Henry Morgan - The drivers

Peter walked to the side of the chair where the lead was tied. He undid the knot, pulled it tighter so that Claire's head was snapped back firmly, then re-attached it again. He leant over her, an angry red mist clouding his vision.

"You're wrong, Claire," he said, remarkably calmly. "Wrong, wrong, wrong. I've got you."

Between her thighs Claire felt the tell tale nudge of a penis seeking out her entrance, tapping its way along the inside of her legs before stopping at her slot.

"Don't do it Peter," she pleaded. "You can still put things right…"

The feel of his cock pushing apart her lips took away her breath.

"No," she cried. "No more."

Peter had stopped listening, stopped thinking, stopped caring. His engorged prick pushed its stubborn way along his sister-in-law's sheath, stopping only when his balls reached her bottom.

"You bastard," said Claire coldly. "You've done it now!"

Peter Warburton had finally gone over the edge.

"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."