildo. An obligatory circulation of the breasts and nipples, marked by a fake groan of lust, Natalya trailed the toy down her stomach before teasing a pair of plump cunt lips.

Holding the dildo still, she thrust from the hips, pressing her pussy onto the tapered head, letting it penetrate her cunt. Those at the front edged closer it pushed up inch by inch up inside her welcoming snatch, accompanied by a practiced groan. With the other hand she licked a finger and played with her nipples.

The clink of tithes ringing out once more from the pub floor pre-empted another freebie for the card players, donated cheerily. With over three grand on me, I couldn't be more pleased with the way the day was going. That sort of money would go a long way until another job came along.

Working the dildo in and out purposefully, Natalya brought herself to a quasi-climax, writhing in mock ecstasy. Removing it with a squelch, Natalya lifted the streamlined black toy to her lips before issuing a loving lollypop suck. The crowd went wild, craving an encore. But that was all their £2 bought, the lunchtime show over for another day, the office workers returning to their desks content and the lowlifes back to their halves of cheap stout.

The card players issued farewells, threatening to return the following morning to win it all back. I didn't doubt it, my luck surely unable to sustain a new day. Sadly the pub thinned out to such an extent that only a handful remained, none of whom I was inclined to foist my newfound wealth upon with free drinks. Growing bored, I was about to sup up and head off to try my luck at the bookies when Natalya reappeared behind the bar, her modesty back intact. 'Enjoy the show, yah honey?' she purred in that East European brogue that seemed to get sexier by the pint.

I nodded enthusiastically, upon which she went into a private huddle with Saskia, giggles emanating from their inner sanctum. I glanced at my watch, electing to defer the horses for now. It was seven hours until Zara's party and I had a bad case of the horn.

It was Natalya that emerged, shuffling close to whisper in my ear: "Hey honey, we both finish soon, yah. We go to Saskia's flat for some fun...you care to join us, yah?"

My eyebrows elevated to touch my fringe. My luck, it seemed, was holding good. The only shame, given that Saskia's flat was half an hour's walk, was that my car had been pinched. Horny as hell, I could barely wait.

Neither, it seemed, could the girls, touching each other sensually as their high heels click-clicked on the pavement. Two strides behind, I had the perfect view of their gorgeous arses as they bobbed up and down snugly inside denim shorts. Hmmm, I'd sooner be behind the wheel of my sleek black XR3i. I issued a quick glance up to the fluffy and benign looking clouds that drifted by in a peaceful indigo sky. It was then that I was forced to do a double-take as my car, yes MY car, drove straight past us. "Oi," I hollered, not even giving a second thought to bolting off into the road in pursuit.

Spotting me bearing down, the little scumbag in the driver's seat went straight for the accelerator, only for a juggernaut to reverse out of a side road and block the way. I cringed as the brakes screeched like hungry babies and the car was swathed in a puff of white smoke. The joyrider contemplated swerving up and around on the pavement before thinking better of it. In that moment's hesitation, sprinting alongside I stretched for the door, tugging it open before he could activate the lock.

All I can say is that a red mist descended. Fists flew wildly as I hauled him outside, the poor scrawny kid taking it all. Somehow I managed to stop short of beating him to a pulp – it was his lucky day too, though I made sure to extract a humbling apology before he slunk away. Taking pity I tossed a pound coin for the bus fare home. He told me to go fuck myself so I started the engine. I'd never seen a guy run so fast, hurdling a wall to get away.

Saskia and Natalya caught up, gushing and evidently impressed by my pugilistic skills. As they climbed into the back, I adjusted the driver's seat back to my own specification, whilst checking that the toe-rag hadn't caused my pride and joy too much harm.


Clearly their extra-curricular activities on the stage of the grimy pub, coupled with my show of macho aggression had aroused the girls, for the journey had barely begun when I was treated to the kind of sideshow the regulars of The Crown would never get to witness.

Glancing up in the rear view, it was hard to concentrate on the road as the whimpers and moans began in earnest, oh-so-tenderly at first, lips barely touching. Yet that alone was sufficient to set my pulse racing and cock throbbing, such is the sheer eroticism of two women kissing. Those initial butterfly kisses became more urgent as arousal morphed into lust and hands came to rest upon waists, caressing gently. I exhaled hard, shifting in the seat for the sake of comfort, in the process taking my eyes off the road and narrowly avoiding a zigzagging cyclist.

He was about to bang on the roof in admonishment when he caught sight of the two girls in the rear locked in a steamy embrace. By now tongues were lashing and a symphony of slurping had arisen. Such was the intensity of the embrace that it seriously looked as if each girl was trying to suck the other's tongue out of her mouth. I grinned at the open-mouthed cyclist before accelerating away in a cloud of smoke, denying him any further chance to share my action.

And action it was, of the highest order, played out to the roar of the injection under the bonnet. I wasn't sure what was hotter: the frenzied girl-on-girl exploits or the tiger in my tank. As I angled away from town, Saskia offered flustered directions to her flat, punctuated by bouts of panting and groaning.

I glanced up to see Natalya had rolled her friend's t-shirt up her flat belly and over Saskia's perky tits in a concertina at her neck. The older girl issued a delighted purr before busily kissing all over and around Saskia's boobs. Her tongue circled the areolae, her pursed lips suckling each nipple. "Mmmmmmm, turn left, baby, oh fuck yahhhhhhh, turn right," Saskia moaned in genuine ecstasy.

I looked down at the tent in my jeans then back to the road and up to the rear view. This was one hell of a tortuous ride. As Natalya's head dipped out of view, I had to adjust the mirror to see, observing her eagerly kissing down Saskia's flat tummy and wrestling with her jeans.

Things would go no further – at least for now – given our arrival at Saskia's flat, the journey's end marked with a cry of "stop".

The three of us alighted, sprinting up the stairs, items of clothes falling away like late night skinny dippers. In the melee of limbs and discarded clothing, I burst through the door in just a single sock and boxers, marvelling at Saskia in just a thong and Natalya wearing nothing more than a lustful smile. I clean forgot there was three grand in the trouser pocket.

Wasting no time, Saskia placed her hands on my chest and pushed me back on the sofa. Before I'd time to get comfortable she straddled me, knees either side of my thighs, hips grinding as she lapdanced seductively. As her jaunty tits rubbed my face, I reached behind to grope her arse cheeks, pulling the girl closer. The hot little student stripper purred as my cock came to life, poking its eager head through the slit in the boxers.

Meanwhile, Natalya had taken up a position beside me and was busily feasting upon my neck whilst rubbing a palm across my chest, twisting the fine weave of hair through her slender fingers whenever a gap appeared between Saskia and I. Oh this was every man's dream.

The lapdance ending, Saskia clambered aside, leaving me in the middle. A desperate dive for my cock ensued, their skulls bashing. Quickly they kissed each other better before reaching concord in their own language. Evidently trading on her seniority, Natalya shook an index finger indignantly. I was in heaven, two hot sluts fighting over my cock. Natalya moved in to claim the prize, lips pursed to receive the shiny tip, tongue flicking eagerly at the eye.

Saskia ducked down lower, hands rested upon my thighs, soft lips kissing the base of the shaft and letting my balls rest on her soft velveteen tongue. This went on for about a minute before, reaching a silent agreement, they swapped places, Saskia's warm mouth enveloping the bulbous tip and cleaning Natalya's saliva.

Eager to impress, the enthusiastic girl plunged up and down like she was bobbing for an apple on Halloween. My cock nudged the back of her throat as she worked her jaw with purpose. Natalya went one step further by licking the puckered knot of my arse, sending a shiver through me.

Then their faces came together, near the eye, abandoning my cock and anus momentarily to kiss one other long and hard. Returning to the inflated manhood that stood out obscenely from my midriff, they took it in turns, resembling woodpeckers hammering at a tree. Saliva ran down the shaft and pooled in my pubes. It wasn't long before I had hold of both crowns, gripping clumps of hair and pushing one head down and raising it, then alternating.

The girls seemed to adored having their mouths used like hot little pussy holes as I fucked their faces. That was until Saskia moaned that her dripping cunt needed attention. Both climbing clear of the couch, Saskia knelt down between my legs to allow her pretty mouth to continue plunging up and down my stiff appendage, whilst Natalya assumed a position at her friend's hindquarters. Gazing down Saskia's smooth back I was able to see Natalya rip off her friend's sopping wet thong and get to work, slurping hungrily at the elevated cunt.

That drove Saskia absolutely fucking crazy and I winced as my cock was almost sucked from my balls. Saskia reached to wank the shaft, driving me closer and closer to orgasm as my cock tip nudged her tonsils. Her moans of lust were muffled in thick manhood. This went on for five minutes as I fought desperately to prolong the moment. Natalya seemed to sense my impending orgasm, for she ceased her fervent licking, emerging from between her friend's buttocks. Lips sticky with cunt honey, she pressed her face to mine, letting me savour the taste of Saskia. That tipped me over the edge.

Lowering so that their cheeks were pressed together as if trying to squeeze into a photo, they waited expectantly, mouths open wide like baby birds at feeding time. Finishing off solo, my fist blurred around the unerring shaft. Fuck yesssssss, I wasgoing to cum so damn hard, finally jerking and spraying a hose of thick cum. Each girl took an equal amount with more than enough to go around, their lips and chins splattered, some errant seed even finding its way up their noses. Both chomped hungrily on the bounty and then turned to lick each other's faces clean.

Cunts dripping, they assumed the 69 position on the carpet beneath me, hands at each other's butts, fingernails raking. They fitted together perfectly like Russian nesting dolls, rolling around and tonguing each other frenziedly, whilst I offered encouragement, calling them every bitch-slut-whore name under the sun. The tongue-lashing continued for five hungry minutes, neither girl seeming to want to come up for air, intoxicated by pussy fumes. It was Saskia that came first, her toes curling and legs kicking, a shriek of pleasure that could crack glass ejected from her lips. Unselfishly she kept lapping away until Natalya too writhed in pleasure and screamed her release.

After a brief moment's respite, the pair uncoupled and rose to their knees before me, lips and chins glistening with pussy juice. Each pushed up on haunches, presenting her face in turn and I kissed, licked and sucked until the skin was clean, gulping the heady cocktail to the back of my throat. Both smiled warmly, issuing whimsical sighs as, eyelids heavy, they tilted their heads, resting flushed cheeks on each of my thighs. The satisfied sound of snoozing soon sent me to a similar place.

* * *

With Saskia's clock chiming three o'clock, I awoke with a start. Looking down on the two strippers, I appraised the unbelievable day so far. And what a day it had been, wiping away the woes of the previous day with stroke after stroke of good fortune. It was almost perfect. Almost. The question remained: could it possibly get any better?

The time had arrived to up the ante, for me to take control of my own destiny, a plan formulating in my head. The two girls at my feet roused from their slumbers, gazing up through lustful glazed eyes. Simultaneously, two pairs of hands reached out to my still sleeping cock and it was all I could do to brush them off with a stern warning. They cowered back, lips pouting. "Natalya, I need your help," I said. "Get dressed quickly."

Her eyes looked back inquisitively and, slow to react, I took hold of her wrist, leading her out of the flat and to the car, discarded clothes from the hall and stairs retrieved on the way. It was only then that I realised there was three grand in the pocket any opportunist could have availed himself of. Oh yes, this was my lucky day all right, and things were just going to get better and better. I could feel it.

From the window Saskia waved bye-bye with sad panda eyes. It was a tough call leaving her, but the day wasn't getting any younger. And whilst pussy tasted sweet, revenge could taste even sweeter.

*

A follow-up is in the offing but a little encouragement, constructive criticism and feedback is always gratefully received.