"Can't you just give me something to wrap around myself? I feel a bit exposed."
"Sorry, but no," said Peter. "I have to get used to the way The Drivers behave. You too." He connected a lead to the collar on Claire's neck then unlocked the buckles that held her against the garage wall. She had been there all night, until Peter came for her.
He led her through the door that connected the garage to the kitchen of the house.
"Breakfast," said Peter, taking her to the table where cereals and grapefruit were prepared ready.
"I'm not hungry."
Peter sat opposite. "Suit yourself, but I think you ought to eat something. It's going to be a long day." He poured them both coffee and started on his own food.
Claire took a drink from her cup and toyed with the cereal, lacking any real appetite.
"What now?" she asked.
"We've got a few hours to kill before we leave. I thought we could spend some time getting to know each other." He waited for her to finish breakfast and use the bathroom then took her through to the lounge where he fastened the cuffs about her wrists again and sat her in a large leather club chair near the fireplace.
"If only you could have seen what I have these last three months," he said. "I told the police. Twice. Told you. Told everyone I could. Nobody wanted to listen."
Claire sat in silence, occasionally trying to pull down the waspie to cover her depilated mons, hoping not to arouse him again. Peter smiled at her actions.
"Why bother?" he asked. "I've seen it all now. Seen you the way Susan's been seen. Stripped you just like she was stripped." He came across to stand in front of her, making it clear where his eyes were fixed.
"You know?" he said. "These last few months have been an eye opener for me, in more ways than one. I always respected the law." He shrugged his shoulders with a resigned air. "But I suppose I've never had anything to do with it until now. They let me down. They let them take Susan away from me, like she didn't matter. The Drivers can do that. They can do what they want, it's easy. Anyone can, I can. I took you. Look at you." He leant forward to fondle her breasts. "I've got you here. I can touch these whenever I want. Touch this, touch that."
She stiffened as his hands explored her thighs, searching fingers slipping into her most secret folds.
"Don't Peter," she whispered. "You've been under a lot of strain. Lets put all this behind us. Go to the police."
He continued his probing, rudely and arrogantly, then released a loud scornful laugh as he stood up to survey his capture.
"I told you. I already have. They let me down. You all did!"
He pulled Claire out of the chair and into the centre of the room and began circling about her, looking at her body, studying her intimately.
"You know?" he said quietly. "I've spent some time wondering what it must be like. To be a Driver I mean. To have all that power." He smoothed the back of his hand down the small of her back and on to her bottom. "To be able to take a woman when you want. When you are ready." He came around to face her, staring so intently into her eyes she felt compelled to look away.
Peter cupped her breasts and smiled.
"They're nice," he said. "Firm and heavy. And they are mine, and so is this." His hand dropped between her legs where he explored for a moment before turning his attention to her backside. "And this," he told her. "Oh yes, this too. Everything. Whenever, however I want it."
She twisted her bottom away from his hand and glared at him with such anger and hate.
"No-one owns me!" she cried. "No-one. So you can go fuck yourself. You're probably good at that. I bet that's all you're good at."
Peter wasn't angry or even bothered in the least at her outburst. He was in control. At last, after months of feeling helpless and at the mercy of fate, he was now the one in charge.
"Come with me," he said calmly, leading her back into the kitchen where he attached the lead to the handle of the oven door. It was the type of cooker that sat beneath the worktop so Claire was forced to bend forward a little. When she was secure Peter pulled himself up to sit on the Formica, his feet dangling against a cupboard.
"Did you suck Bob's cock?" he asked. Bob had been her husband.
Claire didn't answer.
"Did he like having his hard prick on your tongue. Having you lick and kiss it?"
Still silence. Peter reached across for a tea towel which he whipped across her bottom, making her clench her cheeks tight.
"I love it when your sister sucks me off. Flicking her wet tongue in my Japs eye, licking off that tiny ball of spunk that always leaks out. Did you do that for Bob?"
Claire gave the slightest nod of her head.
"Sorry?" said Peter. "Was that a yes?"
Claire tried to twist her head to look at him but the collar was too tight, forcing her to face the floor.
"Yes," she whispered.
Again Peter flicked the tea towel across her bottom. "And what about the new gorilla? What's his name, Jeff? Do you suck him off as well?"
"Mind your own fucking business," she growled.
Peter whipped her again with the tea towel. A gift from Scotland it said, showing a map of the country and places of interest. He flicked the corner of the towel sharply into places of Claire's interest, forcing her to jump as the tip of the material nipped between her sex lips.
"I'm making it my business," he said. "I'm making everything about you my business, and I want to know. Do you suck the monkey boy's prick?"
She nodded, clearly this time.
"And does he come in your mouth?"
Again she nodded her head.
"And do you drink it?"
"Yes."
Peter jumped down from the work surface and removed his trousers. "That's good," he told her. "Because I wouldn't want any of my spunk going to waste." He rubbed his semi hard cock softly in the valley of her bottom, the tender sensations soon swelling his member to its full, fat, erect condition. He jumped up on the work top and presented his prick to her mouth, but she refused him entry.
"What's the matter?" he asked. "You know what it is. It's been up you once already."
Claire remained tight lipped, even when Peter took hold of his cock and slapped it firmly against her mouth.
"If you don't open wide I'm going to have to bring in the strap," he warned her. "Now be a good girl and pop it inside."
She shook her head, making clear her intentions. At the sight of her refusal Peter lifted his leg over her head, climbed down and left the kitchen. On his return he was carrying a hauliers strap, left by Kevin, after Peter had asked to borrow one with the wagon. He laid the canvas strap in front of her.
"I knew a girl who said that one whack from this and you'd fuck the Household cavalry." He pulled it away and stepped behind the tethered woman. "It's time to see if she was telling the truth, and just in case she wasn't, I'll give you five."
The first stroke landed squarely across both cheeks of Claire's bottom, halving the pain, or doubling it. Only she knew the answer. The second brought a thick weal just above her stocking tops after the first had made her jump almost clear of her stiletto boots. Unable to stand the pain any longer Claire slumped to her knees, bringing her bottom to rest upon the back of her black leather covered calves.
It didn't prevent Peter from administering strokes three and four. He simply placed one on each of her thighs leaving the girl's rear end nowhere to hide from the vicious lick of the cotton canvas. Taking hold of her handcuffed hands behind her back he next pulled the sobbing creature to her feet and brought the final stroke in a great circular arc between her thighs so that it smacked belly and naked quim in one almighty slap that launched her squealing into the air.
"That's five," he panted, jumping back onto the worktop. "There's always another five, or fifty or five hundred." With his hand he shook his cock near to her face then spoke again. "It all depends on how many you think you can take?"
She lifted her head, bringing her moist mouth slowly and ever so reluctantly to the tip of his glans.
"I see," said Peter as her lips parted and his swollen cock slipped inside the wet recess above her tongue. "That's a good girl. Just like your sister, up and down." His head swayed as the pleasure lapped at his body. In the mirror on the other wall he watched Claire's head bobbing on his prick, her bottom still rocking back and forth as if the breeze it generated could possibly cool the heat rendered by the flailing strap. The same strap that had turned his Susan from a quiet housewife into an oil soaked Driver fucked whore. He leapt from the Formica and got behind Susan's sister, levelling his cock with her denuded hole.
"Get over!" he shouted, forcing her to bend double, her head almost against her knees. With a great thrust of his hips he stabbed his prick into her hole, withdrawing only to stab her again and again, pumping, pushing, shoving, fucking, on and on and on, slamming, thumping, ever harder, ever faster, until his cock spat and spewed its boiling, stinging venom inside Susan's sister, inside Claire, inside every woman the Drivers had ever taken. With that gush of gluten he had finally left behind the last of his old life and entered into the new.
Inside the garage, Claire could hear the low grumble of the wagon as Peter reversed it into the drive. A moment later the doors opened to reveal him dressed in steel studded leather jeans. He wore no shirt, just a black leather waistcoat that failed to cover the steel pins he had pushed through his nipples. Thin straps constrained his forearms, biceps and neck, pumping out his veins.
He came across to the terrified woman and took a spring loaded D clip from his pocket. He pulled back the straight edge and forced it up Claire's nose before releasing the spring. It snapped shut, gripping the soft flesh and making it easy for him to lead her towards the wagon.
He opened the door and motioned for her to climb in behind the driver's seat, where he tied her nose lead to the back of the cab. Climbing in to the drivers seat he revved the engine almost to a roar.
"Let's party!" he shouted, then slammed the wagon into gear and pulled out into the failing light of a chilly May evening.
For several hours they thundered through the night, along dark country lanes where the wind from the speeding truck threw back the boughs of overhanging trees, only for them to snap back angrily, crashing their spiny finger-like branches on the roof of the trailer.
Finally the lanes gave way to the moor and heath and Peter found his headlights digging into the night. Their light crossed miles of moorland, startling the grouse and hare, signalling to anything else in the coarse shrub that another Driver was on his way to the passover.
The roads narrowed. After a few more miles they narrowed further and dropped down into a depression. When the wagon pulled out of the dip, Peter saw the fires away in the distance, above the cold granite rock that broke every so often through the shrub and heather. Like a moth around a candle he found himself heading towards the light, ever closer to the flames that would either cleanse or consume.
He stepped hard on the throttle, bringing that moment closer.
Less than a mile away he pulled up and climbed into the back of the cab where he put a leather gag around Claire's mouth. Before resuming his seat he felt unable to resist the urge to feel her private parts. Not that they were very private any more, especially after today when he had spent the hours up until leaving fucking the woman all over the house.
He gave her tits a final squeeze and carried on his way, getting close enough to see the fires that burned inside large oil drums. There were dozens of them, lighting up the area with orange flames that crackled and sent sparks into the night sky.
The place was reminiscent of a war zone. Wagons, some in silhouette, some brightly lit by the fires, were dotted around what looked like an old aeroplane hangar.
The soft ground was pitted and rutted from the weight of the heavy vehicles, leaving puddles of oily water that reflected the fiery light upwards. Occasionally the figure of a man could be seen running between buildings or vehicles, and sometimes he appeared to be dragging something behind him.
Something tethered, hobbled and struggling.
Peter pulled up at the entrance to the grounds just as spots of drizzle began to speckle the windscreen. Before entering he paused to take in the number of wagons parked up. There were a lot more than he'd expected and the first sense of butterflies fluttered in his stomach.
He drove cautiously to a clear spot and dropped from the cab. The drizzle had turned to sleet and the cold flecks of ice chilled his body. It chilled Claire more. He pulled her from the cab where her nipples jumped to attention at the cold and her mons shivered with goose pimples.
"Well," whispered Peter. "Here we go. Don't let me down now." He made his way towards the large building, Claire on her lead behind. Instead of going straight in, he went to where a window was fixed at the side. It had four very dirty, very greasy panes that hadn't seen soap and water in many a year. Peter rubbed away the grime and pressed his nose to the glass.
Inside, fires were burning in drums and a huge fire roared in the centre of the hangar, the smoke rising to vents that failed to clear the air, leaving a lot of the haze to fall back upon the congregation below. Through the smoky gloom shone bright lights in blues and reds and purples, lights spinning upwards, downwards and around, in a blinding kaleidoscopic display.
It was difficult to make out the people in the smoke and dancing lights, but some could be seen. Men taking women and girls away to different vehicles dotted around the sides of the building, to coaches, vans and trucks, all customised to include beds and couches where a woman could be taken, and fucked, and licked, and beaten and used.
Peter swallowed hard and took a deep breath, then gave Claire a tug with the lead to signal they were going in. Claire hadn't been able to see inside because the other windows were so dirty. She had no idea what events were taking place, but looking at all the vehicles and the fires she considered the possibility that Peter may just have been telling the truth all along.
When he opened the door and dragged her inside, the sight of a man driving a pick up truck from which hung a bound woman made her realise the awful truth.
The woman was nude and dangling from the hook that usually towed away cars. She was wearing nothing but a gag and cuffs around her wrists and ankles. The man drove towards the pair out of the smoke, 'Joes' Pick Up' emblazoned on the yellow paintwork of the truck. As the strains of Meatloafs 'Bat Out of Hell' boomed out from a hundred speakers, the driver screeched to a halt alongside Peter, took a quick glance at Claire's body, screamed 'What a fucking night!' and roared back into the smoke, the woman swinging wildly behind him as he went.
Behind the thick leather strap that covered her mouth Claire was begging to go home. A tug from Peter towards the smoke told her no.
As they passed through the unearthly smog, like the fog of old London, Claire caught glimpses of young girls being taken on leads. Where they were going she had no way of telling because the smoke was so dense it clouded things out after just a couple of yards. Occasionally, though, the lights would sweep through the mist revealing tantalising peeks of girls on the bonnets of trucks, men's buttocks pounding up and down between their thighs.
On one occasion a petite young thing with long black hair in a tight ponytail bumped right into her. The girl's look was vacant, even when a leather tawse cracked across her bottom as a punishment for clumsiness. Her man yanked the lead and she disappeared too.
Now, in an almost dreamlike state, Claire followed dutifully behind Peter, her head darting this way and that, trying to understand the awful sights that surrounded her. The smoke started to thin out and more and more came into view, including the hanging cranes.
From the roof hung several women in chains, some were hanging by their ankles, others by their wrists, like bats in a cave. Each girl was near naked except for the occasional basque or high heeled boots, some were blindfolded and all were gagged. Claire dragged her eyes away to the fire that raged in the centre of the floor only to see more of the same.
In a great circle around the flames stood cranes for lifting the engines out of cars, like the skeleton of a wigwam. Hanging from the top of each was a young girl in the same fashion as those on the ceiling. Some were upside down, others dangled by their wrists. Peter pulled Claire to one side and forced her across the bonnet of an old Morris Minor that waited on the dirt, its wheels missing.
With the sight of so much naked flesh on display his cock was already hard and he had little trouble in locating Claire's gash, which had already suffered so much from his prick earlier that day. Plugged into his woman like that, Peter looked every inch the Driver, gripping her waist to add momentum to his thrusts. He looked over the roof of the car to see another woman being serviced across the trunk and wondered just how many females fell into the grip of The Drivers. By the look of it, the figures ran into dozens.
At the cranes Peter noticed that the women were not there just for ornament. When a man wanted one he simply disengaged the hydraulics that held her suspended and released the chain. If he had one to replace her, all he had to do was attach her in the other girl's place and haul her up off the floor with the hydraulic handle.
Returning to the task beneath him Peter, fucked his sister-in-law slowly, looking about him for ways of escape as his dick slipped in and out of her well lubricated tube.
The ends of the building looked as if they opened up fully, while there were also smaller doors built into the large end doors. When he found Susan he would take her under the pretence of needing a fuck, and make his escape along with Claire.
As he studied the main door it began to open and a large lorry reversed into the hangar. The noise and smoke from its exhaust added to the general mayhem of the building. As it made its way through the smoke a bright white light was shone on its back doors. The lorry stopped and Peter read the sign that ran along the refrigerated trailer, 'Felix Ferries'!
The words stopped his pumping hips in mid thrust and his cock slipped out from between Claire's legs. Hoping he was finished she stood up and read the sign herself, recognising it from what Peter had told her. They watched as two men jumped from the cab and began unlocking the trailer door.
Two men! Lincoln and his brother!
They pulled open the large metal doors to reveal six women, stripped and hanging from meat hooks in the refrigerator. At the press of a button the poles on which the hooks and women hung extended out of the trailer. When they were all the way out, a fork lift truck came up and the women were each transferred to a crane.
Oh God! One of them was Melanie!
Pulling Claire behind him, Peter followed to see where Melanie was taken. They stopped with her beneath a crane. Peter set Claire on a small tower of tyres and fondled her tits as he watched Melanie being forced to lie on the floor while her feet were attached to a hook and chain. When she was secure she was hauled up to hang from the ceiling, about thirty feet off the floor.
Now his plans were really complicated!
He still played with Claire's tits as he spoke to her.
"You believe me now?"
She closed her eyes and nodded her head.
"If I take off the gag, do you promise not to scream or shout, or do anything stupid like that?"
Another frightened nod.
He leant behind her to reach the buckles and added another warning. "It's not just for my sake. Let on we're not one of them and they'll kill us. Both of us! Make no mistake about that." He freed the buckle and pulled away the gag, leaving a red line on each cheek where the straps had dug into the flesh. Claire stretched wide her mouth to bring some life back to her jaw.
"I'm sorry I didn't listen to you," she mumbled. Then with a sterner voice she added. "But no matter what you knew, it didn't give you the right to do what you did. No-one should do what you've done to me."
"That's nothing," Peter put in. "Nothing, compared to what they'll do to you if they find us." He waved his finger around the building to highlight who 'they' were, then quickly grabbed Claire and pushed her to her knees, forcing the bulbous dome of his cock into her mouth. He had seen a figure looming towards them through the smoke and knew it was dangerous to be seen simply talking to one of the girls.
He was sitting on the tyres when the man came into view. A big man, well over six feet, with a broad bright smile. A black man.
He took one look at Peter with his prick down Claire's throat. "Nice one man. I like it." Peter waited until he had dissolved back into the fog before lifting Claire up by the ears.
"That was him," he told her excitedly, his heart thumping frantically. "That was the Hell Raiser. He might lead us to Susan." He made to go after him then stopped. "Better still," he said, spinning Claire around to undo her cuffs, "you let Melanie down, and I'll get Susan."
"Melanie?" asked Claire. "You mean that girl? Why let her down? I thought we just came for Susan?"
"Because," said Peter, pointing a finger up at Melanie. "Without her help, we wouldn't be here today."
"And I'm supposed to be grateful?"
"Susan will be!" said Peter as he headed off. "Just let Melanie down and wait here until I get back."
Hell Raiser had not got far when Peter caught up with him. He was easy to follow in the confusion that reigned, the smoke and blaring rock music providing ample cover. From the direction he was taking, he looked to be heading for an incredibly bright light shining straight down onto a mass of gleaming metal. As they neared Peter realised the mass was a huge, highly polished, chromium plated wheel lying flat on a stage.
Chained on it, face upwards, was a young blonde girl.
She had wild spiky hair and the craziest neck collar of black leather with massive shiny steel nails protruding from it. As the Hell Raiser went up on the stage, Peter found himself climbing a combine harvester to get a better look.
The black man strolled across to the wheel and with his huge hands spun it around so that the girl was facing him. From his position all Peter could see was the back of the man and the legs of the girl, although he could also see the girl was devoid of pubic hair and had very pronounced sex lips.
The Hell Raiser appeared to be saying something to the chained girl as he pointed to the enormous penis which hung down clearly and menacingly between his massive legs. Eventually he turned the wheel once more so that the girl's head, which rested on the rim of the wheel, came to a stop between those very legs.
The black man shuffled closer until his cock was directly above the girl's mouth, then he crouched down to lower the still limp member between her bright painted lips. Even when soft the cock was a problem to accommodate but she tried her best, sucking him into her mouth, pleasing him enough so that he fell forward to lick at her slick smooth cunt that dribbled for his cock.
The powerful thighs tensed with pleasure, lifting and falling, gently fucking the white girl's mouth. She seemed to be enjoying it, seeking to make the man happy. Only when she opened her eyes to delight in the sight of his black skin did Peter realise the girl was…
Susan!
His Susan!
There was nothing he could do. The initial adrenaline rush had told him to dash up to the stage and drag Hell Raiser away, but he managed to control himself in time. Against such a powerful man he was useless, age and size were his enemy, never mind all the other Drivers. All he could do was bide his time and wait.
On the stage, his wife soon sucked Hell Raiser to a full erection. It stood thick, black and heavy against his belly and in comparison to what Peter had to offer it looked massive. How could Susan possibly take such an obscenely monstrous thing?
Peter sat and watched, sick to the stomach, aware that she was already used to accommodating the man, and she must be acting well, for it looked as if taking it in her mouth was a pleasure, as if she was more than happy it wasn't Peter's mere standard issue.
Hell Raiser pulled the wheel around again.
This time he stopped it when Susan's legs faced him. Up on the combine Peter could clearly see thick pearls of juice on her lips, lubricating her swollen vagina, readying it for the onslaught.
The black man lowered his thighs again, his engorged bell-end knocking at her entrance. Her lips offered little resistance, parting at the first touch of his inflamed bulb. It squeezed its way in, fat and uncompromising, all the way up until she could manage no more. The heavy black thighs thumped home time and again, the solid turgid cock rammed into her hole, filling it completely, its thickness pushing against the walls of her cunt, demanding more space.
There was nothing Peter could do until the man emptied his balls inside his own young wife, the blonde innocent he had known since her sixth form. The quiet shy girl who chose cotton over silk, a vest in place of a camisole. The girl fucked so solidly on that glistening wheel was not his wife, not any more.
When the Hell Raiser finally lifted his great frame from her, a flood of spunk oozed from her wide crimson coloured cunt. He bent forward and gave her a kiss one might have even considered loving, then swaggered from the stage, his prick gleaming with the slick juices of sex. As he vanished into the smoky atmosphere Peter jumped from his position and rushed across to his wife.
"Susan!" he cried. "It's Peter."
She opened her eyes as the last of her many orgasms faded into nothing.
"Peter!" she whispered. "What the… Get away from here! You don't understand!"
"I do, I know everything."
He fumbled with the chains, searching for the lock. Thankfully they were only held by a bolt and didn't need a key. Peter sprung the chains and lifted Susan from the wheel.
"Well, well," said a voice in the smoke. "We meet at last."
Peter straightened up, prepared for a fight, waiting for the man to show himself. It wasn't just the one however. Out of the smoke stepped Jack, Lincoln, Colin and the Hell Raiser, each sporting a convincing scowl.
"We knew you'd come," said Jack. "Couldn't leave a beauty like that now, could you? Too good a fuck she is." He turned his attentions to Susan. "Too good at snatching cock aren't you Sue? The bigger the better."
Lincoln joined in the taunting. "We've all had her Peter. You don't mind us being personal do you? After all, we've all fucked your wife. You can't get more personal than that now, can you?"
"And boy is she a good fuck," added the Hell Raiser. "Well, you've just seen for yourself. Gives a good ride does Groovy. You know what I like? Those fat pussy lips of hers. You can really feel them grabbing at your prick, you know?" He turned to his friends and laughed. "No perhaps you don't, it's been so long since you saw them."
The group walked a step nearer, pushing Peter to the rear of the stage, when the Hell Raiser spoke again.
"The thing is, Groovy," he said through his familiar grin, "there's nothing we can do about Grandad here, but you've got a bit of a future. It'd be a great shame to lose you too. So we're going to ask you a few questions and if we like the answers, you're going to be a Driver's mate for some time yet."
It was a matter of self preservation and Susan knew it. If nothing else, being with The Drivers had taught her how to survive. When they asked her if she preferred being fucked by the Drivers to living with Peter she gave them the answer they wanted to hear. She preferred all their cocks to his, loved sucking them off and wanted to be owned by them. And when they asked if she wanted to go with him she said no.
"Then you don't care what happens to him?" Lincoln asked.
"No."
"Couldn't care if he was dead?" put in Colin.
There was a momentary pause as she looked at Peter. He smiled, resigned to his fate. "You can't save me anyway," he said.
She turned to the others and answered them in a small quiet voice: "No."
The four men moved forward in unison and Peter took the only chance he had. Snatching hold of Susan's wrist he flung himself, and her with him, off the stage and into the smoke. A cry of surprise came from the men and they jumped down in search.
Jack saw them first. Peter was leading Susan around the stage and heading back in the direction of Claire and Melanie. Jack called out to the others and they all gave pursuit, shouting and whooping in the excitement of the chase.
Above the incessant din of the music Claire and Melanie heard the shouts and knew something was wrong. Within moments they caught sight of Peter and Susan rushing towards them, screaming for them to run.
The four made it safely behind some pallets where they took a moment to catch their breath. It was a crazy time to have such thoughts, but Peter looked around him at the women and realised he had screwed all three of them. It added further adrenaline to his system and he felt more alive than he had done in years.
In a state of extreme tension and excitement he told the three girls to wait for his return and dashed out into the smoke filled room. Like a naked warrior going in to battle, he felt no fear. A beserker with senses bristling, he did little to hide himself as he made his way around the building in search of a vehicle. He found 'Joes Pick Up,' with Joe still in it, although the girl was missing, probably impaled on the end of someone's prick.
Peter walked across and opened the door.
"Hi!" shouted Joe, by way of a greeting. "Great fucking party -"
His words were cut short by Peter's knuckles crushing the bridge of his nose. The man fell to the floor screaming as Peter drove away to pick up the girls. The truck screeched to a halt at the pallets and all three girls jumped onto the back as the vehicle sped away towards the door.
Several Drivers who had discovered what had happened tried to stop them. Peter made no attempt to avoid any who got in his way, the light from the stroboscope making everyone look like robots as they juddered across the floor to kick and wave at the truck. Those who weren't quick enough he bounced to oblivion with the bumper.
As he approached the door he quickly realised there would be no time to stop and open it. His best bet lay in smashing it off the hinges. Screaming to the girls to hold tight he accelerated, hitting the wood at a fantastic speed and shattering it in a cloud of splinters.
The impact lifted the front of the truck, removing any control over its direction. When it landed and bounced along the rutted road, Hell Raiser, in an old fifties style coach, caught him a glancing blow, sending the pick-up over on its side, spilling the girls upon the ground.
Like mice before the farmhouse cat they scurried to safety and Peter followed suit. Luckily, Hell Raiser had also been shaken and was taking his time getting out of the coach, which had ended up embedded in the garage office. When he did emerge he saw the three girls running towards the fields, their naked bottoms jiggling as they went.
Near one of the petrol pumps Peter spotted a Norton Commando motorcycle. It was a chance of escape, but he was loathe to use it. There was room for two on it and no more. But with the sound of the other Drivers pouring out of the hangar in search of him he had no choice but to take the bike.
There was little fear of theft at such a place and the rider had left the keys in the ignition. Peter leapt onto the saddle, opened the fuel line and kicked over the engine. It fired with an angry roar, attracting immediate attention. The pursuers began bearing down on him, but he had a few seconds to consider his options.
Which girl should he rescue?
It was dawn when Peter was finally able to kill the engine on the Norton. He left the bike on the side stand and the two of them walked the short distance to his gate.
They entered the garden in silence, Peter unable to shift the image of Hell Raiser marching the other two back to their fate.
It had been a long cold drive home, but luckily he had managed to provide some clothing by stealing a light satin petticoat from a clothes line. He had tried to get the dress as well but the woman came out of the house and shouted before he'd had a chance to get the pegs off.
They were half way down the path when the detective inspector stepped out from the bushes, flanked by two uniformed officers.
"Hello Peter," he said, in his usual smug voice. "I take it this is Mrs Warburton."
Peter let out an exhausted sigh.
"You know it isn't," he answered impatiently. "What do you want?"
"I am arresting you, Peter Warburton, in connection with the disappearance of your wife, Susan Warburton, and your sister-in-law, Claire Harris." He motioned for the officers to handcuff the pair then left to search Peter's house.
As he reached the door he turned and looked the half naked pair up and down.
"Nice gear," he said to Peter. "Like the nipple pins."