The Lost Highway

They'd found the road to nowhere. Off the M4 was a road sign; "Brickspan Highway" That's what Fran saw. But now she queried why there were no other vehicles to be seen. There was something very odd about the scene.

It was 1981 and the war had been over for years but the scene took on the look of a battle zone

Let's stop, take a look up the map." Tom suggested.

He scanned the road map spread across his lap, sweat forming little droplets upon his brow in the heat of midsummer's day.

"No such road or highway mentioned on here as Brickspan," he reckoned. "In fact, I don't know where the hell we are. Look, we have just come down the M4 right? - And we've taken a turning which doesn't exist. This is no new road; it looks more like that old wartime runway we saw in Lincolnshire. Are you sure you saw the sign, Fran? because I didn't"

"Yes, I did see the sign," Fran replied with some indignation. "And the name of the place where we saw that old runway was Metheringham. I appreciate your interest darling in the old world war two airfields but please, no more. Let's live in the present. Life must go on and we are on honeymoon, remember!"

"You are dead sure then that sign actually said Brickspan Highway, Fran? Looks more like a dust track than a highway."

Fran wanted out. Tom was getting niggled. Lately, he was always like this under pressure - trying to edge the blame onto her. She wondered if she should have taken up her former boyfriend's invite after all, Mathew was really something, but he was also Tom's brother, so she had to play it cool.

But she clearly remembered those passionate intimacies she'd shared with Mathew and he was game for anything. He had time for her but it was turning out that bloody Tom seemed more engaged to his obsession into the past.

Even now with her passion over spilling and being deprived by Tom she was immersed in those episodes shared with Mathew and remembered how he fucked her so beautifully over the snooker table and sometimes over the sink when he was helping her wash up, and all that going on whilst her new husband was in the shower.

Mathew claimed that she was fully fledged and wanted some of the action, after all Tom was his twin and they had shared most things so far!

Fran was so primed up now and felt she could not get enough of Tom, so his brother stood as a good stand in. She felt no guilt because Mathew seemed so much alike, except for his sexual preferences and that is what made Fran close to him.

That time over the billiard table was quite unexpected, when she was just placing the balls for him. She could not help it if, by bending over the edge, she was such a temptation to him. She couldn't help it either if she enjoyed the sensation of his sniff as he kneeled behind her and then the very well defined thrusting eminence into her newly initiated quinny, so wet and ready for more attention than Tom was able to give when he made her a woman.

Equally enjoyable was when he had her over the sink, it was so lovely, her hands all sudsy and sliding over his beautiful form as he fucked her full throttle. And not one plate was broken but she was, because she had her first anal fuck despite her early protests. But Mathew showed he a new way which was equally as divine.

Again, Mathew said in defence of his taking her that she had a very desirable butt made more tempting in her pretty lace red panties.

But Fran said he had no need to defend himself because it was absolutely lovely and secretly, she hoped that Tom would want her that way too.

Since she'd agreed to marry Tom she always wanted to spend her honeymoon in Britain, but right now she'd rather be back home in Montreal. She expected a little more attention from her brand new husband. This was a special time, not an in depth survey of Britain's past.

Already a week had passed and every day Tom was obsessed in history. Is this how it was going to be? Had she found something in Tom she didn't know about? Last thing she wanted was to spoil the honeymoon. But right now, her patience was being severely tested. Quietly she was masturbating whilst thinking of Mathew and his prominence, her passion unfulfilled and so demanding.

"I tell you without doubt I saw the sign." She replied sharply. Her brunette hair was blowing in the stiff breeze that seemed to come up from nowhere.

Curiosity persuaded Tom to continue: "Let's just carry on for a while, darling. You never know what me may find."

She had to go along with him. His grandfather was a Royal Canadian Air Force pilot during World War two and unfortunately lost his life at Metheringham. He needed to see the former airfield. Perhaps it was just the sad association with the place. His grandfather's crippled bomber didn't quite make the landing on return from a German bombing mission. This was why she held back - just for now anyway.

An hour later, still nothing had passed either way. The terrain was variable - no buildings, grazing animals, just - nothing - after a gusty night the day was fine, apart from the stiff breeze, just a few puffs of white cloud. But it was becoming hotter as the afternoon came in.

"Where the hell is we?" Tom yelled. The heat was getting to him now. Fran insisted they should turn back and Tom knew she was right. He instantly responded and Jan sighed with relief.

Two hours later they still hadn't reached the M4 where they'd earlier turned off.

"This is being frantic time," Fran said pointing at the fuel gauge. They were nearly out of gas.

"Keep your eyes skinned for a gas station," Tom shouted.

Something loomed up. It wasn't a gas station. It was a square structure with a large wheel.

"I guess it's a mine shaft," Fran speculated.

They pulled up. Fran was right, it was derelict.

Deadly silence, except for an occasional creaking sound made for a spooky scene.. They waited, hoping someone was around who could help but there was nobody, the place was deserted.

"Well, we are nearly out of gas, darling, so it's sleeping in the car tonight. We are bound to see someone on the morning that can help." But Tom didn't sound confident.

"Some honeymoon, Fran griped, "spending the night in the car. We've been there, done that, before we were hitched."

Tom's face lightened. Worried frowns changed to a nonchalant grin. "I remember it well, darling."

Fran turned to capture the moment in the eyes of the guy she'd met at high school. The very dishy dark haired young man with the most deep brown eyes she'd ever encountered. Now he seemed he was interested in the girl he married again and she felt a tingle in her spine.

She remembered his car that old wreck on wheels, an old clapped out Ford Anglia she'd teased him about. He went on to qualify as a medical laboratory technician and she took natural history. They both achieved professional standards. But she too, clearly remembered the first time they spent a night together, when she discovered they were right for each other in every way and this was the lifetime guy for her.

They made themselves as comfortable as possible in the back but there wasn't much room for stretching out. They had just one blanket Fran snatched from the boot, which was ample because the night was clammy. They just snuggled up close to each other and Fran felt less scared now. Tomorrow was another day. Something would come up.

She soon lost her senses as they deeply kissed. It was quite romantic really in the car. This hadn't happened since their early dating days. But they'd discovered much about each other since those times so there was no awkward fumbling - save a few slight adjustments given the very limited space, which gave rise to riveting bouts of shared laughter.

As she felt his deep bonding, she knew she was wrong even to consider she had made a mistake in rejecting Mat. He was a good lover okay but Tom had the edge, and besides it was full package, she could never have loved Mat as she did Tom. They soon reached their Waterloo, Fran crying out: "Tom, Tom!" as they felt the essence culminating their love together. She could never get enough of him and wanted more, she took him this time and was soon taken in the current of their shared passion; he was hers despite his shortcomings.

During the night Fran heard the mine wheel turning, she was sure of it. There were men's voices too, or a man's voice. Wiping the condensation from the window she saw a dark figure and immediately woke telling Tom who reluctantly ventured out to investigate. He returned assuring her that nobody was out there - that it was a trick of the shadows in the moonlight.

Fran hugged up to him trying to sleep but it was too scary. No sights excepting the shadows and no sounds now - as if they were in the middle of nowhere.

In the morning Fran complained she'd hardly slept. She was sure she had heard that wheel turning. Tom said he was still tired too so after some refreshment they put their heads down again. If anyone came they would be bound to see them and perhaps come to their assistance.

They came too just after noon and were ready for something to eat again. Fran brought something out of the cool box in the boot and was relieved that they came well stocked with food and drink. They managed to freshen up too with the aid of wet wipes and a container full of water which was a blessing.

Afterwards, Fran felt she just had to step along to the entrance of the mine and shout down the old shaft. She noticed an almost concealed tunnel alongside the shaft which spiralled downwards into what appeared to be a gallery and being Fran was intent to investigate.

The young adventurous Girl Guide she once was, started to come out; when she went pony tracking with her colleagues in the Rockies, stopping for picnics in the caves. The head girl dissuading them from going too far inside, should they encounter a wild animal.

She remembered taking such trips with her uncle too. But now he had passed on. There was only Tom to stop her and he was too obsessed in his map right now to notice. She'd do her own thing. It was a bit scary but at least there were no wild animals to contend with in Britain. Might do Tom good to realise she also had her own particular interests. It might pull his attention a bit.

She trundled forward into the tunnel. She could see quite well as beams of sunlight projected inside. She gingerly approached the open area which circled the mine head and peaked down the shaft again and then upwards to see how far down she had progressed.

Then she heard a noise, a sort of shuffling sound. She paused and froze as she felt a tremble shoot up her spine. She heard it again: softer this time and assumed it was probably a rabbit or something.

Then she heard Tom calling her name twice. So he had missed her, big deal! He wasn't far behind, she could hear footsteps. She'd let him sweat awhile deciding not to respond. But almost at once she heard another sound. It was a deep cough; like a man's cough nearby. She swung around in absolute fear and saw a figure in the shadows - just like the one she'd seen through the car window during the night. She wasn't imagining things, it was real enough.

The dark figure instantly emerged, spun her around by grasping her waist and she felt his firm strong hands encircling her. She could barely see his face in the shadows.

"Don't be scared, Sweetie pie. I won't hurt you if you are good. It's not every day I have such a gorgeous wench come visit me."

In her rising panic Fran's first notion was to scream. Now she really wanted Tom to know where she was. A rough hand came down and pressed into her mouth stifling the screams. She felt another hand encircle her again, half pushing, half lifting her along through a dark passage. Then at the end of the passage, some light again. She was frantic now, it was all happening at once, like it was one big nightmare.

The guy still held her from behind but she felt the enormity of his form and the strength in his arms. How she's wished she'd taken that self-defence course like her friend, Patsy back home. But she held the old fashioned notion that if things got serious then Tom would always be around to protect her. But where was he now?

She was forced into a caged area which must have been the lift the miners used. Relieved she was wearing her jeans. She was panting in a jumble of fear and anger. She begged him not to hurt her as he angrily scorned her for screaming. He told her just to do as she was told and she wouldn't get hurt. With the light just getting through the shaft she could just make out through an open door, the other side of the cage, she saw an assemble of bedding, china, a teapot and an old wardrobe in a wide area which resembled a cave.

But what really concerned her was when her assailant closed the cage door behind him and turned a lock. There was no escape, worst still; there was no apparent way Tom would be able to gain access for her rescue.

The guy was frantic; yelling at her that she would be punished like his mother punished him when he was a naughty boy. She just couldn't believe what he was telling her to do. His features were still difficult to make out in the shadows but she knew he had a beard. Her whole form was quivering now in sheer fright. Was this really happening to her, what should she do, just scream and fight? - That would probably make things worse.

He ordered her to remove her jeans and panties, and after some deliberation he roughly helped her remove them, grabbed them from her and sniffed the gusset of both garments. Then he asked her to put her jeans back on because she looked good in them and very spankable.

She looked up and caught the expression in his face. She could see him now when as he moved to where the light was coming through. She reckoned he was in his early forties, and although his scowl was ugly he had a fresh and handsome face. Not the sort she'd expect to be violent, and this gave her some hope. Perhaps, just perhaps; if she played her cards right she could win him over and calm him. If she could humour him awhile until Tom arrived, perhaps she could make a run for the door, undo the lock and, with Tom's help, escape.. Yes, that's what she'd do. But she already had doubts when he made his next move...

"I told you, over my knee!" he yelled threateningly. He'd grabbed her by the scruff of the neck and, seated on an old chair pulled her across his lap and pushed her head down until it almost reached the floor the other side. She felt his fingers clutching the waist band of her jeans as he held her into position.

She remembered once how it was when once her step father gave her the hiding of her life because she'd accidentally thrown a dart into her sister's groin. She attempted to struggle free but he yelled he could make it worse for her unless she took her punishment.

"Now I'll show you how they used to discipline their women in the old times, a woman should know her place."

She just froze and hoped the nightmare would soon be over. Then she felt the sting of the first agonising slap of his hand. Several more followed and she felt her back writhing until she cried for mercy.

"What kind of man are you?" she screamed. "This isn't the dark ages. Treating me like this."

"That's what I do to my women if they play up. You are the one who came to see me. You thought I didn't recognise you didn't you? I've seen you in all those films. I know who you are."

Fran was kneeling on the floor rearranging her jeans, struggling to resist the tears of pain. But she was relieved this guy now held back, he showed no sign of any intention to touch her, hadn't even attempted to strip her. Not like her step father did. Something she'd never told Tom.

She wondered what exactly he wanted of her. Surely Tom must have heard the racket, would he come soon?

This guy was obviously a deranged soul needing guidance. She looked up and told him she was on her honeymoon, if he'd got her confused with someone else, he was mistaken and he shouldn't have done that to her. No way.

"Any minute now my husband, Tom will come," she advised. But inwardly she doubted if Tom could match up to this guy's aggression and strength, even if she managed to get the door open for him. Tom was about ten years younger but comparatively slim to him.

"Tom tom, that's what they call a sort of drum isn't it - a tom-tom? Hope you've drummed something into him," he sneered with a grating laugh, "he has no chance of rescuing you, Sweetie Pie. You are for me. I've been looking for a woman for a long time, a woman like you, and I guess you fit the part in more ways than one. I need someone to do my chores, my cooking while I hunt for food and, of course, to keep me warm in bed. Can be mighty cold in here at night you know. You seem to have the attributes for that, Sweetie Pie. But remember, not to make me mad because you know what you'll be in for - and mind, it can be a lot more severe." He pointed to a horse whip hanging on a hook.

Fran still had a notion this guy was not all bad. It was just something about his disposition. He normally spoke with a gentle voice, like now. Her belief in human nature was such that we all inherit a bad streak which, if recognised could be remedied. She was a good natured person. But at the same time she wanted badly that Tom would soon turn up.

She was still suffering. The pain had been such that now a kind of numbness had set in; it was the same after the thrashing from her step-father all those years ago.

"Fran, Fran, where the hell are you?"

Thank God it was Tom. It seemed as though he was there, with them. She gave out a yell but down came a hand across her mouth again. Her assailant replied instead:

"Come and join us, Tom. That is your name isn't it? Well, not join us exactly. You can sit outside the cage and watch, so to speak. Simply watch, like I was doing last night, you two in the car. I could do with some of that I reckoned. Now it's my turn, fair's fair."

Tom had found his way to the cage and clutched the steel uprights, his face alight with anger and frustration.

"You just let her go my friend. She's my wife and I love her so let her free now!"

Tom was like an enraged animal attempting to find a way through the steel bars. Everything was going through his mind. Here he was - out in the wilds, no chance of contacting the police.

"If you are thinking of rescue, Tom - forget it. And if you reckon on bringing in the police little Sweetie Pie here will be no more. So you see you have no option."

"Who are you?" Tom yelled. "You must be mad. Look, you have to let her go. I'll give you money, is that what you want? I've plenty of it. What do you say?"

This was desperation time.

"Tom-tom, I have no need of money. All I need at the moment is on tap. How can I give up such an opportunity bestowed upon me by the Gods?"

Tom turned to Fran now. He asked if she was alright. He realised it was hopeless attempting to bribe this guy.

The way she looked at him Tom surmised she had some sort of plan; just to hold calm for a while until they could sort something out.

"My name is Rick by the way, since no one has asked." Fran's assailant was cool now and friendly in a sarcastic sort of way. He ignited the wick on a miner's lamp and his features were now clearly visible. He did not look so bad in Fran's eyes. Even Tom was surprised; this guy had a certain aura he could not define. He wondered what he was about, why was he here. Was he just content to live this way or was he on the run? He employed a calmer attitude and spoke carefully now.

"You don't look a bad sort of guy, Rick. I reckon you are the type who could pick up a girl easily. There's plenty out there without picking on someone's wife. Come on, Rick. Let's be sensible about this. Let her go and I'll keep quiet."