Copyright Oggbashan October 2013
The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.
It had been a good solid meal. I was pleased that I had followed my colleague's recommendation to stay for a few days after the conference in this ancient Sussex hotel, The Hanged Man.
Simon had said that the only flaw was The Hanged Man's reputation for being haunted, but since I don't believe in ghosts, I wasn't worried despite staying overnight on Halloween. Even when I realised I was the only guest booked in for that night it didn't bother me.
Simon has asked me to make a diversion on the way to the conference, into the Weald of Kent. He wanted some 'strong cider' made by a local farmer. The process of getting it was surreptitious. I was to avoid the farm shop, go to the farmhouse and ask for 'Roy'. Only then could I buy the 'strong cider'. It was surprisingly expensive, but Simon said it was worth it. He wanted two litres at five pounds a litre. Roy told me there was a discount if I bought more, twenty pounds for five litres. I trusted Simon's taste, so I bought three litres for myself. Simon was delighted when I handed the cider over.
On arrival, the hotel's sign had puzzled me. The 'Hanged Man' looked more like a hanged dummy, suspended from a harness around him instead of being hanged by the neck. A placard in the foyer explained it. Apparently an Exciseman, a Riding Officer, had been captured by smugglers and had been hung from a hook inside the hotel, only being released the next day when the smugglers had gone. The hook was still there, in a beam above a short set of stairs leading from the restaurant to the bedrooms.
The hotel's restaurant had been reasonably full for a Thursday evening in the autumn. As I worked my way through the meal I could understand why. The food was a standard English menu but the quality of the ingredients, the preparation and the presentation were impeccable. The house wine was an Appelation Controlée Burgundy.
The staff made me feel at home. The hotel has been owned and run by the same family for many generations. The manager, the chef, the chef's assistants, the bar staff and the waitresses were all members of that extended family. George, the manager looked and dressed like an old-fashioned pub landlord. He even had a ruddy face framed by mutton-chop whiskers. The waitresses and bar maid gave me feelings that I thought were long dead.
The two waitresses, Angela and Sandra, were distant cousins of Maureen the barmaid, but all three looked like sisters. They were dressed in a pastiche of country maid costumes with white aprons over full red skirts and white gypsy tops. I hadn't been attracted to any woman in the years since my wife was killed in a car accident. But this evening I was very aware that the women serving me were good-looking, competent, efficient and that they enjoyed what they were doing. Happiness is sexy.
If I hadn't been so tired and stressed by the strain of organising and chairing the conference, I might have responded better to what seemed like subtle advances from two of the women. As the sole owner of the largest local company and a widower I might have expected more interest from women in the last couple of years, but perhaps I frighten some of them because I am so prominent in the local community. If I had been seen with any woman, her picture would probably feature in our local websites or papers within hours. Few women are willing to face that sort of exposure for a first date.
When I went to my room to unpack I was aware that I had eaten well, perhaps too well. My brain was still whirling with the impact of the conference. There had been so many possibilities raised, so many useful contacts made and so many positive results, that I would be busy for weeks dealing with them all. The few days I was staying at The Hanged Man would be useful for me to unwind.
I changed out of my formal conference suit into casual clothes. I went back down to the bar for a drink. Maureen served me a pint of the local bitter. It went down so smoothly that I was soon drinking another. Angela and Sandra came into the bar. They stripped off their aprons which Maureen hung up for them. I invited all three to join me for a drink. They surprised me by choosing local Sussex cider. I mentioned that I had bought the 'Strong Cider' in Kent. That seemed to impress them. They had heard of it, but never seen it. I went to my car and brought back a litre.
The label was handwritten. All it said was 'Strong Cider. Drink with caution'. Of course, we had to try it. Maureen surprised me by producing wine glasses. Once I had tasted it, I knew why. It wasn't 'cider'. It was a strong spirit like Calvados. Between the four of us we soon finished the litre and I went back to my car to get another one. As I met the night air I knew I had been drinking but I couldn't disappoint the three women.
By the time the second litre was half-gone, I was legless. Angela helped me to sit down in a comfortable chair beside the fire. Maureen brought me another glass of 'Strong Cider'. I was aware of Angela and Sandra sitting on the arms of the chair, each with an arm across my shoulders. I must have gone to sleep leaning against the soft breast of one of them.
When I woke up I was alone. I decided to go for a walk around the village before going to bed. A walk might help clear my head and let my brain settle down. I had a key to the front door and I had been told I could come and go as I wanted. Normally there would be a night receptionist but since I was the only guest I hadn't objected when the manager suggested that the desk wouldn't be staffed from midnight until seven am.
The street lighting was sparse as I started to walk towards the river. It was a cool evening, fairly mild for the end of October. Any children visiting neighbours for Halloween would have been in bed hours ago. The street was deserted. The shop fronts were dark. Only a few lights in upstairs rooms reminded me that this was the 21st Century and not the 18th that the architecture suggested.
Even if it had been the 18th Century the riverside would have been as quiet as it was now. The offshore currents at the river's mouth were very difficult under sail. The access from the sea into the river is and was difficult through a silted channel that varied and varies after every storm. No ship of any size could have entered despite the apparent width at high tide.
But in the old days smugglers were supposed to have landed thousands of tons of cargo here on dark nights. Now, hauled up on the bank, there were just a few small boats that would use lightweight outboard motors for pottering around. There was no boat that couldn't be launched from a small trailer. I wondered how the smugglers could have brought in as much as they were said to have landed. It was approaching high tide as I walked along the river bank away from the landing place.
I had to use my torch as I left the dim street lights behind. Beyond its beam I could see little, but its powerful LEDs carried a long way. I swept the beam across the river.
There! Just at the edge of the beam was a large ship unnaturally high in the water. How? Was it resting on an island? No. It couldn't be. It was slowly moving towards me. I peered as I moved my torch. Of course!
The ship had been raised on camels, large flat-bottomed barges lashed alongside. Its draught must have been reduced to a few feet, enabling it to cross the shallows safely. I wondered how they could attach the camels in the darkness.
As I stepped off the path towards the river I tripped and my torch went flying. Several heavy bodies flattened me to the grass.
"Keep quiet, my hearty!" a rough voice hissed at my ear. "Or you'll have a cut throat."
I could feel a sharp blade under my chin.
"Dowse that light!" a faint shout came from the ship.
I could sense someone struggling to turn off my torch.
"Press the end..." I hissed.
The knife wavered at my neck but the torch went out.
Had I wandered into a re-enactment of smuggling? It seemed unusual to do it at dead of night when no one was around to be an audience.
If they were re-enactors they were taking their roles very seriously. The men holding me down stank of stale sweat and salt water.
My hands were dragged behind me and tied with coarse rope. A stinking cloth was rammed into my mouth and tied there with more rope. A sack was pulled over my head, down to my knees, and more rope lashed it in place. Everything had a stale smell of rotting seaweed.
I felt the knife's point prick my back.
"Keep quiet, Cully, and walk slowly. Or..."
The knife's point emphasised the order.
Hands supported me on each side as I seemed to be retracing my steps towards the main village street. But where had there been cobbles? I didn't remember seeing any cobbled street or path in the village. Perhaps I had confused the direction in which I was being taken?
I could hear the faint stamping of many horses' hooves and a creaking of leather harness. We brushed past some horses.
We had entered a building because I could feel floorboards under my feet. A door closed shut behind us and I heard bolts being rammed home. The room stank of hot oil.
"OK, Jeb, what have we here?"
It was a cultured, bored, voice.
"I don't know, Master,"
'Master' sounded more like 'Meister'.
"I think he's gentry-like. His clothes are of finer weave than even the Squire wears. He had this light but it was so bright it is more like a signal flare than a lantern. I don't know what to make of him, honest, Master."
"Show me the light," the cultured voice ordered.
"Here you are, Master. You press the end."
"S'blood! So small and yet so much light!"
I could sense the light of my torch even through the sacking covering me.
"He's got a watch, Master."
"Has he, indeed, Jeb. Where?"
"On his wrist, Master."
"On his wrist! You're joshing me! Watches are in pockets or on a fob. Show me."
The rope around me was loosened. My left wrist was pulled around.
"It is a watch. As you say. On his wrist. And his trousers -- that cloth was never made locally."
A bony finger poked my leg.
"Very well. Everyone except Jeb leave us."
The door was unbolted. I heard a trample of many feet followed by the door being bolted again.
"Uncover him, Jeb."
The rope around me was removed. The sack was dragged off. I was still bound and gagged but I could see by the dim light of a smoky horn lantern. I was pulled back on to a chair and roped to it. In front of me, behind a scarred wooden table was a masked man with a broad brimmed hat. He was pointing a large bore flintlock pistol straight at my chest.
"I don't know who you are. I don't want to know. You saw something you shouldn't have see. After tonight that doesn't matter. Jeb?"
Jeb was dressed like a caricature of a Sussex peasant with linen smock and straw hat, except that he had two large pistols stuck in a greasy belt.
"You're sure the Riding Officer is miles away?"
"Yes, Master. We think he is trying to catch the Aldington gang. He won't. He's following their decoys over the Downs."
"Very well. This gentleman will have to take his place. Are the wenches sure about their roles?"
"Of course, Master. They'll do everything we agreed -- for a couple of gold coins."
The masked man sighed and pulled a pouch out of a boot. He tossed a couple of coins to Jeb who caught them.
"Now, Mister whoever-you-are, Jeb will take you to meet some willing wenches. You are to stay the night with them. If you try to leave..."
"You'll be shot." Jeb added.
"Not shot, Jeb. Too noisy. But you would die, Mister. There will be guards outside the room. In the morning you might find yourself in an embarrassing predicament for a short time. You are to be a message from us to the Riding Officer. Once that message has been delivered you will be free to go. I suggest you do go -- far from here and do not return. Do you understand? Nod if you do."
I didn't really understand but he obviously expected my agreement. I nodded.
He sat back on his chair and put a foot on the table.
"Very well. Jeb will take you to the wenches. I'll keep this useful light as a souvenir of an odd encounter."
Jeb untied me from the chair and pulled me to my feet. He pushed me through a side door and into a corridor lit by guttering candles. We climbed a short staircase and went towards another man dressed like Jeb, also wearing two pistols. He had a sabre leaning against the wall beside him.
"Roger, this man is not to leave the room tonight. If he does, cut him down. No shooting. If you have to kill, do it quietly. You'll be relieved in two hours. Understood?"
Roger stood aside and opened the door behind him. Jeb pushed me in. Again there was a horn lantern lighting the room dimly.
"Rouse yourselves, wenches. I've brought your gallant, and the payment."
Jeb tossed a couple of coins that glistened in the light. A white hand emerged from the gloom and caught them. Jeb pushed me forward, turned and left the room. The door closed and was bolted on the outside.
"Well, mister, we three have been amply paid to entertain you this night. We'll make you comfortable..."
The voice had a strong Sussex burr.
"Comfortable? What I need now is to piss. I've drunk too much."
"There are pots under the bed. Hold hard a minute. I'll get one."
She pushed a chamber pot into my hand. I turned my back to the bed. The relief was welcome. I turned around. My eyes had adjusted to the dim light of the horn lantern. There were three women dressed in short cotton shifts spread across a very wide bed.
"You don't need to be so shy, mister," the first woman said. "all of us will spend the night naked."
She slid off the bed and pulled her shift over her head. Even in the dim light I could tell she was well developed, young and fit. The two others matched her actions, advancing on me.
It was an order. Their posture indicated that they were prepared to act if I didn't. I stripped, placing my clothes on a wooden chest at the foot of the bed.
"Time to be introduced, mister. You are?"
I wasn't sure I wanted them to know my real name. They could easily find out. My ID was in a pocket.
"John" I said. "John Smith."
"If you say so."
It was obvious that she didn't believe me, or didn't care what my real name was.
"OK, John," she emphasised the 'John' "I'm Maureen. This is Angela."
Angela dropped a mock curtsey, her naked breasts bobbing.
"And this is Sandra."
Sandra also curtsied. Despite myself I was being to be aroused at the lantern-lit bare flesh.
"Come to bed, John," Sandra ordered. "Douse the light, Maureen."
Sandra's hand grasped mine and gently led me to the side of the bed. Angela pushed me on to it.
Maureen blew out the lantern. The stink of unburned oil was unpleasant for a few minutes.
I couldn't see the women but I could certainly feel them. Sandra and Angela arranged themselves with my body between them. I heard a creak as Maureen climbed on to the bed. She sat against the headboard and draped her legs over my shoulders. The back of my head was resting in her warm crotch. She spoke from behind me.
"We know that no man can satisfy all three of us at once. We've tried, haven't we?"
The other two agreed.
"But two at once? If you co-operate, you might. Willing to try?"
"Yes, Maureen," I answered.
I was getting more excited as the women beside me stroked my body with their hands.
"Relax. If you are going to please us... You'd like to please us?"
"Then you will."
Sandra spoke from beside me.
"You have smooth skin and smell nice."
"Unlike many of our patrons," Angela added.
"So do you," I responded.
"That's because we don't have to work in the fields, nor practise housewifery," Sandra said. "We can keep ourselves clean and our hands delicate, for doing this..."
Her hand slid around my erection and stroked it gently.
"Not so fast, Sandra!" Maureen hissed. "We need that."
"Put your arms out to the side," she ordered.
I didn't know why she wanted me to do that, but I obeyed.
She sat up with her legs folded around my legs. My head was against her comfortable stomach. Sandra and Angela pulled me down the bed so that Maureen was leaning backwards and I was looking towards the ceiling, if I could have seen it.
"I'm first," Sandra announced. "You know what to do, Angela."
Angela's pussy moved up my body and lowered to my mouth. Her legs were either side of Maureen's waist. I knew what Angela wanted. I extended my tongue and began to push it inside. My head was swamped between Angela and Maureen. Sandra straddled my hips. Her hand found my erection and fed it inside her warm cleft.
"Nice and slow, John. Take it nice and slow." A voice said. Underneath Angela's pussy I had no idea which of them had spoken.
I didn't have to obey. I was their plaything. They were working to a familiar routine. Angela was getting warmer and more excited. Sandra was thrusting down on me in a slow sensuous rhythm. I was only aware of three bodies wrapped around me, pleasing themselves, and me.
Sandra knew just how far to take me to the edge of ejaculation but not into it. I don't know how long she was riding me. I was lost in an ecstatic bliss of arousal until she slowly cam to a stop and let me recover. I was almost unconscious from lack of breath from the excitement and the constriction between Angela and Maureen's bodies.
Sandra lifted herself off me. Angela slid slowly down me to claim my erection. Sandra replaced Maureen, clasping my head to her body. Her breasts brushed over the top of my head as she positioned herself. I nearly came at that point but Angela sensed it and lifted herself off just in time.
Maureen's pussy replaced Angela's. My tongue was getting tired and I think she sensed it. After only a few minutes of Angela riding me, and my attentions to her pussy, she said:
Angela's slow pulsing became faster and faster, as she brought me to the limit and beyond. I came into her and slumped as far as I could.
Maureen and Sandra separated and let me gasp for breath. Angela retained me inside her but lowered her body over mine. Maureen and Sandra moved alongside me and somehow the bedclothes were covering all four of us. Angela's head was just beneath my chin. Two soft breasts were pressing at my cheeks.
I went to sleep as the filling in a three-woman sandwich.
Much later I woke again, desperately needing the chamber pot. When I returned to the bed, many arms grasped me and I was again ridden by one woman while pleasuring another's pussy. They repeated that several times during the night and I had no idea whose body I was inside, whose pussy I was licking, nor whose stomach was supporting my head. I was trying to please them but my efforts became more and more feeble as the night went on.
Eventually I was so exhausted that none of their attentions could arouse me any more. I slumped into a deep sleep.
When I began to wake up I knew something was wrong. I was vertical. I was swathed into a helpless bundle. I opened my eyes but I was hooded in a silky material, unable to see. My mouth was stuffed with a soft cloth, nothing like the coarse gag of last night. I was aware of a pleasant feminine perfume from whatever was covering my mouth and nose.
I tried to move. My legs were tied together. My arms were fixed by my sides. I was swathed in something soft but suspended by wide straps around that softness. As I struggled I could feel myself swinging slightly. I tried to extend my toes downwards. I couldn't touch anything. My struggles became more frantic as I tried to free myself but all I was doing was making it harder to breathe through the hood and gag. I tried to relax and let my breathing become slower.