tagNovels and NovellasThe Paul & Jenny Stories Pt. 15f

The Paul & Jenny Stories Pt. 15f

byPAUL C©

The Paul & Jenny Stories Pt. 15f: Another June Wedding Part 6

A Paul and Jenny story.

(Copyright 2001 by Paul. All rights reserved).

All events and characters are fictitious.

* * * * *

June 1972.

Paul.

Somebody was undressing me. That was kind of them. I could feel another body pressed close to mine own. A naked body. Somebody was doing something to my hands. I was holding somebody's.

"That should hold them." I heard a voice say.

I was tired.

Somebody was covering me up.

"We don't want the cold waking them too soon."

That sounded like my old Scout Master. I was tired. I'll have a little sleep then I'll talk to him. I tried to turn over but I couldn't move. I could hear a bell ring.

"Go to sleep, Paul."

That was Len. Everything was all right. He'd look after me. Where was Jenny? What had my grandfather been talking about?

* * * * *

Spain 1937.

Roland Wagstaffe.

One of the men by the truck saw me standing in the doorway and shouted. I lifted my rifle to my shoulder and squeezed the trigger firing just over their heads. They immediately dived for cover. There appeared to be about six of them. One man fired back at the building from behind the wheels of the truck. I didn't fire at him for fear of damaging the truck.

I heard a shot being fired from inside one of the rooms off to one side of the entrance hall. They wouldn't want to rush the house if they knew there were at least two people to deal with. Firing from different angles. Still, we couldn't stay here. There could be more of them along shortly and it wouldn't take them long to surround the Villa.

I saw Miguel standing with the girls near the entrance to the kitchens.

"You must get them out." I called to him in English. "We will get them to follow us then you must take the truck and go quickly to the Convent. Did you hear Roddrego."

"I heard." He called back.

I lifted my rifle and fired again, this time at a man who was trying to get through the gates. He turned and scuttled back to cover.

I looked around for somewhere the others could hide. The only place that suggested itself was the cupboard under the stairs. It was used for the cleaner's tools and equipment and was designed not to be noticed. The handle even looked part of the pattern on the walls. I pointed it out to Miguel and one of the girls, Luisa, led them to it and opened the door. I gave my revolver to Miguel and closed the door behind them then, after firing once more through the front doorway, joined Roddrego.


"What next?" He asked.

"We must draw them through the Villa's grounds and out, onto the hills behind. That will give Miguel a chance to get the others away."

"Then what?"

He fired through the window. Three shots came back in reply. Glass in a pane above our heads shattered showering us with fragments.

Yes. Then what?

"Cross that bridge when we come to it." I said lifting my rifle and firing.

I leaned with my back against the wall to the side of the window and pulling back the breech bolt re-loaded the magazine of my rifle. It looked to be a Middle Eastern copy of a Lee-Enfield .303. Standard British Army issue in its original form for most of the century. The magazine would hold ten rounds. I filled it then checked the bandoleer. I had twelve further rounds.

I lifted my rifle to my shoulder and looked through the window whilst Roddrego checked his own weapon. His was a German make, a Mauser 7.62mm.

"Come, my friend." He said when he had finished. "Let us go."

We ran into the hall. I shouted. "We're off." So that they could hear in the cupboard and we hurried out through the kitchens. We both stopped and crouched behind the rubbish bins by the back door and looked around. It didn't appear that anybody had come this way yet so we sprinted across to the stable block that was now converted into garages. A quick look through the doors as we moved quickly towards the rear of the block showed that all the vehicles had gone.

I heard a shout behind us and felt the wind of a bullet passing over my head. That was close. Whoever had fired was a good shot to get that close to a moving target. The thought passed quickly through my mind. We stopped at the rear of the stable block, panting, two rounds of golf a week wasn't enough exercise I decided. I looked back and could see figures moving inside the Villa and down the side. I hoped nobody had thought to go upstairs.

I heard movement behind me and turned my head. Roddrego was stacking some old packing cases and empty oil drums against the rear wall. I lifted my rifle and fired twice. Once into the kitchens and once at the men moving down the side of the villa. I heard a shout from inside the Villa. I hoped it was because my bullet had found a mark.

"Are you ready?" Roddrego asked.

I looked at the small mountain he had made and nodded.

"After you." I said.

I turned back to the corner of the stable and fired again and again.

"I'm there." I heard Roddrego call and turned to see his feet disappear over the top of the wall. Two bullets thudded into the wall beside me. I moved back and, slinging the rifle across my back scrambled up the pile. I felt something burning across my shoulder before I heard the shot. I kept moving. I was at the top, then over. More bullets hit the wall behind me as I fell to the ground inside the drainage ditch. That ditch must have made the drop nearly fifteen feet.

"Are you all right?" Roddrego called.

He was lying on his stomach fifteen yards away with his rifle pointing towards the top of the wall.

I took two deep breaths.

"All right." I said.

My shoulder was throbbing and I could feel something wet running down my back. I scrambled from the ditch and hurried past where Roddrego when I was a further twenty yards on I stopped and, turning dropped to one knee and levelled my rifle at the top of the wall. Would they come that way or would they follow the wall around on the outside?

"Come." I shouted to Roddrego.

He climbed slowly to his feet and limped towards me.

"It was a long drop."

He said, dropping to the ground beside me.

"You are hurt." He exclaimed, looking at my back.

I lay on my stomach and flinched as he pulled the material of my shirt away. I suddenly felt very thirsty.

"Very close." He said, releasing the material. "The bullet has left a furrow across your shoulder blade and the top of your arm. You have bleed a little."

A bullet struck the ground in front of us and flew off between our heads.

"We need more cover." I said, firing at the weapon I could see poking around the end of the wall.

"How many do you think there are?" Roddrego asked edging backwards and away from me.

"I think six." I replied, doing the same.

"Not enough of them to rush us. I think they will try to go around our flanks. Let us widen our flanks." Roddrego turned his head towards me. "I am sorry I have gotten you into this, my friend."

"Don't be daft." I said, rolling behind a small shrub.

I looked over my shoulder at the foothills of the Sierra Nevada range of mountains. We were in a dry valley that narrowed to what must have been the original stream that had formed it. That wound upwards. Gently at first then more steeply until it cut a fissure between the sides of the valley at the top.

"Do you know what lies on the other side of the hill?" I asked firing at the end of the building as Roddrego fired at a movement on the top of the wall where we had climbed over.

"We have a choice of routes if we can get over that." He called back.

In the distance I heard the short, sharp snap of a pistol being fired then two more shots. The engine of the truck fired into life. I saw it for a second drive past the end of the Villa wall before it disappeared from view back towards Malaga. A man was running after it. He stopped in full view with his back towards me and raised he rifle to fire at the truck. I sighted along the barrel of my own weapon and squeezed the trigger. The man jerked forward as if somebody had thumped him in the middle of the back and took two stumbling steps. His rifle fell from his hands and he slowly crumpled after it.

They say you can get used to killing men. I never had.

"Now we move." Roddrego said.

I turned to see him hobbling towards the streambed. My shoulder and back suddenly felt very stiff but I picked up my rifle and followed him continually looking over my shoulder for signs of pursuit.

* * * * *

Somerset 1972. Jenny.

What was I to think? What had Mary been trying to tell me? Was it that she and Alistair had been lovers? Why should she want to tell me that now?

She'd fixed David a whisky and had sat on the arm of his chair running her fingers through his hair whilst he slowly sipped it.

David complained that his father had been telling Paul about their adventures in Spain during the Civil War.

"I don't know why he did it?" He said. "Some things are best left alone."

"It was a long time ago, dear." Mary ran a fingertip around the edge of his ear. "I'm sure Paul wouldn't be interested in that now."

Did she do that to Alistair's ear? I could see her sharing the piano stool with him. Yes, she would have done that.

David's hand had disappeared behind Mary's back and there was a smile upon her face as, after finishing his whisky, David stood up.

"Time for bed, young lady." He said, assisting Mary to stand.

Had he meant her or me? There were seven or eight years of age between them after all. There must have been nearer forty between her and Alistair. How could a girl go with a man old enough to be her grandfather? I looked at David. How old was he? Fifty, perhaps fifty-one. I could never see myself doing it with him. But then he turned his head towards Mary and smiled the way Paul would smile at me when he knew he was going to have his way and. No. Don't even think about it.

But I was thinking about it and I was becoming damp inside my panties.

I didn't know what I would have done if we had been alone together. I don't think he would have had to try too hard to breach my defences. What was I thinking about? I was getting married the next day and here I was having carnal thoughts about my future husband's father.

I said goodnight to them outside the upstairs bathroom and hurried inside, quickly closing the door behind me. Get behind me, temptation.

I lifted my skirt, pulled down my panties and sat on the toilet seat. I was holding my skirt rather higher than was absolutely necessary to do what I was doing. I looked down as my stream left me making a high pitched hissing sound.

What was so fascinating about a woman's body functions that made men want to study them as they did? If I never saw Paul standing in the bathroom again pointing Mr Willie at the bowl I wouldn't cry. Although, sometimes, especially when I thought of where it had just been.

Paul was often hinting that he would like to see me going to the toilet. I'd given way to him twice but it wasn't something I felt comfortable with. I opened my thighs as wide as I could with my ankles shackled by my panties and looked down between them. I was just in time to see the last of my urine leaving only the drips.

Little beads of liquid had formed on the tips of some of my pubis hairs. I pulled off a piece of toilet tissue and wiped them off, running the paper along the line of my crack then just inside it on the return stroke. That actually felt quite nice. I took a second piece of tissue and repeated it.

I shouldn't be doing this. I'd made Paul promise he wouldn't wank before our wedding so I really shouldn't do it to myself.

But it did feel nice.

There was a gentle tap on the door just as my fingertip started seeking out my clit.

"Have you finished, dear." Mary spoke softly through the door.

"Just coming." I replied, pulling up my panties as I stood up then flushed the toilet.

I quickly washed my hands in the sink and dried them on the towel on the rail beside it.

I said goodnight again to Mary as we squeezed past each other in the doorway and hurried along the corridor to what had been Paul's room when he had lived there. Although, from what I had gathered he had seemed to have spent most of his childhood with his grandparents. Perhaps what Mary had said about Alistair had had something to do with that?

I closed the bedroom door behind me and switched on the light. My wedding dress hung off the front door of the wardrobe on its hanger. My wedding dress.

I quickly undressed and stood naked looking at it. I hadn't really had a chance to see myself in it yet. There had always been somebody fussing around me. First the dressmaker, then Paul's Mother, then Shirley and finally my mother.

I took the dress from its hanger and stepped inside it. It felt cold and itchy against my skin. It would be better with a bra, panties and slip. I studied myself in the full-length mirrors on the wardrobe doors. It did look nice though. No. I looked nice.

I knew there were plenty of girls prettier than I was and it never ceased to amaze me what kept attracting Paul. No. I knew that. I could feel it between my legs. Not just that, I knew. But I was glad it was a part of it. It certainly wasn't my money that attracted him. My family got by, but little more than that. Perhaps that was all it was. I was an easy lay to him. It wasn't that, I knew. Perhaps I should start rationing him. But that would mean denying myself. Not a good idea. After all, all I had to give him was my body. No. Rationing was off the agenda.

Stepping out of the dress I hung it back up and after switching on the bedside table light stepped across the room and switched off the main light. I caught sight of my reflection in the little part of the door mirrors that weren't covered by my wedding dress as I walked back to the bed and stopped.

It wasn't much of a body. I needed two inches more to my boobs and two more to my ass. At least my stomach was still flat. Except of course where it swelled out over my hair covered pubic bone. Hardly covered. I could do with a few more of them as well. I wondered if Paul would notice if I shaved myself? Yes, he would. I knew the answer to that. He enjoyed my pubic hairs. He always said he liked to take his flask and sandwiches and go exploring through them. He could be a prat at times.

I walked back to the bed and slid between the covers. I switched out the bedside light and lay on my back staring at the ceiling, waiting as my eyes grew accustomed to the darkness. I didn't feel the slightest bit sleepy. I was getting married.

Shapes were forming out of the darkness. These were not the shapes from Christmas last when we had gone to Cairo to rescue Linda. I suddenly tensed. What if they were? What if Hamed and Ahmed were still alive? I felt my breathing quicken. Calm down. I was safe here.

I didn't like the shadows anymore so I closed my eyes and left the pictures form in my mind as they would. Linda. Linda's fanny. My tongue in Linda's fanny. I felt as if I could taste her, smell her. I was looking up at her as she lowered her shaven fanny to my lips, its lips swollen with desire, her clit standing proud from its hood. I could hear her gasp as I touched it with the tip of my tongue.

I could hear a gasp. It was my gasp. My fingertip was touching my own clit, gently massaging it. I breathed deeply, fuck Paul, let him wank if he wanted too. I rubbed above and to the side of my clit as the image of Alistair and Mary appeared before me. How would a man with only one hand make love? Did he use the stub of his other arm to penetrate her? Did she lie on her back with her knees bent as he slowly worked it inside her? Or was she on her hands and knees?

Paul's face loomed above me. I could feel him making long slow strokes in and out of me. He was speeding up. Faster. I could feel the jerking of his prick inside me as he shot load after load of come. Come. Come. I was there.

I pulled the bedclothes back up to cover my body.

I was getting married.

To Be Continued...

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