'Laney! Laney!'
Ghislaine pretended not to hear the call and continued down the lane leading to the cliffs and sea shore. She felt entitled to ignore her mother's shouts - for had she not completed her share of the domestic chores? Was she not now at eighteen full grown, finished with high school and, lucky girl, been promised a job in the nearby town at the end of the summer holidays?
Coming to the cliff path her long, lithe legs carried her rapidly away from their old fisherman's cottage and on toward the wooded headland that thrust into the sea a mile to the east of the village.
The sun striking hot on her body made her glad he'd said not to wear underclothes. She might have coped with panties, though she much preferred the cool feel of air drifting up the legs of her shorts and onto the mound he'd insisted on shaving, but a bra would be unbearable - not that she needed one, her recently ripened breasts were high and youthfully firm.
Reaching a fork in the path she hesitated; one branch continued on to the headland, while the other wound steeply down to the seclusion of Shell Cove. Which should she take? Where would it please him most to discover her; in the woods - sun-bathing in its small central glade, her curves bare and exposed for his delight; or lying naked on the sands of the cove - sea soaked and eager to be used?
Undecided she scanned the deserted cliffs, then out to sea where a small yacht lay becalmed.
Suddenly - from nowhere - he was behind her, his hands resting lightly on the curve of her hips. Kisses moistened the back of her neck while hands stole under her tee-shirt, gently caressing her satin skin as they slid up to fondle her new, young boobs, the nipples hard in his palms.
'Oh! Yes!' She moaned, abruptly aware of the way she ached with the need to know his touch.
'What do you wish?' She had to strain to hear his low, melodious voice start the incantation.
'To make you happy.' She fervently responded.
'And what will make me happy?'
'Taking me. Using me. Enjoying my body.' She was becoming breathless under his attentive handling.
'You will do all I ask?' His strong fingers continued to fondle her sensitive orbs, squeezing them hard enough to make her gasp, before gently stroking their erect buds.
'Yes, yes, I'm yours. Just tell me how I may please you.'
Her fingers fumbled with the buttons of her shorts until, at last, they opened allowing the material to slip down her slim, boyish, thighs and pool around her ankles. As she stepped from them he grasped the hem of her shirt and pulled it up over her head and down her arms. The hot sun fell scorchingly on her bare tits and mound.
'On your hands and knees,' he commanded, pulling her back from the path and onto the short, sheep cropped turf.
Eagerly she knelt, thrusting out her arms to support her upper body. She didn't attempt to look at him, she knew he couldn't be seen. She could only ever hear him, smell him, and above all feel the exquisite pleasure of his shaft driving into her, but never was he to be seen - not by her, not by anyone.
Ghislaine felt him kneel behind her, his already stiff shaft nudging her entrance, testing her wetness. She pushed back, desperate to impale herself on his length, willing him to fill her.
'Patience, my dear. I think slowly and deliberately is much more enjoyable.'
She groaned, 'No, now. Now!'
'Behave yourself, you're here to please me. Or so you said.' The perspiration on his chest dripped cool on her back as his hands reached round to grasp and milk her pendant boobs. Abruptly, with one violent thrust, he drove straight into her. She screamed.
Oh, it was good feeling him deep inside, but she wished she were the one riding, then she would feel his lips and teeth tasting her tits as she rose and fell on his big shaft.
He started with small, slow thrusts, that quickly rose to a crescendo until he was rapidly and forcefully sheathing and unsheathing his full length. Now Ghislaine was lost; now she knew nothing but the bliss of being roughly ravaged as she came again and again.
At last, with a short cry, he erupted, his welcome seed flowing into her, filling her. He gave a final, perfunctory squeeze to her tits, then pulled his sated, empty cock from her and allowed her to collapse, exhausted but content, onto the grass.
'Did I please you?' She panted. 'Did you have all you wanted from me?' There was no reply. Was he still there?
Brushing a few small grass stems from her bruised breasts she looked round, although she knew that even if he remained close he would not be visible. All she could see was an expanse of pasture, empty except for the distant figure of an old crone slowly plodding along the path from the village. It seemed she was once more alone on the wide sweep of the cliff top.
Spent, she stood and let the blazing sun dry her naked, sweat soaked skin before picking up her shorts and tee-shirt.
Dressed again she turned toward home only to find the old crone almost upon her. 'Good day Mrs. Pratt.' Ghislaine had been taught that politeness cost nothing.
'Yes it is. . . . So it's you he's chosen to have next.'
'I'm sorry?'
'Tim. That Invisible Monster. Tim, I call him. You're the latest he's picked to serve his sick needs.'
'How do you know?'
'I may be getting on in years but my senses are still sharp. Even from down the path I could hear the noise you were making as you were fucked - except I could see no one taking you. I knew then that it had to be Tim doing you, so I waited till he'd finished with you before I came on.'
'How very considerate.' Ghislaine was somewhat resentful at the thought of being watched.
'Not really. I just didn't want to have to acknowledge him.'
'How do you know of him?'
'Because I was one of his first.'
She looked hard at the woman. Slightly stooped from a poverty stricken grind she was probably three times Ghislaine's age. Her bone structure hinted that she could once have been as great a beauty. Perhaps she wasn't as ancient as she had imagined.
'You're too old.'
'Am I? Don't imagine that if you could see him he would be some handsome young stud. He never was, not even when he was regularly taking me, though - to be fair - he was presentable enough in those days. But now - when he's older than I am . . .'
'I don't believe you. You're just a jealous old woman.'
'So you may think, but then all you feel is the joy of a first love; of having a man who has made you his own; a man who delights in filling your cunni. You want to talk about him, let the world know how great he is. Well, I've been there. Join me in my cottage for a cup of tea and I'll tell you all about your so wonderful lover.'
Ghislaine stared, confused - what right did this old witch have to tell lies about his appearance, invisible though he was. But she was right, she wanted, needed, to talk to someone about him. She gazed out to sea - absent mindedly noticing that the yacht had hardly moved.
At last, grudgingly, she agreed. 'All right, since I've nothing else to do right now.'
Impatiently she turned in the direction of the headland, the woman shuffling after her. As they passed the fork in the path Ghislaine motioned toward the cove, 'That's where I first met him,' she defiantly declared.
'Does it matter where? Once he'd decided to take you he would have found a convenient spot.' The old woman said.
-ooOoo-
Was it true? Ghislaine reflected on that first meeting. It was Sunday, several weeks ago - the first really fine, warm day of the year. No more revision, her exams over, her schooling about to end, stuck in this one horse - no, one boat - village, she had been at a loose end. Her few friends were far away in the town so, finally, for lack of anything else to occupy her, she had decided on a swim. Shell Cove was her favourite spot. It was usually deserted which made it a convenient place to change, and saved having to trudge home in a wet bikini. Except that when she arrived she realized she had forgotten the bikini. Well, she wasn't going back for it. Anyway with no one about why shouldn't she skinny dip.
It wasn't a long swim, for though the sun might be warm, the sea was still cold so early in the year, yet it was good to once more feel the salt water caressing her tits and her pussy. She dried herself and, the cove being protected from the wind, settled back, still naked, to doze in the sun.
At first she'd thought she was dreaming the fingers delicately caressing her breast. She'd looked down at her boobs, so much bigger than this time last year, but had seen nothing. Then, so mild it was hardly there, a faint touch had ruffled her pubic hair. She'd felt a tremor run through her body and instinctively spread her legs. The slight pressure stroked the inside of one thigh then the other before moving to her clit.
'You like that, don't you?' The voice had been so low she had barely heard it over the surf. But where was its owner. Why could she hear him, feel him, but not see him?
A pause, then the - hand? - on her breast gave way to - lips? - gently sucking her nipple. The firmness - a finger? - at her slit pushed inside her. What was happening? Was she dreaming? If so she didn't want it to stop. The tension mounted, her need grew; she'd arched her back; one finger became two; with a deep moan she came.
'Now wasn't that fun?' The voice had been close to her ear. 'If you're a good girl we can do that again some time.'
Once more aware of her surroundings she had sensed an absence. He'd gone - if he'd ever been there - if it had been a man - but what had happened? Whatever it was it didn't happen again although hope took her back to the cove on each of the next three afternoons.
The following Wednesday evening she had gone to her room and lain naked on the bed, hands lazily exploring and enjoying her boobs. She was thankful they had finally developed so generously that boys, and men, who had previously paid her no heed now vied for her acquaintance. She dropped a hand between her legs and found her clit.
'Let me do that for you.' The voice was the same, so it seemed was the hand that slid under the quilt, gently moved her's aside, and assumed the stroking of her swollen labia.
She started, then relaxed and sighed with pleasure. He was back.
'Are you a good girl?' The voice had asked.
'What's a good girl?'
'One who knows it's better to give than to receive. That, if she wants the pleasure only a man can provide, must first agree to satisfy him, fill his needs, obey his demands.'
'I think so.'
'So what are you going to give me?'
