Chapter 4

Linda lay on her back in the bright evening sunshine, her delicate skin kept seperated from the grass she was laid on by the blanket that you'd thoughfukly placed there for her. Her parents were richer than yours and she lived in a fine house with a large secluded garden. And not only that, the old fossils were absent on this Sunday beautiful evening! Linda wrapped her legs tighter round your waist as you hammered into her, your youthful bodies grinding together in an animalistic frenzy of arousal. Her long, sharp fingernails raked at your back causing you to flinch... but the pain only urged you to thrust even deeper into her pussy. "Harder, you bastard, harder!" she extolled you and, in response, you redoubled your efforts to the increase mutual pleasure of the both of you.

"Don't you ever worry that the neighbours will hear you?" you gasped at her.

"NNNNNOOOOOO!!!! Fuck the bloody neighbours! What do I care? Oh, god, you are sooooo GOOD!!" she squawked back at you, her hips rising to meet yours on their downward stroke. You scrapped your fingernails across her breast causing her to yelp, leaving four bright red furrows behind. "You bastard!" she screamed at you.

"And you just love it! So tell me, have you been fucked by most of the neighbours, you little tramp?"

She smiled at this. "Almost without exception but... Oh, my god, I'm cumming!" she screeched and not for the first time this evening. But this time you had to agree with her and as Linda's twat quivered convulsively, your balls joined in the intimate creation of life dance and you shot your load into her. Breathing heavily, you collapsed onto her sweat covered body, her breasts squashed between the pair of you. After laying there for a few moments to catch your breath you pulled out of her and rolled off her desirable body to lay beside her on the well kept lawn.

"Next time you should wear a condom," she informed you practically.

"Why?"

"Because you're the only bloke who I let screw me without one and as I don't want to get pregnant, I'm asking you to put one on - just for me."

"No way, Linda! I don't wear 'em. I don't wear socks in the bath and I'm not putting one of them on when I fuck a girl. Now shut that mouth of yours and go get me another beer."

Linda pouted at you but got up onto her hands and knees. You couldn't help yourself and slapped the tempting target of her bare posterior, her firm pale flesh quivering sensuously under the palm of your hand. She shrieked briefly, throwing you a smile before toddling off obediently towards the house. Your eyes followed her naked progress along the path, drinking in the swaying of her hips as you thought back to the previous day and what had happened after you had dumped your mathematics teacher in the countryside stark naked with instructions that she had to make it back to her house before six in the evening or face the consequence of a stroke of the cane for every five minutes that she was late...

You'd laughed heartily at the sight in the car's mirrors of Mrs Dougherty standing forlorn and naked in the middle of the quiet country lane as you drove off in her car. You were sure that she was going to have a most interesting journey home... just as you were sure that it was impossible for your teacher to make it back to her house before the deadline that you had set. Crashing your way through the car's gears again, the thought did cross your mind that you really must take some lessons soon... but that, of course, would mean arranging to get a license and some insurance... but in the meantime, you could just borrow her car anytime you liked - at least, you could for as long as you held that tape with Mrs D confessing how she had been abusing her position as a teacher so as to have sex with her male pupils for years. Of course, you chuckled to yourself, the fact that the boys weren't complaining meant nothing in law and your teacher was just another paedophile as far as the cops were concerned.

Not too long afterwards, you pulled the car into the drive of the Dougherty's house, only slightly scraping its side on the gatepost as you did so. After you let yourself in by the front door using the keys that you'd taken from Mrs Dougherty's handbag, you found her husband pacing up and down the hallway. "Where is she? What have you done with my wife?"

A feeling of loathing swept over you as you looked at the thin pathetic creature before you, with his love of women's clothing, his inability to get an erection and his desire to be a maid to his domineering and manipulative wife. Balling your fist, you punched him once in the pit of his stomach. He doubled over instantly, the breath whooshing out of him in an audible gasp. "I told you that I never wanted to see you, didn't I? Didn't I tell you that?"

"Yes, yes you did," he wheezed, still hunched over and holding his gut with both hands.

"So what are you doing in here? Get back into the kitchen and get on with my dinner, you fuckin' queer!"

The little man in a black and white maid's outfit actually had the audacity to glare at you for a second but this resistance quickly crumbled and his eyes sank, once again, towards the floor just before he hurried away towards the kitchen.

Shaking your head sadly as you thought about how pathetic he was, you opened the door to the lounge where, after pouring yourself a beer from the small refrigerator that nestled under an equally minuscule bar unit, you settled down in the most comfortable chair in the room and switched on the television.

The usual rubbish was on and you allowed the pap to flow, almost unwatched, over you while you thought of new humiliations and indignities that you could inflict on Mrs D. But when the six o'clock news started, you perked up a little for now your plaything was late and thus, when she did finally show, you could punish her according to the rules laid down by you for this game.

Michael Fish was in the middle of telling the nation about how wonderful the weather was going to be on Sunday when the doorbell finally rang. You glanced at your watch - 6.33 p.m. Sighing, you thought to yourself that it was such a shame that Mrs D had saved herself one stroke by arriving just before 6.35. But then you mused, what the hell and decided to wait before you answered the door and thus granting yourself the pleasure of another scream from you slave. The doorbell rang again... and again, this time with almost frantic haste. You smiled even more broadly, finally easing yourself out of the armchair and walking slowly towards the hallway.

The sight that greeted your eyes when you opened the door was an amusing one indeed for there was your normally elegantly, if rather sultrily, attired teacher with a face like thunder and dressed in a pair of jeans that were far too large for her along with a similarly sized man's plaid shirt. The jeans were held up by a length of string that was functioning as a belt while two shorter pieces of twine were tied around her trim ankles to stop her from constantly tripping up over the overlong denim legs. Her feet were bare and you could see that some blood was oozing out from several small cuts in her soles. Still, this was not the time for laugher, you chastised yourself and, adopting your sternest expression you announced, "You're late!"