Chapter 1

Anne waited in the heaving throng, a trifle uneasy at being surrounded by so many foreigners, but pleasingly refreshed by her shower. She had not expected to find such a facility at an Italian service station, but supposed, ruefully, that that was just another example of her English insularity.

Having just turned sixteen, this was her first experience of life outside her native country - excluding the heavily chaperoned and controlled school weekend trip to Paris when she was thirteen - and she was finding it all very exciting.

Her planned holiday with her mother and father, at the cottage they had booked in the Lake District, for a quiet 'get away from it all' fortnight had been cancelled, and she had been at a loose end for her annual holiday until Kate had invited her to Italy for ten days in a rented chalet in the small fishing town of Colebria.

Kate was really a friend of Anne's parents - her husband, Philip, and Anne's father had studied together at university, and had kept up the friendship when college days were over. Kate was about thirty-five or thirty-six - some eight years younger than her husband, Philip, for whom Anne had nursed a schoolgirl passion for about two years, now.

Small, dark, vivacious, she made light of the age difference between herself and Anne, and, if anything, was even more grateful for Anne's stepping in to rescue her holiday at the last moment than Anne was to her. Kate and Philip had intended to have this holiday together, but Philip had been unable to leave his latest project - he was a television producer - and she had been on the point of cancelling when Anne's mother had suggested, somewhat diffidently, that Anne could fill the breach.

They had landed at Calais and driven a hired car over the Alps overnight, and had pulled into this very well-equipped service station on the autostrada at about eight o'clock, gritty-eyed and sweaty.

It had promised to be a sunny warm day, and they had about sixty miles to do to their destination. After a light breakfast and several cups of coffee, Kate had noticed the shower cubicles and they had fallen on them with cries of joy.

Anne had soaped her tall slim body all over no less than three times, shampooed her long blonde hair twice, then stood under an ice-cold jet for as long as she could stand the pain. There was a hair-dryer in the cubicle, and she had packed away her jeans and sweater into a sports bag, changing into a T-shirt and shorts.

She had waited only five minutes in the bustling entrance foyer when Kate appeared - long enough, however, to confirm that the reputation of the Italian male for inveterate bottom-pinching was well-founded. She had not withstood these uninvited advances with quite the insouciance she had hoped she might, being especially unnerved by a probing finger which had slid inside her shorts, almost inside her brief panties.

Kate laughed when Anne explained her haste in rushing the pair of them back to the car. She, too, had changed into shorts and a - very loose-fitting - halter-top for the last leg of their journey and, covertly, Anne envied her even brown tan set against her jet-black short hair and green eyes.

Kate slid into the driving-seat of the little Fiat and drove into the petrol station. The attendant was young, with dark hair curling round his neck and ears, with dark eyes and flashing white teeth. He inserted the petrol pump into their tank and, lifting the windscreen wipers, cleaned the screen with a wet cloth.

He smiled at both girls through the screen, blatantly observing their bare legs.

"I wouldn't mind him filling my tank," Kate whispered and, although Anne laughed dutifully, her companion's words came as something of a shock. Personally, she was more than a little embarrassed at the boldness of the attendant's scrutiny and wished they could just fill up and get back onto the open road.

Then, to Anne's surprise, Kate bent forward, her hands going down to her shoelaces. The front of her halter-top fell forward and the attendant grinned, his tongue running round his full fleshy lips. Without changing her position, Kate raised her head and looked him full in the eye. He closed one eye in a lascivious wink, and Kate chuckled, then straightened up again.

Anne, her face pink, looked away, studying the advertising hoardings plastered round the service station. She sensed the attendant going round to the side of the car and removing the nozzle. Kate wound down her window and thrust a handful of notes in his hand, then started up the engine and drove away quickly.

There was an uncomfortable silence in the car for a minute or two, then Kate said, quietly - "Do you disapprove?"

Anne stammered a little. "I - I was a bit surprised," she said, lamely.

"A side of me you haven't seen before?" enquired Kate.

"Well, yes," said Anne. "I always thought you and Philip - well, you seem so... right, together."

"And so we are," agreed Kate, unperturbed. "In many ways, we are. But... he doesn't actually own me! And, if I can get a little bit of a thrill by letting a nice-looking boy have a glimpse of something he shouldn't - well, why not?"

Anne couldn't think of anything to say and she stared at the road ahead, aware of a tiny germ of unease growing within her.

"You're a very beautiful girl, Anne - you must know that. Don't you get some sort of kick of being aware of men looking at you?"

Anne was torn between an impulse to reject the compliment and respond, honestly, to the question.

"I suppose," she said, finally, "I enjoy being looked at - in a general sort of way - but... well, I suppose I feel that parts of me are only for one person."

"Like Clive?" asked Kate, gently.

"Well, yes," agreed Anne, diffidently.

"Yes," agreed Kate, thoughtfully, then - "and you were never... tempted by anyone else."

"No," replied Anne, very positively, and, she realised instantly, more than a little prissily. But it was more or less true. She and Clive had been together since before her fourteenth birthday and she had practically never thought of other boys. And, certainly, she had never even contemplated "flashing" herself to some complete stranger.

And yet, she was uncomfortably aware that her reaction to Kate's unexpected action was a little mixed. Along with shock and disapproval, there had been a tinge of excitement.

To cover her confusion, she found herself responding to Kate's gentle questions about her broken romance and, in the final hour and a half of their journey, she spoke more, and revealed more, about her innermost thoughts than she had done to anyone since the break-up.

Taking yet another tight bend, Kate swung off the main road and began to drive cautiously down a steep hill towards a small town nestling in a bay of deep blue water. A rickety sign bore the legend - "Colebria" - and, just outside the town itself, Kate took a left turn to a separate enclave of what were obviously holiday chalets.

Anne was surprised, but not displeased. She had thought they would be living in the town itself, but she had a good feeling about the area, and had no objection to ten days of chalet-dwelling.

They drove through an arched entrance and Kate stopped outside what was obviously the site office. They both got out and Kate made for the office, clutching their reservation papers. Anne saw that the office was busy and, since Kate was the one with a grasp of Italian, agreed to her suggestion that she, Kate, could deal with this, while Anne had a look round.

There wasn't much to look at, though. Just a shop with basic and, no doubt, over-priced, basic essentials, and a tacky souvenir establishment. Anne eventually sat on the bonnet of the Fiat to wait for Kate, enjoying the silence after two days of incessant engine noise.

There weren't many people about but, after a few moments of idly swinging her legs, Anne became aware of being the object of scrutiny. Glancing around, she met the eye of a rather unprepossessing young man, leaning against the office window, hands in the pockets of a pair of baggy blue shorts. He was in his mid-twenties, slightly under average height, with a sallow complexion and lustreless black hair. He had an unhealthy paunch and the legs protruding down from the shorts were spindly, and white.

He returned her gaze with no change in his expression and it was Anne who, eventually, had to drop her eyes. When she looked back a few seconds later, he was still looking in her direction but not, now, into her eyes. Anne's flesh crept under his scrutiny and she slid off the bonnet and back into the concealment of the Fiat.

He did not move and, when Kate emerged from the office, Anne watched him study her back view all the way to the car. Anne said nothing, and Kate didn't comment, either. She handed Anne a map of the site, with their chalet marked on it, and Anne concentrated on pointing Kate in the right direction up a tree-lined track. As they moved off, however, she saw the man heave himself away from the wall.

Their chalet was actually a terraced two-storey house, with a kitchen cum living-room downstairs and stairs leading to a sort of landing with two comfortable single beds. The big downstairs room had floor to ceiling windows front and back, with a comfortable three-piece suite in the middle, kitchen area to the left, and a well-equipped bathroom to the right.

There was a strip of grass between the houses and the track outside, and a small private garden, with a barbecue and picnic table and chairs, at the back. On inspecting the bathroom, Kate announced her intention of taking a bath, and disappeared inside.

Anne decided to unpack and went out to the car to unload their cases. As she emerged from the house, she immediately saw the man from outside the office, trudging heavily along the track. As she lifted the first case from the roof rack, he stopped, and leaned against a tree.

She didn't give him the satisfaction of showing her irritation, but bustled in and out of the house with the bags and cases then, when the last one was unloaded, pulled the Venetian blind across the front window. Peering through the slats, she was intensely annoyed to see that he hadn't moved. He began to pick his teeth with a matchstick.

Anne dragged her own case upstairs and began to put her clothes in drawers. She heard the bathroom door open, quickly followed by the sound of the Venetian blind being drawn back. Peering over the rail which bordered the sleeping area, Anne saw Kate, wrapped in a fluffy white towel.

"Is that man still there?" she called.

"The fat bloke - by the tree? Yes!" replied Kate. "Why? Oh, is that why you pulled the blind?"

"Yes," called Anne. "He's been hanging about. He was down by the office, as well."

Kate began towelling her short dark hair.

"Well, I don't suppose he has much of a social life - with these looks."

"I think he's weird," said Anne, picking her way carefully down the stairs. She went over to the blind and drew it shut again, this time darting a glare at the lounging man. "I don't think we should encourage him," she added, by way of explanation.

Kate laughed easily and, throwing her hair-towel on a chair, pulled her bath-towel open and, arms flung wide, towelled her back vigorously. Confronted by Kate's full frontal nudity for the first time, and so suddenly, Anne gasped in surprise.

Kate's unclothed form was much rounder, softer - sexier - than Anne had ever imagined. Her shoulders were fleshy, not bony; her breasts high and firm, with dark brown - and large - nipples; her waist was very narrow, but her hips were wide. Her thighs were slimmer than Anne had anticipated, but not skinny, and her calves were very shapely for a woman who was fairly short in general stature.

But it was her pubic hair which commanded attention. Jet-black and dense, it covered a large triangle from halfway down her belly to the deep junction between her thighs. In contrast to Anne's own golden-brown, rather trim, thatch, it proclaimed itself in glorious profusion. It was wild, mysterious - a veritable jungle of hidden delights. For the first time, Anne realised what such a display could have upon a rampant male. She had only to assess the effect it was having on her.

Tearing her eyes away from Kate, she hurried over to the kitchen and filled the kettle. "Would you like a coffee?" she sang out.

"Yes, please!" replied Kate, now towelling her front and her legs. Anne waited for the kettle to boil as Kate, now dry, discarded her towel and walked, naked over to the full-length wall mirror and ran a brush through her hair.

"I wish my hair dried so quickly," said Anne, enviously. Kate murmured a reply, but her mind seemed to be on other things. Her eyes were intent on her reflection and Anne wished she would get dressed, now. But Kate seemed to be studying her body, quite intently, her hands running absent-mindedly up and down her flanks, fingers lightly teasing a tangle of pubic hair, then touching the underside of her breasts.

Then she turned and smiled at Anne, but her face was a little set, her smile a trifle forced. "Right!" she said. Turning on her heel, she walked towards the front window. Anne watched, bewildered, but even in her bewilderment, could not help noticing the jaunty tilt of Kate's bottom as she moved, and the deep dimples where her rounded cheeks met the backs of her thighs.

Then, horrified, Anne watched as Kate swiftly, in one movement, glided the blind open and faced the window, hands on hips, totally naked. The lounging man jerked up from his leaning position, his mouth falling open, the matchstick still protruding from between his teeth.

Kate held her position for several seconds, then turned, slowly, in a complete circle. When she was facing him again, she lifted her hands and placed them flat on the glass. Then she leant forward, slightly, so that her breasts were against the glass, also, partially flattening them. Then she stepped away from the glass, cupped her breasts with her hands, then slowly drew the blind shut.

She stayed facing the blind for several seconds, then turned to face Anne. The expression on her face was one Anne had never seen before. There was, in it, amusement, mischief, but, mainly, an element of sly satisfaction, as though an intensely private pleasure had been enjoyed.

Kate picked up the towel and wrapped it round her, then looked directly at Anne. "He'll never forget that," she said, simply.

"You didn't do it for that," accused Anne, almost hysterically.

"No, I didn't," replied Kate. "I did it for me. It turned me on. I'd been thinking about it since I saw him outside the office."

"You saw him?" asked Anne, stupefied.

"Yes," said Kate. "I asked about him. He's German. He's here with his mother. He comes every year and he's going home this afternoon. His mother was in the office, handing in the keys to their chalet. The girl in the office says all he ever does is to hang about the chalets, watching women."

"But why did you... do that!" whispered Anne. "If he's just some little pervert?"

"Because from now on, when he plays with himself, the chances are that he'll think of me. If he was a big good-looker, he'd have seen any number of naked women. But he probably hasn't seen anyone as good as me, outside of a magazine or a porno film, or something. He might be getting hard half a dozen times a day, just thinking about the English woman who let him see her naked body, willingly."

"And," she went on, after a second or two, "I'll be getting wet, thinking about him getting hard."

Anne was a turmoil of emotions. Mixed with her shock and disapproval, she was aware, was a very strong undercurrent of excitement, and an appreciation of the thrill that Kate must have experienced from displaying her naked - and very sexy - body to a total stranger. She realised, now, that Kate had not done this casually - that her growing silence as she towelled herself in front of the mirror reflected her increasing nervousness and excitement as she prepared herself mentally for her bold and blatantly provocative action.

Despite herself, Anne imagined herself in a similar position, summoning up the courage to do what Kate had just done.

It would be like the last few moments before jumping out of an aeroplane on your first parachute jump, she thought - and, afterwards, would there be the same euphoric rush, the same inability to get your feat of daring out of your mind?

"Anyway," said Kate, briskly, "no need for you to worry about it. Where's that coffee? We'll have that, then I'll get dressed and we'll go and have a look at the town."

They spent the afternoon wandering round the small, attractive fishing town, then had dinner together in a small restaurant, before climbing the hill back to the chalet in the warm late evening air.

They talked of this and that - innocuous subjects - and Anne was, in any case, so fascinated with the idea of being abroad and so interested in everything about her that her lingering worries about her friend's questionable behaviour did not surface at all, and there was no sign of Kate's taking any particular interest of any of the men they saw. Perhaps, thought Anne, it was just the initial sense of freedom, of being away without Philip, that had sparked these little shows of independence, and they would not recur.

Changing for bed, Anne was careful to do so as discreetly as possible, but, while Kate did not flaunt herself, she did strip off completely, without inhibition, before going downstairs to clean her teeth, and, on returning, slipped between the sheets of her single bed without donning any nightwear, at all.

When the lights were out, Anne could not resist recalling the images of Kate's body - her cheerful bouncing breasts and behind, and, especially, the luxuriant wild black thatch between her thighs. She had led a fairly sheltered life as far as female communal nudity was concerned, and was fairly shy about her own body, but she had been subjected to compulsory showers after games and P.E. at school and, while she had sneaked covert glances at her classmates' burgeoning breasts and bottoms, these had been more for purposes of comparison than anything else.

But Kate had a quite different effect on her. It was as though she could see Kate as a man would - as an object of desire. She was sure she had no lesbian tendencies, and she didn't think she wanted to touch, or be touched by, Kate, but, somehow, her nakedness carried a sexuality which undoubtedly transmitted itself to Anne.

The rational explanation was that her first glimpse of Kate, unclothed, had been in a sexual context - just seconds before her display at the window in front of the German pervert. As her mind dwelt on that, Anne felt her nipples, involuntarily, begin to stiffen. Her fingers seemed to have minds of their own as they crept on to her breasts, squeezing her nipples through the thin fabric of her nightdress.

A liquid warmth surged through her lower body and she pulled her hands away from her breasts, guiltily. She turned over and forced herself to think about the sights of Colebria, but it was a long time before she finally drifted off to sleep.

It was Kate, the next day, who suggested the boat trip. They had noticed, in the harbour the previous day, that some of the small fishing trawlers and boats carried tourists on their working trips, and Anne had wondered if it might not be fun to go out for a day, and perhaps visit one of the offshore islands.

While they were looking round the small fishing museum the following morning, Kate fell into conversation with the curator, who confirmed that they should be able to arrange a day's trip - with meals thrown in - for a very reasonable price, with a number of the local skippers. He also said that some of the boats fished all night and it should be possible to arrange to be dropped off on an island, where cheap taverna accommodation was usually available.

So, Kate set off to the harbour, leaving Anne in the museum, and was back in practically no time, rushing Anne back to the chalet to pack swimsuits and overnight things in time to catch a boat which was sailing on the noon tide. Caught up in Kate's excitement, Anne stuffed her bikini and a few things in a bag, and they jumped in the car, arriving back at the harbour with about half an hour to spare.

The boat, a tiny trawler named "Violetta", was rolling gently at the quayside and a grizzled old Italian helped them aboard. Kate introduced him as Guido, the skipper, and he, in turn, introduced his wife, Sofia, a stout, grim-looking woman with grey hair scraped back into a bun, and an almost masculine moustache on a turned-down upper lip.

Clearly, she did the cooking on board, and Anne supposed Guido did the fishing, until, just as the church clock tolled twelve o'clock, two men emerged from the quayside taverna and leapt nimbly aboard, casting off as they did so.

They were a contrasting pair. Both around thirty, one was tall and swarthy, well-muscled, with a thick black moustache, while the other was slight and of weaselly appearance, with a slim pencil moustache, and a cast in one eye. The tall one was named Marco, and the other, Roberto. None of the four Italians spoke English at all, but Kate gathered that they were all related to each other. She thought, but was not sure, that Roberto was a son, and Marco a nephew.

Before they had cleared the harbour, Sofia had disappeared into the galley down below, Guido was in the wheelhouse, and the other two were busy checking and mending nets. Anne and Kate stood at the bow for a while, looking out to sea, but it turned quite cold in the head wind and Kate said she was going to lie down in the shelter of the side of the boat and catch some sun. Anne could not think of anything better to do, so they both went down into the galley where, totally ignored by the redoubtable Sofia, they changed into their swimsuits.

Kate's bikini was not dissimilar to Anne's but, somehow, Anne thought, it looked much more daring on Kate, whose cleavage was much more noticeable than hers. Anne also noticed that Kate had to be careful to ensure that none of her abundant pubic hair escaped the narrowish confines of the crotch-piece.

However, when they emerged with their towels, none of their fellow travellers batted an eyelid, and they settled on the wooden deck. After about five minutes, Sofia appeared with a very tasty seafood salad, which they ate with considerable appreciation.

Then Guido came down from the wheelhouse with a bottle of sparkling wine, and two glasses, which he handed over with an unintelligible grunt. Glancing up at the wheelhouse, Anne saw that Marco was deputising for his uncle. Catching Anne's eye, Marco grinned and raised a wineglass in his huge fist, and Anne, blushing slightly, toasted him back.

Noticing this, Kate leaned back on one elbow and lifted her glass, too, smiling broadly. The man's eyes travelled rapidly over her bikini-clad form, and narrowed in appreciation.

With a touch of trepidation, Anne saw that sly secretive smile flit over her friend's face before Kate broke the eye contact and poured a second glass of wine.

Backs to the wooden-slatted side of the boat, the girls sat and talked desultorily, basking in the warm sunshine, as the bottle slowly emptied. As she drained her last drop, Kate spread her towel out on the deck and lay face down on it, and Anne followed suit.

Anne was just beginning to drowse when a shadow fell across them and she squinted up into the sunshine to see Marco standing over them, silhouetted against the blue sky, a fresh bottle in his hand. Panicky, because of her lack of Italian, Anne glanced quickly at Kate and was relieved to see her looking up, also.

Marco squatted on the other side of Kate and filled both their glasses. Taking a drink from his own, he began to talk, volubly, in his own language and Kate leaned on one elbow, facing him. Anne could not understand more than a few words of what was being said, but Kate laughed from time to time and Anne thought Marco was relating some amusing tales of life on the 'Violetta'.

Out of politeness, despite her lack of comprehension, Anne lay with her face turned towards the couple, smiling when she thought it appropriate and, when Kate groped behind her back for her bag, Anne pushed it into her hand. Kate delved into it, finally extracting a small tube of sun-cream.

She was just unscrewing the cap when Marco stretched out his hand, a questioning smile on his face. Kate hesitated for a couple of seconds, then, with a shrug, relinquished the tube and lay back down on her towel, on her front, her face turned towards Anne, her arms flung out above her head along the smooth wooden deck.

Marco slowly squeezed out a short length of cream on the tips of his fingers, then began to massage it into Kate's upper back and shoulders. A slow smile spread over Kate's mouth and her eyes closed.

Anne lay perfectly still. The sea was calm and it was so quiet that she could hear the rasp of Marco's calloused fingertips against Kate's smooth skin. He pushed out some more cream, this time on each hand, then changed his position so that he straddled Kate's jutting buttocks, and began to work the cream into the hollows in her shoulders.

Anne could hear Kate now, purring quietly, like a contented cat, her eyes fluttering open every now and then, the satisfied smile still tugging at the corners of her mouth. Marco shifted position again, now straddling Kate's thighs, his hands now concentrating on her lower back, below the tied top of her dark blue bikini. Starting in the small of her back, he worked in the cream in ever-widening concentric circles, until his fingers were circumnavigating her sides, the start of the slope which widened into her bottom, and the skin under her bikini top.

Anne watched, as though hypnotised. The smile had disappeared from Kate's face and her brow was now slightly furrowed. The silence was almost total, only the slapping of the sea against the side of the boat breaking the taut atmosphere. Anne's mouth was dry and she noticed Kate's tongue dart out to wet her full lips.

Then, so adeptly that it seemed almost casual, Marco untied the bow holding Kate's swimsuit top and flicked the ends apart to lie on the deck either side of her. Kate's eyes snapped wide open and she pulled her arms back to her sides, elbows bent, fists clenched either side of her chin, upper arms tucked into her sides.

Anne stared at her, waiting for the cry of protest, the hurried re-tying of the sundered ends, but, as Marco's hands continued their - now unfettered - progress over her back, Kate's eyes lost their look of alarm and, almost imperceptibly, she relaxed.

Anne, on the other hand, felt the first frisson of real fear. Where was all this leading to, and, knowing what she now knew about Kate, who was going to look after Anne if things got out of hand?

Anne was in a ferment of indecision. Her position - between Kate and the side of the boat - made it very difficult to move. She would have to push past them - and where would she go? They were only allowed on this deck, and the galley, but Sofia had locked the hatchway to the galley so that she could have her siesta in peace.

She watched as Marco continued his massage. Suddenly, she realised that his fingers were disappearing under Kate's upper arms to stroke the sides of her chest. In fact, it dawned on her, the tips of his fingers must be in contact with the base of her friend's breasts. She glanced, again, at Kate. Her eyes were closed again and her breathing had quickened.

As she looked back at Marco, she could see that his whole hand was now between Kate's arm and her torso and, daring a glance at his face, she saw a look of frowning concentration as he stared down at his probing hands. Then, Kate moved her arms away from her sides and, pulling them back in, used them as levers to raise her upper torso some six inches from the deck, then as supports, to hold herself in that position.

Anne, still not daring to move, stared from her prone position at Kate's breasts, dangling just above the discarded bikini top. As if hypnotised, she watched Marco's hands run slowly up and down Kate's sides, moving, with each stroke, further under her body, until the tips of his fingers were glancing against the yielding flesh on the side of her breasts, and then, with long sweeps, running up from her belly, right over her breasts, his roughened palms rasping over her taut nipples as they continued their upward journey.

Anne thought of the Kate she thought she had known - the bright, cheerful, apparently contented Home Counties housewife, doing her shopping at Sainsbury's, joining Anne's family at a late summer barbecue, singing happily in the chorus at the latest village Gilbert and Sullivan production. That couldn't be the same person she was looking at now, half-naked, being fondled intimately by an ill-educated and none too clean Mediterranean fisherman she had never clapped eyes on two hours previously.

Marco sat back on his heels and, with one swift movement, peeled off his T-shirt and threw it to the side. As he did so, Anne whispered urgently - "Kate! Kate! Stop this! You must stop him!"

Kate's eyes flicked open and met Anne's. She blinked once, then shook her head. She mouthed a silent "No!" at Anne, then her eyes closed once again as Marco bent over her back and, this time, took her breasts firmly in his hands and squeezed them. At the same time, he bent his head and brushed his lips against the back of Kate's neck, and Anne heard a low moan of pleasure escape her.

Kate twisted her head, her open mouth seeking Marco's. His lips came down on hers and, at the same time, he used his hands to turn her body to face him. Supporting herself on her arms, Kate's mouth locked on to his and her taut-nippled breasts stood proud on her arched chest until his hands claimed them once more, grasping her nipples tightly between thumb and forefinger.

He wrenched his mouth away from Kate's and, pushing her back down on to the deck, closed his lips round her left nipple, his hands roaming over her belly and her deep, dimpled navel.

Then he found the ties for her bikini bottom and his fingers groped, blindly, to undo them. But he succeeded, only, in pulling them tighter and, with a curse, sat back so that he could see what he was doing.

By now, Anne, without quite having been aware of doing so, had risen from the deck and was sitting, arms clasped round her knees, with her back to the side of the boat. Despite the sunshine, she was shivering as she watched the passionate scene being enacted almost literally underneath her.

As Marco wrestled with her bikini ties, Kate struggled to a sitting position and, Anne thought, was, at last, about to come to her senses and try to call a halt to this - this... madness! Kate stretched out an arm towards Marco, but, just as she did so, he succeeded in untying the second bow and pulled the front portion of her bikini bottom away from her belly, revealing the magnificent bush of her pubic hair.

His dark eyes widened in pleasure and admiration and his mouth split in a huge grin of appreciation, revealing impossibly white, even teeth. "Ah, Mamma mia!", he breathed. "Bellissima!" And his right hand slid between the tops of her thighs, and Kate gasped and closed her eyes. Her hand fell back to support her upper body and her thighs parted slightly to allow a probing finger to enter her receptive vagina. Marco's grin widened as his middle finger disappeared inside Kate and she moaned, loudly, as it probed deep within her. One of her hands lifted to massage her own breast and her thighs snapped shut as Marco withdrew his finger.

Scarcely daring to breathe, now, Anne could see the shiny moisture on Marco's finger as it emerged from between her friend's thighs.

As Kate's thighs closed together again, Marco lifted his right leg over them, so that he was kneeling beside her. Momentarily, Anne wondered why, then realisation dawned as his hands went to the top of his jeans and snapped open the brass button. Feverishly, he tugged at the zip then, as it descended, pulled his jeans down over his buttocks, down to his knees.

His was only the second erect male penis Anne had seen. Almost clinically, she observed that, while it did not seem to be any longer than Clive's, it was much darker, more gnarled, and at least half as thick again. It reared menacingly out of a huge nest of black curly coarse hair, almost parallel with Marco's stomach.

At first, Anne had wondered if she would be able to accommodate Clive's erection, but, now, the memory of his pink circumcised member, paled into insignificance at the sight of Marco's angry-looking weapon. Anne's insides liquefied at the thought of being invaded by such an organ.

Then her thoughts snapped back to the present. Marco had shuffled round to position himself, on his knees, between Kate's legs, which he was holding apart, a hand on the inside of each of her knees.

Anne looked at Kate's face. Her eyes were fixed on Marco's penis, jutting up from his hairy belly and, Anne saw with a sense of shock, there was only anticipation in her expression, and no apprehension.

Kate lay back on the towel and, of her own accord, spread her thighs as her hands closed round her breasts, pinching and squeezing. Her voice rose. "Come on then, Marco - fuck me! Come on, you bastard - fuck me!"

Her voice rising to a crescendo, she stopped, suddenly, as Marco guided his penis with his hand to the mouth of her vagina. He let the tip penetrate just enough for her to feel him poised at her entrance, and she stopped breathing.

Then he entered her slowly, deliberately, so that she was aware of each separate centimetre filling her, and her breath inhaled in sharp gasps as she took him closer and closer to his root.

Anne watched until the two magnificent pubic bushes were completely fused, then, as he fell forward on to Kate's naked body, and her splayed legs locked round his driving buttocks, she picked her way carefully round the two writhing bodies and rushed over to the other side of the boat, where she stood, trembling, staring out to sea, trying to blot out the sounds behind her.

But she could not erase the images seared on her mind, of Marco's hands grasping Kate's dangling, naked breasts, his fingers stimulating her nipples to taut erection, his finger emerging, shiny, from between her legs, and, most unforgettable of all, his rampant penis jutting menacingly, powerfully from the thick tangle of black hair coating his belly...

Gradually, her legs stopped shaking, and she leant against the side of the boat, staring at the reflection of the bright sun on the blue water. Her thoughts, strangely, dwelt mainly on her past romance with Clive - and, for the first time ever, she knew she had no regrets. If it had done nothing else, Kate's astonishing behaviour had proved to Anne that an unsatisfactory marriage was not for her. She thought, with sympathy of Kate's husband, Philip, working at home. What would he have made of what Anne had just witnessed - or of the striptease for the sad German, or the episode at the filling-station? She sank into a deckchair and closed her eyes against the searing sunlight, her mind dwelling on Philip, fondly. What would he think if he could see his wife at this very moment?

Suddenly, these thoughts were driven from her mind as a rough hand plunged down past her face and forced its way under her bikini-top, grasping the soft flesh of her breast and squeezing it painfully. Anne opened her mouth in a high-pitched scream, turning her head in outrage to see the squat Roberto, yellow uneven teeth bared in a snarling smile, crouched over her.

As her scream burst forth, he clamped his other hand over her mouth, silencing her and pressing her head back into the striped canvas of the chair. Anne writhed frantically, but he was immensely powerful and held her down easily. His right hand came away from her breast, but only to tug at the material of her bikini. Grasping it tightly, he dragged it upwards and, suddenly, it was dangling round her neck and Anne's breasts were exposed.

Frantic with outrage, the young girl redoubled her struggles, but he laughed cruelly and dug his fingers into her sensitive flesh again, his finger and thumb trapping her tender pink nipple. As her head thrashed from side to side, suddenly Anne caught sight of Guido, the skipper, watching from the wheelhouse. Hope flared for only a second, as she almost instantly realised that his intense scrutiny was motivated, not by outrage, but by excitement as he watched her being violated. Then her horror redoubled as she realised that the skipper's wife was beside him, staring at the scene below with as much evident pleasure as her husband.

Roberto's hands were now clamped firmly over Anne's naked breasts, squeezing them painfully, and his rank breath was searing her nostrils as his mouth slobbered over her neck and face. She screamed in panic and outrage, then subsided into a choking sob as his mouth fastened on hers.

Then she felt her right breast being loosed and hope flared in her, only to be subsumed by a new horror as his fingers darted down her stomach and forced themselves between her clamped thighs. Hard and inexorable, they forced themselves into the soft flesh and Anne gagged as they pushed against the material of her bikini bottom.

Roberto's other hand descended and inserted itself under her waistband. She felt his fingers tangle in her pubic hair and arched her back, frantically. Momentarily, Roberto was thrown off balance and Anne leapt off the chair and ran, screaming, away from him.

But there was nowhere to go.

Regaining his balance, Roberto stood between Anne and the door to the galley, breathing heavily, then, suddenly, he wrenched the galley door open and disappeared inside.

Anne sank back against the side of the boat, her heart thudding.

She started as a soft hand snaked round her right shoulder. "Are you all right, Anne? I'm sorry about that - I didn't mean for you to get involved - in anything you didn't want."

Kate's voice was low, and apologetic, but curiously - replete, Anne thought. Anne didn't take her gaze off the sea, but managed to mutter - "It's all right. I'm O.K. now"

"Marco's gone, now," said Kate, evenly.

Anne looked round. The deck was empty, apart from a couple of deckchairs, which hadn't been there before. She felt Kate's hand take hers, and allowed herself to be led to a chair. She sank down into it, and Kate sat in the other.

"Kate... " she started to say, but Kate had started speaking at the same time. They both stopped, and Kate laughed and said - "Let's wait until we can get off this boat before we talk. We're coming into the harbour now."

With relief, Anne looked over the side of the boat and saw the narrow entrance to the small harbour. The two women slipped on t-shirts and jeans and picked up their haversacks.

Half an hour later, they were sipping glasses of wine at a small café on the side of the harbour. There had been no sign of Marco or Roberto when they had left the boat, but Guido had promised to take them back to the mainland the following day. Kate sat back in her chair and looked levelly at Anne. "O.K." she said. "We've plenty of time to talk, now - fire away."

Hesitantly, Anne mumbled - "Kate - what about Philip? Where does he fit in - with all this?"

Kate sat forward, turning her head to meet Anne's gaze. She stayed silent for a few moments, then said - "You're really shocked, aren't you? About Marco, I mean."

Anne nodded her head, slowly, biting her lip.

"If I'm honest with you," Kate went on, "will you be honest with me?" Anne nodded her agreement.

"O.K." Kate went on. "I'll ask you a question, then you can ask me one. O.K.?"

Anne nodded. She knew what the question would be. She had never actually said to Kate that she and Clive had had a full sexual relationship, and this was Kate's opportunity to find out, for sure. Well, Anne was ready to answer that one - and honestly, too, then Kate would realise that Anne's reaction to what had happened was not that of a frightened virgin.

"All right," said Kate. "Did you let Philip feel you up - last Christmas?"

Anne's face flamed, and her eyes fell away from Kate's steady gaze. It had actually been Boxing Day, at Kate and Philip's house. It was late in the evening, and Anne and Clive, with Anne's parents, had enjoyed a convivial evening with Philip and Kate, and were on the point of leaving.

Anne excused herself, to go upstairs to the loo, before the car journey. As she emerged from the bathroom, she met Philip on the landing. She smiled at him shyly, and he produced a piece of mistletoe from behind his back, like a conjurer, with a triumphant grin.

"Time for my Christmas kiss, I think," he announced, holding the mistletoe above Anne's head in mock ceremony. Anne, with pleasure, proffered her lips for the seasonal ritual salutation and Philip bent and kissed her briefly, but warmly, without otherwise touching her. He stood back and studied her, a smile hovering round his mouth.

"That was rather nice," he murmured. "Can I come back for seconds?"

Flattered, Anne dropped her eyes and nodded. This time, he put his hands on her shoulders and planted his mouth firmly against hers. At first, the pressure of his lips was gentle, then his hands left her shoulders and his arms enfolded her. His lips pressed harder on Anne's and their bodies met. She felt her breasts being squashed against Philip's chest, then, with shocked surprise, she felt the strength of his erection push against her stomach.

Instinctively, Anne parted her lips and Philip's tongue slid between them, exploring her mouth urgently. Then she felt his hand slip down to her bottom, pushing the lower half of her body against his. Again, instinct took over, and Anne rotated her belly against his straining erection. By now, her tongue was mingling with Philip's, and her hand was in his thick brown hair, pulling his head down towards her. She was completely lost in their passionate embrace, and was only dimly aware of both his hands slipping underneath her sweater and caressing the smooth skin of her back. The feel of his fingers on her bare skin totally disarmed Anne and she moaned, softly, with pure sensual pleasure. His hands travelled right up her back to stroke the tops of her shoulders, increasing her enjoyment, and, when he deftly unclipped the fastening of her brassiere, she - almost - didn't notice.

Then, suddenly, she realised that he had eased the top part of his body away from hers and his hands were lifting the cups of her bra. Almost before she knew it, Philip's hands were closing round her bare breasts, his thumbs unerringly finding, and stimulating, her uncovered nipples.