Sir Walter Scott (1771-1832)

Synopsis: A pregnancy simulator seems an ideal way of convincing Paul's wife that pregnancy is really not that bad, and they agree to try it on holiday on Seacombe Moor. But it's not just the jailbreak from Seacombe Prison that turns everything upside down for Paul. This story is complete but is being serialised in six chapters, to be released at approximately daily intervals.

All people, places and events in this series are entirely fictional. If you need medical advice about pregnancy, consult a doctor rather than the pages of this fictional story.

Chapter 5 - Oh What a Tangled Web

Next morning, we watched breakfast TV in bed together. OK, so Sharon had spent most of the night shagging me rigid, and we only caught the last part of breakfast TV before it changed to the usual daytime TV rubbish. But we did get the regional news and we both stopped our mutual titillation to pay attention when the bit about the escaped prisoner came on.

A police inspector called Godolphy was being interviewed - he looked obnoxious, ugly and fat. He made it more than obvious that the private company who'd handled the transfer of the prisoner from Brixton Prison in London to Seacombe were totally incompetent.

"I've seen kids playing cowboys with more realistic guns than the ones the hijackers used," he said. He pointed to a table where they were laid out. "They're clearly made of plastic, and you could buy them in almost any toy shop. The so-called Prison Transport Security officers should have taken one look at them and fallen about laughing."

"So you're suggesting this was an amateur operation?" the reporter asked him.

"Look," Godolphy said. "Brown was caught looking at pictures of little boys' dongles on his home computer, for which he was put into prison. He's not a hardened professional criminal, and since prisoners accused of paedophilia have to be kept separate from other prisoners for their own protection, it's doubtful he's formed an alliance with such people since he's been inside. We believe he may have been assisted in the escape by his friends - probably other paedophiles."

"I understand you are anxious to make contact with anyone who knew him prior to his arrest?"

"Well of course we bloody are," Godolphy said. "But it's hardly likely the people who sprung him are going to come running to us, is it? He appears to have led an isolated life prior to his arrest, but we are trying to trace any of the people he knew."

Such as his sister? I tried not to audibly gulp.

"We do believe he is still in the Seacombe district," Godolphy continued, "as the main road was blocked by an accident shortly before the hold-up, and we were able to search all vehicles leaving the area - as we have continued to do. We believe he does not pose a threat to the public unless cornered. Anyone believing they have seen him should dial 999 immediately."

"There you are," Sharon said. "No mention of a brother." Of course, Sharon was still working on the basis that Sean Brown would be my ex-husband's brother. But then, there'd been no mention of a sister, either.

"You're right," I said. "It was absolutely silly to imagine they could be one and the same."

But, I was thinking about the coincidence of the prison van coming all the way from Brixton Prison in London - only a few miles away from where we lived! We must have virtually followed the vehicle all the way down to Seacombe. Suppose - just suppose - that Sean Brown really was Marianne's brother, and that she had deliberately followed the van, and as we approached the spot, had overtaken it - causing the accident as she took risks to get past it in time - and then given warning of its approach to the bogus road workers.

That was a silly idea. But then why had I slept so much on Saturday. I'd thought it was because I had a restless night and the extra weight on my tummy was wearing me out, but that hadn't stopped me being awake most of last night whilst Sharon and I shagged each other.

Suppose - I mean, it was an even more ridiculous idea - but just suppose that Marianne had dropped a couple of her sleeping tablets into that early morning cup of tea she had brought me on Saturday morning, for the first time ever in our marriage.

But then if all that was true, where was Sean? I'd seen how PC Bull had scrutinised me the previous day, highly suspicious I was a man until he'd seen me naked. I had every confidence that he had just as carefully looked at every occupant of every car in the queue waiting to leave the area, as well as every person he'd met since. Of course, it didn't mean that every police officer would be as diligent - PC Sally Wright didn't appear to have sussed me, but to be fair, she and every other police officer were not looking specifically for a man dressed as a woman; they were looking for someone who matched the photograph of their escaped prisoner.

So, Marianne couldn't have taken Sean with her to Bath, and the police in Seacombe would have been looking for him in every hotel, boarding house and holiday flat. Surely, he'd have been found by now if he was still in the area. The only solution was the one we had first thought of: the prisoner must have immediately got on a boat over to France before the alarm was raised. And if that was the case, why would Marianne have gone to Bath at all, unless everything she had said had been absolutely true?

"A penny for them," Sharon said.

I shook my head. "I was wondering," I said, "when you're going to strap on your dildo and give me a good seeing to up the Khyber."

The answer was immediately.

We rapidly settled into a routine of sex, lying in the sun, more sex, swimming, more sex... well, you get the general idea - we were at it like rabbits. Something that felt rather strange about the whole relationship was that it was purely a physical one - OK, we got on well together, joked, and chatted, but neither of us felt this was anything but a holiday tryst, which would be ended when our holidays ended. Maybe we'd send cards at Christmas, but then maybe we'd forget after the first year.

News about the prison escape died out after a day, and the police toned down the search for the prisoner and the perceived wisdom was generally that he had got onto a boat and escaped. All the same, throughout the week, guests at the hotel reported random police road blocks, and cars being searched.

The panic I'd been experiencing about the possibility of the prisoner being Marianne's brother seemed stupid, and I let it drop from my mind, as the pleasures of the flesh took over. Until Wednesday evening.

I'd tried to ring Marianne on Tuesday evening, and her mobile was either turned off or, more likely, she'd forgotten to charge it. I wasn't particularly perturbed until I did the same on Wednesday evening and got the same response. So I rang Marianne's agent, Susan McManners.

"Hi Paul," she said after I'd introduced myself. (I'd tried to put on a deep voice to counter the voice changer pill's effects). "Or should I call you Anne?" she added. "I must say, we all think you're wonderful to even wear that pregnancy suit at all, never mind going around in public, and for so long. Well done. How's it all going?"

I mentally cursed Marianne for telling her, but went on to relate how I was getting on, and we chatted for several minutes about my life as a pregnant woman. Naturally, I left out the exact nature of my experiences with Sharon!

"It's been years since I went to Seaton," Susan said. "I bet it hasn't changed much, has it?"

"It's Seacombe where we've been staying, not Seaton," I said, and muttered under my breath, "At least, it's where I'm staying."

"Oh dear," Susan said. "I think I've given the police the wrong information."

My heart leapt into my mouth. "Police. What did they want?"

"They said it was just a routine enquiry and nothing to worry about. In any case, I gave them Marianne's mobile number as well, so presumably they've been in touch?" Her voice rose at the end of the sentence to turn it into a question.

"You mean you're not in contact with Marianne?"

"I thought she was on holiday with you."

My mind was whirring. On the one hand, the police call could be a simple follow up to her interview on the road on Saturday afternoon - perhaps even because they realised she'd told a lie about the identity of her passenger. Maybe Marianne was also keeping her job with Wayne Williams a secret from her agent so she wouldn't have to pay her commission on the deal.

On the other hand, suppose she'd lied about the job in Bath; she really had helped with the prison escape and she'd smuggled her brother out of the County disguised as me. When I rang up and was clearly angry about something, she'd had the story about Wayne all ready prepared and she'd quickly got it in first to take the heat out of my anger.

"Paul? Are you there?" Susan sounded suddenly worried.

"She said she had to go away for a few days," I said. "I expect she'll be back tomorrow."

"Look Paul," she said. "You know that Marianne is a bit of a free spirit. I don't believe you will ever tie her down to be an obedient, dutiful housewife."

Which I think was her way of saying that Marianne put it about a lot. "Thanks, Susan," I said. "I expect she'll turn up tomorrow."

Marianne telephoned later that evening.

"Hi Anne. How are you?"

"Well I'm OK, but I've been trying to get hold of you. Your phone's been turned off for the last two days. And Susan McManners didn't know where you were."

"You've spoken to Susan!"

"Is there any reason why I shouldn't?"

"Of course not." Then she added, "Well actually, I hadn't told Susan about the job in Bath, since it came up on the spur of the moment. I'd better ring her afterwards. Sorry about my phone, only I couldn't find my battery charger - it's probably in the side-pocket of your suitcase. I've had to go out and buy a new one."

"Susan said the police had been trying to get hold of you. Did they contact you?"

"Oh! That's how they found me, was it. I wondered about that." She paused for a bit, and then added, "Yes they found me alright."

The tone of her voice indicated it had not been a simple interview.

"Was it because you lied to them about Wayne?"

"Wayne?" There was a moment of silence, then she added, "Oh you mean about me telling them that Wayne was really you. Yes, that was it. They were less than amused by it. I thought they were going to arrest me at one time for wasting police time or something stupid like that."

I could have said that I thought she'd been stupid to lie to the police like that, but thought it better not to.

"Anyway," she continued, "I managed to convince them it was irrelevant to their search for the missing prisoner regardless of whether the man was you or Wayne Williams. After all, they had a photograph of the escaped prisoner, so they were hardly going to let go someone who looked exactly like him, on the strength that he gave them another man's name."

"Sean Brown," I said.

"What about Sean?" she replied. "Has he been trying to contact me?"

"Sean Brown was the name of the escaped prisoner."

"Oh, was it? Well what about it?" She sounded puzzled. "I thought you were talking about my brother."

"I was making the point that your brother has the same name as the escaped prisoner," I said.

"Well, what about it?" She repeated. "There are millions of people called Brown, so there must be thousands called Sean Brown. I hardly think it's worth telephoning Sean in Ethiopia to tell him that - even supposing he was on the end of the phone, which he usually is not."

"It's funny," I said. "We've never really talked about Sean before. Has he been married?"

"Not Sean," she said. "He's not that way inclined. As we speak, he's probably giving a bit of aid to some hunky black guy, and unlike this paedo who's gone walkies, he definitely prefers older men. Anyway, we've hardly talked about you, this evening. How have you been getting on being pregnant?"

I could recognise a change of subject when I saw one, but since I didn't know where to take the conversation next, I started telling her about my week, and how much enjoyment Sharon and I had been having - no, not that enjoyment - I meant the simple lazing about and swimming stuff you normally do on holiday.

"Hello Ladies." The voice came from behind my back. I didn't have to turn to recognise the voice of PC Dick Bull.

"Hello Dick," Sharon smiled at him, and I also turned and smiled a greeting.

"I'm pursuing my enquiries," he said.

"That's good," Sharon said."We were hoping for a cock and bull story. The only thing you're pursuing is the chance of sticking that massive tool inside us again. I've been trying to convince Anne to take it up her arse," she added conversationally, "but she's a bit shy of it."

He smirked. "Well, there are quite a few women who've said that, but they always enjoy it in the end."

"You mean after they've been sown back together again," I quipped.

He inclined his head. "Well, I've never had a woman who took it up her back passage before," he admitted, "and I was a bit surprised when Sharon said she wanted to try it. But she loved it." He looked across at Sharon, and added, "Ready for some more?"

"You bet," she said, "but I really want to introduce Anne to the delights of it. You don't mind if she sits in, do you?"

"Er, well look..." I started to say, but Dick spoke over me. "Of course, I don't. And perhaps when she sees how easy it slips inside you, she'll be asking for a length for herself."

"How about it, Anne," Sharon asked. "No harm in watching."

I shrugged my shoulders in compliance, trying to pretend I wasn't fascinated by the idea.

Sharon could hardly pull her swimsuit off quickly enough, and Dick was hardly hanging around - at least he wasn't when he'd dropped his trousers - his throbbing, purple monster reared upwards, the knobbly veins standing proud around the shaft. Hell it was the most horrible thing I had ever seen.

"Isn't that the most beautiful thing you have ever seen," Sharon said. "One magnificent fucking machine."

"I'd certainly be fucked if I had that inside me," I said, trying not to show the exhilaration running through me at the very idea of it.

"You certainly would," Dick said. "I've never had any complaints that a woman feels she's been short-changed."

"Come on, Dick," Sharon said, placing first one knee and then the other onto the bed, and lowering herself down so her head was on a pillow, with her arse sticking right up in the air. "Cut the talk, and get those bollocks slapping against my arse."

He was actually really considerate in the way he penetrated her, lubing her up first, slipping a condom over his prick and then very gently separating the cheeks of her arse and wriggling from side to side as he pushed his prick against her anus.

I suppose when you see the size of turd that occasionally comes out after constipation, you can understand how a large prick can get through a relatively small hole, but I still found it terrifying. OK, as that monster slid inside her, I also found it incredibly exciting, and erotic, but there was no way I was going to let it inside me.

Well, that's what I'd resolved until Sharon started moaning. In all our sexual activities, I'd never heard her moan in quite such a way. In and out, Dick went, and she moaned in time with his strokes - as though she was a violin being played by the world's worst violin player, but who somehow made the most enthralling and exhilarating music I had ever heard.

I think she reached orgasm instantly, and it just went on and on - ten minutes? Perhaps twenty - I lost all idea of time as she continued in her ecstasy.

And at some point, I thought "It's not fair! When do I get my turn?"

I started to get impatient. I slipped one hand up to my breast and started rolling my nipple between finger and thumb. Mmm, that felt good. Then I slipped my other hand between my legs and pressed against my clitoris. That was even better. "Oh God! Why didn't Dick finish?"

"I think Anne is ready for it now," Dick said. He was grinning lewdly at my self-titillation. "Go on, love. Leap up onto the bed, same as Sharon."

Whilst I slipped off my swimsuit, climbed onto the bed and squatted forward in the same way as Sharon, he slipped on a fresh condom. Then his monster was pointing across the room at me; then it was moving forward towards me.

I was petrified; I wanted to shout out, and say I'd changed my mind, but I felt like a rabbit caught in a stoat's gaze; too terrified to do anything. Then I felt him entering my anus.

It wasn't too bad - no worse than Sharon's dildo. I gasped with relief.

"OK, I've lubed you up," Dick said. "Now I'm going to slowly slide inside you."

One instant, I was coming to terms with the realisation that he'd only been playing with his finger, the next he seemed to have split my arse in half as he rammed his cock inside me.

"Oh God!" I said. "You're killing me. You need to stop. NOW!"

"That's OK," Sharon said, stroking my forehead. "It will turn to magic in a minute."

"It can't do," I cried. "It's hell! Make him stop! Please, please, stop."

Instead of stopping, I felt my arse being slit even wider apart as I realised he wasn't even yet inside me. I thought it couldn't get any worse.

Then it did!

He was sliding the monster inside of me. It went into my arse - and in - and in - and in. It felt like it was passing my navel and still travelling.

Somewhere around the bottom of my lungs - I'd certainly been incapable of breathing for ages - he stopped. Then he was pulling it out again. Past my navel; through my arse, and he was just about to thankfully withdraw it when he changed direction again.

"Oh no!" I gasped.

"Oh, yes" he grunted. But he was moving faster this time. Through my arse, past my navel and up to the bottom of my lungs - and then out again.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

His thrusts were becoming more urgent. He was thrusting harder; faster; harder; faster.

"You must stop," I groaned.

"I think it might be a little late for that," Sharon said, as Dick started to grunt.

Faster, he went. Harder, he lunged. Faster! Harder!

Suddenly, I realised the pain had virtually disappeared. It was almost... well actually, it was quite nice... In fact one could say it was...

"Oh my God!" I muttered. "Oh my God!"

And then I started to wail like a badly-played violin!

"How's the hunt for the escaped prisoner going?" I asked Dick as he was putting his clothes back on.

He scratched his balls, and said, "It seems to have slowed right down. We thought we had a breakthrough when we found Brown's sister - she's that fashion model Marianne Black, you know."

(Thank heavens he wasn't looking at me as he spoke for I almost had a heart attack. I could see the look of surprise on Sharon's face also. Damn Marianne for telling her who she was!)

"Anyway, she had travelled from London to Bath on the day of the escape. Obviously, it would be easy enough for her to come down to Seacombe, help with the escape, and then nip up to Bath with her brother. But the Bath police couldn't shake her story, and even when DI Godolphy went up there to interview her, he couldn't get her to confess. I've never known Godolphy fail with any crook.

"Of course," he continued, "because of the major car accident just before the breakout, we were also pretty certain that no one who could have been involved in the breakout had got away before we got the road blocks set up. There's also no record of her BMW being in the area, so..." He shrugged his shoulders. "It looks like she's innocent. Which leaves our investigation absolutely nowhere."

"Presumably, this isn't public knowledge?" Sharon said, giving me a look.

"God! No!" Dick said. "I'd have my balls cut off if Godolphy found out what I'd told you. You won't tell anyone, will you?"

"Well we won't," Sharon said, "But you never know about other people. I should keep that story very quiet, otherwise it is bound to leak out."

"You're right," Dick nodded. "Mum's the word."

He was dressed by now, and with a, "I guess I might have to come back and interview you wonderful ladies again," he was gone.

"I think we need to speak," Sharon said.

I had been racking my brains about what to tell Sharon as soon as Dick had let the cat out of the bag. Why, oh why had Marianne told Sharon about her being the famous fashion model? And how the hell had she managed to talk her way out of the interview with Godolphy. Thank God PC Bull hadn't gone to Bath with Godolphy. Otherwise, he'd have recognised Marianne Black as the same person he'd interviewed in the car calling herself Marianne Johnson. And why the hell had Marianne got me into this situation in the first place. At least, she might have let me into the secret.

"You mean," I asked in response to her prompt, "about me telling you that Marianne and I were sisters?" God knows where my inspiration came from, but the words just seemed to come of their own volition. "Of course, really we are both ex-wives of the same man - Paul Johnson, that is. She was first Mrs Johnson and I was the second. As soon as I met Paul, she and I became really close - like sisters - and now I've split up from Paul, I'd rather not even think that Paul is the common bond between Marianne and me. We both kept Johnson as our surnames. It made it easier to pretend - I guess mainly to ourselves - that we were sisters." I realised I had been gabbling, but I think it all made sense.

"Oh!" Sharon said, sounding rather surprised at such a simple(!) explanation. "So that explains why you were so cross when you found out that Marianne had Paul in the car with her on Saturday."

Hell! That fitted in nicely with what I had said - that was lucky.

"But why didn't you tell me?" she added

Gulp! "It's all very complicated," I said. "It just seemed simpler not to try to explain."

"I can see that," she said. "So Sean Brown is...?"

God! Where did Sean fit into the story I had just invented? "Marianne's brother," I said. I think that was consistent with what Bull and I had each said.

Sharon shrugged. "Oh what a tangled web we weave," she said. "I'd have thought it would have been simpler to tell the truth."

"I only wish Marianne had told me the truth about Sean," I said. "I never realised he'd been arrested and sent to jail. I suppose she thought it would damage her career if it got out." But why hadn't she told me?

"Perhaps," Sharon said, "she was totally ashamed about what Sean had done, and didn't want anyone to know."

"Maybe," I said. "This has all come as a bit of a shock to me. I simply can't imagine Marianne getting involved in a jailbreak. And could she really sneak her brother out of the area, when all the police were searching for him, and hide him away somewhere. Obviously, he can't be staying with Marianne in Bath as the police are bound to have checked that."

"I guess it doesn't really matter to us," Sharon said. "At least, having seen you naked, I can be certain that you aren't Marianne's brother in disguise."

"Bloody hell," I thought, "let's not go down that route."

"Marianne," I said over the telephone, "Sharon and I have spoken to the policeman who questioned you at the roadblock. He told us about your interviews in Bath."

"Shit!" she said.

"We'd better be careful not to say too much over the phone," I said. "Obviously, you can't come back here as someone might see you and put the two Mariannes together. I think we'd both better go back home."

"No," Marianne said. "I'll go back home, but it's better if you stay for the time being. After all, the last thing we want at the moment is for you to get sussed for what you really are as you try to get on a train."

It was a valid point, and I seemed safe enough where I was, with Sharon to keep me company and PC Bull with his enormous truncheon.

"How long do you think I should stay?"

"Stick to the plan," she said." Stay the two weeks and enjoy your holiday. Sharon's staying two weeks as well, isn't she?"

I confirmed that Sharon was due to leave on the same day. "We can travel together back to London on the train," I said.

"That will make it much safer for you," Marianne said. "Don't worry about me. Everything here is fine. OK?"

"OK," I said, and, "Love you." In spite of my infidelity, I realised that I really did.

"Love you too."