Author's Note: This story is set in Scotland. I have tried to make the conversations authentic, ie as Scots really speak, but some will find the idioms a bit strange. Contrary to what some may believe, we are not all kilt-swinging teuchters who go around saying, "Och, aye, the noo, mon," except, of course, in the presence of gullible Americn tourists. :-)

t was a typical small mining town: a row of old, stone houses straggling along either side of the road for over a mile. The houses, larger and further apart at the edges, became a terrace of cottages towards the centre where there was a small square with the obligatory war memorial and horse trough. In the period after the war a small estate had been built on the hill behind the main street, the flimsy red brick and tile contrasting unfavourably with the solid grey stone and slate of the original buildings.

At one time this had been a busy and bustling little town, if not particularly affluent - mining did not pay well. But the mine had closed some years ago and now it languished - just another anonymous little town of lost hopes and faded dreams. A place to pass through on the way to somewhere else. I had passed through it, and many others like it, many times in the past.

Today, however, was different. Today I stopped. Not because I was suddenly taken with a desire to investigate its shabby streets or anonymous history but because, as I approached the central square, my car died on me. Just like that. One moment I was humming along, thinking about nothing in particular, and the next - nothing.

I managed to coast almost to the square then climbed out, muttering curses, and pushed it the rest of the way off the main road. I manoeuvred it next to another car and straightened up, groaning. Having a large car was good but they were damned heavy to push. I mopped my sweating brow and wiped my hands as well as I could on some paper handkerchiefs.

My antics were watched with stolid indifference by an older man in a faded tweed jacket and flat cap who was perched on one of the bollards that lined the square puffing on a pipe.

"Bloody cars," I said to no one in particular.

The old man continued to watch me indifferently.

"Is there a garage here?" I asked him.

He took the pipe from his mouth and looked at it as if he'd never seen it before. "Aye," he said at last. "McCowall's." He waved his pipe at one of the side-streets that led off the square. I locked the car and started in the direction indicated. "He'll no be open." I stopped and looked him enquiringly. "Saturday," he announced as if that was enough of an explanation.

"Saturday?"

"Aye. He shuts Saturday afternoons."

"When does he open again?"

Again there was a long moment of silent contemplation. "Monday."

I was aghast. "Monday? You mean I'm stuck here till Monday?"

He gave a mirthless grin. "Unless you can get yon car going yourself."

I smiled ruefully. "Monday it is, then. Is there a hotel? Somewhere I can stay?"

The pause this time was considerable and accompanied by large clouds of smoke. "Aye. Two. The Lochview Hotel and the Kings Arms."

"How far?" I was falling into his terse style of speech.

"The hotel? About two miles up the road. The pub… over there." He pointed at a small street across the main road.

I grinned. "I guess it's the pub, then."

He smiled back, this time with something like genuine warmth, as if, somehow, I had made the right decision. "It's no much, mind."

I shrugged. "It's somewhere to stay."

He straightened and tapped his pipe against the bollard to empty it. "Right," he said, stuffing the pipe into his jacket pocket and walking off up the street.

I looked at his retreating back. 'How odd,' I thought. Then I gave a mental shrug and hauled my bag from the car. This was really most inconvenient. I was supposed to be at my destination tonight and due to meet up with some people tomorrow. Now it would be Monday night at the earliest - assuming McCowall could find the problem and fix it quickly. I would have to make some phone calls and contemplate my options.

I found the Kings Head - an unimposing two-storey building which looked like it had originally been a private house. There was only one bar. I blinked as I entered. It was dark inside, partly because the windows were house sized rather than pub sized and partly because it had dark wood panelling around the walls and a dark wooden floor. Two old men were playing dominoes in one corner. They looked up briefly as I entered then continued with their game. A woman emerged from the back.

"Do you have a room to let?" I enquired. She regarded me suspiciously. "My car's broken down and I understand McCowall's won't be open till Monday."

"Oh, aye. Yes, we've rooms," she said, thawing somewhat. "Two nights is it?"

I grinned. "If my car can be fixed on Monday."

She grinned back and I realised she was a remarkably handsome woman. "Oh, Jack's a fine mechanic. Don't you worry."

She came out from behind the bar. She had a fine, trim figure - full breasted and narrow waisted. She noticed my attention and cocked an eyebrow. I blushed like a schoolboy being caught staring down his teacher's cleavage. With a grin she led me along a passageway and into a slightly more modern annex. I suspected she deliberately added an extra wiggle to her walk for the view from the rear was superb.

"Here we are," she announced, opening a door and ushering me in. "It's not much, I'm afraid."

The room was definitely not Holiday Inn. The furniture was old and mis-matched but it was clean and bright and spacious and it had a certain quaint character. I'd seen worse in so-called three star hotels.

"It'll do just fine," I assured her.

"Good. Bathroom's just down the hall. Is that all your luggage?"

"There's some more in the car."

"Best bring it in - just in case."

"I will, thank you. Two questions if I may. Is there a phone I could use and do you serve food?"

She smiled. "I suspect you've got a bit of rearranging to do."

"Just a bit," I said ruefully.

She looked at me carefully. "There's a pay-phone in the bar but, if you come down, I'll let you use the private one."

"Thank you. I'll try and keep it short."

"We don't serve dinner. You could get a meal at the hotel, but I suspect you won't want to walk that far." She regarded me appraisingly for a moment then grinned. Once again I was struck with the thought that she was more than averagely attractive. "We eat in about an hour. You're welcome to join us."

"That's very kind of you. I'll accept with gratitude."

"Fine. In an hour, then. Come straight through. I'll show you the phone."

I hauled the rest of my stuff from the car. I wondered why the landlady had mentioned it. Probably kids and vandalism, I thought. There wouldn't be many jobs now that the pit had closed and youngsters with too much time and not enough money generally meant trouble. With my stuff safely stowed in my room I made my calls. As I was speaking I had the curious sensation of being watched. I glanced round but could see nobody. Nonetheless, I kept them short and anonymous, saying only that I'd broken down and would not be there until late Monday at the earliest. Duty done, I retired to my room to freshen up.

As I was washing I glanced idly out of the window. The room overlooked a small courtyard filled with junk - an old wooden barrel half full of water, a cartwheel, a stack of sacks filled with something or other with numerous planks propped against them, parts of an old, rusty, iron bedstead, and so on. In between were tubs overflowing with plants and flowers. The contrast between the junk and the abundant foliage was disconcerting. It was almost as if they had been placed to disguise the junk. Directly opposite were two windows on the first floor and two on the ground floor. A quick calculation suggested these must be the owner's living quarters. The way the sun was shining, I couldn't make out much but there were suggestions of movement in the lower rooms.

Feeling somewhat refreshed after my wash, I made my way back down for dinner. The bar was empty and the front door closed. I slipped behind the bar and entered the passage with the phone. Uncertain of exactly where to go I called out a 'hello'.

"Through here," a voice called back.

I entered a large, comfortable sitting-cum-dining room, obviously the family's living quarters. At the far end was an old-fashioned kitchen range, unlit. It was encircled by easy chairs and a huge, over-stuffed, brocade sofa. Against one wall was a dining table with a number of mis-matched dining chairs. The table was set for four. A large dresser lined another wall. In between were the usual accessories of modern living; TV, radio and stereo. Lamps, ornaments, knick-knacks, pictures and scatter cushions gave the room the air of a well-used and pleasant family living room.

The woman came in from another door which, judging by the aroma, had to be the kitchen. Her face was flushed and a stray strand of hair hung down over her eyes. She pushed it back behind her ear with an unconscious gesture.

She smiled. "Good, you're just in time. By the way, I'm Mary Jamieson." There was a clattering on the stairs behind me and two girls burst into the room. "And these noisy creatures are my daughters, Heather and Isobel."

I shook her proffered hand. "Paul MacInnes," I said. "Thank you for inviting me to dinner." I turned to the girls and offered them my hand. "And it's even more of a pleasure to have such charming company."

The girls blushed and shook my proffered hand tentatively. I had made the compliment for form's sake but closer inspection revealed that I had not lied. Heather, the older, was a younger version of her mother - full breasted and narrow waisted. She had the same unruly dark hair and smouldering sensuality. Isobel was slimmer and finer-boned but her more slender frame made her figure appear more generous than it probably was. She was thinner in the face, too, but there was a brooding intensity about her eyes and determined pout to her lips that made the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. I placed them in their mid-teens.

We sat down to dinner amidst the usual hubbub of a family meal. There seemed to be no sign of a Mr Jamieson and politeness forbade me to pry. I was asked about my car and they were duly sympathetic, assuring me that Jack McCowall would have it fixed in no time. In between the usual good-natured teenage squabbling, we discussed the weather, the girls' school, the difficulties of running a pub, compared life in the city with that of the country, and so on. In short, the normal sort of conversation new-found friends would have. It was a pleasant experience for me, if a trifle disconcerting. I was so accustomed to eating alone and in unfamiliar surroundings that he very homeliness of the situation was almost inhibiting.

The girls disappeared immediately after dessert and Mary made coffee. The lack of noise was almost uncanny.

Mary seemed to sense my thoughts. "They can be a bit boisterous," she smiled. "I take it you've no family of your own?"

"Never had time," I said ruefully. "Too busy being busy to stop and find the right girl."

We sipped our coffee in silence for a while.

"Forgive me for asking," I said, "but is there a Mr Jamieson." She looked pained. "I don't mean to pry."

"It's all right. There was a Mr Jamieson. When the pit closed he went off to find work and," she shrugged, "never came back."

"I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to be nosey."

"It still hurts, I admit. Not that our marriage was particularly strong. But to walk out on the girls, that's unforgivable."

"And you've not heard from him at all?"

She shook her head. "Not a word in three years."

"How could anyone leave this?" I waved my arm around.

"Oh, this wasn't here then. I've made this myself," she said fiercely. "We lived in a pit house. Andrew was an engineer. When the pit closed we got a bit of redundancy money but had to leave the house. Andrew was all for upping sticks and moving to the city but I liked it here, strange as it may seem, and it was the girls' home. We had some fights, I can tell you. Puts a big strain on a marriage, redundancy does." I nodded sympathetically although I had experience of neither. "In the end I persuaded him to invest in this place. He didn't fancy the idea of being a publican, him being an engineer. I suppose that's what did it. After a few months he walked out."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

"And you've run this place since then." She nodded. "You're a very brave woman, Mary."

"No I'm not. I'm just a working mother." There was a clattering from the bar. "And, talking of which, that'll be Dougie. I must be off. Come through when you've finished and I'll buy you a pint."

She hurried off to the bar with, I thought, almost a sense of relief. I finished my coffee and took the cup into the kitchen. Like the rest of the place it had an air that was at once shabby, homely and efficient. I looked at the dishes stacked up at the sink and, on impulse, took off my jacket and washed them.

Mary gave me an odd look as I appeared. She pulled a pint as I slipped out from behind the bar and perched on a stool. It was early yet so the pub wasn't even half full.

"Ah," I sighed with satisfaction as I took a pull of the pint. "I needed that." Mary gave me an enquiring look. "I washed the dishes," I explained a trifle sheepishly.

"You never."

I nodded. "It was the least I could do."

"You'll be after a discount on your bill." Her words were sharp but her voice was warm.

"Mary, the meal was superb but you can buy a good meal many places. What you can't put a price on is the company."

"Get away you flatterer."

I raised my glass in silent salute as she turned to serve another customer.

"You've made a hit there," said Dougie, the barman, quietly.

"How so?"

He looked quickly round. "Well since…"

"Andrew left. She told me."

His eyebrows raised and he gave a silent whistle. "Aye. Since Andy left she's not been, as you might say, overly friendly with strangers. At least not socially, if you ken what I mean."

I nodded. "So I'm honoured, then."

"Aye. We don't get many stopping over and, as far as I know, nobody's ever been invited in for dinner."

It was my turn to express surprise. "So why me? I'm just a passing traveller."

"Who knows what goes on in a woman's mind," he chuckled.

The pub was getting busier. It seemed that the story of my unexpected stay had got around. A couple of men commiserated with me and informed me that Jack was the man. Three men about my age invited me make up a fourth for a game of darts. They were open and friendly and I managed to keep my end up although it had been some time since I'd thrown the arrows. I bought a couple of rounds and the evening passed very pleasantly.

I was at the bar for another round when a voice said, "You the laddie with the car?"

I turned to see a short, stocky man dressed in a red flannel lumberjack's shirt and a pair of jeans. "I am," I replied.

"Jack McCowall. I don't normally do business of a Saturday night, but if you want, me and a couple of the lads'll get your car down to the garage."

"What? Now? That's very civil of you Mr McCowall. Just give me a moment to get the keys."

I explained to my new companions what I was about. They immediately volunteered to help. I snagged the keys from the room and it was a rather merry group that made it's way up to the square.

"Is there much trouble here at night?" I asked.

"Not always," Sandy, one of the darts players, replied. "But there's a bunch of lads from the estate. Sometimes they get a bit…"

"Boisterous," said another to general laughter.

"Aye, boisterous," Sandy said with a sour expression. "And yon's a fine car." He shrugged. "You can never tell."

"Well, I'm very grateful. And the next round's most definitely on me when we get back. Mind you," I continued thoughtfully, "I suppose we could just leave it. Then Jack could charge me an extortionate bill for repairs on Monday."

This was greeted with laughter.

"I've enough to do without adding to it, thanks," Jack growled but he was smiling.

We manhandled the car down to the garage and returned to the pub where I insisted on buying everyone a short. Jack declined saying he needed to get home but the others accepted. We sat around spinning yarns until closing time and I made a slightly unsteady way up to my room. As I made my preparations for bed it suddenly occurred to me that I hadn't enjoyed an evening so much for quite some time. In fact, probably not since I'd left university.

I awoke with a start. It was dark in the room so I had no idea of the time. I lay for a moment as awareness of where I was came back to me. I wondered what had disturbed me. Light was at my window and I could hear faint snatches of noise. On impulse, I got out of bed without switching on the light and padded across to the window. The light came from the living room opposite. The curtains were undrawn and I could see the interior clearly. What I saw made me start back then, as if drawn by a magnet, peer out again cautiously.

Across the dining table where I had sat earlier at dinner were bent two women. Their feet were spread wide apart, their torsos supported on cushions, their bottoms outthrust. They were dressed in corsets, suspenders, black seamed stockings and high-heeled shoes. A third woman was squatting before two men. She was dressed in the same outfit and had a hand curled round each sizable erection. She was alternately masturbating and sucking them. That the men found the experience pleasant was obvious from their expressions.

The squatting woman stood and half turned. With a shock that hit like an almost physical blow, I realised it was Mary. My cock sprang to life. Her full breasts spilled over the top of her corset, the areolae large and dark. Her waist, narrow as it was, was constricted even further by the corset emphasising the swell of her breasts and hips. Her legs in the seamed stockings and high heels seemed to go on for ever. She said something to the men who stepped forward then, bending slightly at the knee, inserted their cocks into the women on the table and began to fuck them vigorously. Mary passed from one to the other, caressing taut muscles, slipping her hands between hairy thighs or pressing herself against the active men. I could hear the faint cries of women overcome with lust. Almost without thinking, I began to stroke my own cock.

In the room below the passion mounted. The women pounded the table with their fists, tossed their heads from side to side, wriggled and squirmed. The men gripped the squirming hips and drove their cocks deep into the willing cunts. I fancied I could almost hear the smack of flesh as muscular thighs and bellies slapped against elastic female flesh. I fisted my cock in time with the scene below.

Suddenly a man's voice was raised. Mary dropped to her knees and felt between one man's thighs as he arched his back, driving his cock deeply into his partner and almost lifting her feet off the floor. His back arched and his buttocks clenched. It was clear he was cumming. From somewhere Mary produced a paddle and applied it vigorously to the man's bottom with her free hand. He jerked forward and let out a roar, whether of pain or pleasure I couldn't tell. His motion was so violent that the woman beneath him was sent sprawling across the table. He shot his load and slumped forward over the back of his partner.

Mary turned her attention to the second man who received the same treatment with the same effect. As he was recovering, the first man had pushed himself upright and was helping his erstwhile partner off the table. She turned to him with a smile on her lips. It was then I lost it. My cock jumped in my hand and I had barely enough time to cup the end with my other hand and prevent my cum from spurting all over the curtains. The woman wasn't a woman at all - it was Heather, Mary's older daughter.

I reeled back from the window in a state of shock. Like an automaton, I washed my hands and cock and got back into bed. The scene in the living room was seared in my eyes and my mind was awhirl. What had I witnessed? What did it mean? What was going on here? Everybody I'd spoken to had given the impression that Mary kept herself to herself. Dougie the barman had more than hinted that my dinner invitation had been most unusual. And yet I had just seen two men rogering her apparently willing daughters with her active connivance. Willing daughters? Isobel couldn't be more than fifteen. What was going on? Moreover, why did I find it so upsetting? I was a passer-by. I would be here for a couple of days then probably not pass this way again for months. What did I care about the sexual shenanigans of a pub landlady in a run-down village? Okay, so I found Mary - and her daughters - attractive. But she was, what, mid-thirties? Quite a number of years older than me. Why would she be interested in a fling with a passing stranger? And yet… And yet…

Sleep was a long time coming.

I slept late the next morning and felt awful, in part because of the beer I'd drunk but in part because my thoughts and emotions were no clearer than they had been the previous night. A shower helped - but only a little.

I made my way downstairs - crept, almost - uncertain how I would react when I came face to face with Mary or, worse, Heather or Isobel. I made a conscious effort to pull myself together. 'You didn't see anything. You didn't hear anything. And it's none of your business,' I told myself firmly.

There was no-one about. I was wondering whether I could make some coffee when Mary came the back door. This morning she was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. From the state of her hands, she had been gardening. Despite this, she still looked most desirable. I quick vision of her dressed in a corset flashed through my mind which I quickly suppressed.

"You're up early," she greeted me cheerily.

"Am I? I thought it was late."

She grinned. "After the amount you had to drink last night…"

I nodded, sheepishly. Good, let her think it's just the drink. "I'm not used to drinking beer."

"I'll make some coffee. Breakfast?"

"No thanks. Coffee's fine."

"Go and sit outside. I'll bring it out."

She was right. The day was pleasantly warm. I sat on an old wooden bench and enjoyed the sunshine. Mary brought out two mugs of coffee and joined me.

"Did you sleep well?"

"Not really, I'm afraid."

"The room?"

"No, no. The room's fine. It was the beer."

She looked at me intently. I tried not to meet her eye.

Suddenly she went bright red and cried, "My God! You saw!"

She made to leap up from the bench. I caught her arm.

"Mary, I saw nothing. I heard nothing. At least nothing that is any business of mine."

She was caught in confusion, her face beet red. "But… but… what must you think of me? Oh God. Yes. Your window. How could I have been so stupid. You did see, didn't you?" She buried her face in her hands and started to cry.

I took both her hands in mine and pulled her round to face me. I was amazed at how calm I was. Her reaction had somehow clarified my troubled thoughts. Whatever I might think, I knew what I had to do.

"I want you to listen to me, Mary," I said in a gentle voice. "Yes, I did see - and I confess it was both exciting and disturbing. I also confess that I find you a very attractive woman. But that's neither here nor there. What I saw is no concern of mine. I'm a temporary guest here. Tomorrow or the day after I'll be away. You won't see me again. To the outside world I spent a boring couple of days in a wee village. And that's all there is to it."

She looked at me incredulously, her eyes searching my face. "I think you mean it," she breathed.

I nodded. "I've only known you a short time but, in that time, I've come to admire you. If what you told me is true, you've had a tough time of it. You run a good pub. You're bringing up two fine girls. It's not my place to interfere."

A half smile was fighting with the tears. "I was right. Heather said I was a fool but my instinct was right." She pulled me into her arms and hugged me fiercely. "You're a good man, Paul MacInnes."

I hugged her back. She felt good in my arms. Then we were no longer hugging. She lifted her face and we were kissing - a deep, soul-searching kiss with tongues half way down each other's throats. Her arms were around my neck. Her breasts squashed against me. I could feel the nipples burning holes in my side.

We broke for air, gasping. She gave me a searching look and, seeming to see what she wanted, stood up and pulled me to my feet. I came willingly. She led me up the stairs to her bedroom. We stared into each other's eyes for a long, hungry moment then we were frantically pulling our clothes off; tugging at recalcitrant buttons, fumbling with obstinate zips. We fell on to bed together, me half on top. I made to grasp her breast.

"Don't bother," she panted. "Inside me. Now."

She spread her legs wide, grabbed my cock as I climbed between them and pulled me down onto and into her. Our coupling was fast and furious. Our bellies slapped together with a meaty smack. Her nails raked my back. I rammed my cock into her as deeply as it would go, grunting with the effort. It was more like a fight than a fuck. I wanted to ram my cock into her, make her acknowledge me as master. She wanted to absorb me and engulf me.

Her nails dug painfully into my shoulders, her legs clamped around my back. "Oh God, yes," she cried and bit my shoulder. Her body convulsed beneath me, the muscles of her cunt gripped my cock and I could feel a wet heat around my balls. A few more strokes into her hot, clutching cunt and I, too, was there. The cum boiled up inside me and I pumped it into her in long bursts, continuing to twitch even after my balls were empty.

We slumped onto the bed gasping for breath and I half slid off her. The blood was pounding in my ears and I could feel her heart beating as fast as mine. I had never experienced such an intense cum before.

There was a noise at the door. I half opened one eye to see Heather and Isobel.

"Was he okay, then?" they asked.

Mary gave me a sly, sideways smile. "Aye. Not bad," she said.

"You've left some for us?"

"I don't know. That'll be up to you - and Paul. Now go and do something useful for a while."

Laughing the girls clattered off down the stairs.

Mary eased herself out from under me and we lay in a companionable embrace. Idly I traced a finger from her cheek down her neck and over one sweat-sheened breast.

"You're quite something, Mary Jamieson," I murmured. "I've never experienced anything like that before."

"It was a bit special, wasn't it," she replied. She propped herself on one elbow and smiled down at me. "So what about it?"

"What about what?"

"The girls, of course."

"What about them?"

"You heard what they said. They want a piece of you, too."

I sat up abruptly and hugged my knees. I could hardly believe what I was hearing. We had just had the most incredible sex and now Mary was offering me her daughters. I didn't know what to think.

"Well, I don't know…"

"Don't you think they're attractive?"

"It's not that. It's just… I don't understand." I turned to face her. "They're your daughters for God's sake. We've just screwed like rabbits and here you are offering me your daughters. Didn't what we did mean anything?"

She sat up and laid her head on my shoulder. "Oh, yes. It was very special. I wouldn't be offering - they wouldn't be offering if it wasn't."

"But they're only, what, fifteen? Sixteen?"

"Isobel's fourteen and Heather's sixteen - nearly seventeen. What have their ages got to do with it? They're women who know what they want."

"They're so… young."

"Ah, you mean they're below the age of consent. That's technically true though I doubt they'd agree with you. I can only repeat that you're here because you're special."

I gave a baffled sigh. "You're sure about this?"

"Did you mean what you said about what happened here being nobody else's business?" she countered.

"Yes," I nodded then grinned. "Even more so now."

"Then I'm sure. Come on, let's shower and get some lunch. If I don't show a face soon, there'll be a mutiny downstairs." She swung her legs off the bed and groaned. "Dear God. I'll not walk for a week, you vicious man."

With a hand on her hip she hobbled pretending to be in pain. I grinned and got out of bed. The grin faded as various aches and pains surfaced, especially the scratches on my back and the teeth-marks on my shoulder.

"I think you must be a hell-cat in disguise," I complained. "You've done me serious mischief, woman."

"Och, don't be such and old woman. It's only a couple of wee scratches."

"I'll 'wee scratch' you when I catch you," I said, lunging at her. "I could die of blood poisoning." Giggling like teenagers, I chased her into the bathroom.

We shared a sensual shower. I soaped her body, glorying in the heavy fullness of her breasts with their large, dark areolae and remarkably sensitive nipples, the slenderness of her waist, the solid length of her thighs and the dark forest of her prominent mound.

"Mary Jamieson, you are beautiful," I said admiringly.

"Get away. I'm an old woman," she blushed. "And you're not so bad yourself."

She ran sensual, soapy hands over my chest and belly. She cupped my cock and balls and raised me to a semi-erection.

"If you go on like that we won't get any lunch. Then you'll have a mutiny, rebellion and a riot on your hands," I murmured as I blew gently in her ear and nibbled the lobe.

"I might just be able to live with that," she grinned but she let me go and proceeded to rinse me off.

Without warning a wicked look crossed her face and I was suddenly drenched in icy-cold water.

"You wee besom," I bellowed.

I grabbed the shower head and turned it on her. She shrieked and leapt from the shower flooding the bathroom floor with water.

"I'll get you for that, you beast," she cried.

Laughing and giggling, we dried each other, exchanging little nibbly kisses as we did.

We were unaware that we had an audience until Heather said, "When you two children have finished playing, we're starving."

I turned to see both girls in the doorway, arms folded and pretending to be unamused.

"Ah, lunch has arrived," I declared and made to pounce on them as if to eat them.

They fled down the stairs laughing and shrieking. I saw Mary watching with a fond smile on her face.

Lunch was a strange affair - if you can call hacking slices of bread from a large loaf and covering them with butter and whatever one could lay hands on from ham and cheese to salad items to bananas and apples lunch. The talk was easy, the laughter free yet, underneath, ran a peculiar current of tension and excitement. We all seemed to know, without a word having been said, that I would take up their offer. Indeed, sitting round that lunch table, it was easy to forget that Heather and Isobel were young teenagers. They made it clear with touches and glance that they were ready and willing. I only had to say the word.

In fact this added to the excitement. It was no longer a question of 'if', it was a question of 'when'. The right time would come, I knew. Now that I had made the decision I was content to let things develop as they would. I would know when the time was right.

After lunch I stood and stretched. "After that, I need some exercise," I said.

"Did you not get enough of that this morning," asked Isobel tartly.

"Different sort of exercise," I said, leering at Mary.

"Take the girls," she laughed. "It'll keep them out of my hair for a while."

I raised an eyebrow at her unintentional double entendre and she giggled, her hand covering her mouth like a schoolgirl.

I turned to the girls. "You up for it? A walk that is?"

"We'll need to get dressed," they giggled. "Fifteen minutes."

I pretended to be astonished. "Fifteen minutes? No way. I've never known a woman to take less than half an hour."

"Betcha."

"No hurry. I'll help your mother with the dishes."

"There's no need, Paul," Mary objected.

"I want to."

We washed and dried in easy silence. Somehow we didn't need to say much to communicate. The girls came clattering down the stairs.

Mary laid a hand on my arm. "Go easy on them."

The obvious retort died on my lips. "Trust me." I covered her hand in mine.

Into the kitchen came two visions. Isobel was wearing a short, pleated skirt and a skinny-rib tank top while Heather had gone for a pair of tight terry shorts and a loose short-sleeved blouse. I suspected she might have forgotten her bra.

I gave an appreciative whistle. "Perhaps we could forget the walk after all."

The girls blushed and giggled but they eyed me coyly.

I offered a gallant arm to each. "Now which sights of this fair city shall we explore," I enquired.

"Dressed like that you'd best avoid the town altogether," Mary said tartly.

"Och, we'll take him up the hill. There's a fine view from there," Heather said.

"There's a fine view from here, too," I responded.

"Get away," Isobel said but she gave me a look that sent shivers down my spine.

We went out the back way; down an alley across a backstreet and in between a gap between the houses. There a track led away from the village. I slipped an arm over the girls' shoulders and their arms curled around my waist. We walked side-by-side, hips and thighs touching easily.

It was warm and at this time of year the countryside was at its best. Everything was bursting with green vitality, the yellow gorse and the white dog roses standing out sharply in contrast. Bees and other insects hummed busily and I was glad it was still too early for midges. Birds chirruped and trilled in trees and bushes. Yet amidst the fresh smell of a late spring afternoon, I was conscious of the scent of newly-washed hair and the tantalising fragrance of young girls.

The track narrowed to a path and we were forced to walk in single file, the girls leading the way. I watched the sway of their hips and the rolling of their bottoms with fascination, almost tripping over a tree root as a result.

We climbed the hill: not particularly steep but we were out of breath by the time we reached the top. We sat, the girls snuggled up to me and caught our breath.

"It's a fine view," I said.

"Yes, but we can see it any time," giggled Heather.

I laughed and lay back, pulling them down with me. I pulled Heather into a kiss. She came eagerly. The kiss was long and deep and full of tongues. I was very aware of her full breasts pressing against my side and the hand that was working it's way up the inside of my thigh. I was equally aware of Isobel on my other side. Her hand was also busy on my other thigh.

I abandoned Heather and turned to Isobel. If Heather's kiss had been hot, Isobel's was searing. Fourteen or not, there was something about her that pressed all my buttons. The kiss ended with both of us seriously overheated and gasping for air.

"I thought you two were going to swallow each other," Heather said a trifle petulantly.

"I can think of something else to swallow," I replied.

They giggled. Their hands were now almost at my crotch and they knew fine well what I meant. I put a hand on each shapely knee and began to fingertip caress the insides of their thighs. The skin was warm, soft and elastic. As I worked my way higher, their hands felt for my cock. With delicate fingers they traced it's outline.

"It feels nice," Heather said. "But you can't tell inside all this wrapping."

"You'll just have to pretend it's Christmas and unwrap your present," I said.

"Mmm," Isobel said, pressing her breasts against me and breathing in my ear. "Is it a nice big Christmas present?"

"You'll just have to unwrap it and see."

"I like Christmas presents," Heather said, reaching for my zip. "Even in the summer time."

"I like this sort of present any time of the year," Isobel said, giving my cock a squeeze.

"You won't get any if you don't let it go," Heather complained.

I sucked in my stomach as Heather undid my zip and Isobel my belt. Between them they tugged my trousers and pants down to my knees.

"Oh, yes," Isobel breathed. "A nice big present."

"Mmm," Heather agreed. "I wonder if it gets any bigger."

They pushed me back on the grass and knelt, one on either side. With delicate hands they toyed with my cock; lifting it and dropping it, weighing it, caressing it, squeezing it, all the while making little cooing noises.

"Does it pass muster?" I asked.

They pretended to consider.

"Well, it's nice and firm."

"And it's quite long."

"And it's quite thick, too."

"But not too thick."

"No, not too thick. And it's warm."

They started to slide their hands up and down my shaft.

"And it moves nicely."

"I wonder what it tastes like."

"Oh, do we get to eat it, too?"

They looked at each other and giggled.

Heather pushed her hair behind her ear with a gesture just like her mother's and bent over my cock. She licked her lips then closed them over the tip. Her tongue circled round and round sending shivers up my spine. Isobel stretched out alongside me.

"She's very good," Isobel whispered.

I put my arm around her and pulled her into a kiss. The effect was just like the first one: every time our tongues clashed jolts of electricity seemed to jump between them. She felt it too for I could feel her nipples, hard as nuts, pressing against my side. She began to moan softly and rub herself against me. With the small part of my mind that wasn't absorbed with the twin sensations of being kissed and sucked at the same time, I marvelled at how I could be so ecstatic about kissing a fourteen-year-old girl.

Isobel was right. Her sister was very good. For a while I fought to split my attention on the twin stimuli. In the end I gave up and lay back with a groan. Heather was expertly milking me with lips and tongue and hands. She would suck me deep, her cheeks hollow, then she would slowly remover her mouth and run the tip of her tongue round the very tip of my cock. She would vary that by kissing or licking all the way up and down my shaft. Then it was back to the sucking. Isobel contented herself with slipping a hand inside my shirt and teasing my nipples and chest hair, a smug smile on her face.

I could feel the cum rising. I looked at Isobel who answered my unspoken question with a nod.

"It's okay," she mouthed.

Heather, sensing I was about to cum increased her efforts. Her hand flew up and down my shaft and her head bobbed up and down as she fucked the tip of my cock with her mouth. I was sweating and I my stomach was beginning to convulse.

"Oh God, Heather. Yes," I gasped.

I clutched the grass and thrust upwards, my cock jamming into the back of her mouth as my cum squirted out. Heather sucked like a vacuum cleaner and swallowed and swallowed. She kept her lips clamped around me and missed not a drop. With a sated sigh, I flopped back on the grass. Heather knelt up with a satisfied smile on her face.

"That was good," she said, licking her lips.

"I told you she was good," Isobel announced.

"Good?" I panted. "Bloody amazing. Come here, Heather." Ignoring the slimy, salty taste of my own cum, I hugged her tightly and gave her a big kiss.

When, at last, I felt I could stand without falling over, I levered myself to my feet and stripped off my clothes. I would probably get sunburnt but nothing looks sillier than a man with his shirt tails flapping, unless it's a man with nothing on but a pair of socks.

The girls reclined on the grass and shaded their eyes to look up at me.

"He's not bad, is he?" Heather said.

"He'll do for now, I suppose," Isobel shrugged, then spoiled the effect by giggling.

I regarded my two teenage beauties. They were lying with their knees up and parted. Isobel's skirt had fallen away to show the brief silky panties that snugly cupped her mons. Heather's shorts had pulled tight against her crotch and the material had got caught in the slit between her labia. They spread their knees wider and lifted their hips in open invitation - two teenage girls blatantly encouraging me to sample the delights that lay between their young thighs. Despite having cum only a few minutes ago, I could feel the first stirrings of excitement.

I put on a considering face and stroked my chin, glancing from one to the other as if unable to choose which I should sample first. The invitations became more brazen. Heather cupped her breasts, raising them to points beneath the thin material of her shirt. Isobel stroked her fingers up her thigh and wiggled her pelvis seductively.

That decided me. Without warning I dropped to my knees between her spread thighs and mashed my mouth against her cunt. She squealed with surprise and clamped her thighs shut around my head. I shook my head like a dog, rubbing my lips against her panty-covered labia. She squealed again and threw her thighs wide apart.

I knelt back and tugged at her panties. She wriggled her hips and let me pull them down her legs and over her ankles. I crouched on hands and knees, looming over her. I made a lupine smile, showing lots of teeth, and licked my lips extravagantly. She shivered and her eyes glazed over. Her breasts, conical points beneath her tank-top, rose and fell. I lowered my head and savoured her cunt.

My first taste of a young girl. Oh, and what a taste. Musky and salty, yes, but underneath was a tangy, tart sweetness; a lightness and innocence that disappears with maturity. I buried my nose in her pubis and my tongue in her cunt. I licked and probed and poked. I worked by hands under her bottom to lift her slightly and tried to bury my face inside her sweet cunt. I didn't try to be subtle, that would come later. I sensed that she wanted and needed to be ravished orally. So that is what I did.

If I wanted to bury my face in her cunt, Isobel wanted the whole of my head. She gripped my ears and pulled, spreading her thighs wide and raising her hips in an attempt to get me right inside her. My mouth was full of hot, wet cunt, my nose was full of pubic hair. I could hardly breathe. I fought to keep my mouth clamped against her squirming cunt. In the distance I was dimly aware of her moans and cries. She came and my mouth was flooded with sweet, musky juice. I swallowed manfully and carried on. I found her clitoris and sucked it and teased it and nibbled it. She came again. And again. I was so focussed on pleasuring her that it took some time for me to realise that she was no longer tugging at me but trying to push me away. Reluctantly I drew back and knelt up. My lips were sore, as was my nose. My neck ached and my ears felt as if they would fall off at any instant. My face was smeared with her juices.

She lay, limp and panting, her eyes closed.

"I think you damaged her," Heather said in a shaky voice.

"Not permanently, I hope."

"I want to be damaged like that."

I looked at her. She had removed her shorts and had clearly been masturbating as I ravished her sister. She held out two sticky fingers and I sucked them into my mouth. She tasted different to Isobel - less tart, more musky.

"Mmm," I said. "Dessert."

"It'd better be more than that. I want a full three courses." Her voice was husky.

I grinned. "I thought I was the one doing the eating."

I looked for something to wipe my face with and, finding nothing better, used my shirt. I flexed my tongue and lips, testing to see if they were fit for another round. The back of my neck was still very sore.

"How would you like to sit on my face?" I asked.

"What?"

"I lie on my back and you sit or squat over my mouth. That way I don't hurt my neck."

Her eyes gleamed. "Oh, boy."

Isobel was still lying slumped on the ground though her eyes were open and she was watching with interest. I folded my jacket and trousers carefully to act as a pillow. I guided Heather so she straddled my head. She paused, poised above me, silhouetted against the sky. I slid my hands up her thighs until my fingertips were almost touching her labia. I could feel a faint trembling in her muscles.

"I don't know why, but you make me feel…" she husked.

I smiled. I didn't know why, either but there was something special about these girls. I teased her labia with feather-light touches of my fingertips. Her breath hissed and she chewed at her lower lip. She started to lower herself towards my face but I pushed gently against her inner thigh to stop her. I eased apart her outer labia, exposing the pink interior. Her clitoris, quite prominent, stood out like a baby's thumb. The trembling was more noticeable but whether it was due to the strain of maintaining her position or something else I wasn't sure.

Slowly, an inch at a time, I let her down until she was poised with her cunt half an inch from my face. Her scent was intoxicating and overwhelming. The way I was holding her meant that her outer lips were spread wide apart. The pink interior of her cunt contrasted erotically with the dark hairs of her bush. Her pronounced clitoris was a swollen dark pink nub. I could see her vagina pulse as she squeezed her muscles rhythmically, coating her inner flesh with glistening juice. The thought of being squeezed by these muscles made my cock rigid. I glanced up and, over the swell of her pubic mound I could see her hands gripping her breasts tightly.

Instinctively I knew she did not want the all-out assault I had given her sister. Holding her in position with some difficulty, I stuck out my tongue and delicately licked round her outer labia, teasing and tantalising her. She shuddered and moaned and tried to push herself down onto my mouth. In the end I was forced to let her drop that last half inch, transferring my hands to her buttocks. As she descended, I opened my mouth and sucked. She shrieked as she felt me trying to vacuum her and almost overbalanced. Then she was fucking herself on my mouth: pushing her cunt down on my face and working her hips back and forth. My nose was squashed against her pubis, my mouth almost inside her cunt. I couldn't breathe and began to wonder if maybe this hadn't been such a good idea. I grasped her buttocks and tried to prise her off my face - just a bit so I could breathe while I hoovered her with my mouth and poked a stiffened tongue as deeply into her vagina as I could. I was concerned about hurting her with my teeth but, to be honest, she was so far gone I don't think she'd have noticed if I'd bitten her. She worked her hips frantically, her engorged clit bumping across my upper lip and nose. There was no room for subtlety so I simply licked and sucked and hoped my lungs wouldn't burst while she screeched and squealed and writhed her way to an orgasm. She began to shake, drawing deep, sobbing breaths. A flood of sweet, musky juice poured into my mouth and her vaginal muscles spasmed. I swallowed and sucked for what seemed for ages until, at last, I felt her slump. Fearing she would fall on my face and suffocate me, I wriggled and managed to push her slightly sideways sending her sprawling on the grass. Then I lay with my eyes closed, drawing deep, ragged breaths into my oxygen-starved lungs.

I fell asleep - or passed out - for the next thing I was aware of was Heather's worried voice asking if I was okay. I blinked my eyes open and turned to look at her. Her hair was dishevelled, her skin had that tacky sheen when sweat dries on it and there was a look of real concern in her brown eyes. She looked beautiful. She stretched a hand out toward me.

"I'm fine, Heather," I croaked and clasped her hand in mine.

She gripped my hand. "I'm so sorry, Paul. I just got… carried away."

I smiled. "You did. Did you enjoy it?"

"Did I ever," she breathed. "Are you sure you're okay?"

I nodded and turned my head to see Isobel, wincing as the crick in my neck made itself known. Isobel was kneeling up looking daggers at her older sister. I detected a twinge of jealousy.

"You okay, Isobel?" I asked.

"I'm fine. But she was trying to stuff your whole head inside her."

I touched her knee. "Hey, loosen up. No damage done. As I recall you were pretty ferocious too."

She blushed. "I suppose I was. It was just so good." Then she giggled. "You should see what you look like."

I laughed and struggled to sit up, massaging a decidedly stiff neck. I used my shirt as a towel once again, wiping the sticky residue of Heather's excitement from my face as best I could. The sun was beginning to go down and the heat of the day was over. I shivered.

I took a hand in each of mine. "Thank you, girls, for an afternoon I shall remember and treasure for many years to come," I said sincerely. "Now I think it's time we were heading home."

Silently we dressed and made our way back down the hill to where Mary was waiting with dinner. I hadn't been joking. I would treasure this afternoon when two young girls gave themselves completely and uninhibitedly.

The evening was still reasonably warm so we took our coffee outside to enjoy the last of the sunshine. Mary seemed ill at ease.

"I suppose I owe you an explanation," she began.

"You don't owe me anything."

She sighed then half turned and looked at me earnestly, her hands clasped nervously in her lap. "I feel I do. You've been… well… understanding."

I gave a small snort of disbelief. "I haven't understood anything. It's not every day that I get offered the services of not jut one but three attractive and sexy women. I'm just going with the flow." She gave a twitch of a grin. "So you owe me nothing. On the other hand, if you'd like to tell me more about Mary Jamieson, I'm all ears. I confess I find her a fascinating woman."

She flushed. "Please, Paul. That just makes it worse."

I took her hands in mine. "I'm sorry. I'll listen quietly."

She was quiet for a minute as though marshalling her words. "Although I come from up North, there's more than a hint of Spanish blood in me. Family tradition has it that it was a ship from the Armada… Whatever the origin, I've always been a sensual person. I've always liked sex - even from an early age. That's why Andrew and I got on so well. He was a passionate lover and kept me well satisfied." She sighed. "I suppose that's really why we stayed married so long. Still…"

She went on to explain life after Andrew had been very difficult - not just the fact that her had walked out and left her struggling to make ends meet and raise the girls but also the lack of regular sex. She found her health was being affected - her physical health as well as her emotional health.

She had an admirer though, a man who had made his affections for her known even before her husband left although he had not, in any sense, pursued her. Once she was on her own, Alan, her admirer, began to press his case. She liked Alan and respected him but did not love him. However, he offered her a way out of her dilemma. In effect she became his mistress. At first they tried to be discreet and keep their affair away from the girls but that had been difficult and, in the end, they started meeting at the pub.

Then two things happened. The first was that Isobel found her and Alan in bed one day. Isobel was devastated. She accused her mother of being a slut and betraying her father who, she was convinced, would return at any time. Isobel didn't speak to her mother for several weeks. In the end, however, she accepted the situation for reasons that became clear later.

The second event was that Mary caught Heather in bed with a boy - not a boy of her own age but a lad from the estate quite a bit older than her. Mary was most concerned. The estate had a bad reputation in the village proper and not without some justification. Some of the lads were unsavoury, to put it mildly, and the one Heather had taken up with was a known troublemaker.

It was then that Mary realised that her daughters had inherited her strong sex drive. After fretting about it for some time, she confided in Alan. Alan had the answer, his nephew Ian. Mary had a long and frank talk with her daughters. It turned out that Heather didn't particularly like the lad from the estate but, as she put it, "he fucks like a rabbit." She was well aware of his reputation and was slightly concerned that she might get sucked into a life-style she didn't really want. She was willing to give Ian a go. Isobel wanted in on the arrangement as well. At this, Mary put her foot down. Twelve was far to young to be thinking about sex.

I did a mental double-take at that. Sex at twelve? My God! Mind you Isobel was only fourteen now.

Things didn't work out quite as planned. Ian was very inexperienced and rather shy and, in the end, Mary had to seduce him and show him what to do. Alan, it transpired, had taken a shine for Heather who was not unwilling. Then, when Isobel turned thirteen, she decided she would wait no longer and seduced Alan.

At this, I had a momentary pang of jealousy. I would have loved to have been the one to take her virginity.

This arrangement was not satisfactory. All sorts of tensions and jealousies were simmering under the surface and it was only a matter of time before it all fell apart. Matters were taken out of their hands when Alan was made redundant and had to leave the village in search of work.

All three, however, were now used to regular sex and Mary knew it wouldn't be long before both the girls strayed, perhaps into areas she'd rather they didn't go. Again fate played a part. It transpired that her and Alan's affair was common knowledge in the village. As they had kept it quiet and Mary was well liked, nothing had been said. However, as soon as Alan was out of the picture, she was inundated with offers, some of them quite offensive. She was, after all, an attractive single woman with a known appetite for sex and with two sexually active daughters.

"A mother and two daughters. It's every man's dream, isn't it?" she smiled.

"Well, mine have certainly come true," I grinned.

"I knew I wasn't going to get away with a blanket 'no' so I decided that, if I was going to have sex, it would be on my terms - or rather our terms because the girls were included. So I laid down the conditions and now we, er, entertain certain men from time to time."

"Conditions?"

"Oh, yes. Single men only. We choose, not they. They must be clean and respectable and, most importantly, be willing to do what we say."

"They must be beating a path to your door."

She grinned. "If we'd let them. We're very picky. Actually there's only four we see regularly."

"But how… What happens if… Oh." The hints and suggestions I had had been hearing came into focus. Villages are invariably tight-knit places and it was clear that people were genuinely fond of Mary. In this sort of environment, people would rally round and protect and support one of their own. Dougie, Jack and probably a number of others were obviously part of that group. It was quite remarkable that, despite behaving in what many, certainly, would regard as a quite immoral and indecent fashion, she commanded enough love and respect to have her 'transgressions' overlooked. She really was a remarkable woman.

I still had her hands. I lifted them to my lips and kissed them. "I am truly honoured that you've let me share your life, even for a short time."

She looked away, blushing. "Och, I'm just a horny old woman. Nothing special."

"You know that's not true," I laughed. "But we'll let it pass."

"It'll do for now. It's not worshipping I want from you."

"Oh, but I do. I worship every part of you. I worship you with my hands and my mouth and my cock." I turned her hands over and licked the palms.

She shivered. "That sort of worship I can take any day. Perhaps we could start now?"

"Certainly. Just as soon as we've washed the dishes, swept the floors, stacked the wood and put out the cat."

"But I don't have a…" she began, then laughed.

In easy companionship we did the chores. Despite the fact that there was plenty of room we seemed to manage to get in each other's way a lot.

She made coffee. I sat in one of the easy chairs in front of the unlit range. Mary came and perched on my knee. It was so incredibly and blissfully domestic.

"You don't… dislike me, then?" she asked.

I placed a hand on her smooth, warm knee and began to work it up under her skirt. "No, I don't dislike you. Rather the reverse." I looked up to see her regarding me with an anxious look mixed with something else. "Mary, I don't think you realise just how special you are." She made a deprecating noise. "No, listen. You're husband walks out on you. Instead of going to pieces, you become a successful publican. Your girls start sleeping around. Instead of grounding them for life or locking them up, you find a safe way of keeping them on the rails. And in between, you've built a support group around you that would probably walk over hot coals if you asked them. If that's not special I don't know what is."

She flushed and looked away, cupping both hands round her mug as if finding solace in the aroma. In the silence, I kept my hand on her thigh, absurdly conscious of her comforting weight on my knee and the warm skin beneath my palm.

I sighed. "I wish…" I began then shook my head. In truth I wished that I could be assured of this scene of domestic tranquillity every night for the rest of my life but such thoughts were not even to be entertained.

She looked up quickly, her eyes bright. "Yes? What is it you wish?"

I smiled at her. "I wish to take you to bed right now," I said.

She smiled back impishly. "That's not what you were wishing at all." She put down her coffee cup, stood and pulled me to my feet. "But it'll do for now."

Hand in hand we climbed the stairs to her bedroom. There we found Heather and Isobel, neatly tucked under the covers, reading.

"You took your time," Isobel complained.

"We thought you'd got lost," Heather pouted.

"Or started without us," Isobel added. "Which would have been worse."

Around mid-day on Monday I strolled over to Jack McCowall's garage. He emerged wiping his hands on an oily cloth. Why is it they do that? It must be part of basic car mechanic's training.

"What's the damage, Jack?"

"Well, laddie, that depends."

"Depends on what?"

"On how long you want to stay," he grinned.

I blushed. "Well, I don't know." I looked at his sympathetic smile. "Hell, Jack, to be honest I'd as rather write the car off and be stuck here for ever." I sighed. "But I've got responsibilities elsewhere and a living to earn. How about tomorrow."

"Tomorrow it is."

"By the way, what is the problem?"

"A fuse."

I laughed, the tears streaming down my face. It wasn't really that funny but something broke inside me and I howled with mirth. "A fuse? My God, I could have fixed that myself."

"Aye, well."

I sobered. "But I'm damn glad I didn't." I stuck out my hand. "Thanks Jack. I'll see you tomorrow."

I strolled back to the pub, whistling.

"You seem mighty cheerful," Mary greeted me.

"Oh, aye. Jack won't have the car fixed till tomorrow."

"I thought you'd want to get away."

"Now, why would I want that?" I grinned and goosed her.

"Paul MacInnes, you mind them wandering hands," she exclaimed, but she stepped into my arms and kissed me deeply.

"I do really have to go." I answered her unspoken question.

"I know you do. It's only wishful thinking."

I sighed. "I know. I wish it wasn't." I looked are her intently, this dark, sensual woman who somehow seemed out of place in a small, run-down mining village. "I will always be grateful to you. You, and the girls, have shown me more than I ever knew before - and I don't just meant the sex."

She smiled but there were tears in her eyes. She touched a finger to my lips. "Hush. Before we say things that can't be unsaid." Then the old Mary was back with the twinkle in her eye. "Tonight we'll give you a right royal sending-off."

I was on tenterhooks all the rest of the day wondering what a 'right royal sending-off' might involve.

After dinner I was told to wait in the living room while the three women prepared. I sat and waited impatiently, my heart thumping and my cock already hard.

I didn't have long to wait. There was shuffling and giggling outside the door and then Mary's voice telling me to close my eyes and keep them shut on pain of death. I heard them moving around, shifting things. I hardly dared to breath.

"You can open your eyes."

I blinked them open then blinked some more. "Oh, my God," I gasped.

They were dressed in the outfits I had seen when I spied on them on Saturday: black corsets, velvet opera gloves, seamed stockings and high-heeled shoes. Mary was posed in front of me, feet spread apart, pelvis thrust aggressively forward. The pose made her exposed dark bush, freshly washed and fluffed up, seem almost obscenely erotic. Held across her chest like a pipe major's baton was a riding crop. The girls posed slightly behind her and to either side. They had one foot raised on dining-room chairs. Again their bushes; Heather's like her mother's and Isobel's lighter and finer, were obscenely and erotically displayed. The message was clear. These are yours. Nothing is hidden, nothing is forbidden. I almost came in my pants.

"You like?" Mary grinned.

I gulped. "I like."

"Who is it to be?"

I knew what she meant. I could only fuck one of them. They would make sure of that. Who was it to be? I hesitated for an instant. I knew who I really wanted but I was wiser than that.

"You," I croaked.

She shook her head but I could tell I had made the right choice. "It can't be me. It has to be one of the girls."

"Well, Isobel, then." And my heart sang.

"Stand up, then, and strip off."

I did with alacrity, struggling to free my rock-hard cock from my underwear. Mary placed cushions over the edge of the table and Isobel took her position. Heather dropped to her knees in front of me, cupped my balls in one hand curled the other around my cock. I glanced down. The touch of velvet was electric and the sight of the black-clad fingers round my cock erotic in the extreme.

"You'd better not cum in my mouth," Heather grinned.

"If I do, you'll just have to start again."

"Now there's a thought."

She started in right away, her head bobbing on my cock, one hand caressing my shaft, the other gently squeezing my balls. And then she deep-throated me. She hadn't done that earlier but she did now. Before I could blink, she had taken my shaft right down her throat and her lips were pressed against my pubic hair. The thing that made oral sex from Heather so exciting was that she really seemed to enjoy it. Many women give head out of duty or because it give them a sense of power. Heather genuinely enjoyed the sensation of having a cock in her mouth. She treated it as if it was something rare and precious - a treat rather than a chore. She lavished attention on it. Her only aim was to give her partner as much pleasure as possible.

"Heather. Don't." I called.

I put my hands on her hair to try and stop her but instead buried them in the fine curls and held her there as her throat worked convulsively. It was all too much. I felt the cum bubbling up in my balls.

"Oh God. No. Yes," I cried.

My cock jerked and I thrust forward involuntarily. She milked my balls as she swallowed and swallowed and I pumped my cum directly down her throat.

Mary and Isobel were watching Heather's performance with amazement.

"Well," said Mary as Heather knelt back on her heels and wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, smiling smugly. "I know we promised Paul a night to remember but that takes the biscuit."

"You're a cow, Heather," Isobel said crossly. "He chose me."

"Don't get your knickers in a twist, Izzy. I was just taking the edge off," Heather smirked, standing up. "So he'll last longer with you. Anyway he gets all hot and bothered just looking at you so what's your worry."

An observant girl, Heather.

"And don't call me Izzy."

"Girls. Enough," Mary remonstrated gently. "This is Paul's night and we don't want to spoil it by fighting. Heather has a point, Paul did seem to cum quite quickly. And I'm sure he has it in him to rise to the occasion when required."

This play on words was greeted by groans from the girls. Mary made Heather fetch a cloth to clean the tacky cum from my shrivelled cock. Heather took her time, rubbing her body against mine as she wiped the warm, damp cloth sensually over my genitals. At that moment I almost regretted not choosing her as my partner.

When she was finished, Mary called me over. She positioned me behind Isobel who had draped herself back across the table. She stood close behind me and reached round to hold my cock.

"I want you to look at Isobel. Look at her slender thighs. Hasn't she got a nice, tight bottom? And in between, what do you see? Doesn't it look inviting? I want you imagine what's going to happen. I want you to imagine taking your hard cock and entering my daughter. She's very tight. She'll fit you like a glove. She loves to feel a man's hardness enter her. Only fourteen and she loves sex. Picture it. It's going to happen. You're going to slide your big, hard cock into her tight little vagina. And I'm going to be watching. It will make me so horny and excited to see you have sex with my daughter."

As she was speaking, her voice low and monotonous, like a chant, she was pressing herself against my back and working my cock. I could feel her hairy pubis rub against my bottom and her large breasts squash against my back, the nipples hard as nuts. Despite having cum so vigorously and so recently, the whole scene was so unbelievably erotic that I was soon hard again.

The girls were affected, too. Heather was openly masturbating with two finger buried deep in her snatch. Isobel moaned softly and wriggled her hips. Between her spread thighs I could see the outer lips of her labia had swollen and parted revealing the pink interior.

Mary released me. I gave an involuntary sigh of disappointment. Mary grinned.

"I want you hard and ready," she said then turned to Heather. "Keep him up while I prepare this wanton little hussy. Don't let him cum, mind."

"You can trust me, mother," Heather smirked.

"No I can't. That's the trouble," Mary retorted but she was smiling.

Heather took her mother's place, pressed up against my back with one hand curled around my cock.

"Would you like me to talk dirty?" she breathed.

"No. I don't think I could stand it. I'm having enough difficulty as it is," I replied.

She gave my cock a squeeze but, otherwise, contented herself with rubbing her pubis against my bottom and her breasts against my back. If anything her nipples felt even harder than her mother's perhaps because they were not quite as large. Inspiration struck me and I reached behind, slipping a hand between our bodies and feeling for her mons. Her cunt was slippery and wet and I managed to insinuate two fingers into it without any trouble.

"Oh, that's naughty," she gasped, her breath hot in my ear.

Naughty it might be but nice she certainly found it for she began to hump herself against my fingers. I half curled them attempting to find her clitoris.

In the meantime, Mary had been busy. She had re-positioned Isobel making sure she was comfortably placed on the cushions. Now she had taken up the riding crop.

"I want you to pay close attention, Paul," she said.

She began to spank her daughter with the crop. The blows did not appear to be severe nor were they frequent. She would lay a light blow on one of Isobel's small, taut cheeks and watch as the girl danced a little jig and clenched her muscles in an attempt to ease the sting. Then she would lay another. Isobel's breath hissed through her teeth and her hands clenched and unclenched.

After ten or a dozen strokes, Mary stopped. "Are you feeling it, dear?" she asked in a motherly tone.

"God, yes," Isobel hissed, her hips twisting and turning and her bottom flexing. "I feel it fine." She continued to writhe for a few more minutes then cried out. "Oh, yes. Now, mother. Please."

Mary turned and pulled me forward. "Now," she said simply. "Don't hold back."

I stepped up behind Isobel and put my hands on her hips to hold her still.

"Do it," she demanded, thrusting her bottom out. "Do it."

I lined myself up and brought the tip of my cock to the entrance of her vagina.

"Straight in," she commanded. "Shove it straight in."

She was incredibly tight but very wet. I had to push hard to make any progress. She let out a sound that was half way between a moan and a scream as she felt my hard cock force its way up into her. I could feel her vagina stretch to accommodate me and, for a moment, worried that I might be hurting her. But I was now as gripped with lust as she. There was something about this young teenager that aroused the animal in me and my sole desire was to penetrate her as deeply as I could and screw her long and hard.

I did not - could not - think of her as a fourteen-year-old schoolgirl. She was a woman: a hot, squirming, panting woman. It didn't matter that I was nearly twice her age - she was the tight, wet, willing receptacle for my cock and I could think of nothing else. I fucked her hard, the tip of my cock bashing her cervix, my hips smacking against her bottom, my balls bumping her clitoris. I became my cock, slipping and sliding in and out of the tight channel that gripped me first one way and then another as she writhed on the table. I was so caught up in the sensations that I was hardly aware of the soft hands that cupped my balls, squeezing and teasing.

A pain, so intense and unexpected that lightning arced across my eyeballs, lanced through me. I may have screamed, I don't remember. I jerked forward, jamming my cock even more deeply into Isobel's cunt and almost lifting her from the floor. Through the haze of pain I heard her scream and realised I must have hurt her. This served to bring me back to reality. The pain, which was now centred on my bottom, must have been Mary hitting me with the riding crop. I had never been spanked before and the idea of being turned on by pain had never seemed attractive.

I changed my mind that evening. The crop swung again and another bombshell burst in my bottom. This time I was determined to control it as I did not want to hurt Isobel. So I clenched my buttocks tightly, the breath hissing through my clenched teeth. Tightening my buttocks did, of course, serve to drive my cock deeper into Isobel's tight cunt. I tensed and relaxed in a vain attempt to ease the pain. Isobel was in seventh heaven. I was driving deeply, but not painfully, into her. She cried out her appreciation and thrust herself back at me, squirming and churning her hips.

At indecently long intervals, Mary laid several more blows across my bottom. She knew what she was doing. The pain from one blow was just subsiding from the agonising to the merely painful when the next one fell. And as I had no way of knowing when she would strike, the tension of anticipation was almost worse than the blow itself. I found myself concentrating on the whip rather than the sensations of my cock sliding in and out of Isobel's cunt.

Then a curious thing happened. The pain began to recede only to be replaced by a strange warmth. It spread from my bottom right through my body and especially to my genitals. My cock seemed to become even larger and more sensitive. My balls were on fire. I now became acutely aware of the moving in and out of her vagina; aware of the loose skin of my cock sliding back and forth, aware of the exquisite thrill as the sensitive tip of my cock met her cervix, aware of the touch of the soft skin of her legs pressing against mine, aware of my pubic hairs rough against her bottom, aware of her taut buttocks, squirming against my hips. I was also aware of the hands gently fondling and squeezing my balls and of the hot, wet tongue licking my over-heated arse. I felt my brain would explode.

A trembling began in my toes and worked it's way up my body. I gripped her hips tightly and began thrusting into her with short, sharp jabs.

"Oh, Isobel, Isobel, I'm going to cum," I panted. "Need to cum inside you. Oh, God. I'm cumming."

I was dimly aware of Isobel's voice chanting, "Yes. Yes. Yes," as in an almost gut-wrenching spasm, my balls contracted, the soft hands squeezing urgently. I could feel the cum surge down the length of my cock and spurt out like water from a fire-hose. It was so intense it was almost painful. Isobel's muscles contracted around my cock, milking me, almost sucking the cum out as if desperate to receive every drop. I came and came. And even long after I stopped spurting I was still twitching. Each time I did, she would contract around me and that would set me off again.

Completely drained, both emotionally and physically, I lay over her drawing deep, shuddering breaths. Beneath me she was doing the same. At last I pushed myself upright. My sagging cock slipped reluctantly from her cunt and she gave a little whimper of disappointment. On shaky legs I helped her rise. She gave me a tremulous smile. I gathered gently her in my arms and buried my face in her hair.

"I love you, Isobel," I whispered.

Her arms tightened around me. I looked up to see Mary and Heather with unreadable expressions on their faces. I held out an open arm and gathered the three of them into my embrace. We stood and cuddled and suddenly I was overwhelmed - by the situation, by the experience I'd just had, by the whole incredible weekend. I burst into tears.

"I love you all," I sobbed, the tears streaming unashamedly down my face. "How can I ever thank you for… for everything. That was the most intense thing I've ever felt. Thank you. Thank you."

They stoked and caressed and petted me, murmuring words of love and comfort and support. Their eyes, too, glistened with tears.

I was outside McCowall's garage at nine o'clock sharp. By unspoken agreement I'd spent the night in my 'own' bed. By the time I was up and about the girls had left for school. Mary gave me breakfast and hurried off on some urgent business. It was for the best, I suppose. The previous night was, indeed, one we would all remember for a long time to come and teary farewells and possible recriminations were best avoided. I ate hurriedly. Mary had not left a bill so I wrote a cheque for a generous amount with a brief note saying, 'for room and board, use of phone and refreshments.' I hoped she would cash it: that she would not be too proud: that she would not think I was trying to pay for the sex. If truth be told, even fifty times more than I'd left would not have been enough for that.

Jack, sensing my mood, was even more taciturn than usual. I paid him and added a fiver.

"What's that for?" he asked, suspiciously.

"Nothing, Jack. It's just for… thanks."

He took the note and nodded sympathetically. "Take care, laddie."

"You, too, Jack."

I drove off. A glint of sun blinded me temporarily - at least it had to be something like that to make my eyes water the way they did.

Colin had been stalwart in filling in for me. He briefed me on the story so far and took me to meet the other team. They were duly sympathetic about my plight and commiserated with me about being stuck in some god-forsaken village all this time. I said little, merely smiling and nodding acquiescence. Negotiations were quite far advanced and Colin was doing fine. Nobody thought it odd that I contributed little. In truth it all seemed a little unreal. It was an important contract and one that would secure our financial security for quite some time. Last week I would have been - I was - all fired up about it, driving everyone insane with my insistence that every detail be checked again and again. But, now, I found I couldn't care less. All the wheeling and dealing that I'd thrived on in the past now seemed like a meaningless game.

Colin noticed, though. "What's wrong, Paul? You've hardly said a word all day. You seem a bit out of sorts."

I pasted a smile on my face and clapped him on the shoulder. "Nothing's wrong, Colin. You're doing a fine job. I don't want to queer your pitch, that's all. Come on, I'll take you to dinner."

It took another day to wrap up the details then it was back to the office to celebrate and organise the next phase. Everyone was euphoric. We had done it! There were congratulations all round. Much of the praise was directed at me. I deflected most of it and made much of Colin stepping in to fill the breach in my absence. This was only partly true. Certainly he finished it off but it had been my efforts that had got us there in the first place. Somehow it didn't seem important.

Colin wouldn't leave it alone. "You've been acting very oddly since your breakdown."

I sighed. "I suppose its because I was forced to do absolutely nothing for three days. You know me, Colin, never happy unless I'm a hundred per cent occupied."

He grinned. "Aye, that's true enough."

"Enforced idleness is not my style. I just need to get back up to speed again."

I tried my best. I threw myself into my job with renewed zeal. I worked hard and late. But it didn't work. My heart wasn't in it any more. It was a façade and I knew, one day, I'd come unstuck. I found myself stopping for no apparent reason as visions of Mary and Heather and Isobel flashed through my mind. I told myself I was being silly. I had a great job and better prospects. I was well off and destined to earn more. The world was my oyster. I was on the way up. What future was there with the landlady of a pub in a run-down mining village who was the best part of a decade older than I with two teenage daughters? I was fine where I was - popular, successful, ambitious.

I'm on the road again. This time no misfortune will stop me; no breakdown, no accident, no malfunction. I'm heading back to a place where travellers never stop, a town people only pass through. But I am going to stop. And I hope never to leave again. I'm heading for my mining village and there I am going to persuade Mrs Mary Jamieson to become Mrs Mary MacInnes.