Before we start: This story was originally written with the girl’s age specified as twelve because at that age the man would have been sentenced to life – often with a recommendation as to how long should be served - over that age the sentence is shorter and I felt less likely for the blackmail to work. But SOL is hosted in Canada and they will not accept descriptions of sex with girls under fourteen. So whatever my opinion I’ve altered or removed age references.

We have a caravan which we let to holiday makers. The last people were grandparents with two grand children, a boy and a girl. And this story popped into my head. Granny was very nice but wasn’t a bit like the one in the story, and neither was the girl – I’ve ignored the guys – so how it happened I’ve no idea. I don’t have any interest in young girls either, but there you are, if you write you might understand the thought process.

I honestly thought I was in with a chance, but that shows just how wrong first impressions can be. But then I was wrong about almost everything around this time, so much so that looking back I wonder just how I had survived the previous fifty odd years. I guess you’ll want an explanation of that.

Me, well I’m what I guess you’d call a bit of a nerd, I mean I was before anyone thought of that name, but the effect is the same, not overly worldly. However, I had obtained an engineering degree, and after working for several large companies I had a few ideas and left to develop them and obtain patents which, together with consultancy work, generated a good income. If I had remained working for a company then the patents would have been theirs, I wasn’t that unworldly! I met Jilly at uni, she was probably as big a nerd as me and equally as good an engineer, and we married just after we got our degrees. No, no children, it just didn’t seem to happen and we were both very much occupied with what we were doing. She continued to work at first and joined me after I had generated an income. After we’d been working and developing ideas for a year or two we purchased an old farm house with a few outbuildings that we could set up as workshops. All went well for some years until Jilly suffered from a brain tumour and was gone in almost no time at all. I didn’t do much for the next year or two, I was very depressed, and eventually my doctor told me that I needed to see people and get out, or I wasn’t going to last long. You’ve got the old dairy that you’ve done nothing with, why don’t you convert it into a holiday let, he told me. And that’s where it started.

I employed a local architect to obtain the necessary permissions, and get a builder to carry out the work, and by the next spring I had a finished holiday let. I used Airbnb to find people to rent and had a local lady come in to do the cleaning. I can’t say it was particularly lucrative, but it did the job of getting me to see more people, I had to greet them and show them round and generally chat to them. I had various families and couples over the first year, usually interesting to talk to, many from other countries, and some from, shall we say, minority religions. I did find it a bit odd to see young girls running around the garden looking like mini Mother Theresas, but they seemed happy enough, and women in black from head to toe, well whatever.

And then there was Juliet and Elouise.

They were Granny and granddaughter and turned up in one of those Toyota Prius hybrid electric cars. A more delightful pair you could not wish to meet, Juliet, Granny, was in her early fifties, a slim and elegant blonde and I really felt attracted to her. I’d no idea how old Elouise was, but she was cute and pretty, just beginning to develop with long dark hair and bright blue eyes. She was wearing a tee shirt which revealed her budding development and a short skirt. I showed them around and told them a bit about the place. Juliet kept looking at me and asked the sort of questions you’d expect if there was an interest in taking an acquaintance a little bit further, confirmation that I was a widower, that sort of thing. Elouise perked up when I mentioned ducks and chickens, could she see them? Well of course, shall we all go and look? Juliet said to take Elouise and she’d unpack.

As we walked over to see the birds I felt Elouise take my hand, rather as if I was her granddad. I didn’t think too much of it, but then my experience with children was almost, no actually was, nil.

When we got to the chickens I explained about the breeds that I had, leghorns and legbars, the usual sort of thing, and told her a bit about the ducks, Indian Runners and Silver Appleyards, and then there was a cackling from the henhouse. One of the hens rushed out announcing that she had just laid an egg. Now, the cackling is a signal to the rooster that this event has taken place, and that the hen was now available for the rooster to attend to his business for tomorrow’s egg. And I had a remarkably efficient cockerel, a big grey and ginger bird with long spurs and bright red comb and wattles that went by the name of Mr Rogers – after Ginger Rogers, as it were. Lost on most people nowadays.

Without further ado he leapt upon the hen’s back, grabbed her by the back of the neck and carried out his business.

“Is he fucking her?”

“Umm ... yes, I suppose you could put it like that, but the polite term is ‘treading’” I said, somewhat embarrassed.

“Would you like to tread me?” she giggled.

“Pardon?”

“Fuck,” she said. “Would you like to fuck me?”

Now, had I been a more worldly sort, less of a nerd if you will, and certainly with more experience of females, then maybe I’d have had an answer, which should have been emphatically NO! but I wasn’t and didn’t. I was vaguely aware that if you turn down such a suggestion you might upset someone even though they shouldn’t be making that sort of suggestion, and that as the person making the suggestion was at such a tender age, an outright refusal might scar them for life. Did you get all of that? If it sounded garbled then that is because that was the exact state of my mind.

“Well yes, but...”

“Oh goody!” and the hand that wasn’t holding mine caught hold of my zip.

My brain was on pure overload, I really had little idea of what was going on until I realised that she had my todger out and was issuing instructions.

“I said put your hands on my waist and lift me up.”

Let’s face it she wasn’t more than 4’ 10” tall and I doubt she weighed 80 pounds so it was no hardship. Her skirt was up around her waist, her legs around me, and she clearly had no knickers on because as I felt the end of my todger brush over a hairless crotch her hand reached down and seated the end in the correct place and with a wiggle she settled down on it.

She let out an ‘Oooh’ and it felt like I was in heaven. Or was I now on my way to hell?

She worked herself back and forth on me and in no time I was filling her with semen. At which point I suddenly wondered if she was fertile.

She slipped down off me and stood, skirt down, looking perfectly innocent.

“Come on,” she held out her had, “we’d better get back to Granny.”

To say that I did not want to accompany her back to Granny would be something of an understatement, however I was practically dragged along, and she greeted Granny with an excited monologue about the birds she had just seen.

Granny listened to her, and then asked me if I could look after her whilst she popped out to do some shopping. It’ll only bore her if she comes with me, she told me.

What could I say?

No sooner had the sound of grannies car died away than the tee shirt was off followed by the skirt. Elouise grabbed me by the hand again and we were headed for the bedroom, where I was divested of the tee shirt and jeans that I was wearing.

“Mmmm” she bent down and swallowed me whole and in no time at all I was as hard as I had ever been.

Elouise lay back on the bed, she really was a lovely sight, and I had to savour every inch of her. In between I asked her about her experience, since she clearly wasn’t inexperienced.

“Oh, grandpa.”

“He didn’t come with you?”

“No, he’s no longer with us.”

“Oh!” Shagged himself to death I supposed, and got back to work.

I lasted a good while longer this time, and unless she was a very good actress she enjoyed it too. At least twice.

I had just finished and was relaxing when there was a flash. Now, so far all I can say is that I had been extremely foolish, and I now crowned it by being just plain stupid, and rolling to one side off the girl, exposing her and myself. To the second flash.

“It’s very useful being able to just use the electric drive to come in silently,” said Granny. “Get dressed you old fool, we are going to have a chat.”

Elouise giggled.

“Do you know how old she is?” Asked Granny when we were sitting in the living room.

“Umm, no.”

“Exactly. Young enough so that what you’ve just done means a life sentence for you. Unless you do exactly as I say.”

I may have gulped, but whatever.

“You are going to marry me and sign this property over to me. Do you understand? And don’t get the idea that you are going to be doing to me what you have been doing to my granddaughter. You will live in here and I will have the house.”

“No way!”

“Yes way. You have a choice and you have just five minutes to make it before I call the police.”

What could I do? I tried arguing but she was adamant. Why the marriage? Apparently at some time someone in her position had lost what she now considered to be hers due to a legal technicality.

I agreed. I didn’t think spending the rest of my life in gaol was a very good idea

So there I was, a couple of months later, I had a wife, but no comforts from that, and no house to live in. I wasn’t destitute, but fortunately my non-loving wife Juliet wasn’t aware of that. She actually thought that I had been living on my old age pension, plus whatever came out of the holiday let. In fact I had ‘doctored’ my birth certificate to make myself ten years older than I actually was when she insisted on marriage and I realised I would have to cover up my income. I obviously didn’t have a pension, but I could transfer money to cover that, and she didn’t seem too interested anyway. The birth certificate I could always replace with a true copy if I needed. The only problem was that I didn’t have a great deal of faith in my continued good health. Fortunately she didn’t cook for me, and I checked the car every time before I drove it. The woman was quite obviously ruthless and I doubted if she had any morals either. But I didn’t realise that her plan was much simpler than that.