Lady Annabelle and the Highwayman

It is the Year of Our Lord 1760, and the roads leading to and from London be the most perilous for any traveller. Hounslow Heath being a favourite haunt of the highwayman and footpad. Folly indeed, for the unwary to wander alone. And London be a very wicked place, so it hath been told, with whores, beggars and cutpurses on every street corner...

The journey of Lady Emily Arundel and her daughter Annabelle had been an uneventful one so far.

"And when we arrive at Mablethorpe Hall, be sure to show your appreciation to Lord Barrington-Smythe. His son William, wishes to seek your hand in marriage," Lady Emily began.

"Yes Mother," her daughter replied, with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.

"...His estate comprises over a hundred acres of land..."

"Well, hark at at that!"

"...owns several horses related to Whistlejacket..."

Annabelle struggled to contain a sigh.

"...properties in the colonies..."

"How glorious, Mother."

"...knows a clutch of fashionable London society in beautiful silk suits and powdered wigs attended by almost equally well appointed valets! Whom are accompanied by gorgeous ladies in even more elaborate wigs and dresses in the latest Paris fashions..."

The corpulent gentleman sat opposite them in the coach was Lord Bracewell, an old and dear friend of Lady Emily. He grinned at Annabelle, sensing her discomfort.

"Your Ladyship, it may please you to know, that we are but a mile from our journey's end." And thank heaven for that, Bracewell thought to himself, now feeling the great need of a chamber pot after drinking an excess of ale. He adjusted his periwig.

"Erm, perhaps an opportunity at this gathering for a...f...er, you know...eh?" He gestured something and Lady Emily quickly tapped his leg with her foot.

"Ssh. Manners, Cuthbert! Later, perhaps..."

At that moment the coach lurched as it hit a particularly large pothole. This stretch of road was notoriously bad.

Suddenly, the coach shuddered to an uncomfortable halt and the horses squealed. Other hooves could be heard alongside.

"Stand and deliver!"

"Oh dear God!" Lord Bracewell exclaimed, crossing himself. "I fear we are about to be robbed!"

The masked stranger yelled at the coachman. "Throw down your weapons my bonny boy, or I'll spill your guts on the road!"

There was the sound of muskets hitting the ground.

Inside the coach, Lady Emily trembled and uttered a prayer. A robber might take more from a lady than her silver.

Annabelle should've been as terrified as her mother, but her wildly-beating heart was more out of excitement.

"Perhaps this man may be more merciful than we give him credit for?"

"Hush, my dearest daughter. These bandits are without scruples! Pray to the Lord!"

A bay-coloured horse's head and then its rider appeared outside the window. The figure who leaned down to peer into the window appeared tall, wearing a cape, a three-cornered hat and a black handkerchief across his mouth. Dark brown eyes.

"Well now, what fabulous treasure do I find?" The highwayman pointed a flintlock pistol inches from Annabelle's face. He leaned forward and with a move of his wrist he flicked back her hood with the muzzle of the pistol.

"Ah. A true English Rose."

"Sir, I beg of you, do not harm my daughter," Lady Emily intervened. "She is but eighteen, an innocent child...she has no silver!"

"Her fortune awaits at Mablethorpe Hall no doubt. But it is she I am taking, not her money. Come." And he beckoned, the hand still held out to help Annabelle down.

"Why, what foul swine would take a young lady's honour? I forbid you to lay one finger on her!" Lady Emily yelled. "Take me in her place."

"No Mother, I shall do as he asks," Annabelle interrupted, taking his hand.

"My child, no!"

"It shall be alright Mother," Annabelle replied.

"Your daughter knows her own mind, Madam," the highwayman said. "So now, I must ask you to keep thine own counsel. It would give me no pleasure to shoot your coachman and your gentleman companion."

Lady Emily could do nothing but remain in the coach as the mysterious stranger led Annabelle away and into the trees at the side of the road.

"Sir. If I may be so bold...may I request a merciful death?"

This rather caught the highwayman off guard. This young lady intrigued him far more than the other wealthy folks he'd ambushed in the past. How the ladies had screamed like banshees and pleaded for their lives. The simpering, periwigged dandy who'd pissed his breeches when a gun was pointed at his head. Aristocrats. The damned preening lot of them! How he loathed these ruling peacocks. Oh, he hadn't always been a highwayman. Back in his old life he'd fought for king and country. Until good fortune and those he looked up to had betrayed him...

He had planned to kidnap the girl and hold her to ransom. Lord Arundel's daughter would command a high price.

"You are indeed bold. And...I have no wish to kill you. Your beauty and grace are extremely attractive to young men and it is bound to rouse their passions."

Annabelle thought for a moment. "Since I am without silver or jewels, perhaps I could offer you a gift of a different kind? If I were to sufficiently please you, would you let my mother, Lord Bracewell, the coachman and myself go free? I'll do anything...to please you."

He blinked. "Even the most unladylike of things? Do you realise what you are saying?"

"Sir, I am shortly to be married. It would be most helpful if I were sufficiently skilled in how to pleasure my husband on our wedding night. I have no experience whatsoever in meddling with a man...perhaps if I could...practice somehow." Those less-than-polite urges that had been assaulting her body recently, had now found the perfect outlet.

"Will you service my prick like a common whore?"

"Yes sir," Annabelle replied, kneeling before him.

"Let's see you try then." He kept his pistol in his right hand. "No teeth."

Annabelle unbuttoned the highwayman's breeches slowly, her careful motions at odds with the look in her blue eyes and pulled out the large and swollen member. She couldn't help but stare at his impressive length, simultaneously afraid and eager. A man's weapon in all its hardened glory. A thing she'd previously glimpsed from afar, now in her hands.

He expected her to hesitate, but to his surprise, she leant forward and ran her tongue up the shaft. With all haste, she opened her mouth, allowing him to move it inside. He began to thrust his cock inside her mouth, holding her head steady. Shocked at herself, Annabelle couldn't deny that as she heard him pant and moan, she felt somehow strangely empowered. She began to suck, working her tongue around his member. The highwayman cursed and blasphemed holding her head firmer as he began to thrust faster.

Eventually, he grasped her blonde hair tightly as he groaned, pushing his entire length down her throat and shot his seed into her. She swallowed every drop of it, rather liking the taste.

"Impressive," he panted. He'd enjoyed that a lot more than he was willing to admit, but wasn't done with this little rich girl just yet.

"Have you had enough yet, Marchioness Whore?"

Panting she replied, "I think not. Please."

"Please?" He ran his hand under her dress and up her thigh. "Please what?"

"Please sir."

He fingered her tantalising wet womanhood. "Louder, if you please."

"Ahh...Please sir!"

He chuckled, and withdrew. She was ready to beg him, but before she could he had her up against a tree, had entered her from behind, feeling the satisfying tightness of a virgin cunt. She winced and made a squeal similar to those a fox makes when mating. It hurt, but at the same time it felt so good. The highwayman withdrew until just the head was still engaged, leaving Annabelle feeling a little disappointed. But then he pushed back in, all the way and in one go.

His animal instinct had kicked in and he had one overriding desire; to plant his seed in this nubile young lady. He picked up speed, plunging deeply each time.

Annabelle's own arousal was equally uncontrolled. She knew what was about to happen after her recent voyeurism of Lord Bracewell fucking her mother across a grand piano one afternoon. A more amusing rather an arousing spectacle that brought to mind an overfed pug mounting a chair leg. This time the explosion was even more powerful - and it was accompanied by the highwayman's roar as she felt him fill her passage with his issue. It seemed to go on forever and she felt it leaking out around his shaft and down her legs.

"God," he gasped as he finally withdrew from Annabelle. He untied her and helped her stand.

"Did I...please you sir?"

The highwayman finally removed his face covering. Annabelle was surprised to see a weathered but good-looking man, with cheeks bearing scars. Under his cape, she had glimpsed a torn and darkened coat, that had been, long ago a Redcoat officer's uniform. This man was no stranger to battle, and had a long history that he wasn't prepared to reveal.

"You and the others have earned your freedom Your Ladyship."