The clip of the letter box brought Pete Warburton out from the kitchen where he had been trying to eat a bowl of cereal. It rested uneasily in his stomach like every bit of food he had tried to eat since Susan had gone. No matter what the evidence pointed to, or what the police said, he would never believe she had run off with another man. Not Susan, not his Susan. If she was bold enough to be seen with him in the service station, she would be seen again. The police reckoned she did that as a signal to him, to prove she had left, but Peter knew someone, somewhere must have seen her since.
He carried the letters back through to the kitchen then began flicking them nonchalantly at the bin. A thinly disguised offer for a timeshare was followed by a chance in the Readers Digest draw before Peter stopped what he was doing. Next in his hand was the telephone bill for Susan's mobile. It took him some moments to open it and lay it flat on the breakfast table. With a trembling finger he followed the list of calls coming to his own mobile number on the night she had last called home.
It wasn't the last number!
Two days later she had made another call. Peter studied the figures, running the sequence around in his head until they looked almost familiar. He went out to the phone in the hall and brought back the private directory then began scanning its pages. By the time he came to the letter H he had already worked it out.
Susan's sister's married name was Harris.
He turned the page to see the same numbers that were on the bill. Two days after she had gone missing Susan had telephoned her sister!
There was a definite look of resignation about Claire when she opened the door. Peter followed her into the lounge and sat on the edge of the sofa, the telephone bill dangling from his hand.
"I wondered why you never seemed so bothered about Susan's disappearance." He pointed the letter accusingly at her. "I thought you were trying to be brave, or refusing to believe she had gone, but now I know. How could you not tell me?"
Claire did not answer – she went out to the kitchen to make some tea, just as she had been doing that night when Susan rang. It had been almost midnight, and she'd decided to make a cup to take up to bed. With all the worry over her sister she wasn't going to sleep anyway. The phone had rung just as she was pouring the tea, making her jump so much half of it had gone over the worktop.
"Hello," she had said, then almost dropped the phone at the sound of her sister.
"Claire," Susan had said, "Claire, it's me. Susan." Her voice had sounded strange, almost muffled. "I'm alright. I'm fine." Her voice fractured at the end, as if she'd been running. "How are you?"
It seemed ridiculous now, but she had simply answered as if Susan was making her usual weekly call.
"What are you doing?" she had finally asked. "We've been a bit worried."
On the moors above Dumfries a black Volvo ten wheeled rig sat brooding in a desolate lay-by. While the wind whistled across the cab its driver was warm and naked inside, preparing for the night ahead. A long night in which he would mount Susan Warburton for the first time since picking her up two days ago. He had spent the time getting to know her, letting her get to know him. Teaching her how he liked her mouth, wet and hot around the very tip of his cock, how not a drop was to leave between those pretty red lips, but slip like an oyster along her throat.
His self denial would make the occasion that extra bit special. She was as shy as her boring blue knickers had suggested, quiet and lady like in her cotton pantied cladding. He had changed all that, had her take them off to fly them from his CB aerial. It had taken a few smart slaps across her milky white arse but she dropped them eventually. Even tied them up there herself while her skirt blew in the wind, flashing her gash at the Drivers in the service park.
If they'd been a bit closer they would have seen her bottom wasn't so white after all. It was red and warm and desperate not to feel his stinging hand again. If he'd told her to take off her skirt and wave it around her head she would have done that too. Back in the cab he had put her in the passenger footwell so she could suck him off in comfort.
She was down there when his friend Cliff had come across to scrounge some WD40. Susan heard his voice and considered calling out, but a stern look from him as he opened the glove compartment was warning enough.
Despite the pleasure she had given him, he had his doubts about how long he could keep her. He didn't realise she was married until he saw the ring, and by then it was too late. He would have to pass her over quickly but the last meeting had just gone and it would be a month before the next. She was not just another faceless missing person but a wife, and with a body like hers the husband would want her back.
It seemed a tricky problem until she mentioned money, saying how her husband was well off and could pay, saying how at his age he had put a lot aside for a rainy day. Nice and safe he sounded, like blue knickers on a Jehovahs's witness. Christ! she ought to be grateful he had saved her from a life of mundane security. Still, the husband being that age gave him an idea, one that would hopefully stop anyone from looking for her.
Susan knew tonight was going to be the night. The atmosphere was charged with expectancy, like the air before a great thunderstorm. Strange really, she thought. How easy it is to get used to one's situation, accustomed and resigned to your fate no matter how unreal it would have seemed just a few days earlier.
It had become almost routine to be rudely inspected by his fingers, or to have his manhood slotted firmly between her lips before she was secured in the recess below his bunk. Tonight she sensed the pattern had changed. Taking her from the cab for a pee he watched her squat near the wheel, but instead of pushing his prick in her mouth as was usual he glanced around nervously. She'd hardly finished before he pulled her to her feet and shoved her back into the cab.
"You can get out of that kit," he ordered her. "Then kneel up on the bunk."
Susan did as he said without the slightest hesitation. The last time she had shown any defiance he had tied her wrists to the wing mirrors of the cab and secured her legs to the edge of the bumper. Then he fetched a wide canvas hauliers belt from the wagon, flicked her skirt above her head and strapped her bottom. By the time he had finished, red welts had risen on her skin to match the colour of his angry cock.
She had to do something to please him, to stop him bringing the belt down on her burning flesh once more. Finally she begged him to fuck her, pleaded with him to mount her and run his meat up inside her body. He released his belt then untied hers. Immediately she dropped to her knees and took his prick gratefully into her mouth.
"Not yet," he told her. "Not just yet."
With tender hands he guided her up and down his shaft, out to the tip then back until his hair brushed her nose. Fearful of the strap, Susan licked and slavered along his length and prayed that her mouth would not dry up, prayed too that an end would soon come to this nightmare, then prayed again for a return into the arms of Peter.
Her husband was a kind, considerate man. He had never forced her to fellate him, never made her bend in the lewd ways she had been bent these last few days. How could she face him now, after what she had done, after what had been done to her? Perhaps it was better Peter never found her…
A smart tug of her hair reminded her of present duties and the slap of white lubricant in her throat told of duties to come. When he was satisfied she had taken the lot he led her back to the wagon and to her place below the bunk.
He felt tired after strapping her so firmly and needed some sleep before a long night on the road. He had waited long enough to pierce her slit and tomorrow would be the day. It had been hard enough to stop himself so far, but like Annie said, 'the sun will come out tomorrow, so we better hang on'. With the little girl's words fading in his head he drifted pleasantly off to sleep.
Below him in the inky blackness of her confinement Susan drifted off too. At first the thought of being shut off completely had terrified her but she had grown used to the darkness and the comfort solitude could bring.
Up on the bunk Susan sat with her buttocks resting on the back of her ankles. Her knees were bent and slightly parted in order for him to see her prominent labia, which protruded like a Negro's kiss beneath her. Her sex was all the more visible because of the sparse growth of blonde pubic hair which totally failed to hide her feminine crease.
Behind her head she clasped her hands as he'd instructed, pushing out her breasts like a teenager desperate to prove she needs her first bra. The Driver pushed his foot below her bottom, positioning his toe between her lips where he wiggled it back and fore.
"I bet your old man has fun with these," he said. "Does he like to chew on them? Like to pull them open and get his tongue right up there?"
Susan shook her head. "No. He doesn't do those sort of things to me." She thought for a moment then plucked up enough courage to add, "and he doesn't make me do those dirty sort of things to him either."
The Driver jumped up and forced her head down onto the bunk until her rear was pushed high in the air and her anus was left wide by her parted cheeks. He licked his finger and spoke through a grin
"So he doesn't do this then?" He pushed his finger firmly up her arsehole. Susan grimaced into the mattress, disgusted by the probing of the fat finger but too scared to move until he had finished his puerile joke. He reamed her for quite some time before adding to her fears by saying he was going to use his cock in the same way, his words producing a notable tightening of her sphincter that amused him.
"Back on your heels," he ordered, removing his finger and giving her bottom a resounding smack. "I like my women shit side down, at least to begin with."
Susan resumed her earlier position while the Driver continued to play and taunt her. It had become obvious to him that she was a girl of limited experience whose naivete had won the heart of an older man. It was an innocence she was rapidly losing and it was excellent fun to be the one responsible.
"Good in bed is he?" he asked.
"Who?"
The Driver stabbed a cautionary toe into her vagina as a reminder of her place.
"Your old man." He emphasised the term old. "Good fuck is he? Or does he need a splint to keep it hard?"
Despite her position Susan accepted the challenge and chose to defend her husband's honour.
"Peter's fine," she informed him.
"Fine!" He exploded into laughter, lurched forward and grabbed a tit in each hand. "Listen," he snarled, "if you've no complaints you should have said, hey! he's fucking great. Fine! Fine my arse. You've been gagging for this, haven't you? Desperate for a proper man to put you on your back."
He released her breasts and fell back against the cab wall to regain his composure, then, relaxed once more, he resumed his probing, both with toe and question.
"Do you drink his spunk?"
She turned away.
"Or does he like to trim that quim?"
He saw a tiny knowing spasm quiver the length of her body.
It was just the once and they had both been drunk. She'd let him do it when he asked, but oh, the embarrassment when they'd gone to the local swimming pool and the other women looked and pointed. The Driver saw her shiver and lovingly caressed her womanly folds.
"So you like a shave," he grinned, rubbing his fingers through her sparse pubic cover. "Hardly seems worth it for a few golden strands. Or does the old man like them young?" He relished the slight tremble generated by his words and his touch. "That's it," he added. "Loves a bit of jail bait don't he? Loves the girlies in the back of his car, ironed skirts and cotton panties?"
Susan squirmed at the memories of Peter and the huge Granada he used to pick her up in. How every Tuesday and Friday he would take her out to a pub in the country and they would have their drinks in the car in case she was spotted in her school uniform. On the way back they always stopped in the same place before climbing in the back, where he used to slip his cock up the leg of her knickers to fuck her, still fully dressed. He liked undoing her blouse so that her little titties would wiggle in her white teenage bra, then he'd pull out his cock and spurt his cum over her panties.
The number of times her mother had asked her what those stains were on her knickers, and she'd had to say she had tipped over the mixing bowl in home economics or something. Her mother would look with a wry smile and tell her to be more careful.
"You don't want any accidents," she would say. "Not at your age. You should always have some protection." It was a clever game in which both knew the rules. She was in a new game now though, and the Driver made all the rules. Reaching below him he pulled out her mobile telephone then told her to get on her back. Once there he knelt between her thighs to part her legs, putting one foot over the seat and the other on the ledge behind the bunk. She was now well and truly spread before him, although apart from a few fumblings down below he made no attempt to mount her.
"Here," he said, holding out the phone. "You're going to make a little call. You're going to telephone your sister and tell her you've met someone else. Tell her you've gone off with a lover because he gives you what you need in bed. Tell her what a great fuck I am." He pulled a few strokes on his angry cock while Susan slowly tapped out the numbers.
In a way she was almost glad it had come to this. At last he would fuck her and she would just have to get used to it. If he ever let her go no-one was going to believe her story and everyone would know she had spent her time being screwed up and down every motorway in the country.
She would simply be another runaway wife. God knows there were plenty of them.
Three rings and then the click.
"Hello?"
"Claire?"
The Driver pushed home his cock, penetrating, in and up, filling her completely.
"Claire, it's me. Susan."
His cock pulled back to the glans to be encased by fat lips that clenched against its every movement until, with a powerful thrust, he drove it back up her.
"I'm alright," she gasped. "I'm fine."
The sudden jab of his prick forced the breath from her body as he took up a slow rhythmic thrust and continued to fuck her, all the time watching and ensuring she gave the right message.
"What are you doing?" Claire asked. "We've been a bit worried."
Susan's grip tightened on the phone as she felt the uncomfortable rise of desire within her.
What was happening? How could this be? But there was no doubt, his cock was moving swiftly now, in and out, along her slick passage, its path aided by the slippery gel she was producing. Arousal was as undeniable as her erect nipples standing in attention as best they could on top of breasts that shook each time his thighs crushed hers.
"Listen… Claire."
The intensity grew with each lunge of his dick.
"I've… I've met someone else."
Her sister let out a knowing grunt.
"Thought as much. What's his name?"
"Can't say. But he's… OH!… he's young… OH!"
"What's the matter?" Claire asked. "Why are you panting?"
Before her sister had time to answer the penny dropped.
"You dirty bitch," she added. "Your in bed with him, aren't you?
"Uh huh."
"Are you doing it?"
Susan looked up to the Driver, his face contorted with the effort and the pleasure.
"Uh huh. Right this… OH!…"
The phone went dead as the Driver's spunk splattered inside her, adding itself to the flood already soaking her sheath. Her own spasms of delight came and finally ebbed with each jerk of his cock until he lay exhausted on top of her, squashing her breasts beneath him. He remained that way until his flaccid dick slipped rudely out of its hideaway between the hot wet flaps of her entrance, then he secured her firmly and returned her to her place beneath his bunk.
Claire couldn't help but smile at the memory. How she had replaced the receiver and let out a yelp of happiness at hearing her sister's voice. She remembered, too, the rude thoughts that had rushed through her mind at her once shy and quiet sister phoning in the middle of having sex with a lover. What a change had come over her in the two days since she had vanished!
"Good for her," she said, repeating her thoughts from the first time. "Bloody good for her."
"Good for who?"
Peter entered the kitchen glassy eyed and still anxious for some answers.
"Are you going to tell me?" he pleaded. "Or do I have to get down and beg?"
Claire handed him a mug of tea before picking up her own.
"I don't know where she is. Honestly." Then she added the lie, "if I did know, I'd tell you." Since she had first seen Peter dropping Susan back at school she'd disliked him. An old man like him getting his kicks with a schoolgirl. It was disgusting.
And Susan was so gullible, always had been. Thank God she had finally come to her senses and ran off with someone younger, someone who would give her what she needed.
Peter stepped a little nearer and Claire could see he was beginning to shake.
"Just tell me then. Tell me what she said."
"Go home Peter," was the best she could manage. "If Susan wanted you to know she'd have rung."
Suddenly his attitude changed. Stepping up to her face he shouted.
"You've done this, you bitch! You've driven her away with your constant talk about age and how she'll still be young after I'm old. You're so satisfied with yourself!"
Claire stepped back out of harms way before firing back her reply.
"Go on, blame everybody else. It's never your fucking fault. Well, I've got news for you. You must have been doing something wrong because she's buggered off with a younger bloke".
The words stung him, reducing his eyes to a running mess of tears.
"Oh yes," he cried. "Oh yes, you'd love to believe that. Love to tell them all that."
"I've told them. Told the police. Why do you think they've not been looking for her even when you keep harassing them, hey, why?"
He stopped his ranting and tried to compose himself.
"I don't believe it! Not Susan!"
"She phoned me from his house. Told me they were lovers."
Peter shook his head wildly, shouting,
"No! no! you're making it up!"
"If you really want to know, they were in bed when she phoned. For Christ sake Peter they were doing it on the phone. At it, you know? Fucking, OK? If that don't make them lovers what does?"