PREFACE

 

Another month, another rent instalment due that day. Rosie Rosen considered taking her baby and going into town but that would cost money. And it would only delay the inevitable. If Nathan Miles found she wasn't in, he'd come back later that evening or the next day and his mood would be darker still. She'd tried to save the pennies but she could only do part-time work in the pub now whenever Martha, her neighbour, could look after Rachel, her little girl.

She'd once had a regular job as a barmaid at the Flag and Drum. A very popular barmaid.

Bert, the landlord, had hired Rosie because he knew her dark looks (he said she looked like a gypsy which Rosie found insulting) would please his customers, especially her more than ample bosom. He insisted her assets were put on display at the bar, requiring her to wear a dress with a low neckline, and to adopt a brazen manner. For all Rosie's humble circumstances, to behave like a slattern went against the grain.

Bert's unsubtle marketing strategy paid off but Rosie found herself pestered by men who wanted more than beer.

She resisted most, mainly because they got too drunk, and succumbed to a few who treated her decently.

One of the few was a handsome merchant seaman who sat by the bar one evening and regaled her with stories of other lands. Rosie took him home after closing, embarrassed as always by the state of the terraced house which was all she could afford- one of many slums in the East End of London, yet the rent was exorbitant.

The seaman was long gone by the time their baby was born and there were no postcards from faraway lands.

Nathan Miles had a reputation as a bully and a lecher and it was obvious what he wanted from the way he looked at her. He'd threatened her with eviction the next time she couldn't pay the rent in full. Rosie had heard the gossip that he took sex in lieu if he thought the woman was attractive enough.

'Can't pay, can't stay,' he always said. 'Or we find a way!' He was pleased to trot out his mantra to a pretty girl.

He was a good looking man but there was cruelty and contempt in his eyes and his thin lips set in a humourless smile.

It was clear what he meant by 'finding a way.'

He came close. 'What's it to be Rosie?'

She nodded and began to slowly unbutton her shirt.

'I come this way three times a week collecting rent. It's easy for me to call in.'

'Three times a week! I thought it would be once a month.'

'Like your fucking period,' he sneered.

She found herself shivering, not from cold, though it was a cold house, but from fear and disgust, but she forced herself to take off her shirt. She was braless and her heavy breasts tumbled free. His hands were on them in a second.

'You've got big juicy melons Rosie,' he said. 'I've always liked that about you.'

Rosie unbuttoned her skirt and let it fall on the floor; she stepped out of her white cotton knickers, conscious that her dark bush was thick and unkempt.

Miles looked round the room and obviously decided there was nowhere clean enough to lie down. Instead he pushed her against the wall, shoved his fingers into her cunt, then replaced his fingers with his cock. He fucked her brutally with no regard for her feelings. When he kissed her mouth he bit down hard and made her lips bleed. Later on, he left her with bite marks on her belly and Venus mound.

His visits were as frequent as he'd promised.

He never took precautions when he fucked her.

It got worse. One day he brought an affluent looking gentleman to the house.

'This is Rosie,' said Miles. 'She's a very obliging girl.'

The two men whispered to each other. She caught parts of their conversation, and realized they were negotiating a price for her services. Rosie was horrified to realize she was being pimped.

'I'm going to leave you now. I know you'll do as you're told,' said Miles. 'I've more rents to collect but I'll come back in an hour and see how you've got on. I want to hear you've been kind and hospitable to my good friend. You understand, don't you?'

'Yes, sir,' said Rosie, trying not to look as scared as she felt.

As soon as Miles left, Rosie unbuttoned her shirt to begin undressing as she always did for her landlord but the visitor stopped her.

'Wait, girl. I need to question you.'

Rosie heard her baby whimper from her cot in the back room but mercifully she fell silent quite quickly.

'You have a child?

'Yes sir.'

'But no husband?'

'No, I was never married.'

'You had a child out of wedlock?'

'Yes sir. Her father was a sailor and he went back to sea before the baby was born.'

'You should have married before you thought of having children.'

'Yes sir.'

'You haven't seen me but I've observed you in the Flag and Drum, flaunting yourself, giving the eye to every Tom, Dick and Harry. You disport yourself like a common whore.'

'I have to earn a living, sir.'

'There are many ways to earn money.'

'It's not so easy when you have a child.'

'You should have thought of that before you let your sailor have his way with you. Fornication is a sin.'

'Yes sir.'

'So you see the error of your ways? You are remorseful?'

'I would rather my circumstances were different.'

'Don't blame your circumstances. People in a lowly station in life still have choices about how they behave. No-one forces you to drop your knickers for any man who desires you.'

'No, sir,'

'Come and sit on my knee, girl.'

The visitor sat on the kitchen table and beckoned her by patting his thighs.

Rosie reluctantly sat on the strange man's lap, aware just how hard life would be if Miles decided to throw her out on the streets; he was quite capable of doing so in spite of the regular sex she provided.

'You're a pretty little thing,' the man said, lifting her chin as if to get a better look at her features. 'I expect that's half the trouble.'

'What should I call you, sir?' Rosie was not interested but could not think of anything else to say.

'Reverend Tomlinson,' he said.

'You're a vicar?'

'A minister of the church.'

Rosie did not know whether or not to believe him. He didn't exactly look like a vicar but he did seem preoccupied with morals. She thought it unlikely that a vicar would give his real name to a woman like her but perhaps his profession was genuine.

'A pretty girl like you will always attract men and be subject to temptation,' continued Tomlinson. He placed a kiss on her cheek.

'Yes Reverend,' she said.

Rosie shifted a little on his lap, aware he was getting hard.

He began to breathe hard as his hand wandered to her breasts.

'I would like to think you are not beyond redemption. Perhaps if you confess your sins you may be forgiven. Unburden yourself to me. Do you have impure thoughts about men, those you serve in the public house?'

'I'm too busy, sir. If I slack off for a minute Bert threatens to replace me.'

'In your own bed at night. Do you touch yourself?'

It suddenly occurred to Rosie what the self-styled man of the cloth was seeking. He wanted her to talk dirty, men liked women to use obscene words but it didn't come easily to her.

'Sometimes, sir. I know it's wrong.'

'How do you pleasure yourself? Tell me.'

'I use my fingers to stroke my...slit.'

'Your slit! What else do you call it? What words do you know?'

'My vagina...my snatch...my cunt, sir.'

Rosie blushed bright red. Tomlinson's hands were stroking her breasts and he was licking her face which made her cringe.

'Show me,' he ordered.

'Oh, sir! I couldn't!'

'You were going to undress a few minutes ago. Take your dress off now.'

Rosie slid off his lap and disrobed under his lecherous gaze. He might call himself a churchman but he seemed pretty much like most men she knew when it came to what he wanted from a woman. When she was naked she sat on his knee again feeling very vulnerable. It was nothing Miles had not done but somehow Tomlinson was more creepy and reptilian.

'My God! You are a temptress no doubt!' He breathed even more heavily.

'Now, show me what you do with your fingers.'

Rosie began to tease her nipples with one hand while she slid the other between her voluptuous thighs in search of her clit. He decided he couldn't see well enough so he told her to lie on her back over the kitchen table and raise her knees. Tomlinson pulled up a kitchen chair so that he was looking directly between her legs.

Rosie fingered herself until she was wet while Tomlinson watched intently, his face only inches away from her pussy.

'You wicked girl,' he said. 'Dirty little slut!'

She became so wet that her cunt made squelchy sounds as her fingers went in and out which Rosie found embarrassing but Tomlinson seemed to enjoy. He obviously took a delight in heaping insults on Rosie at the same time as relishing the spectacle of a woman masturbating in front of him.

'You rancid whore! You shame your sex!'

Rosie thought how hypocritical he seemed especially if he was really a minister.

'I'm going to punish you,' he declared though he made no effort to stop what Rosie was doing. 'You must be punished if you are to be saved. Otherwise you will burn in the everlasting fires of hell.'

Rosie rubbed her clit until she reached orgasm.

Tomlinson dragged her from the table top and put her over his knee, bare bottom nicely positioned below his eye line.

'I'm going to spank the sin out of you, slut.'

His hand came down on Rosie's round cheeks harder than she could ever have imagined possible and set them quivering. She cried out from the shock as well as pain. Then her tormentor began to spank her vigorously without pause for minutes on end as her lower half wriggled under the blows. She felt sure that he had spanked girls before. Even under such a fearsome assault Rosie could feel the hardness of his cock. If he was sincere about punishing her for her sins he was certainly enjoying his work.

'Are you sorry? Do you repent?'

'Oh, yes, sir! Please let me go!'

By this time her cheeks was ablaze. She was humiliated to think how her bare bottom must appear to Tomlinson, crimson coloured if not turning purple. The spanking was as protracted as it was severe. She knew her body was rubbing against the bulge in his trousers and probably exciting him still more but she could not avoid sliding back and forth across his lap as he slapped her.

'Renounce your wicked ways before it's too late.'

'I do! I do!'

He stopped for a few moments and stroked her burning cheeks as if testing the effectiveness of his spanking and then his hand crept lower so that he was touching her vulva, probing between her labia with his forefinger. Rosie realized she was still wet there from her orgasm and prayed he didn't think she was taking pleasure from being spanked. More fingers slipped in easily until he was masturbating her, the very vice he purported to abhor and for which she was receiving correction.

He resumed her punishment and smacked her bottom for another five minutes by which time Rosie was sweating profusely and crying bitterly at the unfairness of the punishment as well as the pain it produced. When he let her up her fringe was sticking to her brow, her face was tear stained, her nose was running- she knew she must look a sight and hoped he would think her undesirable.

Her hopes were soon dashed.

Tomlinson took down his trousers to release his rampant cock.

He told her to kneel between his wide open legs. He pushed her head down over his erection and made her take his cock in her mouth.

For a long time Rosie didn't consider she had been raped by Miles and the men he brought to her house. She thought of herself making an agreement, a sort of contract, to give her body instead of the money she didn't have. It was later when she eventually told her daughter what had happened to her as a young woman that her eyes were opened to the truth and she realized how naïve she had been. Rachel told her in no uncertain times. Then Rosie's simmering resentment became anger and a determination to hit back.

She knew Nathan Miles had later become very rich, often paraded in the media as the epitome of the self-made man.

Rosie's great consolation was that her daughter Rachel was a gifted pupil at school who went on to a top university where she gained a First Class degree in Law.

 

CHAPTER 1

 

When Rachel Rosen and Jonathan Miles started going out together their colleagues remarked on the age difference but agreed they made a handsome couple. Rachel was Jonathan's senior in every way, at thirty five she was ten years older and she'd joined the Ramillies Law Practice seven years before him. She was now an experienced lawyer taking on the most important cases while Jonathan struggled to establish himself at such a young age.

Strangely they had certain physical features in common, both had dark colouring (Rachel had long black hair with a healthy sheen), both were tall, Rachel well above average height for a woman, and both had chestnut brown eyes under dark lashes. When they were out together sometimes people took them for brother and sister, a fact that pleased Jonathan but seemed to annoy Rachel.

Rachel was most often described as striking (she cut an imperious figure in court) while Jonathan was generally thought to be a handsome guy, although he carried more weight than was ideal, giving him man boobs. Co-incidentally he had a degree of gynecomastia, enlarged areoles and puffy nipples. He had the kind of looks that could attract both sexes, a face bordering on the pretty, soft skin, though he had abundant body hair.

His long dark lashes added to his androgynous appearance.

As a youngster at his boarding school his looks had attracted the unwelcome attention of older boys and there had been incidents when he was at university.

Then he had long dark hair which he wore in a ponytail.

He was hitchhiking home from university when he was picked up by a lorry driver. It was a hot day and Jonathan was wearing a singlet and cut down denim shorts, trainers, no socks. After a while the driver said: 'I've got to be honest, I thought you were a chick from behind. I wouldn't have picked you up otherwise. It was only when you spoke I realised you were a guy.'

Jonathan suddenly felt very hot inside the already stifling cab.

They drove along in silence for some minutes before the driver said:

'Do you get guys coming onto you? You've got fantastic legs and a cute arse.'

'Not especially,' said Jonathan.

Jonathan's embarrassment was increased when the lorry driver placed his left hand on his right thigh and began to stroke the soft flesh near his crotch.

'Are you gay?'

'No, I'm not gay,' said Jonathan.

'Don't get me wrong. I've never touched another guy before in my life.'

Eventually he drove into a layby screened by bushes and trees.

Jonathan froze when the trucker took the band out of his ponytail and arranged his hair around his face before kissing him on the lips. At the same time he rubbed the front of Jonathan's shorts.

'Babydoll!' he breathed before kissing him again, roughly, tongue deep inside Jonathan's mouth.

He guided Jonathan's hand to his own crotch and slammed it against his erection.

'Chill,' he told him.

'Somebody might see us,' said Jonathan.

'You need a good fuck swanning around like that.'

Jonathan tried the door to make his escape but found it locked.

'Come on bitch. You must know the effect you have on guys. Look at those shorts you're wearing. I can tell you want it. I've got a mattress in the trailer.'

The driver manhandled Jonathan into the back

The trucker was a brute of a man, heavy build, tattoos all over.

It was dark and hot in the trailer but Jonathan found himself shivering as he watched the guy rip off his shirt and pull down his jeans.

His purple headed dick was ramrod stiff and threatening.

He fell on Jonathan, dragging his singlet over his head and popping the buttons of his shorts.

Holding him round the waist the trucker drew the boy backwards into his lap. He wet two fingers with spit and shoved them into his arsehole, stirring them round, widening his opening, pushing up further and further, easily overcoming the reflex of his anal sphincter. It was Jonathan's first time. He felt sick, outraged and scared; there was pain too but the humiliation was greater. Now the big man was stroking and kneading his buttocks, enjoying the roundness and softness of his fleshy cheeks, so like a girl's, he said.

'You're a fucking whore,' he said half accusingly, half in admiration.

Jonathan was tense, dreading the first thrust of the man's huge member. But the trucker wanted to take his time, simply tapping the swollen head of his dick against the young man's ring, withdrawing, then shoving his weapon forward again, making him wait for penetration.

Then Jonathan heard the shout from outside and the banging on the side of the trailer. His assailant swore and dived for his clothes.

But when Jonathan looked for his own kit he realized the driver had thrown them to a far corner of the trailer and he could only spot his vest. So when the two police officers got the two of them outside Jonathan was still stark naked.

He was still naked when they questioned him in the back of the police car with a burly officer sitting on each side of him. The trucker was handcuffed to his HGV.

'What are you, some kind of hooker?'

'I'm a student. I was hitchhiking.'

'Paying for rides with sex.'

'No, sir.'

'So how come you're naked in the back of his lorry?'

'He stripped me.'

'He says you were asking for it.'

'Not true. I tried to get away but he locked me in his cab.'

'So you say. He says you were dressed provocatively and you were giving him the come on. What are you, a faggot, TV, She-male?'

'I was wearing an ordinary vest and shorts.'

'Where are your clothes?'

'Still in the back of the lorry.'

One officer said he was going to look for his clothes. The remaining cop continued to question Jonathan.

'What's with the hair?'

'I like it long. I usually have it tied back.'

You've got tits. Are you taking hormones?'

The policeman leaned over and felt his chest, teasing his nipples. If I hadn't seen your dick I'd have thought you were a girl.'

His mate returned with Jonathan's clothes. Before he got back in the car he held up the pair of shorts to show his partner how skimpy they were.

'You're kidding us,' said the guy sitting next to Jonathan. 'If you hitch lifts wearing those you're sending out clear signals that your arse is up for rent.'

When the officers were re-united in the back of the car, the one who'd stayed behind told the other: 'I've told him we might let him off if he gives us a decent blow job.'

They lowered their trousers and forced Jonathan's head down over the first guy's erection. Jonathan, who had never sucked a cock before, knew he would need to perform well if he was to end the ordeal and escape some trumped up charge. He moved from one to the other trying to make sure each guy got an equal share of his wet wide open mouth. If he sucked one guy's cock for too long the other grabbed his hair and shoved him down on his own demanding dick. When he left one prick he wanked it to keep it rigid. Both cocks rose up like purple headed plants searching for sunlight, blue and red veins standing out down thick shafts, balls bunched beneath like bulbs. Jonathan licked, lapped, sucked, trying to keep saliva flowing, head bobbing, acting like he was enjoying every second, like he was so horny he couldn't wait to make them come.

He felt one guy's cock switch and harden still more.

The cop threw back his head and groaned: 'Awwwwwwwwww! Ahhhhhhhh!'

Jonathan felt his hair being tugged painfully.

'Swallow!'

As the spunk flooded his mouth and pulsed down his throat he took quick gulps in the hope of spilling none but there was so much of the hot spend that it oozed from the corners of his mouth and dribbled down his chin. He kept pumping the other dick with his fist as he tried to deal with the first orgasm yet aware that it too would soon spurt and he would need to be ready to swallow another load.

Jonathan went down on the second cop's dick just in time to drink his come, his mouth filling up again with hot salty semen, so that he struggled to swallow quickly enough to prevent spillage.

The guy pummelled his head angrily and yelled at him to be careful. They didn't want their back seat upholstery to be ruined.

After sucking both men off Jonathan was made to lick up any stickiness remaining on their balls and thighs and stomachs.

He was allowed to put his shorts back on but his vest was still in the trailer when the truck was allowed to drive away.