It being an unseasonally mild, spring afternoon I had the top down on my somewhat ancient MG convertible as I cruised contentedly along the coast road. Passing the lopsided sign, half hidden in the long grass, that declared "Seadown - (for happy holidays) - population 13754", I was amused to notice some wag had put a line through the number and above it scrawled "13756 and a half and hoping". Chuckling I drove on basking in the warm breeze to the town where, it being still just off-season, I readily found a parking place before a small cafe/diner on the sea-front promenade.
Climbing out I spent a some minutes stretching lazy muscles while staring at the calm sea that gently lapped the sandy beach. Then, as a brief nod towards my duties, I set off to inspect the few shops the resort boasted.
Supposedly I was there to research how they presented their stocks of the products of Hope and Sons (toy makers to the masses); it being my excuse for playing truant from a stuffy office. Not that I really needed one, since I am Richard, the younger of the eponymous Sons of Hope. And, after a short career in the Royal Navy, now rejoice in the sinecure of "Development Director".
Strolling past the local information centre I found that, unexpectedly for the close season, it was open - though hardly busy. A solitary young woman of around twenty, with elegant legs, dressed in a white blouse and light blue, knee length skirt, was occupied in stocking up the brochures and timetables that are the staple diet of such places.
One look and I was gone.
Was it lust, affection, desire, love? I knew not. 'Tis said that most men merely look on a woman's body as a source of pleasure, but from experience I knew that what I felt was more - much more - than the normal lusting after a seductive female. While I wanted this one, and I wanted her very much indeed - with her slight build, lightly rounded hips and dark hair tied back in a ponytail - it was not solely for sex.
It was, perhaps, fortunate that she didn't notice me until I'd managed to collect my faculties. It also helped that lightning had struck me this way before. Twice in fact. Though in both cases the woman proved to be married and unavailable to become my consort and also, in addition to satisfying my lusts, provide friendship. Was this one to be any different; was it to be third time lucky? I could but follow my name and hope.
By the time she noticed my presence I had my emotions well under control. What we spoke of I cannot recall - I was more concerned that she wore no ring. Though I did note that her name tag read "S. Frobisher".
After a brief conversation my supposed mission was on the back burner and since slowly, slowly, catchee monkey is good advice, I wandered back to where I had left the car and took myself inside the cafe/diner to plan a campaign to secure the heart, mind and body - especially the body - of young, nubile Miss Frobisher.
The eatery was clean and had the usual counter along the far side, fronted by four empty stools with half a dozen Formica topped tables scattered around the main floor area. Just one table being occupied by a pair of geriatric locals.
I collected a cup of coffee from a proprietor who seemed resentful at being disturbed in his contemplation of the racing page from the daily paper, and took a seat to one side of the door.
Slowly drinking the undistinguished fluid my brain searched for that masterful ploy, that grand scheme or stratagem to make her mine. All to no avail. I could come up with nothing better than finding somewhere to stay overnight and maybe do a little stalking until chance gave me a lead. Of course I could take the direct approach and ask her out to dinner. But, coming from a stranger, the outcome would be very uncertain. It could likely result in an immediate refusal and considerable postponement - if not the end - of any chance of capturing her heart. If I had been a local with the time for a long campaign I might have risked it, but as I was only visiting I needed some other path to her affections.
Perseverance and determination being often a necessary prelude to success, I invested in another cup of the mediocre liquid and continued to rack my overburdened brain cells.
I was beginning to despair my lack of inventiveness when a sudden roar of exhausts announced the arrival of a trio of motorcycles to park behind my car. The door bell tinkled and their riders swaggered in.
Possibly in his late twenties, with long greasy hair tied back in a loose queue, the leader looked somewhat older than the other two. All were dressed in faded jeans and black leather jackets, liberally adorned with a variety of badges; though I could discern no common theme to them. Arrogantly they demanded drinks and expectantly leaned back against the counter as if awaiting some prophesied coming.
The geriatric couple hurriedly left. It seemed the owner knew these newcomers of old for, having served them, he disappeared to the rear of the diner. As was to prove fortunate, the yahoos appeared to consider me beneath their notice where I sat half hidden behind a rack of picture postcards.
A few minutes and the door flew open. It was my Miss Frobisher being pushed inside by another two droogs!
She was valiantly trying to resist them, but their grip on her arms was too great and she was forcefully shoved to stand before the leader. He looked her up and down, a satisfied smirk spreading across his thin lips.
'At last. Miss Busybody come to answer for her sins...'
'You obnoxious bastard, Shawn Bolger. What right do you have...' Furiously she continued to struggle in the grip of the two punks.
He reached out and deliberately undid the top two buttons of her blouse. 'I told you...'
'Don't touch me,' she shrank back as far as her captors would let her.
Ignoring her objections he continued unfastening buttons. '...not to interfere in our affairs.'
Her blouse was now fully open. He slid it back along and off her arms, dropped it to the floor and set his fingers to fumbling with the fastenings of her skirt.
'What your sister does is between her and us,' he said as the skirt fell to her ankles, leaving her dressed in only a lace bra and panties.
I couldn't let this go on. But one against five; the odds were too great. Should I go for help?
She was twisting and turning. Trying to pull away. But the thugs holding her arms were too strong. Each had now one hand on her shoulder the other on her wrist. Pulling her arms back and up they forced her to lean toward her tormenter - who produced a knife.
'Your sister pays her way by pulling a train for us...'
Sliding the knife beneath each of her bra straps in turn, he gave rapid upward yanks, parting them like threads. With the sundered straps dangling he slowly ran the cold blade down the valley between her straining breasts and deliberately cut through the thin material. The ruined garment fell away leaving the twin peaks of her shapely mounds bouncing free.
'... And in return I keep her supplied with smack...'
The goons eased the pressure on her arms allowing her to stand nearly upright. Defiantly she glared at her tormentor, but couldn't prevent an errant tear from sliding down her smooth cheek to fall onto a full, palm filling boob.
Turning the knife over he slid it down the side of her panties. The thin material split easily. Cutting the other side he pulled the material away exposing a lavish muff and leaving her naked but for her shoes.
An idea! It might work! I reached into the sample case I'd brought with me. Unable to take my eyes from the action I felt around until my fingers closed over the plastic, imitation revolver we had just added to our product line.
He grinned repulsively at her, 'It would be nice if we had the same arrangement with you.' He paused, his smirk broadening, 'First you pull the train, ... You don't know what that is, do you?'
They were fully occupied. The leader with maltreating the woman I wanted, the others in staring expectantly at her enticing, naked body, their jeans bulging obscenely. Careful not to draw attention to myself I stood and eased a pace or two toward them.
'It means we ride you. Each of us in turn. Don't we guys.' With a wide grin he looked around his acolytes. A couple thrust clenched fists in the air.'
'Never,' the girl gasped.
'A real fun gang bang.' Stained fingers grabbed her left breast and gave it a quick tweak. Making her yelp.
'And when you get as good as your sister you can run the train there and back. On the outward trip we each get to fill your lucky cunt and on the return journey you take it up the arse. And if you're especially good, why you get your reward. A nice, free fix of H.'
Bending slightly I grasped the edge of a table with my left hand and partially supported it with my right - the imitation revolver dangling from two fingers.
'Couple of hits and in a day or so you'll be begging to amuse us. Just like your sister.' He lowered his hand and rammed a couple of fingers inside her slit.
Using the distraction of her scream, I took another step and heaved the table at the nearest of the captors clutching her arms. It was fairly light and flew high, catching him on the neck and bouncing him onto his fellow.
Thrusting the fake revolver in the direction of the ceiling I shouted, 'Don't make me use this.'
As the leader's eyes followed my apparent weapon I took a last, long stride toward him and, balancing myself on one leg, I swung my free foot in an arc, just as I had when going for a drop-goal in my rugby playing days. Before he could react the point of my shoe caught him square in the balls. He gave a sharp squeal and doubled up in agony.
My left hand on my fancy's arm I pulled her toward the door, all the while waving the apparent revolver at the remaining louts who stood frozen with surprise.
'Out! Out! In the car!' I bundled the naked and unresistant Miss Frobisher into my MG.
Fortunately the engine was still a fairly warm and fired first time. Foot hard down I accelerated away from the promenade and into the half dozen streets of the town centre.
There was no sign of pursuit - yet. Maybe they wouldn't follow us, but I wasn't going to bet on it.
A quick sideways glance showed my prize crouching low, arms protectively crossed over her full breasts. 'Which way?' I asked.
She turned her head to me. 'What do you mean?'
'Which way to your place?'
She looked ahead then said, 'Left, and follow the road to Broadale. Why?'
'We've got to go somewhere. And that's the safest I can think off. Unless you want to go to the police.'
'No! No police. That's what started this. Left again at that signpost!'
We were now out of the town and I had pushed the speed up hoping I wouldn't meet anything on the bends. Turning the corner she had indicated we were in a typical country lane, just wide enough for one vehicle, with passing places every hundred yards or so.
A quarter of a mile more then she said, 'There. That caravan.'
With a screech of brakes I stopped. 'That's where you live?'
'It's all we could afford after the house went.'
Sitting in the field between rows of apple trees and an ancient hedge the van was an old, broken down, rusting, touring model that I would have thought was best left to rot. Dismayed I looked around. 'Not much good as a defensive position if, as they probably will, they come after us. Presuming they know where to come.'
'They know all right.'
Questioningly I glanced at her.
'From my sister.'
A brief gust of wind brought the sound of motor cycles.
'Yes, they're coming. No time to wait.' I put my foot down and we sped on up the lane. 'Where does this road go?'
'It loops back and joins the main road to Broadale.'
'Then that's where we're going.'
When the junction appeared I came to a halt, hoping they would stop to check the van and decide we had gone some other way. Turning I leant over the back of my seat and rummaged in my holdall. A quick fumble produced the dark blue, long-sleeved sweatshirt I had packed as a precaution against a change in the weather.
'Here. Put this on. It'll cover all the important bits. Can't have us being stopped and arrested for indecency.'
'I could have got some clothes from the van.'
'No time. They'd have been on us before you got that pretty little frame hidden from view.'
Suddenly she realized I'd had plenty of time to appreciate her naked assets and blushed. 'Thank you.' She slid the sweatshirt over her head.
I studied her. It fitted surprisingly well, though pulling rather tightly across her twin bumps. And while it could have done with being a smidgin longer, it at least covered most of her butt and pussy.
Turning into the main road I set course for Broadale - the main town in this area. The gang would not be sure which way we'd gone so I felt that for the present we were relatively safe. Slowing down a trifle I let a line of vehicles catch up, then slotted inconspicuously into the middle. Driving sedately I could now take time to question my prize.
'What was all that about?' I asked.
'I'd upset them over my sister, Emma.'
'I rather gathered that. So what did you do?'
'They've been feeding her drugs. Turned her into an addict. So I went to the police. Somehow that bastard, Bolger got to know.'
'And what did the police do?'
'Said they knew, but couldn't do anything without hard evidence. And, anyway, were looking to have Bolger lead them to his supplier.'
I didn't say anything for a mile or two. Just kept checking my mirror to see if we were being followed as well as taking surreptitious glances at her long, elegant legs while recalling those delicious, tip-tilted breasts with their covering of smooth, white skin. I could feel my cock stirring.
I tried to distract myself. 'What does your sister have to say.'
'She's upset. Contrite. Wants to give up, but can't.'
'What about treatment?'
'The waiting lists are huge unless you've got the cash to go to a private clinic. Which we don't have any longer.'
What could I say to that. I kept what I hoped was a sympathetic silence.
Then she went on, 'We were doing fine. About to take our exams and go on to college. Then our parents were killed in a car smash. A drunken idiot drove them off the road. That was nearly two years ago.'
I glanced at her. She was sitting rigid, hands tightly clasped, eyes closed, tears striping her cheeks and dropping onto those bare, shapely legs.
'We got the money for the house. What there was of it after we'd paid the mortgage off. Looking back we should have spent it on tuition and living expenses until we graduated. But we decided it wasn't enough, left it in the bank, and started looking for work. However, it was early summer and all the seasonal posts had already been filled, and we weren't qualified for anything else.'
'You say we. How old is your sister?'
'Same as me, nineteen. We're dizygotic twins. That means not identical. Though we're sufficiently alike that most people used not to be able to tell us apart. But after what the drugs have done to Emma she looks ten years older. The other day someone thought she was my mother.'
She pulled the hem of the sweatshirt up and scrubbed the tears from her face, inadvertently giving me a clear look at the dark curls between her slim thighs. It was totally inappropriate, the wrong time, but I felt myself get steel hard.
'Did you get jobs?'
'I was lucky. The Council had an unexpected vacancy in the Information Centre. It was meant to be a start. Instead things got worse.'
'I was working the day Emma went out with a crowd. I think one of them must have given her something. That date rape thing.'
'That's the one. And when she came round - while she was still confused - gave her something else to get her hooked. Anyway I didn't know anything about it until the money started disappearing to buy her drugs. Soon we were broke and couldn't pay the rent. All we could do was move to that van.'
'Then how does she keep on paying for the drugs?'
'She can't. But that bastard Bolger keeps her supplied. In return she has to give herself to him and anyone he decides to lend her to.'
I couldn't think of anything to say to that.
At last we were coming into the outskirts of Broadale and I started looking for a place to stop. It wasn't long before we came to a row of hotels, and then, set back from the road, a motel. Not grand, but it seemed clean, so I pulled in.
'We need a base for the night while we think what to do next. This will do temporarily. Just sit tight.'
Parking the car where it couldn't be seen from the road I walked to reception and booked a double room. She might not like the idea of sharing but I wasn't letting her out of my sight. At least there were twin beds which might help to reassure her that she had a choice and I was not going to force myself on her.
Inside, she sat on the edge of one of the beds while I dumped my bag on the other.
'There are soap and towels in the bathroom,' I remarked. 'Why don't you freshen up a bit. Then we can have a council of war.'
She didn't reply and I saw she was silently crying again. Pulling out a handkerchief I gently wiped away the tears. 'It's all right now. We'll get it sorted. I'm not going to let anything happen to you.'
She sniffled a bit, 'Thank you.' And put a hand on my arm.
Spontaneously my arms went around her and pulled her close. My lips found hers and pressed hard. Without planning or thinking - almost inevitably - my hand slid under the sweatshirt and found her breasts. Her head and shoulders fell back onto the bed pulling me with her, pressing her lips to my mouth as hungrily as I was kissing her. Then her legs parted and she raised her knees. She fumbled at my belt.
I lifted my mouth from hers. 'Let me do that,' I said as I tugged the sweatshirt up and, hungry for her, took a nipple between my teeth.
My belt was swiftly undone and she reached between us to touch and encircle me with her fingers. Trousers and underpants were thrust to my ankles and I was between her thighs. She tossed her head back and pushed her heaving breast against my hot lips. Sliding my hands to her hips I held her as, urgently, she guided my rigid cock to its rightful home.
I thrust hard and deep once, twice, thrice in a white hot burst of passion. My hands were clutching and kneading her tits. She was moaning, her fingers digging into my buttocks urging me ever deeper.
I had lost control. My hands slid round her waist and down to grasp the cheeks of her arse. I pulled her to me as four, five, six times I hammered into her. I was thrusting frantically. She lifted her legs and locked her heels around my back, her cunni muscles squeezing my shaft hard, urging, demanding me to fill her. Her fingernails raked my back. She bit down hard on my shoulder, stifling her sobs.
We were locked in a storm. We were an inferno of need. Until, simultaneously, we cried out and exploded.
Trembling with the force of our union, her arms hugged me tight until our pulses slowed and my now limp weapon slid from her. Gently I unwrapped her arms and got to my feet.
As I regained my clothes she said, 'God, what came over me? I've never acted like that before.'
'A delayed reaction to danger. Quite natural and common. In times of trouble our instincts make us look to preserve the species.' I stepped into the bathroom and found a hand towel. Still drained by her outburst of passion she lay still as I cleaned and dried her thighs and belly. Delicately I ran my fingers through the fine hair of her muff.
'You know, over the years I've had my share of women, but I've never found one like you. You really are beautiful.'