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Story Code: M/F, MM/F, Public sex, Incest, Voyeurism, Exhibitionism, Sex Slave
I was working in my back garden, it was time to raise the soil on my potatoes to keep them covered and prevent them turning green, I was listening to the thrum of village life going on around me. City folk who visited always remarked on the quietness of the village but what they really meant was that they couldn’t hear the growl of car and truck engines, the screaming sirens of police, ambulance and fire engines, the thunder of passing trains, the rumble of the underground below and the incessant music from houses, flats and cars.
I could hear the noises of village life, in the long meadow, three men were working and I could hear them chatter as they worked. Claire from the corner house was cooing at her new baby, a tractor was working the cabbage field at Hill Top Farm and the nursery school were singing the alphabet together at the other end of the village. I could even track the flight of the bees as they flew endless trips from the hive to the flowers in village gardens.
To me the village was a very noisy place but suddenly there was another sound, a rhythmic, ‘Bang…tap…bang…tap…bang’. It was the beginning of a message being broadcast across our valley.
‘Tap…bang…bang…tap’. I stood up and held my breath, silencing my body as much as I could to be sure of what I’d heard. ‘Tap…bang’. ‘Bang…tap’. I was right, I had heard correctly, the first sequence of sounds from the village drums was a ‘P’ followed by ‘A’ and then ‘N’. The drum sequence was being repeated, it would be repeated at least three times, ‘PAN-PAN-PAN’. Pay Attention Now…Possible Assistance Needed…Pay Attention Now’.
The village had really fallen silent now, the workers in the long meadow had stopped talking, the engine of the tractor in the cabbage field at Hill Top Farm had fallen silent and Claire had stopped cooing at her baby, even the toddlers in the infant school had stopped singing their alphabet song, the only sound left apart from the echo of the drums was the sound from the bees, they didn’t care about human problems, just so long as we keep planting flowers for them to gather pollen from…they were happy.
The sequence of drum beats changed, ‘Tap…tap…tap’. ‘Bang’. I gasped, the message seemed to have become more urgent, the ‘PAN’ sounded like it had changed to S.O.S. I strained to try and hear the missing two bangs from the ‘O’ but instead of two bangs I heard, ‘Tap…bang…tap’.
I thought, ‘Not an ‘O’, it was ‘S…T…R’.
‘Tap…bang’. ‘Bang…tap’. ‘Bang…bang…tap’. ‘Tap’. ‘Tap…bang.tap’.
I followed the rhythm in my head, ‘A…N…G…E…R. Stranger!’
There was a stranger in the village, that wasn’t unusual, we got ten or twelve strangers in our village every year but usually a stranger would be accompanied by a villager who would usually show a visitor around the village, introduce them to the pub landlord, to the shop keeper and to the priest at the church. This stranger was unaccompanied, I followed the message carefully in my head, a black man was in the village; that was enough to raise suspicions of the people that had seen him.
My telephone rang, the sound of the bell made me jump because I was concentrating so hard on the drums.
“Oh, hi Colin, what can I do for you?”
“There’s a man in the village shop…”
“I’ve just been listening to the drums…a black man in the shop.”
“But that’s not why I’m calling you. I’m calling because he’s asking if anyone knows Victoria Porter!”
I gasped…that was a name that I hadn’t heard in almost twenty years, ever since I married Johnny Clarke.
“Why is he looking for me?”
“I didn’t ask…I just said that I thought that the Porters lived in the next village, suggested that he call in the church over there but he said that he’d started out there and they suggested that he widened his search to the other villages in the area.”
I thanked Colin for calling me and I changed my wellingtons for trainers, washed my hands and dried them. I left the house and walked to the village shop to buy a pint of milk…buy milk that I didn’t really need, milk that my father in law had actually produced and sold to the shop in the first place but I was curious as to why a black man wanted to find me.
I saw him, he was talking to Elizabeth Walker, the chairwoman of the church flower committee, Elizabeth did the flowers at my wedding so she knew my maiden name but I saw her shaking her head and she was directing the man toward the road leaving the village, her hand movements were directing the man to the next village. He turned and I saw his face, he had an immature goatee beard, and fluffy stubble on the rest of his face, he was young, hardly a man, he looked more like seventeen or eighteen years old, he had dreadlocks that were about ten inches long that flopped over his eyes, suddenly he pulled the dreadlocks to one side.
He was looking at me now, his eyes widened, illegal bahis he thanked the woman and headed in my direction. I entered the shop, Mr Roberts welcomed me and nodded towards the road, “There’s a black man looking for you Mrs Clarke, I didn’t tell him anything…look out, he’s coming over here again.”
I thanked Mr Roberts and left the shop without buying anything, in the street I was about ten feet from the man, “Victoria…I’d know you anywhere!”
I stopped in my tracks, “I’m sorry…do I know you?”
I knew that I didn’t know him, I didn’t know any black men and certainly not one with a goatee beard and dreadlocks.
“No…you don’t know me…but you know my father.”
I was about to say that I didn’t know any black men but I realised, he wasn’t Asian, he was a mixed race, half Afro-Caribbean and half white so I stopped myself, “Who is your father?”
“Was…unfortunately rather than is…my father shared your face and colouring, he was your brother…Simon.”
“Victoria…Victoria…are you okay?”
Mr Roberts was kneeling at my side, he had a vile of smelling salts under my nose and I had a bump on my head.
“I saw you go down like a sack of spuds, what happened?”
I started to come to my senses, I was mumbling, “My brother…my brother Simon!” over and over again.
“You don’t have a brother do you Mrs Clarke?”
“I did, Simon ran away from home when I was twelve years old, he was only sixteen and I never saw or heard of him again after that.”
The black man knelt at my other side, “Of course…I never realised that you might be married, that you might not be Victoria Porter any more…all my father ever told me was that he had a little sister, in my mind you were still the young girl in the photograph that my father kept in his wallet all the time…no wonder no one in the area knew you.”
I was sitting up now, the bump on my head was forming a trickle of blood down my cheek now that I was upright, Mr Robinson was fussing around me with his first aid box, he was trying to clean the gravel out of my wound and stop the blood reaching my T-shirt. I looked at the young man, there was a look of concern on his face.
I managed to clear the fog from my mind, “Why are you here…what do you want?”
“I was at my father’s side Aunty Victoria…at his side when he died. He wrote you a letter and he made me promise to come to England and give his letter to you, he wanted me to put his words in your hand and tell you that he regretted having to leave you behind when he left.”
In my kitchen, My Nephew Simon, named after his father, insisted that I sat down while he made me a cup of tea. He looked around my kitchen, he gestured to a cupboard. “Did you design this kitchen aunty?”
I nodded my head but had to stop quickly as the bump on my head was now making its presence known loud and clear. He smiled at me, “My kitchen at home is laid out in exactly the same way, my father made his living on Saint Martin fitting kitchens and building furniture…he kept the tea in this cupboard.”
He opened the door to the cupboard and looked over his shoulder and grinned at me, “Everything in here is exactly the same as at home, same stuff, just different brands.”
I sipped at my tea and he handed me a letter from my brother to me. I caught the acrid smell of body odour from Simon and he stepped back, “I’m sorry, I must smell like a skunk, I only had enough money for my flight from Saint Martin, I’ve been sleeping rough and walking everywhere to try and find you.”
I was about to open the letter but stopped, “How long have you been here…how long have you been sleeping rough?”
“Only two weeks.”
“You found me in just two weeks, that’s impressive!”
“Not really, I had a good starting point, I found my grandparents…” a shiver ran through my body at the mention of my parents, “…I didn’t tell them who I was or that my father had passed away…I’m sorry by the way for the way I dropped that news on you…I guess that I’ve had so long to get used to it, we had two years warning that his cancer was terminal.”
“My father would have come to England to find you himself but he needed constant medical attention and wouldn’t have survived a long flight. He asked several cruise companies if he could book passage with them to England but he couldn’t get insurance.”
“You need a shower!”
“Yes, I don’t think they’ll be happy to allow me back on the aircraft smelling like this.”
“When are you going back home?”
“I’ll ring American Airlines to find their next flight home, I have no reason to stay in England now that I’ve found you, delivered my father’s letter and told you about his passing.”
“What about clothes, where are your clothes?”
“I have a backpack and a plastic sheet, I always leave my things hidden in a tree or bush outside of town, makes me look a little less like a hobo, stops the locals calling the police…well, usually it stops the locals calling the police but not always.” illegal bahis siteleri
“Do you have any clean clothes left after two weeks?”
Simon shook his head, “Everything is as dirty as I am.”
“Right, we’ll go and rescue your stuff, I’ll start washing your stuff while you take a shower.”
“What about my father’s letter?”
“I’ll read that while you’re getting cleaned up.”
As we walked from my house to the spinney where Simon had hidden his belongings we talked about Simon’s mother and his life in the Caribbean. I was surprised to find out that he was actually twenty and not seventeen as he looked, his mother was from Dominican Republic, a Spanish speaker with almost no English at all. It seemed strange to me to find out that my older brother, four years older almost to the day, spoke Spanish most of the time but because of the Island he’d been living on for over thirty years was half French and half Dutch, he was also fluent in both of those languages as well.
My nephew had been taught to speak English by my brother because the island got huge numbers of tourists from America and tourism was the predominant product of the island.
As we approached the spot where Simon had left his bag there were four local men, farm labourers gathered in a huddle, two of them had pitchforks and they looked menacing. Simon didn’t look too bothered by his reception committee, “At least they don’t have shotguns like my grandparents last week when they chased me off of their land!”
I stepped in front of Simon, “Problem lads?”
“Hi Mrs Clarke, we found a bag on our land left by a trespasser, he damaged the fence so we came over to see him off before he caused any more damage.”
I looked at the fence, it had sagged a little where Simon had put pressure on it as he clambered over the previous evening.
“I’ll get our farm foreman to send over a crew to replace this section of fence for you if it’s irrevocably damaged!”
“No…no problem, we just need to tighten up the tensioner bolt at the end of the run, we just needed to check on how much damage had been done.”
“Is it okay if my nephew goes over to get his stuff back then?”
“No need Mrs Clarke, we’ve got it in the back of the Land Rover, Don can give you guys a lift back home if you like.”
“No…no need for that, I’m showing him around, I’ll show him our wood, see if he wants to camp there tonight.”
Simon hoisted his bag over his shoulder and he retrieved his plastic sheet from the back of the truck. We walked on a little further down the lane and took the next turning, as soon as we were out of sight of Don and his friends, Simon laughed, I can’t work out if they really respected you or if they were actually frightened of you.”
“A bit of both I guess, over the years I’ve fixed all of their computers, I know things about those men that even their wives wouldn’t suspect…especially their wives should I say!”
We walked a little further, “My husband’s family farm starts here and runs as far as the eye can see up that hill, the woodland that you can see is ours as well but we leave it open for anyone to walk in, never found anyone camping in it though.”
We walked around the boundary of the Clarke family farm and back to my house, we entered through the boot room, the room that people with dirty clothes and muddy boots used, the washing machine and the tumble dryer were both in there and there was also a bathroom…well, a shower, toilet and hand basin so that people working in the garden could use the toilet or wash their hands without dirtying the rest of the house.
“Are you okay with me washing your clothes or would you rather wash them yourself?”
Simon laughed, “My mother’s Spanish, she’d never allow a man to wash, clean or cook so I have no idea how the whole domestic thing works.”
I tipped his bag onto the floor, dirty clothes spilled out as well as raw carrots and some fruits and berries, I was about to ask him how he’d survived in England without any money and no cooking skills for the past two weeks. I picked up one berry, “Have you eaten many of these?”
“No, I only found those last night, I was going to eat them this morning.”
“Well, good thing that you didn’t eat any last night when you found them, the fruit, it’s a member of the Deadly Nightshade family, it might not have killed you but it would have made you very ill.”
I was looking for his whites, he didn’t have any, all of his clothes were dark…very dark. I guess he’d worked out that white clothes would have shown the dirt far quicker than the coloured ones.
“The shower is through there, everything you need is in there, even a bathrobe on the back of the door that you can use, just get undressed and throw out what you’re wearing and I’ll start the washing machine while you shower.”
I dumped all of his clothes into the machine; suddenly the clothes he was wearing appeared at the side of my head. I assumed that Simon had undressed in the bathroom and put the dressing gown on canlı bahis siteleri before leaving the room but I was wrong. I turned towards him; he was naked, totally naked, skinny, coffee coloured and almost hairless. In my head I was shouting at myself to turn back to the washing machine but I was glued to the spot.
I started at his face, the fluff that needed shaving from his cheeks, the Spartan goatee on his chin, he offered me his clothes again, there was hardly any hair under his arms, his pectoral muscles were reasonably well defined, he had a ‘Washboard’ stomach and the hair surrounding his cock was as Spartan as the hair on his chin…’His Cock’ resounded in my head, he was totally flaccid but also big. Flaccid, he was bigger than my husband.
Simon gave me a confused look as I rotated my view point from his meat and two veg to his face.
“Is there a problem Aunty Victoria?”
I had to force my voice to work as my mouth had suddenly become dryer than the Goby Desert, “I’m just not used to public nudity!”
“Really…I assumed that you’d be like my father…he was always naked at home and on the beach…wasn’t it like that for you as you were growing up?”
“No…definitely not when I was younger and not now, my husband has issues with nudity at any time.”
“Really…how do you know when your husband’s ready for sex if you’re always dressed?”
I was flabbergasted by the young man’s ease while talking about sex.
“My mum and dad were always naked at home and whenever my father got excited my mother would look after his needs before he lost the urge.”
“You mean she took him off to bed?”
“Not always, usually they just did it where they were.”
My eyes were now fixed on the sleeping python, its one eye looking at my trainers. I managed to force my eyes to look at his face for a nano-second, he was grinning at me, grinning at my red face…at the sudden growth in my T-shirt, my nipples growing painfully and fighting with my bra as it tried to hold them in check.
My eyes were back on his cock in a flash, almost before I’d registered his smile and the way he was looking at me. I saw movement between his legs, his cock, although large already…started to inflate, started to lift its head. I managed to get some of my faculties back, even though I still couldn’t take my eyes off of his cock.
“You should go and get your shower, my kids could be home soon, don’t have the water too hot, when the washing machine starts to fill the cold water pressure will drop and the shower will suddenly get hotter.”
His cock was now looking at my knees rather than my feet, he turned to walk to the shower room, he had a lovely slim waist and tight buttocks, he looked over his shoulder, “Any chance of a hand with this Aunty Vicky?”
He swivelled his hips slightly so that I could see that his cock had grown in strength and it was standing out from his body at around ninety degrees, he chuckled and passed through the bathroom door without closing it.
I finished loading his dirty clothes into the washing machine, put the soap in the drawer and turned it on. I heard the shower running, the bathroom door was still open, I should have headed back to my gardening, I still had two trenches of potatoes that needed mounding up but I couldn’t resist going to the bathroom door to warn Simon that the water was about to get hotter.
I didn’t say anything, I just stood there watching him through the glass shower screen door. Simon was washing his chest with one hand while he stroked his soapy cock with the other.
He must have realised that I was watching him, he looked over at me and grinned. He swished his hips, running his soapy cock under the falling water before turning back to face me, he opened the shower screen door, “Come on Aunty Vicky, give a guy a hand!”
I don’t know what came over me but I was slowly slithering closer and closer to the open shower door. I stopped two feet short of Simon, he reached out of the water cascade and took my right hand, he pulled it over to his cock and he wrapped my fingers around his cock and started to use my hand to masturbate himself. I slowly took over from him myself, pumping my hand up and down his cock.
He let go of my hand and as I pumped his flesh his hand rubbed up over the outside of my clothes, he rubbed his fingertips over the front of my jeans, over my pubic mound and then up over the front of my T-shirt, stopping momentarily to pinch my engorged nipples before pressing on to the back of my neck. He pulled my face in closer to his, pulled my lips against his and we kissed. He forced his tongue into my mouth. My husband never kissed me like that. I soon settled into kissing him with his tongue in my mouth.
His hips started to thrust into my hand as I rubbed his cock. He was getting close to exploding and he pulled his mouth away from mine, he grinned at me again and then he applied a little downward pressure through the back of my neck. He dragged my lips down over his chest, down over his ‘Six-pack’. He rubbed my chin against the top of his cock and my lips against the soft curls of his pubic hair. I realised what was on his mind…I knew the mechanics of oral sex, not something that would interest my husband; he was far too vanilla for that kind of sex.
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