Henry Morgan - The drivers

"Shh!" he whispered. "I'm not going to harm you."

In the cafe, the bikers had heard the scream. Not unusual, but this was particularly loud.

"Looks like smiler boy's giving her a good grinding," sneered the leader. The whole group laughed as the sound of Susan's chains rattled from the back room.

"This way!" urged H, holding open a window. He saw the plugs in her ears and pulled them out. "Come on, run, the truck's over there."

Susan was paralysed with fear. For so long she'd thought of nothing but escape, but now the time had come she was too scared and bemused to run. What if they caught her, brought her back? What would they do to her then?

"Hurry!" called H. He wouldn't be able to handle all four bikers and the fat man, and time was running out.

What else could they possibly do that they hadn't done to her already? Susan ran to the window.

The black man's hands gripped her waist and helped her up to the window ledge, where she jumped down bare footed onto gravel and Tarmac. By the time H had squeezed his massive bulk through the window her wobbling naked backside was fleeing across the car park, her feet streaked with blood from the broken glass and tin cans that littered the area.

As H raced after her, he never noticed the man pulling into the cafe astride a Triumph Bonneville. He was one of the bikers with a part share in Susan, and he clocked the situation straight away. Leaving his bike on the stand he removed a heavy chain he kept wrapped around the handle bars and rushed across the car park.

H had just pushed Susan into the cab when she spotted the charging biker and screamed again. H turned around to face the man less than ten yards away.

"Don't even think about it, shithead!"

In that split second the biker calculated his chances of winning, the humiliation of not fighting, and the subsequent loss of shagging revenue. With a venomous whip of his arm he swung the chain at the black man's head. H knew it was the only thing he could do with a chain and had his arm already raised in defence. Despite his awareness the metal still cut his face as it spun tightly around his forearm.

In an instant H grabbed the flailing iron and pulled it free from the biker, then brought his head down in a vicious thud against the man's top lip.

H gripped the sides of his head, twisted it and bit off the man's left ear, before releasing him to squirm in agony. As the wagon pulled away Susan felt the smallest of bumps as the wheels ran across writhing legs.

Five miles down the road and away from danger H told Susan she could find some clothes on the bunk at the back of the cab.

It was the first pair of knickers Susan had put on in weeks, not to mention a skirt and top. Both items were quite small, as if they belonged to a young woman, or a teenager perhaps. She didn't query why a lorry driver would have such clothes in his cab, she was just incredibly grateful to be alive and away from 'Smelly Joes,' and the constant thump of a man's cock between her legs or the crack of heavy belt on her arse. Dressed now in a small denim mini skirt and tight jumper that left most of her midriff on view she climbed back to sit in the passenger seat.

"I haven't said thank you," she said, reaching across to look at herself in the mirror. "Christ, don't I look a mess?" She fumbled with her hair, vainly trying to give it some shape. "Can you take me to a phone booth? I have to telephone my husband, tell him I'm alright. Then I'm going to ring the police. You wouldn't believe what I've been through."

Her voice was amazingly calm and collected. Enduring one trial after another had made her impervious to almost anything.

"Don't you fancy a bath and tidying yourself up first?" asked H. "My place is only twenty miles or so. Better you phone from there."

Susan rested her feet on the dashboard and stretched. "Why not?" she smiled. "I could do with a rest and a stiff drink before all the questions start."

They reached Kirkholm by late afternoon. H owned a large Yorkshire stone house and garage with views over some wonderful North Riding countryside. Built into the hillside, the door from the drive entered into the first floor, while around the other side, facing out across the valley, ran a dark pine verandah. Susan dropped down onto the fine pebbled driveway, registering the pain in her feet for the first time.

"Jump up," said H. He carried her inside, putting her down in front of a huge picture window that stretched almost the full length of one wall. It looked out across miles of countryside without another building in sight.

"It's a lovely house," said Susan, appreciating the exposed beams and bare stone walls. "Driving must pay well."

"I put in the hours," said H. "And there's only me." He handed her a cut glass tumbler half full of scotch which she drank in two mouthfuls.

"Where's your phone?"

H refilled her glass and pointed to the hall.

"But it isn't all that urgent, is it? Maybe you better settle down a bit first. After all, you've been away – how long?"

"I don't know. Weeks. Seems like years."

"There you are then. Another few minutes won't matter. You'll cope better after a bath."

The luxurious bathroom complemented the rest of the house. Another large picture window allowed her to gaze serenely out from her bath in the centre of the room. With the house being so isolated there was no need for the usual frosted glass. It was like bathing in the open air, in some miraculously hot woodland spring, with the swirling steam cleansing and refreshing.

She felt totally relaxed, enveloped in warmth and peace and the sweet smelling bath salts. She even smiled when the door opened and the truck driver entered with another drink. He came across and stood by the side of the tub, making no attempt to hide his admiring gaze, but she didn't mind a bit, her troubles were over.

He took a sip of his own drink and sat on the edge of the bath, which was built up with steps and cushioned.

"How's the water?"

"Wonderful!" She arched her back to emphasise the relief it was giving. Her breasts wobbled through the water, lifting tiny bubbles that exploded on her nipples. The black man reached across to a cobalt blue high necked bottle which contained ylang ylang. He poured some into the bath then dipped in his hand to stir the fluid into the water. As he did so his hand brushed her light pubic hair. Susan said nothing, until his hand crept lower and his fingers touched her sex lips.

"Please," she said, her body stiffening. "I can't begin to thank you. But not like that… Peter wouldn't like it…"

He smiled to himself and left her to soak.

Almost an hour passed before Susan appeared from the bathroom. She looked remarkably fresh and quite young in her denim mini and half cropped top, no shoes or socks.

"Here you are," said H, handing her another drink. "And there's some sandwiches on the table. Just cold meat, a bit of salad."

She made short work of the food and after finishing another whisky felt quite drunk.

"I must phone…"

But everything was going all woosy…

When Susan came too, the house was in darkness.

"Hello?" she whispered.

Silence.

"Is anyone there?"

Nothing.

She made to get up but was met by a very bright light that hurt her eyes, forcing her back down on the seat, her hand raised in front of her face.

"Who's there?"

"It's me!"

She recognised the black man's voice and screwed up her eyes to peer into the light. Beneath the glare she made out a pair of very shiny, very pointy, black leather boots.

"Stand up," said H, his voice quiet but demanding.

The order struck terror into Susan's mind. The words, the way he spoke them. Instinctively she found herself doing as he said.

"Lift up the skirt. Just a few inches, until I can see your knickers."