The Paul And Jenny Stories Pt 15I

The Paul & Jenny Stories Pt. 15i: Another June Wedding Part 9

(Copyright 2001 by Paul. All rights reserved).

All events and characters are fictitious.

* * * * *

Spain 1937.

Roland Wagstaffe.

I awoke feeling cold, stiff and very sore. The lanterns had been turned down low giving just enough light to see by. The air was very heavy. The result of a lot of bodies crammed into a small area without adequate ventilation. I pulled my blanket tighter around my body and tried to get into a more comfortable position.

I could hear voices at the top of the narrow staircase that led up into the church. That must be what had woken me. Before going to sleep I had the Mother Superior promise that somebody would keep watch from inside the bell tower to give us as much advance warning as possible of anybody approaching.

There was the sound of urgency in the voices above, emphasised in their attempts to talk in hushed tones. I moved slowly from Roddrego's side, trying not to disturb him and, picking up my rifle, limped to the bottom of the stairs. I looked at my wristwatch. It was four o'clock in the morning. My stomach grumbled. I could do with visiting the toilet.

I took the stairs slowly. Every muscle seemed to ache. Two rounds of golf each week were no preparation for this.

There was a small door set in the main doors of the church. It stood open and I could see one of the sisters talking to a small group of people just inside it.

"Senor Wagstaffe. You are well." A voice I recognised as Miguel asked.

"I am well Miguel." I replied taking his offered hand and shaking it.

I looked at the group with him. It comprised of two old woman, one woman in her twenties and two children between eight and ten. I couldn't see any of the Presidents staff or Conchita.

"Where are the others?" I asked, taking him to one side as the sister led the others down into the crypt.

"It is that Bastard, Lupe." He started.

"Who's Lupe?"

"A small time politician. I know him all my life. Now he is a Warlord. He is a Brigand. He has a band of men perhaps twenty in number. They are 'guarding the roads' taxing all who would use them to get away from this area. They take valuables and women as payment. They are in the village below. They stopped us and took the truck. They would have killed me but I knew them. They put me in a cellar but nobody stayed to watch me and I got out. They had all wanted to join in their fun. They had two sisters, I think they're from this house. When darkness fell they stripped them naked. They paraded them around the square then took them into the Cantina. They have so many other women there why they needed these two. Lupe is a bad man, he boasted that he would deflower all the virgins himself. After he had finished with the sisters I hoped that he would be sated for the night, may he rot in hell. I hid and watched. Hoping for a chance to help our women but none came. They have gone to sleep now so I came here hoping to find you and to warn them."

He nodded into the church.

The sister, I recognised her as the one who bandaged my shoulder the night before, returned with a bucket of water and a tin mug. Miguel thanked her and drank deeply. I used the mug after he had finished. The water was cold and good.

"I have to go back for my Niece." He continued. "I also had to warn the sister's. After what they have done tonight they will be here soon for more sisters. The others I found on the way here, hiding in a ditch."

"We must get everybody out." I said.

But how? There were two of us. I had ten rounds or so of ammunition for my rifle. Roddrego had similar. But he would not be able to help for a few days at least. Besides, how were we to move this number of people? We needed at least two vehicles.

"Your truck?" I asked. "Where is it?"

"In the village. They have three others and some cars. Big black cars."

"They would be the President's."

"If we went down there now. We could be there by first light." I was thinking out loud. "Is there another way out of here that would mean our not having to go through the village?"

"It is the only way out."

I didn't want him to say that. The only plan that presented itself to me was to steal some trucks and immobilise the other vehicles then return to the Convent and drive everybody to freedom. A simple plan, which, they say are always the best.

"I can drive a truck." The sister said. "My parents own a chain of garages. As a child my brothers and I were always taking engines to pieces and driving all the vehicles."

With three trucks we could move everybody. But how to get them through the village. My first plan was to collect the trucks and bring them to the Convent. What if we took the people to the Village? If we could get them there and loaded onto the trucks before Lupe realised they were there then we might, just, get away before they could stop us. Where to head for? Gibraltar, it must be.

Right. We had a simple plan. Now to rouse sixty people and have them move as quietly and as quickly as possible over two miles in the darkness.

I went down the stairs and after waking the President, his wife and the Mother Superior explained my plan.

Nobody thought it stood a chance so I asked for alternatives. Nobody had one.

"Roddrego." The Presidents wife suddenly said. "What about him?"

To every plan there's got to be a hitch.

"Do not mind me." Roddrego must have been awake and overheard what we had been discussing. "I will stay here."

Where do they get this need for self sacrifice from?

"No." I said. "No, you come with us."

It needed to be nipped in the bud.

"I need you with me." I continued. This time to the Mother Superior. "Do you have a vehicle?"

"We have the Donkey trap. We use it to take food to the poor and collect the sick for treatment and the dead for burial."

A hearse. It could be appropriate.

"Wake everybody. We must go now."

We switched up the lights and got everybody up. The children started crying through cold and hunger. There was a lot of grumbling. They thought they were safe here.

A lot of bowels needed emptying, mine included so it was nearly forty-five minutes before we were able to move.

Sister Hortencia, as I found the name of the truck-driving Nun to be, led the Donkey by the head. At one time it would have been a very smart Pony Trap, but the sprung seat had been removed and it was now a short two-wheeled flatbed vehicle. Roddrego sat facing the rear next to a frail, old lady who cackled incessantly. I hoped she would soon shut up.

Two miles to the village. I knew it. The road spilt split there into the main road through the mountains and the road that led to the Presidents Villa and the small village and farms below it and beyond. The track from the Convent would take us into the northern end of the Village onto the President's Villa's road.

As we neared the village I thought of an amendment to my plan and in hushed tones explained to the Mother Superior and The President that they should take everybody out along the road towards his Villa where we would pick them up in the trucks. It would be a longer journey but the road did eventually led onto the main coast road back into Malaga. I don't know why I bothered to use hushed tone the racket everybody else was making. I was certain we must have lost any element of surprise we may have had.

What we would need was a diversion.

* * * * *

Somerset 1972.

Jenny.

"I'm fine, thanks Mrs Wagstaffe." I pulled my dressing gown tight around my body. "David was telling me about what happened in Spain during the civil war."

Strange. I felt happy calling Paul's father by his first name now but she was always Mrs Wagstaffe.

"Not that again." She complained, bringing out a try containing a fresh pot of tea, milk and sugar and a mug for her.

"I haven't heard anyone talk about those days." I replied, filling the mugs from the teapot. "I find it very interesting. "They were all so brave."

"Courage born from ignorance on my part." David said. "I don't even think Alistair really knew what we were heading into as the boat docked at first light that morning. We soon learned."

* * * * *

Spain 1937.

David Wagstaffe.

We had hove to off shore in the darkness waiting for first light. There was a smell in the air that even overpowered the smell of fish that pervaded every inch of the boat. It was a sizeable craft used to ferry the catch of the numerous fishermen in the Co-operative that owned it to shore. It meant that they could spend more time at sea fishing instead of returning to port to land catches themselves.

We watched the shoreline from the area beside the wheelhouse. The underside of the clouds were the first to be lit with the Sun's rays followed by the high hills and mountains. Then the buildings as if somebody was walking along the shore switching them on one by one. But, even in the light of a new many were still indistinct.

I could now make out the reason. It looked as if the whole town and port had been set on fire. Smoke hung heavily over everything, only now starting to move and swirl in response to the currents created by the Sun's heat. There was the smell of burning.

And it was quiet. Except for the sound of the seabirds.

The Captain stuck his head out of the wheelhouse and surveyed the scene in front of us.

"You want me to go into there?" He asked Alistair.

"Go in, drop us on the docks, stand off the coast here and await our return." Alistair replied.

He managed to sound English even when he spoke Spanish.

The Captain shrugged his shoulders and the boat edged towards the docks at one end of the harbour. There were still a few boats tied to buoys in the bay that we passed. I wondered if they would still be there that evening. A dozen wicker baskets were dangled over the edge of the ship as protection as we moved towards a quay. There was a sudden increase in noise as the engines were thrown into reverse and we came to a halt. A crew member jumped from the forecastle to the quay and caught the mooring lines thrown to him by his shipmates and secured the boat.

The boom of the derrick was released and the motorbike combination was lifted and swung onto the Quayside. A gangway was lifted into place from the waist of the ship and we made our way off the boat.

A little way along the Quayside there was a man wearing a dark blue uniform sitting with his back to a crate staring out to sea. I walked towards him. He wasn't staring. He had no eyes in their sockets.

I froze. I had never seen a dead man before. I couldn't move. I just stared at his face.

There was a gasp from my side and I turned to see my mother by my side.

"Don't look David." She said, pulling me by the arm.

I had to look. I couldn't tear my eyes away.

"Ha." I heard the Captain say. "So Rene."

I looked at him. He shrugged at the body.

"Rene." He laughed. "The harbour master."

I turned away and walked back to the motorbike I could taste Bile in my mouth. I picked up the soft leather helmet and goggles we'd found in the wicker seat and put them on. There was also a pair of heavy gauntlets. I placed my hands inside them. They were a little too large but would have to do. Mother sat in the wicker basket seat with Alistair's knapsack on her knees

I looked up from the controls. Alistair was talking to the Captain. I started the engine. Alistair looked at me then back to the Captain, waved a single finger in his face as if to emphasise a particular point then climbed onto the seat behind me.

"Let's go." He shouted into my ear.

I drove slowly to the Dockyard gates skirting the various piles of smouldering debris that we came to. One of the large wrought iron gates were hanging off its hinges. I opened the twist grip accelerator and hurried away from the docks scattering a flock of seagulls that were congregating around something. I caught the site of a pair of woman's shoes out of the corner of my eye and my stomach turned.

The main road to the north lay part way along the sea front. Every window in every building that we passed had been smashed and the door smashed in. We turned onto the road leading to the main square. More signs of destruction. And everywhere the smell of burning. I kept my eyes on the road trying to ignore the images that flashed past the corners of my eyes.

In the main square Alistair pointed to the road I had to take.

It was a lovely little square. An ornamental street lamp stood in each corner and a fountain in the centre. I looked at the architecture and ignored the bodies.

We left the Town centre and almost immediately we started to climb. Still the same signs of destruction. How could people who had lived as neighboroghs for generations do this to each other in such a short period of time?

We rode on. The houses starting to thin until we had left Malaga behind. My mother reached across and squeezed my arm. I looked down at her.

"Are you all right?" She mouthed.

I smiled and nodded. I didn't trust myself to speak.

"Another ten or fifteen minutes to the Village then ten more to the Convent." Alistair shouted in my ear.

I nodded my head.

The road ahead was completely clear. I opened the accelerator wide and watched the speedometer needle climb to fifty then faster. We hit a bump of some kind and I felt the Bike lighten momentarily as the sidecar was lifted from the road. I was slowing down before my mother's hand gripped my arm again.

I looked at her and mouthed the word Sorry. Her knuckles showed white on the metal handgrip. I'd better not do that again.

There was more smoke ahead and I slowed as we rode into the village. As we entered the main square I could see that the other two exits were blocked by a truck and a farm cart. There were armed men standing by each. I braked hard and completed a three hundred and sixty-degree turn around the statue in the centre of the square. There were more men standing in the entrance to the square we had used. They were pointing weapons at us.

I stopped and looked at my mother and Alistair.

* * * * *

Somerset 1972.

Paul.

I opened my eyes and looked around. That was better. It was my own room this time. I looked at my wristwatch. It was nearly ten o'clock. I felt hungry.

I also felt something else and lifted the bed-clothes. My prick was feeling better as well. It was rock hard and I could see it jerking in time to the beating of the large blood vessel inside it. I reached down and gave it a stroke. Just to relieve the pressure. That felt good. Very good in fact so I did it again.

Don't. I had to almost drag my hand away. I had promised Jenny not to come before we were married. I was certain she wouldn't have. But then, she didn't have to know. My fingertips ran gently along the length of my prick. Not hard enough to disturb my foreskin, just hard enough to feel it. And it did feel nice.

No. I threw back the bedclothes completely and stood up. No. We'd promised. Or was it only me who'd had to promise?

I needed a shower. I walked the four paces to the door and took my flannel dressing gown from off the peg behind it. I must remember to pack that. I'd need it in Spain. I hoped I wouldn't need much else in the way of clothes. Two weeks with just me and Jenny alone together. Shirley was going to house sit for us in Bristol and when we returned I was going to look for a job whilst she and Jenny went looking for somewhere for her to stay. Why she didn't take up a residential place in the teachers training college in Bath I'd never know. It was all right for Jenny. She could drive there each day in twenty minutes.

I opened the door and looked out. Nobody was there. I looked down at my prick. At last it was going down. I hurried along the corridor and into the bathroom. Hanging my bathrobe on one of the hooks behind the door I stood in the shower and switched it on. It was so cold it took my breath away at first then the geyser cut in and it started to warm. That was better. I soaped my body all over and allowed the water to rinse away the suds. I'd had some fun with Jenny in this shower. I could see her now. Soap suds running down her body, over her nipples. Her pubic hairs lying flat against her mound. The warmth of her crack as I cleaned between her ass cheeks for her. A service I was always willing to provide. And to her fanny. Pushing my fingers inside her then holding her lips open.

I could smell her as if she were there with me. The soap and her. My prick was hard again.

I thought about the last time. I had sat on the closed toilet seat and she had lowered herself slowly onto my prick while I helped by holding her ass cheeks for her. She'd raised and lowered herself with her arms around my neck. Her nipples just touching my lips then moving away. I managed to capture one with my lips and sucked it as she moved. I could hear her moans now. How good it had felt to be inside her. How tight she was.

I'd tickled her anus with my middle finger and massaged the soft skin between her two holes.

The breath seemed to catch in the back of her throat and her fanny gripped my prick hard as she came. She'd sat down with an ass on each of my thighs with my prick still inside her.

"Are you two finished in there?"

My grandfather had asked through the door.

"Len and Stephanie are here." We'd been going for a drive over the Moors to the North Devon coast for lunch and a stroll along the cliffs afterwards.

"We're just done."

Jenny had called back.

"You might be Miss."

I'd said in my best John Wayne drawl.

"Make it go down and I'll be extra-specially nice to it tonight."

She'd said as she lifted her fanny from my prick. We both looked down at it. It had stood proud, glistening in its coating of her fanny juices. She'd reached down and stroked it. I'd lifted my hips. She stroked it again. Then again. And again.

"We should go downstairs." She'd said, her hand moving faster.

"You can't leave me like this." I'd gasped.

She'd smiled and kissed my forehead, her hand still moving.

My own breathing was coming in gasps. My eyes were closed. My balls were lifting.

I breathed out heavily as I came.

Oh dear. She didn't have to know.