The Lady & the Highwayman

The road to Bracemere was wild an uneven, flanked by trees that writhed like claws in the wind, the moonlit hills stretching out behind them. From the windows of the carriage, Angeline watched them whip by, midnight-dark, against the grey hills and blue-black sky. It was miles to the nearest farmstead, and as she listened to the wheels of the carriage clatter and crash against each rock and rut in the road, she had fears of a wheel breaking or coming lose. But no such accident befell her. When the carriage came creaking to a sudden halt, this had a more dramatic cause.

"You know what I'm going to say?" a voice sounded from in front of the carriage. It was firm, confident, slightly mocking.

The coachman coughed. "I s'pose."

"Well then, Stand, and Deliver! Throw down that musket and raise your hands. Then we'll see what treasures you carry!"

The musket thudded on the road.

Inside the carriage Angeline blanched. Alone so far from anywhere, a robber on the road might take more from a lady than her silver, and so she pulled the hood of her satin cloak over her head to hide her face and straightened her long skirts to cover her slender legs down to the ankles.

Horse-hooves approached, and the dark silhouette of a horse's head and then the rider appeared outside the window. The figure who leaned down to peer into the window was tall and slim, wearing a dark coat, a tricorn hat and a black handkerchief across his mouth.

"Well now, what fabulous treasure do I find? And so bashful? Pray, lower your hood, madam."

Angeline sat still and silent. She did not obey.

The figure reached out his right hand, and levelled a long flintlock pistol inches from her face. He leaned forward and with a move of his wrist he flicked back her hood with the muzzle of the gun.

"Such a lady is a rare sight in these parts. You must be the Lady Angeline."

Angeline looked surprised.

"I see that you are. And here I am on horseback – you must think that I have no manners!" And with that he swung down from his horse and reached up to open the carriage door. A pistol still in his right hand he held up his left towards her.

"I have no silver."

"Indeed not. Your fortune awaits you at Bracemere. But it is you I am taking not your silver. Come." And he beckoned, the hand still held out to help her down.

"I refuse!" she said defiantly.

"Madam," he mocked, "you may think it heroic to resist me so that I must shoot you, but if I do that I must also shoot your coachman to remove the witness. I would hate to do that. Harry is a fine man and his kin would miss him. Come down. Do not make me murder your coachman."

She grimaced but stood, keeping her cloak grasped in front of her, and dismounted from the carriage without taking his hand.

"Now," he gestured to his horse and took the reigns in his left hand so that the horse could not bolt, "we ride from here."

Trembling slightly, Angeline climbed into the saddle, and the highwayman leaped up behind, placing his feet in the stirrups but leaving the saddle for her comfort, and spurred his horse on away from the carriage and into the night.

His pistol put away, he took the reigns in both hands, one arm on each side of Angeline's slender waist to stop her falling (or jumping) from the horse.

Her heart pounded with trepidation, and she adopted a defiant tone, refusing to let him have the upper hand entirely. If protest was all she could do, then protest she would.

"You hold me too tight, sir! Unhand me!"

"I will hold you as firmly as I wish," she could hear him smiling, "And for now my arms don't hold as tight as your corsets do already."

"You are no gentleman sir, but a common ruffian, and should be ashamed of yourself!"

"I'm never gentle, but can be much rougher, if you wish. And highwaymen are not known for their shame."

They rode for no more than fifteen minutes when they came to a junction in the road by a wood, where a young boy waited. The highwayman dismounted, and indicated that Angeline should do the same. When she reached the ground he raised her cloak from behind and slid his left hand up the back of her dress to the low hemline between her shoulder-blades, where he hooked his fingers over the dress and held it fast in his fist. With his right hand he drew the pistol.

"What are you doing, sir!"

"Ensuring that you can't run."

The cloak had swung open at the front to reveal a low-cut neckline, in the latest fashion. The young lad who had met them gazed at the shadows where her breasts plunged into the dress, and drooled: "Oh, she's a nice one, mister – you'll have some fine sport there!"

Angeline blushed and frowned.

The highwayman reprimanded him. "Don't think such thoughts. It's disrespectful. Now, take the horse."

The boy led the horse away down one branch of the road, and the lady and the highwayman continued on foot, over a stile and into the wood.

"Are you saying," she chided him, "that a scoundrel like you has not had such base thoughts."

"My thoughts are always base, but I can control my tongue and be civil."

Her heart quickened in fear.

"So you do plan to dishonour me."

He stopped as he walked and she, held by her dress, was forced to stop too. He stepped close behind her, and his face-mask now lowered he put his mouth by her ear.

"If you ask me what base thoughts I have right now, I would say that I'd bend you over that fallen tree there and throw your skirts over your head, slap your arse until you had learned to keep a civil and ladylike tone, and then spread your legs and take you faster and harder than any woman has been taken before: I would make you howl with pleasure. But that is not my business, and I suggest that we are silent or return to more civilised conversation. Now, walk."

He pushed her forward and they continued on, but she would not fall silent.

"You are a robber and a kidnapper. Why stop there?" Her heart still raced, but now that he had said that he would not touch her, the thought of what he would not do had an excitement to it, and perhaps it was not only fear that she felt.

"You misunderstand the reason for your abduction. This is for your good."

"How so? Explain!"

"Tomorrow, perhaps."

The highwayman's cottage lay deeper in the woods. It had only three rooms and but one door to the outside – a door which he locked after they had entered. He pocketed the key.

In the firelight of the cottage Angeline could see her abductor clearly. He was tall and slender, athletic but not chunky, with a well-defined face that was certainly not unattractive. He was also not cruel. He fetched her bread, cheese and wine, and (though he stood guard a little distance away) he allowed her access to the outdoors privy. At length he said that it was late and they should both sleep, and he showed her to her room.

The room was small with a single wooden bed, manacles looped around the bedhead.

"You intend to chain me up?"

"I cannot have you escaping. The manacles are strong enough to hold a man, so should hold you well, and the chain between the two cuffs is long enough that you will be able to move. Now, lie down."

She lay back with trepidation and raised her hands to her head as he instructed. He closed the heavy catches around her wrists, checked that the chain looped securely through the bedhead, and stood back to look at her. Her cloak had been left in the kitchen, so she lay in her long dress, which had ridden up to show her stockings up to the knee. His eyes travelled from her slender ankles, to her hips and waist, to low-cut neckline where her chest rose and fell quickly, to her tender neck and her face, besides which her pale arms were held firm.

"It seems uncivilised," he mused, "to make you sleep fully dressed. But however much I want to remove your bodice and your skirt, I feel that that would be more uncivilised. So, sleep well." And with that he cast a blanket across her, turned and left.

She heard him move across the main room to the other bedroom, and close the door behind him. Immediately she pulled against the manacles, but found that neither the chains nor the bedstead would give. She lay still and drifted into sleep where she dreamed a strange dream, of meeting the highwayman not as an abductor but a rescuer: she dreamed that he came across her manacled half-naked in the wood, so that she was obliged to find a way to thank him for rescuing her…. And suddenly she was awake, a thought clear in her mind: the manacles! They were designed for the thicker wrists of a man, and hung loosely on her. She squirmed her hands against the cuffs and after much effort and with some grazes she found that she could ease her hands through the hoops and free herself without forcing the cuffs open at all.

Now to escape!

She made for the main room and realised that the door was locked, the key, as she recalled, in the highwayman's coat pocket. The coat was nowhere to be seen: he must have taken it into his room. Then she realised that he might pursue her and she would also need a gun. His pistol, too, was missing, presumably also in his room. So, with a lantern in one hand she moved cautiously forward and pushed open the door to the other chamber.

He lay asleep in a broad bed. His pistol hung from a hook on the wall above and his coat was thrown down on a chair. Then another idea struck her. She returned to her room, unwound the manacles from the bedhead, and carried them carefully back into the highwayman's room. In the coat pocket she found the door-key and the manacles' key. She opened the cuffs and crept forward, leaning over her captor to thread the chain of the shackles through this bedhead. Both of his hands lay on his chest and the chain was just long enough that she could get one cuff to each fore-arm. She snapped the manacles shut one, then immediately the other, and he woke with a start. He tried to sit but the chain from his hands over his shoulder to the bedhead held him down. She snatched the pistol and pointed it at his face.

"Don't struggle!" she ordered.

She thought now what she should do. She could shoot him. Or flee to the authorities and have him arrested and hung. Her gaze travelled down from his striking handsome face, to the shackled arms that lay over the sheet, over his flat stomach and the clear bulge which lay on it.

"Did I interrupt a pleasant dream?" she asked.

He looked frightened, but also he blushed.

She reached down with her left hand and pulled the sheet away. His cock lay long and fat on his stomach, nearly erect. She reached down and touched the shaft with the tip of her finger, and it twitched. She blushed and smiled. She ran her fingers up and down it, and soon it swelled to be rock hard. There were a hundred and one things that she only half understood, which well brought up young ladies simply would not do with their lovers, but here, with a highwayman, miles from anywhere, no-one would know what she did, and she didn't have to care. She found herself growling with pleasure at the thought of it.

She leaned forward and, still pointing the pistol at the highwayman's face, let the tip of her tongue flick around the head of his penis.

"This was never my intention!" he protested.

"You're this hard, and it isn't your intention?" She laid the gun on the floor and stood up, loosening the chords at the back of her dress so that she could slither out of the tight gown and let it drop to her feet. She stood before him, in a lose chemise that barely covered her breasts, her nipples clearly hard through the thin fabric, a tight corset over this about her waist, linen knickers, and white stockings held up by garters of blue ribbon. She slipped her fingers down the front of her knickers and looked the highwayman in the eye. She moved her hips against her hand and sighed. His eyes were fixed on her crotch. "You have no dishonourable intentions? I don't believe you."

She climbed onto the bed and knelt between his legs, holding his hip with one hand and taking his shaft in the other, holding his cock straight so that she could lick and suck at the shaft from every side. She slipped him between her lips again and filling her mouth with spit she sucked hard and persistently. He groaned repeatedly, and she dreamed of sucking him until he exploded in her mouth: she growled again with pleasure at the thought, but knew that he would then be spent and that that would be a waste. She pulled back and let her hands caress his dampened cock.

"Plesae, we should discuss this." Recovered from his groaning, he began to protest again. "I didn't want to take advantage of you."

"Well, I'm taking advantage of this!" and she took him again in her mouth. But another unladylike thought occurred to her and she let him drop. "But if you're going to complain, I'll have to find another use for that overly gallant tongue."

She crawled up to the head of the bed, wriggling out of her knickers as she did so, and knelt astride his head, one stockinged shin on either side of his face. She took him by the hair and pulled his mouth to her. "Lick me!"

He licked. She grasped for the bedhead and nearly screamed with pleasure. His tongue found her clit immediately, sliding across it gently again and again. She could stand no more than thirty seconds of it before she pulled away.

She slid back down the bed until she straddled his grain, and reached down to his hard cock. "Now, I have every intention of being magnificently dishonoured" she told him, "so don't hold anything back!"

She guided him into her gently at first. He was a good size, but she was wet and ready for him. She wimpered as she slowly lowered herself down onto him, until her mound pressed against his stomach and the whole length was buried inside her.

She took his shoulders in her hands and began to ride him, as he moved to meet her movements. "Yes, yes!" Faster and faster they went, he reaching up with shackled hands to grasp her linen-clad breasts, her hair spilling down to brush his face. "Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes….!" The quicker they went the better it felt, and soon she was thrusting as fast as she could, but still wanting more.

Desperate to find a faster position, she pulled off him and turned around, guiding him firmly into her again, with her back now to him. She leaned forward, grasping his ankles as his cock slid in and out at this new angle. She braced herself against the firm mattress so that he could set the pace. "Get on with it! Just do me!" and the last traces of lady-like politeness disappeared. "Just fuck me as fast as you can!"

Suddenly he was sitting upright, and one hand reached out to grab her hair roughly. He was free of the manacles – and she realised that she had left the key in the lock. But so long as he kept ramming her, she didn't care.

"As fast as you can take!" he told her, and pulled her off him, almost throwing her down onto the bed face-down. She raised herself onto her hands and knees as he got behind her and thrust deep into her. She fell forward onto her elbows and he took her by the hips, pulling her back onto him as he pushed forward, fucking her at an amazing pace, his hard cock ploughing unceasingly into her wet hole and his belly slapping on her buttocks. "Is that what you wanted?"

"Yes! More! Anything! Everything!" she gasped. "Every filthy thing you can think of!"

He moved one hand across her arse, sliding the thumb down between the buttocks to toy with her anus. She hadn't even thought of that! "No time for everything! I'm going to come soon." He kept slamming into her, hard and fast.

"Then what do you want?" she gasped.

"I want to keep fucking like this, then spray my cum over your beautiful breasts!"

"Oh yes!" she pulled the chemise off her right shoulder so that her breast hung lose, and grabbed his hand, pulling it to her. He grabbed it roughly and held firm as he slammed into her. Soon the force of his thrusts had pushed her forward onto her stomach, so that she lay flat, her hips tilted to let him in, he ramming her from above.

His breathing deepened until each breath was almost a grunt, and suddenly he pulled out. "Turn over - now!"

She turned over just in time, as he started to shoot the first fountain of thick white cum over her breasts. She grabbed his hips and pulled him towards her mouth, so that the third jet shot across her chin and neck and only on the fourth did she get her lips around him. His cum was thick and sharp, splashing over the roof of her mouth and down her throat.

He collapsed next to her, panting, exhausted. She was panting, too, but she came to her senses first and she remembered that this man was her kidnapper.

She leaped over him, onto the floor and picked up the gun. He looked up at her. He seemed not to care. She looked down at his beautiful body, and she knew that she was still horny. It had been fantastic, but she hadn't come. "Don't move." She told him as, her right hand still levelling the pistol at him, she leaned back against the wall, parted her legs and slid two fingers of her left hand down to her pussy to rub each side of her clit. She stroked herself furiously, softly, then firmly, then softly, then firmly. He lay there watching, exhausted but enthralled by the sight of her fingers working her clit and her breasts jiggling with her efforts. She screamed when she came, the orgasm so powerful that it brought tears to her eyes.

She staggered forward, stepping into her dress and wriggling it back up to her hips. At last the dress hung loosely from her shoulders. She kept the pistol pointed at the exhausted highwayman as she tidied herself up, wiping the last drops of his cum from her breasts with her fingers and licking it off.

"Just one thing." She told him. "When next we meet you won't have to be so coy. You now have my permission to absolutely fuck me."