Caution: This Action/Adventure Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Ma/ft, Consensual, Heterosexual, Fiction, .
Desc: Action/Adventure Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Continuing Zoe's story after her marriage to Alex, and telling of their involvement in breaking a sex-trafficking ring; with a little help from their friends. This story parallels 'Pippa', a 'Serendipity' story. There are references to rape, but these are off-stage
My name is Alex Smith, and I used to be a sales rep for a company specialising in military security equipment. One day, much against my usual habits, I picked up a teenaged prostitute. I’ve told the story elsewhere, but the short version is I fell in love and we married. (See ‘Zoe’). This story, as well as continuing Zoe’s and my story, gives a different perspective on another tale; ‘Pippa’.
A year after our wedding, I was sitting at our kitchen table, reading an article about a new retinal scanner that would be much cheaper and more compact than current standards. Half-eaten toast lay on my plate and a cereal bowl was pushed away; black coffee half-filled a mug next to me.
The door opened and I looked up; a young woman in a terry robe much too big for her (mine – she does have her own, though she rarely uses it) entered. Zoe, my teen-aged wife. Her dark-blonde hair framed a pretty face that wore a serious expression. The robe concealed her slim, shapely figure except for her legs, but I could very easily visualise what lay beneath.
“Make a lap,” she told me, standing next to me as I pushed my chair away from the table, then snuggled into my embrace. We sat like that for several minutes, breathing in the essence of each other.
“So...” I said, “ask away...”
“Alex! Why would you think I was going to ask anything?”
I snorted. “Years of experience?”
“Well ... firstly, I know what I want to do...”
“Okay ... that’s good, isn’t it?”
“I want to help ... you know, people like me ... I want to do what Trudy does.”
Zoe had, as a fourteen-year-old, been abducted and forced into prostitution. I had encountered her by accident and returned her to her family, had taken steps to ensure her abductor would never do the same to another young person. We had, despite a substantial age difference, fallen in love and Zoe’s parents had approved our marriage. Zoe was still catching up with her education, taking ‘A’ level courses at nearby Chelmsford College. Professor Trudy Waters was a semi-retired psychologist who specialised in counselling victims of abuse.
“I don’t see a problem with that,” I said evenly. “Is that all?”
“Um ... no. I want you to teach me to fight. I mean ... proper ... unarmed combat.”
“Let me think on that.”
“And, Alex ... could we, maybe, be more ... pro-active? Could your ... connections ... do something about the rings?”
I sat silent, holding my wife. Then, “Darling, you know there are things I can’t talk about?” She nodded, “And ... I don’t like to think of you at risk again...”
“I’d be less at risk if I could defend myself.” When I didn’t respond immediately, she wriggled into position so she could kiss me. “I love you, you know.”
“I know. I love you too. We’ll see. In the mean-time, do what you’ve been doing; concentrate on getting good results so you have your choice of University. You know psychology is a tough field to qualify in? Too many students competing for placements?”
“I know. But Trudy will help. I think.”
I got her enrolled in a dojo not too far away, I knew the sensei fairly well, and Zoe could get to and from sessions without too much trouble, two or three times a week. He mainly taught Aikido, which I thought would be a good start. It would give her a good grounding in the fundamentals; centring, balance, focus. In addition, I insisted she join me in working out each morning; running, sometimes swimming if we have time, and some free weights. In decent weather, we can do kata in the garden...
Before I was a rep, I was an Army Intelligence specialist, working in the field. Budget cuts retired me as a captain, but I’m still on the active list in the Territorial Army Reserve, the ‘Terriers’. This is important, as you’ll see, hence Zoe’s reference to my ‘contacts’.
About the time Zoe and I were having the foregoing conversation, a barely fourteen year old, blonde, Russian orphan in the suburbs of Moscow, was making a decision she would later regret greatly. Not that she had a lot of choice, but she agreed to accompany a smooth-talking, sharply dressed businessman to Britain. She was one of several girls in a similar situation, though not all were orphans; some just wanted to escape a restrictive family environment, or their families thought a move to the relative financial security of Britain was a good idea.
In no case was it a good idea. All the girls would find out within hours of arriving in Britain that their lives as they knew them had ended. Their virginities were sold to the highest bidder and they were systematically raped and beaten until their wills were broken. Several succumbed either to the physical abuse, or managed to escape through suicide, but they were easily replaced. The blonde, Nadiya Ivanovna Babichev, was compliant, but not completely broken...
About a year after our conversation, another young woman, Philippa Henderson, was making a decision that would have far-reaching consequences for many more than herself. Her father, Conrad Henderson, was a prosperous businessman. He loved his daughter, but if pressed, he would have admitted he was worried about her lack of a social life. When she asked for a sailing holiday as her seventeenth birthday present, he didn’t mind looking into the possibilities. An acquaintance, Dennis Thornton, put him in touch with Heritage Sailing Holidays, based in Maldon, Essex. The result was that he chartered a yacht, a ketch called ‘Serendipity’. Heritage Sailing arranged a female skipper; as it happened, Dennis Thornton’s daughter Cherry, and a young law student, Charles Collins, as crew.
It was, if you believe in coincidence, just accidental that when Nadiya Ivanovna decided to make a break for freedom, Serendipity was where she took refuge. Perhaps it was coincidence, or perhaps it was fate that Pippa Henderson woke early and found Nadiya asleep in Serendipity’s saloon. Cherry Thornton, initially reluctant to be involved, was soon won over, partly by Pippa’s determination and partly by Nadiya’s appeal. She contacted an old friend who put her in touch with Trudy Waters, who passed them on to Alex Smith ... and that is how Zoe got her wish to become involved in helping young women who were trapped in sexual servitude and abuse.
As it happened, I took the call from Trudy Waters, and called Cherry Thornton. I arranged to meet in Walton Backwaters – I would be picked up at Walton-on-the-Naze, and taken to the yacht by tender – and there seemed no good reason to leave Zoe at home.
The tender was tiny, perhaps eight feet long. That may sound big, but I assure you it’s none too big for three adults on tidal water when the water’s a bit rough. It had a small outboard that could propel it at maybe six knots. I was used to boats, but usually rather larger ones. Zoe was not and looked more than a little insecure during the half-hour trip to Serendipity.
I boarded first, then Zoe and I grasped wrists as I helped her board. The movement of a small craft is disconcerting if you’re not used to it.
Nadiya was very pretty, and appeared younger than her almost sixteen years. Her fear was almost tangible, but she held herself together with an admirable determination.
I introduced us in Russian. “Good morning, Nadiya. My name is Alex, and this,” I turned to Zoe, “is my wife, Zoe. Zoe has been where you are and knows what it is like.”
“I greet you, sir, and your lady.”
“I need ... we need ... to talk to you to find out as much as possible about the people who abused you. Will you? You need to tell us everything, even if you don’t think it is important. Oh, and I will be filming the interview, so I can review it and so there is no question that I have compelled you in the future.”
“Okay, I will do that. Will you kill them?”
“I will try to make sure they never, ever hurt anyone again.”
“I hope it will be very painful.”
“I think you can count on that.”
I turned to the others then. “Where can we talk to Nadiya alone?”
“Use my cabin, if you like,” Cherry said.
I don’t want to repeat all she told us. She spoke in a detached sort of way, using a mixture of English and Russian, I imagine as the only way she could get through recalling her ordeal. It turned my stomach, and Zoe was stony faced as she listened (I translated as necessary), her arm round the younger girl as she offered the only support she could. Nadiya gave us some names and descriptions. It was frightening to realise we would be dealing with some people – users of the girls – who were influential, powerful, or just very, very wealthy. It was obvious that any action would have to be ‘off the books’.
A light lunch with the crew of Serendipity broke the interview in two, then young CC took us back to Walton before the ebbing tide left us trapped on board.
We were both quiet on the drive home. Quiet, that is until Zoe spoke. “You can’t keep me out of this.”
I pondered the truth of what she was saying. My response was that of a man who loved, and wanted to protect, his wife. “I can’t?”
“I know you’ll want to, but you need me.”
I only nodded in acknowledgement, but I also heard what she wasn’t saying aloud. ‘And I need to be involved’.
It was not something I could do alone, or even with Zoe to help. But who could I turn to? I certainly couldn’t go through channels – the brown stuff would hit the rotary air impeller for sure if I did, and nothing would be achieved. I did the only thing I could and called my military commander, Colonel Walker. We arranged to meet the following day in the anonymous setting of South Mimms motorway services. There, I learned that despite the reprimand resulting from my actions in protecting Zoe, I’d been promoted to Major. The Colonel was now Brigadier Walker. She agreed official action was impossible, but agreed to arrange that my old team would have leave, or, if in the Reserve, be asked to support me unofficially. I could not have asked for more.
Six of my team were available and I could have no higher compliment than the immediate, unanimous agreement to help. The first, and arguably one of the most useful, was a woman, nicknamed ‘Goat’. Goat is a petite, dark-haired young woman, gifted with technology and absolutely lethal, whether with unarmed combat or weapons.
“Hey, Goat! Come in – thanks for volunteering. Good to see you again.”
“Thanks, Cap. Or should it be Major, now?”
“This is off the books, and the promotion is too new. Let’s stick with Cap, unless you’d like to call me Alex?”
“Better not, Cap.”
Well, come into the lounge...” Zoe was waiting, perching on the edge of a seat. “Goat, meet the love of my life, my wife, Zoe.”
The two women eyed each other for a few seconds before Zoe stood and they came together to shake hands, except Goat pulled her into a hug. “You look after our Cap, Zoe. He’s liable to get into all sorts of trouble if we’re not careful.”
Zoe giggled. “You’re telling me! I mean, who’d pick a girl up at a motorway service area and marry her?” Goat just raised her eyebrows – I’d never gone into details about how Zoe and I met. Bernie had, no doubt, filled in the others about Zoe’s circumstances in general terms. “Excuse me asking, but ... Goat?”
“My name’s Rebecca Watson. I started out as Bex, but when people saw how I was with technology, it became I-bex, until the Cap, here, pointed out that an Ibex was a mountain goat. So, ever since, I’ve been ‘Goat’.” She scowled, theatrically, at me, but then smiled. “I don’t know if you understand, but a handle like that means you’re part of the team. That’s important.”
“And Goat is very much a part of the team,” I said, seriously, “She’s very good with small-arms, better with unarmed combat and a whiz with anything involving electronics. She’s possibly the most dangerous member of the team because people underestimate her, being small, a woman, and very pretty.”
“Hey, steady on, Cap. I’ll be getting a swelled head,” the woman blushed.
The others arrived soon after, my friend Sergeant ‘Bernie’ Winters being last, were shown into the lounge and set up with assorted beverages by Zoe, every bit the mature, welcoming hostess.
I was about to begin briefing when Zoe spoke. “Sergeant Winters! I have a bone to pick with you!”
He sat up straight, but I could see the amusement in his eyes. “Yes, Ma’am?”
“You never called Melanie.” (Melanie being Zoe’s friend and Maid of Honour at our wedding. She’d taken a shine to my Best Man, Bernie, in his dress uniform).
He paled, noticeably. “Well, you see...”
“No buts, Sergeant! She’s been nagging me ever since. Is there something wrong with her?”
“Is she ugly?”
“If you’re just not interested, you need to tell her, Sergeant. If it’s the age difference, well, look at Alex and me. One way or another, when we finish with what we’re here for, call her, Sergeant, or I’ll have your guts for garters!”
“Yes, Ma’am, Missus Major Smith, Ma’am!”
I suppressed my smile. It was past time to get serious. “Zoe, if you’ve finished bullying my friend? Okay, people. Have a look at these.” I handed out a sheaf of photos. Cherry Thornton had carefully documented the physical evidence of abuse on the young woman’s body with a compact digital camera. “This is Nadiya Ivanovna Babichev. Fifteen year old, nearly sixteen, Russian orphan from a suburb of Moscow. She made the mistake of taking up with a shill for a sex-trafficking ring based here in the East of England.”
My people examined the pictures, and I could see them stiffening, hardening, their expressions taking on a grim determination. Hardened though we may be, our very existence is intended to prevent such abuse – we are the ‘rough men’ referred to supposedly by George Orwell. Looking around, I could see we were not so hardened to man’s inhumanity. I could hear sotto voce expletives, Goat among them.
“And she was not the only one. There are at least four others in the house where Nadiya was kept, and she thinks there’s at least one other house.” I cleared my throat and continued. “We can’t go to the authorities. This lot have clients among the rich, powerful and just influential. There is a rot, deep in the structure of society, including at the highest level of the Police. If you don’t want to work outside the law to try to restore the law, it’s time to leave, without prejudice, people.”
Fatso – so called because he was six foot four and thin as a rake – spoke for all of them after a glance round. “You believe this, Cap?”
“I do. It all fits, makes sense of stuff that’s lurking in the background that we didn’t understand.”
“I’m in, then,” followed by a chorus of agreement. I looked round and saw no qualms, no hesitation.
“Right, then. Let’s get some rest. We can’t do anything before this evening.”
Zoe and I distributed the others about the house – Goat got the box-room with its single bed, Bernie and Chalky the guest room with its two singles, Fatso, Dusty and Snoopy crashed in the lounge.
I was keyed up, but I knew I could switch off. I also knew that Zoe probably couldn’t. The decision was taken out of my hands when she stripped off and began to undress me. Once nudity was achieved, she spread herself on the bed to invite my oral attentions, which is no burden at all. Sometimes when she does this I go on a little too long and she crashes out before I get mine. All that means is I get woken up an hour or so later by Zoe riding me. I didn’t want that to happen this time, because I knew I’d have to get up and go, so I was careful. I gave her the escalating series of orgasms she was inviting, then buried myself to the hilt and she had the final, devastating, climax just as I found my completion.
I woke before the alarm and tried to get out without disturbing her. Futile hope! She grabbed a wrap and was in the kitchen dealing with the casserole, previously prepared and put to cook slowly, before I was dressed and downstairs.
During the meal, I laid out the strategy. “Chalky and Snoopy, head for Diss (a small town just inside the Norfolk County boundary). Goat and Bernie, Stowmarket. Fatso and I will go and have a word with that fat bastard in Woodbridge. Dusty, I want you to stay here with Zoe. There are some internet leads to follow up, and you’ll co-ordinate any data we get hold of.” Zoe was frowning, but for once didn’t argue with me.
We had two anonymous, white, Ford Transit vans set up for surveillance. I used my unremarkable Astra Estate. Goat and Bernie struck gold. The second possible location had an SUV and an MPV in the drive and shortly after they arrived they saw two men herding three subdued girls out to the MPV. They followed the vehicle to another house a mile or so away, where three more girls were collected. A call to Chalky and Snoopy had the two houses staked out; Goat and Snoopy exercised their skills in ‘bugging’ the properties for video and sound using tiny mikes and cameras fixed to windows. They then set to the problem of hacking into their phones, which proved not so difficult. The internet, however, required an illegal physical tap and all Goat’s hacking skills.
Fatso and I had no such luck. The house was no problem to penetrate; the idiot only had a vanilla three-lever lock on the back door. Fatso and I made our way quietly through the house and found our target in his study. Or, rather, we found his body in his office. Naked, and taped to a chair, he’d clearly been tortured and strangled. Fatso suggested taking his computer, but I didn’t want any suspicion of our entry, and I doubted if there would be anything on it of use to us. We left, and went back to Witham.
Dusty was asleep, and I found Zoe spark out in bed – she had obviously been trying to read and had dropped off with the light on. I knew Fatso would grab the chance of some rest, and I stripped, turned off the light and slipped into bed with my wife, who wrapped herself round me without waking.