David Crane - Turned on twins

"Shall I put goat dick in, too?"

"Why not?"

"And buggery?"

She nodded. Why hadn't she thought of that?

Tony passed the note over and she read it, nodding. It ought to do the job.

"I'll cut letters out of a newspaper so it can't be traced, like in the films," Tony said.

"Right. Let's see, now… we should have a witness, someone who sees me get grabbed. That will add believability… so he doesn't get suspicious, you know? Suppose I walk down that back road behind the house about four o'clock? The gardener will still be working then. I can scream and he'll see you snatch me. You'd better use a hired car and cover the license plates, I guess. Then we'll drive off, leaving the ransom note on the spot."

Tony frowned.

"But wait… if I snatch you myself, how can I manage to be at the house when the note is discovered?"

"Gee, I never thought of that."

They considered.

"Don't you have a friend who could do it?" she asked.

"I know some villains," he said. "The guy I owe money to, in fact. I suppose I could explain the setup to him. But we'd have to give him a share of the ransom."

"That's okay."

"And… they might really rape you."

Tony was remembering how efficiently the three hoodlums had gang-banged Dolly.

But Charity grinned.

"Why, that's all the better," she said. "I'd love to be raped by criminals!"

Tony was just as glad that he had another girlfriend. He could see that this rich girl was not to be trusted as far as sexual fidelity was concerned.

Charity didn't notice that Tony seemed disturbed by the idea. She was lost in her expectations.

She said, "Don't forget to tell those hoodlums that I don't mind getting raped, okay?"

He sighed and nodded.

It was agreed that Charity would be walking down the garden path at precisely four o'clock and that Tony, using the excuse that he had to get his things from the chauffeur's quarters, would manage to be at the house when the gardener reported the kidnapping. They had a drink to celebrate their plan.

It was one o'clock.

"We'd better get going," he said.

"Oh, there's plenty of time," said Charity, with a meaningful grin. "It won't take me long to get ready to be abducted. Let's go out and fuck in the car."

Fucking had, at the moment, been the furthest thought from Tony's mind. But the naughty nymph reached under the table and placed her hand on his crotch and, sure enough, his big dick began to rise.

He paid the tab and they went out to his car where they had a cramped but successful fuck.

Chastity, in her disguise and looking very sly and excited, left the Old Log Inn, determined to pull the switch and be kidnapped in place of her sister. It was only fair. She knew that she would appreciate being raped by hoodlums a lot more than Charity would. It was, in fact, the stuff of her dreams.

It was a perfect plan.

A kidnapped girl could never be guilt-ridden by what happened during the kidnapping. She could never be blamed if she was forced to suck dick and was raped and buggered, all those wonderful things that Chastity longed to do, while still remaining nominally pure and chaste.

And if they did not rape her nicely enough, she could always have them arrested!

But how could she get her sister out of the way? Driving home, she thought about that. By the time she arrived at the big country house, she had her plan worked out to perfection.

Charity was so thrilled by the prospect before her – getting kidnapped, raped and ransomed, all three infinitely desirable things – that she was insatiably horny.

Tony had screwed her in the back seat of his car and she had come twice, but in the confines of the car she had been unable to cavort as liberally as she liked and, despite her orgasms, she was still simmering. She would have liked to drive to some secluded woodland glade where they could perform more freely on a blanket, but there was not enough time. Tony had to contact the villains and make the arrangements for her abduction, and she was not about to endanger that prospect for the sake of screwing one chauffeur on a blanket.

After they finished balling, she licked his dick sparkling clean, kissed him goodbye, and went to her own car. Tony drove off in one direction, Charity in the other. She was squirming in the bucket seat, her crotch like a fiery ember beneath her. She was glad that her car had an automatic transmission. Not having to shift gears, the horny blonde had a free hand and was able to play with her pussy all the way home.

She hiked up her Saks Fifth Avenue skirt and clawed at her cunt and clit and came twice en route.

But a handjob, especially from her own hand, was no more than a tickle to this unquenchable nymph, no more than a preliminary. Instead of satisfying her, even momentarily, a self-induced climax acted as an appetizer, making her hot for more.

She got home at two o'clock.

She went directly to her room and looked through her vast wardrobe, wondering what the well-dressed abductee was wearing this year.

She wasn't sure which would excite the kidnappers the most – if she dressed like a tramp or like an innocent schoolgirl. She was tempted to wear her old school uniform and put her hair in a ponytail and play the role of the demure child. But then she remembered that Tony would have already told the criminals that she had no objections to being plundered and that knowledge would make her pretense less effective… or, worse, the hoodlums might have daughters of their own and, seeing that their captive was innocent, neglect to rape her. So to be on the safe side, she wore her sexiest clothing. She put on a black garter belt and dark silk stockings but no bra or panties. She wore high-heeled shoes that shaped her calves and turned her ankles nicely. She selected an orange dress that clung to her curves. The hem was short and barely covering her crotch, and the neckline was scooped low, showing her deep, thrusting cleavage.

She looked in the mirror and smiled, satisfied that she looked infinitely rapable.

It was two-thirty.

Damn! She had an hour and a half before they snatched her. Even then it would take them an hour or so to get her to whenever they are taking her, so that meant she would not be getting screwed for at last two and a half hours, an eternity to a girl whose pussy was smoldering.

She decided to fuck herself with her dildo while she waited. No decision could have better suited her sister's scheme.

"Father, I have something to tell you," said Chastity, as she walked into the library where Jonathan Anderson was sipping a cognac and wondering where he had gone wrong in bringing up such a lewd daughter as Charity.

It amazed him. Chastity, brought up in the same manner, had never shown any signs of promiscuity. In fact, he feared that she might turn out to be a frigid old maid. Nor was it hereditary, for his wife was as frigid as they come and had not, in fact, given him a piece of ass for three years.

But he despaired of Charity.

He also got horny thinking about her.

It was normal for the aristocratic gentleman to feel horny, of course, since he was too proper to cheat on his wife and had not, therefore, gotten his wick dipped in three years. And drinking cognac made him hornier than usual.

He was horny now, as he looked up at Chastity's approach, and crossed his legs to hide his hard-on.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I overheard Charity make an assignation."

Anderson groaned. "Not again!"

"I fear so. I heard her… errr… on the telephone. She was talking to that horrid chauffeur that you fired yesterday… I heard the conversation purely by accident, of course… and Charity made plans to meet the man at four o'clock."

Anderson, slightly drunk, morose and horny, gazed balefully at his chaste daughter. Sometimes he thought that she was worse than Charity. A pure prude, he thought. Just like her mother. I pity the man who marries her. At least her sister has some fire in her loins.