Now...

The young man pawed at Abigail, he was so excited that he didn’t know where to start. Now that this sexy, mature woman had finally consented to his advances he was overjoyed and overexcited. He kissed her, driving his tongue into her mouth, he stroked her breasts through her blouse and then put his hands under her skirt to stroke her stockinged thighs and silken-clad buttocks, he pressed his hard cock against her.

Abigail knew that the boy would be exhilarated once she allowed him to touch her but he was almost uncontrollable, like an excited puppy scampering after the dinner bowl.

She led him upstairs, slapping his hand away from her bottom as he tried to grope her on the stairway.

“You can have it all when we get to my bedroom, just settle down for now,” she chided him.

“I’ve wanted you for so long, I can’t keep my hands off you,” the boy whimpered.

When they got to her room, Abigail turned the tables on him. She closed the door and then slammed the boy against it, pressing herself against him. She crushed her lips against his and began to unbuckle his belt. The boy tore off her blouse and released her breasts from the cups of her brassiere; he squeezed the creamy globes and tweaked her nipples between his fingers.

Abigail didn’t mind, she wanted it to be rough the first time with him. She ripped off his jacket and shirt and dropped them to the floor, and then she raked her nails across his narrow, hairless chest. She kissed him passionately, biting his lip as she pushed down his pants. He kicked them away and his shoes followed.

Naked except for his underpants and socks, Abigail put her arms around him and drove her tongue into his mouth; she guided him to the big bed and pushed him on it. He lay there panting as she pulled down his underpants and revealed a large and throbbing erection. The boy looked up at the beautiful mature woman with wonder; he’d wanted this for so long.

Abigail knelt over the young man, topless; her bra around her belly, her black leather micro-miniskirt hiked up where he had groped her. Her creamy thighs exposed above the dark welts of her stockings, a peek of black satin panty exposed. She was still wearing her four inch high heels, her red lipstick smeared around her mouth, her glossy black hair in disarray.

She ripped off her bra and her skirt and fell on him, hungrily mauling his mouth with hers, his cock pressed against her warm flesh.

The boy wanted to suckle her breasts so she let him, lifting herself off him so that he could nuzzle her teats. But what the lad really wanted lay in her nether regions and his hands soon found their way to her buttocks. He squeezed and fondled them through the layer of slinky satin and then he slipped a hand inside them.

“I knew it!” the boy yelped when he found her cock, semi-hard, taped to her perineum.

Abigail winced as he tore off the surgical tape and then she moaned as the boy softly stroked her hardening penis. She contacted her pelvic muscles and her testes descended from her inguinal canals and her scrotum distended. The boy gently cupped her scrotum and Abigail lowered her face to his and kissed him.

She allowed him to explore her genitals for a little while, knowing the boy was impressed with the size of her cock but she wanted to taste him. She disengaged from him and wormed her way down his body. The boy whimpered his dismay and then he groaned as she took him in her mouth and licked at his fraenulum with the tip of her tongue, clamping her lips around the base of his cock.

“Oh, I’ve wanted this for so long,” the young man sighed.

He guided Abigail’s mouth up and down his phallus, lightly holding her head. She looked up at him with those gorgeous green eyes enhanced by the dark eye makeup and the boy felt his climax approaching.

Abigail felt it too and she spat out his cock. She wanted him inside her when he came the first time. She ripped off her panties and scampered up the bed and straddled him, slowly impaling herself on his rampant organ. She stared at him and he stared back, watching his cock slowly ease its way into her tight sphincter. Her own erect penis wobbled out front as she lowered herself until he was buried in her up to the hilt.

The boy reached out and placed his hands on Abigail’s waist to keep her balanced as she began to fuck him, slowly at first, lifting herself up until his glans was ringed by her sphincter and then lowering herself until he was embedded deep in her anus. This maximised the pleasure for both of them. The boy’s cock elicited sparkles of delight from her sphincter and then deep waves of pleasure when his glans penetrated her deeply and pressed on her prostate. Her own cock began to throb and threads of silvery viscous pre-ejaculate dribbled from the eye.

The boy stared up into her beautiful face questioningly and Abigail nodded, she knew what he was asking her. The boy took her in his hand and began to stroke her. Abigail threw back her head and wailed with lust and then she began to fuck the boy hard and fast, driving his cock into her as far as it would go.

The boy whimpered and cried out as his orgasm approached; she felt his cock throbbing inside her and then the rhythmic pulse as he ejaculated deep in her anus. Abigail climaxed with him, spewing forth her hot seed. It splashed onto the boy’s pale flesh and ran down the side of his body, soaking into the linen.

Abigail writhed and gyrated, impaled on the boy’s throbbing cock, milking every last drop of semen from him. Then she fell forward and they smashed their mouths together, the boy wrapped his arms around her and bucked, fucking her as hard as could as his orgasm plateauxed and then began to subside.

Finally sated, Abigail lay on top of the boy panting, trying to steady her breathing as the boy gasped and panted underneath her. His cock slipped from her anus and a stream of creamy hot spend dribbled from her sphincter.

“That was amazing!” the boy grinned up at her.

“Yeah, it wasn’t bad,” Abigail teased him.

“I guessed you were a tranny. I was watching you for ages, never expecting for a minute that you would be interested in me but I was so hoping you were,” the boys smiled.

“Polite company does not use the word tranny young man,” Abigail teased him again.

“But it was astute of you to notice. I mean a mature lady dressed like a trollop hanging around a tranny pickup bar on Canal Street Manchester was hardly likely to be anything else was it,” she chided him.

The young man looked a little hurt.

“Look… what’s your name again?” she asked.

“Mitchell,” he was slightly wounded that she had forgotten.

“Don’t sulk Mitchell, you had hardly sat down beside me in the bar before you were groping me and I graciously bought you back to my hotel room,” Abigail climbed off him and reached for her purse, looking for cigarettes.

“Look Mitchell, I usually don’t go for the youngsters, you can’t be much over twenty, but I had an itch that needed scratching and you worked out perfectly,” she lit her cigarette and reached out and playfully mussed his hair.

“So you used me,” Mitchell had perfected the chastised puppy look.

“As much as you used me; yes,” she leaned down and kissed his forehead.

Abigail reached out to put her cigarette in the ashtray and Mitchell began to rise up off the bed.

Abigail pushed him back down and climbed on top of him, straddling him.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going? I haven’t finished with you yet; not by a long chance,” she grinned and lowered her face to his.

On the drive back to Brookhaven the next day Abigail fantasised about her illicit evening with Mitchell, it would provide her with enough masturbatory fantasies to keep her content until she went back to Manchester in few weeks time. As she got closer to home her thoughts shifted to Beatrice McLennan and her nephew Steven Balfour. An interesting set of circumstances was developing there. She wondered if Steven had been into her bedroom while she had been away. Had he spunked in a pair of her drawers taken from one of her drawers? She laughed to herself at the homonym.

Speaking of drawers, she lifted her handbag and hefted the weight of the small calibre pistol that usually resided in her bedside table. She would put it back when she got home. She didn’t really take it with her for protection, she just didn’t want Steven finding it when he undoubtedly rummaged through her bedroom.

****

Steven Balfour didn’t realise what he had let himself in for when he agreed to attack Abigail Thompson's back garden. Although she kept the front of her yard immaculate, she just didn’t have the time or energy to work on the overgrown jungle at the back of the house. The previous owners had planted a small orchard of fruit trees, apple, pear and plums, but as they aged the owners had become incapable of maintaining it. The branches of the trees were now intertwined and a veritable labyrinth of undergrowth had taken over the ground beneath the snaking branches.

But things almost immediately started going his way. Because of the thicket of interwoven branches the only way to attack the garden was through either the side gate or the back door to Abigail’s house so Abigail gave Steven the keys to both. Over the course of ten weeks he had beaten back the morass from the back of the house and cut a maze of passageways deep into the yard.

Most of the time he was working in her garden Abigail was home which was a two-edged sword. The good part was that he got to look at her, she always dressed sophisticated but with a hint of provocativeness. Her dresses and skirts were always a little too short, showing off her long legs, invariably clad in sheer hosiery and shod in high heels. Her blouse unbuttoned one button too many displaying the heft of her pert breasts and lace of her brassiere. She wore too much makeup and was always surrounded by a miasma of perfume.

But because she often home he couldn’t explore her house as much as he would like to. Steven wondered what delights she kept in her bedroom. He wanted to meddle through her lingerie drawers, to gaze upon her hosiery, to fondle her lingerie, to sniff and caress her used knickers and stockings that he dreamt were waiting just for him in her laundry basket. He imagined lying naked on her bed, inhaling her perfume and the hint of her perspiration on her pillow, then sliding one of her stockings over his engorged cock and bringing a pair of her used panties to his mouth and nose, sniffing her vaginal juices and sucking the musky dampness from the crotch.

Abigail was aware that she fascinated the boy, she felt his eyes roam over her body, searching her pretty eyes, lingering on her pouted lips. He couldn’t disguise the lascivious look in his eyes when he gawped at her breasts, her bottom and her legs. She felt a little flattered but chuckled to herself at the colossal surprise he would experience if he was to get his hand inside her knickers.

As the weather warmed Steven took to working in the garden bare-chested, he was sinewy and pale at first but as the summer drew on, his torso became tanned and his muscles developed. Abigail sometimes wondered what it would be like to let the boy have his way with her. Robert Brinkley had been her age, maybe a little older, when he had taken her virginity in prison and since then she had only ever been with older men during her monthly sojourns to Manchester.

She fantasised about finding Steven rummaging through her lingerie drawer and seducing him on her big bed, making the boy moan with lust as she used her skills to bring the boy to the brink of orgasm and keep him there.

Finally, Abigail had found Mitchell in the Canal Street bar and lived out the fantasy. It was invigorating and satisfied her needs for now.

Beatrice McLennan also noticed that her nephew was developing a toned tanned body. He came home from Abigail’s house shirtless and glistening with sweat leaving a masculine musk when he traipsed through the house and up the stairs to use the bathroom. She contemplated making him rinse off before he came inside the house or at least putting his shirt back on, but she kind of liked observing his blossoming manhood. Sometimes at night she thought of Steven when she used her fingers on her vagina or slid her vibrator inside herself.

Beatrice actually became a little jealous of her next door neighbour.

Abigail and Beatrice’s relationship blossomed. Their Sunday afternoon teas became a ritual, although not much tea was being drunk. Beatrice was somewhat enamoured with her neighbour; she was attractive, exuded sexuality, and dressed the way she also liked to dress. But there was something special about her. It wasn’t just her smoky voice and her sometimes over-exaggerated femininity, there was just something that Beatrice just could not pin down.

“Top up?” Beatrice leaned out and poured a generous amount of scotch into Abigail’s glass.

“How’s your garden coming along?” Beatrice asked.

“Steven is doing a remarkable job. He’s pruned back most of the fruit trees and is working his way through the tangle of undergrowth,” Abigail replied, she was on her fourth drink of the afternoon.

“Paying him forty quid a week has something to do with his incentive,” Beatrice grinned.

Both women were as usual dressed provocatively; it’s almost like they were in competition with each other to see who can be the most flirtatious. Today they were almost identically dressed, tight black miniskirts, satin blouses, one white the other cerise, heavy but perfect makeup, flesh-toned sheer-to-the-waist pantyhose, red satin panties and bra, black heels, one shod in Louboutin, the other Blahnik.

Beatrice once again recalled her lesbian encounter at Chelmsford Finishing School for Young Ladies and thought that if she was ever going to re-live that experience it would be with a woman like Abigail. Abigail’s mind was wondering too. Since transitioning she had never really taken an interest in women, she liked being a woman too much herself, she liked playing the submissive role but… she had to admit that she fancied the pants off Ms McLennan, not that she had any intentions of acting on her fantasies.

“I can see he’s making inroads into that jungle of yours, looks like he’s cutting little trails through the brush so he can attack it on all fronts. I wouldn’t be surprised if he found Doctor Livingston in there,” Beatrice guffawed and Abigail laughed along with her.

“Wait a minute? How can you see these so-called trails, all I can see is a wall of thicket from my back door,’ Abigail’s brow furrowed.

“From my bedroom window I can see down into your garden, both front and back,” Beatrice slurped on her drink.

Then Abigail remembered looking up to see Steven looking down on her while she knelt in the front yard gardening all those weeks ago. He’d blushed guiltily when she’d looked up at him.

“Oh I see. I thought that was Steven’s room,” Abigail replied straightforwardly.

Beatrice blushed and Abigail remembered what she had been told about Steven using his aunt’s stockings and lingerie to masturbate.

“Surely he doesn’t go into your bedroom to… to you know?” Abigail blushed too.

“Let me show you something,” Beatrice arose and offered her hand.

Abigail admired her friend’s long elegant fingers and red-lacquered fingernails.

She also admired Beatrice’s pert round buttocks clad in the tight miniskirt and her long, toned legs as she followed her up the staircase. She felt herself becoming uncomfortably erect and wished she could put a hand under her own skirt to adjust her burgeoning erection.

Beatrice was aware of the proximity of Abigail’s face to her derriere and she felt herself become a little damp knowing that Abigail had an eyeful of her bottom and her legs.

“In here,” Beatrice led Abigail into her bedroom.

Their heels click-clacked on the boards as she led Abigail over to the window.

“Look,” she pointed with her chin.

Abigail moved in beside Beatrice and looked out the window. She could see Steven hacking at the undergrowth in the back corner of her garden. She was very aware of her proximity to Beatrice; they were almost touching.

Then to their amazement, Steven put down his garden shears and began to rummage in the long grass. He had his shirt off and was red with sunburn. He pulled out his canvass haversack from under a hedge, untied the straps and peered inside.

“What’s he doing?” Abigail whispered.

Then, to their amazement, he extracted a pair of red satin panties and a black fully-fashioned stocking from the plastic bag. He dropped the satchel on the ground and lowered his trousers and underpants in one swift movement.

“Oh my,” Abigail’s hand went to her throat.

“Oh my god!” Beatrice gasped.

“Those are my panties,” Abigail whispered.

“That’s my stocking! I threw a pair of them out yesterday,” Beatrice swallowed.

They watched the boy smooth out the stocking and then slide it over his well-endowed erect penis.

“Those knickers went missing from my laundry hamper last week. I thought I’d lost them,” Abigail sighed.

“Looks like you have now,” Beatrice giggled and slapped Abigail playfully on the rump.

“Oh my god!” it was Abigail’s turn to blaspheme as Steven lifted her panties to his nose and inhaled.

“I told you about his fetish but I never expected you to have to witness it,” Beatrice was dry-mouthed.

“But you have before?” Abigail turned to Beatrice in time to see her face turn scarlet.

Beatrice guiltily recalled the night she had watched Steven masturbate through the keyhole of his bedroom door.

Beatrice nodded.

“Oh my,” they both gasped as Steven began to stroke himself.

“We shouldn’t watch,” Beatrice whispered but she could not tear her eyes away.

“No we shouldn’t,” Abigail replied; her eyes locked on the girth of Steven’s cock.

Both women were breathing hard and shallow as they watched the boy masturbate with his aunt’s stocking draped over his cock and his neighbour’s panties pressed against his nose.

“He’s so big,” Abigail sighed.

Her cock was fully erect and had broken free of the surgical tape holding it against her perineum. It was pressing down into the crotch of her knickers, held in place by the gusset of her pantyhose and she hoped it didn’t spring free and tent her skirt.

“Yes he’s big,” Beatrice gulped.

Her panties were soaked. It was bad enough that she was watching her nephew masturbate, but the gorgeous woman to whom she was somehow attracted to was also standing right beside her as she watched him.

The two women began to breathe heavier as they watched Steven bring his cock to full tumescence and begin to earnestly stroke it.

“Are we wrong to watch?” Abigail sighed.

“Yes. Especially now that I’m doing this. I’ll understand if you are revolted but I’m sorry I can’t help myself,” Beatrice mumbled.

Abigail glanced down and saw that Beatrice had her hand under her skirt and was stroking herself through her pantyhose and panties.

Both women had just enough booze in them to loosen their inhibitions.

“I’m sorry Abigail; it’s my dirty little secret. I sometimes fantasise about Steven,” but Beatrice made no effort to stop rubbing herself.

“It’s nothing. I’ve fantasised about him too. But my secret is enormous. I’m too scared to ever tell you,” Abigail’s breathing was ragged.

Beatrice turned to face Abigail and looked into her beautiful green eyes and then she leaned in and kissed her. Abigail opened her lips a little in response. The kiss was soft and feminine and deeply arousing. They put their arms around each other and kissed a little harder.

Beatrice broke the kiss and looked longingly into Abigail’s eyes.

“Is that your enormous secret? That you fancy me too? It’s not that enormous; I’ve sensed it for a few weeks now and I’m sure you have too,” Beatrice leaned in to kiss Abigail again.

Abigail leaned away from the kiss and Beatrice frowned.

“Sorry. Too much too soon?” Beatrice’s eyes were welled with tears.

“No. Please don’t. You will be revolted with me if we continue,” Abigail sighed.

Beatrice looked confused.

Abigail took Beatrice’s hand and put it under her skirt.

Beatrice’s juices began to flow in expectation of finding an equally hot and wet vulva inside Abigails panties but when she found an erect penis held in place by the gusset of Abigail’s pantyhose and panties she instinctively shrieked and whipped her hand away.

Abigail turned away distraught. She started to cry.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’ll leave,” Abigail took a step towards the door before Beatrice reached out and pulled her back.

Beatrice pulled Abigail close and crushed her lips against hers. Beatrice’s hand snaked under Abigail’s skirt and she squeezed the rampant phallus she found encased in nylon and satin. It felt nice and hard.

“I knew there was something about you that was different but I just couldn’t put my finger on it,” Beatrice smiled mischievously.

“Well you seem to have your finger on it now,” Abigail smiled back and leaned in and kissed Beatrice passionately.

“You’re going to tell me all about how this came to be… but not now. Right now I have an itch that needs to be scratched and you have just the equipment to do it,” Beatrice began to hurriedly strip off her blouse, bra and skirt.

Abigail followed suit and both women were left clad only in pantyhose, panties and high heels. Beatrice held Abigail out at arms-length and gazed at her. She had a wonderful figure for a woman her age and her small but perfect breasts seemed to defy both age and gravity. The long, thick appendage bulging the front of Abigail’s panties held the promise of a present yet to be unwrapped and Beatrice ached to feel it inside her.

Similarly Abigail contemplated Beatrice’s body and was very satisfied with what she saw. Beatrice was a little older and although Beatrice worked hard at keeping fit, age has taken its toll a little. Her skin is still smooth and alabaster white but her ample breasts had succumbed to gravity and had sagged just a little, her nipples were like plump ripe berries surrounded by dark areola. She had a little potbelly but was by no means fat, her legs were long and lithe, defined by the sheer flesh-toned nylons and her ample buttocks was firm. Abigail longed to feel those long legs clad in shimmering hose wrapped around her.

“I’m the real woman but you have the better body; how does that work?” Beatrice said and then regretted it immediately.

“Oh! I’m so sorry! I shouldn’t have said such a callous thing,” Beatrice looked absolutely distressed.

Abigail just smiled at her friend’s unintentional faux pas and pulled Beatrice into her arms. Abigail brushed at Beatrice’s fringe with her fingertips and gazed into her brown eyes. She lovingly stroked her finger down Beatrice’s cheek and softly traced the outline of her lips, and then caressed the hollow of her neck.

“You are beautiful Beatrice. Now I think we should just stop talking and see where this takes us. We can talk later,” Abigail’s hand continued it’s journey down Beatrice’s body, stopping briefly to elicit a gasp when she tweaked Beatrice’s nipples and then a gasp when she found the cleft between Beatrice’s legs.

Beatrice mimicked her lover, she reached out and caressed Abigail’s breasts, feeling the heft of them briefly and then gently tweaking her nipples. It was Abigail’s turn to gasp as Beatrice slowly worked her hands down Abigail’s tight belly to the curve of her pubis. She could see the little wet patch on the front of Abigail’s panties where pre-ejaculate was pooling. Beatrice dipped her finger in the little puddle of translucent elixir and bought it to her lips. She dabbed at it with her tongue and smiled wickedly at Abigail.

Abigail responded by pressing a finger into the gusset of Beatrice’s panties which were sodden with vaginal secretions. She bought the moistened digit to her nose and inhaled her lover’s aroma and then sucked on it.

Both women smiled wantonly.

They pressed their bodies together and kissed, tongues entwined and fingers deep in each other’s loins. Abigail put her hand inside Beatrice’s panties and dragged a long fingernail across the gusset of her pantyhose until it snagged and then she tore out the gusset and slipped two fingers into Beatrice's hot moist cleft. She pushed her fingers inside Beatrice’s vagina and pressed her thumb on Beatrice’s clitoris. Beatrice shuddered and groaned lewdly.

Beatrice was stroking Abigail’s steely hard phallus through her panties and pantyhose but she wanted to feel the flesh in her hand. She tore a hole that was just big enough to extract Abigail’s penis through her pantyhose and squeezed the woman’s throbbing appendage.

“If you don’t put me inside you soon I’m going to come on your belly,” Abigail tittered.

“Then let’s not waste it,” Beatrice sighed into Abigail’s sweet mouth.

Beatrice allowed herself to be lowered onto the bed, the two lovers remaining locked in their embrace. Abigail climbed between Beatrice’s legs and Beatrice guided Abigail’s penis inside her panties and placed the rampant appendage inside the folds of her sex.

Abigail looked deeply into Beatrice’s eyes and Beatrice smiled and nodded. Abigail pressed forward and felt the velvety warm wetness of Beatrice’s vagina envelop her hard cock. Beatrice sensed Abigail’s tumescence fill her and she lifted her legs and wrapped them around Abigail’s torso, locking their bodies together. Neither of them moved, they kissed softly, basking in the delectable sensations of Abigail’s pulsating appendage filling Beatrice’s tight wet void. Their pleasure was heightened by the tactility of their breasts kneading together and luxurious sensuality of the caress of their nylon-clad legs and panty-clad pubises.

Beatrice wrapped her arms around Abigail and began to rock beneath her. Abigail kissed her deeply and began to slowly thrust in time with her lover. They built up the pace slowly, both wanting to experience the other climax, but neither wanting to hurry. They enjoyed each other’s bodies as they ground and rubbed against each other delighting in the awe-inspiring sensations of cock buried in cunt, breast pressing on breast, nylon-clad calf rubbing on silken-sheathed thigh. The ambrosial amalgam of stimulating sensations was bringing them closer to release.

As their climaxes approached they clung to each other and shuddered and writhed with pleasure, their lips crushed together and tongues intertwined as Abigail thrust deeply into Beatrice and released. Beatrice felt Abigail’s cock convulse inside her and her own orgasm washed over her with a wave of delight. She moaned and ground her vulva against Abigail’s pelvis to elicit indescribable pleasure from her clitoris as her vagina contracted and extracted every drop of semen from Abigail’s pulsating cock.

The held each other tight, long after they had both descended from their euphoric climaxes. They mewed, caressed and kissed, eventually kicking off their heels and sliding under the sheets until their passions arose once again and then they made love a second time.

****

Steven was fantasising about the two women, as he stood secluded, or so he thought, in the clearing at the back of Abigail’s garden, wanking into his auntie’s stocking. He didn’t know what made him look up at the window overlooking the garden but he did. At first he was terrified that his aunt and neighbour had been watching him masturbate using their underwear but then he became awestruck as he realised that they weren’t watching him because they were kissing each other. Then they began to undress each other.

Steven thought he was dreaming. He quickly pulled up his trousers and ducked behind a hedge but the two women were too engrossed with each other to take any notice of him. He took out his bird-watching binoculars and focussed them on the window.

It couldn’t be… but it was! His fantasy was being played out before him. The two sexy, beautiful women were naked above the waist and locked in embrace.

He wanted to take his cock out right there and masturbate but there was a much better option. He grabbed his shirt and raced next door to his aunt’s house and kicked off his shoes before he carefully opened the front door. He padded silently up the stairs and nimbly approached his aunt’s bedroom on tippytoes.

He heard the muffled groans of desire and then he lowered his eye to the keyhole. He freed his penis from his trousers and ejaculated as he watched the two gorgeous women caress each other. As he wiped his sticky fingers with his handkerchief and continued to watch.

What he saw next was confusing and amazing. The beautiful woman who lived next door and whom he so desired had a penis! He nearly fainted. He watched his aunt allow Abigail to fuck her with her cock. How could she! He felt betrayed, duped and disgusted. He had fantasised about a woman who wasn’t really a woman!

He snuck back downstairs and out of the house and returned to his neighbour’s garden. He angrily hacked at the hedges and undergrowth, slicing through ornamental hedges, flowerbeds and weeds alike. His mind was racing but he couldn’t expel the pictures in his head of his aunt and the woman who wasn’t a woman fucking each other dressed only in panties, pantyhose and high heels. It was like the videos he had seen on the internet but it was his aunty and the neighbour he adored. He couldn’t help but pull out the stocking and panties from his haversack and seek release again but he felt disgusted with himself when he finished.

“Fucking bitches!” he sobbed as he pulled up his pants and pushed the semen soaked nylon back into his satchel.

****

So where does a young man go when he feels betrayed and sorry for himself? Down the pub of course.

Stephen Balfour had been drinking heavily on his own for a couple hours in the Boar’s Head, Crookhaven’s only pub. He was so preoccupied with his own troubles and tribulations that he failed to notice the handsome, heavyset man who was taking more than a passing interest in him.

Robert Brinkley had never stopped searching for Mary Reynolds. He wanted to recover the money and jewellery that Mary had stolen from the lockup but most of all he sought retribution. Mary had left him holding the bag when Larry discovered that he had been robbed of nearly two million pounds worth of cash and jewellery.

Robert Brinkley had had to invent a story to cover the fact that Mary Reynolds had drugged him in the dingy office in the back of the cluttered warehouse where he was supposed to guarding Barry’s loot. Robert had claimed that he had been napping and someone had broken into the lockup and drugged him while he was asleep. He’d had to create a ‘crime scene’ to support his story.

Robert was very lucky that he was still able to walk or still alive for that matter; but Larry had made it quite clear that there were no statute of limitations on Murray Reynolds crimes and on Robert’s culpability. After six months had gone by Robert told Larry that he had exhausted all his resources attempting to find Murray Reynolds and that he believed Murray had fled overseas and assumed a new identity and would never be found. Larry reluctantly accepted the premise and made contact with his colleagues in Europe to start searching for Murray Reynolds. This allowed Robert to try and track down Mary Reynolds who he believed was hiding somewhere in the UK under another identity.

Robert knew that Mary was a very passable lady and suspected that Murray was likely in hiding in female persona. He just needed to find her.

It had taken Robert over a year to finally track down John Benstead, forger and counterfeiter for mob boss Tony Carlotta. Because John Benstead worked for Tony he was untouchable. His beautiful transsexual wife Candi Pops, the senior flight attendant instructor with Goldwing Airlines, was also untouchable because she too worked for Tony. Her bevy of airline hostesses was smuggling in contraband, so he couldn’t even threaten her to get to John Benstead.

Instead, Robert Brinkley went to see Tony Carlotta and told him of his plight and offered to give Tony a substantial cut of whatever money he recovered if he leaned on John Benstead to give up Mary Reynolds new identity.

John Benstead was not happy to have to give up Abigail Thompson’s identity but he had no choice, he was Tony’s man so he did as he was told. He gave Robert Brinkley her name and a passport sized photograph of her. The address he had used on her driver’s licence was fake so it was useless. John had no idea where she lived.

A search of the reverse phone book, social media and internet sites for the name Abigail Thompson revealed literally thousands of names which would take forever to follow up. The passport photograph was too small to be of any real use until he tracked her down and she may have changed her appearance again anyway. It was also likely that Abigail had fled overseas but for some reason he doubted it.

Robert stared intently at the picture, the person looking back at him was the woman he knew as Mary Reynolds but with black hair; those beautiful green eyes captivated him still.

So between working as a standover man and debt collector for Larry Connelly, Robert put his every spare hour into finding Abigail Thompson. Robert had paid a minion in the MOT to search the drivers licence database for the women named Abigail Thompson aged between thirty and forty years old. It had cost him a considerable sum and he was provided with a list of nearly one hundred names. What he really wanted was to look at the drivers licence photographs but the minion didn’t have the access, all he could provide was a list of addresses. Robert had first travelled to Northern Ireland and Scotland where there were very few Abigail Thompsons and eliminated the women from his search, then he started working the English Counties. He had worked his way through half the list when he arrived at the tidy little village of Brookhaven in Cornwall.

It was hard to be discreet in such a small community so he decided to sit in the pub and listen to the locals gossip and see what he could glean.

“What’s wrong with the lad; he’s standing there like one o’clock half struck,” Robert asked the barman as he waited for his pint to be refilled.

“Dunno; first time I’ve seen him in here. I do know his mom ran away with some Aussie bloke and abandoned him and he lives with his Aunt in the big house down the road,” the barman pulled on the lever, pouring the cask ale into the glass.

“If I was his age and living with a woman like that I wouldn’t give a toss about me mom. That Beatrice McLennan is a right sort for her age, big tits, nice legs, great arse, I bet the young fella wanks himself stupid,” the barman grunted.

“Then he’s got the next door neighbour to perv on. She’s even better looking and dresses like a right doxy, I’d give her one in a heartbeat. Abigail something-or-the-other,” the barman let go of the spigot.

“Is that her?” Robert put the passport photo down on the bar.

To be continued