Chapter 5

When the arrangements for the camping site were definite it only remained to be decided who was to take the Youth Club camping. Naturally Mr.. Huxtable pressed for Jean to be in charge, emphasizing her experience in the Guides as an obvious recommendation. Nobody realized the cunning Treasurer was trying to manipulate things to his own lascivious ends. Jean expected Jacqueline Summers to be asked since she was unencumbered by a husband, but the Committee (to Huxtable's dismay) suggested that Martin might like to accompany Jean and share the responsibility of the boy campers. Jean certainly wanted to take them, she had been enchanted by the delightful riverside spot in Bedfordshire, but she approached Martin a little nervously, wondering how he would feel about it.

Martin declined. Tracy was to be amongst the campers and he wanted no contact with her, or any of the others. Jean was relieved at his decision. Since their brief sexual experience of a few months ago she knew how deep were his feelings towards schoolgirls and she kept a wary eye open for importunate teenagers and, of course, she took especial care always to know where Tracey was on Club nights. But he encouraged Jean to go alone, assuring her he would take his own holiday at the same time so he would not be left alone in the house. When he had convinced her he did not mind going on holiday by himself she told the Committee she would be willing to take the campers and would like Jacky and Fred Crant, the boys' Leader, as assitants.

And so it was arranged. Martin was delighted. Unexpectedly, things were turning out rather well. He was aware of the attraction Jean felt towards Jacky and he hoped some kind of a relationship might develop between them while they shared a tent together. Also he would have complete freedom for two weeks.

He brooded on the matter for several days and in the end decided he would ask Anna to come away on holiday with him. He was well aware what he was asking of her. She was after all, a prostitute, who depended on her clients for a living and it might endanger her position to go off with one of them. Nevertheless Martin had a feeling there was more between them than just client and customer and he thought a holiday together might clinch matters. He was so enamored of his colored mistress that he wanted her all to himself. Tentatively he asked her; she was delighted.

"What a wonderful idea, how kind you are, my dear. When will it be though? I have to go to Paris during the last two weeks in July to see my mother. I go every year."

"That's fine Anna. My holiday is the first two weeks in August. It'll fit in perfectly. In fact . . . tell you what . . . I could come over and meet you in Paris and we could take a holiday in southern France somewhere."

The enthusiasm with which Anna agreed told

Martin more than she realized. She was prepared to leave her clients for a whole month to be with Martin! When they made love later, naked, in her bedroom, his mind was not entirely on the matter in hand. He was planning and scheming in a most Machiavellian way. This holiday was going to be the turning point. If Jean did not work something out with Jacky then he would arrange for a divorce. He no longer felt resentful of his empty marriage and would allow himself to be the guilty partner. He was positive Jean would not stand in his way. Everything was going to work out for the best he was sure of it.

But there was one obstacle to be surmounted which he had left out of his calculations. As the time approached for Anna to go to Paris he began to fret. He had not realized how dependent he had become. For some time now he had been visiting her more than the twice a month he had first arranged. She had contrived to invite him tactfully so he did not need to pay and now he was seeing her nearly every day, even if only for half an hour. Two whole weeks without her! It was almost unthinkable.

He began to miss her on the second day and his secretary at the office, Miss Greenlees, soon knew her boss was depressed and miserable. She feared he was returning to his old taciturn self which at one time she had assumed to be his normal mood, until the transformation recently. By Thursday the feeling of being utterly cut off was almost terrifying and that night he woke up sweating and horror-struck. Once more he had dreamed that old dream . . . he had just humped a schoolgirl! There was spunk all over the inside of his pajama trousers. It had been splendid in his dream, but he hated himself and lay trembling and desolate, knowing he could not run to Anna for consolation and forgetfulness.

The next day seemed like every other day, but before he had lived through it he would know it was exceptional. Miss Greenlees found him a little more difficult to deal with, but the routine marched along as usual and found him in the bus queue outside his suburban station, waiting for the single-decker which set him down at the corner of his road. He did this daily and had long since forgotten the significance of Friday.

But there was somebody else who had certainly not forgotten.

Suddenly he was confronted by Tracy!

At first he did not recognize her; he had become so accustomed to the flamboyant clothes she wore in the evening that the schoolgirl in a navy blue tunic and blazer with a red beret perched on top of her head was a stranger, and it was astonishing to be greeted as a friend.

"Hello, Mr.. Buller, I knew I'd meet you one Friday," she smiled up at him.

"Good gracious Tracy! I didn't recognize you," he said lamely, "are you waiting for the bus?"

"No," she said, "not yet. I've got to go and get my diary. I dropped it on the common during the dinner hour and I must find it before I go home."

"Your diary?" he said vaguely, looking in the direction where the bus should emerge and wishing it would come soon. This was the first time he had spoken to her alone since the episode in his sitting room and he was anxious to escape.

"Yes, I must find it. I've written all sorts of intimate things in it. Do you keep a diary, Mr.. Buller?"

"Er no."

"I've always kept a diary. I tell it everything I think about. There's something about you in this one . . . "

He was immediately attentive.

"Oh really?" he said, trying not to look too interested.

"Yes, I've written quite a lot about you. Of course I don't write what actually happens all the time . . . sometimes I make it up you know I put what I'd like to happen," her voice was heavy with insinuation.

He looked at her, horror-struck at the implication. If she had written something fanciful and someone should find it! He had visions of an enraged father . . . the police . . . God know what! You're a fool, he said firmly to himself. It's only your guilty conscious working why should you be afraid of a child's imagination? But he was afraid, very much afraid.

"Do you know where you left it?" he asked, remembering her little trick with the bag and wondering if this was a more subtle version of the same thing.

"No," she said, "I was playing with some friends and we suddenly heard the school bell and started running. I don't know where it jumped out of my pocket."

Two people came and stood behind him at the bus stop. He glanced at them uneasily, but they were deep in conversation.

Tracy, who had concocted this story after weeks of longing for her romantic Mr.. Buller, could see she had him interested. Despite her cunning she had not understood the implications as he saw them. To her it was perfectly natural for anybody to be extremely curious about anything written about them, having discovered this human egotism amongst her school friends. The innocence of her real intentions lent weight to her actions and Martin was convinced of his danger.

"I wonder if you'd help me find it?" she asked pleadingly, "It's getting very dark and I'm not used to the Common at night."

He merely nodded. With a feeling of helplessness at some inexorable fate. Martin followed her across the road. He watched the slim legs encased in the unaccustomed black stockings and lace-up shoes, the flirt of the box pleats of her tunic protruding under her blazer, and the long fair hair now decorously tied back with a red ribbon to match her beret. The old feeling of longing began to stir in him. She was charmingly young and innocent-looking in her uniform and the fact that he had known her dressed in a different manner added to her present appeal. But she was also a siren, a female lure, against whose wiles he must pit his wits and his fast-disappearing discretion.

As he followed her along the dusky street he was a man sorely divided. He had a premonition of danger and he felt he was walking into a trap. It was a honey trap, a tender trap, but it was also a poison berry trap.

Nevertheless he walked along while she chattered charmingly, holding onto his arm now and again, or jumping up and down, or running ahead. She was deliberately behaving like a schoolgirl several years younger and she watched his helpless fascination with typical female triumph. After all this time she had 'got her man', and they were on their way to an assignation in the dark secret places of the Common.

They turned down a path and then another and another until Martin, who hardly knew the Common, was hopelessly lost. Suddenly she caught her foot in a rut on the path and fell headlong into the grass. Like a man in a dream he knelt to pick her up, knowing this was the moment he could not avoid. She lay sideways looking up at him. Slowly he bent down and then her outstretched arms clung round his neck. Her beautiful eyes, no longer encrusted with makeup, were staring wonderingly up at him, inviting, a little fearful but not bold. Her face came nearer and nearer in the failing light. He could see her white blouse and tie and the red beret which had fallen on the grass beside her head.

Now his lips were on her trembling youthful lips, so unlike the demanding knowledgeable lips of Anna. She smelt of Lifebuoy soap and clean hair and that inexplicable odor of innocence. He tried to back away but her arms tightened around his neck and her moist pouting lips clung to his. He was caught and yet he still struggled against the inevitable, his strength draining from his as his senses quickened.

He dragged his head away: "Tracy . . . Tracy, my dear . . . you mustn't."

"Oh please . . . kiss me again . . . I've wanted you to kiss me for so long . . . "

"You don't realize what you're asking."

"I only want you to kiss me . . please . . . "

"No, Tracy, you must let me go. This is all wrong and you know it."

"But I love you don't you understand? I love you!"

Hopelessly entangled in her youthful emotions, he didn't know what to do. The girl was pleading with him desperately and he became aware that she was trembling; Up until now she had merely been a temptation to him, a provocative schoolgirl-figure, the reflection of his fantasy, but now she emerged into a living person who wanted him and was apparently passionately in love with him. It was in his nature to respond to love much more than to a purely sexual appeal. This had always been one of the reasons for his disgust at his desire for teenagers; he knew it was only a selfish gratification. But Tracy was breaking down this last scruple by her passionate appeal to the romantic side of him.

He kissed her tenderly and once more she wound her slim arms around his neck and put every ounce of feeling she could into the kiss. He was almost lost as he felt his resistance collapsing as the dam of his repressed sexual desire burst almost like a thunderclap about his ears.

"Oh Tracy . . . Tracy . . . my dear . . . my sweetest little one . . . " he whispered in a delirium of delight as he pressed himself against her on the grass. They had rolled over sideways into some bushes and were concealed from the path.

Tracy, who had not really allowed her imagination to go beyond a few stolen kisses, was transported by the passion of his response. Although she was a virgin she was not a poor innocent and she realized her temptation of an adult married man had gone further than she intended. But she was so in love and carried away that she was prepared to do anything if only he would kiss her.

She felt his tongue pushing insistently against her teeth and forcing open her jaws to enter her mouth. It was a strange thrill to have someone else's tongue touching your own and thrusting uninvited into your mouth. It had never occurred to her that this was something people did to each other. She had been kissed many times but never this way. She was entering an adult world of sex for the first time how much more would she learn, she wondered, and would he be kind and romantic or would it be horribly cheap and nasty?

And at such ecstatic moments who can say what's in a man's mind? Afterwards he may remember a host of things he thought and be amazed they all seemed to be there simultaneously. The human brain is still more complicated than any computer yet invented. There were at least three parallel lines of thought in Martin's mind as he lay kissing Tracy. Those were the conscious ones; the others were so numerous he was only half aware of them, they involved the sensations of his hands, his lips, his body, his eyes, each one separate and leading to ultimate pleasure.

The thought uppermost was the desire to possess Tracy, to fuck her here and now, to succumb absolutely to the raging desire beating in his heart and throbbing through his body to the rigid penis urgently raging against the confinement of his trousers. His second thought was he most certainly must not do it! His third was one of tenderness for the girl herself. She was only a child, yet she had said she loved him to take her would be to consummate her love and to run and leave her would be cruel. How can a man, trembling and half persuaded by his desire, think logically or sensibly? Her large pleading eyes were asking for more than she knew and offered something she was hardly aware of possessing.

He could feel her trembling and held her tightly against his body, kissing her eye and cheeks and the slim white neck, brushing wisps of hair from her eyes and murmuring sweet comforting nothings and endearments. She called him by his first name and spoke it so lovingly he knew she had uttered it in her secret thoughts many times. He remembered what calf love was like how painful it was how sweet and intense. A memory of his own youth checked the urgent selfish lust bubbling inside him. The difference between a man and a beast, he told himself, is the thinking, bending reed of the mind, that flexible persuasive force of conscience and reason. This child would soon be making experiments, whether he made love to her or not. Better something beautiful and loving than a lewd fumbling in the dark by some ignorant schoolboy oaf. But she was adult enough to make her own decisions, even when overwhelmed by unaccustomed sensation. Perhaps it was cowardly to pass the buck, but this was what he made up his mind to do. If she consented he would take her, here on the grass under the bushes. If she refused, then they would get up and leave.

"Darling Tracy," he whispered, kissing the tip of her nose, "I love you too . . . not as much as you love me I think . . . but I want you. Do you understand what I mean? I want to make love to you properly will you let me?"

"Oh Martin!" she turned her head aside and he guessed, although he could not see in the gloom, she was blushing. But she turned back very soon and began kissing him urgently.

He was beginning to reach the extent of his self control. But he was determined to have an answer. She was fourteen and well able to decide such things for herself. He was not going to rape her, not in any sense at all. She was a person, schoolgirl or no schoolgirl, and if she wanted him he was only too willing, but if not . . .

"Tracy darling answer me! My sweet I can't be content with just petting. You've started something, my dear, and you've got to go through with it or stop now."

She hid her face in his neck.

"Do you love me?" she asked.

What a difficult question to answer! Did he? Yes, in a sort of way he did. He was enchanted by her youth and her innocence and her vivacity and her charmingly immature body. He wouldn't hurt her for the world. Nor would he lie to her.

He held her tightly to him and whispered in her ear.

"My dear, I don't love you in quite the same way as you love me. I'm a married man and I'm not going to leave my wife and run off with you or anything like that. You've got all your life in front of you and it would be a bad beginning. The sort of love you feel for me is the same as everyone of us feels at your age . . . be guided by me . . . it isn't the life-time sort of love."

He could feel her head shaking vigorously against his neck.

He pulled his face away and looked down into her eyes.

"You mean you know that?" he asked.

"Yes," she whispered, and he could see her eyes were wet, but she was not crying. "I know it's a hopeless sort of love. I never even thought it would come to this. But Martin, I want something to remember, even if I never see you again."

"Are you sure you won't be sorry or be ashamed afterwards? You realize you could get me into terrible trouble?"

"Oh darling Martin I love you . . . " and she reached up to kiss him.

He drew back: "No Tracy we must get this over first. You must, you just must know what you're doing."

A trembling shy smile came over her face.

"Yes . . . yes . . . I want you to make love to me. Darling, I know the difference between loving and being in love . . . I won't misunderstand when you say it . . . but please say it . . . I want to hear it."

"I love you."

He kissed her passionately, folding his strong arms around her slim body in a bear-like embrace.

Just at that moment they heard someone coming along the path beside them. They froze, although they knew they could not be seen. The person passed, but both had realized their position was dangerous.

He whispered: "Do you know a more private place on the Common, Tracy?"

She nodded: "Not far from here there's a circle of gorse bushes and I found the way inside . . . you'll have to crawl a few yards!" and she giggled obviously amused at the idea of a grown man crawling into a thicket.

Come on then," he said and they rose, somewhat disheveled, from the grass, pushing aside the bushes. She picked up her beret and stuffed it into her pocket. He saw he had dropped his evening paper but left it there, forlorn and crumpled. He followed her through a dark glade. In her navy blue uniform and black stockings she was almost invisible except for her fair hair, which gleamed every now and again as the new moon filtered through the overhanging trees.

His heart was beating fast. Now the decision was made he was like a man with no past and no future. He was suspended in time because he knew afterwards may come the regrets and the remorse, and beforehand lay the experience and the dread; the present was all that mattered he would live it with every fiber of his being, because he knew this would be the consummation which would lay his lust for schoolgirls to rest for the remainder of his life. He did not know why, but he knew it was so.

He saw her fall to her knees, reach up and draw aside a great branch of gorse bush. He took it from her and she crawled out of sight. He found his stronger arm could bend the branch much further and it was not necessary for him to get on his knees. He edged around and let the prickly arm swish back with a crackle behind him.

Tracy was sitting several yards ahead of him, completely surrounded by bushes in a small green-grassed enclosure. He glanced around; nobody could possibly see through the impenetrable mass provided they lay down, and should anybody try to enter by the same way he would hear them.

He took off his jacket and, seeing him she stripped off her blazer, the white suddenly gleaming in the gloom. He sat down beside her and they fell into each others arms, lying back on the thick grass. She pressed herself against him and he felt the soft protuberances of her pert breasts against his chest. His arms enveloped her, protecting and passionate. Her hands kneaded his back, making themselves felt through his thin shirt. She was exploring his muscles, feeling the strength of this man who was just old enough to be her father, but was still youthful and virile. She could feel the bulge in his trousers against her thighs and a delicious thrill for the unknown swept through her body. Tracy had seen a boy's penis, and touched it too, but only briefly and in the giggling dark. This was different; this would be the fully blown male organ and its destination was no mystery.

Their kisses became more passionate. This time she ventured to extend her own tongue into his mouth. It was immediately sucked into its full extent and then pushed back to allow his own to penetrate right to its root. They rolled from side to side in an ecstasy of physical contact. She felt his hand close over her breast through the pleats of her gymslip and a shiver of delight shook her. He tried to get through the armhole of the tunic but his hand was too big. Next thing he was at her waist, untying the girdle and he was up under her gymslip and blouse and had clasped the small breast which was not confined in a brassiere. He discovered it still to be covered by a vest, but soon this was pulled down and at last the delicate mound lay quivering like a small bird in his tender hand.

Tracy, who had done a little hard petting, was more aroused than she had ever been. Her breath came in gasps and she began to whimper with pleasure. He thrilled at the sound of her excitement and pulled the folds of her tunic up under her armpits so that he could see the pearly beauty of her breast. He scooped the other from the confining vest and looked at her lying there, the twin perky little nipples pointing up provocatively, tempting his mouth which closed over one of them. Once more she whimpered in a quivering mew as she felt the sudden suction. Two fingers closed over the other point and squeezed. She squirmed in his arms, her hands clasped around his waist and delving down under his trousers at the pit of his back. He took his mouth away and began to tickle the hard little nipple with the tip of his tongue, running it around the base and up to the tip.

Her hands came out of his trousers and one began to investigate timidly around the front. He released her breast and leant away from her to undo his flies, looking up into her face questioningly. She gazed back at him levelly and pleadingly. If she had wanted to draw back at this moment he would have done so although reluctantly, but she so obviously wanted to go on and, as he fished inside his pants to release his penis, he knew that the Rubicon had been passed.

In a few seconds it was out, rearing up white and rampant against the dark of his trousers. She gazed down at it, wondering and a little shy. He took her hand gently and laid it across the end and her fingers automatically encircled the thick length. His quick indrawn breath made her look up and she smiled sweetly, a feminine knowledge of her power dawning in her youthful eyes. His hand still covered hers and he showed her how to move the foreskin to and fro.

"Gently now . . . " he whispered.

He watched her as she began to move her hand tenderly, looking quickly up again to see if she was doing it right. He smiled and once more bent his head to her breast. They lay quietly for a long while, he sucking and nibbling, his eyes shut and oblivious of anything except the sensation of her hand on his prick and the smell and taste of her breast as his nose quarried in the softness and his mouth caressed the bud of her exquisite fairy hillock.

"Oh Martin . . . " he heard her sigh on a long breath, "Oh Martin . . . oooohhh . . . "

He drew back and once more she was able to see the tremendous weapon she was holding. It almost frightened her, but not quite. On one of the downward motions of her hand she felt his soft balls and, inquisitive, she reached out and cupped them within her other hand and was delighted at his obvious pleasure at her initiative. His hands were fumbling at her waist, his fingers hooked in the elastic of her navy blue panties. He was pulling them down. She had to dig her heels in and lift herself off the grass so they could be taken from her. Now he could see she wore a tiny suspender belt of white nylon; he undid the two front ones with trembling fingers. Her vest was already well up and there, shyly revealed before him, was the plump virgin mound, lightly fuzzed with hair, but maturely curved and womanly. At fourteen she was ready for love, and he guessed ready for motherhood too. He reached over to his jacket and fiddled in the pocket.

She knew what he was searching for and looked away, considerably embarrassed by this evidence of their intention. But curiosity drew her eyes back and she watched, her breast still heaving with her excitement, as the envelope was opened and the tissue rubber sheath fitted over the shaft she relinquished so reluctantly.

He looked up at her face. It was filled with uncertainty. He took her in his arms and kissed her passionately, pressing his cock flat against the bare skin of her belly as they lay side by side. All resistance vanished and she responded by straining against this wonderful evidence of his masculinity which bored into her. When he was sure of her once again he pushed one leg across her nearest thigh and swung himself over onto the knee. Her legs widened instinctively and he brought his other leg over to kneel between her thighs. He lay on top of her taking the weight of his body on his elbows and knees, and once more he pressed his prick into her belly. She wound her arms around his neck and pushed herself up into him. He lowered himself until he felt the tip of his penis nosing its way into the tight little cleft. She quivered and opened her legs even wider. He felt that now he could cease from kissing and touching her breasts, she did not need reassurance any more, the uncertainty was gone she knew what she wanted now.

He knelt back and looked down at her. What a delectable sight she made!! Her tunic was drawn up in navy blue profusion under her armpits and her short white blouse protruded, framing her taut little breasts which strained over the neck of her vest. It was fucked up to her waist to reveal the scantily haired nest between her slim thighs. The lips of her cunt had parted slightly and through them he could see the peeping tip of that strangely developed one-sided inner lip, the name for which he had never found out. He gently inserted his finger between and slid it upwards to touch her clitoris. He felt her jerk as soon as he touched it and smiled up at her in confirmation. But he saw her eyes were tight shut and both clenched hands lay beside her face on the grass. She was waiting . . .

Ah yes . . . she was waiting for the inevitable pain which must be hers before the pleasure started. Well, that was a job he knew how to do smartly and effectively. He nosed his sheath-covered knob into the entrance of her vagina, eased his knees into a better position and leaned forward on one hand.

"Tracy . . . ? " he whispered, "It'll be over in a minute, my darling, I won't hurt you very much . . . " and before she had time to dread it any longer he had thrust himself forward with all his force into the vaginal opening. She was tighter than he had expected, but his prick reared forward, breaking down the maidenly defense with no trouble and coming to rest an inch or so further on.

Tracy let out a loud gasp and a strangled squeal and then lay panting with two tears running down her face. Immediately he closed on her, not pushing in any further, so as to kiss away the tears and once more arouse her passions. She took several minutes before she responded once more.

"Does it still hurt?" he asked.

"It stings a little, but that's all," she whispered back tremulously, "is that thing still on?"

He smiled reassuringly, "Yes my dear everything's alright."

She began to tremble, but not from fear. The tool which now lay motionless just inside her had aroused the sensitive membranes encasing it and the unused muscles came into action of their own accord, grasping and sucking at the intruder, anxious for movement and a resumption of their natural function.

He felt her reaction and a thrill shook his body from head to foot. Yes, he had been right, she was ready for love, this schoolgirl, eager to lose her innocence and take her place as a mature woman. And he was there to end the dream of childhood, to show her the way to sensual oblivion, to the heavenly delights of carnal pleasure.

He began to exert a gentle pressure and slowly, inch by inch, the tight sleeve gave way to his entry. The virgin flesh was young and he could feel the tender convolutions of her vagina through the rubber of the sheath. He had a large penis, a good ten inches and he was quite prepared for only three quarters of it entering her. But she was a well built fourteen year old, nearly as tall as his wife and, he discovered ecstatically, mature enough to take it all. He felt his balls come to rest on the soft cheeks of her butt and then the tip of his prick touched the lip of her womb. He was encased the full length ah at last!

He heaved a sigh of utter contentment and rested for a moment. But her urgent muscles were still working on him. He realized she could not possibly have anything like his own control and, once started, would need to go headlong into orgasm or suffer frustration.

As soon as he started to withdraw he was overtaken by the violence of his own passions and only by a steely control was he able to stop himself from brutally ravaging her with no concern for decency or tenderness. He knew that soon she also would be able to feel abandon in just a few minutes he must wait.

His mouth found hers once more. She was eager and hungry, fully recovered from fear and uncertainty, her immature body trembling violently and her legs wound round his back. He steadied himself on knees and elbows and once more pushed into her, this time much quicker . . . and out again . . . and in . . . and out . . .

He had to take his mouth away from hers because they were both breathing too fast for comfort during their kissing. Her slim arms were clutching him tightly and he felt her take a handful of shirt and vest in each hand.

IN a violent hard thrust.

OUT a quick withdrawal, feeling the reluctant pull of her muscles.

IN a lunge which bounced his balls against her butt deliciously.

OUT oh the gorgeous suction . . .

IN how tight and clinging it was . . .

OUT aaaahhhh!

"Tracy . . . " he gasped, "My darling . . . darling . . . do you like it?"

She replied immediately: "Yes . . . yes . . . yes . . . yes . . . Martin . . . it's . . . "

But apparently she could find no words to express something she had never experienced before.

He was working in and out of the youthful cunt like a piston in its mounting. Now he had got going he knew he could control himself for a while yet. She would need some time to become fully aroused. Besides he did not want to come yet he wanted to prolong this ecstasy as he was able.

She had become used to the rhythm and now when he pushed up into her she responded and their bodies met, coming together with the force of both movements. He found his trousers were getting in the way he wanted to feel their bellies flesh to flesh. He fumbled with the waistband clasp and then hooked down his pants. The hairy base of his belly came into contact with the warm sweet skin of her flat belly with an electric shock of pure unadulterated pleasure, felt by them both. He bored his masculine body into hers, flattening her breasts and enveloping her. But she held her own, all inhibitions gone, and responded with passion and fire. This was no juvenile rape but a thorough going co-operative fuck (whatever those legalistic fools might call it!)

"Tell me when you're going to come . . . " he panted, wondering if she would know what he meant.

"Not yet . . . not yet . . . oh Martin don't stop . . . it's wonderful!"

He hoped to God he'd be able to last out and decelerated a little, feeling the lust rumbling in his body.

"Fuck me Tracy!" he experimented, wondering if the word would be a spur or an unpleasant shock to this excited schoolgirl.

"OH YES! Fuck me Martin . . . fuck me!" So she knew and she liked it! The darling little hussy!

But it did the trick she began to shudder; went rigid . . .

"NOW! Martin quick NOW!" He let go . . .

Oh the exquisite pleasure of spunk rushing down . . . the uncontrollable jerks the body gives . . . once . . . twice . . . three times . . . and again . . . he couldn't stop jerking and ejecting, jerking and ejecting . . .

He shut his eyes and entered into a weird kaleidoscopic heaven, Tracy, his own body, the grass and trees whirled around his dizzy head and his body had no weight, no gravity . . . and yet he was all organ . . . one big prick inside an enormous cunt . . . there was no other part of him or her but these two enchanted organs, existing in perfect unison . . . suspended for ever in his fantasy . . . his dream . . .

But the dream had been true this time. He had taken Tracy. He had humped a schoolgirl once more. And he didn't care! He felt no remorse whatsoever. No guilt. Just a weary satisfaction

. . . a gorgeous release . . . complete relaxation.

He lay on the grass gazing up at the still trees and the early evening stars. Happy content satiated.

He turned his head. Tracy lay, her breast heaving, her schoolgirl clothes dishevelled, her black stockinged legs still wide apart and her eyes shut.

He did not rouse her. Silently he reached for his cigarettes and as he took one from the packet a slim trembling hand reached out and he passed her one too. They lay smoking, on their sides, looking into each other's eyes.

"Well, my dear?" he found he felt shy with her, like a young boy.

She smiled tremulously, but did not answer.

He propped himself up on one elbow.

"And how does my little schoolgirl feel now she's no longer a virgin?"

"I'm all trembling inside . . . I don't know yet."

"Do you still love me?" He found he wanted her to still be in love with him, to gaze adoringly up as she had before.

"Yes, of course . . . I'll always love you Martin, always and always and always," She paused, "But I'm sad it's over; that's all there's going to be, isn't it?"

"Yes Tracy. As you said it's hopeless. If we went on from here we would be unbearably unhappy and you'd be even more hurt than saying goodbye now."

She was silent. He had a terrible qualm that she was going to protest, to insist on an intrigue. But she was more mature than he had realized.

She sighed.

"It was wonderful Martin. I'll always remember I once read a book belonging to my father and the girl in it said her whole life had been ruined because the first time she made love it was disgusting and awful. I was always frightened it would happen to me. Well it hasn't. And do you know what, Martin? I'm not going to do it again until I fall in love and get married!"

"I wish you luck, Tracy," he said sadly, hoping it would happen to her like that. But the world's a cruel place, he thought. I've given her a taste of forbidden delights who knows what will happen to her now? What temptations might make her a promiscuous slut? But he put this firmly out of his mind. He was not going to feel guilty. It had been too marvelous to be wrong.

He turned his back to Tracy and rolled off the slimy French Letter into his handkerchief, then he folded the handkerchief up and pushed it amongst the tall grass to one side. The evidence of their love would molder on the Common and disintegrate into the fruitful earth, a fitting burial ground.

"We'd better be going," he said, smacking her bottom as she rolled over, "Put your panties on, you bad girl!"

She giggled and stood up to put on her panties, struggling with the fabric as it clung to her thick stockings.

"I'm glad we didn't find my diary," she said.

"You little devil it didn't exist, did it?"

"No!"

They laughed and she sat down again for a last kiss before they left.

Mr.. Huxtable always walked across the Common at this particular time. It served a twofold purpose. Firstly it was a genuine short cut from his local office in the High Street to his Common-side home, and secondly it was an opportunity for various forms of voyeurism both winter and summer. The school playing fields being nearby, he often encountered schoolgirls of his acquaintance, playing amongst the bushes and had often enjoyed the pleasure of seeing a naked juvenile fanny whose owner was under the impression she was relieving herself in privacy.

He rarely kept to the paths but walked silent and soft-footed through the grass and glades he knew so well. It was not a coincidence therefore that he happened to be passing when he caught sight of Tracy standing up amongst the bushes and struggling to put on her panties whilst she spoke to someone still lying on the grass.

He paused behind a tree. The fair hair was unmistakable and so was the familiar tinkling laugh which he soon recognized. But her companion he could not see, nor did he think it prudent to go nearer. Thirty years of experience in the game of stalking teenagers had taught him the value of a little gentle blackmail. He was not interested in who the lucky recipient of Tracy's attentions might be, he was only interested in the use to which he might put his discovery. What he had seen confirmed her promiscuity, of which he had already been convinced. He waited a few minutes but Tracy had sat down again so he walked on, meditating on his fortunate discovery. He had no immediate plans, but soon, when the opportunity arose, he would exercise his masculine rights over the naughty little girl.

He chuckled with pleasure. Everything came to those who waited patiently even Mrs. Jean

Buller would one day drop into his hand like a soft ripe peach, of that he was certain.

When Martin returned from the Common he was grateful to discover Jean was at the Club and so did not know he was late back. She had left a cold meal for him in the dining room and he ate it heartily, opening a bottle of wine to make it more interesting. He sat in the empty sitting room afterwards and tried to collect his thoughts. The warm glow of satisfaction within him was certainly not caused by the wine. In some strange way the episode with Tracy had resolved something. Although he had enjoyed making love to Tracy and what man wouldn't have relished her youthful innocence and enthusiasm he had somehow got rid of his burning desire to possess schoolgirls. The sophistication and technique of Anna far surpassed any of the juvenile charms which Tracy had to offer. As he sipped his wine he knew he would never be troubled with those dreams again, or with that constant itch which had bothered him for so many years. Nor was he filled with any sense of guilt about what he had just done. Tracy had enjoyed it, so had he, and although she may be sad for a little while he convinced himself that the resilience of youth would heal the wound. His relationship with Anna was no longer an insurance against disaster. He could face the loneliness of the coming week without a sense of dread. He was a free man at last.

When Tracy returned home she was flushed and disheveled. Her mother took one look at her and decided she was sickening for a cold.

She was dosed and put to bed with a hot-water bottle and generally cosseted until she thought she would scream. Finally they left her alone and she lay quietly crying, the tears trickling down her cheeks and wetting her pillow. She was not desperately unhappy, only bewildered. Her experience had been too unexpected to cope with properly. The long months of being ignored by Martin had ended so ecstatically she was hardly able to understand it. She had tried to be so grown up in her attitude towards their brief love affaire, knowing it meant less to Martin than to her, but knowing also that something was better than nothing.

It was all very tragic and romantic and already she was able to enjoy the drama of it. Many years later she could be objective also, and admit that the diary had been a last despairing effort before writing Martin off. The ruse had come off in a manner she had not anticipated. She did not regret it, but she was filled with a terrible longing in her limbs and her heart which lasted for a whole week after she lost her virginity so willingly on the Common. Several times she revisited the spot in an orgy of schoolgirl sentimentality, the last time being the day before she was to go to camp.

It was pouring with rain but she stood there in a sort of masochistic dream, reveling in the guilty exciting secret, the memory of which was already receding in a golden haze as though it had been a particularly vivid dream. When she found her way to the main road again a car stopped beside her and she heard her name called. She bent down to see who it was. Mr.. Huxtable's lean face stared at her through the rain-streaked window. He opened the door.

"Better jump in Tracy, I'm visiting a house in your road and I'll give you a lift."

She didn't like old Huxtable, but she was already late for tea and wet through, and after all he was a most respectable pillar of the neighborhood and there was no reason why she shouldn't accept a lift from him. So she climbed in the car.

Mr.. Huxtable welcomed this unexpected opportunity to exert pressure on Tracy. She had not been at the club all week, a most unusual thing, and he had been very disappointed at not having a word with her before she went to camp.

He started off by offering her chocolates which he always kept in the car for the delectation of any prospective victim. After a few minutes he put his hand on her knee. The pouring rain obscured the windows and he felt quite safe from prying eyes. She moved her leg away and his hand dropped off, but he replaced it. She edged towards the door, more annoyed than anything. She was used to his bottom pinching at the Club and just looked on him as a harmless old bore. Now he was being an embarrassing old bore.

She began to talk in an effort to distract him. but the hand continued to squeeze her knee. When it began to push up her thigh she became indignant: "Mr.. Huxtable! Please don't do that, it's not nice," she said primly.

"Don't be silly, my dear," he said, grinning slyly, "You don't have to pretend to me you don't like it I know different."

"But I don't like it," she protested, "And I don't see why you should think I do."

"Oh, don't you?" he said nastily, turning the car round a corner so vigorously she was thrown against him and his hand automatically went further up her leg. She tried to cringe back against the door but he grasped her leg with his old sinewy hand and she could not move away.

"I know more about you than you realize," he said teasingly looking at her sideways, "You're a naughty little girl. But, you see I. like naughty little girls."

"I don't know what you mean," she answered blushing and beginning to feel frightened.

"Don't play the prude with me, my lady, I know what sort of things you get up to on the Common!"

He was not expecting the horrified reaction he received, but even so he merely thought she was playing hard to bet, a game which he usually thoroughly enjoyed, understanding all the ins and outs of schoolgirl wiles.

She was trembling now and managed to ask in a strangled voice: "You saw me on the Common when?"

"Last Friday night. Now then, are you going to be friendly to me my dear. You'll find it worth your while, you know."

This crude approach was not like Mr. Huxtable's usual tactics, but today he was suffering from indigestion and feeling a little too impatient for games. He was almost at the corner of her road and he needed to make his intention clear in a very short time.

"What do you mean?"

"Now don't be difficult, Tracy. You be nice to me and that's the end of it. If you don't behave I'll have to tell your parents what I saw, won't I ? "

Tracy was too frightened to show much reaction, even to speak. She took it for granted he knew whom she had been with and what they had done and she was too ignorant to realize his threat was meaningless without a witness or some sort of evidence. Her guilty conscience saw the awful consequences of his revelation to her father, who was a stern man when she was really bad.

He stopped the car outside her house and spoke hurriedly.

"I'll be seeing you soon Tracy and we can talk about it some more, eh?"

"But what do you want?" She couldn't quite grasp what it was all about. She understood he was blackmailing her but it seemed incredible he wanted to blackmail her to touch her leg. That an elderly man would want to go further had not quite penetrated.

"Oh, for God's sake, Tracy," he rasped irritably, "Don't play the bloody innocent with me, do y'hear? I want what you've been giving around liberally for quite a few years I expect, what else do you think I want?" He glared at her through his beady little eyes.

"Now get in the house quick, or your father will be wanting to know what it's all about. And button your lip, or you'll be in real trouble, see?"

She got out of the car and he drove off, very annoyed with himself for a tactless beginning. The older he got the less able he was to cope with the teasing little bitches. Nevertheless he was satisfied with the outcome. She would think about it and when he came to the camp next week there she would be waiting all soft and pliable and consenting. He hugged himself with anticipation.

Tracy stood motionless in the pouring rain, distracted and terrified. She knew her parents could see her from where they were sitting at the tea table so she ran along the path to the porch. She was trembling so violently she had to pause to pull herself together and when she opened the door she nearly fell across the thresh-hold.

"Are you all right, Tracy?" It was her father speaking and standing at the door of the dining room, a napkin in his hand.

"Yes Dad," she bent down to hide her face, pretending she had hurt her ankle, "I only caught my foot in a stone sticking up near the door."

"Yes, I must fix it tomorrow, I noticed it the other day. Was that Huxtable who brought you home?"

Her heart nearly stopped with fear. Still with her face turned away from him she managed to say: "He gave me a lift home in the rain."

"Well, don't you have anything more to do with him, my dear. He's a rogue if ever there was one," and her father turned back into the Dining Room. Tracy heard him continue talking about Huxtable to her mother. She tiptoed to the doorway and stood listening.

". . . he's been cooking the firm's books very cleverly, Mary, but they got suspicious and passed their accounts to us a couple of weeks ago. So far I've gone back five years and he's had about 3,000. God knows how long he's been at it.

"Mr.. Huxtable?" her mother sounded astounded. "Good gracious Arthur, I should have thought he'd be the last person to embezzle! How dreadful . . . why! he's the Treasurer of the Youth Club do you think . . . ? "

"No Mary, I doubt it, their accounts wouldn't be complicated enough and besides he has to show his books at every meeting. There won't be anything wrong there. But don't you mention this to anyone, there's a lot more work yet to be done before I've got a complete case. He goes on holiday next week and I'm to inspect his office immediately. It's a nasty business; probably he'll be arrested when he returns."

"Oh Arthur, what a terrible scandal for the Church and the Youth Club, I do think he might have considered . . . "

Tracy tiptoed back and hung her coat and hat on the hallstand. She sighed with relief. She was off to camp tomorrow and by the time she returned Huxtable would be in no mood for dallying with her she was saved!