 
Deeping Dreams

A saucy romp, Deeping Dreams begins with an unexpected visitation from above. Unwanted witnesses, Jenny and I are forced to go on the run, pursued by powerful people who do not have our best interests at heart. We seek sanctuary, only to discover that our enemies are so far ahead of us that our refuge was compromised before we even knew we needed one.

Free love breaks out in a sleepy Devon village, posing a pulchritudinous policing problem that threatens to overwhelm the local forces of law and order.

Could there be a connection between this very public display of intimate affection, the visitors, and those that wish to do us harm?

With her Mistress under threat, Samantha knows that only one person can save her, and that's The Minx. Family complications add to agent Minx's burden as she takes on a life and death mission to do battle with a ruthless foe.

The situation looks grim, but then it's time to let The Minx off the leash to show what she's made of. And that's something well worth looking at!

From the foreplay of an astounding discovery, with many ups and downs along the way, until the surprise of the thrilling final climax, this adventure will keep you going right to the end.

**Content warning** \- This book is not all that rude!

Deeping Dreams is a fantasy adventure, an English farce, full of fun and a fair bit of fornication. I've tagged it as erotic because it's too much about sex that not to do so would be misleading. What it is not, however, is explicit. Ribald, racy, possibly even risqué in places, it's not for prudes, but it's not porn either. Think titillating not torrid, innuendo rather than in your face. Or in your anywhere, come to that! Enjoy. SS
Free Book Offer

The Birds

Get The Birds for FREE
DEEPING DREAMS

A Lotus Flower Tale

by

Seymour Stevens

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2019 Seymour Stevens
Deeping Dreams

Part One: Coming

But!

Prelude

Visitors

River

Land

Sanctuary

Deeping

Dreams

Minx

Drive

Help

Gone

Missing

Power

Freedom

Night

Part Two: Here

Them

There

Everywhere

Never

Now

Then

Invading

Dangling

Burn

Stones

Deep

Down

Honour

High

Noon

Medic!

Sexist

Epilogue

Also by Seymour Stevens

About the Author

Coming Soon: The Queen of Avon

The Birds

A Shot in the Dark

A Song of Camelot
But!

High overhead in the night sky we could see a ring of cloud roiling and twisting together, lit from within by an impossible and unearthly light that had no business being there. The torus of boiling bright vapour was rolling earthward, like a stocking rolling down a woman's shapely leg. Although I should probably confess that this description may have more to do with the way my mind works than what it actually looked like.

But wait! A column of iridescent bright light shoots from the centre of the shining cloud circle, a blinding pillar of fire which cycles through the spectrum and that reaches all the way to the ground. Even my imagination couldn't make this new apparition look like a shapely woman's leg, nevertheless, an object was materialising within the churning ring of cloud, and it seemed as if it was supported by this blazing bar of brilliance.

Whatever it was that was apparently held aloft by this non-leg of lambent luminescence, it was coming closer, and now the scale of the event was becoming clearer. The moon had already been eclipsed and now the rest of the night sky was being swallowed, stars vanishing one by one, by the handful, by the dozens.

The colourful colonnade was shrinking as the mysterious mass moved menacingly closer to earth, and now Jenny and I were beginning to be able to make out some detail. We could see the shape of the thing, but still couldn't make sense of its stupendous size.

It was eerily silent. Surely an event like this, something that might presage the end of the world, should come with a soundtrack, one of fire and fury, or perhaps a fanfare as God takes the final trick with the last trump.

Jenny and I watched events in awe, both of us more than half convinced that this might be the very last thing that we would ever see. (Hey, sometimes it's nice to be proved wrong!) At the time, though, we were a pair of insignificant specks in a universe that was proving in front of our eyes that it was a whole lot bigger and more complex than we'd ever dreamed.

"Is that ...?" Jenny asked, unable to bring herself to complete the question.

"I rather think it is, yes."

"But they're not real!"

"I'm fully in agreement with you on that."

"But ..."

"Quite!"

"No! They really don't exist!"

"A very rational response, Jenny, and one with which, as I mentioned, I concur wholeheartedly. However, there is one rather large fly in the ointment of your logic."

"You mean ...?"

"That we're looking at one? Yes!"

"But ..."

"As you so rightly say, Jenny. But!"
Prelude

Deeping Castle sits on its low hill as it has seemingly always done. Overlooked by the heights of the moor above, the castle commands the lower ground and has protected the area for centuries. Given that infantry and cavalry battles are rare in modern day Devon, not unless you count disputes between the rugby club and the local hunt, the castle's original military purpose is no longer necessary and now it has taken on civilian status.

The villagers of Deeping claim that the castle was built by Merlin, back in the days of King Arthur, with magic being poured into every stone. And Merlin himself once told me that this was indeed the case. He did point out, though, that magic depended on how you looked at it. Back in Arthur's day, an aeroplane, or even a humble ball-point pen, would have qualified as magical. Incantations, chants and spells, he maintains, are largely formulae and mnemonics that enable the magician, sorcerer, witch or whoever, to perform their feats of so called magic.

Of course, if you ask him a straight question, like how he turns people into frogs, he'll just say it's magic! A bit like keeping bloody great aeroplanes up in the sky, if you ask me!

Magical or not, the castle is nowadays home to Sir Leonard Fitz-Robyn and his wife, Lady Mary. Being the keeper of Deeping Castle comes with responsibilities, Len tells me. He is the de facto Lord of Deeping village, a quaint and prosperous settlement nestling beneath the shelter of the castle walls, and he has a duty of care towards it and its inhabitants. He doesn't own the properties, well, not all of them, but is obliged to make sure that things like the village hall and the cricket ground are properly maintained, and that the annual village fete happens in mid-summer.

Len is a local magistrate, a function that also comes with the castle. Deeping is a quiet village with virtually zero crime. Everybody knows each other and he can largely deal with any local disputes in his role as Lord of the Manor, but every now and then he is called on to deal with more serious offences in court, such as parking fines.

He also suspects that among his privileges as the keeper of Deeping Castle is a Droight de Seigneur, or a right to fuck any of the local women he likes. However, this is a prerogative that he has declined to exercise. No fool, he knows that many of the local lads are of strapping proportions, as indeed are many of the lasses, and he has no wish to test the bounds of local loyalties to the point of possible personal injury.

Besides, Len has no need of such rights. There's something about being a rich and handsome Lord of the Manor, one with his own castle, which makes finding willing partners none too difficult. Having a gorgeous wife that likes to join in doesn't hurt either.

Deeping Castle and village, then, a haven of peace, harmony and happiness. Unless it was you that got the parking fine, of course.

That was all about to change!
Part One: Coming

Visitors

Jenny and I had found ourselves a flying saucer!

Well, not now it wasn't, because it had stopped flying. Stubby legs had sprouted from the bottom and it had settled on the ground in a large field. It had to be a large field because the bloody thing was enormous! It was the size of a football pitch. That's if circular football pitches existed. Which they don't. A bit like flying saucers.

But!

Steam was rising from the ground around it, making its outline indistinct. The shining column of light had vanished, swallowed as the saucer settled down on it like a gigantic steel chicken nestling on her egg.

"Reality check! There's no such thing as a gigantic steel chicken!" Jenny pointed out. But I mutely indicated the flying saucer and she nodded, "Ah! Point taken, please carry on."

In the pale light now cast by the recently revealed moon and stars, the spaceship, which is presumably what it was, towered over us, its silvery ellipsoid stretching far to either side of us and high above. Apart from our ragged breathing, the ticking noise of cooling metal was the only sound to be heard.

We were in a bit of a quandary. It was a tricky situation, as I'm sure you'll agree. I think that if the idea had occurred to us we'd have been running away just as fast as our legs would carry us, but thought processes had screamed to a sudden stop as we contemplated the imposing immensity of this impossibility. We were rooted to the spot.

And who knows how long we would have stood there, but the sound of sirens made us turn our heads to see the lights of numerous vehicles barrelling down the country lanes from what appeared to be all points of the compass. Red and blue lights strobed in time to the whooo-whooo sound of the sirens that were rapidly approaching. Jenny and I looked at each other, but still we didn't move.

A squealing of tyres and rattle of flying gravel signalled the arrival of the first responders to this interplanetary intrusion. Car doors slammed and soon we could make out figures scrambling over, under and through gates and hedgerows. They appeared to be heavily armed, but I couldn't think that anything that a man could carry would have any effect on the monstrous ship as it brooded silently before us.

One of the newly arrived men spotted us and slid to a halt. He was carrying a machine gun. I didn't recognise the uniform he was wearing, nor the patches on his shoulders, certainly it wasn't police or regular army. It looked somehow cheap, the cloth low quality, it made me think of a private security guard rather than a member of the constabulary or the military.

If I wasn't mistaken, then it seemed that the United Kingdom's first reaction force to a possible alien invasion had been privatised!

He looked me up and down and sneered. Perhaps he really was a policeman after all! Then he looked Jenny up and down, an action that he repeated several times. Well, nobody can blame him for that, she's worth every look. She smiled sweetly at him and I think he tried to smile back, but sneer was his default expression and he didn't seem able to overcome it. He snarled at us, still sneering.

"You're not allowed to be here! Get out! Now!"

Well, I mentioned earlier that if we'd had the idea we would have been running like scalded cats, and now here was the thought being presented to us, quite forcefully! A quick exchange of glances was all it took, Jenny and I set off at a dead run in the direction of our car, which was parked a couple of fields away.

We were about fifty yards from the man in just over two seconds by my reckoning. As Jenny fumbled with the latch on the field gate, I turned and looked back. I could see men running, attempting to form a cordon around the space ship. It was going to be a very loose cordon until they got some reinforcements. Lots of them!

Then I noticed that a second man, in a much grander uniform, had joined Mr Sneer. They were both gesticulating and pointing in our direction.

"Hoi! Stop right there!"

It was the new man, presumably an officer of some sort, or possibly an executive. Whatever his title may have been, he was shouting and pointing a gun at us! Jenny had the gate open by now and was also looking back. Correctly summing up the situation, she grabbed me by the arm, hauled me through the gateway and broke into a run, pulling me along with her.

Our first fifty yards had been crossed in Olympic time, but it was as nothing to the speed we achieved as the first bullets started ricocheting off the stone gate posts where we'd been standing mere nanoseconds before. We flew!

This was the first time anybody had shot at me with a machine gun and I can't say that I was exactly enamoured of the experience! I suppose that it's possible one gets to enjoy this sort of thing, people do all sorts to get a thrill, and thrilling this most certainly was! But it was more than that, it was bloody terrifying! Fear, so they say, gives you wings, and so it was with us, our feet barely brushing the ground until we skidded to a halt at the car.

We were both inside that car and pulling away quicker than you would believe possible. I was in third gear, accelerating hard, and we were already moving at a more than decent clip when I realised we were heading towards the shooting! Keeping my foot pressed down on the throttle, I pulled the wheel hard over to starboard while at the same time hauling on the handbrake.

This is the sort of manoeuvre that you don't use very often. I mean, you see it in movies, but there it is performed by stuntmen. Even the film's characters are supposedly highly trained and presumably practised. I'd never even thought of doing it myself, I was winging it, but there's something about being fired at with machine guns that encourages a willingness to embrace new ideas and try out new techniques.

I'd been aiming for a hundred and eighty degree turn. What I got was five hundred and forty degrees, along with four dented corners to the car as it bounced off the stone walls lining the lane. Still, we were now facing in the right direction, and when the tyres stopped spinning and got to grips with the road surface, we fishtailed off faster than I could properly control the car. Bullets starred the rear window as we rounded the first bend. I did not slow down for that or anything else!

* * *

We were careering down country lanes in the dark, with my foot all the way down on the accelerator the whole time. Our headlights were reflecting off the foliage covered stone walls of the lanes, frequently from very close range as we bounced off them. In addition to the four corners I'd crumpled during my emergency about turn, I'd now pretty much totalled the rest of the car's bodywork, but the engine and the wheels were still working and I just kept going.

Jenny had fitted her seatbelt and was holding on to it for dear life, doing her best not to complain about my dreadful driving. She pursed her lips and closed her eyes, but said not a word as we rebounded from yet another wall.

It would actually have been quicker, not to mention a whole lot safer, to slow down and drive a bit more carefully. This was something that we both knew very well, but I was panicking and had no intention of reining in that panic until we'd reached safety. I can't praise Jenny's forbearance highly enough for not pointing this out at the time.

We had been on our way back home after a weekend at the Lotus Flower hotel when the light in the sky had caused me to stop and see what was going on. For reasons that now escape me, I'd restarted the car, turned off the main road and driven down a few small lanes trying to get closer. It turned out not to be one of my more sensible ideas.

Although I thought I knew the area reasonably well, right at this moment I didn't have a clue where I was going, but I was going there just as fast as I could, the car bouncing from side to side like a bagatelle ball in a very narrow pinball alley. Every now and then I could see the gleam of headlights showing behind us, letting me know that we were not alone.

Of course, there are times when it is reassuring to know that other people are sharing the road with you, especially when it's dark and you don't know where you are. It can indicate that the road probably leads somewhere and doesn't just fizzle out in the middle of nowhere. However, this was not one of those occasions, to my mind the presence of company on the road indicated pursuit. If I could have pressed any harder on the accelerator I would have done. I tried anyway.

I could still catch the odd glimpse of headlights in my rear-view mirror, refracting wildly through the bullet crazed glass of the car's back window. I'd just looked away from this when a tight corner materialised in front of me and we skidded round it, only holding onto the road by a whisker. But it was to no avail, the road ahead narrowed sharply as it went over a hump-backed bridge.

The road may have gone over the bridge, but we didn't. The car was still wildly out of control after the bend, there was not a chance of making it. I just had time to wrench the wheel so that we wouldn't ram the bridge's parapet and we drove past the side of it, hurtling through bushes and bouncing uncontrollably on the rough ground. Not for long, though.

There was a brief period, which seemed much longer than it can actually have been, when all was smooth. The sound of bushes scraping the side of the car ceased, the bouncing stopped and everything was quiet except for the racing of the engine and Jenny's whispered, "Oh, no!"

In an enormous burst of spray, the car surged to a halt. The headlights were extinguished, the engine cut out and all was silent. When the water had drained from the windscreen we could dimly make out where we were.

Which was sailing sedately down the upper reaches of the River Thames.
River

"Well, that should throw them off the scent."

"Throw them off the scent?"

"We were being followed, Jenny, chased! Let's see them follow us here!"

"They were chasing us and we were running away, were we?"

"Absolutely!"

"And we're running away now, are we?"

"Well, not actually running. A bit of a cunning ruse, taking to the water like this. Eh?"

"A cunning ruse?"

"Rather!"

"What's your knowledge of hydrodynamics like?"

"Oh, pretty passable, I should think."

"And what, may I ask, does your pretty passable knowledge of hydrodynamics suggest to you in relation to a lengthy river cruise in a car? A car, I might add, that has suffered a considerable amount of abuse in recent times."

"Ah!"

"As you say, ah!"

"What are you doing?"

"Removing my seatbelt prior to inevitably being required to abandon ship."

"I see."

"You, presumably, are intending to do the honourable thing and go down with your vessel?"

"I am, as you know, an honourable man, but ..."

"You're also an idiot!"

"I say, Jenny! Don't you think that's a bit harsh?"

"Under the circumstances? No, I think not."

"I see."

"That must be very nice for you. My feet are getting wet."

"Good fresh Thames water, that is. Not like the polluted muck you get downstream!"

"Then I'm going to have clean knees very shortly. Would you mind opening a window for me?"

"That might let more water in."

"I was more thinking of letting me out."

"Very wise!"

"Thank you."

"Er, Jenny?"

"Yes, dear heart?"

"This window thing you're so keen on, do you really need it?"

"Well, it might make avoiding a watery grave just a touch easier. So, yes, I think it's fair to say that I consider it necessary."

"I see."

"You said you could see a minute ago. How about the window?"

"Ah!"

"Ditto. Would it help if I said please?"

"Er, not really, no, I don't think it would."

"Would you care to explain?"

"I'd rather not. You're not going to be too happy about this."

"Am I not? And there was me thinking I was being all sweet reason."

"It's the window, you see."

"You are, I take it, referring to the window by my shoulder? The closed window by my shoulder?"

"That's the one right enough."

"Well, I'm glad we've got that straightened out. Have I mentioned that the water, the very clean water, which incidentally is quite cold, is now nearly at my waist level?"

"No, I don't think you mentioned that before."

"My apologies for the omission. Now, about that window?"

"There may be something of a technical hitch."

"A technical hitch?"

"The engine's dead. They're electric windows. No window winders on the doors."

"If you live through this, I may be forced to kill you!"

* * *

Things were looking bleak. I suppose that if I'd have thought of it earlier, I might have been able to get my legs out from under the steering wheel and try to kick out the windscreen, but the water level was nearly up to the windows already. The closed windows! The windows we had no means of opening!

I tried to open the car door, but the water pressure held it closed. I punched my window as hard as I could trying to break it. I may have broken a knuckle or two, but the window was unperturbed by my efforts.

So it was perhaps fortunate that somebody started shooting at us with a machine gun. Again!

I may be wrong about this, as I mentioned before, I don't have a lot of experience in being shot at, but I suspect that it's not often that you get the chance to use the word fortunate in regard to someone actually firing a fucking machine gun at you!

I hadn't enjoyed it the first time and I didn't enjoy it now. Flying spray mixed with shattered glass as it swirled across the front passenger area. I don't know if either of us screamed, the noise of the gun was far too loud to have heard anything as relatively quiet as a scream of pure terror.

As suddenly as it had started, the shooting stopped. Looking out of the destroyed windscreen I could make out the reason, we had drifted under a bridge. Well, that was a bit of luck!

Sadly, as is so often and distressingly the case, this was one of those good news, bad news situations. Good news - the shooting had stopped. Bad news \- the car was about to drift out on the other side of the bridge and the shooting was going to start again. I like to think of myself as a man that sees his glass as half full rather than half empty, but I wasn't feeling too optimistic about the next few minutes.

Then I heard a sound that indicated another possible outcome. Sirens! Not the sort of sirens that sit on rocks using their watery wiles and seductive songs to tempt passing sailors to their doom, but real blaring electric powered sirens. Nor were they the fake whooo-whooo jobs used by our pursuers, this was the real nee-naw sound of the British constabulary. The cops were coming!

Their arrival seemed fortuitous, but I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised by anything other than the speed of their reaction. Even in these uncertain times, loosing off machine guns in the Thames Valley is liable to attract a certain amount of attention.

An engine revved noisily overhead and I heard a car speed off, followed shortly afterwards by the dopplering siren of what I assumed to be a police car, which reached a crescendo overhead and then began to slowly fade with distance. As we drifted out from beneath the lee of the bridge nobody started shooting.

All right! This was definitely good news. We were free to continue to sail downstream unmolested.

Free we remained, unmolested, too, but sailing came to a rapid halt. We sank!

Which enables me to conclude my remark regarding fortune and the firing of fucking machine guns. The car's windscreen had been reduced to virtually nothing and allowed relatively easy egress for Jenny and myself. Davy Jones would have to wait a while longer for our souls to visit his locker.

Jenny had been a bit conservative in her earlier remarks about the water being quite cold, it was bloody freezing!

Tasted all right, though.

* * *

Let it not be said that I'm an unadventurous man. I may not go in for the really silly thrill seeking activities such as bungee jumping from high bridges, but I enjoy the action as much as most. To a certain extent, I can take shifts of circumstance in my stride, go with the flow and all that. Well, going with the flow was just what Jenny and I were doing at this point and it was a lot less fun than it might have been on a sunny day.

Even this far upstream, the Thames is a powerful river and not all that safe to swim in, and that's even if you can see what you're doing. There was some moonlight, so we could see the water's surface, but what we couldn't make out very well was the river's edge. We set a course for land and swam for the bank as best we could in our wet clothes.

Neither of us said a word. I strongly suspected that there was quite a lot that Jenny wanted to say to me at that moment and that much of it would not be particularly complimentary to my person, but she was wisely preserving her breath until we were safely free of our watery peril.

Take a tip from me, if you ever find yourself thinking of taking a midnight dip in one of England's waterways, then choose a canal. They are inclined to have little current and banks that are low to the surface of the water, often made of concrete and enabling an easy climb to dry land. The sort of watercourse that you should try to avoid is one with steep, high and muddy banks, such as the River Thames possessed at this stage of its meandering journey to the North Sea.

Do not think for a moment that I'm implying any fault on the part of the River Thames in pursuing this course, nor for its choice of the height of its banks. I am not foolish enough to criticise something that I am immersed in and has the power to drown me any time the idea takes its fancy! Indeed, you may remember that I was earlier praising the cleanliness of its water. No, you'll hear only good things about Old Father Thames from me. It's the artery that provides the life blood for southern England. A national treasure.

However, it was bloody cold and I didn't feel at all safe. To put it bluntly, I was scared, both for myself and for Jenny. I wanted out just as soon as it could be managed. On this at least, I was sure that Jenny and I were in perfect accord.

It seemed to take hours, but was probably no more than ten minutes later when we eventually found a small cove in the bank, perhaps a fishing spot that had been cleared of undergrowth, and we were able to crawl out of the water and onto terra firma. There we lay on our backs in exhausted torpor for some time.

Jenny roused herself first, struggling to a sitting position with considerable effort. It was mid-summer, but even so, she was shivering violently. I can't say that I was feeling too toasty myself. Facing the inevitable, I also managed to sit up.

I looked over at Jenny. Her hair was bedraggled, hanging in untidy damp strands either side of her face. Her knees may have got a cleaning as the car slowly sank in the river, but any good work on that front had been undone by the crawl out of the water and onto the muddy bank. I hadn't seen knees that dirty since looking at my own as a young boy. Her white blouse was streaked with mud, as was her short skirt.

Wisely preserved in the national consciousness, is the saying that every cloud has a silver lining, and so it was on this occasion. The way Jenny's wet clothes clung to her shapely figure looked very good indeed. Her white blouse, though dirty, had gone almost see-through with the water and outlined her very obviously bra-less breasts. Her nipples were visibly standing proud, almost certainly with the cold rather than arousal, but I could possibly alter that. I could warm her up. I might even arouse her.

Admittedly it's not always that difficult, but Jenny is able to read my mind like an open book, said tome being published in extra-large print and with plenty of illustrations. She was looking at me now, her eyes growing wide as she registered what I was thinking.

"You've got to be kidding!"

"Jenny, we've got to get you out of those wet clothes before you freeze to death."

"You're worried about me being cold?"

"Of course I am. And I'm going to have to get out of my wet clothes as well."

"So you don't freeze either?"

"Exactly! And, well, you see, once we're out of the wet clobber, we might as well do something to keep ourselves warm."

"You mean we should run a Caucus Race, like they did in Alice in Wonderland?"

"I suppose that is indeed an option, but not exactly the one I had in mind."

"No, I can tell it's not. What are you doing?"

"Taking my clothes off."

"Because you're cold?"

"Not entirely."

"I see."

"You will in a minute!"

"And when you've got your clothes off, what's your plan then?"

"Taking your clothes off."

"To stop me getting cold?"

"You have it in a nutshell, Jenny. I can't let a beautiful woman freeze when I have it in my hands to prevent it."

"You intend to use your hands to keep me warm?"

"Again, not entirely, although I'm sure my hands will get involved. I mean, what would my friends say if I allowed you to freeze when I could have kept you warm?"

"If they know you half as well as I do, then they'd call you a liar and start implying that you had an alternative agenda."

"Nobody knows me half as well as you do, Jenny!"

"Lucky them!"

I'd finished undressing by this stage and my alternative agenda was now very visible, pointing straight at Jenny with the odd quiver to it. Jenny sighed and started trying to undo the buttons of her blouse, but her hands were shaking with cold and she was making hard work of it.

It wasn't so much that I was impatient, but I am at heart a gentleman, I am always willing to assist a lady. Especially to help them in getting undressed! I moved in closer to lend manly fingers to the task at hand, flinching only slightly when my alternative agenda item brushed against Jenny's wet skirt.

Additional encouragement was hardly necessary, but this cold and damp encounter ensured that Jenny's skirt and panties were gone in a flash. The next time my agenda brushed up against something, it was going to be Jenny herself!

It was late at night, so we were spared the attentions of the insects that can sometimes make these al-fresco encounters less fun than they might be, but the ground was hard, lumpy and more than a little prickly, or so Jenny informed me. Chance had placed her on her back upon this inhospitable patch of earth, while I rose and fell above her.

Of course it was chance! I told you I was a gentleman, not the sort of lowlife who would deliberately sacrifice a girl's comfort to suit his own carnal desires. Perish the thought!

My knees, ever my weak point, were not entirely convinced that I'd made the right decision, but fuck 'em, I decided. Even better, though, fuck Jenny!

Thus began our own version of a Caucus Race and it was a lot of fun getting warm this way. We got more than warm, things became positively heated!

We didn't get any cleaner, mind you. Certainly not Jenny, who was lying in the dirt, and most assuredly not when, excitement levels having been attained, I pulled out and hosed her with the entire magazine on fully automatic fire!

Well, it had been that sort of evening. I'm pretty sure neither of us had forgotten that people had been shooting real fucking machine guns at us earlier. We may not have had our own machine gun, but we could definitely manage the real fucking part, and I could do the shooting for both of us.
Land

We were warmer now and sat huddled together, cuddling each other in a bid to retain the heat we had built up without having to go through the exertions of another Caucus Race just yet. We needed to take stock of our situation and what our options might be from here, wherever here might happen to be.

Jenny listed the earlier events. She had evidently postponed her threat to kill me, but somehow I knew it was all going to turn out to be my fault. There is an inevitability about this sort of thing. One man, one woman, one blame, and where is that blame going to land? Precisely!

"Right, we were driving back from the Lotus Flower when you saw something strange. Instead of doing the sensible thing and going straight home, you start chasing after whatever has caught your fancy. Then you stop the car and despite my protests drag me into a field to look at a bloody enormous flying saucer that apparently looks like a gigantic steel chicken, although it doesn't. Nor does it exist, like the steel chicken, except that it's there, right in front of us.

"Then, as if that wasn't enough, when somebody comes and finds us, they obviously take an instant dislike to your face and send us away, before changing their mind and opening fire on us, with what in one of your accidental brushes with reality this evening, you so rightly call a fucking machine gun.

"Immediately after this, you drive like a maniac down country lanes, doing your utmost to render the vehicle unseaworthy for when you make the great leap forward into the River Thames, claiming to have escaped our pursuers by virtue of your cunning piece of insanity.

"Next, apparently acting under the misapprehension that you had failed to cause sufficient mayhem for one night, you imprison me in a vessel that is rapidly turning into an extremely leaky submarine!

"This is followed by what you describe as a stroke of good fortune when somebody repeats the machine gun, the fucking firing of, at me! You abandon ship with no thought for the women and children first routine, let alone singing Abide With Me, and leave me to struggle to the distant shore under my own steam.

"You follow all this up by ripping my clothes off, tipping me onto my back and fucking me on the rough ground of the river bank. On rough ground covered in sharp stones. You fucked me while I was lying on a particularly sharp piece of rock, and this is the part I'm going to have trouble forgiving you for, on a stone honed like a razor that I fear has left a permanent scar on my bottom!

"So that's what's happened, the question now is, what are you going to do about it?"

Well, she'd got the facts in there and they were essentially accurate in their way, but I felt that her reporting had a certain bias to it. I supposed that I could have written to the Press Complaints wallahs or someone, but there was little point. It was all my fault and Jenny knew it. I tried diplomacy.

"I'm sorry about your arse, Jenny. I do hope there's no scar. I love your bum, you know I do. Even if my aim was out tonight, I still love it deeply and would never wish it harm."

"Well, I hope you're sorry and I hope there is no scar. I do not want to have a blemished bum, I really don't!"

"I am, I'm deeply sorry for putting your beautiful bum at risk and share your best wishes for its speedy and unblemished recovery."

"Well, thank you. Now, what are you going to do about it?"

"About your arse? I suppose we could go for round two."

"You don't feel you've made a deep enough impression on my bottom yet?"

"I could adjust my aim this time."

"I'm not putting my bum at risk again. If you want to get up my bottom, it's you that's going to be on the bottom!"

She was quite right, those stones were sharp little buggers sure enough!

* * *

We were back sitting together, cuddling each other again to preserve our hard earned warmth. But things couldn't be put off forever, we were going to have to come to terms with our situation. We were somewhere in Berkshire, or close enough. We were next to the River Thames, this we were pretty sure of. For the moment, that was as close as we could get for navigational purposes.

Nobody was shooting at us, which was a good thing, but how long would that situation last? Would our pursuers come back looking for us with the daylight? Given that they'd driven away at the sound of sirens, they were obviously trying to avoid the police, but would that stop them chasing us? It would undoubtedly be best if we weren't around to find out the answers to those questions.

So we had to get out of here and as we had no boat, no car, and we most definitely weren't going for another swim, that meant we were going to have to walk. We could have struck inland, but crossing farmland in the dark poses many obstacles, barbed wire, thorns, ditches and so forth. And how far would we need to travel before reaching anywhere?

No, sticking to the river would be easiest. We could go back upstream towards the bridge we'd drifted under, but if pursuit was coming, it would be a logical starting point for them. We decided to go downstream.

As we struggled back into our still wet and filthy clothes, we took an inventory of our resources. Jenny's handbag had gone down with the ship, she had only what she stood up in. This left us with just the contents of my pockets. One mobile phone, wet and inoperable. A wallet with debit and credit cards plus thirty pounds, the notes were wet, but they'd be acceptable. A couple of quid in loose change in my trouser pocket. That was the lot.

Had we known that we were going for a country hike in the dark, there were all sorts of things I'd have packed, but the events of this night were about as unexpected as you could think of, we'd just have to make do.

I led the way as we set off downstream, following a narrow path that ran alongside the river's edge. Sooner or later we should come across another bridge and that would mean a road. We'd take to the road, pick a direction and keep going until we found signs of civilisation. A phone box would be a good start.

One tends to think of the Thames Valley as a fairly heavily populated area, and it is really, but that's because we all travel around in cars at a mile a minute. Jenny and I were managing more than a mile an hour, but not by much. We were tired and dispirited by the time we finally found a bridge and hauled ourselves up a steep rise and onto the road.

Fortune smiled on us here, there was no need to plump for a guess at what direction to take. In the last light of the setting moon we could make out a church spire, it looked to be about half a mile away. With almost a spring in our weary step now, we started walking towards it.

It was a bloody long half mile!

* * *

We were approaching the open area in front of the church, and there off to one side was a phone box, one of the original red ones with the small square windows, though when I finally reached it I discovered that it was a modern plastic copy. Just before we stepped out into the open, I heard the quiet sound of an engine approaching from behind.

Instinct told me that this was bad news and I grabbed Jenny's arm and pulled her into a front garden. There we crouched behind a hedge and peered out through small gaps in the tangle of branches and leaves. Out on the road was a dark SUV and it had a light bar on its roof, although it was currently not lit up. It cruised very slowly past our place of concealment. Tinted windows prevented us from seeing the occupants, but we were both certain that they were looking for us.

The SUV coasted to a halt next to the phone box and we saw a figure emerge from the passenger side. He went into the phone box briefly, but was soon climbing back into the SUV which then pulled quietly away.

It seemed that our pursuers were not content to await the coming of daylight, but were actively searching for us right now.

I left Jenny crouched behind the hedge while I made my way to the phone box, staying in the shadows as much as I could, eyes and ears alert for any signs of danger. I thought I already knew what I was going to find, but I had to check. One glance inside and my fears were confirmed, the cord to the receiver had been cut.

By the time I'd made my way back and was crouched next to Jenny again, she had managed to paint a beaming smile on her face. In response to my enquiries as to the reason for performing Cheshire Cat impersonations, she informed me that it was because she had recognised where we were.

"Not only that," she continued, "but this is where Frank and Melissa live!"

"You know the way?"

"Follow me!"

Fifteen minutes later we were standing on Frank and Melissa's doorstep and I was leaning on the bell. An upstairs window opened and Frank's head poked out of it, wanting to know who the hell was disturbing him at this ungodly hour of the night.

Jenny and I work as a team, had it been Melissa's head demanding answers, I'd have done the honours. As it was Frank, it was down to Jenny to tell him who we were and induce him to open the door.

Well, despite the hour, these were old friends and there was little doubt that Frank would open up anyway, but when Jenny turns on the charm she is irresistible, and she did it now. When Frank opened the door a minute later, all grumpiness had gone from his voice as he welcomed us with his own version of the beaming smile. Then he caught sight of our bedraggled and dirty appearance and his voice dried up, his mouth hung open.

"It's all right, Frank, we'll take our shoes off out here."

"No, no, Jenny. Come on in, you can take them off in the hallway. By the looks of it, you need to take everything else off as well!"

"Do you know? That's pretty much what he said before fucking me on the riverbank!"

"That's not quite the reason I suggested you needed to get undressed. On the other hand ..."

"We shall have to see about that. Is Melissa here?"

"She should be down in a moment. Ah, here she comes now."

On our walk between the phone box and here, Jenny and I had discussed the situation. We didn't yet know quite how serious our situation was, nor the level of threat we were under, but when people start firing fucking machine guns at you, I think it's safe to assume that things are already pretty damned serious. So we'd decided not to mention what had really happened, as we had no wish to put Frank and Melissa in danger.

They were both suitably horrified to hear about the deer that had run out in front of our car, about the tyre that blew out as we took evasive action, and gasped when we told them how we'd slid out of control into the River Thames.

Jenny was assigned to Frank and Melissa's en-suite bathroom. Melissa escorted me to one of the guest rooms and showed me the en-suite facilities in there. Leaving me to get cleaned up, she went in search of spare clothes for Jenny and myself.

What happened next had a certain air of inevitability about it. There had been a time when Jenny and I thought Frank and Melissa to be a bit straight-laced, but this impression had been banished during a risqué game of cards that followed a weekend dinner party. Now we knew better.

Melissa did actually return with some of Frank's clothes for me, but I didn't find that out until the morning. Because the first thing she did when she got back was to walk into the bathroom and offer to wash my back for me.

Well, I imagine we all know what that particular question is code for, and one does occasionally get a clean back out of it. But there's generally more to it than a sponge up the spine!

And so it was on this occasion. Melissa's flimsy nightie proved to be anything but waterproof, which is not to say that a thorough soaking didn't improve it. The material gratifyingly became almost transparent and clung to her undoubted charms very attractively indeed.

Still, she's a sensible woman who runs an efficient home, she had no intention of getting the bedding wet, and the nightie was on the floor by the time we fell into bed in a tight and writhing embrace.

I imagined that Jenny had received a similar back washing offer and was currently receiving Frank, but I tried not to think about that. I mean, even I understand that it's a bit rich to start getting jealous about what another man might be getting up to with your girlfriend, what your girlfriend might be getting up her, while you've got your own widget wedged in his wife!

And I would have got jealous, I knew I would, so I did my best not to think about Jenny and to concentrate on what Melissa and I were up to. Which wasn't all that difficult a task, she's an entertaining and willing bedfellow at any time, and she seemed to be showing extra solicitude in light of my near death experience in the frigid waters of the River Thames.

The first gleams of light from the coming dawn were edging the curtains before we drifted off into smilingly contented sleep.
Sanctuary

Frank had gone to work by the time Melissa and I made it downstairs to the breakfast table. A little later, Jenny joined us. We'd found shelter for the night, very welcoming shelter, but we still weren't ready to tell Melissa what had really happened last evening. Also, while we were still so close to those events, we weren't safe and that meant neither were Frank and Melissa. We had to get away.

I was thinking about this over breakfast. It was possible that the people chasing us had seen our car registration, or even found the car in the river and got the number from there, and from a car's number plate it's not rocket science to find a name and an address. If they'd found the car, they may even have discovered Jenny's handbag. This made going home a risky prospect. The Lotus Flower was a possibility, but it wasn't as far away as I wanted to be.

Also, I reckoned we needed advice and I could think of nobody better than Len, down at Deeping Castle. When he was being Sir Leonard Fitz-Robyn, Len was a local magistrate. He was also a man with a good head on his shoulders and a friend. I consulted with Jenny and she agreed, we were going to Devon.

Jenny made a call to the Lotus Flower hotel, and without going into any details asked Samantha if she could help us out. Well, of course she could. She would be with us in half an hour, she told Jenny.

* * *

Now, then, Samantha, you may have met her before. If you haven't, then the obvious thing to do is to rush out and buy my entire back catalogue, there is plenty of stuff about her in there. However, if time, cash, or just inclination mitigate against this approach, I'll tell you a little bit about her.

Samantha is an outstandingly pretty girl, she calls herself a pert little blonde package, and she is not wrong. On the slightly diminutive side of medium height, she is neither large nor small, fat nor thin, she is a medium from breast size to leg length, but don't let the word medium lead you to believe that she is any way ordinary. She is a medium perfect.

Obviously, her tits are not quite as nice as Jenny's, (I have to bear my personal safety in mind when writing these tales!) but it's a damned close run thing. As to the rest of her, would Wow! suffice for now?

Knowing exactly how nicely she has been assembled, Samantha feels herself to be something of a work of art, and what you should do with art, she explains, is display it. Being a dutiful girl at heart, she gets out of her clothes at the slightest excuse, or no excuse at all, so that everybody can admire and appreciate just what a gorgeous girl she is.

She is also a very friendly girl, extremely friendly, one might say. A little too friendly for the good of her soul, a vicar once suggested. However, after spending twenty minutes in the vestry with her, and while still adjusting his cassock, he announced that he had revised his opinion and that she was in fact, "Just perfect!"

Samantha likes sex, she likes it a lot! And she is an extremely accomplished practitioner of the art. In fact, I only know one other girl who can keep up with her when it comes to sex, and by a stroke of good fortune I happen to live with that one. This other lubricious lady is, of course, Jenny. I'm not saying that I haven't met a few other girls who could give these two a run for their money, nevertheless, I believe this pair to be peerless.

You may feel that I'm laying it on a bit thick in ascribing all these qualities to Samantha. Surely this is all too good to be true, you may be thinking. Where, you might be asking yourself, is the catch? For surely there must be one, nobody is this perfect. Girls like this do not grow on trees. Alternatively, you might just be wondering where you can get a girl like this of your own.

However, your first suspicions contain a nugget of truth, perhaps even the mother lode. There is indeed a flaw to Samantha's perfection and it is this - she talks!

Of course, all girls do this, we chaps may not always like what they have to say, but girls being able to talk is a necessary part of life without which we would be so much the poorer. However, in Samantha's case, it is not the content of her speech which causes problems, rather it is the quantity. She talks a lot!

If you ever come across a donkey dragging its arse down the road on account of its hind legs having dropped off, then you'll know that Samantha has been passing the time of day with it. She is a world class chatterbox.

When Jenny and I first met Samantha, she had demonstrated her willingness to engage by shedding her clothes immediately, but she had accompanied this with a display of her oratory capacities, which include a breath control that has always made me feel that she has a second career option as a South Sea pearl diver.

It didn't take Jenny long to realise that something needed to be done about her new friend's propensity to prattle and they quickly formed a Mistress and slave relationship. Samantha is nobody's fool, she is by no means the proverbial dumb blonde, though she does find it convenient to act the part sometimes. Knowing her talkative tendencies, she entered into the new pact willingly.

There was another side to this, as they both understood, such an accord also provided scope for some interesting sex games. These they both enjoy, and when allowed, so do I.

Jenny calls Samantha her poppet, but when she's being mischievous, something she's rather good at, the poppet becomes a minx.

* * *

Especially if you're one of those that have already met Samantha, you may wonder why I have gone to such lengths to describe her above. Well, it's because I'm about to go on a car journey with her and I'm about to get a surprise.

I've been on quite a few voyages with Jenny and Samantha and they can be a lot of fun. Samantha is not one of life's natural window gazers, and given the confined space inside a car, Jenny is inclined to exercise her executive powers as the Mistress and revoke Samantha's locutionary licence. Denied one area of her expertise, Samantha's thoughts naturally turn to the other, namely, sex.

Nudity is involved, as are giggles and groans, squeals and sighs. As I am normally the driver, I can get a bit hot and bothered as the girls play their games on the back seat, and I find myself spending too much time trying to get a glimpse of the action in the rear-view mirror.

Despite last night's dreadful display, which I feel I can justifiably blame on people firing machine guns at me, something that I'm sure would put most chaps off their game, anyway, I like to think of myself as a reasonably good driver. So far, at least, I've always got us all safely to our destination.

There have been delays, of course, where I have been obliged to stop the car and join the girls in the back, but we've always got there in the end. The original hold up having been caused by my desire to get up their ends.

Still, it was not to be me behind the wheel today. We were going to be travelling in Samantha's Banana, a shockingly yellow hatchback that was well maintained but past its first flush of youth. The Banana knew only one driver, and that was Samantha herself.

I was interested to see how this particular trip to Devon was going to go.

* * *

The Banana's arrival outside Frank and Melissa's house was announced by a chirpy beep beep of the horn. Jenny and I said our farewells to Melissa and went out to greet Samantha who was sitting behind the wheel. Jenny took the front seat and I climbed into the back.

Hellos were spoken, the girls exchanged a kiss that was more than the traditional peck on the cheek, then Samantha pulled the Banana away from the kerb, and having yet to be informed of our destination, started trundling down the road in the vague direction of the Lotus Flower.

"Er, Samantha, sweetie, I hope you don't mind us imposing on you like this."

"Of course not, Mistress."

"It's just that we've got a little problem, you see, and, well, we're trying to get away from it."

"What is it, Mistress?"

"Well, after we left the Lotus Flower last night we say something. Something a bit strange. We saw, well, what we saw was, er, this is going to sound a bit odd, poppet, what we saw was, I hardly like to say, you might not believe it, but what it was, you see ..."

I could understand Jenny's hesitation here. Go around the place telling people you've seen flying saucers and they're liable to start looking at you askance, giving you the speculative eye. Soon they're going to be calling the strong men in white coats, including instructions to make sure to pack the rear fixing jackets. Still, Jenny's a determined girl, she finally managed to spit it out.

" ... it was a flying saucer! We saw a flying saucer."

"Oh, no!" said Samantha, then she turned her head to look at Jenny. "You do know that they're not real, don't you, Mistress?"

"Of course, sweetie, of course I do. Only, you see, the men that started shooting at us, they were real. So were their machine guns."

"Shooting, Mistress? At you, Mistress?"

"At both of us, yes, poppet."

"Well, I can understand why somebody might want to start shooting at him! But at you, Mistress?"

Have I mentioned that Samantha and me both being in love with Jenny can provoke the odd outbreak of jealous rivalry? But her face had taken on a stern look, she pulled into a parking spot and insisted that Jenny give her the full story.

Samantha's face got stonier and stonier as the tale progressed. She was outraged that somebody had been shooting at her Mistress. She may have even considered that shooting at me constituted at least a breach of etiquette, but if that was the case, she hid it well. She uttered not another word until Jenny's story ground to a halt with a plea for transport to Devon.

It was like watching a mask drop into place, the helmet visor being lowered before charging into battle. Samantha's normally smiling visage took on a determined and steely look, her eyes narrowed slightly. You could almost hear her internal orders to herself, her Mistress was in danger, it was time to get serious.

"Devon it is, Mistress."

Restarting the car, Samantha drove off, steering the Banana into the first petrol station we came to. She filled up with petrol, paying at the pump by card. Then she drove over to the air hose and carefully checked the pressure of all the tyres, including the spare in the back, something I can't remember ever doing myself.

Next, she popped the bonnet open and checked the oil, before finding a watering can and filling up the window washer bottle and topping up the radiator. Closing the bonnet and giving it an extra push and tug to make sure it was secure, she proceeded to walk around her car, giving it a visual inspection like a pilot preparing for take-off.

Seemingly satisfied, she nodded to herself and bent down to retie the laces of her trainers securely. Then she opened the door, slid into the driver's seat and fitted her seatbelt. She checked that Jenny and I were wearing ours, looked in all of the mirrors and announced that we were good to go.

Well, I don't know about you, perhaps you're the methodical type and go through this start-up routine every time you make a long journey. I remember that when I first learned to drive, I was told that you should do all that. It's just that like a lot of shoulds and oughts, it rarely happens, not with me anyway. I'm much more of a turn the key and go type person.

Now, I opened this chapter by singing Samantha's praises and it was all well merited, she deserves the approbation, but I am sometimes inclined to think that she lacks bottom. I don't mean physically, she has a very nice bottom, one that I love and respect almost as much as Jenny's, and for much the same reasons. No, I am referring to gravitas, to the taking of things seriously. Certainly while wearing her minx hat, she can be positively frivolous. Not so today!

I've watched Samantha drive before and to a certain extent this is what provoked the frivolous comment. It's not that I ever thought her a bad driver, just not a particularly good one. I felt that a little less attention expended on the gay badinage and a bit more concentration on the road was called for. There's a time and a place for fiddling with the music system, and look out, that car there, for instance, he's not signalling, but he's going to turn right, I can tell that's what the bastard is going to do!

I should confess at this point that I am perhaps not the most relaxed of passengers, regardless of who is behind the wheel. Today, though, Samantha's driving was faultless. She was reading the road ahead and knew what was about to happen before I'd even had time to twitch. The moment the bastard three cars ahead began to drift right without signalling, Samantha had got her own indicator going, her foot hovering over the brake, and was pulling in to the left.

She didn't drive particularly fast, though she certainly wasn't hanging about either. She was just quick. Quick off the traffic lights, quick to choose the right lane in traffic. Her movements and choices were assured, instinctual and unfailingly correct. Her overtaking manoeuvres were always done smoothly and entirely without risk, which is not to say that she missed a single opportunity to pass.

I was seriously impressed! I mentioned earlier that I considered myself a good driver, Jenny is too, but neither of us were this good. Samantha was way out of our league. As she powered the Banana around another bend at a speed that I personally wouldn't dream of risking, I was completely relaxed, because I just knew that Samantha had everything perfectly under control. And she did. It was as if she had been born behind the wheel.

And, I confess, much of my surprise was probably because she was a girl, I'm sorry to say. I don't mean I was surprised that she was a girl, I knew that, it's the first thing you notice about her! Nor am I sorry about the fact. No, it was the old girls and driving cliché.

I fully realise that there is absolutely no reason why girls shouldn't be able to drive as well or better than men. You don't need specific anatomical assets to drive a car, women are as physically equipped as men for the purpose. It's not like men being issued with the wrong sort of fingers to cope with rear fixing bra clasps or anything, besides, cars aren't nearly as complicated as bra fixings!

Incidentally, I do know that bra clasps are actually pretty simple things and really ought to be quite easy to undo, and they probably are. However, I suspect that you have to remove your hands from the contents of the bra before you can make a successful attempt to undo the clasp. I can occasionally persuade one hand to go behind the girl's back for a quick fiddle, but it refuses to stay there for long. It is inevitably drawn back to grasp a tit. Besides, by this stage the girl has usually lost patience with me and undone it herself.

Still, back to girls and driving cars. Take Formula One, for example, how many female drivers are there? None, they're all men. Although those men might feel a bit insecure if they watched Samantha in this mood.

I was being sexist, I reluctantly concluded. I'm used to thinking about Samantha and sex at the same time, that's perfectly natural, but sexist? I didn't think I did ist. Wrong again! Sorry, girls.

There was another idea lurking in the back of my mind, another surprise, and realising what it was, I dragged it to the forefront of my thoughts. Samantha was still fully dressed!

So were Jenny and I, something that seemed to occur to both of us at the same time. Jenny started to fiddle with her seatbelt, intending to crawl over the seats and get into the back with me. After all, this is what would be happening if it was Samantha in the back seat.

Yet again, Samantha surprised us. She flicked a quick glance at Jenny and shook her head.

"Not now, Mistress. Please keep your seatbelt on while we're moving. I'll pull in at the next services, they're not far now."

Jenny followed her minx's instructions in mute submission, settling back into her seat and remaining still. We glided smoothly into the services and Samantha did a neat job of reverse parking, then turned off the engine.

We all scooted off to use the facilities and being the first to leave, I stopped at the shop and was perusing the newspaper headlines when Jenny found me. You might have thought that a flying saucer actually landing in Berkshire would make every front page, but none of the headlines referred to it.

The spaceship was bloody enormous, even the most short sighted of journalists must have spotted it, surely! Maybe it had happened too late to catch the print run and would have to wait until the next day. We should try and catch a news bulletin on the car radio.

Quickly checking over my shoulder that Samantha hadn't re-joined us yet, I spoke to Jenny in hushed tones.

"Did you know she could drive like that?"

"You sound surprised!"

"Astonished!"

"You sexist pig! Just because she's a girl!"

"I've already called myself something of the sort, but I don't know anybody that drives like that."

"No, nor do I. I have to admit to being a little surprised myself. I know she's a clever little thing, and I love her to bits, but she's revealed a hidden talent."

"She certainly has!"

"We could have done with her driving last night!"

"Jenny, you must have forgiven me by now? Surely it's all water under the bridge."

"Brave words from a man that can't tell the difference between a car and a submarine!"

I was saved from searching for a reply by Samantha's smiling return. She linked arms with Jenny and they went into the shop in search of nibbles, leaving me alone to contemplate how little I really knew. Not just about spaceships and possible aliens, but about the minx that I'd thought I understood so well.

Disappointingly, a whispered conversation with Jenny as we went back to the car revealed that she was unwilling to disobey Samantha's seatbelt rules. This despite the fact that the two of them flagrantly ignored that very rule when playing their games on the back seat if anyone else was driving. She did, however, agree to join me in the back.

Well, wearing a seatbelt does limit one's activities, so actual congress was out of the question, but there's still quite a lot else you can do with a beautiful girl in the back of a car. Getting Jenny out of her clothes was an entertaining exercise by itself, and one that I thoroughly enjoyed.

We managed to occupy ourselves sufficiently to pass the journey, even if I couldn't actually occupy Jenny. All the while, Samantha maintained her steadfast control of the car. We'd called ahead and were expected, so the gates were open and we drove straight into the courtyard of Deeping Castle where our chauffeuse parked neatly.

We originally met Len and Mary at the Lotus Flower hotel, and we'd visited Deeping Castle before, so we knew they weren't going to be offended by a bit of nudity, certainly not if it was Jenny that was naked! So in a complete reversal of their normal roles, it was a fully dressed Samantha that led Jenny, who was wearing only trainers, up to the front door.

Released from the iron self-control that she had maintained as our driver, Samantha's hands were all over Jenny as they walked.
Deeping

Len and Mary greeted us from the doorway and ushered us inside. Both of them were looking back and forth between the naked Jenny and the clothed Samantha, aware that something odd had been going on, but as yet unsure what it might be. In the end, Jenny's nudity won the day and she became the sole focus of their gaze.

I was pretty much being ignored, a situation I'm quite used to when going places with Jenny, with or without her clothes on. I hold nobody at fault for this, I myself would ignore me if the alternative was looking at Jenny.

However, Len eventually dragged his eyes away from her and signalled to Mary that she should take the girls off somewhere. Presumably to somewhere warm, castles tend to be cold and draughty places even in summer, and a red and runny nose would do nothing to add to Jenny's looks.

Sparing me a sympathetic nod, Mary extended an arm to indicate the way and the ladies departed for points as yet unknown. Samantha's right hand had a firm hold on Jenny's unblemished left bum cheek as they walked.

Len ushered me into his study and seated me in an armchair. "Drink?" he asked.

"A G&T might hit the spot nicely, thanks."

Len pressed a button on his desk and spoke to somebody, requesting a gin and tonic, and a few moments later a pretty red headed girl, in a perfectly respectable if slightly skimpy waitress uniform, arrived with my drink on a tray. Len, meanwhile, had poured himself a small glass of malt whisky from a bottle which had been sitting on a side table.

We sipped our drinks in silence for a few moments. Len, having performed the basic civilities, seemed to feel that it was up to me to open the batting. I tried, with only limited success, to marshal my thoughts. I was still in a bit of shock after the previous evening's events and had a hard time of it deciding what to say and where to start. Start at the beginning, my mother always said. Well, bugger that!

"People were shooting at me and Jenny last night! With machine guns! Real fucking machine guns! With real fucking bullets!"

"Jenny always said you knew how to show a girl a good time. Would you care to explain?"

Len appeared unruffled by my news. Well, nobody had been shooting at him! And I suppose that after a life of listening to outrageous lies from the magistrate's bench he had cultivated a phlegmatic attitude to shocking revelations. Personally, I was reliving the terror as I related what had happened last night and ruffled I most certainly was.

"The sailing trip didn't go too well either, we were going down in the Thames with all hands, but luckily somebody shot at us. Again!"

"Most distressing for you both, I'm sure. Somebody took exception to your boating activities?"

"We were in a car, not a boat."

"Was that wise?"

"Jenny didn't seem to think so."

"Yes, I can imagine that."

"Still, after that we managed to swim to Frank and Melissa's place."

"They have the boat, do they?"

"No, just a car."

"Cars and rivers don't usually mix too well. I noticed you arrived in a violently yellow variety, what happened to your own car?"

"It drowned."

"There, I told you. You should keep cars well away from rivers, that's my advice, old son."

"I shall bear that in mind. Now, about the flying saucer."

I was under no illusions that my report had been particularly coherent up to this point, but Len had been tolerant so far, employing the phlegmatic approach that I mentioned earlier. However, I think I'd expected more of a reaction to my mention of a flying saucer than the "Hmm?" that I actually got.

"Bloody great thing, it was. Like a gigantic steel chicken."

"Really?"

"Well, not all that chickeny, I suppose, but it was sort of steely, in an aluminiumy sort of a way."

"But big, you say?"

"Enormous!"

Magistrates must be used to this sort of thing, trying to assemble a rational sequence of events from the random gibberish that their clients offer up as mitigating circumstances. I wasn't in the dock, however, and Len showed his magnanimous side. He held up a finger to indicate I should pause for a moment, and he leaned over the intercom and ordered up another G&T and a couple of plates of cheese sandwiches.

"Now, do you think we could start this conversation again? Perhaps you could put events into some sort of rational order."

"I'll try, Len, I'll try, but frankly there's no rational that I can detect from last night. Jenny and I were on our way home from the Lotus Flower ... "

It took me a while to lay out all the evidence before him. I tried to gloss over the river cruise in the Thames, on reflection I could see Jenny's point when she suggested that it hadn't been my finest hour. But Len wasn't having any of it, a skilful cross examiner, he was determined to get to the bottom of it all.

He already knew that our car had gone to the bottom, but when he heard about the peril that Jenny's bottom had been in, he promised to examine it for damage at the first possible opportunity. He brushed aside my assertions that her beautiful bum was blemish free and said that he'd not be satisfied until he had ascertained the full facts for himself.

I finished my tale by telling him of the surprise that Samantha's expert driving had caused on our trip here. He nodded sagely, "Hidden depths, that Samantha," he observed.

"I'll take your word on that, Len. I was under the impression that I'd seen all of Samantha's depths and that hiding them forms no part of her character."

"Perhaps, old boy, perhaps."

All this while he'd maintained a stern expression, possibly not quite the full magisterial look of disdain for lesser mortals that he undoubtedly wore when dealing with serious matters like parking fines in court, but a visage that showed he was determined to understand all the facts. To winnow the wheat from the chaff of my rambling report.

Sir Leonard Fitz-Robyn, Knight of the Realm, Lord of the Manor, magisterial representative of the law, pressed his fingertips together and regarded the ceiling for a minute or two. No doubt he was assembling all the factors in his mind and weighing them against each other, considering the ramifications and balancing the possible outcome of any actions we might take.

I looked at him, waiting to hear his wisdom, the conclusions of his first class mind, a mind that had, like certain stones, been honed to razor sharpness, though in his case by many years of legal study. I congratulated myself on making the right move by seeking his advice.

He appeared to come to a decision and looking me straight in the eyes, announced his verdict.

"You've got a problem there, sunshine!"

* * *

While Len and I are having the above conversation, another event is occurring nearby. It is something that I knew nothing of at the time, but that's hardly surprising. As some of my companions seem to never tire of pointing out, the list of things that I don't know about is a long one.

Still, let's pop over to Merliscombe, it's not much more than a stone's throw from Deeping Castle, and it is a long and winding valley rising up towards the edge of Dartmoor. A babbling stream runs through the centre of the combe, though when winter storms arrive and the water cascades from the moor, the stream becomes a roaring torrent.

The steep sides of the combe are open grassland near the high tops. Green and lush, the grass is ideal for the sheep that graze there. Lower down, sheltered from the winds that scour the bleak moorland, the combe is wooded, populated by beech, birch and oak.

This is not a winter day, it is high summer and the stream is babbling its heart out. Along the side of this watercourse is a footpath and on that path are Mr Ralph and Mrs Joan Bantree, who are taking a constitutional walk to settle a fine lunch.

Sunlight and shadows form intricate patterns on the valley floor, shifting constantly as the gentle breeze rustles through the tree tops. Birds are singing, and there is the ever present background sound of bleating sheep. The incline, as Ralph and Joan proceed up the combe, is gentle. The walk is a relaxing one that they both know well.

Ralph glances off to one side, he thinks he's seen movement amongst the trees. Was that a person? He thought he'd glimpsed a human shape. He stops and peers closely between the trees, but can't see anything out of the ordinary. No sounds of human feet reach his ears. He shrugs, maybe it was a deer or even a fox.

Quickening his pace, Ralph catches up with Joan, who suddenly stops and starts looking around herself. Neither she nor Ralph can see anything out of place, but it feels as if there is something strange about the combe today, as if they are not alone.

"Ralph! I thought I heard laughter just then. Did you hear it?"

"No, nothing, probably just a strange burble from the stream. But Joan?"

"Yes, dear?"

"I'm feeling a little, you know!"

"You are? Oh, Ralph, that's good, I'm getting the urge too."

"You are?"

"Oh, yes, dear!"

"You mean?"

"I want you to kiss me! To fuck me! Fuck me right now!"

"But what if anyone's watching, dear?"

"Fuck 'em, Ralph, they can join in of they want!"

"I'm going to lick your pussy until it shines!"

"You are, Ralph, you are!"

"Then I'm going to stuff my cock so far up your pussy it comes out of your mouth!"

"Yes, yes, yes, you are! But first you're going to ram it so far down my throat it comes out my arse!"

"Yes, yes, yes, I am!"

This rather explicit exchange seems to have exhausted their conversational abilities for now. Moments later the couple are in each other's arms, tongues locked together as they sink to the ground, still gripped in a passionate embrace. Ralph has freed one hand and is massaging Joan's breasts with it, one of Joan's hands is rubbing at the bulge in his trousers. Tongues wrestling, Ralph slides his other hand between Joan's thighs and starts pressing and probing. He is trying to gain access to Joan's centre, but tights and sensible knickers form a finger proof frontier.

Joan suddenly breaks the embrace and rolls onto her back, reaching down, she is kicking off her shoes and pulling her tights and panties down together. Ralph is eager to assist and hauls the tangle clear of Joan's feet.

Rolling onto his side, Ralph soon has his head buried under Joan's skirt, his intention evidently to apply spit and polish in order to bring out the shine he promised earlier. His fingers can find their target now and they push and probe, rub and stroke. Joan has her own breasts in her hands, squeezing and pinching, she is moaning softly.

Ralph is pushing his face deeper into her as Joan starts to unbutton her blouse, pausing to rub at her breasts some more, before shrugging the blouse from her shoulders. Her bra is gone a few seconds later, she is naked now except for the skirt bunched around her waist.

Joan pushes Ralph's head away so she can start ripping at his clothes, something else that Ralph is more than happy to help with. Soon he is naked and Joan, skirt gone, has him in her mouth. Ralph has that rapt but vacant look on his face that men wear when they have a woman's lips wrapped around their personal part. It's him doing the gentle moans now.

Then he's pushing Joan onto her back again, he grasps her tits, he pushes until he feels Joan's gentle fingers guiding him, sliding him inside herself with a gasp of her own. With an energy neither of them knew he possessed, Ralph starts to pound at his naked wife. She meets each thrust with one of her own.

"Harder!" Joan demands. "Fuck me harder, I need it! Ram it inside me! Yes, yes!"

There is definitely a sound of laughing and giggling around them now, but the couple are so intent on what they're doing that they don't hear it. There is nothing to be seen, yet gentle peals of mirthful laughter come from all directions.

"Up my arse, Ralph! Fuck me up the arse!"

I think it would probably be best if we leave Ralph and Joan now, giving them as much privacy as is possible under the circumstances. You see, Mr and Mrs Bantree, who are currently enjoying the best sex of their lives, are the vicar of Deeping village and his help-meet, childhood sweetheart and adored spouse. Two years older than his wife, Ralph Bantree's seventieth birthday is a distant memory as he fast approaches octogenarian status.

As Ralph's bare bony arse rises and falls, the merriment has expanded into full blown guffaws, unheard by any but the invisible laughers themselves.
Dreams

Len and I were still in his study. He seemed to realise himself that his verdict was not quite the reassurance and assistance I'd been looking for, and so he endeavoured to go further, but when he started it was mostly a bunch of ums and ers. I chose to complicate matters.

"Actually, it's worse than I told you. I said I didn't recognise the uniforms of the men who shot at us by the flying saucer, and I didn't at the time. But thinking about it on the way down here, I've remembered where I've seen the badges they were wearing before."

Let me just take a break here for a quick explanation. I did not survive this adventure by being careless and I intend to continue that caution now. I'm about to reveal to Len the identity of our pursuers, or at least the corporation that they represented.

You probably use their services pretty much every day, as did Len. I've been known to use them myself, though not nowadays, in fact I cause myself considerable inconvenience by avoiding them. Anyway, they're an extremely rich and powerful outfit and it would be more than my life's worth to commit their real name to print here, so I'm about to use a pseudonym.

"Their badges, they all had the logo of CyberCorp on them."

"Oh, dear. That's not good news."

"That is putting it a little mildly for my tastes, Len."

"Yes, I can see that. Well, at least we know who you're up against and we know a few things you shouldn't do. Quite a lot of them, actually. No social media, obviously, and be very careful what you say on the phone."

"My phone never recovered from its dunking in the Thames."

"Good, destroy the SIM card anyway. Jenny's phone?"

"Went down with the ship."

"OK, let's assume they don't know you're here. It depends on how far down the line they've got already. The big danger is probably them picking you up on camera and using facial recognition software. Still, the cameras on the M5 aren't good enough to make you out inside a car."

"I'm afraid we stopped at the services."

"Stupid! Oh, sorry, can't be helped. So they might know you were there. Did you stop anywhere else?"

"Only a petrol station near Frank and Melissa's, and Jenny and I stayed in the car."

"OK, we'll get the car under cover, it is a touch conspicuous! If any of you need a car, you can use one of mine, but I don't think you should be travelling. All the larger towns have got cameras."

"Looks like we're stuck here. That OK with you, Len?"

"Of course it is. I'm a magistrate, harbouring fugitives is all part of the job!"

"Sorry about that. I promise not to tell the Lord Chancellor."

"Thanks a bunch!"

"Look, why don't I just go to the police and tell them what happened?"

"Can't say I'd advise it. What makes you think they'd protect you?"

"Well, they do the witness protection thing, don't they?"

"They do, but would they protect you? Look, you can't land a bloody great flying saucer in the middle of Berkshire without somebody noticing. Nor fire machine guns for that matter. But there's been nothing on the news, has there?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

"So the cops are keeping it quiet, either for their own reasons or because they're being leaned on by someone. If you waltz into a police station, who do you think they're going to call?"

"Maybe it's not such a good idea at that."

"There are easier ways to commit suicide. You are, as you said, stuck here I'm afraid. There are no cameras in the village, so it'll be OK for you to go in there. The castle's got them of course, but they're not hooked up to the Net. Oh, and I'd better lend you some money, you can't go using your bank or an ATM."

"This is not sounding like a lot of fun."

"Oh, I don't know. We might be able to arrange some entertainment for you. Why don't you relax for a while and I'll ask around, discretely of course, and see if I can pick anything up."

"Thanks, Len."

"You look like you could do with a rest. We've put you in your old room, why don't you grab a nap? I'll send some clothes and things up for you a bit later. For Jenny as well, but don't go rushing to get her into any clothes, will you?"

"Wouldn't dream of it."

"That's the ticket! Pre-dinner cocktails at seven, see you there."

* * *

Our old room was in the tower and had wonderful views of the countryside, but I didn't spend long admiring Devon's delights. Len had been right, I was just about all in. I'd not had a lot of sleep last night, what with having gone to bed late, and that with Melissa. Plus I was suffering a reaction to the abject terror I'd experienced while being shot at last evening. The suggested nap was probably just what I needed.

Well, you know how it is, you're dog tired, know full well that a spot of sleep would improve things no end, but when you lie down for a bit of a kip your mind goes into overdrive.

First off, I did some worrying about Jenny. She must be suffering the same sort of reaction that I was. She'd been shot at as well and I couldn't believe that Frank had allowed her a lot of sleep. I felt a bit guilty not being with her to act as emotional support, but other than my presence, I couldn't think of much else I could offer her on that front.

There was, of course, the traditional approach to comforting a distressed girl and I licked my lips as I considered it, feeling a bit of a rise at the prospect, but Jenny wasn't here and I'd have to get out of bed and start searching the castle to find her. Besides, she was with Samantha and Lady Mary, neither of whom would allow Jenny to come to any harm, and with one caveat, were well able to deploy traditional consolation methods.

From these thoughts it was natural that my mind should return to the riverbank where I had put Jenny's delectable derriere at such risk of being permanently scarred. More stirrings below ensued as I reviewed our actions, but then my tired brain started moving back in time. To the freezing water as our vessel succumbed to the waves and we were forced to use the newly opened escape hatch that had once been a windscreen.

Suddenly I was reliving the terror as that escape route had been opened up in a welter of bullets, flying glass and spray. It was the incredible noise of the shooting that was echoing through my brain now. That and the bone chilling certainty that we were both about to die, though this chill may have had something to do with all that good clean Thames water that had been steadily rising inside our soon to be submarine.

You'd have thought sleep impossible with that din and the memory of such intractable fear, but it was around this point in my ruminations that I must have finally dozed off.

I was woken what seemed like minutes later by a shuffling noise. Opening my eyes I looked up just as the bedroom door opened. Revealed in the open doorway was Samantha, still fully dressed and with a triumphant grin on her face. She cast her eyes downward and I followed suit, looking towards her feet.

It was Jenny! Still naked, she had acquired a leather dog collar to which was attached a lead. Samantha was holding the other end. There was a dildo held sideways between Jenny's teeth and she was on her hands and knees. Samantha winked at me, then she tugged gently on the lead and Jenny began to crawl towards me. I felt myself rise to greet this apparition, though my head stayed firmly on the pillow.

While she is up for pretty much anything in the way of sex games, Jenny doesn't do the slave thing. I once persuaded her to attend a Masters and Slaves party at the Lotus Flower hotel, and to be fair to her she did dress the part, but a more rebellious slave you won't come across in this lifetime or the next, she could have given Spartacus lessons.

A lovely girl in just about every respect, Jenny is not big on following orders. She has opinions on how things should be done, and as they are her opinions, they are obviously the right ones! That's just the way it is. Seeking friction free relations, I'm usually inclined to go along with her.

A couple of friends have been uncharitable enough to ascribe my attitude over this to poltroonery, and while I cannot entirely refute their allegations, I can say that those friends have obviously not had the privilege of watching Jenny in action. She has, as I've had previous cause to mention, a fine punch on her.

So what, I wondered in a bleary way, was going on here? Jenny enslaved by her own slave? And now that I came to look at her a little closer, why was Samantha wearing a witch's costume? A long black skirt and pointy hat are not really her style. For a start, long skirts cover up legs that she is particularly proud of, and she just doesn't do hats.

Then she raised a wand, a white stick with a silver star on the end. She pointed it at the kneeling Jenny and a column of light shot out, bathing Jenny's bum in bright white light. The cheeks of that very lovely and fortuitously unblemished bottom started to quiver as if being repeatedly slapped, I could hear the sound of an invisible hand smacking bare skin. Jenny moaned behind the dildo still clamped between her teeth.

She rolled onto her back, but the slapping noises continued despite her bum being pressed into the carpet. The ray of brightness from Samantha's wand now shone between Jenny's legs. She arched her back. I could see the muscles in her thighs tighten, the moans got louder. Beads of perspiration appeared on her top lip. Her legs started to quiver and she uttered a muffled cry around the phallus in her mouth.

Just when I thought Jenny was going to collapse to the carpet in satisfaction, to lie gasping while she recovered her breath, Samantha moved her wand and now the ray was pointing at me. Jenny rolled to her feet and leaped at me like a pouncing tiger, arms and legs outstretched, both feet leaving the floor as she sailed through the air towards me.

She never landed. Jenny remained suspended horizontal above my prone frame. I heard a raucous laugh from Samantha, a cackle of glee, and I could see that Jenny seemed to be held aloft by a column of light, positioned right where I should have had a column of my own.

Jenny descended slowly, engulfing me, gripping me tightly, as if I were being held in a vice. It was cold! Cold and unforgiving. Smooth and unyielding and my eyes moved away from where we were joined. I looked for Jenny's lovely face but saw only a shining beak.

Samantha issued a final screech of pure joy as my horrified eyes informed me that I was fucking a gigantic steel chicken!

Those cheese sandwiches before my nap may not have been such a good idea!
Minx

Jenny and Samantha entered the bedroom shortly after I'd woken from my dream. I studied the still naked Jenny, happily detecting no likenesses to chickens, steel or otherwise. Samantha did have a black skirt on, but it was one designed to show off her legs, it was very short. An absence of hats atop her blonde curls allowed me to relax further. Her strangeness was limited to still being dressed at all.

"Samantha, you're still dressed!"

"Even still got my panties on!"

"Are you feeling all right?"

"Oh, yes! It felt sort of naughty being dressed while Jenny and Mary were all naked and lovely looking. Of course, I was lovely looking as well, but I wasn't showing it all off. I don't know what it is, but it feels kind of empowering."

"Are you going to keep it up?"

"I thought that was supposed to be your department! Always happy to assist, mind you. I expect Jenny would be willing to help as well."

"Jenny? Not Mistress?"

"Empowered!"

"You're not going to try and enslave Jenny, are you?"

"She most certainly is not, I am Mistress around here!"

Samantha's expression altered as Jenny said that. You could almost see the light bulb above her head as an idea occurred to her. She nodded to herself, she'd made her decision.

"Silence!"

Samantha roared the word, though in a restrained and ladylike manner. She probably wasn't entirely sure she could get away with this, but was going to give it a go anyway.

"I haven't finished with you yet and he hasn't even started. On the bed, now! Hands and knees!"

Jenny's eyes were open wide in shock, yet she moved to the bed and took up position, more out of surprise than anything else, I supposed. The minx turned to me.

"You! Go on, stuff your dick into her!"

I think I was as surprised as Jenny about this role reversal. Giving the orders like this was very much Jenny's department. It would be a brave man to say that Samantha is normally a submissive shrinking violet, she has a stubborn streak a mile wide, but this wasn't like her at all.

Things had all been a bit odd since yesterday and I began to think that the return of the steel chicken was a possibility. Still, the idea of not following Samantha's instructions never occurred to me!

A moment later, Samantha was issuing more demands. Her dulcet tones are considerably different to Jenny's cut-crystal accent, but the minx had learned her lines from Jenny over time and she used them now.

"Go on then! Fuck her! No mercy, I said! You can give it to her harder than that! Between her tits! That's right! Not there, stick it in ..."

Well, you get the picture. Despite this change in people's normal stations, this was still Samantha, a chatterbox of the first water, it was impossible to obey all of her dictates, they were coming too thick and fast to keep up with. The above is just a sample of her instructions.

Still, I like to think I'm open to new ideas and having the minx call the shots was a novel experience. None of the things she was telling us to do were exactly new of themselves, but both Jenny and I had to be fairly nimble in trying to keep up with the changing orders.

Some of these demands were downright contradictory, in which case we made things up to suit ourselves, but the minx didn't seem to notice, she was too excited. When Jenny's legs started to quiver and she began to moan quietly, it was as if Samantha was experiencing it herself. When Jenny finally came, it was Samantha who cried out in ecstasy.

I had withdrawn and was just about to pull the trigger, having targeted Jenny's midriff, when she recovered herself enough to whisper, "Don't shoot!" and her eyes flicked towards Samantha, who was kneeling alongside us on the bed, eyes closed in rapture. The wicked grin Jenny accompanied her whisper with enabled me to guess her intentions and I edged aside to give her freedom of movement.

Jenny rolled out from beneath me and in one fluid movement had grasped Samantha by the ankles, risen to her feet and lifted. Samantha tipped face first onto the bed.

"Now then, poppet, let's show you how it should be done! It's going to be you on the receiving end this time!"

I had moved into position and was reaching out to haul Samantha's panties down, but Jenny instructed me to let her keep them, so I restricted myself to pulling them to one side. Then it was more of the same.

Jenny's commands were more assured, she was calmer. Her instructions were less contradictory, she wanted things to be done just so. Her demands were more graphic, she used words that you wouldn't have thought a girl as refined as her would know, but not only were they familiar to her, she knew how to use them in a less than proper way!

Her tones were more cultured than her minx's excited outpourings, but when you get to the bottom of it, and I did get to Samantha's bottom almost immediately, it was much the same deal as when Jenny's poppet was proposing positions.

Myself, I couldn't decide which version I preferred. Not that it mattered, I thoroughly enjoyed both arrangements. I'd had an excellent time with Jenny and was now having just as much fun with Samantha.

And there really was something exciting about Samantha still being dressed. It did feel somehow naughty. I don't know if it was particularly empowering for her, she was gurgling helplessly beneath me, but she seemed more than happy enough.

Presumably in an effort to preserve her clean clothes, when she felt that I'd just about reached that moment, she wriggled round and presented her face as the target. I missed! I was all a bit excited and fired wildly, scoring a direct hit on Jenny's right tit, which I thought suited her. Still, I was going to have to wait to be awarded my marksmanship badge.

* * *

While the three of us had been indulging in swap the Mistress games, a conversation had been taking place. This was yet another thing that I knew nothing of until quite a while later. It was between Len and Mary.

"Mary, we've got to go dark."

"What do you mean? Is something wrong?"

"I rather think it is, yes. And I think it's serious."

"What is it?"

"I'm not entirely sure, but I have my suspicions. Did you get a chance to talk to Jenny this afternoon?"

"Well, not really. She seemed a little distracted as it happens. As if she's got something on her mind."

"I'm not surprised if she is distracted. I'm told she was shot at with a machine gun last evening."

"A what? Len, you can't be serious!"

"Afraid I am, old duck. They were both shot at. Not Samantha, she only entered the picture this morning."

"How? What happened?"

"Apparently they saw a spaceship landing in Berkshire. A flying saucer."

"What? There's no such thing as flying saucers! They don't exist, they're not real, they ... Oh, no! You're not saying that ... ?

"I'm not sure, but I think that's what's happened."

"But how? Why?"

"Two fine questions and I don't know the answer to either."

"What are we going to do?"

"There's not a lot we can do right at this moment. Number one priority is to find out more. But there's another problem."

"Who fired the machine guns? It wasn't them, was it?"

"No, and we think we know who did the shooting, it was CyberCorp."

"But why would they do that?"

"Another unknown and another thing we need to find out. But you do understand how serious this is, Mary?"

"I think so. CyberCorp, they don't know we've got our guests, do they?"

"I doubt it. I very much hope not, that's for sure! Life's going to be difficult enough with the other lot, we don't need CyberCorp poking their noses in as well."

"Or their machine guns!"

"Indeed not!"

"So no phones and no internet? No, I suppose we carry on as normal and just make sure we avoid anything to do with either business."

"Almost right, but not either business, I believe it's all one. One big headache of a problem."

"So what are you going to do?"

"I can only see the one option. I think I'm going to have to phone a friend."

* * *

Cocktails were served as normal that evening in a small and comfortable lounge adjacent to the main dining hall. The red headed waitress I'd seen in Len's study earlier was doing the shaking. She was a pretty girl and her black and white uniform showed off her figure nicely, it was as previously mentioned quite skimpy. Her uniform, that is, not her figure, although ...

The last time I'd watched cocktails being shaken in this room they'd been mixed by a different waitress, a blonde, and one who had a bit more about her to shake. This time round, the whole bouncing boobies side of the shaking was a little understated for my taste. It wasn't that I was unhappy watching this girl, but ...

Jenny and Samantha had seen my expression and started giggling, they knew exactly what I was thinking. Both of them dressed now, they each reached down and cupped their hands below their own breasts and gave them a jiggle. I offered a sheepish grin in response.

Still, a drink's a drink, and while on the previous occasion I'd ordered a second just to watch it being shaken, watch the waitress shaking, this time it was just because I wanted another cocktail.

Len and Mary seemed a little subdued over dinner, as if they were worried about something. Well, I supposed, Jenny and I had dropped quite a large problem in their laps with our arrival and the tale we had to tell. I was worried myself and Jenny hadn't quite regained her joie de vivre either.

Still, it was a fine meal, served by the redhead, who turned out to be called Julie, and everybody seemed to relax a little as more wine was drunk. Len even cracked a few jokes, one of which was particularly funny, but you know how it is with jokes. I don't know about you, but I can never remember them from the moment I've stopped laughing. It had to do with a well-endowed maiden and a lettuce, that's all I can recall.

What I can remember is the dessert course. This wasn't served by the red headed Julie, but by Lady Mary herself, and what she served up was Julie.

Mary had excused herself from the table and left us chatting and drinking for ten minutes or so before she returned pushing a trolley. Said trolley being just the right size if one wished to lay a naked redhead face up on its surface, with arms and legs dangling conveniently in a position to be affixed to the legs of it. This was rather fortunate, because it seemed that this was exactly what Mary had wanted to do.

Not content with serving up a naked Julie, Mary had added dessert to her. Carefully arranged on the pale and freckled naked body of the erstwhile waitress were all manner of sweet goodies. There was trifle and fruit, cream had been piped around Julie's rather nice, if not overlarge boobies. A pool of chocolate sauce occupied the hollow of her navel, with more cream piped around the edges to act as a retaining rampart.

Jenny and I had once had dessert served up to us like this at the Lotus Flower hotel, a most enjoyable experience, not least because that was the day we first met Samantha when the pert little blonde package brought us coffee afterwards. She brought us a lot more than coffee as well!

Jenny and I exchanged glances, each remembering the same thing, and we both looked at Samantha with equally fond memories. Samantha knew exactly what we were thinking and stretched like a particularly contented cat, smiling quietly to herself as she bathed in our regard. Lady Mary looked on happily, she knew the story as well, that's why she'd done this.

Things were about to get messy! Now, it's all very well covering girls in cream and chocolate sauce, but getting them clean again takes a considerable amount of effort. Your tongue can get quite tired after a while. Still, I was willing to give of my best.

There were, however, a couple of niggles to overcome. They involved Jenny and Len.

Len first - I've no doubt mentioned this before, but I don't do sex with other men around. The only rigid appendage I am at all interested in is my own. And that's not even taking into consideration hairy arses! Though I'm informed Len doesn't possess one of those. Nor do I, in case you were wondering, though I can't think why you would.

Several people, including Jenny and Samantha, who have absolutely no qualms about engaging with multiple appendages, have told me that I'm missing out on some interesting experiences by my attitude. They speak of threesomes, moresomes and gangbangs, et cetera. And I admit that these things have a certain intellectual attraction, but I just couldn't bring myself to participate. Well, that's the way I am and I can't see me changing any time soon. Something needed to be done to separate Len and myself before any rigid appendages hove into view.

In fact, I was no stranger to anyone in that room, except perhaps Julie, although I was hoping to introduce myself properly into her in the very near future, but the point was that they all knew that Len and I needed to be split up. I wasn't quite sure how to accomplish that, but while I might live to regret them, my next thoughts produced the desired result.

So let's move on to Jenny. On a trip to France a while ago, I had cause to worry about Jenny's gorgeously flat stomach and the dangers of it growing. To distend and distort, as Jenny scathingly put it at the time. I'd been concerned about the expansive qualities of French food, notably the amount of cheese and cream it has a habit of containing.

This had eventually led to scurrilous accusations that I'd referred to Jenny as a "fat old nag", a charge that I rigorously deny to this day. However, mud sticks, not unlike chocolate sauce, and Jenny was looking inside my glass head as these thoughts went through my mind. Of cheese Julie's naked body held not a smidgen, but cream there was aplenty.

Jenny snorted as she registered all this, lifting her head in disdain and tossing her mane, I half expected her to stamp her forefoot and whinny. Too late, I realised what I was thinking, I would no doubt pay for these equine musings at some stage, and stamping might well be involved!

Restricting herself to a glare at me, Jenny rose to her feet and took Len by the hand, making for the door of the hall. Samantha stood up and saying, "Can't get my clothes messy," followed her Mistress out of the door.

Well, not the most tactful way it could have been done, but I'd got my wish and got Len out of the way. Now I was left with just Lady Mary, and a naked Julie, who just happened to be covered in edibles. Seeing the logic behind Samantha's parting remark, Mary and I decided we didn't want to get our clothes messy either, but while Samantha had taken herself off, we took each other's clothes off instead. It took a while, but then we turned to Julie.

I don't really have much of a sweet tooth, so I'm not really big on chocolate, whether presented as sauce or otherwise. Saucy naked girls, on the other hand, those I can get big on, and with Mary's more than capable assistance, that's exactly what I did!
Drive

The next day Samantha planned to return to work at the Lotus Flower hotel. It was her dream job and she didn't want to lose it. Personally, I'm pretty sure that her job was never at risk. Nobody I know has ever met the hotel's management, but they seem to run a tight ship and are obviously no fools, they must know full well what an asset she is. Still, part of that value is her loyalty and reliability.

It would be easy for her to explain about the trouble that Jenny and I were in and she would undoubtedly be given as much time off as she needed, but the explanation would be the problem. The fewer the people who knew what was going on the better, and none of us wanted to put the Lotus Flower at risk.

With instructions to phone as often as she liked, but to be very careful what was said - no names, no saucer references, she prepared to return to Berkshire. She pouted a bit when she was informed that it would be unwise for her to drive the Banana and looked inclined to kick up a fuss.

Len smoothed over the situation by suggesting that she took the Aston Martin, and that wiped the pout off her face immediately. Samantha was wreathed in smiles as she lowered herself into the driver's seat. She took off out of the castle gates with a squeal of tyres and a fine spray of gravel, leaving behind a faint smell of scorched rubber. We could hear her going up through the gears as she sped down the lane towards Deeping village.

* * *

Jenny and I were shown to a small office later that morning. Inside was a bank of computer terminals that Len assured us were absolutely secure. They were completely untraceable, even for tech giants like CyberCorp who had some of the world's greatest hackers on their payroll.

Access to the internet was through a portal that Len didn't understand, even though the friend who had installed the system assured him it was quite simple. I didn't even bother to enquire how it operated, but accepted Len's word that while we could access the Web as much as we liked, we would be operating absolutely anonymously.

His friend had told him that in a couple of hundred years time, people might develop the capability to trace this little network, perhaps even hack their way in, but by that time he will have updated it, so it was nothing to worry about.

I sat down at a terminal, as did Jenny, and for most of the rest of the day we surfed our way around, trying to find out as much about CyberCorp as we possibly could. Which turned out to be quite a lot when we put it all together, discussing our findings over a mid-afternoon cup of tea, though we weren't at all sure how useful all this information was to us.

We had found a UK headquarters address in Reading, not really that close, but still unsettlingly near to our home, and a couple of other offices in Edinburgh and Cardiff. We had the names of a few of their senior staff, but other than the name of the famous founder, which we knew already, these other names didn't mean much to us.

Their business interests were many and varied nowadays, most of them were very high-tech, but by no means all. They openly controlled several of the UK's Internet Service Providers (ISPs) and we suspected that through backdoor channels they controlled more.

There was their famous search engine and their browser, both superb data collection tools for the corporation. They were even sort of useful to their customers, always a bonus. As far as we could gather they had strong links with each and every one of the major social networking platforms, another rich source of personal data on their users.

Other interests included virtual reality devices, driverless cars, drones and automated production systems, including 3D printers. They also had a space exploration division, and we made a note to explore this line of enquiry further if we could. Was there a connection with flying saucers?

CyberCorp had also taken on many contracts to provide services for the government and these were not exclusively high-tech, though some were. They provided computer networks for schools, but they were also contracted to deliver meals and services to prisons and hospitals. There were so many of these contracts that we hadn't yet found the time to investigate them all. CyberCorp seemed to have a finger in just about every pie going.

We had so much to choose from, but the space exploration arm seemed to fit best and I decided that we should focus exclusively on that.

Jenny, however, clever girl that she is, had been holding back her best nugget of information. She'd been waiting, she told me, for the moment when I started to go all macho and began issuing orders just because I was a man, scoffing haughtily when I denied doing any such thing.

What she had found was something out of CyberCorp's property portfolio. It was a piece of recently acquired land, the name of which was familiar to both of us, Merliscombe.

The corporation had bought the whole of Merliscombe, taking ownership just two weeks ago. We both knew the quiet valley, but more to the point, it was uncomfortably close to where we were sitting in Deeping Castle. That was a little scary!

I mean, you suddenly find yourself having to run away from an enormously powerful enemy and you think you've escaped. Found a little bolthole in the middle of nowhere. They'll never think of looking for us here, you told yourself. Then you discover that they're so far ahead of you that they bought up the whole neighbourhood around your hideout a fortnight before you even knew you needed one!

* * *

Up on the moor, a platoon of paratroopers were conducting an exercise. They'd marched all night, hidden out all day, and were mud spattered and dog tired as they grouped together around a small fire to brew some tea in the late afternoon.

One soldier thought he'd seen movement and swung his rifle towards it, but there was nothing to be seen. Another lifted his head, signalling for quiet as he listened, he thought he'd heard faint laughter.

Then the gathered group of paras began gathering closer. As they gathered, some started groping, gripping and stroking.

And there I think we should leave these members of Her Majesty's Fifth Paratroop Regiment. I don't suppose they are particularly proud of proceedings from there on in, and I try to make it a policy not to provoke men who habitually carry heavy weaponry.

Somebody seemed to find it amusing, however, peals of laughter were ringing out all around.

* * *

Samantha loved the Aston Martin, the way it gripped the road as it rounded bends, its responsiveness and its power. Added to which, it looked very cool indeed!

She'd drawn a lot of attention when she pulled up at traffic lights. Well, she's used to people staring at her, I suppose all beautiful women get that way, but she thought there was more to it than that. It was a man's car, and the sight of her golden blonde head behind the wheel, pretty as it might be, was drawing more than its fair share of looks. It was, she concluded, because she was a girl.

Then again, the stares she usually attracted were also because she was a girl, and that was all very right and proper. She felt she was fully entitled to be admired and would have been heartbroken if anybody mistook her for a man.

However, the stares that she was getting today, just because she was driving a flash car, weren't the normal outward signs of lust that she took for her due. They weren't sexy, they were sexist, that's what they were!

Fuck 'em! She decided the first time it happened, or not fuck 'em, even better! When the lights changed she pulled away smartly, reaching the local speed limit so quickly that the other traffic at the lights still seemed to be standing still.

The Aston Martin was so much fun to drive that she ignored the signs for the M5 and set off across country, not looking at any maps, just pointing her nose and driving.

She bypassed Exeter by going north, then turned east. An hour or so later she came across a signpost for Cheddar and soon after found herself driving up the Gorge, relaxing her iron discipline a little and slowing down a lot, so that she could admire the limestone scenery that towered above her, rising on each side in terraced crags.

She managed to avoid Bath, more by luck than judgement, not because there's anything wrong with the place, she just didn't fancy the traffic. Then the next sign to catch her eye was for Avebury, an enormous stone circle of roughly the same vintage as Stonehenge, give or take a thousand years or so, she thought wryly to herself, nobody seemed to be very sure of the construction dates of these monolithic rings. Perhaps she should ask her mother.

There's rather a nice little pub in Avebury village and she pulled into its car-park. More of the sexist looks as she climbed out of the car, but she was showing a lot of leg as she did so, and the stares became the more usual kind. That's better, she thought, and entered the bar to purchase an orange juice which she took outside to drink in the fresh air.

She'd got this far avoiding major roads and when she climbed back into the Aston Martin she continued to plot a course between the M4 and the A303. Well, plotting might be a bit grand a term for the random guesses she was making, she conceded, but she was making steady progress and having a lot of fun.

Then it was Amesbury that got her attention when she saw the name on a signpost. Much like Bath, it was a nice enough place, but she didn't want to go there. No, the name meant only one thing to her, it was right down the road from somewhere that she did want a look at, Stonehenge.

She wasn't quite sure what she was doing visiting Stonehenge. She'd been to Avebury earlier, but now she realised that Avebury had just been a pointer, it was Stonehenge that had always been pulling at her. Quite why it was important, she didn't know, but something had happened here that affected her, or perhaps it hadn't happened yet. And Jenny, she was connected, but how or why was a mystery.

Samantha parked the Aston Martin and went for a walk among the ancient stones, hoping for some insight and understanding. Not entirely to her surprise, neither was forthcoming, and although it was still a lovely day, she'd taken far from the quickest route home and it was getting a bit late if she was going to be on time for her shift in the Lotus Flower bar.

With a sigh, she walked back to the car, climbed in and started the engine, before heading off north-east for what was almost the last stretch of her journey. After ducking south of Newbury she was pretty much on the home straight, not that there were many straight roads hereabouts, and soon she was pulling into the rhododendron flanked drive of the Lotus Flower hotel.

Her journey had taken her about eight hours rather than the three she could probably have done it in by using the motorways, but she had enjoyed the drive more than she'd ever thought possible. She loved this car. She coveted it. Somehow or other she was going to get herself an Aston Martin!
Help

Len was surprised by the news about CyberCorp having bought up Merliscombe. He felt that the combe was part of his patch and that he should know pretty much everything that went on in his fiefdom. Then again, Merliscombe had been owned by the government for longer than anybody could remember and everybody had just assumed that it would remain so.

What on earth could CyberCorp want with a combe on the edge of Dartmoor? It wasn't building land and was never likely to be. Even were planning permission ever granted, the valley sides were steep and the flatter land lower down had a stream running through it which could get dangerously fierce in winter.

Besides, there was no road, only a few rough tracks. No water, gas, electric or phone lines, not even a mobile phone signal in most of the combe. All of these things could be put in, of course, but not cheaply. There was plenty of other land available in Devon that would be far more suitable were they looking for property investments.

So why Merliscombe? It was a pretty enough place, but of no real commercial value. Did their famous and fabulously rich chief executive fancy a place where he could take a Sunday afternoon stroll on his own land? Maybe he'd just bought it on a whim?

Len, however, agreed with us that this was rather a strange coincidence. We knew in our hearts that it couldn't be anything to do with them looking for Jenny or me, yet here we were and so was an extension of the corporation we were trying to avoid.

"There are just too many things we don't know," announced Len. "I think we're going to have to seek help, and I hope it's going to be more useful than the help I've been able to give you so far."

I hoped so as well and was glad he'd added the last bit, as the thought had rather uncharitably occurred to me. I mean, he'd done quite a bit for us, money, clothes, shelter, let me borrow his wife and waitress, albeit in exchange for Jenny and her minx. He'd even lent Samantha an Aston Martin! Not something I would have done myself, certainly not until I saw her driving on the way down here, and that's even if I could ever hope to afford a car like that.

But none of this admittedly generous help had got us any further forward. Jenny and I were still on the run and trying to hide from armed representatives of a global corporation, and we still didn't know why.

We'd seen a flying saucer land. OK, I could see why the government might want to do a Roswell style cover-up on that, but CyberCorp? And why try to kill us? We'd run away, fair enough, but they'd already been pointing guns at us. A bit of an overreaction, surely?

"You know someone who might be able to help?" I asked.

"I think he might be able to, yes, but he can be a bit difficult to contact. Actually, he can be just plain difficult a lot of the time! Still, it's the best idea I can come up with at the moment."

"Then seek this person's assistance, Len, hunt them out and get them here. On the instant if at all possible, if not sooner."

* * *

Samantha had arrived back at the Lotus Flower with just enough time to spare for a shower and something to eat before starting her shift in the bar. It was quiet this evening and she had plenty of time to chat with Janet who was working with her tonight.

This was another of those good news, bad news situations. She liked Janet, liked her a lot. She liked chatting, she was famous for it! The problem with tonight was that all the things she wanted to talk about were off limits.

She couldn't say anything that would put Jenny at risk, or even that idiot she lived with. (Her words, not mine!) She was desperately worried about her Mistress and really could do with sharing her concerns, but it just couldn't be done.

To make matters worse, her arrival earlier had not gone unnoticed. Janet is not by nature one of life's prying types, but the sight of Samantha climbing out of an Aston Martin rather than her more lowly Banana had piqued Janet's curiosity.

"Got a new boyfriend, Samantha?"

"No."

That one word reply only served to increase Janet's desire to know more. This was Samantha, a minx and a chatterbox, she didn't do one worders. Something was up.

"Only I was wondering who might have bought you a new car."

"It's not mine."

A longer speech, but still too short to allay Janet's suspicions that there was a mystery here.

"Stole it, did you?"

"I'm looking after it for someone while they're on holiday."

"Ah, like cat sitting. Give it some food, empty the litter tray, and make sure it doesn't get lonely."

"Sort of. He didn't want to leave it parked on the street."

"He can afford an Aston Martin, but not a garage to keep it in?"

"He's on holiday, isn't he?"

"I see, and he thought he'd give his car a summer break as well."

"Janet, it's just a car."

"It's not just a car, it's an Aston Martin! James Bond had one. They don't come cheap."

"I know they don't."

"So what are you doing with one, minx?"

"Janet, why are you so interested in what I'm driving?"

"Because you obviously don't want to tell me about it, of course. You'd be the same."

"No, I wouldn't!"

Now that, as both girls knew very well, was an outright fib. Samantha was getting desperate. Normally she'd launch into one of her speeches, denying Janet the opportunity to get a word in to ask any more questions, but she didn't dare try that now, she was likely to let something slip.

There was only one thing for it. She grabbed one of Janet's tits in each hand and pulled her closer, planting a deep and prolonged kiss of the bounteously busted brunette barmaid's lips.

Recognising the tactic, Janet realised that she'd get no more information out of the minx right now. Maybe she would try again later. In the meantime, the minx had her by the tits so she might as well enjoy herself. She kissed Samantha right back and reached her arms around to grasp a shapely bum cheek in each of her own hands.

They are responsible women, the pair of them. Really! So they weren't about to desert their post as keepers of the Lotus Flower bar, but things were getting a bit warm already. Samantha had slipped one hand beneath Janet's blouse and it was currently trying to slide its way inside her bra. Both of Janet's hands were now beneath Samantha's short skirt and tugging at the waistband of her panties.

The storeroom door was just behind them and that was the appropriate place to continue what had moved on from warm and was approaching boiling point, but dereliction of duty carries a high price at the Lotus Flower.

A girl named Tina had once been imprisoned in some stocks for deserting her post at the bar to go off and carouse in a bed with two male customers, and in those stocks she had been trapped naked in the middle of the room, a tray of assorted sex toys placed next to her and all customers invited to use them.

These two ladies knew this full well, they had been among Tina's judges and had sentenced her to the torment. Not that it had been too tormenting. Tina had enjoyed herself so much that several other girls, including Jenny, had volunteered to have a go in the stocks as well.

But the wooden stocks were upstairs in Room Thirteen and they were heavy. They required a couple of strapping male porters to carry them down to the bar and the porters expected payment. The girls were quite happy about that, they were good looking lads and a pleasure to entertain.

However, it all took time, and that was something Janet and Samantha had no more of. They sank to the floor behind the bar, Samantha's panties floating up and through the air to land on the counter before the girls had even reached the ground.

* * *

The room was a large one, perhaps fifteen yards to a side. Banks of electronic equipment stood against two of the dark painted walls, a third held workbenches either side of a central door which appeared to be made out of steel. The middle of the room was occupied by a few desks and more electronic equipment. Under the bright lights, the air smelled faintly of ozone.

It was the fourth wall that would have caught my attention, and held it! I expect you would have given it more than a passing glance as well. Copper rings had been set into the wall at regular intervals, about five feet from the ground.

Silken ropes had been threaded through many of these copper rings, the glossy braid shining beneath the bright lights suspended overhead.

All very nice, you may be thinking, but what was it that was supposed to have held your attention? Well, it was this.

Attached to each of those silken ropes by intricate knots was a slim wrist, a dozen wrists in total, and attached to each of those dozen wrists was an arm. An arm that in each case, and along with its partner, was raised to shoulder height. You could tell this because the dainty bare shoulders were right there alongside, enabling the comparison to be easily made.

These six pairs of dainty bare shoulders belonged to six equally bare blondes. All were slim, all were strikingly pretty, and each and every one of them was wondering how she came to be there.

Apart from being stripped and imprisoned against the wall by the silken ropes, they hadn't been molested in any way. Nobody had so much as tweaked a naked nipple. And this was upsetting to the six blondes, that wasn't how it was supposed to be.

What these blondes needed was a fuck. What was the point, they asked, of imprisoning a beautiful blonde such as they knew themselves to be, held naked against a wall by silken ropes, everything was on show, tits thrusting out in front of them, why would you do that, they wanted to know, if you weren't going to fuck them?

Imprisoned as they were, all they could do was rub their thighs together in frustration and wonder how they came to be in this position. It shouldn't be possible. It couldn't be possible. Yet here they were, naked, dazed and confused.

How had it happened? Why had it happened? One of the blondes thought she knew the answer to the first question, though not the second. They had been betrayed and she was pretty sure that she knew who by.

She would take her revenge for that betrayal, she made a vow to herself that she would, but first she had to get out of here and she couldn't see how that was going to happen. Not yet, anyway.

Come on, she thought, somebody fuck me. Anybody. Just fuck me!
Gone

Len and I had left the girls back in the castle and decided to spend the evening in Deeping village's local pub, the Falcon. It's a cosy place and serves a fine pint of Otter Ale, brewed fairly locally and one of my favourites. We were greeted with friendly nods by some of the customers and a couple of people issued an "Evenin' Len" as we made our way towards the bar.

The landlord scowled at us. "Ah! 'is lardship's slummin' it agin tonight boyz! And 'ow is 'is lardship tonight, mays I 'umbly arsk?"

Len drew himself up to his full height and looked down his nose at the surly landlord. "I'm no lord, as you well know. I believe that just plain Sir Leonard is a sufficiently subservient form of address for a peasant such as yourself, Colin."

There was a stand-off for a heartbeat, then they both laughed and shook hands.

"What's it to be, Len?"

"Two of your finest, if you'd be so kind."

We took stools at the bar and Len and Colin gossiped for a short while about the weather, the village cricket team and a few other things. I sat quietly sipping my beer, which was just as nice a pint as I'd hoped. I wasn't particularly listening to their conversation, but it seemed to me that the landlord had something on his mind and couldn't quite bring himself to raise the subject.

Len had also noticed. "What is it, Colin? Something's bothering you, I can tell."

"That obvious, am I?" Len just shrugged and waited for Colin to continue. "Well, it's not my place, I know, but I was rather hoping to ask you to do something in your Lord of the Manor role. It's the vicar, you see."

"Ralph? How is our venerable village saint?"

"Well, that's just it. I'm not so sure. I saw him and his wife coming back from their afternoon walk yesterday and I can't say either of them looked too steady on their legs. If it'd been you, of course, I'd just have assumed you were pissed! But not the vicar, nor Joan. You know they don't touch a drop."

"Shouldn't you be talking to the doctor rather than me?"

"I don't want to be telling tales out of school, everything might be just fine as far as I know. I'm just a bit worried, that's all. I'd go to see them myself, but as the purveyor of the devil's brew it's not really my place, you understand."

"So you'd like me to drop in on them?"

"If you would, Len. Just for my peace of mind if nothing else. Maybe you could ask how the fund's going to repair the church tower."

"He'll ask me for money!"

"Give him a couple of quid, you've got it to spare."

"All right, Colin. I'll try and pop in and see them in the morning."

"Thanks, Len. Ready for another? Both of you, on the house."

Len and I drained our glasses and the landlord poured us fresh ones, before moving off to serve another customer.

"Play darts?" Len asked me.

"Used to be reasonable at it in my college days."

"Julie."

"What?"

"We'll play for Julie. Five oh one, double in, double out. Nearest the bull to start."

"Are you sure it'll be all right with Julie? I once bet Jenny on a game of pool and she wasn't all that happy about it. Made a point of telling me so as well!"

"Well, we won't tell Julie about the bet."

"The winner just fucks her, you mean?"

"Yup! You throw first."

I won the game for Julie and I didn't tell her about the bet, but I did ... well, you know what I did.

* * *

And so did Jenny.

"How was Julie?"

"Why ask me, Jenny?"

"Because you've just climbed out of bed with her, of course!"

"What makes you think that?"

"Because she told me earlier that you would be fucking her this evening."

"But why would she think that?"

"Len."

"What?"

"Len and his bet. Darts, was it?"

"Er, yes."

"Apparently he's always making the same bet. Winner gets to fuck Julie, but don't tell her about the bet."

"But she knows all about it anyway?"

"Of course she does! She drinks in the Falcon as well and Len doesn't exactly whisper once he's got a couple of pints inside him. Everybody in the village knows about it. And they all know that Len's crap at darts as well."

"And she doesn't mind?"

"As long as the fuck's a good one, she says not. Did you give her a good one?"

"I'd like to think so."

"Want to show me?"

"All right, but I didn't put it just there."

"Oh? Oof!"

* * *

Deeping village is not big enough to warrant its own police station, but it does have a village copper in the rotund shape of Constable Flint. It is this stout myrmidon that keeps the peace in the village and ruthlessly stamps out local crime by issuing the odd parking ticket, mostly to tourists.

Being in possession of no car, he relies instead on his sturdy bicycle and is frequently to be seen pushing this antique two wheeler up even the slightest gradient. His carless status, however, has left his garage largely unoccupied and it is in this small and unassuming building that he has set up the local headquarters of the police service.

A desk and chair, which he was currently sitting both at and on, formed the furnishings of this far flung outpost of officialdom. His rather low-tech equipment consisted of a telephone and a notepad. Its badge facing towards him, his policeman's helmet sat on the desk as an emblem of the majesty of the law.

It's usually a sleepy outpost, which suits him very well, but tonight was different, he was to get very little sleep and wasn't all that happy about it. Still, he's a cheerful soul and managed not to swear at any of the people who were keeping him from his beauty sleep. Just!

What was keeping him up was a number of phone calls, people reporting strange lights in the sky. A pillar of fire was mentioned once or twice. A couple of people claimed to have seen the dark shape of a flying saucer, and one obvious nutter referred to a gigantic steel chicken. (Oddly enough, this wasn't me.)

As soon as he'd dealt with one call the phone would ring again. Didn't anybody sleep around here? He demonstrated the patience of Job as he slowly and clearly explained why there was nothing to worry about. Again and again!

He might have been disturbed himself by these reports of strange sightings, but he'd been briefed and had the facts at his fingertips to reassure his worried callers.

In mid-afternoon he'd received a phone call. From London, no less, almost a mythical place for a born and bred Devonian like himself, someone who believed that the bright lights of Torquay represented mankind's highest achievements.

The caller, who obviously had a hyphen in his name, though now he came to think of it, the man hadn't actually given a name, but he was posh, an officer for sure. Anyway, this chap had explained in his plummy accent that the army would be holding exercises on the moor tonight and that people shouldn't be worried by anything they thought they'd seen. In fact, it would be best if they forgot all about anything they'd imagined they'd seen.

Constable Flint duly related all this, repeatedly, until he no longer even had to look at his notes when he was explaining the situation.

At about three in the morning the phone stopped ringing, and after sitting up with a small whisky for twenty minutes to make sure it was all quiet, he finally retired for his well-earned rest, giving his trusty bicycle a reassuring pat on the saddle as he left his office.

* * *

Samantha was feeling ashamed of herself. She'd been weak and deeply regretted it now. She'd made a promise to herself, but as soon as Janet's fingers had reached her panties, she'd let herself down. Let Janet take her panties down.

The bar had filled up while she was on the floor with Janet, but they were going to escape charges of dereliction of duty. Seeing both barmaids happily and by now nakedly engaged with each other, the arriving customers had served their own drinks, helpfully writing things down on a notepad by the till for when the girls became available.

Most of these customers had taken stools at the bar so that they were able to peer over the counter and watch the action. A few had called out helpful suggestions and as far as possible both she and Janet had acted on those. Bottles, swizzle sticks, even ice cubes had been utilised as per various requests. Those ice cubes were a bit much, she conceded, so cold they seemed to burn, but sometimes true art requires sacrifice.

She had, however, demurred when somebody suggested that she could "get your whole foot in there!" although Janet had looked a little disappointed at the time. A full, but opened Champagne bottle had seemed to mollify her, at least temporarily.

Janet had returned the favour, though selecting a different target, and they'd both developed a bit of a thirst. So they kept pouring Champagne into each other and then drinking from the selected receptacle. The spectators were enjoying it and cheerfully stumped up for more Champagne as and when required.

These receptacles having not been designed for the use the two girls were putting them to, there was quite a lot of spillage, but they'd also managed to drink a fair bit and now Samantha was feeling mildly tipsy.

They'd eventually surfaced and worked the rest of the shift in a more conventional manner, though naked and slightly unsteady on their feet.

She'd enjoyed her session on the floor with Janet, spectators and all, and even enjoyed working the bar naked for the rest of the evening, drinking in the admiration as people gazed at her nude body.

And that was what was making her feel ashamed right now. The sex and the show had all been fine, but she'd promised herself that she was going to keep her clothes on!

The bar was closed now and Samantha was dressed and standing just outside in the garden having a smoke. She'd smoked cigarettes for a while in her mid-teens, it was just one of those things you did, but she'd given up fairly quickly and now barely smoked at all. Nowadays, if the desire took her fancy, she would occasionally have a quick puff, but had long ago decided that if she was going to do that, she might as well make it worthwhile.

Having already gone over to the dark side this evening by allowing her clothes to come off, Samantha had realised that this was one of those moments. She took another pull on the slim joint she was holding and held her breath a few moments before exhaling. It was beginning to work, she was relaxing and the guilt was slowly dissolving into the spiralling smoke.

Suddenly a strong arm came across her chest from behind and before she could even think of reacting, there was no time even to scream, a rag was pressed over her mouth. She thought she could smell dry cleaning fluid. No, not that, it was chlorof ...
Missing

Jenny was worried. She'd expected a call from Samantha last night, or at least first thing this morning, but there was no call. This wasn't like her minx, but she decided to wait until lunchtime before making enquiries. Her poppet might be busy.

Not rushed off her feet by work or anything, Jenny was sure of that, but it was perfectly possible that she was off her feet and busy doing something else. It was almost likely! But even so, Jenny would have expected Samantha to find time for a quick phone call.

In the end, Jenny could take no more of the suspense, she had to ring and speak to Samantha. She'd have to be careful about what she said to other people, but she was sure she could handle that. Len had warned them all against using mobile phones. Jenny had lost hers, but it was best not to call Samantha's mobile either. The castle's landlines were supposedly secure, so she picked up a phone and punched in the number for the Lotus Flower hotel.

Laura was on reception duty and Jenny recognised her voice. She apologised for disturbing Laura, but wondered if she'd be kind enough to put the call through to the bar as she wanted to speak with Samantha.

"The minx standing you up, is she, Jenny?"

"No, no, I'm sure everything's fine, I just need a quick word with her about something."

"OK, Jenny, putting you through now."

"Hello?"

"Janet?"

"Jenny, long time no see. Well a couple of days. Everything all right?"

"Yes, fine. Look, I just need a quick word with Samantha, I won't keep her for long."

"You're right about that, Jenny, she's not here."

"What? She left here yesterday."

"And she arrived here early evening. Driving an Aston Martin, no less."

"Yes, her Banana broke down and she had to borrow another car."

"Samantha's Banana broke down? Never! She looks after that old thing like it was her baby!"

"Oh, I don't know, something must have worn out, or she forgot something."

"She wouldn't tell me about the Aston Martin either, had me down on the floor doing all sorts just to avoid answering questions. You're not planning to do that to me, are you, Jenny?"

"Er, no. No, I'm not, Janet. I'm not in the area."

"Shame! Where are you?"

"Oh, just taking a few days off. Look, do you know where Samantha is?"

"No, I don't. She didn't show up for work this morning. It's not busy, I can cover for her. But is she in trouble, Jenny? You're both being very evasive. Is something the matter?"

"No, no. I'm sure everything's all right. Look, when she comes in, could you get her to call me?"

"Of course. You on your mobile?"

"Er, no, it got wet. But Samantha's got this number. Thanks, Janet. I'll see you soon and I'll be sure to get you on the floor somewhere, it's a promise."

"I'll look forward to it. Sure there's nothing else I can do?"

"Finding Samantha would take a load off my mind."

"I'll see what I can do."

* * *

Len had returned to the castle late in the morning. He was still a little worried about Mr and Mrs Bantree, but largely reassured. True to his promise to Colin the landlord, he'd visited the vicar and his wife to unobtrusively observe them and check on their well-being.

It had cost him quite a lot more than he'd planned by way of a donation to the church tower fund, but it may well have been worth it. It seemed almost certain that his theories were going to be proved correct. They were here!

The elderly couple had been quite evasive when he managed to subtly drop into the conversation that they'd been observed to be a trifle wobbly on their legs. They had changed the subject rapidly, but had assured him that not only were they in perfect health, they were thriving.

The conspiratorial glances they'd exchanged as they said this only served to confirm his suspicions. Still, why not? They were old and had served Deeping's souls for decades. If anybody deserved unexpected happiness, surely it was them.

He regarded the smiling couple, more worried about heart attacks than them taking to the sauce, but the renewed vigour that they'd found should help to keep their bodies functioning properly. He wished them all the best and took his leave.

So, they were here, were they? At least some of them. This was going to mean trouble, of that he was certain. He'd sent a message asking for some assistance, but so far there'd been no reply. No surprise, really, he was an awkward bugger at the best of times. Nothing to do but wait. Wait and try to work out what CyberCorp's involvement was.

* * *

At the centre of the village of Deeping is a square, a bit larger than a tennis court, which acts as something of a roundabout for what little traffic the village gets. It contains a war memorial and formal gardens, with small lawns and neatly tended flower beds. Surrounding the square are quaintly thatched cottages, the Falcon pub, the village hall, a bakery and a few other shops. The tower of St John's church, workplace of the vicar, Ralph Bantree, is visible a hundred yards away.

It is mid-morning on a bright summer's day and people are going about their business. The traffic is light, a few shoppers are buying essentials. An attractive young couple, tourists by the look of them, are taking in the scenic view of the square and its surrounds. But wait! Was that a figure they'd seen next to the memorial? No, nothing there, just a shadow.

They each take a seat, side by side on one of the wooden benches dotted around the square. They begin to hug each other and start kissing. It appears that it's a very enjoyable kiss, they keep at it for a long time, their lips grinding against each other. His hand has crept up underneath her skimpy top and is trying to work its way inside her bra. Meanwhile, her hand is rubbing furiously at his lap. Things are starting to get steamy. None of the passers-by are paying any attention to their grappling.

The couple break apart, breathing heavily, and the girl takes hold of the hem of her top and peels it off over her head, her hands reach behind her and a moment later her bra is coming off. Her rounded breasts are now exposed to the warm summer air and they are very nice tits indeed!

She has a fan club of at least one, right here. Her tits have that curve to them that make the nipples appear to stand on the up-slope, pointing skywards, and I love tits like that! Well, actually, I also love quite a lot of other tit shapes, in fact it's probably easiest just to say that I love tits, but those with the up-slope sited nipples are particular favourites of mine.

Her boyfriend likes them too, he leans over to kiss them, but she pushes him away as she rises to her feet. She kicks off her trainers while at the same time she is hauling down tight shorts and panties together. Now she is wearing only short white socks and the outfit suits her very well indeed!

Her boyfriend seems to think so as well. He opens his belt, undoes the top button of his trousers and lowers the zip, and now it is very obvious just what he thinks of his very nearly naked girlfriend. He pushes her head down, she grasps the back of the bench, her shapely tits hanging beneath her, nipples now gazing across the square, bum curving out behind her, and then he is entering her from behind. She gasps, he groans.

Now they have attracted some attention from the erstwhile passers-by, who are no longer passing, but have paused to peruse this pulchritudinous performance. One might expect expressions of opprobrium, I mean she's a good looking girl, and I suppose he's handsome enough to the right eyes, but this is a very public place, the heart of the village, and scenes like this just don't occur in the quiet backwater of Deeping.

Oh, but they do! They are happening right now! And far from disapproving, the village's spectators are watching events with a keen interest. There is much licking of lips taking place. Women's hands are reaching for blouses, men are fiddling with belts and trouser buttons. Lascivious looks are being exchanged. There is a muttering and murmuring as lust takes its grip on the small crowd.

Undisturbed by the gathering commotion about them, the young tourists continue coupling, showing no signs that they are in any sort of hurry. The clothes are starting to come off all around the square now, tits and shapely bums coming out into the open. Less appealingly to some, hairy arses and rigid equipment are doing the same.

Someone must have cracked a good joke, because from nowhere there is a roar of gleeful laughter.

I think it's time to leave again, somebody is bound to call the police!

* * *

Captain Shaft was reviewing the progress of his mission. He'd delivered the down payment to his sponsors a couple of nights back. He'd had to lie to his crew about that, make it look convincing, but it was for their own good. Eventually they would come to understand that, then again, perhaps they wouldn't. In the meantime they'd just have to trust him and believe in his lies. What mattered was the cause.

His sponsors had collected the goods and had no doubt been working on them ever since. He sincerely hoped they knew what they were doing. Still, that aspect of the mission was out of his control now, he must rely on the others to do their job properly, carefully, and above all, safely!

Later that same night, he'd sent a small away team as an advance guard to reconnoitre and secure base camp. He'd heard nothing from them since, but he hadn't expected to, they knew their business and would have been getting on with it.

Then last night he'd reinforced the initial landing party and everything had gone smoothly. So far it was all going to plan. He hoped that his ground forces weren't drawing attention to themselves.

Just one more landing to go. Tonight everybody went ashore, himself included. In fact he'd go first, leading his people to their destiny, to the Promised Land.

* * *

Samantha came round slowly. Her head was fuzzy, and not from the joint she vaguely remembered smoking. She drifted off again into a nebulous region of her thoughts for a while, then she suddenly sat upright. She had remembered that arm coming across her chest like an iron bar, the rag over her mouth!

Now she was here, and where the fuck was that? Looking around told her she was in a cell. White tiled walls, a stainless steel toilet, a metal door with a peep-hole. It was closed and she instinctively knew it was locked. She was sitting on a hard bed which was fixed to the wall. A light bulb in a steel cage shone from overhead and there was a small window made out of glass bricks.

That was it for the room, she checked herself. She had her clothes on, but her shoes were gone. As far as she could tell, nothing had been done to her. Physically, anyway, apart from being arrested or abducted, that is!

Her mind was catching up with her situation as the dizziness faded. Arrested or abducted? This looked like a police cell. Not that she'd ever been in one, but she'd seen them on the telly. Perhaps that meant that she'd been arrested.

But the police didn't arrest people by grabbing them from behind and knocking them out, did they? With chloroform, she remembered. No, they didn't do that, they walked up to you and told you that you were under arrest. They read you your rights.

Unless they thought you were dangerous, she supposed. Then they might try to take you unawares, but it seemed a bit extreme just because she'd been smoking a little joint. Did they think I was dangerous, she wondered?

Probably not arrested, she concluded, which left abducted. So who by and why? Somebody who could provide a reasonable facsimile of a police cell, if not a real one. Which required resources, and who had those? She reckoned she knew the answer to who.

Jenny's stupid boyfriend had started all this! He'd poked his nose in where it wasn't wanted and he'd put Jenny in danger, they'd had to go on the run. Now he had managed to get Samantha herself kidnapped!

And this was obviously the answer to the second question, why she'd been taken. They wanted to know where Jenny and her tame idiot were hiding. Well, she wouldn't tell! Not for him, but for Jenny, for her Mistress! Her mind returned to the question of whether she was dangerous, and she knew the answer to that one, too.

Bloody right, I am!

Then the cell door opened and two men in uniform entered. "You will talk!" one of them said. "If you don't, we have ways of making you!"
Power

I'd spent most of the morning alongside Jenny surfing for more information about CyberCorp. It hadn't really got us anywhere, but we had to be doing something. We were in trouble and we wanted to get out of it. There were only the two promising leads, the space exploration division and Merliscombe. I concentrated on researching the first, Jenny tried to find out what she could about the combe.

Over a light lunch we compared our findings. They were remarkably similar, we'd both found not a lot. If what I was reading on the Net was correct, not by any means a given when it's a global corporation supplying information about itself, then CyberCorp's space exploration division hadn't really got off the ground.

I'd not expected to find that they'd established a flying saucer factory or anything like that, but I had hoped for something. From what I could gather, though, it was all research and no actual technology. I'd come up against a brick wall. If there was anything to be found here, and I was beginning to doubt that, then it wasn't me that was going to find it.

Having drawn a blank on that front, I had a look at some of their other activities. I got quite interested in the virtual reality program for a while. It seemed that CyberCorp was planning a major launch later this year, but the details weren't being revealed yet. Apart from revolutionary, ground breaking, exciting, thrilling and a hundred other superlatives, there was nothing to say what the product actually was, apart, presumably, from being virtually real.

Jenny had experienced similar disappointment trying to find out anything interesting about Merliscombe. She got hits from various rambling groups who all seemed to like it, but only because it was a nice walk. A couple of bird watch sites mentioned it. Last year a pair of merlins had reportedly nested there, producing two chicks, both of which had survived.

That had made Jenny twitch when she saw it, and I did the same when she told me about it, but then the name Merlin cropped up all over these parts. Merliscombe, being a case in point. That was the only interesting fact Jenny came up with. The sole reference to the combe's sale she could find was in CyberCorp's own accounts.

She confessed at this point that she was worried about Samantha and that her concern had caused her to spend most of the morning playing solitaire on the computer. I attempted to chide her for not furthering the cause, but she defended herself, saying, "It's what you spend most of your time doing when you pretend to be writing." She had a valid point there, so I let it go.

"I tell you what, Jenny, we're not getting very far here. It's a lovely day outside, why don't we go for a walk in Merliscombe? You never know, we might see something to help us, and it might take your mind off your minx."

"The last time we went up there we were nearly eaten by an enormous hound."

"That was on the actual moor, we won't go that far today."

"What if Samantha calls while we're out? I don't have a mobile."

"And Merliscombe's got no signal, but if she calls here someone will take a message, don't worry."

"But I am worried!"

"I know, all the more reason to get out and do something."

* * *

In a large room, six naked blondes are still roped to rings in the wall and they are even more unhappy about it than the last time we saw them. In addition to the blondes, the room also contains several men and a few women in white coats. They are all wearing strange glasses, almost goggles, which in addition to altering their vision are emitting a high frequency sound directly into their ears.

Among the reasons the blondes are discontented is what these people are doing, which is attaching electrodes to them, and in some indelicate places at that. The technicians, for that is what the white coated people are, are checking readings, moving electrodes, typing notes into computers and holding small conferences to discuss their results.

It is during one of these little get-togethers that we can see one man, who is not involved in a meeting, attaching an electrode to a blonde at the end of the line. He is trying to position it in an extremely personal place and the blonde is wriggling fiercely as far as her bonds will allow.

But the man is determined, he's not planning to give up until he's got his electrode in absolutely the right spot. Despite her struggles, this is exactly what the blonde wants him to be doing. The technician bends down to get a closer look at his target.

This is the moment she's been waiting for, nobody is looking at them. Most of the people are huddled in another of their interminable conferences, the few not involved are busy with other tasks.

As the technician's head comes down, her knees clamp together around his ears. With a twist and a jerk, she manages to wrench the oversized glasses from his head and they fall to the floor.

The man stands up straight in surprise, blinking rapidly. At the back of his mind an inner voice is telling him that something is wrong, but what was serving as the front of his mind was telling it to shut the fuck up! He's staring at the blonde in front of him. She's ravishingly beautiful and is roped nakedly to the wall. He understands what he must do and knows he must do it immediately.

In roughly half a second, he's let his trousers fall to half-mast and grasped the blonde with a hand beneath each of her knees. He lifts, he separates, he enters and he gasps. There's a shout of "No!" from across the room, but the blonde ripostes with her own cry of "Yes! Yes, yes, yes!" and the man carries on.

There is pandemonium in the room as people realise what is happening. All of the white coats start rushing towards the enjoined pair. More shouts of "No!" and "Stop!" ring out, but the blonde is maintaining her mantra of "Yes!" and the technician keeps on thrusting.

The white coats have reached him, hands are grasping his arms, starting to pull him away. The blonde realises that her time is up, she fervently hopes that it has been enough. Before the technician's member can be pulled out of contact, she summons up her resources.

Then she's gone, just vanished.

Empty silken ropes dangle forlornly from their copper rings. Now there are only five beautiful blondes hanging on the wall.

* * *

Constable Flint's bicycle failed to cope with the fact that he had abandoned control, raising both hands to his face in horror at what was happening in the village square. Seeing no alternative, the trusty steed handed the reins over to gravity which took prompt action, depositing both policeman and bicycle upon the road surface without ceremony.

The constable had fortunately fallen on his backside, the size of which had considerably cushioned his crash to earth. He remained there for a while, sitting on the tarmac, his mouth open, eyes bulging out of their sockets. One hand had automatically gone to his pocket, searching instinctively for the policeman's whistle that would bring order to this unseemly chaos.

But wait! Here was Trudy, the new girl at the baker's shop, and she wasn't wearing a lot. Nothing at all, to be precise. She was standing in front of him, looking down at his red face with a strange expression on her own. He stared straight back, though not at her face. He was studying the triangle of tangled dark curls which were currently at his nose level.

Having already taken the initiative in regards to the whistle, and given the fact that Constable Flint was in no fit state to issue proper instructions, orders were changed, whistle searches were cancelled and his hands took matters into their own, well, hands. They both reached out to either side of Trudy before closing in and grasping a smoothly rounded cheek each and pulling the triangle of curls closer to his nose.

Trudy purred happily. Her hips joined forces with the arms of the law in their self-appointed task and the curly triangle pushed forward and rubbed against the policeman's nose. Had his nose been itching, the scratchy sensation of the tightly curled hair must surely have assuaged it. Having been experiencing no such itch in the first place, and taking its cue from the independently operating hands, his nose took a deep sniff.

The hips pushed further forwards, harder, grinding the curls against the nose of the law. Knees bent and the policeman's head was being pushed towards the road surface. Tipping point was reached and his body fell to its back, maintaining a right angled position so that his legs were pointing straight into the air.

Trudy's knees were on the ground, each pressing against a Flinty ear, and now the policeman's nose was not only itch free, but it couldn't complain of the cold either. It took another grateful sniff and rubbed, inhaling the aroma and savouring it like a fine cigar.

All very well, reported another part of his autonomously operating anatomy, but what you're supposed to do with a cigar is to smoke it. Seeming to have heard the thought, Trudy reversed her position, and here the tip of Constable Flint's now damp nose did experience a little coolness until she had settled herself back into place.

It is debatable as to whether Trudy's hands were under her control or were acting of their own volition, either way, they were now scrabbling at the fly of the dark blue trousers of the law. The constable's considerably excited cigar was soon released, greeted with a kiss, then found itself being smoked greedily.

In one of those coincidences that happens just about every time, Trudy and Constable Flint were now in a position that exactly mimicked the numbers on his shoulder bars, which consisted of a six and a nine.

I suppose that we could have stuck around last time we were here, somebody had indeed called the police, but the legal forces that Deeping village could array against this flagrant breach of the peace were not up to the task. Be that as it may, following a quick shift in positions, the corpulent copper was soon up Trudy.

The sound of unrestrained mirth rolled invisibly and inaudibly across the square.

* * *

Somebody else was up to something, and in this case it was Captain Shaft, who was currently up Ensign Love, the most junior of his officers, and she wasn't sure she was enjoying it as she should be.

Fucking the captain was an honour, she knew, one usually reserved for more senior officers, and she felt that honour deeply. Perhaps not quite as deeply as she was feeling the captain, who was in as deep as he could get, which wasn't preventing him from trying to get deeper, but she understood that this was a privilege rarely granted to one as junior as herself.

No, it wasn't the captain that was causing her unease, it was the person behind the rank. He was good looking, of course he was, they all were. He was a good fuck, ditto. Still, there was something about him that made her feel slightly queasy, not a sensation she was used to when sex was involved.

The feeling was all wrong, he seemed faintly untrustworthy, she couldn't quite put her finger on it. She gasped when the captain demonstrated that he could.

This was disloyal thinking on her part, thoughts unbefitting for an officer, no matter how lowly, and she tried to put it all to the back of her mind. Nevertheless, her reservations persisted, and it was with some relief that she felt him withdraw just before the warm shower began to bedew her beautiful upturned breasts.

Captain Shaft had been oblivious to the doubts being entertained by the officer serving under him, for him it was about power. Tonight was the big one, the completion of the first phase of his mission. His vision. His master plan. Tonight he might need all his power. He should prepare.

"Thank you, Ensign Love. As you leave, please ask Ensign Nipple to step into my cabin. You are dismissed."
Freedom

"Mary, they're here, at least some of them are. I suspected it after I'd visited the vicar and his wife, but I've just had a call about the village square. There is a most egregious breach of the peace occurring even as we speak. It would appear that there's an orgy underway that would make a Roman emperor's hair curl. Right there, out in the open, in the heart of the village!"

"But why here? Why would they want to come to Deeping?"

"I can only assume that it has something to do with CyberCorp having bought Merliscombe. I don't know what's going on, but Merliscombe is at the heart of it, I'm sure of that."

"Oh dear, guess who went for a walk in Merliscombe this afternoon."

"Ouch! That wasn't very clever of them."

"Well, there are no surveillance cameras there."

"Small comfort, it's not cameras I'm worried about being there."

"Oh, I expect they'll survive. After all, they're used to Samantha already."

"I suppose so."

"We shall just have to wait and see. Now, do you fancy popping along to the village square?"

"Why? I doubt there's anything we can do to stop the orgy."

"Who said anything about stopping it?"

"You want to join in?"

"Why not? Why should they have all the fun?"

"Mary, I have a position in society to maintain. I'm a magistrate. I have a reputation."

"Yes, I'm sure all the villagers know your reputation already. So what's to stop you joining in the fun?"

"I don't think it would be right, they don't understand what's happening. They're under the influence and not responsible for their actions."

"I could be under your influence, if you like. Under you!"

"Now?"

"Why not? Have you any better ideas? You've sent him the message already, haven't you?"

"Yes, but I haven't heard anything in reply."

"There you are, then, you've done everything you can for the moment, now why don't you do me?"

"I suppose so. Here all right with you?"

"Oof! Oh, yes!"

* * *

Our walk in Merliscombe was a short one. We'd only just reached the stream when Jenny wrapped her arms fiercely around me and kissed me hard on the lips. One of her arms released me and her fingers started to scrabble at my belt. My own hands were beneath her skirt, my fingers on a quest for what lay nestled between her unscarred cheeks.

We were on the ground a second later, ripping at each other's clothes. I'm pleased to say that we had chanced to fall onto a soft patch of grass and that Jenny's beautiful bottom was likely to survive unscathed. Up to a point. Up until the point that I got up it.

Quite what had caused this unseemly haste, neither of us knew, but we didn't waste any time thinking about it. There was an urgency to our actions, it wasn't love making, it was fucking, pure and simple. We went at it like rabbit and doe. Gasping, grasping, mauling and manipulating. Poking, stroking, sliding and riding.

Mr and Mrs Bantree had been going at it hard when they were in a similar situation, but between us, Jenny and I had the best part of a hundred years on them, we were going much harder. Had there been a seismograph within twenty miles of us, its technicians would have been busy adding extra numbers to the Richter scale as the earth reverberated beneath us. However, so energetic was our congress that we rolled from our soft and grassy patch and onto the steep bank of the stream.

Merliscombe's stream is no match for the mighty Thames, not even in its winter flood, however, its water contrived to be even colder! (Though from what I accidentally inhaled, it tasted just as good.) But it dampened our ardour more than somewhat, and caused a rapid cessation of our amorous activities, not least because icy water tends to cause a bit of shrinkage in certain parts.

There was no need to swim for the shore, while deep enough to have submerged us in our initial plunge, when we struggled to our feet the water only came to our knees. We looked at each other, I think we were both a little embarrassed at the urgency with which we'd been going about things.

Then Jenny let slip a quiet giggle. I joined in, and soon we were both doubled over in laughter, that helpless laughter that leaves you gasping for breath, chest heaving in great sobs. There was no reason for it, falling into an icy stream is not really all that funny, but neither of us could stop ourselves.

After a while I noticed that Jenny had managed to check herself for a second, trying her hardest to keep a straight face. I could see her telling herself that it was enough, it was time to call a halt to the laughter and recover herself, but it did no good. She managed to convert the first guffaw into an "Mmph" as it forced its way between her lips, but that was the end of her self-control, soon she was doubled over again, which set me off into fresh gales of nearly hysterical laughter.

Neither of us could actually stop laughing, but we did recover sufficiently to help each other out of the stream. We rearranged our dripping clothing and still giggling we struggled to support each other as we wobbled our wet way out of the combe and back towards the castle.

Still damp, we'd regained our composure somewhat by the time we reached the outskirts of the village, and it was here that I beheld something that filled me with horror and told me that civilisation was crumbling about our ears.

We were passing the village cricket ground and out on the square were two people, very obviously a man and a woman. A pair of shapely female legs were waving in the air while a bare male arse was rising and falling between them.

The distance was too great to see just how hairy that arse may or may not have been and my curiosity did not stretch to moving closer to ascertain the facts. But the hairiness of arses was completely beside the point. I was aghast at what the pair were doing.

"Jenny, look at that. It's outrageous!"

"Come over all coy, have you? They're only fucking, although it is a bit public."

"That's not the point!"

"It isn't? I think they might disagree if you asked them."

"Jenny, I am as you know, no prude, but I do have certain standards, a regard for the decencies without which we would become barbarians. And those two are only fucking, as you put it, on the wicket! On the actual wicket, I tell you!"

"That's a bad thing, is it?"

I was temporarily lost for words. You think you know somebody, love them even, then you find that they hold all that is sacred in such low regard. It comes as a shock, it really does. I endeavoured to explain.

"It's just not cricket, Jenny. The wicket, it's, it's, well, it's hallowed turf, don't you see?"

"It's just a patch of grass."

Sacrilege! How can this be the same woman that I love? Bosom companion of my heart, with a bosom I love to play with. How could she say such a thing? It got worse.

"Grown men waving their stick and their balls around all over the place, and with everybody watching!"

I was horrified! She was traducing the noble sport of cricket, the game that made England great. I opened my mouth to protest, but no words came, nothing that would convey the depth of the feelings that Jenny had aroused in my, admittedly less attractive than her own, bosom.

We had to get back to the castle and soon. I needed a drink!

* * *

If you recall, we left Samantha in a cell where a pair of CyberCorp goons had just ordered her to talk. Not a clever thing to do in my opinion and certainly not an order I'd issue myself, but these men obviously didn't know her as well as I do.

Back at the Lotus Flower, Samantha had gone to the floor with Janet to avoid going on one of her rambling monologues, not wanting to risk letting Jenny's secret slip. She supposed she probably had that option with these Neanderthals, but she really was pissed off about being abducted and was in no mood to give these men anything at all.

Besides, she'd realised that avoiding mention of Jenny's whereabouts was actually quite easy. So she was going to talk. It's what they wanted and it was what she wanted. She had a plan.

If talking ever becomes an Olympic sport, you could do worse than to go down the bookies and put a healthy amount of money down on Samantha winning gold, silver and bronze with a single speech. The goons had no idea what was about to hit them!

She began carefully, she didn't want to lose her audience, so she made sure to drop in the odd hint that she might be leading up to actually saying something useful. As she started to get into her stride she was fiddling with a pendant that she was wearing around her neck.

At about the three minute mark, the men's eyes were already starting to glaze over, but Samantha was only just getting going. She'd casually extracted the pendant from the front of her blouse as she talked and was now toying idly with it, rubbing it between her fingers.

Six and a half minutes in, she was warming to her subject, getting in to her vocal rhythm, and the pendant was now dangling from her fingers. It started to sway. Her voice dropped a tone and quietened, the men had to lean forwards a little to hear her. By small stages, she slowed her delivery, the pendant swinging from side to side in time with her voice.

Eleven minutes and twenty seconds into her speech, the man on the left burst out laughing and slapped his companion across the shoulders.

"Do you know what, John? I think she's trying to hypnotise us! It ain't gonna work, Missy!"

Samantha sighed, she'd been hoping to avoid this, it was so inelegant. Still, a girl's gotta do and all that, it was time to call on her inner Minx. She was sitting on the edge of her bunk and now she moved smoothly into action, rolling forward and upright. Her momentum meant that all her bodyweight was behind the blow she delivered to the goon who wasn't John. Her heel smashed into the side of his knee with a crackling sound of exploding gristle as his knee joint burst apart and he collapsed with a cry of pain.

The goon that was John started to raise his fists, but Samantha's right hand was faster and crashed into his throat. His air supply cut off, John goon's own hands went up to his neck in an attempt to ease the pain. This left his entire body open to Samantha's next move, which was to slam her knee into the man's stomach, causing what air remained to him to whoosh out of his lungs and double him over. Both of Samantha's hands came down in a double fist and clubbed him on the back of the neck. He dropped.

Not-John goon was rolling in agony on the floor, making mewling noises over his shattered knee joint. I suppose you could look on it as an act of mercy when Samantha stamped on the side of his head, causing his skull to impact on the concrete floor with a crack. He went quiet after that and lay still.

Samantha didn't think she'd killed either of the men, but when it came down to it, she didn't really care too much if she had. They or their colleagues had tried to kill Jenny! She bent to extract the bunch of keys from not-John goon's belt and unlocked the cell door.

She straightened her blouse and smoothed her skirt, then Samantha quietly slipped out into an empty corridor.

* * *

Another blonde, this one with white-gold hair, was walking the corridors of the CyberCorp building, and she was naked. She'd only had so much power to work with and hadn't been able to go far, now she was going to have to walk. And hide, she realised. This was a bit beneath her dignity, she shouldn't have to hide, but then she shouldn't have been taken captive either.

Still, if she wanted her revenge on the bastard that had betrayed her and her team, and she did want revenge, she wanted it so badly that she could taste it, then she had to get out of this building. She'd need help if she was to rescue her comrades as well as herself.

She slipped down another corridor, ducking into an open doorway as somebody walked past. A white coat or a uniform would be helpful, she realised. The corridor now clear, she moved on, trying to find a way out of the maze.

Her mind kept returning to their capture. They had been deliberately sent into a trap by their captain, she was sure of it. The others might still believe in him, but she knew treachery when she smelled its rank odour.

He was the only one that had seen the situation outside, seen the men in their uniforms, seen the special glasses they were wearing, seen the electronic perimeter they'd set up, and then he'd sent out the away team. Knowing that they would be captured, and she wouldn't mind betting that he knew they would be treated like laboratory animals after they were taken prisoner.

What kind of a captain would betray his own crewmembers like that? One that would suffer for it, she promised herself.

Yet another of the endless corridors took her to, yes! That looked like the main entrance. She ducked back behind the wall as she heard somebody approaching, keeping out of sight until they had passed.

She took a quick look around, listened hard and decided it was safe. There was nobody around. She darted towards the door of the building.

Shit! It wasn't safe! There was somebody around! She ran straight into them and they both tumbled to the floor in a tangled heap.

* * *

Jenny phoned the Lotus Flower again that evening. There was still no sign of Samantha and now Janet was worried as well. She did her best to reassure Jenny, but neither of them were wholly convinced by Janet's declaration that she was sure everything was all right.

Jenny was all for driving straight to the Lotus Flower and was not at all impressed by Len ordering her to do no such thing. I'd kept quiet, I would do my best to prevent her going, but I knew better than to try giving orders to Jenny about anything, let alone something to do with her minx.

It was Mary that finally talked Jenny into remaining in the castle, promising her that help was on its way soon. Len looked a little unsure about that, but did his best to back up his wife's story.

I was a bit worried about Samantha as well, not as frantic as Jenny, though. And if I'd been Len, I'd have been concerned for my Aston Martin, but he had the good grace not to mention it. In fact, he and Mary seemed entirely confident that Samantha would be perfectly fine. Indeed, Len was of the opinion that any danger that had the temerity to threaten Samantha had better watch out for itself!

This magisterial endorsement of her minx's abilities seemed to sooth Jenny's nerves a little and she was almost her normal self when we sat down to dinner a short time later. Feeling enough of herself to put a hand up Julie's skirt to feel her when the soup course arrived, anyway.
Night

The laughter in the village square had slowly faded away, and with its passing had come the beginnings of awareness amongst the revellers. Some, like Constable Flint, chose to ignore the realisation that they were engaged in sexual congress in a very public place.

He hadn't been with a girl as pretty as Trudy for a long, long time, probably never, and he didn't want to stop now. He kept up his work rate. He must have been doing a good job, for despite her own growing awareness of the situation, Trudy kept on giving as good as she was getting.

Some of the other couples and groups were doing the same, but most were breaking apart, rearranging clothing, shamefaced and embarrassed, trying to avoid eye contact with people they'd been more than a little bit intimate with only moments earlier.

Fifteen minutes later all was quiet in the square, everybody had left when the laughter ran out, all except for one couple. Having moved from the road surface to the softer grass of the lawn by the war memorial, this pair were still hard at it. Uniform askew, helmet abandoned in the road along with his bicycle, Constable Flint was still paying Trudy all the attention that she could, and evidently did, desire.

All good things, however, must finally come to an end, and such was the case here. A policeman's lot is not, it is alleged, a happy one, but the good constable had a lot to give and he happily gave it to Trudy, all of it. The Deeping police force not being in need of new recruits in the shape of rotund babies, Constable Flint selected as his target the dark triangle of tangled curls that had first attracted his interest, and which turned out to be quite an efficient impromptu sponge.

A short while later a bicycle could be seen to emerge from the square, pedalled by a portly policeman. A grin which threatened to split his red face in half beamed above a hastily rearranged uniform, his helmet sat on his head at a jaunty angle. Perched precariously on the bicycle's crossbar was a naked brunette, gazing adoringly at her chauffeur with all the goodwill a grateful girl can give.

The blue serge chevalier, bearing the maiden away on his trusty steed.

* * *

It would be misleading to say that when Samantha suddenly found herself rolling on the ground wrestling with a naked blonde she wasn't surprised. If, when she had escaped from her cell earlier, she'd been asked to draw up a list of possible outcomes and arrange them in order of probability, naked blonde wrestling would almost certainly not even have featured. Surprised she undoubtedly was!

The fact that the blonde appeared to be trying to get her fingers inside Samantha's panties, inside Samantha, was another eye opener. She'd managed to get a bit of a look at the blonde as they rolled across the building's foyer in their writhing embrace, and she thought that she liked what she'd seen. She felt a strong temptation to let the mystery blonde succeed in her penetrating endeavour.

However, escape was of the essence, pleasure would have to wait upon necessity. Reluctantly, she concluded that now was neither the time nor place. The hidden depths that Len had suggested Samantha possessed would have to remain hidden, at least for now.

She contrived to free both of her arms for long enough to put the fingers of her right hand onto a ring her father had given her that she wore on her left. She twisted the gold band anticlockwise.

A brilliant flash of white light blazed from Samantha's ring, casting stark shadows across the foyer and dazzling the mystery blonde, who for moments afterwards could see nothing but lurid purple spots.

Samantha, who had been ready for the flash of light and had averted her eyes, now hauled back her right arm before delivering a crisp uppercut to the blonde's chin. The punch took the blonde completely unawares, rocking her head back. She soundlessly collapsed and lay inert on the floor.

Standing up, Samantha looked down at her erstwhile opponent, recovering her breath after the brief struggle. She definitely liked what she was seeing. The blonde hair was almost white, her pubes so fine and pale as to be nearly invisible. Her tits, even when she was lying unconscious on her back, were just a little on the pointy side.

Well, it wasn't that much of a surprise, not really. She'd known they were about somewhere, ever since she'd heard about the flying saucer, but it hadn't occurred to her that they might be here, wherever here might be. She supposed that she should have guessed, but she couldn't think of everything, could she?

Finally Samantha looked at the naked blonde's face. "Oh, shit!" she said.

She bent, hauled on the blonde's arms and hoisted her over her shoulder in a fireman's lift. Then she was off, trotting through the door and out of the building at a gentle jog, seemingly unbothered by the weight of the body she was carrying.

As she emerged from the building, she was mildly surprised to see that it was night time, presumably the same night that she had been abducted. Or was it the next? She didn't know how long she'd been unconscious after the chloroform, but she'd been in that cell a long time. Probably the following night, then.

She was in a car-park and a car was what she wanted right now. On the far side of the open area, looking over the parked vehicles, she could make out the main gate. Under the floodlights that illuminated it she could see that it was a sturdy looking edifice, constructed of black painted steel. There was also a guard hut next to the gate, manned, she could see from here.

Were they armed? Probably, she concluded, remembering Jenny's tale of their flight from the scene of the flying saucer landing. Strong gate, armed guards, this was going to get lively, she thought.

Draping the unconscious blonde rather inelegantly across the bonnet of a Honda Civic, Samantha looked around for what she needed. Keeping her head down so as not to be seen, she started her search, running down rows of parked cars. She had to be quick, naked blondes draped over car bonnets do not go unnoticed for long.

What she really wanted was a main battle tank, but she conceded to herself that she was unlikely to find one neatly parked and ready for her. She'd have to improvise.

Ah! Here it was, this should do the job, an ancient Volvo, designed to withstand accidents up to and including nuclear attack. Damn, locked! And her handbag was back at the Lotus Flower, she had no tools to pick the lock. Squatting down, Samantha fiddled again with her ring. She aimed her hand at the door-lock and twisted the ring slightly.

This time the light came out in a narrow beam which she kept centred on the soon smoking lock. A few seconds later, molten metal started to pour out. She tried the door handle. OK, she was in. Slipping behind the wheel, she reached under the dashboard, wrenched off a plastic cover and started fiddling with wires.

Shortly afterwards, the engine sprang to life with a gentle purr. Fastening her seatbelt, possibly unnecessary for a journey of a hundred yards across a car-park, but old habits die hard, Samantha piloted the venerable Volvo to the place where she'd unceremoniously parked the blonde.

She was still out for the count, but mindful as always of the safety of her passengers, Samantha slid the naked body into the back of the Volvo, placing her so that she was lying across the seat, then fitting all three seatbelts around her.

Climbing back behind the wheel, Samantha clicked her own belt into place and adjusted it carefully. She was ready. She threaded her way slowly through the stationary cars until she could see the gate straight ahead of her, a hundred yards away. She floored the throttle.

There was a uniformed guard standing by the gate and he heard the approach of the accelerating Volvo as Samantha changed up through the gears. Noting its speed and evident intention of not stopping, he started reaching for the gun on his belt.

At the same time, the guard hut's door opened and another man in uniform stepped out. He looked at the rapidly approaching Volvo and stepped smartly back inside, slamming the door behind him. Very wise, thought Samantha, though he might still regret it.

The man who had reached for his gun looked at the Volvo, looked at the strong gate and smiled as he raised his weapon to fire. That gate wasn't going anywhere, he knew.

So did Samantha. As the first shots starred the windscreen, she pulled the wheel to the right and the car altered course at the last second, away from the gate and straight at the fence next to it. One wing of the Volvo ploughed into the side of the guard hut as she sped past, the wall collapsing and the roof beginning to slide towards the ground.

But Samantha was already clear of the hut and striking the fence head on. With a crash and a shower of splintered wood, the Volvo sailed through its self-created gap in the fence. She had escaped!

The airbag that had erupted from the steering wheel left Samantha effectively blind as bullets thudded into the back of the speeding car. Fuck!

* * *

That same night, Deeping's small outpost of the law was deluged with phone calls in the same way that it had been the previous evening. This night, however, there was no comforting voice, facts at the tips of its fingers, to reassure worried callers that the strange lights over the moor were just the army playing their games.

The police never would find out if the gigantic steel chicken had been sighted again, because Constable Flint was in no mood to spend another night speaking to nutters over the phone. He had Trudy to think about, the poor girl had no clothes and that garage could be a draughty place, especially at night. He felt his duty lay in keeping the girl warm.

Trudy herself wasn't feeling cold in the slightest, in fact, the application of the stout yeoman of the law's finger, just there, was making her very warm indeed. She was getting positively heated. She reached out to grasp a certain singularity at the centre of the policeman's body and as her lips moved towards it, she reviewed her opinion of the man who had shyly revealed himself to be named Rupert.

She conceded that the corpulent copper was, not to put too fine a point on it, far from the figure of her ideal man. She had been more than a little surprised when she seemed to emerge from a dream to find herself fucking him in the village square. Surprised to find herself fucking anyone in the village square!

Still, it had been a very fine fuck and she hadn't wanted it to end. He had been tender with her, but rigidly firm just where she needed him to be. There was also something reassuring about his sheer bulk, and a solidity to him that went beyond mere size. Perhaps it had to do with the inherent respect that his position as a police officer demanded.

I think that if all police officers were treated with the same respect that the lovely Trudy was providing for Rupert Flint, then the recruiting offices would all be full. Much as Trudy's mouth was at this point in proceedings. The rotund Rupert's eyes rolled as Trudy gave his steely singularity a flick with the tip of her tongue, causing a supernova of sensation in the black-hole of his brain.

Captain Shaft's final descent through the atmosphere would go unmentioned in Constable Flint's report of the night's events.

What report? Our man Flint might have asked, as he rolled Trudy over, preparing for re-entry himself.

* * *

On balance, the airbag in Samantha's face was probably a good thing. She'd broken through CyberCorp's fence at such a speed that she probably couldn't have stayed on the road anyway. She would have needed a right angle turn and it would never have been possible, regardless of whether she could see or not.

So when she shot across the road, miraculously missing a passing truck, and smashed through a plate glass shop window on the other side, the bag was already in place to cushion the impact. The sturdy Volvo, receiving no instructions to the contrary, continued on its way, scattering shelving units and clothes racks in its wake, until it ploughed through a partition wall at the back of the fortunately closed dress shop.

Perhaps feeling slightly put upon and that it had already performed above and beyond the call of duty, the Volvo came to a halt as its engine died. The door opened and Samantha got out of the car and peered around, straightening her skirt and blouse. She could see immediately that the Volvo wasn't going anywhere in the immediate future and realised that she'd have to leave it to enjoy its well-earned rest.

The rear door popped open and a naked blonde emerged, bare arse first, cursing as she tried to free her ankle from a loop of seatbelt. She fell to the floor and looked up at Samantha.

"Well, are you going to help me up, or were you planning to slug me again?"

"No, I'm not going to slug you again. Probably not anyway. Hello, Mother."
Part Two: Here

Them

Jenny and I had just finished breakfast when Len popped his head round the door and asked us to accompany him to his study.

"There's somebody I'd like you to meet. The chap who installed the computers for us with all that future proofing. He can be a bit scatter-brained at times, but I think he may be able to help us with our problems, at least to understand what's going on."

We'd reached his study by the time Len's explanation was completed and he ushered us through the door ahead of him.

There was a man standing inside, leaning over Len's desk and studying something that we couldn't see from our position. On his feet he was wearing open-toed sandals with pink socks. Above scrawny ankles was a pair of three-quarter length trousers in an electric blue that clashed violently with the pink socks below and the vivid yellow tee-shirt he wore above.

His head was crowned with a flat-top crop of short white hair and he wore glasses, the lenses looking as if they'd been cut from the bottoms of bottles. A wispy white beard dangled untidily from his chin. He looked like a computer nerd, except that he was a distinctly aged one.

He was also a nerd that both Jenny and I recognised at the same moment in time and we responded to this recognition in unison.

"You!"

He grinned wickedly at the pair of us, while Len stood open mouthed, obviously surprised that we knew the man. Having no wish to be seen as raving mad, we had failed to tell either Len or Mary of our previous adventures in the past, so neither had we told them that we knew Merlin.

And this was undoubtedly Merlin that we were looking at. Outlandish clothes, silly glasses, and even sillier haircut and beard notwithstanding, he was unmistakeable.

"Me, indeed!"

"You know each other?" asked a shocked sounding Len, having just about regained the power of speech.

"The once and future fucker and the lovely Jenny? Our paths have indeed crossed once or twice. Didn't they tell you, Len?"

"Not a word."

"Probably sheer ineptitude on his part, but I'm surprised you kept quiet about it, Jenny."

"I didn't think Len would believe us."

"Understandable, I suppose, but I suspect that he would have done. There are one or two things you don't yet know about Sir Leonard and the Lady Mary."

"And I don't suppose that you're going to tell us!"

"On the contrary, Jenny, these things are very pertinent to the situation at hand. I think the time for full disclosure is upon us. Why don't you all take a seat and I'll explain a few things."

We all got ourselves comfortable and Merlin proceeded.

"Sir Leonard and Lady Mary are the current stewards of Deeping Castle, as you know. But I built the castle, and given that I'm not dead yet, not technically anyway, then the castle is still mine. However, it needs day to day looking after and I can't always be here.

"Somebody needs to see to the castle and look out for the village, and there are a lot of other calls on my time. I can't be everywhere at once. Well, I could be, but I'm just not willing to work that hard at my age. So Len and Mary have both the job and the castle.

"In return for my more than generous 'loan' of the castle, they have agreed to assist me in my guardianship of the realm. Keep an eye out for strange events, portents, that sort of thing. And it appears that strange goings on are happening right now, so they've called me in to sort it out.

"Well, obviously, I could just click my fingers, wave my staff about, and cure all the problems by magic. But you may have noticed in the past that this is not my style. I am old, my knees are not what they once were, so I don't do the heavy lifting any more. Instead, I use heroes to do the hard work.

"This used to be a lot easier back in the day, there were heroes just about everywhere you looked, but in these parlous modern times they are decidedly thin on the ground. So I have to make do. I am forced to rely on you, the once and future fucker, and the gorgeous pouting Jenny here, of course.

"Moreover, given that Jenny is under threat, I think we can be confident that young Samantha will put in a little effort for the cause and that will undoubtedly prove most helpful.

"Are you with me so far?"

Len had assumed an inscrutable expression at the beginning of Merlin's speech and he maintained it now. Jenny and I looked at each other and I'm pretty sure we were both thinking the same thing. Merlin had dumped us into tricky situations before, unwanted adventures in the past, to do something for him that by rights he should have done himself. We hadn't volunteered then and weren't inclined to do so now.

However, our lives were under threat, we couldn't just walk away. I had a strong suspicion that Merlin was about to make us an offer that we couldn't refuse. I grumbled a grudging assent and Jenny just nodded.

"Right," Merlin continued, "let's start with the outbreak of free love in Deeping. We haven't gone back to the nineteen sixties, there is another cause, as Len and Mary have already worked out. That is why they called me. Deeping has an infestation of elves!"

"But elves aren't real!" I protested. "They don't exist!"

"Well, yes, but then again, no. Elves are real enough when they want to be, but not when they don't want to be, if you see what I mean, and mostly they don't, so they're not. Real, I mean. And they definitely don't want you to believe they're real. As to existing, that they most assuredly do. Though, not if you ask an elf, of course."

"So, are elves real or not?"

"Would no and yes explain it better?"

"No!"

"Yes, then. Or no, as the case may be. Nonetheless, they're here and they shouldn't be."

"No, I don't believe it."

"Why so sceptical. You've met an elf yourself, back in Camelot. Fucked her, too!"

(This occurred during the first adventure that Merlin sent me on, which is chronicled in A Song of Camelot. But apart from knowing that I, let's call it met, a debatably real elf, you don't have to have read it for this tale.)

"I have not!" I exclaimed hotly. "I assure you that's the sort of thing I'd remember!"

"It's exactly the sort of thing they'd make you forget! Little Tart I called her. Pointy tits, you wouldn't believe in her then, not until you'd got your mitts on them. Vanished on you mid-fuck. Ring any bells?"

"No, that I would definitely remember!"

"You'd have thought so, wouldn't you? But it would appear not. That's elves for you, when they don't want to be real, they aren't. It's part of their magic, and that magic is powered by sex. They live and breathe sex, one might almost say that they are composed of it. And it's catching. They infect humans, and that sex is dangerous!"

"Nope! I still don't believe a word. You have a go, Jenny."

Jenny looked dubious about the idea, but proved herself to be a bit more open minded than me as to the existence of elves. Not hard to do, I absolutely knew that elves weren't real.

"Merlin, did you say that elf sex was dangerous?"

"It is when there's too much of it."

"You're saying you can have too much sex? Really? Try convincing my minx about that!"

"Young Samantha? I think you'll find that she already knows."

"What do you mean?"

"Not my place to say. You know me, I never interfere."

This comment caused Len to make his first contribution to the seminar, he snorted with laughter! Merlin just smiled at us all with feigned innocence. Realising that she'd get no further on this tack, Jenny tried another angle.

"Anyway, elves are sort of real and not real at the same time, yes?"

"At the same time? Now, there's an interesting concept. You've heard that elves live a long time, I suppose?" Jenny nodded her agreement. "Well, they do and then again they don't."

Jenny groaned this time, but managed to motion Merlin to continue.

"You see, in some respects, elves live the same length of time as mortals, it's just that they don't do it all at the same time. That's in as far as time makes any sense in regard to elves, of course."

Realising that trying to get any clarity here was only muddying the waters further, Jenny altered course yet again.

"What about CyberCorp? What have they got to do with all this?"

"Ah, CyberCorp. Well, obviously I know exactly what they're up to," Merlin lied, "but I'm not going to tell you. It would take the fun out of things. You two are going to have to work it out."

And with those last words he vanished.

"He's not a bloody elf, is he?" I asked Len sourly.

* * *

Merliscombe. Captain Shaft had climbed a little way up the hillside so that he could look down on the assembled company. Barring the six that he'd sacrificed to gain the cooperation of his allies, or sponsors as they preferred to be called, he had his entire crew lined up before him in ranks, three hundred and seventy two in total.

His shipmates were not, as a rule, noted for their discipline, but they were curious about the true nature of their mission and believed that he was about to reveal his plans, so they all stood still and at something approximating attention.

More fool them, he thought to himself. Still, that's what he'd told them, what he wanted them to believe, so he'd better start convincing them if they were going to follow him down the true path to the Promised Land. He had a speech to make and it needed to be a good one.

Now, heroic and inspiring speeches are not easy to come out with. Shakespeare could write 'em, people like Julius Caesar could give 'em, but they and others like them are the exceptions. I happened to have some experience in the matter, having come up with a rather lame speech while masquerading as Robin Hood one time. I'm no expert, but the trick, in my opinion, is to keep them short and easy to understand.

In the above example, I had been forced to abandon my original text and instead suggest that my men might like to "rob a few rich bastards," which was something they greeted with enthusiasm. Do not bore your audience, do not require them to think. Just give them a task, preferably one they want to do anyway, and let them get on with it.

Well, for what it's worth, that's my advice on giving inspiring speeches, and it was perhaps unfortunate for Captain Shaft that he didn't ask me for it before he began speaking. He held up one hand for silence, didn't get it, but the hum of conversation died down to a quiet murmur, and he launched into a long and rambling address.

I could have told him that he'd lost his audience after about fifteen seconds, but inspired by his own belief in himself, he just kept right on going. And it was all exactly the wrong stuff!

There was nothing amiss with the oratory as such, he was easy to hear, his voice projecting clearly. Nor did he suffer from fidgety hand syndrome, his gestures were precise, his flourishes properly produced. The captain could deliver a speech, he just couldn't write one.

His preamble was long and flowery, full of trite homilies and clichés, mixed with a more than healthy dose of self-aggrandisement. Failing to notice the discontented mutterings in the crowd, he moved on to what you might call the meat of his message, and this is where his audience began to show distinct signs of unhappiness.

It was, as I said, the wrong stuff. It was peppered with all the wrong words and phrases, words like sacrifice, danger, ordeal, you know the sort of thing. He even suggested that some of his listeners might not survive the trials to come. He appealed to their sense of duty, their honour, their patriotism, and of course, their dedicated loyalty to himself.

What his oration was overly light on, was the good stuff, words like easy, fun, and above all, rewarding. It doesn't have to be true, the audience don't expect the truth, but you have to give them what they want to hear. Given that the captain never had any intention of telling the truth, he really should have been able to come up with a more encouraging message.

Not only that, he didn't really say anything. Whatever he was giving a speech about seemed to be something he was disinclined to mention. He was beating wildly about the bushes in an apparent attempt to avoid the subject.

Still, he thought he'd done a fine job, and when he eventually ground to a halt, he moved straight on to the "Aw, shucks" self-deprecatory charade of the popular artist reacting to the thunderous applause that is threatening to bring the house down.

However, not only was there no house, there was no applause either. He looked at his crew in dismay, unable to comprehend the way his audience had reacted to his address. One or two gazed back, staring morosely at him, but most had forgotten about him a long time ago and were happily chatting among themselves.

"Fuck!" he said.

You see? That's the sort of thing to give the troops. Either because they'd heard that last bit and taken it as an order, or more likely because it was what they wanted to do anyway, his erstwhile audience started breaking up into couples and small groups to do just that.
There

Ensign Love had watched her captain give his speech while harbouring thoughts remarkably similar to my own in regard to its content. Not only was she unimpressed by the dangers he had laboriously pointed out, she had the distinct impression that he was lying through his teeth, even though, now she came to look back on it, his speech hadn't really told them anything. There was definitely something wrong here, but she still couldn't put her finger on it.

All that guff he had been spouting about the Promised Land. Just who promised it and who did they promise it to? Perhaps more importantly, why? That's what she wanted to know. And what had happened to the long held belief that elves should steer clear of the mortal world? Mortals were bloody dangerous!

And just how were they supposed to colonise a whole world? Three hundred odd elves was a whole bunch in the mortal world, they would cause all sorts of problems, but an entire world? Worlds, as a rule, tend to be bloody big places and elves or not, three hundred and seventy something was surely not enough to take the whole place over.

And who wanted to live on milk and honey anyway? She had as sweet a tooth as the next elf, but there were limits, you could have too much of a good thing. Well, not sex, obviously, she added to herself as Cadet Balls did something particularly interesting to her with his fingers.

No something was up, and while she might not be able to put her finger on it, Cadet Balls certainly could! She shivered with pleasure and her legs started to thrum like a tuning fork. She stopped wondering what was up, because she could very well feel that it was Cadet Balls, and she liked it. A lot!

She stopped thinking about anything at all as she succumbed to the heat of the moment.

* * *

Back in the CyberCorp building there are four naked blondes tied to the wall, and the technicians are celebrating the fact. Unlike the previous captive that had disappeared and escaped, the technicians know just where the fifth elf is. Right where they want her.

This might go some way towards lifting the cloud they'd all been living under since they lost the sixth elf. It hadn't helped that a couple of security types had managed to lose a human woman at the same time. Management had not been happy and had made their views known in no uncertain terms. So a little success was welcome.

What they needed to know now was whether the rest of their plan would work. They needed a guinea pig.

* * *

"A fine way to greet your mother! Just punch her on the chin and save any arguments!"

"I'm sorry, Mother. I hadn't had a chance to recognise you."

"My own daughter! Right on the chin! Without warning! I shall have a bruise!"

"Mother, we don't have time for this."

"She's got time to sock her mother on the jaw, but not to talk to her!"

Samantha sighed at the inequity of life in general and daughterhood in particular, then she reached out and grabbed the first dress that came to hand. She held it out to the woman she knew to be not just her mother, but an elf that shouldn't be here.

"Quick, put this on. I don't suppose you can disappear, can you?"

As the blonde elf struggled to pull the dress over her head, she replied in a slightly muffled voice.

"No, out of power."

"Yeah, I thought you must be. Look, we've got to get out of here, right now. Those bastards will be here any moment."

Her mother just nodded as she shook the dress into place around her and allowed Samantha to start dragging her towards where they hoped was a back door. It was there and it was a fire door, easy to open from inside.

The next instant they were running down a rubbish strewn alley, wincing as their bare feet touched the ground, but not daring to slow down. At the end of the alleyway, they turned left onto a side road. They didn't know where they were going, just away from CyberCorp and their minions.

As they rounded another corner onto more of a major road, Samantha recognised where they were, Reading. Not a million miles from the Lotus Flower hotel. It wouldn't be cheap, but not a prohibitive taxi ride. They needed a cab.

"Don't suppose you've got any money on you?"

"It may have escaped your notice, but I didn't have anything on me until you gave me this dress."

"It didn't escape my notice, I promise. We'll just have to pay at the other end."

They kept moving, taking almost random turns, but always away from the CyberCorp building. Eventually Samantha spotted a cab and managed to flag it down.

"Don't say anything in the car," she instructed her mother. "We'll talk later."

They both climbed into the back seat and Samantha gave the driver directions to the Lotus Flower. She knew CyberCorp would come looking for her there, but she was ready for them now. Besides, she wouldn't stay long.

* * *

George worked in the post-room. A recent graduate in theoretical mathematics, he had been shocked to discover that his degree rendered him virtually unemployable. In these days of alternative facts, anyone who could write a coherent series of symbols, put an equals sign after it and prove the equation to be true, was viewed with deep suspicion. This was subversive activity without a doubt.

So he'd been forced to lie on his application to join CyberCorp. He claimed that his double first in mathematics was in fact a three-two pass gained by the study of the soap opera, EastEnders. Doors that had previously been slammed shut in his face were now open to him, and his interview with a panel of CyberCorp executives had gained him the prestigious position of post-boy and part-time coffee maker.

The truth was that he made terrible coffee, not an easy thing to do with the instant variety, but he was meticulous in his methods. George's hypothesis was that crap coffee would lead to his losing his part-time post as the maker of it. This would therefore render him unsuitable for the job of post-boy. Thus promotion would be coming his way very soon.

He had been told at interview that he would start at the bottom and work his way up and this he was determined to do, not only that, but it appeared to be working. When he received the summons to attend the laboratory after lunch, he could feel in his bones that this was his big chance to get ahead.

Even so, George was a little apprehensive as he walked down the corridor towards the lab. Was it possible that his supposed expertise on EastEnders was about to be called upon? He'd never actually watched a single episode and knew almost nothing about it. Could it be that some arcana buried within the soap opera's script was actually relevant to something in the real world?

He was met in the corridor outside the laboratory and shown into a small office, more of a lounge area really, he thought. A little snug perhaps, but there was a comfortable armchair each for George and the man who had introduced himself as Doctor Phips.

"Now then, George," Doctor Phips began, "Your coffee's shit, so we've decided to find you something else to do."

Yes! thought George. Here we go, onwards and upwards!

"We have been working, George, on a thing called virtual reality."

Oh, God! They couldn't want to do a VR EastEnders, could they? If they did, he was going to need some alternatives to alternative facts! However, as the doctor continued, it became apparent that his sham expertise was not going to be required.

"CyberCorp has a major launch of its virtual reality program that is due shortly. What we want you, George, to help us do, is to debug the program. You know, iron out any glitches, make sure everything goes smoothly."

This was something of a surprise to George, it was not how global corporations operated in his experience. Bug hunting? He'd always assumed that CyberCorp would behave like that other multi-national producer of an operating system that was currently on its tenth iteration. Just chuck the program out there as it is and when the users start to complain we'll know what bugs to try and fix. What we'll do, is we'll call them updates. He'd thought that was how all the big boys did it.

"So, what exactly is it that you want me to do?"

"Just try out the program, George. Have a good time, enjoy yourself and let us know if there were any problems."

"I see. Virtual reality, you say? What is it that's going to seem virtually real?"

"Well, you may have come across a thing called the World Wide Web."

"It hasn't entirely escaped my notice."

"No, of course not. The Web is one of the most sophisticated sources of information, communication and learning that mankind has ever produced, but what is it really used for? What makes up virtually its entire content?"

"Porn."

"Exactly! I knew we'd made a wise choice with you, George."

"You want me to try out virtually real porn?"

"Precisely, though it's only in its beta form at the moment and it's a little more real than virtual, but I'm sure we'll address that soon."

"Real porn?"

"Virtually real, yes. Are you willing to give it a try?"

Well, George was a perfectly well brought up, healthy young man. He treated women with respect and consideration and would never dream of demeaning them. He was a new man, one with sensitivity and an understanding of all the gender based issues. So, was he willing to try out virtual reality porn that might be more real than virtual?

Damned right, he was!

A few moments later he was donning what looked something like a full-face motorbike helmet and Doctor Phips was saying he'd leave George to it and that he should relax. Just before he left, the doctor said, "I think we've sorted out the physical danger issues, don't worry."

George heard the room door close and then it began.
Everywhere

Samantha could see that the taxi driver was having a hard time concentrating on the road. Beads of sweat were forming on the back of his neck and he was spending more time looking at his passengers in his rear-view mirror than we was looking out of the windscreen. The other traffic on the road was constantly flashing their lights and sounding horns in protest at his erratic driving.

"Can't you turn it off?" she whispered to the elf sitting alongside her, her mother!

"Turn what off?"

"Your influence or whatever it is. He's either going to crash the car or jump in the back with us and we don't have time for either."

"Oh, that! He's getting excited, is he? I could do with a bit more power. Perhaps we should ..."

"I told you, we don't have the time. I'll find you someone to fuck as soon as it's safe, I promise."

"Oh, all right, I'll try."

"Thank you."

The driver was still far from relaxed, Samantha could tell, but his driving started to improve and they made it to the Lotus Flower in one piece, just.

Paying was a tricky operation. The driver wasn't happy with both girls leaving before he'd received his fare, twenty five quid was a lot of money as far as he was concerned. It had to be Samantha that went into the Lotus Flower to get her purse and this meant leaving her mother alone with the driver, something Samantha wasn't so happy about herself.

Oh, well, she finally decided, he looked a fit enough young man. He would probably survive being set upon by a sex-power hungry elf for five minutes or so. Maybe he'd even give them discount on the fare. She left them to it and trotted through the hotel's front door in search of her bag.

It was, she noticed, four in the morning. Dawn would be coming soon at this time of year and she'd like to be on the move before that. The bar was unsurprisingly empty at that hour and nobody disturbed her as she found her bag which was still underneath the bar counter.

CyberCorp obviously knew who she was, so before doing anything else, she took her phone out of the bag, turned it off and pulled out the SIM card. She dropped it in the bin along with the phone's battery, she'd throw the actual phone out of the car window once they were moving.

Her credit cards were out of the question now for the same reason. She would have to make a visit to an ATM locally, withdraw as much as she could, and that would have to do until she could get back to Deeping Castle.

She checked her purse, yes, that should be enough for the taxi. Did she need anything else? Yes, more time, and she wasn't going to get that just standing around. She trotted back outside and went to the taxi.

The cab's windows were steamed up and she couldn't see what was happening inside, but she had a good idea what was going on. She opened the driver's door first and placed two twenty pound notes on the dashboard, a healthy tip would go some way towards making up for the sore chin she was pretty sure she was going to have to give the taxi driver.

After gently closing the front door she went to the back. Good, her mother was on top, that would make things a bit easier. Knowing full well that doing this nicely by just asking was doomed to failure, Samantha grabbed her mother by both ankles and heaved. The elf slid out of the car to lie cursing on the ground, her new dress was missing.

"Shut up!" Samantha commanded her enraged mother. "And you, stay still!" she told the driver. She already knew it wouldn't work, but she'd had to try first. He seemed even more upset than her mother and was attempting to climb out of the car to protest. Sighing regretfully, Samantha let loose her right uppercut again. Up came her fist and down went the driver, out for the count on his own back seat.

She closed the door softly on him, but not before reaching over his inert form to grab the dress that was lying in a heap on the floor. Then she dragged her still protesting mother to her feet and pulled her along as she made her way to the Lotus Flower car-park.

Opening the passenger door of the Aston Martin she handed the dress to the naked blonde elf.

"Put in on and get in the car. And don't mess me about, or I really will slug you again!"

Her mother meekly obeyed, silently putting her seatbelt on when instructed. Samantha climbed into the driver's seat. No pre-flight checks this time, she was in a hurry. She started the engine and they were off, turning right at the bottom of the hotel's driveway, heading for the nearest town and an ATM followed by a petrol station.

These tasks completed, they were soon on their way to the West Country. The M4 followed by the M5 was the obvious route to Devon, but because of that very reason she wouldn't take it. She didn't know if CyberCorp knew about Deeping Castle, she didn't think so, but best not to take chances. She'd go south and pick up the A303 and then the A30 as far as Exeter. She knew where all the speed cameras were on the 303, so she'd be able to put her foot down. Besides, this way she got to go past Stonehenge again.

As the first glow of the coming dawn lightened the sky behind her, Samantha powered the Aston Martin westward, travelling at a speed that, had he known about it, would certainly have caused Constable Flint to wag an admonitory finger at the very least.

* * *

The Chief of Operations for CyberCorp's Reading facility was thinking about the recent setbacks they'd encountered. These involved the witnesses to the saucer's initial landing, an escaped suspected accomplice of theirs, and also an escaped elf.

The witnesses names were known, but their whereabouts were still not. Operations had, however, noted that the sighting they'd logged at a service station on the M5 just happened to be the way one would travel to Merliscombe, but surely that was just him being paranoid.

As to the escaped accomplice, worryingly, cameras in CyberCorp's car-park had recorded part of her escape and she'd had the missing elf over her shoulder, apparently unconscious.

Well, thought Operations, rendering an elf unconscious was an achievement, or was it an accident? Either way, there could be problems when the elf came round. Were they still together, he wondered, and if so where were they?

There was a possible sighting of the accomplice and the elf some while after the escape, both walking now, but the camera shot was a long one, and despite enhancing the picture he still couldn't be sure if it was them. Two women getting into a cab. It didn't really matter now, other than to indicate that they might have joined forces.

There had been no luck tracing her phone, she'd probably junked the SIM card, and to have not been spotted by facial recognition on any of the surveillance cameras anywhere, not since they'd first identified her at those services on the M5, suggested that she was taking care not to be seen.

One slip, though, and he'd have them. And they'd make a slip, he was sure of that. The girl might know what she was doing, but the elf was definitely out of her depth, out of her place, and out of her time, she would be the one to give them away.

His reverie was disturbed by a uniformed man entering the room apologetically and handing him a message form. The girl had used an ATM machine four hours ago, withdrawing her daily limit of three hundred pounds. He suspected that would be the last time she did that, if not they'd have her. The ATM was quite close to her workplace and he now had men watching that, but she had probably already left.

Left for where? To join up with the witnesses to the landing? Most probably. And this girl, possibly accompanied by an elf, was the best chance of finding and eliminating those witnesses.

He thought some more about them. Just how much of a threat were they? They'd seen a flying saucer land, but who could they tell? Who would believe them? They might even have connected it to CyberCorp, but so what? It would be the easiest thing in the world for CyberCorp to rubbish them as a pair of crazies. Or a desperate author seeking publicity for his new book? That might work.

But no attention at all was better than diverting it, so he'd eliminate this couple if at all possible. He'd be doing the man a favour if you looked at it, what better way to boost your sales figures than getting yourself murdered? As to the girl and her accomplice, well, they should choose their friends better, shouldn't they?

The most pressing decision he had to make, was whether to inform Captain Shaft about the escaped elf. The captain would not be at all happy about that, he knew. It was quite possible that the escaped elf knew she'd been betrayed by the captain, likely even, but did she understand anything of the deal he had with CyberCorp?

He probably should tell the captain, but it was only one elf versus the three hundred or so under his command. Surely he could deal with a single rebel? Operations made his choice, he'd wait until they knew something more before worrying the captain.

His decision to make no decision made, he wandered off down the corridor, heading for the laboratory area. There was a test running and he wanted to see how it went.

* * *

George was feeling a little uncomfortable as he sat chatting with Doctor Phips after his virtual reality session. He was faintly embarrassed, true, but he'd been asked to participate in virtually real porn and his embarrassment levels were low. No, the real reason for his discomfort was that he'd creamed his shorts. He needed a change of underwear.

"The sex was mind blowing, doctor! But the scenario? Who thought that one up? I mean, elves, I can sort of understand that, they're exotic. This one was incredibly pretty, and because she wasn't human there was no residual guilt about fucking her. Not that there would have been anyway because she wasn't real."

The doctor was typing notes into an electronic pad, he nodded and gestured for George to continue.

"But it was all so convincing. If her story hadn't been so ludicrous I might have been talked into believing her. She claimed to be real, for a start, a real elf, she said. Well, I knew that couldn't be true, but she seemed to believe it herself. Still, whoever came up with the idea for the program has a really weird mind, I can tell you. She claimed that she'd arrived from the future in a flying saucer and had been kidnapped. By CyberCorp! She wanted me to believe that CyberCorp were performing experiments on not just her, but several of her crew! I mean, CyberCorp? No way!"

"Quite so."

The doctor was a little worried to hear this, not that he let it show. The elf shouldn't have been able to communicate like that, she should have followed the programmed scenario and appeared as a more than willing courtesan in a Paris salon. George shouldn't even have been able to tell that she was an elf, she should have looked human basic, albeit beautiful human basic. There was more work to do.

"Still, wow!" continued George. "I loved it. Have you got any other programs?"

"I fear not, not right at the moment, we just seem to have elves. Still, I tell you what, George, why don't you take the rest of the day off and come back here at the same time tomorrow? We'll tweak the program a little and see if we can come up with something different for you. Sound good?"

"Sounds fantastic!"

As George left the building, hoping that the stain on his trouser front wouldn't draw too many stares, he was considering his prospects. He'd hoped for promotion and it seemed that he'd got it, but he'd never expected anything like this. It was a dream job, he could hardly wait to go back to work. He made a mental note to make sure he put a spare pair of underpants in his jacket pocket before he returned tomorrow.
Never

As they went round the Amesbury roundabout and started going uphill, Samantha spoke.

"You might be interested in this, Stonehenge is coming up on your right in a minute or so."

They didn't stop, they were in a hurry, but the elf stared out of the window and even Samantha took her eyes off the road for a second to look at the venerable stone circle. Her mother looked a little sad as she remarked.

"Looking a bit run down these days, isn't it?"

"Can't say I remember seeing it when it was new. Before my time, I'm afraid."

"Every time is my time."

"Yes, I suppose it is. What are you doing here?"

"You mean apart from you knocking me out and threatening to do it again if I didn't come with you?"

"Apart from that, yes."

"Would you believe that I came to see you?"

"Not really, no."

"You'd think that of your own mother?"

"I would, yes."

"Hmm, well, I'm not really sure why I'm here. We were told that we were going to the Promised Land, whatever that might be. But since the person who told us that was also the one who betrayed us to those CyberCorp bastards, it's unlikely that he was telling the truth about this so called Promised Land. I got press-ganged aboard the ship because I've been to a place called Merliscombe before."

"Really? You know Merliscombe?"

"Not well, but I've been there. Had to rescue this man once, I thought I was in love with him at the time. He had his girlfriend with him, so I didn't even get a fuck out of it."

"What did you rescue him from?"

"Some kind of enormous dog."

"This girlfriend, had dark hair, did she?"

"Yeah. How do you know?"

"I think she told me about it. You didn't happen to vanish on this man once, did you? Disappear mid-fuck?"

"Had to. This old goat of a magician had me held prisoner, tied to a wall in a dungeon. A bit like those CyberCorp bastards, in fact."

"You really vanished on him mid-fuck?"

"Like I said, I had to."

"But mid-fuck? You didn't wait till the end? I mean, if this is the man I'm thinking of, then he's not much use for most things, but fucking? That, he's good at!"

"Yeah, well I tried him out a bit later. Not bad, I suppose."

"Faint praise."

"Hey, I'm an elf!"

"So you are, Mother. And one that I think I can put a name to. A name or sorts, anyway. You've been calling yourself Little Tart, haven't you? He told me about you."

"All good, I hope?"

"He said starting a conversation was hard work, but then you opened up."

"Oh, I did!"

"He told me you were shacked up with a barmaid, last he heard."

"Still am, if you look at it the right way. Girl named Linda."

"Well, we're on our way to see him now. To see his girlfriend, Jenny, anyway."

"Oh, my life just gets better and better!"

"Hey! You'll like Jenny, and she'll love you! Up to you what you want to do with the boyfriend."

* * *

Laughter in Merliscombe was currently missing, the congregation of over three hundred elves was not a happy one. The first and second away teams had been having a lot of fun with the humans at first, but had now been recalled to base camp and were no longer allowed out to play.

And calling it a base camp? The captain, the so called seasoned officer in command, had he thought to bring any camping equipment? Had he buggery! Forget all that sylvan stuff about elves being at home in the woods, they can do it if they must, much like you and I can, but what they prefer is a bit of comfort. Decent food, good drink, a comfortable bed, with a roof over it!

What they also require for a happy and contented life is a sit-down toilet. I don't want to go into too much detail here, but three hundred odd elves is a lot. Merliscombe is not a small place, but neither is it particularly large when you scale it up against three hundred and seventy two elves all wanting to use the crapper. And that number doesn't include the captain, who the elves were beginning to realise was full of the stuff!

Instead of the gleeful laughter that had been filling Merliscombe in recent times, there was the sound of discontented muttering. It was high summer, so the weather wasn't as bad as it might be, but it was England, the edge of Dartmoor! It didn't actually rain all the time, but you'd have had a hard time convincing these particular elves on that point.

Even with proper equipment and real tents, camping on the edge of Dartmoor is not always a bed of roses. These elves didn't even have any plastic bags, they couldn't keep anything dry. They could keep themselves warm with their own version of a Caucus Race, but even among elves this starts to lose its charm when somebody or other's arse is always in a puddle.

All in all, it would be fair to say that the captain did not have a happy crew and he was coming to understand this very well. The question was, what was he going to do about it?

The crew expected him to lead them to the Promised Land, they expected him to show them how to take over this entire world, not least because he'd promised to. There are promises and promises, though, some he meant to keep, mainly those he'd made to himself, and some he intended to break, like just about all the promises he'd made to his crew.

But he couldn't keep them all cooped up in this valley for ever. What were CyberCorp up to? They should have been in contact by now. Had something gone wrong? If they didn't get a move on and keep the plan on track, then he was likely to face a mutiny. The last thing he needed was a mutinous crew, they were an awkward and bloody minded bunch at the best of times!

* * *

Doctor Phips was discussing the state of affairs with his boss, the Chief of Operations.

"It's a problem, sir. She's aware. The program should have involved a Paris salon and a courtesan, instead she appeared as an elf. She told the tester that she was an elf and that she'd been kidnapped."

"The sex?"

"Mind blowing, apparently."

"So, not a complete failure, that's something. But the awareness, that's not good. Drugs?"

"We've no idea what drugs work on elves and it could take quite a while to experiment."

"Yes, I suppose."

"Besides, I get the feeling Captain Shaft wouldn't be too happy about us drugging them."

"Ah, yes, the good Captain. He doesn't mind us imprisoning his people, enslaving them, some might say, but he does have rather a puritan streak. Perhaps it's time we got him in here."

"He might have some ideas, sir."

"Indeed, he might. In the meantime, you'd better go back over your data, re-check everything. It all looked good before, awareness shouldn't happen, see if there's been a slip-up. And your tester, he's secure, is he?"

"I sent him home, sir. He'll be back tomorrow."

"You sent him home, doctor? But he knows! What about security?"

"He didn't believe a word the elf told him. He didn't believe she was real."

"Well, he's got a point there, but he's still a security risk. One that I fear we will have to neutralise."

"Seems a little harsh, sir."

"Teach him to make shit coffee, won't it?"

"Not a lesson he's likely to remember for long."

"Can't be helped. Into each life a little rain."

"He might consider it a deluge, sir."

"He'll get over it, or perhaps not, eh?"

* * *

Jenny and I had joined Len and Mary at the breakfast table. Locally cured bacon, fresh eggs from a neighbouring farm and a wonderfully baked loaf of bread that the bakery had managed to produce despite the absence of their newest recruit, who unbeknown to us, was currently in the arms of a certain corpulent constable.

In addition to the plentiful foodstuffs, there was the all-important pot of coffee, of which it had taken me three cups before facing solid food. Feed the soul first, stomach later, has always been my motto.

I was using a final slice of bread to mop up the last of the egg yolk from my plate, when the door to the breakfast room opened and in marched Samantha. She was dressed in skirt and blouse, both slightly wrinkled from what I was about to learn had been a long night. A little surprisingly, she was barefoot.

More of a surprise was her companion, when she stepped out of Samantha's shadow. It was another blonde, though her hair was nearly white in contrast to the rich gold colour of Samantha's. She was wearing a simple dress and was also shoeless.

A distant memory started ringing bells in the back of my mind. It was still morning and it was too early for loud noises in my head. I pressed the mental button to switch off the internal alarm, but I'd only managed to set it to snooze. A moment later it was ringing again, even louder.

"This," announced Samantha, "is Little Tart. She is also ..."

"An elf!" I interrupted.

"Not exactly what I was going to say, but you are correct. Now, where is Merlin?"

"Gone. He said we had an infestation of elves and then he was gone."

"Infestation? I shall teach him manners!" Little Tart did not sound happy.

Samantha shushed her and continued, "I have had a long and trying night, followed by a long and trying morning driving here with my ..."

"Elf!" I interrupted again.

"Yes, I think we've already established that. Now where's bloody Merlin?"

"I told you, he vanished. Anyway, it doesn't seem to be his fault, not this time anyway."

"You might want to try not appearing to be more of an idiot than is absolutely necessary. Of course it's his fault!"

If I thought anybody might protest about Samantha speaking to me like this, I would have been disappointed. Being a realist, I had no such expectations. Jenny was beaming happily at her returned poppet, Len was wearing his stern magisterial expression, and Mary was smiling contentedly. Little Tart looked bored.

Besides, apart from Merlin and Jenny, nobody had called me an idiot for a while now. It was good to have Samantha back and normal service resuming.

But Little Tart, had she really disappeared on me mid-fuck? She seemed familiar, but every time I tried to remember more, a fog seemed to drift through my mind. I studied her trim and shapely legs instead.

A plan had begun to form in the non-foggy parts of my brain. Probably the best thing I could do to answer my own questions, was to fuck her and see if she vanished. Then I'd know, wouldn't I?

Just thinking about it stiffened my resolve. Well, perhaps it wasn't exactly my resolve. Little Tart gave me a knowing smile and started edging over in my direction.

"Wait!" Samantha commanded her. "We need to have a talk, find out what's going on and what we're going to do about it."

"Oh, all right," said Little Tart and proceeded to tell us about her experiences as CyberCorp's prisoner.

"But what did CyberCorp hope to get from you?" Len wanted to know.

"That I couldn't tell you, but they were putting electrodes in some intimate places, so it must have something to do with our magic."

"And Merliscombe?"

"Couldn't tell you that either, unless it's the Promised Land, I suppose."

"Unlikely. It's a bit on the small scale to call a land. Nice enough place and all that, but there's not a lot there."

"No milk and honey fountains?"

"Not that I've ever noticed, no."

"Can't be the Promised Land then, we were definitely told milk and honey. I seem to remember something about locusts as well."

"Don't get many of those in Devon, not unless you count the tourists," said Len. "Anyway, flying saucers landing in Berkshire. CyberCorp, elves and sex magic in Reading. Elves in Merliscombe and sex in Deeping. What's the connection and what are we going to do about it?"

"Elves are the connection!" Samantha announced. "I presume that was your lot on the flying saucer?"

The question had been aimed at Little Tart who nodded. My gaze had moved up from her legs and I was trying to make out through her thin dress just how pointy her tits might be. She smiled at me again and ran her tongue over her top lip. Samantha noticed the exchange and looked as if she was going to say something about it, but then seemed to change her mind and stuck to the matter at hand. Leaving me to consider taking Little Tart's tits in hand.

"So, the elves land in a flying saucer and are heading for Merliscombe, which is in Devon. So why land in Berkshire?"

Little Tart answered that one. "Because Captain bloody Shaft was handing me and my team over to CyberCorp for their experiments."

"That must be it. But why land in Berkshire, why not Devon in the first place? Dartmoor would be a lot less conspicuous than the Thames Valley. CyberCorp could have sent a bus."

"Because he needed it to look like we were captured rather than sold out. If the rest of the crew found out what he was doing, they'd be none too happy with him!"

"Yes, I'll buy that. Why, I wonder, are they in Merliscombe now? And what exactly is the purpose of their sticking electrodes into their prisoners in Reading? The first thing we need to do is to go and look at Merliscombe."

Jenny had been very quiet, watching her poppet trying to get everything properly in perspective. I thought she was going to join in the conference, but she just looked at me, so I piped up.

"Jenny and I tried to look at the combe, but we got, er, well, we got distracted."

"With a valley full of elves, I'm not surprised!" laughed Samantha. "Was it fun?"

"Er, yes, I suppose it was. At first it was, anyway. Things cooled off a bit after we fell into the stream."

"I can imagine! So, it had better be me that goes. Little Tart would be risking recapture and Len and Mary would face the same problems as you did. That leaves me, but I need a rest first."

"I'll take you to our room."

"Thank you, Jenny."

The two of them left the room. I watched their retreating rears wistfully, but then I looked back at Little Tart. She seemed to be drifting out of focus. I had to get my hands on those tits before she vanished again.

Len and Mary announced that they had things to do in the village this morning and suggested that we all meet up in the Falcon at lunchtime.

I was left alone with Little Tart.
Now

"You're certain that I'll be in control?"

"Why, yes, Captain. Once we've got the last few little glitches ironed out, everything will be just as we told you. You will issue the thought, they will do the deed."

"And how soon will that be? My crew are unhappy, they want to return to the ship already."

"Oh, I do hope you can prevent that, Captain. We have an agreement, do we not?"

"We do, and I'm sure I can honour my side of the bargain and keep the crew in Merliscombe. But not for ever!"

"Not for ever, no, Captain. Just a little while longer."

"As I said, how much longer?"

"We have another test running shortly. If that goes successfully, which I'm sure it will, then we incorporate the rest of our test subjects into the VR program. After that we begin the cloning. This will take time of course, but we don't have to wait until the clones are grown, once the process is under way we'll be ready for the rest of your people."

"How long?" The captain was getting exasperated by the lack of an answer.

"Two days?"

"All right, I can live with that."

"Would you like to come and watch the final test?"

"I think it would be best if I remain unseen for now, thank you."

"Yes, Captain, I believe it would."

The two eyed each other. Through his protective goggles, the Chief of Operations regarded the clearly annoyed Captain Shaft. He saw what was effectively a tall thin man with long pale hair and a frown that looked there to stay.

Operations was confident he could control the captain. Captain Shaft knew full well that he could control the Chief of Operations. They were both wrong, but you wouldn't have been able to tell either of them that at the moment.

The captain was thinking as well, if he could hold his crew in place for two more days all would be well. This puny mortal in front of him was planning a double cross, but he wouldn't do that until the final stages of the VR release. Until that point he would need the captain. Nor would his planned double cross work either, the captain was way ahead of him. He had his own plan and would put into action just before this CyberCorp lackey was about to launch his.

Operations was studying the captain in much the same way. He knew the captain for a liar, he knew the elf would rat on their bargain. He also knew that the captain knew that CyberCorp would do the same, but up until the product launch their interests coincided and there would be no betrayal.

They would both make plans for that betrayal, of course they would, but nobody would take action until the very last moment. It would all be a matter of getting the timing exactly right.

* * *

"Samantha, sweetie, I'm not complaining or anything, it's perfectly all right, of course it is, but why do you keep calling me Jenny instead of Mistress?"

"Because, Jenny, there are some very dangerous people after you and no matter how devoted to you your slave or your poppet might be, she cannot protect you. Samantha Minx, on the other hand, she can and she will!"

"I'm not quite sure I understand, er, is it all right to keep calling you sweetie?"

"If it's all right with you, Jenny, until the hostilities are over, I'd rather you used Samantha or just Minx, with a capital M."

"Of course, sw... Samantha."

"Thank you."

"But what makes you think you can protect me better than anyone else?"

"Because of who I am, Jenny!"

"I know who you are, Samantha, and I adore everything about you, but protect me?"

"There are one or two things you don't know about me."

"Like what?"

"Like my mother!"

"I've never met your mother."

"No."

"What about her?"

"Everything!"

Was she being mysterious, or was she being evasive? The two women remained silent for a good minute before Samantha sighed and carried on speaking.

"Look, Jenny, she's my mother. Everybody has one, but she's not like everyone else's."

"Well, mothers can be a bit of a trial at times."

"It's not that. Look, I've told you all about myself, haven't I?"

"Of course you have."

"It's not that I've lied to you, not as such, everything I've ever told you was true. Well, maybe not about it being Mildred that wanted you to put on a sex show that time, not about things like that, but anything important I've always told the truth about."

"I'm sure you have, Samantha. I never doubted it."

"What I haven't done, Jenny, is told you everything. About my mother for instance. You've only heard the edited version, the cover story."

"What? What is it you're trying to tell me?"

"You weren't introduced, but my mother is downstairs."

"But there's only Mary and that elf girl, Little Tart, wasn't it? You're not saying that Mary is your mother, are you?"

"No, I'm not."

"Surely, not? Not Little Tart? But she's an elf!"

"Mother!"

"Oh, poppet!"

"It's all right, she's not so bad. Not really."

"I'm sure she's not, I'm sure she loves you."

"I expect she does, she just manages to hide it well sometimes."

"But what about your father?"

"Perfectly normal human being. Civil servant, lives in London when he's in the country."

"What does he think about your mother being an elf?"

"He doesn't know, she uses the glamour on him."

"But she doesn't use it on you?"

"Can't! I've always been able to see these things."

"So, er, how did it happen?"

"Well, I've only just put this together after speaking to my mother on the way here. When I first heard the story she just told me she was in the twenty first century for some reason. But do you remember that time Little Tart rescued you from that hound on the moor? When she thought she was in love with your boy?"

"I'm hardly likely to forget it! But we didn't know it was her at the time, we weren't sure if it was anybody."

"Well, the way she tells it, and I have to say I'm not convinced that I entirely believe this bit, she was so heartbroken when she saw the two of you together that she couldn't bear going straight back to Camelot. She went up to London for a break. It all seemed a bit crowded and smoky, so she went back a couple of decades or so.

"Then she ran into this nice man on Bond Street and they went to a bar and drank Martinis. He told her that his name was Jim and one thing led to another. She stayed with him until she popped out a beautiful blonde masterpiece."

"You are indeed a masterpiece, Samantha."

"Well, Dad's often away doing whatever it is he does for the government. Mum wasn't real most of the time, so we didn't see much of her. I spent most of my time in boarding schools, and now here I am. And so is my mother!"

"So you're really an elf?"

"Half elf and entirely real, all of the time."

"Do you have elf magic?"

"Not elf magic, no."

"And the sex?"

"Mother thinks that I've probably inherited a bit of the elf sex drive from her, but I can't say I'm entirely comfortable having my mother's sex anything. She's my mother! I much prefer to think that all my sex things are my own."

"So how are you planning to protect me?"

"Well, I may not have elf magic, not as such, but I should get a bit of help now that they're here. Besides, Dad's taught me the odd trick as well."

"Will it be enough?"

"We'd best hope it is, hadn't we?"

* * *

"You don't believe in me, do you?" Little Tart came a bit more into focus as she spoke to me.

"That's because you're not real."

"Well, that's true enough, but I could be."

"How?"

She bent forwards and grasped the hem of her loose dress with a cross handed grip. Then she lifted and peeled the dress off over her head.

Now before I move on to describe what this manoeuvre revealed, I'm just going to make a quick comment on technique.

As you are no doubt aware, girls are built differently to boys, and a very good thing that is too! And one of these differences is this ability to peel clothes off over their heads, another good thing without a doubt, however, it is one that is beyond us mere men, beyond this one anyway.

I understand the method and try it every now and then, but I only get so far before my shoulders refuse to go any further and I'm reduced to the undignified hands behind the head and tugging at the collar to drag the garment over my head, often to the detriment of the collar in question.

The other major difference between boys and girls is, of course, the ability to undo a rear fixing bra clasp. It's a case of being issued with the right sort of fingers, or so I maintain.

Well, those two things are not really the major difference, obviously, that difference is what came into view when Little Tart conducted this piece of dress peeling. And a very nice difference it was!

If you've read this far, then I suspect that I won't be causing too many shocked gasps of surprise when I say that I like naked girls. Nor when I mention that I like particular naked parts of naked girls. And two of those parts just happen to be tits, a pair of which were now in front of me and within reach of what Merlin had referred to as my mitts.

I assure you that what happened next was purely in the spirit of scientific enquiry. Those mitts of mine reached. You see, I had to establish whether they were real, didn't I? The tits, not the mitts, I mean. They did appear to be, my mitts are far from novices at this sort of thing and they thought they knew, but how could I be sure? She squirmed gratifyingly when my thumbs did a little nipple rubbing. She seemed to believe they were real.

"The only real way to tell if I'm real," she whispered in my ear, "is to fuck me and see if I disappear."

"Will you?"

"Fuck you or disappear?"

"Disappear. Well, fuck me as well, but will you vanish mid-fuck?"

"As I said, there's only one way to find out."

Well, this was proper science! I had an experiment to conduct and it was one I was willing to give my undivided attention to. Realising that I was following in the footsteps of giants of the scientific world, and with a dedication to discovery that would have done credit to Newton or Einstein, I released her tits momentarily to ready the experimental equipment. I lowered my trousers.

As I prepared for the plunge, it occurred to me that this experiment was neither a Newtonian nor an Einsteinian one, this was chaos theory, the uncertainty principle, it was Schrodinger's fabled cat. Once I'd opened her box, would she be real or not?

Cutting edge science can be a tricky area to operate in. It's not just about conducting the experiment, which I have to say that I enjoyed immensely, but of equal importance is interpreting the results correctly. She didn't vanish mid-fuck, which was good news in that it indicated a positive result in regard to the uncertain reality conundrum, and as far as my experimental activity was concerned, just plain good news full stop.

However, I fear that my presentation to the Royal Society is still on hold. It was the subject of the experiment herself who threw the results into question. Based on the empirical evidence, I had concluded that she was indeed real, but on hearing me say this, she immediately denied the fact.

"Look," she said, "I'm an elf. And the one thing that everybody knows about elves is that they don't exist, therefore I can't be real, so I'm not. That's logic, that is, and don't you go thinking otherwise. Elves, indeed! Surely you don't believe in elves?"

Then, not content with having put the experimental results in doubt, she moved on to question my scientific method. If I kept putting it there, she suggested, how would I ever know what might happen if I put it just there instead?

My enquiring mind does know limits, but this wasn't one of them. I put it just there and tried again.

The second experiment was just as much fun as the first, but still my paper was going to have to wait to be written. The question that needed to be explained was how an elf, one I'd just experimentally proved to be real, could persuade me that she wasn't real, given that if she wasn't, how could she be persuading me of anything?

Real or not, elves have a rejuvenating effect on a man, or parts thereof. Not entirely to my surprise, I had reached a limit beyond which my mind was unwilling to enquire further. In that direction lay only confusion and chaos. What I should do, I decided, was to focus on the experimental side and let the conclusions take care of themselves.

With this end in mind, I embarked upon round three, resolving to try a mixture of the earlier objects of scientific interest and to add any others that I could think of. I tell you, science can be a lot of fun!
Then

Little Tart had insisted on accompanying Samantha on the scouting mission to Merliscombe despite the risk of recapture. Samantha had tried to talk her out of it, but Little Tart had been insistent and for some reason appeared to hold some sort of power over Samantha. Yet again, I was at the time unaware of all the facts. They went off together.

Jenny and I set off for the village and met up with Len and Mary in the Falcon around one o'clock. Colin the landlord was absent, but his substitute was much easier on the eye. Jet black hair, brown eyes and a bust that caught my own eyes immediately.

She obviously knew what she was carrying on her chest and had arranged her blouse to show it off to its best advantage, there was a lot of cleavage on display. She wanted people to look and being a man with good manners I felt duty bound to oblige her in that respect.

"Before he completely disappears down her cleavage," Jenny said to Mary, "you'll have to help me grab him by the ankles and haul him out!"

If Jenny hoped to embarrass me she failed. My eyes were glued to what I could see of a fine pair of tits, tits that their owner was obviously proud of. So riveted was I, that when she asked what I'd like, apparently all innocent and without innuendo, I was lost for words and could only manage my infamous impression of a landed fish. My lips flapped, but no sound emerged.

Jenny giggled and ordered the drinks, I was disappointed when the barmaid turned her back to make Jenny's vodka tonic, but when she returned and started to pull my beer from the hand-pump my eyes were on stalks.

As her right arm hauled back on the pump handle, all sorts of interesting undulations were occurring within the parted sides of her half open blouse. I was already planning my second pint even before she'd finished pouring the first. I was tempted to buy the whole bar a beer, just so that I could watch the drinks being poured.

I was contemplating doing just that when she placed my beer on the counter and I felt Jenny's fingers take a firm hold on my right earlobe. I just had time to pick up my glass before she led my ear to a table next to the window and I was obliged to follow.

"We're living on borrowed money," she explained, "and you can't afford to buy beers for everybody."

"Was I being that obvious?"

"Very nearly as obvious as she was!"

"That's Jilly," Mary informed us. "Nice girl. Those tits are even better when she gets them out in the open."

"Really?" Just because I'd been removed from their proximity, that didn't mean I'd lost interest in those magnificent mammaries.

"Put the barmaid's boobies on the back burner," Jenny instructed me. "I have news for you. About Little Tart."

"She's got great tits as well!" I had developed a one-track mind. Oh, all right, I've always had one of those, I was just letting it loose for a bit of exercise.

"I wasn't talking about her tits."

"Why ever not? They're lovely, though I'm still not sure if they're real."

"What makes you say that?"

"Well, I was doing some research. I figured that if she didn't disappear mid-fuck, then she had to be real. And she didn't vanish, so my point was proved, but then she told me that she wasn't real after all."

"And you believed her?"

"Of course."

"You believe everything a nice pair of tits tells you?"

"Absolutely!"

"Well, those tits that you are so enamoured of, belong to Samantha's mother!"

I looked at the barmaid, she was in her early twenties, no older surely. Definitely not old enough to be Samantha's mother. Jenny followed my gaze and sighed as she realised that further explanation was called for.

"Sorry, my fault, I ought to be more specific when referring to tits you're in love with. The boobies in question in relation to Samantha's mother are those worn by Little Tart."

"Can't be. She's not real. Anyway, she doesn't look like a mum."

Which begs the question of what mums look like, or elves for that matter. It would seem that I'd first met Little Tart about fifteen hundred years ago, which would make her no spring chicken. Then again, she didn't look a day over twenty five. But a mother?

It was quite recently that I'd discovered a surprising truth about aunts, I wasn't at all sure that I was prepared to make new discoveries about mothers! This was getting a bit close to home.

I tried to see some similarities between Samantha and Little Tart. They were both blonde, but Samantha was more spun gold to Little Tart's platinum. They were both shapely, though Samantha's ears weren't shaped into points like Little Tart's, and of more relevance to the subject under debate, nor were her tits. That was a tick in the doubt column.

They were both very much into sex. They both fucked like rabbits (or does in Samantha's case) on steroids. A tick in the believe column. But no, Samantha was real and Little Tart wasn't, she'd said so.

"No, I can't believe it, Jenny."

Jenny sighed again. She undid two buttons on her blouse and leaned towards me, one hand indicating her own now generously revealed cleavage.

"Believe me!" she said.

Jenny has some of the finest tits in the business, and their argument was well presented and persuasive. I believed her!

Well, I thought to myself, I've fucked Samantha often enough, and now it seems that I've fucked her mother as well, although possibly not really.

But mother and daughter, eh? Not something that had ever been an ambition of mine, not least because of the normal age difference that is necessarily involved. Mind you, I doubt if that would stop me, it just didn't inspire me to go seeking the combination.

Still, in this case, although the age difference may or may not have been something in the order of one and a half millennia, they were both young and radiantly beautiful.

Either way, I was going to have bragging rights next time I visited the Lotus Flower hotel!

* * *

Samantha and the elf that I now believed to be her mother, even though I still didn't believe in her, were making their way up Merliscombe. They were sneaking, something that didn't sit well with either of them, but they had earlier agreed on the need to stay out of sight.

Ensign Love felt exactly the same way about sneaking, but she was doing the same thing. She had absolutely had enough of hanging around in Merliscombe. What she needed were some creature comforts. She wasn't at all sure where she might find them, but it was definitely not in the combe. She was going to look at the outside world.

Even though Captain Shaft had not yet returned, she still needed to get away from the camp unobserved. For whatever misguided reasons, enough of the crew still seemed to believe in him and she might get reported if anyone saw her leaving.

Well, three people sneaking in a combe, two of whom might not be real, is quite a lot of sneaking for a relatively small valley. It was almost inevitable that they would meet up, and so they did.

It was an awkward encounter at first, Little Tart and Samantha both knew there was somebody ahead of them, even if they couldn't see them. In turn, Ensign Love realised that there was somebody in front of her. It was Samantha that broke the impasse.

"Whoever you are, you'd better come out right now! You will not like it if I have to come in and get you!"

That sounded like a mortal to Ensign Love. What could a mortal do to an elf? Little Tart gave her a clue.

"I'd do as she says, if I were you. She's got a vicious streak to her, I can't think where she gets it from, it must be her father's influence, but she even punched her own mother's lights out!"

Now that sounded like an elf, and an elf that Ensign Love thought she recognised.

"Tartie? Is that you, Tartie?"

"Tartie?" mouthed Samantha at her mother who ignored her.

"Luvvie? Is that you?"

The two elves broke cover at the same time and were soon hugging each other. Samantha stood up and regarded the pair silently.

"But Tartie, I thought you'd been captured?"

"I escaped. Despite being decked by my own daughter!"

"Daughter? I didn't know you had a daughter, Tartie?"

"Samantha, this is Luvvie. Luvvie, Samantha. She's the sort of daughter that wallops her own mother just to avoid saying hello!"

"Surely not! You wouldn't do a thing like that would you, Samantha?"

"It didn't happen quite like she's making out, but I might try it again shortly!"

"Oh, she's only joking, Tartie, she wouldn't hurt a fly, I'm sure."

"You wouldn't be saying that, Luvvie, not if it was you she'd smacked in the kisser!"

"Mother! Luvvie! We don't have time for this. What's going on, Luvvie?"

"Couldn't tell you, dear. The captain keeps going on about the Promised Land, but he won't give any details, positively tries to avoid talking about it. Since Tartie and her chums were captured, we've just been hiding out in this valley."

"We weren't just captured, we were betrayed! By your captain! Then the mortals treated us like laboratory animals!"

"Betrayed by the captain? I knew there was something wrong there! I tell you, Tartie, he's up to something!"

"Yes, but what?" Samantha wanted to know.

"Waiting for something."

Little Tart and Ensign Love made themselves comfortable and settled down for a good gossip. Samantha excused herself. She was going back to Reading, there were still five prisoners there and she was going to get them out. And while she was doing that, she'd find out what the bloody hell CyberCorp were up to.

* * *

We were back in the castle after our lunchtime drink and I was chatting to Jenny. Suddenly Merlin appeared. We hadn't noticed him come in the door, there was no puff of smoke, he was just there. No longer looking like a geek, he was back to his long white hair and beard, midnight blue robe and long wooden staff appearance.

"I've found him," he announced.

"That's good," said Jenny. "Found anybody in particular?"

"Ravenclaw!"

"Even better. Who might Ravenclaw be?"

"You people know nothing, do you? He's the King of the Elves, of course!"

"Very nice for him, I'm sure. And this helps us how?"

"If we can get him here, then he can get the elves out of Merliscombe. Tell them to bugger off back where they belong."

"He'd do this, would he?"

"I do hope he will. I'm rather hoping we can persuade him."

"Where is he now?"

"Right now he's at Stonehenge, though it's more a case of right then. You and I are going to go and see him, Jenny."

"And what makes you think I want to come with you?"

"Your sense of adventure?"

"I am holding my sense of adventure in reserve. In the unlikely event of me ever actually wanting to participate in one of your adventures, I shall call upon it at that point."

"But I need a priestess, you see."

"That's your problem. I have no desire to see a bunch of old rocks."

"Oh, don't worry about that. We're going to see a bunch of new rocks."

"Look, Merlin, just go away, would you?"

"All right."

I was surprised when he disappeared without arguing about Jenny's curt dismissal and I turned to say so to her. That's when I noticed that he appeared to have taken Jenny with him.

* * *

When Samantha left to go to the CyberCorp building in Reading, I followed. I don't know what made me do it, maybe Merlin's machinations had made me into a hero once too often and I'd got the idea into my head that I really was one. Or possibly I was influenced by Jenny's disappearance and the two pints I'd imbibed at lunchtime.

Whatever the reason, or lack of reason might be a better way of putting it, whichever it was, I wasn't going to let Samantha face the dangers all alone.

I'd listened carefully when she'd told of her escape from the Reading facility with Little Tart. I knew the town quite well and recognised the area she was talking about. I reckoned I could find the building with the information I had.

Len keeps a well-stocked garage with the keys to the various cars on a pegboard by the side entrance. I selected a black BMW with tinted windows.

It would probably have been possible to keep up with Samantha in the Aston Martin, but that would most likely involve me driving faster than I liked. Besides, Samantha would undoubtedly spot that she was being tailed. I gave her a ten minute start and set off towards Reading myself.
Invading

Once I'd reached the general area in Reading, I found the CyberCorp building quite easily. The length of repaired fencing was the first indication that I might be on the right track, and the big CyberCorp sign over the main gate was another helpful clue.

I parked the BMW down a side street and walked back to the gates, not really knowing what I planned to do to gain entrance. Not to worry, there was nobody manning the gate and it was half open. As I passed, I took a quick look through the window of the damaged security hut. On the hut's floor, I could just make out a pair of boots, toes pointing skywards, that were poking out from behind a desk. Samantha's work, I assumed.

I sauntered as casually as I could across the car-park and through the main entrance to the building. I was in the dragon's den. What to do now?

My reasoning, as far as reason applied at this stage, was that there was absolutely no way I could possibly know what to do next, the only thing was to do something, I hadn't come this far just to turn around and walk away, tempting though the idea was.

I walked deeper into CyberCorp's lair. There was nobody around at first, but then I saw a white coated man go through a side door which when I reached it was marked Gents. Not a bad idea, I thought, what with my nerves being stretched to breaking point, I could do with just such a facility.

Standing gazing vacantly at the tiled wall, as one does in these situations, I became aware of a presence behind me.

"Hoi! What are you doing here?" said a voice, followed by a hand clamping onto my shoulder.

This startled me more than a little and I turned to see what the problem was. Unfortunately for the shoulder grabber, he had surprised me while I was still in mid-flow. His lap was suddenly a touch on the damp side. He released my shoulder and gazed in horror at his crutch as I continued watering the area. I got the impression that he wasn't very happy about it all.

He was still staring aghast at his dripping lap as I shook off the last drops and tucked myself away. No doubt thoughts of suitable revenge were coursing through his mind. Frankly, I had no sympathy for the man. If you're going to go grasping chaps by the shoulder while they are in a meditative state, then you should accept the fact that there may be consequences.

Still, I think it would be fair to forgive him for being startled in his turn by what happened next. He was already reeling from one unpleasant surprise and what happened next shocked even me. I hit him! Hard! On the chin!

It hurt my hand, but I'm sure it hurt him more! Much to my gratification, he went down like a sack of potatoes. I suppose I should really have washed my hands first, but there you go, there's a time and a place for hygiene and good manners, however, this was a Gents, and I felt that it was he who had made the first social faux-pas when he clapped his hand on my shoulder.

Now, I went to wash my hands! This was prior to buffing my fingernails on my shirt-front. I hadn't punched anybody since the school playground and I wasn't much good at it then. It was heartening to know that I could do it, because I had a sneaking suspicion that I may yet have to do it again.

It was a struggle to get him out of his white coat. While he wasn't actually dead, he was a dead weight. But I persevered, removed the coat and took the plastic name tag which had been dangling around his neck on a ribbon. Then I hauled him into a cubicle and plonked him on a throne, closing the door on him as I left.

I was secure in my new disguise. Nobody actually looks at those name tags or compares the photograph, at least, desperate for anything to give me some confidence, that's what I told myself. Thus armed with only hope and a false sense of security, I proceeded further into the bowels of the CyberCorp facility.

I couldn't tell you what I expected to find, but I can tell you what it wasn't, and that is a white coated arm wrapping itself around my neck and dragging me violently to the ground. Lying there gasping for breath, I was relieved when the arm released me and a feminine voice said, "Oh, it's you."

It might have been nicer had there been a little more warmth in that statement, but I accepted my neck being released in lieu of friendlier greetings.

"What are you doing here?" Samantha asked.

"I don't really know," I conceded. "I thought maybe I could help."

"Help me?"

"Well, yes."

"Hah! That'll be the day!"

This was not, I felt, how selfless acts of heroism such as I was performing now should be rewarded, but I was no stranger to Samantha and wasn't particularly offended.

"Now, why don't you get out of here?" she continued.

"Because I can help!"

"Help to get us both killed, you mean!"

"You sound as if you don't have a lot of confidence in my abilities, Samantha."

"Correct!"

"But, really, I'm sure I can do something."

"Correct again, but we don't have time for that now."

"Well, what are you going to do?"

"Going to get myself captured, of course!"

"What? Why?"

She sighed with exaggerated patience.

"You really haven't done a lot of secret agenting, have you?"

It was a rhetorical question, she already knew the answer, my experience and expertise added up to precisely zilch. She didn't wait for me to reply.

"Look, I get captured and they take me to the boss. He sets a fiendish trap that will lead to my certain death. Then he does the whole gloating thing, telling me how clever he's been and what his cunning plans are. He can do this in safety because he knows I'll be dead and won't be able to tell anyone else. With me so far?"

I nodded dumbly.

"Right, when he's finished telling me how hopeless my situation is and how his plans to take over the universe are unstoppable, he goes off to put the final touches to his dastardly schemes. And this is when I escape and destroy the whole shebang. There, simple!"

I wasn't sure if the word simple was meant to describe her plan of action or me. Somehow I suspected the latter, but now was not the time to take things personally.

"So what can I do?"

There was a bit too much of a whine in my voice for my liking. I felt like I was a child again and we were organising a game of Cowboys and Indians. The big boys had already claimed the best parts, the Marshall, the Indian chief and such. I was coming to realise that I'd be assigned the role of third sidekick, you know, the one that only gets a chance to say "I don't like it, it's too quiet," before going down with an arrow through his chest inside the first five minutes. Not entirely a comforting thought under current circumstances.

"If you think you could manage it, trying not to get either of us killed would be a good start!"

She really didn't have a lot of faith in me, did she? I was still trying to think up a reply when I noticed that she'd gone. Not vanished, I just caught a flash of white coat and golden hair as she rounded a corner, but I was alone.

* * *

If she was honest with herself, Samantha would be willing to admit that she hadn't been planning on getting captured quite so soon. She'd hoped to have a proper look around first, but captured was what she had wanted and that's exactly what she had got.

The men who caught her had been a pair of gorillas. She could have taken them out, but that wasn't the plan. She made out all weak and timid for them. They took an arm each and marched her down the corridor.

To be fair to them, they'd not even really touched her up as they brought her to their boss, who turned out to be called Chief of Operations, or just Operations for short. He probably had a real name, but she didn't care about that too much. Bastard would serve as far as she was concerned.

They didn't bother to search her, Operations just ordered her to strip. She had options, he explained, either she stripped voluntarily or he'd have his men do it for her. He was, he said, pretty sure which way round they would prefer it, but she was the guest, it was her choice.

Look, she might have been behaving strangely, all efficient and secret agenty, but underneath it all, and these guys were just about to see what was underneath it all, this was still Samantha, a girl who is never averse to shedding her clothes, pretty much whatever the situation. She stripped.

They took a good five minutes to look her over before Operations pointed to the rope and pulley. Somewhat reluctantly, she thought, the two gorillas lashed her hands with one end of the rope. One of them held her feet, making sure, she noticed, that his nose was well positioned so that he could take a close up look at a certain part of her anatomy. This didn't bother her much, shyness was never one of her problems.

One thing that did bother her, though, was the smell that rose from the liquid in the large vat that she'd just been hoisted over. She'd never had much to do with rotten eggs, but she seemed to remember that they smelled a lot better than this. They weren't as threatening as the still pool below her either.

"Sulphuric acid," announced Operations. "Once that gets inside you it'll make your parts tingle a bit!"

She suspected that he was right about that, though the experience probably wouldn't last long.

"Your name, young lady?"

"The name is Minx, Samantha Minx."

"Pleased to meet you, Ms Minx. I don't suppose you're willing to tell us where your friends are hiding?" Samantha just shook her head. "Never mind. I didn't think you would and I was always planning to kill you anyway."

"Are you going to tell me what this is all about?" she asked.

"Well, Ms Minx, as you are about to die, I see no harm in telling you. It is traditional to grant a last wish, so I will explain. The quantum state that elves exist in, makes them ideal for our virtual reality program. Elves can replace a great deal of technology, thus saving an awful lot of money, by their very own uncertain reality. They are, in effect, only virtually real in the first place. Captain Shaft, as you probably know, believes that by controlling the elves within the VR boxes he can control the humans who are using them."

As far as one can while dangling nakedly over a vat of acid, Samantha kept her expression serene at this revelation about Captain Shaft, this was news to her.

"Is he going to be able to do that?"

"He believes so, yes."

"Because that's what you told him?"

"Indeed, Ms Minx, and to a certain extent, it's even true. True enough to convince Captain Shaft, anyway. So he thinks that he can eradicate human life on the planet, bring the rest of the elves to his Promised Land and become the supreme ruler."

More work was needed by Samantha this time in order to keep her face from registering surprise, but somehow she managed it.

"And he thinks you are going to help him with that?"

"Oh, no! Imprison his entire crew in the VR boxes, enslave them as you might put it, he believes we are going to help him with that, and we have already begun work on it. But assist in the eradication of human life? Hardly in our interests, is it? I don't believe that he ever thought we would do that."

"But he thought he could trick you."

"Yes, he did. As far as I know, he still does. Unfortunately for the good captain, his plans contain a significant flaw. You see, he thinks that I'm an idiot!"

"And you maintain that you're not?"

"Far from it, Ms Minx. Right at this moment, however, I am here and the captain is not. So, I will retain certain parts of Captain Shaft's strategy, but modify it to my own ends."

"You intend to rule the world instead of him?"

"Oh, no! That all sounds like hard work. It would provoke resentment. No, all I intend to rule is the money!"

"And that won't cause resentment?"

"When I've got that much money, why should I care if it does? I will effectively rule the world without having to do any of the hard work. You see, this is all going to make me extremely rich. Now, much as I'm enjoying our little chat, I'm a busy man. So I'm just going to place this candle under the rope that's supporting you, just in case we get carried away and end up chatting for ever."

"You're going to drop me into an acid bath?"

"Well, not personally, it'll be the rope that does that when it burns through, but you're going in. Don't worry though, you won't get lonely, plenty of others have gone in there before you. For example, those two fools that let you escape last time you were here, and only yesterday I was forced to oblige an inquisitive secretary to take a dip. It's a shame that you have to go the same way really, you're quite a pretty young thing and I fear the acid won't be very good for your complexion. Still, don't be too concerned about that, very soon you won't have a complexion to worry about."

"I see."

"Never mind, it shouldn't last too long, a few bubbles, five minutes, then nothing. Nothing left of you at all, Ms Minx."
Dangling

"Now, then, Ms Minx, aren't you supposed to be telling me that I'll never get away with it?"

"Why? As far as I can see, you probably will. You seem to have thought it all out."

"Oh, dear, Ms Minx. You're not trying to flatter me are you? Not hoping to appeal to my better nature? I'd hate for you to go to your death entertaining false notions that there was any hope for you. When the candle burns through that rope and drops you into the vat of acid, that really will be the end of you."

"Oh."

"You may feel a little discomfort at first. Actually, quite a lot of discomfort, I would imagine."

"Oh."

"You seem very relaxed about this, Ms Minx. I expect you're thinking that I'm about to leave you and rush off to do important things rather than staying here to watch you die. Give you a chance to make an incredible escape? It's not going to happen, I'm afraid. I'm with you until the end!"

"Oh! That's not how it's done! You fiend!"

"Oh, but is it, Ms Minx, it is! Not to worry, it shouldn't be long now."

* * *

There was something of a crowd around the ring of stones which did indeed look new and shiny. The people were a mixed bunch, men and women, most of them looking none too clean.

Long hair and beards seemed to be the fashion for the men. They were dressed in a mixture of leather, animal skins and coarsely woven wool. The women favoured long skirts and shapeless tops made out of the woollen material.

There were exceptions to the dress code. Merlin was one, in his long blue silk robe and Jenny was another, not in a long robe of any type or colour. Not in a robe at all. Not in anything. The figure standing alongside Merlin was just Jenny, as anybody who cared to look could see. Quite a few people seemed to care enough to do so and I can't say that I blame them.

The two of them were standing slightly off to one side of the crowd. People were giving them plenty of space. Out of deference or fear? Jenny didn't know.

While not quite in Samantha's league for displaying her naked body, Jenny is a good looking girl and very well aware of the fact. She considers that people admiring her shapely assets are acting entirely sensibly and doing just as any reasonable person would. She is not shy, not by a long chalk.

But standing naked next to Merlin on a windswept Salisbury Plain, she was feeling just a touch self-conscious. Not to mention a little chilly, despite the summer's day.

"What happened to my clothes?" she asked Merlin out of the side of her mouth.

"I told you, I need a priestess."

"That is not what I asked!"

"I thought that as a priestess, you'd look better without any clothes. More mystique, if you see what I mean."

"What exactly is mysterious about showing them everything I've got?"

"Maybe not mysterious, then, but you do look better like that. Besides, modern clothes would just be out of place."

"They might be a bit warmer!"

"Ah, well, I have a plan for warming you up."

"Not the Caucus Race technique?"

"If by that you mean that you're about to get fucked, then yes!"

"What? Here? With all these people about?"

"I didn't think you were shy, Jenny?"

"There's a difference between not being shy and being an exhibitionist!"

"Ah, but this isn't just sex, it's religion. It's a fertility rite."

"I have no desire to make babies!"

"Oh, babies have got nothing to do with it."

"Babies have nothing to do with fertility rites? I think you've been reading the wrong books, Merlin!"

"Well, yes, in the long term babies do apply, but you needn't have one. This is all about today. All you've got to do is get yourself fucked and be seen to be fucked."

"And all these people are just going to watch, are they?"

"Of course!"

"Voyeurism as religion. I wonder the Church of England hasn't thought of it. It would certainly put a few more bums on pews! Anyway, no! I'm not going to do it!"

"Ah! That might be a bit of a problem. You see, this is a big day, it's the official temple opening ceremony. I suppose there is the alternative, but I don't think you'd like it."

"No? Why not?"

"Because they'd put you on the bonfire!"

"That sounds more like the church that I know! So, is there anybody in particular that I need to fuck?"

"As this is all of your own free will, it's entirely up to you."

"Get fucked or get burned alive, that's almost the definition of free will."

"However, if I might make a suggestion, that is Ravenclaw standing over there."

"Really? I thought you might be after the job yourself."

"Oh, no! It's my old knees, you know."

"I don't believe you."

"All right, I'm scared of your boyfriend."

"Try again."

"We need Ravenclaw's help."

"Better! Anyway, why didn't you mention him before? He's rather hunky, isn't he?"

"I'll take your word for that, Jenny."

"Do you think he's up for it?"

"He's the King of the Elves! I think he can get up just about anyone!"

"Let's go and find out."

* * *

My white coated disguise had got me this far without problem. It really is amazing what a uniform, however basic, and a plastic tag around your neck will let you get away with. That and an air of self-confidence, of course. A completely false air in my case, but I was determined to see this through and had been doing my best to conceal my qualms.

I'd seen the two men who'd captured Samantha and watched them take her away. Some time later, the pair had returned, Samantha was no longer with them. Once they'd passed my place of concealment, I retraced their steps.

There were several doors leading off the corridor they'd emerged from, all were locked until I reached the one at the end and this door moved a little in response to my tentative push. I heard voices and froze, the door was very slightly ajar.

What I heard when I pressed my ear to the crack in the doorway filled my veins with ice. Dropping Samantha into a vat of acid? Killing her? Giving her no hope of escape? This was evil personified, the Chief of Operations truly was a fiend! I had to do something.

There is probably a correct way to deal with megalomaniac fiends, protocols to be followed, certain niceties to be observed, but I must have been off school the day that lesson was taught. Perhaps a summer cold, or if the lesson occurred late enough in my school career, possibly a hangover. Regardless of the reason, I found myself sadly ignorant of the correct formal procedure. I would have to improvise.

I eased the door open slightly further so that I could see inside. Samantha was dangling nakedly, held aloft by a rope around her wrists. This rope went through a pulley and then ran off at forty five degrees to a fixing I was unable to see from my position, but before it reached that fixing it passed over a small table which held a burning candle just beneath the rope.

Operations was standing in front of and below Samantha, looking up at her. Looking up parts of her, anyway. I've seen Samantha dangling naked before and on another day I'd be elbowing Operations out of the way so that I could look up Samantha instead, trying to see her hidden depths.

However, I'd spotted the smoke from the smouldering rope as it passed over the candle flame. There wasn't much time left, as Operations had just observed. I needed a plan and I needed it right now.

Unfortunately, both my missing of the essential lesson, as outlined above, in combination with my completely stalled thought processes, left myself and sensible plans as absolute strangers. There is only one course to follow in such situations and I took it now, it was time for thoughtless action. I would wing it and see what happened.

What happened was that Samantha's eyes widened in surprise when I slid silently into the room, and it was at this point that I discovered how truly insane CyberCorp's Chief of Operations really was. He noticed her reaction.

Now Samantha has nice eyes. They can be friendly, teasing or outright hostile as she chooses. They sparkle wondrously at times. The whites are clear, unblemished by blood vessels. The iris is a slightly pale variation on sapphire. They are beautiful eyes, as any impartial observer would tell you. But what the bloody hell was Operations looking at them for?

I'm not saying that there's anything wrong with gazing into a girl's eyes. Sometimes it's very much the right thing to do. It can be your best way forward when you want to gaze at more of her. But there's a time and a place for everything and when the girl is already hanging naked before you, I would venture to suggest that eye gazing time it is not.

I mean, under normal circumstances, Samantha herself would be offended if you thought it was. Still, given that Operations was planning to dunk her in an acid bath, I don't suppose that offending her sensibilities was high on his list of concerns.

Operations had, as I've mentioned, a naked Samantha dangling before him right now. There are a lot of things to look at when presented with a naked Samantha. I could write a list, although it would be quite a long one. But her eyes? The man was truly mad!

So I knew I was dealing with a madman, this knowledge might yet prove helpful. What was not helpful, however, was the way he turned to face me while drawing an automatic pistol from the waistband of his trousers.

Well, this was thoughtless action I was undertaking and in keeping with this theme my brain had frozen. Fortunately, the rest of my body had lost patience with my misfiring mind already, I hurled myself to the ground.

Sliding across the tiled floor had been no part of the plan, as I say, there was no plan. Nevertheless, sliding is what I did and it brought me to the feet of the man who was CyberCorp's Chief of Operations. The insane Chief of Operations. The madman with a gun in his hand!

Ah! said my brain unhelpfully as it prepared to shut down permanently.

Fortunately, Samantha is not the sort to dangle prettily in a helpless manner when her would be saviour botches the rescue mission.

"Get up, you fool!" she called.

I think it was the note of ingratitude in her voice, the obvious lack of appreciation for my selfless if inefficient act of bravery, it was this that stung me into further action. Before Operations could get around to pulling the trigger, I leaped to my feet.

There's an outside chance that my arm had done it deliberately and without instructions from me, but blind chance is the more likely explanation, whichever it was, my wristwatch caught in the cuff of the man's trousers, sufficiently so that when he did fire, he was off balance and merely succeeded in half deafening me.

You might have thought that my watchstrap would have broken under the strain and had I been capable of thought I'd have agreed with you. At the time though, all I was interested in was freeing my arm and I shook it violently, seeking to release it. This action had the effect of lifting the man's foot from the ground and further unbalancing him. It did not, however, prevent him from pulling on the trigger again.

Ever since the beginning of this adventure people had been shooting guns at me. I was almost getting used to it, the shock effect was nothing like as strong as it had been at first. Nevertheless, I could still not bring myself to embrace the experience with any real warmth. I was less than fond of people shooting at me. In fact, I was beginning to get decidedly pissed off about it!

My body's unspoken declaration of independence from my blundering brain was working well so far. It was in no mood to let my mind interfere and I was in no way inclined to do so. I had already handed over the reins and now my body set off at the gallop.

Dropping my shoulder so that it fitted neatly below the man's sternum, I started to act like a back row forward at scrum time. I heaved with my shoulder while my legs marched steadfastly and unstoppably forwards, picking up speed as they went.

Operations staggered backwards under my attentions. We hadn't far to go, but were moving at a respectable pace by the time his back made contact with the acid vat above which the naked Samantha was suspended. My shoulder continued its forward motion, even as his backwards motion ceased, and the air exploded out of him with a loud "Oof!"

This was not the genteel and ladylike "Oof!" of a girl taking one up the back passage, or even of a gentleman getting the same. No! While at the time I would have been hard pressed to think of anyone who deserved it more, if Operations was going to receive that sort of treatment, it was not going to be from me! This was the "Oof!" of a man winded and in pain.

The pistol dropped from his nerveless fingers and onto the floor. I bent down, picked up the gun and took a smart step back out of range of his feet and fists. I eventually got the pistol the right way round and pointed it at Operations as he struggled to stand upright and regain his breath.

I could have shot him at that point and perhaps I should have. I had every right. He had been in charge the first time people had fired machine guns at Jenny and me. He'd organised a ruthless hunt for us. He'd just fired this very gun at me. He had planned to dunk Samantha into a vat of acid. He deserved it. All I had to do was aim and pull the trigger.

I couldn't do it! I stood in front of him, racked with indecision. I felt like Hamlet in the worst of his To be or not to be moments. My finger tightened on the trigger, but with no real commitment and it relaxed again. There was still no proper input from my brain, but even my autonomously acting body shared my uncertainty.

A voice spoke to me from on high. It wasn't God, as I thought at first, it was Samantha.

"Would you mind getting a bloody move on?"

She had a point, the rope holding her aloft and above the acid had been looking decidedly charred when I'd last seen it and that was a while ago. I needed to do something and I needed to do it right now.

In the event, I failed to use the gun for its designated purpose, I couldn't bring myself to shoot the man. So I took a half pace forward and just as Operations managed to haul himself to an upright position, I smacked him smartly round the ear with the barrel.

The gun, Samantha later informed me, was a Glock, apparently one of the finest automatic pistols you could get. However, as a club, I felt it had certain design flaws, notably the trigger guard that nearly ripped my finger off as I struck the man.

I looked down at the prone figure on the floor. Had I hit him hard enough for him to stay down? Had I hit him too hard? Had I killed him? I really didn't want to have killed him or anybody else. I hoped I'd got the force of the blow just right, but I don't have a lot of experience with these things.

My mind was still in a fog as I considered the wisdom of bending down and feeling for a pulse. I think I was about to do just that, when another celestial communication reached my ears.

"Put out the candle and get me down, idiot!"

Well, that last word cleared my head immediately. Things were back to normal. I knew where I stood and everything was right with the world. Samantha had called me an idiot and all would be well from now on. I broke free of my reverie and moved to blow out the candle. I stood and looked at the nakedly dangling Samantha.

"Now get me down, moron!" she said.

"You'd be grateful, would you?"

"Of course I'd be grateful, you fool!"

"How grateful?"

"Very, you nitwit!"

"You'd express that gratitude in some way, would you?"

"I'd express it like this - grateful enough not to rip your balls off if you do it quickly, blockhead!"

"I suppose that'll have to do."
Burn

Once I'd helped her down, Samantha picked up the pistol that I'd placed on the table next to the still smoking candle. She looked at Operations, lying unconscious on the floor. She seemed to be of a mood to completing the task I'd backed away from. She pointed the gun at him, but then she sighed, raised the gun and went to put it away in her waistband.

She appeared surprised for a moment that she didn't have a waistband, or anything else for that matter, and I thought she might be reconsidering shooting the man. She sighed again and looked around the room, spotting her clothes in a pile in the corner. She put them on and now she had a waistband to put the pistol into.

"Aren't you glad I came along?" I asked.

"I had it all under control."

"Really? You looked to be in a bit of trouble, dangling above a vat of acid and all that."

"Oh, I was just finalising my exit plan. Running through the options."

"I see. Well, I did see for that matter. You looked good, mind you. Very good!"

"There, you see? I had everything covered."

"Not from where I was standing, you didn't!"

Samantha, however, was in no mood for my attempts at levity.

"Look, thank you. Feel better?"

"Much!"

"Yeah, well, I don't suppose you've got a can of deodorant in your pocket? I'll admit to feeling just a twinge of concern while I was up there."

"Sorry."

"Men, bloody useless most of the time! Now, what are we going to do with him?"

"Call the cops?"

"What, and tell them he's been enslaving sex powered elves?"

"No, I suppose not."

She looked at the huge vat of acid and I could see what she was thinking, but I shook my head.

"No, I don't think we can bung him in that, temping though it is."

"Then I guess we just leave him and he'll have to take his chances."

"Why?"

"Because I'm going to burn this place to the ground, is why!"

"Seems reasonable."

"Yes, it is. You, on the other hand, are in charge of rescuing damsels in distress. There are five elves in the building and they need rescuing."

"But how? They're all trapped in VR boxes."

"Just bring the boxes. Merlin will have to get them out. Wait until I've set off the alarms. Everybody should be running away from the fire, so you ought to be left alone."

"What fire?" I wanted to know.

"The one I'm going to start, of course!"

"But I'll be in danger as well!"

"Then you'd better be quick, hadn't you? Just think how grateful five elves are going to be for you rescuing them."

"Er, just a second, they are all girls, aren't they?"

"Yes."

"Right! I'm on it!"

"True nobility of purpose! That's what I've always admired about you."

"Really? Admired? Me?"

"Get out of here!"

* * *

The King of the Elves lay on the ground gasping for breath, his muscles were quivering, his hands shaking. Jenny lay alongside him, flat on her back, arms flung out to either side, her chest rising and falling far more interestingly than Ravenclaw's as she worked to regain her own breath.

This had been a proper temple inauguration. You could tell the crowd thought so, the applause was rapturous. There was cheering, stamping of feet, and hands clapping together so hard the spectators were getting sore palms. Merlin was leading the chant for an encore. Jenny turned to Ravenclaw.

"I think they want us to do it again, do you think you could manage that?"

"Mortal, I am King of the Elves, of course I can. Just give me a few moments, would you?"

"It's a shame it's not a bit bigger and I know you were doing your best, but do you think you could try and make it last a bit longer this time? Sorry if I sound like I'm criticising, I suppose I'm just a bit spoiled by the service I get from my boy at home."

All right, perhaps those weren't Jenny's exact words at the time, but I'm writing the story and I'm sure that's what she would have said if she'd been thinking straight. If she hadn't just been fucked senseless by the King of the Elves! If she hadn't been about to get the same treatment again!

* * *

There wasn't much in this room that would burn, so Samantha went exploring again. Despite the white coat she'd slipped on, a security type did try to stop and question her, but this time she had no intention of being taken prisoner, she had her information already.

She span round on her left foot, her right leg swinging upwards. The kick caught him just below the jaw and lifted him off his feet, sending him flying backwards until his head and then shoulders struck the wall behind him. That seemed to have knocked the stuffing out of him and he folded gently to the floor. He was another that would have to take his chances once fire broke out.

And that fire was Samantha's priority now. She looked into rooms where the doors were unlocked but was finding nothing. Then she entered a room full of people. They didn't notice her at first, she was in a white coat and so were all of them.

Samantha surveyed the banks of electronic equipment lining three walls of the room. There were dials, flashing lights, lots of buttons, and cables running everywhere. She hadn't a clue what all this equipment did, but she was determined that it wouldn't be doing it for long.

"Everybody, out now!" she shouted. "Fire!"

Nobody moved, other than to turn round and look at her, obviously thinking, "What fire?" She shrugged her shoulders, pulled the pistol from her waistband and fired at the nearest bank of electronic whatever it was. A gratifying fountain of sparks erupted from the console.

Adjusting her aim, Samantha fired more bullets into whatever equipment came into her sights. More sparks and now there were some flames and smoke was starting to billow across the room.

Now people could see what fire it was and they were already fleeing before the alarm bells started to ring. The pistol clicked, the magazine was empty, she dropped it and left the room.

There was no panic in the corridors as yet, but people were all making purposefully for the exits, walking quickly but relatively calmly. The man running towards her didn't look very calm, mind you, he looked as if he wanted to do her damage.

Well, if he wanted to damage Samantha, he should have chosen a different approach. As he ran at her, Samantha moved forwards and dipped her right shoulder, tucking it into the man's stomach as he arrived. His own momentum assisted Samantha as she rose upright, and he flew from her shoulder, sailing feet first through the door of the now fiercely burning room. Samantha, turned, pulled the door closed and trotted off, looking for something else to burn.

She darted into room after room, now she used her father's ring. She set fire to anything and everything she could find that would burn, moving quickly. The smoke was thickening in the corridors now, she reckoned she'd done enough damage. It was time to go.

* * *

Captain Shaft had returned from his trip to the CyberCorp facility. He was glad to be back. There was something insulting about the way the mortals wore protective equipment when in the presence of elves. It was as if they thought there was something wrong with elves.

He knew better, it was the mortals who had something wrong with them. While an elf can spend as much time on sex as possible, elves know that there are other things that need doing as well. Not so the mortals, give them one sniff of an elf's skirt and they couldn't stop themselves. They just went at it until they dropped.

Mortals were weak, he concluded, and as such they deserved to be eradicated from the planet and the elves could take their rightful place as rulers of the world, with him ruling the elves!

Looking forward to the events that would fulfil his dreams, the captain promised himself the pleasure of personally exterminating that odious man, Operations.

Still, that was all for the future, for now, he was a little worried about his crew. They'd been bored and resentful before he left for his CyberCorp visit, they seemed even more so now.

Ensign Love in particular was not looking happy, she'd stared at him when he'd returned in a blatantly insubordinate manner. He was thinking he might be forced to discipline her and was considering what form that discipline should take.

Perhaps he wouldn't even bother. These elves would all be subsumed into the VR project in a day or two and he would no longer have to worry about them. Unfortunate for the individuals, perhaps, but their unwitting sacrifice would be for the good of the whole of elfkind.

No, there was no need to worry about petty disciplinary matters. Very shortly, he would rule the world!

* * *

I was searching for VR boxes. This was a big facility and I didn't know where to start. Nor, to be honest, did I know what a VR box looked like. I was hoping that I'd find all five together. I didn't suppose there would be too many sets of five anythings, so if I did find five somethings, then they'd have to be the VR boxes, wouldn't they?

Even I wasn't completely convinced by my theory, but it was the best I had to go on for now. I was darting into room after room, much as Samantha was, the difference being that while she was burning, I was counting.

I'd heard the gunshots earlier and they'd added urgency to my search. I was running between rooms. So it was that I was moving quickly when I emerged from a doorway and ran straight into a young man, winding both of us severely.

I recovered first and having no better plans, I grabbed him by the lapels, saying, "Where are the VR boxes?"

"I don't know about any other boxes," he replied, "but I know where one is."

"Show me!"

"Hey! All right, I'll show you, just let go of me."

I released his lapels and looked at him. Youngish, early to mid-twenties at a guess, he had an open, honest face. What was he doing tied up with CyberCorp, I wondered? I asked him.

"Well, I was making lousy coffee, but I've recently been promoted. Now I'm a VR test pilot."

He seemed very proud of his new title.

"Good job?" I asked.

"Wow! But I tell you, it's a bit weird at times. I had this one experience where there was an elf who was telling me she'd been kidnapped by CyberCorp and enslaved in the VR box. Bizarre, eh?"

"Yeah, elves aren't real! What did you do?"

"Fucked her, of course!"

I was starting to like this boy, he seemed to have all the right instincts.

"Really?"

"Well, virtually!" he said, chuckling at his own joke.

"So, where is she?"

"Who?"

"The box, I mean. Where is it?"

"Follow me, but we'd better be quick, I think the place is on fire."

"Yeah, that'd be Samantha."

"Who?"

"If you're lucky, you'll get to meet her. She's real."

"Glad to hear it, real girls are fun! In here."

He led the way into a small room, almost a study. A couple of armchairs and a small table on which sat a box about ten inches square and two inches high. There was also what looked like a motorcycle helmet. He unplugged and then grabbed the box and I took the helmet.

"Don't put it on," he advised. "By the look of all this smoke, you don't have time for elf fucking, real or not. So where's this Samantha girl? Is she fun?"

"Normally, she's a lot of fun, but she's a bit scary right at the moment. OK, look, there were only four of them, so I didn't know what they were, but I've seen boxes like this before. This way."

He had no real reason to stay with me, but I think he was intrigued about Samantha. He followed me back down the corridor and into another room. The four boxes were stacked on a table. There were no more helmets.

"Hey," I asked, "what's your name?"

"George."

"Right, George, you take the boxes, I'll take the helmet and let's get these girls out of here."

"Girls?"

"Elves!"

"But you said elves weren't real!"

"Apparently they're not, but these are going to be very grateful unreal elves if we can rescue them! Let's go!"

"Grateful, eh? Hey! You're sure they're all girls, are you?"

I was really beginning to like George! We had the same noble virtues running through our veins.

"Oh, yes!"

We met Samantha as we were running across the foyer and heading for the main doors. I made breathless introductions as we ran.

"You'd best come with us, George," Samantha announced. "You're not safe here and you might have useful knowledge."

George found time to look at Samantha and didn't seem too upset at the prospect of going anywhere with her.

When we got to the street I asked, "Which car are we taking?"

"Both," replied Samantha. "George, are you coming with me or going with him?"

"Are you kidding?"

I drove to Devon alone.
Stones

Yet again, Samantha was driving towards Stonehenge, this time with George in the passenger seat of the Aston Martin. She wasn't sure what it was about the ancient stone circle that kept drawing her attention. It was only a bunch of rocks, that had always been her opinion. OK, it was an impressive thing to build before you had cranes and such, but it was hardly the pyramids or the Parthenon, was it?

However, something appeared to have changed and she was feeling herself being pulled to the monument. Somehow it was bringing Jenny to mind, though she couldn't understand why a bunch of stones, however venerable and artfully arranged, could remind her of the brunette beauty who in normal times was her Mistress. Yet Samantha could almost sense Jenny's presence.

She looked over at George. He'd told her earlier in the journey all about his new dream job and the elf that he'd virtually met. If he was to believe what she'd told him in return, that elf was in one of the boxes in the back of the Aston Martin. Now Samantha was thinking of giving him something else to do and was wondering if he could really be trusted.

"George," she said, "I'm grateful for your help back at the facility and for what you've told us."

"How grateful?"

"Good grief! You only spent ten minutes with him! Have you picked up all his bad habits?"

"Hey! I'm always like this. Anyway, what's wrong with checking out how grateful a pretty girl might be?"

"Oh, nothing, I suppose. Anyway, before I can answer that, what I need to know is, why?"

"Why do I want to know how grateful you are? I would have thought that was pretty obvious."

Samantha spared a glance down at the young man's lap. Yup, it was obvious all right! Which made the reason for her checking his trustworthiness all the more urgent.

"No, why are you helping us? CyberCorp had just given you a dream job. So why work against them?"

"That's got quite a lot to do with the two men who shot at me as I was leaving home this morning. They were so arrogant that they still had their CyberCorp uniforms on. Anyway, they were lousy shots, they missed and I was out of the back door in a flash."

"What did you do then?"

"I wandered about for most of the day in a daze, trying to work out what was going on. Then in the late afternoon I decided to go to the facility, find out what I could and do as much damage as I could. Bastards!"

This sounded reasonable enough to Samantha and she decided she could act upon the feelings that thoughts of Jenny had stirred within her. They were just coming level with Stonehenge and she turned off the main road and into the deserted car-park.

It was around ten o'clock, but there was still light in the summer evening sky. There didn't seem to be anybody around. Samantha climbed out of her side of the car and George did the same on the opposite side. They met at the front of the Aston Martin and Samantha suddenly reached out both arms, pulled George close and kissed him passionately on the lips.

I mentioned earlier that George seemed to possess all the right instincts and he demonstrated that fact now. He kissed Samantha right back while his arms moved behind her to clasp a bum cheek in each hand. He pulled her closer, trying to press his excitement against her, but she already had one hand in the way, its fingers working on the fly of his trousers.

George was no fool, he knew that there's a time for rubbing your excitement against a girl and there's a time for giving her a bit of space. This was undoubtedly one of the latter and he drew back a little, he had no intentions of hampering her questing hand.

A thought struck him, it wasn't one that was going to stop him doing anything, but he was curious.

"You're not an elf, are you?"

"Not exactly."

He wondered about that reply, but then she'd got her fingers inside his fly and all mental processes ground to an abrupt halt. Samantha pulled back slightly and led him by the hand towards the standing stones silhouetted against the evening sky. It was her hand leading his him.

I've heard both Jenny and Samantha in the past express their theory that if you grab a man by the dick and pull, then he'll go pretty much anywhere with you. Indeed, it's Samantha's contention that this is the reason that men come fitted with such a convenient handle. And I should say that I've certainly never done anything to bring either girl's thesis into question. Perhaps with a similar desire to my own in not wanting to dispute either girl's scientific credentials, George allowed himself to be pulled towards the stone circle.

Samantha herself was wondering why she was doing this, though in reality she knew, it was what she normally did. However, she was The Minx now, Samantha Minx, Jenny's protector, but she'd been all business for too long. The last sex she'd had was with Janet on the floor of the Lotus Flower bar and that seemed weeks ago.

She'd been naked back in the CyberCorp facility, but nobody had fucked her. Not that she'd wanted Operations or his minions to fuck her, but it was the principle that mattered. When you have someone as pretty as her, naked in front of you, you fuck her! You certainly don't dangle them over vats of acid! The Minx or not, Samantha felt it was time she got fucked.

Besides, she could detect Jenny's presence here, not just her presence, but sex! She didn't know how she knew it, but Jenny had been fucked here and fucked good! Samantha could feel it, feel it inside herself. Well, no, personally she couldn't, but she would soon! She quickened her pace and George, perforce, did the same.

They reached the centre of the ring of stones and here Samantha stripped off her clothes. It took quite a long time.

I said earlier that Samantha could win Olympic gold at talking, but stripping is another thing that she is world class at. Given her head, she can be naked in about three and a half seconds, no matter how many clothes she started with.

This time, though, George had decided to assist. This is another of Jenny and Samantha's theories, a man's assistance by no means always leads to greater efficiency. Nor did it in this case. George's idea of helping was to help himself to any and all parts of Samantha as they became uncovered. His hands and lips being everywhere delayed Samantha's return to her natural condition considerably, but neither of them seemed to mind.

Nudity finally achieved, Samantha sighed contentedly. Now they could move on to something that both she and Jenny were agreed was what a man was really useful for, and apparently George was very useful for it too. Very useful indeed!

Not quite as useful as myself, or so Samantha later told me. But we were in a lingerie shop with Jenny at the time, and as both girls wanted me to buy them matching sets of lingerie, there may have been an ulterior motive to Samantha's statement. Not that this bothered me then, they both looked extremely good in the silk and lace confections, and despite the exorbitant price tag, their gratitude proved to be well worth the investment.

But I digress, this did not concern the couple currently within the ancient megalithic ring. They were unconsciously re-enacting an event that Jenny and Ravenclaw had performed on this very spot so very long ago. Or just now, depending on how you looked at it. Or so I'm informed.

* * *

Then or now, Jenny was sitting down eating with Ravenclaw and Merlin. It was not the most elegant meal any of them had eaten, nor were the surroundings too luxurious, but both Jenny and Ravenclaw had expended a lot of energy playing their part in their temple inauguration ceremony and they needed refuelling. Merlin wasn't really hungry, he wanted to talk.

Jenny was chewing daintily on a chicken wing, Ravenclaw had a goat leg that he was gnawing ravenously, while Merlin took the odd nibble on a radish. Ravenclaw and Merlin were dressed, Jenny had no clothes, but the Elf King had found a deerskin to drape over her shoulders. It did nothing for her modesty, but did provide her with some warmth.

They were sitting on the grass at the edge of the ring of stones. The other attendees were also eating, but keeping a respectful distance from this threesome, as they obviously had things to discuss.

"Merlin," Ravenclaw wanted to know, "why were you trying to bribe me, the King of the Elves, with a fuck? Charming as the lady is, and as fine a fuck as I could wish for," he added with a gallant nod to Jenny, "but I know a bribe when I see one."

"Bribe? It was no such thing. Jenny fucked you entirely on a voluntary basis."

Ravenclaw gave Jenny a questioning look.

"He said I either had to get fucked or they'd burn me alive."

"Yes, I'm afraid he was probably right about that. Makes you wonder, doesn't it? I mean, just from a biological point of view, bunging all the beautiful women on the bonfire doesn't seem like a great survival strategy to me. Still, that's religion for you, they all seem to turn to it in the end."

"Male insecurity from the priests!"

"I'm sure you're right, young lady. Now, Merlin, why?"

"We've got a problem with elves."

"You've got a problem with them?" Ravenclaw exploded. "What about me? I'm their king, they're all my problem, and a right bunch of bloody trouble they are!"

"Yes, but they're supposed to be your problem, not ours. We've got them in Deeping, in Merliscombe, and they're not supposed to be there."

"When?"

"Early twenty first century."

Ravenclaw thought this over for a while, looking at Jenny's tits while he worked things out. Eventually he looked back at Merlin and said, "No, they're not, are they?"

"So what are you going to do about them?"

"Me?"

"I think you mentioned something about being their king."

"Indeed I am!"

"Then get them out of my combe."

"Why?"

"Because I asked you to and because you're their king."

"No, I meant, why are they there?"

"Not the faintest idea. Something to do with a company called CyberCorp, that's as far as we can work out."

"Well, we'd better go and find out, hadn't we?"

* * *

Constable Flint was feeling a little guilty, he felt that he was neglecting his duty to the community of Deeping. It was more than a week since he'd issued a parking ticket and a day and a half since he'd shown his face in the village. It would be harsh to say this was Trudy's fault, but she was the reason, nevertheless.

To be fair to him, the constable wasn't incompetent, and had he tried harder he could undoubtedly have found Trudy some clothes by now, but he seemed to lack a proper incentive to do so. When she had offered to cook him some dinner, concerned for her well-being and wishing her to suffer no burns on her perfect person, he had found her an apron.

This protective garment served to conceal some of Trudy's undoubted charms and Rupert Flint surveyed her resulting appearance with a detective's eye. He was not fully in favour of the transformation, but he found that when the danger of burns was no longer imminent, her having moved away from the stove, if he pressed his finger just there, the bib of the apron slid between her plump breasts perfectly, enabling them to gaze blindly back at him.

The triangle of dark curls was still concealed, but that merely required the raising of a hem as and when deemed necessary, and the rear view presented compensations aplenty. The neck-strap of the apron was out of sight beneath Trudy's rich brown hair. From behind, she appeared to wearing only a thin ribbon, tied in a bow at the small of her back, the laces dangling delicately between deliciously divided cheeks.

Trudy had a pretty good idea what the constable would be looking at, even if she couldn't see it herself. Again, I don't want to be seen as criticising her, but it may not have been in the best interests of Deeping's law enforcement requirements, that when PC Flint announced that he must go on patrol, she bent forwards and touched her toes.

The constable's "Woof!" at the sight of this apparition was heard right across the village and led to wild speculations about a mad and dangerous beast on the moor. Rupert Flint had turned into jelly, though to Trudy's happy benefit, not all of him!

It was this upstanding outpost of the law enforcement profession's intrusion into Trudy, and the satisfied scream that it provoked, that led to further speculation about the beast of the moor having found a victim. Had the populace at large been able to hear Trudy's pursuant purring with pleasure, they may have been reassured of their safety, but the good copper was in no mood to break off and invite witnesses.

Thus it was that the portly policeman's plans for patrolling were delayed by the old one thing leading to another thing, although it was at first one thing leading to one thing.

Later, when the excitement levels built up and his detective's direction deserted the probing policeman, his ardent appendage found itself seeking entrance to an unintended target. Trudy's first reaction was one of shock and surprise, she gasped, she squealed, then she pushed her bum backwards.

As the long, well, not arm, of the law entered Trudy's end, the adventurous attempt having been allowed access, Trudy uttered a contented "Oof!" while the corpulent copper restricted himself to a surprised "Ooh!" After that, it was one thing leading to another thing just about every time!

All of those things, wherever they were leading to or arriving, meant that Police Constable Flint's appearance to show his face on Deeping's deserted streets did not occur until around two o'clock in the morning. There was the odd street-light gleaming, but all the houses were dark, the roads empty.

He was beginning to think that this was a pointless exercise and that he'd be better off exercising with Trudy, when the growl of a powerful engine alerted his copper's instincts. "Just let the bugger park somewhere, then I'll have him!" he muttered.

A car appeared at the end of the street, its headlights somehow menacing in the dim light of the deserted village. He was on foot, if the car got past him there was no chance of pursuit without his trusty bicycle. Raising his right arm in a "Stop!" gesture, he stepped out into the middle of the road.

The car was an Aston Martin and it purred to a halt a few feet in front of the blue clad policeman. Lowering his arm, the fearless factotum of the force approached the driver's door. The window hissed smoothly down and as Constable Flint peered through it he got a surprise that caused his eyes to open wider than you would have thought possible.
Deep

I'd arrived back at the castle before Samantha and George, which surprised me. I wondered whether to worry about this, then decided that with the possible exception of being dangled naked above vats of acid, then Samantha could handle herself and probably look after George as well. As it turned out, events at Stonehenge showed that she could look after herself by using George's handle.

As Jenny was absent with Merlin, the castle contained only Len, Mary and the red headed maid, Julie. It was nearly midnight when I arrived and I told them all about what had happened in the CyberCorp facility in Reading, explaining that Samantha and George should be arriving at any time with the VR boxes containing the enslaved elves. When I'd finished relating the news, Len poured himself a final whisky and announced that he was going to bed.

I was left alone with Mary, which is always nice, but I couldn't get the events of the afternoon out of my mind. So instead of getting to grips with her, I sat sipping at a glass of brandy. My brain was churning.

With Jenny not having returned yet, I was a bit worried about her. All right, she was with Merlin and he ought to be able to keep her safe, but would he? Even while I was wondering about this, I knew I was being unfair to him. He'd dumped us into some awkward situations before, but he'd never caused us to come to any physical harm, and surely he could have done if he'd wanted to.

No, I needn't worry, Merlin would look after her. And just what did I mean by that? I mean, there's looking after and then, like Samantha with George, there's looking after, in the seeing to sense, which, let's face it, is what I'd be trying to do in his position. And I'd seen Merlin eyeing up Jenny before, but would he? Would she?

Well, the only good thing about asking yourself questions like that is that it doesn't strain the old grey matter too much, but that didn't mean that I liked the answers, which were both, quite probably. And what did I really think about that? Just because I make sure that I'm not there to see it, that doesn't mean that I don't know what Jenny does with other men. It's not as if she tries to hide it or anything. In fact, I have to work quite hard to stop her telling me all about it.

And I had absolutely no right to get jealous about things like this, it's not as if I didn't do exactly the same thing myself, albeit from the other direction, so to speak. With or without Jenny in attendance. The truth is that Jenny is a lot more broad minded about these things than I am. Which was a good thing, wasn't it? I failed to convince myself about that.

But Merlin? Why did that idea concern me so much? If Jenny wanted to ... Well, I didn't want to think about what she might want to do. And with Merlin of all people! (It was probably a good thing that I didn't know what Ravenclaw, the King of the Elves, was up to at that point, whenever that might have been, or more to the point, who he was up!)

I was definitely suffering a reaction from this afternoon's adventures in the CyberCorp building. I'd been scared witless when Operations had started shooting and was getting the shakes now. I think that all this concern about Jenny was, at least partly, me trying to forget the moment the gun first went off, an event that had very nearly been a real trouser filler. Not to mention something that could have left me dead on the floor, soon to be followed to the hereafter by Samantha.

Fortunately, and bless her cotton socks for it, even though she didn't happen to be wearing any, Mary had been watching me and had deduced the reason for my inaction, and for the shaking hands that were causing miniature tidal waves within my brandy glass. She summoned Julie, and after a quick conference, the two of them announced that they'd decided that their job was to thoroughly debrief me after my adventurous afternoon.

It didn't take them long to get my briefs off and then all sorts of things began shaking, not just my hands. My mind, which hadn't been doing all that good a job today at any stage, yet again relinquished responsibility and handed control over to my nether regions. As to my shaky hands, they quickly decided that with two willing girls within their reach, there were much better things to shake than themselves. They shook them!

* * *

While not forgetting her role as Jenny's champion against the forces of evil represented by CyberCorp, Samantha realised that she'd fallen firmly off the wagon in regards to keeping her clothes on. So when she and George climbed back into the Aston Martin, although George had rearranged his clothing, Samantha remained undressed, retaining only her trainers, which she and George had wisely never removed on the uneven ground surrounding the ancient stone circle. She piled her clothes in the back of the car.

This suited George just fine and he spent most of the rest of the journey with his right hand on Samantha's left breast. He was, he told me later, experimenting to see just how excitable her nipples were. Well, I could have told him the answer to that, very! But I suppose it's a bit like solving a crossword clue, knowing the answer is one thing, the satisfaction of having worked it out for yourself is quite another. He reached the same conclusions as me, but he said that he just had to keep retrying the experiment in case there had been some error.

In fact, so assiduous was his procedure, that shortly after his left hand had reached round and was teasing her trimmed triangle of golden curls, not a comfortable position while still constrained by a seatbelt, but worth it, he assured me, anyway, this additional touch seems to have made Samantha feel obliged to make an unscheduled pit stop just south of Exeter. It's just possible that this was merely an attempt on Samantha's part to improve George's comfort levels, but subsequent events, which involved both George's part and her own, suggest otherwise.

George is more than willing to admit to being no petrol head. He doesn't know a lot about cars and certainly not the luxury end of the market, but nowadays he feels he knows enough to make a comment, at least about Aston Martins. When entertaining a young lady quite as lively as Samantha, they are on the snug side of what might be desired.

* * *

The situation inside the car was much the same as before when they arrived at Deeping village, though George withdrew his hands at the sight of the majestic representative of law and order standing in the road with his arm raised. Samantha smiled quietly and applied a gentle touch to the brakes.

The brightness of her smile had increased by several megawatts by the time Constable Flint had taken his first look through the car window. The policeman was no madman, he did briefly register blonde hair and a beaming smile, but he failed to notice Samantha's sparkling blue eyes, his own eyes were exclusively focussed lower down.

A dedicated detective in the making, PC Flint studied the evidence before him, he kept on studying that evidence as he pretended to wonder what to do next. He could plainly see that the young lady driver was topless, and as far as he could make out, bottomless as well! Not that she probably didn't have a bottom, he was sure that she did, but he wouldn't be able to see it from his position and with her sitting down anyway. No, it appeared that she had no clothes on at all.

However, is was a bit dark in the car's interior and he couldn't be sure. If he was going to make a proper record in his notebook, and he was, if only for nocturnal reminiscence should Trudy's affections for him ever wane, then he needed to examine the evidence properly.

He could, he considered, have asked her to turn on the interior light, but that might have seemed obvious, ungallant perhaps. Well, he didn't know Samantha, otherwise he'd have known that she would happily have complied. Instead, he felt that another course of action was called for.

As we know, the constable was a relative novice as a sexual athlete, lacking in a certain amount of experience, but I hope that I haven't given the impression that he was a fool. He knew exactly what to do next.

"Would you mind stepping out of the car please, miss?"

Wordlessly, Samantha unfastened her seatbelt, popped open the door and emerged on to the road surface. She shivered, causing entertaining events to occur on her chest, something she had known would happen.

The whole shiver was unnecessary, she wasn't remotely cold. You don't spend the money on a luxury car like an Aston Martin and expect a sub-standard heating system, nor do you get one, it was pleasantly warm in the car. The summer's night outside wasn't cool enough for a shiver either.

Samantha had rather enjoyed seeing the bulging eyes of the red faced policeman as he tried to get a better look at her and she felt it was her civic duty to assist him with his enquiries. She thought he would appreciate the shiver thing and by the looks of him he had enjoyed it very much indeed! She gave him an extra wobble of her tits, just as an added bonus.

He looked like he might have a heart attack, drop dead in the middle of the street, and at that moment, even though she knew she'd be mortified if he really did, Samantha couldn't think of a more sincere compliment. She was slightly disappointed when he remained upright, but he was breathing heavily.

Constable Flint was in a quandary now, he'd got the evidence out in the open and he was studying it avidly, but he really didn't know what to do next. He'd originally flagged down the car because nobody drove through Deeping at this time of night and he'd had visions of a high-profile arrest, perhaps even of a burglar.

When he'd approached the car, however, he'd recognised the Aston Martin as being one of Sir Leonard's stable of vehicles. This girl didn't look like a car thief. How many car thieves had he heard of that operated naked? None.

He wondered if driving a car naked was against the law on its own, but he couldn't see why. Indecent exposure was a possibility, but did that sort of thing apply to beautiful blondes like this? Not in his book, it didn't!

His train of thought was interrupted by her asking, "What can I do for you, officer?"

"Fuck me!" he thought, but managed not to say it, if only because all he could actually utter was "Er."

Samantha can read a man's mind as well as the next girl, she knew the unspoken part of the constable's thoughts, but with George in the passenger seat and five VR boxes containing imprisoned elves in the back, this was neither the time nor place. A shame, she thought, she rather liked his face, but she had to get on.

"I'm Samantha Minx," she said. "I'm on my way back to Deeping Castle. This is Sir Len's car, as you may know, he was kind enough to let me borrow it."

This was a return to normality for PC Flint and with an effort he managed at this point to finally look at Samantha's eyes.

"Ah. That's fine then, miss." His eyes lowered again. "Er, is everything all right, miss?"

"Oh, quite all right, officer, thank you. Don't you think so?"

"Er, yes, miss. Very all right, I should say,"

"Thank you."

"Well, er, good night then, miss. Have a safe journey."

Samantha realised that this stout myrmidon had only seen the front view so far. Before climbing back into the car, she bent over and reached for an imaginary object near the hand brake, giving Officer Flint confirmation of his theory that she did indeed have a bottom, and a very nice one it was!

He contrived to keep his "Woof!" of appreciation as silent as his earlier "Fuck me!" and no extra fuel was added to the rumours of ravening beasts from the moor, but Samantha still heard it and smiled contentedly. After settling into her seat and strapping in, she gave him another beaming smile and a falsely coy wave, before putting the car into gear and moving slowly down the street.

Constable Flint stood still as a statue as he watched the Aston Martin pull away. He felt that he'd done more than his duty out on the streets tonight. This recent encounter with the young lady had put a gleam in his eye and awoken a part of him that had thought itself exhausted. It was time to return to Trudy's arse. No, arms, he corrected himself hastily. Then again, finding out if she remembered how to say "Oof!" might not be such a bad plan. They'd found a new trick, and practice makes perfect after all.

* * *

When I woke the following morning and made my way to the breakfast room, it was to find it overflowing with people. Merlin was there, along with Jenny and a tall elf, a male elf, so I didn't take much interest in him at the time. Samantha had also returned along with young George. Lady Mary was chatting happily with Jenny, but Len was absent. Julie was handing out various plates and pouring tea.

Until I've imbibed my first half gallon of coffee in the morning, I confess to not being the most sociable of people. A witty raconteur and convivial conversationalist at this time of the day I am definitely not. Most of the people in the crowded room knew this, including Jenny, who restricted herself to a smile and a small wave.

I smiled and waved back at Jenny, found a pot of coffee on a table in the corner of the room, grabbed it, a small jug of milk and a cup, then I made my way quietly back out of the room, looking for a peaceful spot so that I could wake up slowly.

It was a lovely summer morning and I found a little seating area in the castle courtyard, settling down to get outside some coffee. I had half an idea that I was going to do a bit of thinking, but I didn't. I sat with a completely blank mind, at one with myself and the universe as the morning brew did its palliative work on my system.

I was still sitting there twenty minutes later when Jenny found me. She was carrying a small tray holding another pot of coffee and some more milk.

"God, I love you, Jenny!"

"Liar!" she replied equably. "We both know it's the coffee you love. That's until it's time for a G&T or a beer!"

"Well, you're right, of course, but I do love you just a teensy bit as well."

"Glad to hear it. Are you alive enough to talk yet?"

"Try me on listening first, tell me your news, sweet lady."

So Jenny told me about her trip to Stonehenge with Merlin. She knows full well that I'm not at all keen on hearing of her experiences with other men, which doesn't always stop her from regaling me with all the gory details.

On this occasion, she pointed out, it wasn't another man, it was an elf, albeit a male one. And using this as her justification, she proceeded to tell me every intimate occurrence in explicitly frank language. I was to be left in no doubt as to what went where and exactly what it did when it got there.

The elf that I'd seen in the breakfast room was apparently Ravenclaw, the Elf King, and it was his amatory and anatomical achievements that Jenny was at pains to make me comprehend completely. This was the first time I suggested Jenny's possible speech regarding the size and stamina of Ravenclaw's endowment and contrasting it with my own efforts.

She nodded vaguely, in a way that a desperate man might take for acceptance of his comments, and that's exactly the way I took it. Jenny, on the other hand, took it as her cue to make sure that I was under no misconceptions as to exactly the way that she had taken it.

"... and with all those people watching, too. I just felt so naughty, and when he ..."

"Yes, thank you, Jenny. I think I've got the picture."

"Really? Are you sure? Did I mention the part when he flipped me over and then he stuck his ..."

"You did make reference to it, yes. Repeatedly, I might add."

"Repeatedly is exactly how he did it!"

"So it would appear. Anyway, what's your plan now?"

"Spoilsport! Well, we're going to Merliscombe this afternoon, so that Ravenclaw can knock some sense into the elves."

I'd woken up sufficiently by now to relate to Jenny my experiences at CyberCorp's Reading facility. She already knew most of it from having talked to Samantha in the breakfast room, but was kind enough to allow me to boast a little about my heroic rescue of that very girl from what would have been a most unfortunate dunking in an acid bath.

I also pointed out that as soon as Merlin could be persuaded to release them, there were going to be another five elves about the place.

"And you think that they're going to be grateful elves, do you?"

"I do hope so."

"Five grateful elves! You think you can handle five, do you?"

"If I fail, it shall not be for want of trying!"

"No, I don't suppose it will be. Would you like me to come and hold your hand?"

"Perhaps not my hand, but your company would be most welcome as always, Jenny."

* * *

When we got back inside, we discovered that Merlin had already worked his magic on the VR boxes and released all five elves. George, however, had talked up his part in their rescue well, and he had already departed with two of them. This left Jenny and I to entertain the remaining three grateful elf girls.

Three extremely grateful elves is admittedly not the same as the five that I had been anticipating, but perhaps that is fortunate. Three of them turned out to be a lot!

Even with Jenny's more than capable assistance, by mid-afternoon, when messages reached us that it was time for Jenny and these elves to accompany Ravenclaw to Merliscombe, I was on my last legs. Although, in fact I wasn't, my knees had completely given out some while back.

I confess that as I watched three slim elf backsides, plus Jenny's slightly more curvaceous version, leaving the bedroom, the sigh of admiration that I breathed was not untinged with relief.
Down

Sitting on a tuffet of grass next to the stream in Merliscombe, Little Tart was waiting for something to happen. When Samantha had left to go to Reading, Little Tart had sat chatting with Luvvie for quite a while. She had decided to stay in the combe when Luvvie had realised that she should return to be seen with the rest of her crew.

It had been a long and lonely vigil, but it was a lot better than being tied to a bloody wall by people that didn't even want to fuck her! Samantha would take her revenge on those bastards at CyberCorp, it was Captain Shaft that Little Tart wanted to see laid low.

She had whiled away her time plotting various acts of revenge on the captain, all of which would undoubtedly be most satisfying, but she couldn't find a single one that would be practical while he was surrounded by a crew that were apparently just about remaining loyal to him.

Just as a particularly nasty plan for his downfall was forming in her head, she became aware that there were people approaching. She took cover behind a bush to observe.

It was that dark haired girl, Jenny. And that was bloody Merlin! Little Tart was going to remain firmly concealed until she caught sight of the third member of the party. It was the king! Ravenclaw had arrived! She dashed out of hiding to greet him.

She dropped to her knees, flipped the skirt of her dress up to reveal her bare bum and buried her face in the ground. This was a traditional style of greeting for elf royalty, but was out of fashion and rarely used. Then again, given the nature of elves, out of fashion was a relative statement. However, Little Tart was so grateful to see the king that she felt this form of welcome to be appropriate.

"Arise, Little Tart," commanded the king kindly.

Quite a clever trick that, I reckon. He hadn't had a chance to see Little Tart's face and he must have based his identification on her bare arse. I'm not sure how many people I'd recognise by just looking at their bum. Jenny, of course, and Samantha, naturally. Janet certainly. Tina and Laura, yep, I should think I'd recognise their arses. Louise, definitely. Mary, Tara, Susie ... All right, maybe it wasn't such an impressive trick after all.

Little Tart stood and then she noticed the other elves. It was the rest of her away team, they'd escaped! She hugged them all in welcome and they told her of their rescue. Despite the gratitude they'd earlier displayed to George and me for the part we'd played in their release, they were full of praise for someone they called The Minx and it was she who was credited with the success of the operation.

"That's my daughter," bragged Little Tart happily. "She's a wonder girl!"

Her greetings to Merlin and Jenny were more subdued, she eyed Merlin particularly suspiciously, but he was completely unworried by her coolness. He told Little Tart that she should join them, as Ravenclaw was about to deal with Captain Shaft. Well, that sounded pretty good to Little Tart, if she couldn't take her revenge personally, having a king do it for her was no bad substitute. She joined the party as it set off deeper into Merliscombe.

Having talked to Merlin and Jenny at Stonehenge, plus speaking to Samantha and the freed elves, Ravenclaw was in possession of pretty much all of the facts. He knew Captain Shaft's plan for world domination and he knew about the betrayal and enslavement of some of his crew and about the plan to enslave the rest of them.

World domination was one thing, nothing wrong with that per se, considered Ravenclaw. Wiping out the entire human race did seem a little excessive to him, but that wasn't what he was upset about. Enslaving elves in boxes to be fucked is what had really got his goat.

Obviously he had nothing against fucking elves, it was what they were for, but enslaving them? Stuffing them in boxes? Apart from any moral issues, of which he felt there must be several, sticking them in boxes would, in his opinion, be likely to take a lot of the fun out of things.

He decided against confronting Captain Shaft in front of his crew. Once they found out what he'd been doing they were not going to be happy about it. They would be likely to tear the captain limb from limb, and this would in turn present a problem for Ravenclaw.

While he had no problem as such with Captain Shaft meeting a violent demise, if it were his own crew that killed him, then that would be mutiny, a crime that he, Ravenclaw, would have to punish them for. You don't hang on to crowns for long if you allow people to show that sort of disrespect for authority! He would meet with Captain Shaft alone.

In the event, his arrival attracted quite a bit of attention and there were a lot of elves crowded around, so the best he could manage was out of earshot.

It was not, by all accounts, much different from watching two bulls locking horns. Well, apart from them looking nothing like bulls, and for that matter, having no horns. Still, it was a pretty bog standard pissing contest between the big boys and everybody else stood well back to let them get on with it, though it was evident that the king commanded the popular support.

The argument seemed to sway this way and that, each protagonist insisting that his proposition was the correct one. The impasse was finally broken when the king demanded that the dispute should be settled in the traditional manner, the two of them would contest a duel.

Well, these were elves, they didn't have weapons, and frankly, pissing contests were not that much fun. In keeping with the ancient unwritten law of the elves, this duel would be about sex. It was to be a fucking duel.

A panel of judges was hastily convened. Jenny was among those selected, as was Merlin, the rest of the bench comprising of ship's officers. The scoring system was to be similar to that used for gymnastics. There was a set difficulty rating for the various acts, points were awarded for execution and continuity. More points were available for artistic interpretation.

Then there was the perceived pleasure rating, and this is where the captain was at a distinct disadvantage. Basically, none of the female elves who were to be the participating partners for this fucking duel, liked him very much. It's not that they minded him fucking them, these were elves, any fuck was better than no fuck at all, but he would have been far from their first choice of fucker.

Of course, it's perfectly possible for a chap to enjoy fucking a girl even when she isn't entirely committed to the project. She might, for instance, be worrying about the current uncertainty in the mango futures market and concern for her financial portfolio may have diverted her attention away from the matter in hand, or whatever else the matter might happen to be in. Her mind may not be on the job.

Jenny tells me that she's had one or two, now very much ex-boyfriends, for whom the above situation would seem perfectly normal. They were of the opinion that as long as they got their fuck, everything was all right with the world and that what the girl was thinking didn't really count for much.

However, and I'm sure you'll agree with me here, when a chap is giving of his best, it is far better to have his efforts rewarded with girly squeals of delight, rather than reaching the end of the performance and receiving the faint praise of a comment along the lines of "That was nice," delivered in an offhand manner.

In short, it is far better when the lady in question is of a mind to be fucked, and not just to be fucked, but to be fucked by you in particular.

This, then, is the handicap that Captain Shaft was going to be labouring under. Really, he should have conceded the contest right there and then, he didn't have a ghost of a chance of winning. But I expect that his reasoning was that if he didn't compete, then he'd miss out on all the fucks that he'd have before he was declared defeated. In all honesty, I can't pretend that I'd have acted any differently myself.

Well, as Ensign Love had reported earlier, the captain was good, and against lesser competition he may have prevailed, but his opposition in this case was Ravenclaw, the king of the Elves, and he, Jenny informed me, was extremely good indeed. Not, she added, for she's a charitable girl and willing to tell the odd white lie in a good cause, that Ravenclaw could hold a candle to such a manly specimen as myself. Thank you, Jenny.

It saddens me to have to report that Samantha, who does not always share Jenny's charitable instincts, very nearly wet herself laughing when she heard Jenny saying that. Ravenclaw was good, she said by way of explanation. Yes, thank you, Samantha.

The captain was completely outclassed. He was only on elf girl number five when his rigidity ran out, the most shaming of events for an elf. After this he would no longer be able to hold his head up in public, or anything else come to that.

Meanwhile, his own rigidity remaining regally rampant, Ravenclaw was just finishing with his sixth elf and was calling for a replacement from the eager queue that had formed to await his ministrations.

As to the shamed captain, his plans for world domination reduced to a flaccid end, he slunk off towards the higher reaches of Merliscombe. There are reports to this day of a pale haired ghost wandering the moor, bewailing the loss of a stiffy that had now gone beyond.

The king didn't even notice him go, he was just getting into the groove. There were a lot of girls in this crew and he felt it was his duty to get into all of their grooves.
Honour

It was going to take Ravenclaw a while to make his way through, have his way with, the entire female portion of the crew. Including Little Tart and the other five elves that had been captured with her, the crew now totalled three hundred and seventy eight, well over half of them being of the female persuasion. Jenny didn't bother to actually count.

Even the King of the Elves, Jenny concluded, was unlikely to succeed in attending to two hundred or so girls. Although from the way he was going about his task, it was evident that if he didn't complete the course it would not be for want of trying. You may recall me saying something similar, and I was referring only to a possible five, of which three turned out to be more than a sufficiency. Two hundred? Hats off to him for even making the attempt!

The fucking duel had been well and truly won by Ravenclaw and Jenny's role as a judge was at an end. What she was thinking now, is that nobody was at her end. With all the girls lined up ready to visit the king, that is apart from the relatively few that had already been seen to by him, that left an awful lot of boy elves hanging around with nobody to do.

This was an embarrassment of riches in the boy elf department. With wealth like that to work with, Jenny felt sure that she could make ends meet!

She was just trying to work out how to get started, something that she knew wouldn't be difficult, but it's always nice to get these things just right, when her plans were delayed by the arrival of Little Tart, Samantha's mother. Jenny was aware that Little Tart had been distant with her so far and wondered what she wanted now.

"I can see what you're thinking. Are you sure you can handle it, mortal?"

There was a bit of spin on the way Little Tart said mortal at the end of that question, Jenny thought, and she wondered about the aggressive approach.

Could it be that Little Tart was jealous about me? That Jenny had access to my abundant bedroom talents while she did not? Had my boyish charm won the elf over and she was still in love with me?

Those sound like perfectly plausible possibilities to me, but for some strange reason Jenny rapidly relegated them to the status of spurious speculations. Samantha seemed to her a far more likely candidate as the provoker of this combative approach by her mother. She thought she'd better check.

"Is there anything the matter? Is it something to do with Samantha?"

"You have enslaved her! My daughter! You have made her a slave!"

"Oh, not really."

"How dare you? You, a mortal, trying to lecture an elf about what's real!"

Jenny is not used to being spoken to like this and felt a stab of resentment at Little Tart's words. There was a sharp response on the tip of her tongue, but she managed to hold it in check and give the matter a little consideration. She herself would be extremely angry if she thought anybody was doing any harm to Samantha. Like turning her into a slave, she realised.

This wasn't a jealous display, it was a mother seeking to protect her baby. A baby rabbit? she wondered, smiling to herself at the thought of Samantha and going at it like does. But she wasn't a slave, was she? Or only in as much as she wanted to be.

"It's not slavery, not as such," Jenny tried to explain in a conciliatory manner. "I love Samantha to pieces, I'd never do anything to harm her."

"Just turn her into a slave!"

"But it's not like that. Look, you must have noticed that she can be, how shall I put this, a little talkative at times?"

"Of course, she is! She has a lot to say for herself. There's so much good about her that it takes a lot of telling."

"Indeed there is, but ..."

It took Jenny quite some time to calm Little Tart down enough to persuade her that Samantha's slave act was just that, an act. She tried to explain the need to pipe her poppet down sometimes, and also the other reason for this sham slave simulation.

In the end, feeling that her words were not entirely convincing her minx's mother, Jenny decided that a practical demonstration might be required. She reached out both hands and grabbed Little Tart by the tits. They were perfectly real, at least they were then, Jenny later assured me.

Little Tart, being no slouch at this sort of thing, realised what was required and reciprocated. Jenny's tits were in her own hands a moment later. Things moved on rapidly from there and soon they were doing much what Samantha and Janet had been doing on the floor of the Lotus Flower hotel bar. Merliscombe had none of the extra equipment that the Lotus Flower's bar had provided, but these were two determined ladies and they made do without, though not for too long.

Their activities had not gone unnoticed, and now Jenny discovered just how to get started with all those boy elves. She didn't need to do anything other than Little Tart. The boys just started joining in themselves. It wasn't long before Jenny felt a certain intrusion into her end and she snuggled back on it. Soon thereafter, Little Tart had been pulled away and another intrusion occurred at Jenny's other end.

These were big lads and she wondered briefly whether they could make their ends meet in her middle. Then she stopped thinking at all and just enjoyed herself.

Those lady elves who had already received their king, joined Jenny and Little Tart, doing their best to help accommodate the boys. But even with these reinforcements the girls were still heavily outnumbered.

Eventually, the king himself became aware of what was happening. He finished with the end he was in and came to investigate. Seeing Jenny amidst a pile of elves, he considered the situation, perhaps admiring her stamina. Admiring her something anyway.

Then he spotted an opening in the throng surrounding Jenny and plugged himself into one of her openings. Abandoned by their king, the queue of girls who had been anticipating his attentions, joined in the general melee, considerably relieving the pressure on Jenny's ends. Soon she was left with only the king in attendance.

As I've observed before, all good things must come to an end, and in the end, the king came on Jenny's end, declaring with a satisfied groan, that by royal appointment, she had now been anointed as an honorary elf.

While deeply sensible of the honour that had just been bestowed upon her by the king, Jenny found herself wondering if Merliscombe's royal appointments might run to a box of tissues.

The king himself, feeling his royal duties to be at an end, over and done with, having done it all over Jenny's end, rolled onto his back and began to snore.

* * *

When, some time later, Jenny told me all about the above events, she gleefully informed me that at one stage the girls had been outnumbered by something like thirteen to one. "Unfair on the men, of course! We girls were wearing them to a frazzle!" and I'm quite sure they were.

"Still," she continued, "mother and daughter, eh? That should earn me some kudos points at the Lotus Flower!"

"Jenny!" I attempted to upbraid her, employing a tone that I hoped combined a note of censure as well as personal innocence. My beloved wasn't fooled for a moment.

"Oh, bragging rights are only for the boys, are they?"

There are disadvantages in my having a see-through brain, and Jenny knows just how to exploit them. I could come up with no reply other than to attempt the innocent look again. Another failure, she laughed.

"Anyway, made an honorary elf! Anointed as such, or sprayed on, if you want to look at it that way."

Well, I decided that I might well want to look at it, and that looking at it that way might be just the thing. I pulled out and fired. It looked very nice indeed!

Following a suggestive cough from Jenny, I reluctantly passed her a box of tissues.

Then, feeling that in a matter of correct social behaviour one can't really go wrong by following a king's example, I rolled over and began to snore myself.

* * *

Back then in Merliscombe, however, there were no tissues, and when Little Tart found Jenny, she was perhaps impressed by the honours that the king had showered upon her. Such evidence of a royal blessing seemed to have softened the minx's mother's mood.

She and Jenny talked companionably through the rest of the night, mostly praising Samantha's many virtues, something they could both agree wholeheartedly on.

As dawn approached and the sky began to take on a rosy hue, Little Tart's mood began to change. She started to become serious. The elves were leaving before it became full daylight and the pair started to say their goodbyes, each realising that even after such a short acquaintance, they would miss the other.

The flying saucer had been called down by remote control, but there was no room for it to actually land in the combe itself. So it was with a slightly heavy heart that Jenny followed the king and the entire crew of the spaceship up to the head of Merliscombe and out onto the open moor.

Jenny stood side by side with Little Tart until Ravenclaw and most of the crew had embarked, then Little Tart seemed to shake herself. She straightened her shoulders and spoke to Jenny.

"Say goodbye to Samantha for me, would you?"

"Of course, I will, but why don't you tell her yo ..."

But Little Tart was gone, already vanished.
High

"I'm sorry, Trudy, I can't explain, it's just something I have to do."

"But you'll be killed!"

"Maybe, but I hope not."

"Then don't go! Run away!"

"I just can't, Trudy. I'm a copper."

"But we've only just found each other! You can't throw your life away!"

"I'm not throwing anything away, my love, I'm going to do my duty, that's all."

"I'm not going to stay and watch you get killed! I'm sorry, Rupert, I couldn't bear it. I'm going away."

"Is there nothing I can say?"

"You could stay away from trouble. Please?"

"I'm sorry, Trudy."

"So am I, Rupert. So am I."

And wearing one of PC Flint's old tee-shirts, which floated around her like an extremely baggy dress, Trudy walked out of the door with her chin raised and tears in her eyes, making her way towards the bus stop outside the church.

* * *

Three black SUVs were roaring down the lanes on their way to Deeping, they were going to lay siege to the castle. All the vehicles had light bars and sirens, but they were not being used. While not being in any way covert, this mission was going to be noticed, it still didn't do to advertise their arrival.

Operations was in the lead car as they sped past Deeping's square and war memorial, his expression was grim. That girl, Samantha Minx, had left him to die when she burned the Reading facility. She and that bastard that came to rescue her.

The Aston Martin had been seen, its number taken and checked out. It was registered at Deeping Castle and he was going to do to it what the girl had done to his operation in Reading. He was going to raze it to the ground.

It was the sound of the first bazooka rounds hitting the castle's main gates that had alerted Constable Flint to problems in the village. His village! He kept the peace here and somebody was breaking it, he could not allow that!

It was while he was struggling into his uniform that he held the above conversation with Trudy. She'd heard the explosions as well, and she knew she didn't want her Rupert to go anywhere near that sort of danger.

Once she'd marched sadly away, intending to catch the bus to Torquay and start a new life, PC Flint finished buttoning his tunic, placed his helmet carefully on his head and went to his garage, that small outpost of the Devon Police Force, to collect his bicycle.

His heart nearly broke as he pedalled his bike past Trudy, who was standing forlornly at the bus stop, watching him pass with the saddest eyes he had ever seen. But his sense of duty never wavered. He carried on straight ahead, riding towards Deeping Castle. Riding towards the sound of the guns.

* * *

The noise of the first explosions had also alerted Samantha and she had run up the steps to the battlements. Peering through a gap in the crenelations, she could see the forces arrayed against the castle. The SUVs formed an arc in front of the gates, armed men pointing their weapons at the castle, while keeping themselves covered by the bodywork of the parked vehicles.

One man was out in the open, a bazooka on his shoulder, a second man stood behind him, currently loading another missile into the giant gun.

Bullets suddenly sparked off the stones near Samantha's head, she'd been spotted. She ducked and moved further down the wall, taking care to show as little of herself as possible as she took another look out.

"Oh, shit!" she said out loud. She'd caught sight of a portly figure in blue serge, sitting bolt upright on the saddle of his bicycle and riding straight towards a dozen armed men. This was courage and madness right up there with the Charge of the Light Brigade!

The results were similar as well. Deeping Castle has seen many a fight over the centuries, but rarely a contest as one sided as this. One man had been watching the rear and he called the alarm. Two others turned, saw the imminent arrival of Deeping's sole police operative, then all three men cocked their machine guns and opened fire.

Rupert Flint never stood a chance. Bullets ploughed into his chest, hurling him head over heels, over the back wheel of his now out of control bicycle and leaving him lying in the roadway, a pool of blood slowly forming around him. His abandoned bicycle lay untidily a few yards away, one wheel still spinning.

Samantha wasn't proud of herself for what she did next. This is when mistakes happen, her father had drummed into her, you need a cool head in a fight, and she knew he was right. It didn't matter, she lost her temper!

They'd just shot the fucking fat copper! That stupidly brave overweight policeman who'd pulled her over in the middle of the night! The one whose face she'd liked! The gallant fool whose sense of fucking duty had led him to try and tackle a dozen armed men with only a truncheon in his pocket to protect himself! And they'd fucking shot him! With fucking machine guns!

That was it, the gloves came off right now! She'd been quite restrained so far, but now it was time to let The Minx loose. If they wanted to play rough, killing a harmless copper like that, then she'd show them what rough really looked like!

She moved. Fast!

* * *

We were sitting in a room I'd never been into before. Len called it his command bunker. He and Mary, along with George, Julie and myself, were all sitting in comfortable chairs. Arranged across one wall were several flat screen TV monitors, each showing a different picture. It was on these screens that we could see various angles of the forces that were laying siege to the castle.

"I don't see that we've got much option," Len was saying, "other than to leave it to Samantha to sort out. This room is bombproof, not even their bazooka will be able to get through the door or the walls, we're safe enough in here unless they can starve us out. If Merlin were back, well, maybe he could do something, but for now we must rely on The Minx."

"What about the police?" I asked.

"If they've got any sense, they'll stay well clear."

I saw a bicycle wobbling into view on one of the screens, "I don't think they've got any sense."

"What? Oh, no!"

We watched in silence as PC Flint went down under a hail of bullets, we heard nothing of it and we said nothing. It was surreal, almost like watching a TV show with the sound turned down, except that we knew it had happened for real. George groaned, Julie sniffed, Mary wiped away a tear, Len and I maintained a grim silence.

"There she goes!" Len broke the spell. I just caught a flash of blonde hair as it disappeared off the side on one of the screens. "Go get 'em, girl!" said Len with a vengeful look in his eye.

* * *

The Minx left the castle via a back gate, moving quickly. She then travelled a wide circle that took her almost into the village before curving back towards the besieging forces. As she ran, she was thinking. Was she really planning to kill twelve men? Could she do it? Was it the right thing to do? Then she remembered the callous way they'd shot the unarmed policeman, with no warning and no mercy. That did it, her conscience was clear, her only worries were practical ones. These men had offered no mercy and they would receive none.

Spotting the man watching the rear, she stopped for a moment to remove the pendant from around her neck, it was another gift from her father. Pressing a concealed button and twisting, she pulled it apart, the two halves of the pendant forming handles with a length of thin wire between them.

Taking a firm grip on each of the handles, she padded quickly up behind the man, silent in her trainers as she ran over the cobbled area. She flung both of her arms over his shoulders, enabling the wire to drop down in front of his face, then The Minx pulled it tight.

"Surrender?" she whispered into his ear.

His response was to claw backwards at her eyes, which she took as a refusal of her offer. She ducked her head away from his questing fingers and hauled with all her strength. The wire bit into the man's throat and the force of The Minx's tugging brought his body back into her own.

It can be quite pleasant having Samantha's body pressing into your back, I speak from experience. However, if this man enjoyed it, then it wouldn't have been for long. The wire that was cutting into the skin of his throat and inexorably choking off his air supply, would undoubtedly have overshadowed any pleasurable feelings.

A few moments later The Minx lowered his unmoving body to the ground. She picked up his machine gun. That had evened up the odds a bit, now it was only eleven to one!

There were two men next to the nearest SUV, both avidly watching the castle gates, which looked as if they were about to give way under the bazooka's assault. Her first attack had been silent, but she couldn't see a way to avoid noise in taking out two men at once.

Their backs were towards her and The Minx moved in quietly and got as close as she dared. Her father would have called her next move grandstanding. Once you've made the decision, he'd told her, you need to get the job done as quickly and with as little risk as possible. She knew it was good advice, but she couldn't bring herself to shoot these men entirely without warning. That's what they had done to the policeman, and she liked to think that she was better than them.

"Hello, boys," said The Minx.

Both men turned, their weapons rising to point at her, so she fired two single shots with her captured machine gun. The first round took the man on the left at the base of his skull. The second man very nearly had time to pull the trigger, but not quite, the bullet aimed at him tore through his head from the side.

Without breaking stride The Minx moved to the front of the SUV where she dropped to the ground and rolled just out into the open, exposing as little of her body as possible while still being able to see her targets. Three men were sheltering behind the next SUV, but the shelter was the wrong way round, the danger was behind them. They were already turning with worried expressions on their faces, looking towards the sound of the gunfire that had felled two of their comrades. Their guns were raised, searching for a target.

There was no need for a warning here, they could have laid down their weapons, but they hadn't. A bad choice, The Minx considered. Two short bursts of fire from her prone position and those men would never have to worry about anything ever again. Six down, six to go. She was halfway there. A chain of bullets kicked up sparks and dust in front of her nose even as she was rolling back into cover.

* * *

In our secure room within the castle, we'd watched Samantha's attack. It felt a bit odd cheering as somebody was actually killed, but we did it anyway. Like Samantha, none of us had forgotten the way Constable Flint had been gunned down. Shouts rang out along the lines of "Way to go!" and "Yes, got 'im!" and "Go on, ice the fuckers!" as Lady Mary eloquently put it.

Personally, I had another worry circling in my head. Now, I don't know how much sympathy you're going to have with me about this, but journalistic integrity obliges me to reveal what I was thinking at this moment, which was as follows. If Samantha survived this encounter, which was looking increasingly likely, and knowing that she was capable of slaughter like this, the thing was, and forgive me for being crude here, but how was I ever going to be able to fuck her up the arse again?

* * *

If The Minx was aware of my concerns it didn't show, not unless that accounted for the quiet smile she was wearing. She raced out from the cover of the SUV she was concealed behind, sprinting a dozen yards and somersaulting into more cover behind the next SUV, paying scant attention to the three bodies she was now lying alongside.

As she'd dived into cover, a stream of bullets had skittered across the cobbles behind her, but now they'd stopped, waiting for her next move. They probably expected her to appear at the other end of the SUV she was behind and were already training their guns in that direction, but she rolled back the way she'd come, poked gun and shoulder round a wheel and let off two three round bursts. Only four to go now.

As she'd been running across the open space she'd glanced at Constable Flint's body and noticed that his fingers were moving, clawing weakly at the ground. Miraculously, he wasn't dead. Not yet, anyway. She didn't have much time if she was going to find help for him.

She didn't know how many shots she had left in her magazine, but her efforts so far had ensured that there were plenty of machine guns lying around for her to choose from. She discarded the gun she'd been using, slung another over her shoulder so that it hung at her side, and holding a second in both hands, The Minx stood up and marched into the open.

* * *

Back in our bunker, Jenny and Merlin appeared. They arrived just as Samantha stepped out into plain sight and were greeted only by offhand waves from those of us already there. Our eyes were glued to the screens as we watched the final chapter of the shoot out on CCTV.

Jenny had seen what was happening on the screen, "Samantha!" she cried out. It was impossible for The Minx to have heard her, but on one screen, which showed her almost in close-up, we could see her lift her head and smile. Then the gunfire must have started, small puffs of dust started blossoming all about Samantha's feet. She appeared unconcerned and levelled the gun in her hands.

* * *

The Minx marched steadfastly forward. She didn't flinch when the first bullets started flying, just sending a short return burst in the direction they'd come from. There were four men ahead of her and she planned to kill them all.

Seeing that it was just one slim girl approaching them, armed for sure, but just a girl for all that, the four men stood up, all pointing guns in her direction. Look, add sexism to the charge sheet if you like, but The Minx had already found them guilty of greater crimes and she was about to pass sentence.

She spotted Operations standing slightly back at the end of the line. She would save him for last, she decided. Without raising her machine gun, she opened fire from the hip, sending four three round bursts. More bullets flew back towards her, coming close she thought, but nothing had actually hit her.

Not so numbers one and three in the line, they were both down. Operations was diving back for cover, his respect for the female of the species awakened. The man who had been in number two position was none other than Mr Sneer, last seen a few nights ago in a field in Berkshire. His bazooka was now abandoned and he had replaced it with a machine gun. He was taking careful aim, his lip curled in contempt. He fired.

The Minx had fired at the same time and her bullets nearly cut Mr Sneer in half, but she had been milliseconds too late. It felt as if she had been hit by something far larger than a bullet as the force of the impact on her right shoulder span her round, her legs tangling beneath her and toppling her to the ground.

As she lay winded and in agony, her machine gun having dropped from her grasp as she fell, Operations returned, now with a confident smile on his lips. He stood over the prone Minx, watching her feeble efforts to pull the spare gun from her shoulder, but with only her left hand to work with she didn't have time to drag it loose. She didn't have time for anything, not any more.

"Well, Ms Minx, we meet again. I fear this meeting will be our last, and even shorter than our previous one, at least for you."

The Minx looked up at him with baleful eyes, "You'll never get away with it, you know!"

"Hah! A late riposte, but a brave one! Unfortunately for you, you'll never know if I do or not. Goodbye, Ms Minx."

For The Minx, everything had gone into slow motion, and she could see details as if looking through a microscope. She could see the small hairs on the back of her executioner's trigger finger. She watched helplessly as she saw the knuckle whiten as that finger applied pressure to the trigger. It was Samantha who sighed and closed her eyes.

A single shot rang out, its echo sounding almost dull as it bounced back from the castle's stone walls.
Noon

Even on the CCTV where the picture quality wasn't what it might be, and even with no sound, it was obvious to all of us watching that Samantha had been shot. We couldn't hear her cry of pain, but we saw her mouth open wide as she span to the ground. Jenny screamed!

We heard that all right, a wail of unacceptable loss, of pain, terror and bewilderment. Her Samantha, her poppet, and latterly her protectress, The Minx, was lying on the ground in agony. We saw Operations climb to his feet and Jenny screamed again as she surmised what he was about to do.

The rest of us were numb with horror. I wanted to put an arm around Jenny to comfort her, but I was frozen rigid. I couldn't believe what I was watching. And I can categorically deny rumours that I was thinking that this let me off the hook as far as fucking Samantha's arse was concerned! Well, not for long anyway.

The only person in the room who seemed to be taking events with equanimity was Merlin. He quietly walked to the wall and tapped one of the screens with a bony finger. I managed to look at what he was indicating.

It was a girl, a brunette, wearing a shapeless dress that seemed several sizes too large for her. She was kneeling beside Constable Flint's prone body and even over the CCTV it was obvious that she was crying. Her face was scrunched up in misery and whole rivers of tears were pouring down her cheeks.

Julie had recognised her, "It's Trudy, the new girl at the baker's shop."

We carried on watching the despairing girl on the screen, but then something seemed to click inside her. She raised her head and looked around, taking in the scene about her. Noticing all the other bodies that were strewn across the cobbles. Registering the one man that was still on his feet. Seeing the machine gun that he was pointing at a figure on the ground. Taking note of the bright gold curls, now streaked with blood, on the head of what was obviously going to be his next victim.

She took a final look at the still form of her lover, Rupert Flint, policeman of the parish, her blue serge chevalier. Her face took on a look of determination and she rose to her feet.

* * *

Trudy was no warrior. She'd never hurt anything or anybody with anything worse than a snappy remark when something had irritated her. She didn't even swat flies. She wasn't afraid of spiders, although she wasn't fond of them either, but she wouldn't kill one. Spiders were evicted from the nearest window using the upturned glass and postcard method.

The idea of physically hurting another human being had never even crossed her mind. But it was doing so now, and wearing jackboots, complete with hobnails, as it marched the goose-step across her thoughts!

She hadn't been unhappy before she moved to Deeping to take up her job at the baker's shop, but she hadn't been particularly happy either. Her girlfriends liked her for her cheerful and caring nature. As to the boys, well, she knew that she was an attractive girl and she had never lacked for boys chasing after her. Sometimes she'd let them catch her.

She'd been no virgin when she first encountered Rupert Flint in the village square. Mind you, she thought ruefully, she hadn't been an exhibitionist before then either. Still, the boys she'd had sex with before had left her feeling unsatisfied.

It wasn't that she felt that they'd used her, she knew very well that they had, but she'd been using them in much the same way, hoping that they could scratch her itch of dissatisfaction with life. It had all been nice enough, she liked boys, she was attracted to their bodies and it was nice being fucked by them. But ...

Then she had come to her senses in the middle of the village square to find the village copper with his dick buried deep inside her. It had been a shock, especially when she'd registered quite how fat he was. But the tenderness he displayed, his dedication to the act of making love to her, that had overridden any qualms she may have had about his physical shape.

And that was the thing about him, he made love to her, it wasn't just fucking, it was lovemaking. Well, she qualified herself, perhaps when he came home late last night with the express intention of sticking his dick up her bum again, that was probably just fucking, but it had been a lot of fun all the same. She had absolutely nothing against just fucking, the problem was that the boys she'd known before weren't all that good at it.

And Rupert was older than her and a policeman! When she was a teenager, smoking joints behind the bike sheds at school, the idea that she'd ever link her lot with a copper would have appalled her, but in the last couple of days she'd found herself comfortable in his company, happy to be with him even when they weren't making love.

Trudy had even found herself thinking of settling down with Rupert, making a life for herself in Deeping, possibly even marrying her sweet policeman. And then these bastards had come with their guns!

She had been devastated when he'd allowed her to walk away from him rather than shirk his duty. But as she'd stood at the bus stop, waiting to be taken away from the man that she now realised she was in love with, when he'd ridden his bicycle past her, his own broken heart almost visible on his sleeve, she had understood that this was who he really was. He was a policeman.

He may have been in love with Trudy, she was pretty sure that he was, but he was himself, he was a copper and he had to be true to his own values. If he hadn't been that, she wouldn't have respected him, she knew that now.

She'd abandoned her wait for the bus, the next one to Torquay wasn't due until Wednesday anyway, and she'd come running after the noise of the shooting, hoping that she could help her man.

Now here he was, her man, lying like a dog on the cobbles, his lifeblood draining out of him. He wasn't dead yet, but she was certain that he would be soon, and it made her angry!

Angry enough to pick up a gun! Angry enough to work out how to pull back the slide and cock the gun! Angry enough to walk up behind the man she held responsible for Rupert's fate! The man who was threatening to shoot the helpless blonde girl lying on the ground!

And angry enough to pull the trigger and shoot the fucker right between the shoulder blades!
Medic!

It may not have escaped your attention that when I write about Merlin I am not always singing his praises. He is an awkward bugger who has in the past caused much inconvenience to me personally, to Jenny and to Samantha. He can be a manipulative swine who employs unsuspecting innocents like myself to do his dirty work for him. He is not best known for offering thanks either!

However, it is undeniable that he is a good man to have at your side in a medical emergency. Whatever magic it may or may not have been that he used on Rupert Flint, it involved Merlin's arms being soaked in blood to his armpits.

George and I had done the heavy lifting to get the policeman under cover, now we could only watch as Merlin went to work. Lady Mary and Trudy acted as theatre nurses, handing Merlin various tools as he called for them. Probes and scalpels had to be improvised, Mary produced a sewing kit, Trudy mopped regularly at his brow to wipe away the perspiration.

I'd never seen Merlin so concentrated, nor working so hard. He was going to save this policeman if it killed him.

Earlier, he'd sent Julie off into the castle gardens to collect a list of plants that he'd been careful to ensure that she memorised. Now, as he tugged, twisted and stitched at the constable's chest, he was simultaneously instructing the returned Julie on how the plants and herbs needed preparing. And how quickly it bloody well needed doing, he added with a flash of his more usual asperity.

Jenny was looking after Samantha while PC Flint was receiving intensive care. She'd removed her blouse to make an impromptu bandage for Samantha's injured shoulder, and was holding her poppet to her chest.

I was later to learn that when Merlin had returned her to the twenty first century, she had arrived with most of her clothes, but without any underwear. I mentioned above that he could be aggravating, and he had no respect for the cost of lingerie either! But I'm trying to indicate just how serious the situation was. Even though Jenny's tits were on display, nobody was looking at them. Now that is serious!

Well, I rather suspect that Samantha was, she was snuggling her head between them, a brave smile on her lips as Jenny cradled her.

When Julie returned with poultices, ointment and a glass of violently green liquid, Merlin applied the poultices, spread the ointment and gave the glass of green to Trudy to pour down her man's throat. He stood up, rubbing his hands together in satisfaction, stopping almost immediately when he realised how sticky those hands were.

"Right, that should do it. He needs rest, but he should be fine now. Move him gently, but let's get him into a bed inside the castle."

The relief caused by Merlin's words broke the self-control that Trudy had managed to maintain while there was work to be done and she dissolved into a flood of tears. Mary took charge of her while the rest of us fashioned a stretcher and carried the wounded policeman into the castle.

Rupert Flint, the first casualty, but also the first hero of the Battle of Deeping, was laid in a downstairs bedroom and left, when she'd recovered herself sufficiently, to the tender care of Trudy.

The rest of us trooped off to Len's study where we found Merlin sitting in an armchair with his feet up on a footstool, a glass of whisky in his hand. He'd washed and although he still looked a little tired about the eyes, he seemed refreshed and pleased with himself.

Julie and Lady Mary rallied round and made everybody else a drink and we'd all found chairs and were gratefully getting outside a spot of alcohol when the study door opened. Through the doorway came a scowling Jenny who was supporting a wan looking Samantha.

Whoops! We may have forgotten something. Jenny's bare breasts stared at us all accusingly. Well, I expect her eyes did as well, but not being completely mad, I can't say that I noticed and I doubt that anyone else did either. Still, the message was clear, we had forgotten about her poppet.

As Jenny settled the wounded Samantha into a chair, Merlin sighed wearily and struggled to his feet. He picked up his staff which had been leaning against the wall and approached the other wounded hero of the Battle of Deeping.

"Samantha, my girl, I'm just about doctored out. I'm afraid I'm going to have to cheat."

He reached out with the tip of his staff and touched Samantha very gently on her wounded shoulder, there was a flash of light, multi-coloured in its brightness. Merlin lowered his staff.

"There," he said. "Now I think it's time for me to find some peace and quiet. Can't even sit down and enjoy a drink around here without being disturbed. And me, an old man. No respect, that's what the problem is, and me with my poor knees."

There was quite a lot more of this grumbling, but the volume was fading slowly, as was Merlin himself. By the time his muttering was reduced to a whisper we could see straight through him, and then he was gone.

Jenny had stopped fussing enough for us to see, and we couldn't make out any problem at all with Samantha's shoulder. Her bloody blouse had been pulled away from the wound earlier, but now we could see that there was no wound and no sign that there ever had been.

Jenny beamed at her and gave her a tight hug, then released her suddenly, realising she might have been hurting Samantha's shoulder, but Samantha just smiled and pulled Jenny back into her arms.

Everybody settled back into their chairs to relax, all except for the noble Julie, I'm pleased to say. She busied herself with making everybody another drink.

Well, all's well that ends well. It had ended well for us, anyway. CyberCorp's men and their Chief of Operations might not see it that way, nor Captain Shaft for that matter, but we weren't about to let that worry us. We sat sipping our drinks as we savoured our success.

We were all safe, none of us were under threat from CyberCorp any longer, not now that Operations was dead. Len assured us that in return for our silence about the enslaved elves and the murders Operations and his minions had committed and attempted, then he could negotiate sufficient guarantees for our future safety there. George could even get his job back if he wanted.

The elves were out of Merliscombe and back on the space ship, soon they would be back, or possibly forward, in their own time, that's if they weren't already, or going to be, whatever.

Everything was sorted out and under control, if anybody had possessed the energy, it would have been time for high fives and backslapping all round, but we were all emotionally drained and energy was in short supply. We just sat slouched in chairs and slowly getting tipsy.

Suddenly the window shattered with a crash, there was a deafening explosion and the room filled with smoke.
Sexist

In the immediate aftermath of the explosion in the study, there were several shocked gasps released, with a few choice profanities added in, a couple of which were my own. One of the girls screamed, but with the thick smoke I couldn't tell who it was.

I clearly heard Samantha, though, when she exclaimed, "Oh, no! You've got to be kidding me!"

As the smoke thinned, we could make out a new arrival in the room. It was a man, probably in his mid-forties, wearing a dark, well tailored suit and tie. His hair was cut short and perfectly combed He was half crouched and holding a gun that was swivelling around the room as if seeking a target.

We all sat very still as we followed the gun's movements. It was a pistol, but the barrel looked too long and fat, I surmised that it had a silencer fitted.

"Where is she?" he demanded in a way that somehow combined good manners with menace. Nobody dared move or speak. Nobody except Samantha.

"Aw, Dad!" she said, stretching out the word Dad by packing several extra As into it. "Please don't embarrass me in front of my friends."

"I was worried about you, sweetheart. All those bodies outside. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Dad. I can look after myself, you taught me well."

"You're not hurt?"

"Well, I did get shot, I'm afraid, but it's all OK now."

"You let yourself get shot?"

"Sorry, Dad, I lost my temper when they shot the fat copper."

He sniffed at this revelation, "I really thought you knew better."

"Yeah, well, I don't get as much practice as you."

"Hmph," he grunted, obviously unimpressed, but he'd already tucked his gun away in a shoulder holster, which made the rest of us feel a whole lot safer.

"Everybody, this is my dad, James."

She didn't bother to introduce the rest of us, nor did she provide a surname, perhaps it was Minx and he might have been embarrassed by it. But I suspected that Minx wasn't Samantha's real name either, and I couldn't see just-James being embarrassed by very much at all. However, it did cause me to ask myself why I didn't know Samantha's real name. I wondered if Jenny knew.

I don't know why I felt obliged to do it, I wasn't the host after all, but I felt it was only polite to offer just-James a drink. He gave me a half smile and requested a vodka Martini, medium dry.

Talk about not knowing why I do things! I said, "Martini? That's a girl's drink!"

He just looked at me, a flat level stare from cool grey eyes. My toes had started to curl before I managed to change my approach and ask, "How would you like your Martini, sir? Shaken or stirred?"

Samantha had been behaving scarily pretty much all through this adventure and now I could see where she got it from. There was nothing directly threatening about the look he was giving me, but the air of menace was unmistakable, it left me both stirred and shaken. I was grateful when Samantha herself intervened on my behalf.

"Oh, give him a break, Dad, he can't help it, he's an idiot!"

Not the most flattering of endorsements, but I was more than happy to take any relief I could get from that dangerously cold stare of her father's. So much so, that when a while later Julie handed James his Martini, I found it relatively easy not to pass comment on the poof's glass that it came in.

"If you say so, sweetheart."

"I do! Look, come and meet Jenny. She's my particular friend."

Jenny was still topless, she'd not felt the desire to put her blood soaked blouse back on. James noticed the blood on her tits. Well, I expect he noticed her tits first and the blood afterwards. If it had been me meeting Jenny's tits for the first time, I reckon it would have taken me a good ten minutes to spot the blood, but it would appear that James was a trained observer.

"Yours?" James asked.

"Obviously!" said Jenny.

"I meant the blood."

"No," replied Jenny, who had known perfectly well what he meant, but hadn't been able to resist the reply, "the blood is Samantha's."

He looked at Samantha's shoulder, still bare and now unblemished where her blouse had been pulled aside.

"Merlin's work?" he asked her.

"Yes. Er, Dad, how do you know about Merlin?"

He ignored the question and asked one of his own instead.

"And the elves, are they gone?"

"You know about elves?"

"Of course not, they're not real. Then again, I had a daughter with one. A daughter, I might add, who thinks her father knows nothing. Do all children think their parents are fools?"

It had sounded a rhetorical question to me, but Len chose to answer.

"I don't know if it's obligatory, James, but it's certainly a long tradition."

"Hello, Len, Mary. Nice to see you again. How are you both keeping?"

"Oh, you know, scraping by. By the way, did you really have to take out my study window?"

"Sorry about that, but that's tradition as well. I have to make a proper entrance, don't I?"

"I suppose."

"Look, I'm going to have to call in a clean-up crew to sort out the mess my daughter's left outside, I counted eleven bodies out there. I'll get your window repaired at the same time."

"Eleven?" interjected Samantha. "That's not enough!"

"That's the problem with children these days, Len, always wanting more. You'd have thought eleven dead bodies was quite enough for one little girl, wouldn't you? But, no, she wants the stiffs piled higher!"

"I meant," Samantha retorted, with that tone combining both patience and pedantry, further seasoned with a soupcon of sarcasm, and which is reserved exclusively for a child trying to explain something to a parent who just doesn't understand, "that there should be a round dozen. Where's the other one?"

"Right here, Missy!"

The voice that came from the window seemed to burble with as much water as air. But not water, it was blood. The hole from the exit wound in his chest was enormous. How Operations had survived this long after Trudy shot him would never be known.

But his mask had slipped now. You may recall that up until this point, Operations had just about avoided the sexist label by always referring to Samantha as Ms Minx. It may have been that very sexism in front of her father that finally condemned him.

James dived to the right, drawing his silenced pistol from its shoulder holster while he was still in the air. But fast as he moved, it was not quick enough to stop Operations pulling the trigger of the machine gun he was pointing at Samantha.

The stream of bullets at such close range must surely have put Samantha beyond even Merlin's help, but they never reached her. A figure had materialised between the gun and the girl, and it was this platinum haired arrival that the entire burst tore into.

She staggered in front of the repeated impacts, but remained in position until a poff-poff from James' silenced gun signalled the appearance of two holes in the centre of the forehead of CyberCorp's now permanently ex-Chief of Operations.

"Mother!" shrieked Samantha. This wasn't The Minx now, the wail had been that of a small girl losing something precious that up until that moment she hadn't realised she cared so deeply about.

Little Tart stumbled backwards a couple of steps and turned to face the room's occupants. James and Samantha, both of whom had been racing towards her, stopped and gazed in horror. So did we all.

Those magnificent pointy tits that I had gone to such lengths to verify, were now just a mangled mess of bloody flesh, indistinguishable from the rest of her ripped apart chest. I'd always said Operations was a madman, first looking at Samantha's eyes when there was so much else of her to look at, and now destroying a marvellous pair of tits as well!

Samantha's mother, the elf that was Little Tart, was also gazing at her chest, perhaps joining me in mourning for those magnificent mammaries. Then she looked up, gazing into Samantha's eyes with a mother's love. Finally, she cast a rueful glance at James, half smiled and then she was gone. Vanished from our midst.

* * *

We were all thunderstruck by the tragedy that had just unfolded in front of us. Jenny was looking at Samantha, pity and sympathy shining from her eyes which were threatening to brim over with tears on her poppet's behalf. Yet Samantha herself was wearing a quiet, if slightly sad smile. James was beaming a big grin at the rest of us.

"That's my girl!" he said proudly.

"But she's dead!" Jenny's voice was choking back her tears.

"Well, sort of," conceded James, "but then again, she isn't. She's an elf, you see. Complicated bunch, elves, tricky to pin down."

Jenny didn't look either comforted or convinced, so Samantha took up the explanations.

"You see, all elves die at some stage in their lives. They're not actually immortal. Mother must have known about this happening for ever, she's probably thinking about it now, whenever she is."

"She might have hinted at something along those lines, the last time I saw her,' said Jenny quietly. "Then she asked me to say goodbye to you and suddenly she was gone."

"Hmph! She can speak to you, but not her own daughter!"

"She said she thought you'd hit her. Smack her in the chops, was her exact expression."

"Yeah, if I'd known what she was going to do, she might have been right about that, Mistress."

"Samantha! You called me Mistress! Oh, poppet!"

"Yes, Mistress. That Samantha, The Minx, only existed while there was elf influence to keep her going. And now that Mother's left us, I'm back to normal. Dad showed me what to do and all that, but it was Mother and the other elves that gave me the strength to act that way. And now she's gone."

"I'm so sorry, poppet!"

"Oh, don't be, Mistress. She's about somewhen. I mean, we know she was fine when she got press-ganged by Captain Shaft, and that was a hundred years or so from now."

Well, I knew all this, of course I did. That's why I'd been able to bewail the loss of Little Tart's fine tits. You didn't think I was capable of only considering titties in the face of so much tragedy, did you?

Nonetheless, Samantha's words had eased the pressure on my conscience by several kiloguilts! Hopefully Jenny hadn't noticed my moral confusion in regard to Little Tart's dearly departed boobies.

"Is all that really true, poppet?" she asked.

"Not really, Mistress, she's an elf! But it's virtual reality."
Epilogue

Samantha's father, James, called in a team to come down and clean up around the castle. I don't know how he knew who to call, I'd have thought that explaining away a bunch of dead bodies and blood all over the place would take some doing. But he seemed confident, and the men that arrived to carry out the various tasks were more than competent.

The bodies, now duly rounded up to an even dozen, were loaded into unmarked vans to be taken who knew where. We didn't ask, the clean-up crew didn't look as if they wanted to answer any questions about anything. They also fixed up the damage to the study window. The castle gates would need Len to call in contractors and would take some time to repair.

In full magisterial mode, Len had contacted CyberCorp and made demands regarding safety guarantees for Jenny, Samantha and myself. These were apparently sincerely given, the company claimed no knowledge of what their former Chief of Operations, UK, had been up to. Len pretended to believe them, it was just about possible that they were even telling the truth.

He also negotiated the return of our car, which CyberCorp had indeed recovered from the watery embrace of Old Father Thames. As a car, boat, or even submarine, it was a write off and was sent for scrap. It was going to be a tricky insurance claim, but James promised that his company would contact the insurers and all would be well. This was a bit odd as he was supposed to be a civil servant, but as with the clean-up men, it seemed better not to ask.

George had been offered another job at CyberCorp, but was understandably reluctant to return to an employer who had been shooting at him quite so recently. James pulled him aside for a long talk, announcing afterwards that, subject to some checking, his people could use a bright young mathematician.

Even on such a brief acquaintance, Samantha was planning to put George's name forward to the Lotus Flower committee and I was willing to second the proposal. He had, as I say, all the right instincts.

Len declared that Samantha deserved a reward for the good work that she'd done and to my astonishment, he offered her the Aston Martin! This was exceedingly generous of him and Samantha acknowledged the fact, but then she astounded me even further, I think she even surprised herself, but she refused the gift! She could not desert her Banana like that, she explained. "Besides," I thought I heard her mutter, "sometimes I need a really fast car," but I must have misheard her, because then she said more audibly, "Perhaps I could borrow the Aston Martin from time to time?" Which of course she could.

Constable Rupert Flint received an important visitor late in the afternoon, he'd arrived by helicopter all the way from London. He was a Sir something or other and had at least one hyphen in his name, but owing to the rather enjoyable side effects of the medicines that Merlin had prescribed, the injured policeman could never remember what that name actually was.

The recumbent Rupert, who although lying down was around eight miles high, was informed that he should really be awarded a medal for gallantry, (or stupidity, as Trudy couldn't help but mutter, though in an affectionate way) but as the matter had been classified Top Secret, the medal would have to remain a virtual one.

PC Flint nodded sagely, pretending understanding, while he was actually watching the coruscating colours reflecting from a spider's web in the corner of the room. He wasn't sure, but he thought the spider was making rude gestures at him.

He did seem reassured when informed that his trusty bicycle had been rescued and was safe and well, the valiant velocipede having sustained no injury beyond a twist in the handlebars that a routine minor operation with a spanner would soon put right. But Rupert's reaction could possibly have had more to do with the spider having changed into an angel who was holding out a cup of ambrosia towards him.

Len put on his Lord of the Manor hat and assured the visitor that Constable Flint would remain an honoured guest for as long as necessary, along with his delightful nurse, Trudy. Deeping's policing problems were not extensive, he said, and could certainly wait until PC Flint was back on his own two wheels.

* * *

All the above arrangements had taken up the rest of the afternoon and it was now early evening. Lady Mary and Julie had been providing snacks and drinks at regular intervals and nobody was really hungry. As Lord of both castle and village of Deeping, Sir Leonard Fitz-Robyn declared dinner to be cancelled in favour of a visit to the pub.

The clean-up crew had departed a while ago. George and Samantha had slipped off somewhere or other and Jenny suggested that we had best leave them to it. Trudy declined the invitation in favour of staying with her Rupert. But the rest of us trooped off to the Falcon.

It was a fine evening's entertainment. Lady Mary looked on benignly as Sir Leonard lost Julie on the dartboard yet again. Julie herself smiled contentedly as James checked out of the match with a hundred and sixty four - treble tops, treble eighteen, bull.

I spent the evening sitting at the bar with Jenny, watching the barmaid, Jilly, pulling the beer from the hand-pump. Her cleavage had lost none of its attraction since our last visit and Jenny was now as interested in it as I was. She was even drinking half pints in order to keep up the display.

Jenny was also conducting quiet negotiations as to bringing Jilly back to the castle with us when the pub closed. I am very pleased to announce that those negotiations went smoothly and without a hitch. At closing time Jilly accompanied our by now rowdy crew back to Deeping Castle, where Jenny and I got her up to our room in very short order.

Her tits? They were the best!

"Ouch!"

Though, not quite as nice as Jenny's.

"Nnnggg!"

Or her poppet's.
About The Author

Seymour Stevens lives with his partner, Jenny, not a million miles from the Lotus Flower Hotel in Berkshire, England.

It's not easy to describe oneself, so I asked Jenny for her input, which was, "You can be an awkward bugger at times." Feeling that this was insufficient, I turned to Samantha, who reckoned, "Bloody awkward!"

So there you have it, handsome, charming, and with perhaps just the slightest tendency to make other people's lives less than straightforward.
A Free Gift

The Birds

A mission to rescue a missing operative takes me to France, where I discover a surprising truth about aunts. Intensive training is required in order to gain access to Chateau Fontaine, home to the annual Masked Ball, and last known resting place of the lost agent.

And then there's the duck!

A fowl phobia follows me to an English stately home containing more aunts, adventure and eventual shipwreck.

And there's no guarantee that I'll still be alive even if I survive the ordeal.

Join us as Jenny and I attempt to complete the assignment, making sure that we have plenty of fun on the way!

* * *

To get your free copy of The Birds, please send an e-mail telling us you want it (Just, "yes please", will do.) to **seymourstevens@hotmail.com** and I'll get Jenny to send it to you.

Apologies if there's a delay in sending it out, this should really be automated on a website, but I haven't got one yet. What I have got is Jenny, which is great, it really is! However, this may not lead to speedy delivery. Still, following a few pointed enquiries regarding the fate of my last servant, Jenny has promised to send out the books, "Just as soon as I get round to it."

Lastly, thank you for reading. SS
Coming Soon: The Queen of Avon

The Caribbean cruise didn't go quite as I planned, nor did Jenny's birthday break with Samantha. Adrift in the African jungle and facing untold dangers, we are sent on a quest for the Lost City to confront the wizard there. With the girls held as naked hostages, I must perform an impossible task to pay their ransom, a mission of mercy that leads me to Her.

Danger and hardship face me at every turn, but there are compensations, lots of them, and in the form of shapely girls. Lots of girls with lots of titties, and all but one of them willing. One girl, not one titty, no Amazons appear in this tale.

A life of eternal shagging could be mine, but will I take that as a trade for the lives of Jenny and Samantha? Do I have a choice?

Find out in The Queen of Avon, an English farce displaced to the Dark Continent. A rude and ribald read that titillates while stopping way short of being explicit. Naughty but nice, in a saucy story full of suggestive sex, the Queen of Avon teases as she pleases.

And the Queen of Avon has got tits! So has Her! The slave girls as well, they've all got tits! Too many titties to count! Though given the absence of Amazons it would be an even number. Even more titties!

I hope you enjoy this adventure as much as I did.
Have You Read?

A Shot in the Dark

Robin Hood - an archer with urges. Maid Marion and Mildred - two maids on a mission. Dionysus - a god with a stiffy and a horny following. The Sheriff of Nottingham - an evil bastard with a certain something. King John and the Norman barons - determined to Kick 'em Out!

Jenny, Samantha and I struggle to bring sanity to Norman Britain. A task that turns out to carry a high personal risk.

* * *

"Mildred says he's exceptionally well endowed, Mistress!"

"He's what?"

"She says you could use it to club baby seals. She thinks he probably does!"

"Club baby seals?"

"Yes, Mistress, like a horse she reckons."

"Like a horse?"

"A big horse, Mistress!"

"A big horse that can club baby seals?"

"Yes, Mistress, the baby seals wouldn't stand a chance apparently."

"Not a chance?"

"Near split her in half, she says."

"But he's an evil bastard!"

"Yes, Mistress, but an evil bastard with a dick that would give your average brood mare the willies!"
Have You Read?

A Song of Camelot

The dirty weekend in Devon was off to a good start. What could go wrong? A trip to the court of Camelot, complete with sex powered magical elves, amorous dragons, dryads, mermaids and a lovelorn ogress. That's what!

Sir Galahad is on a quest, to find and fuck the Holy Grail. It sounded simple enough, but a phantom archer, armed with Cupid's bow and arrows, complicates matters. Not only that, but the Grail herself seems less than convinced by the plan!

As Galahad continues his search, he puts in plenty of practice, hoping the Holy Grail will change her mind and allow him to fulfil his mission.

A Song of Camelot is a novel for all those big boys and girls that always thought Peter Pan was a prick, but still refused to grow up themselves. Which is not to say we didn't all fancy the knickers off Tinkerbell!
Deeping Dreams

This novel is entirely a work of fiction.

All characters represented as indulging in sexual activity are over the age of eighteen.

The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

Seymour Stevens asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

All rights reserved.

Seymour Stevens 2019
