The Paul & Jenny Stories

The Paul & Jenny Stories Pt. 15k: Another June Wedding Part 11

(Copyright 2001 by Paul. All rights reserved)

All events and characters are fictitious.

* * * * *

Spain 1937.

David Wagstaffe.

As people were starting to gather around the Truck my father had driven to discuss our next course of action a cry went up from the last of the vehicles. We all turned to look out through the gates of the Docks.

Two large black cars were pulling up and armed men were climbing out. My father picked up his rifle and ran towards them, he stopped and took cover behind some large wooded reels and pointed his weapon at the men. They all quickly moved to take cover.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see Alistair and my mother ushering everybody into one of the big warehouses. Miguel was kneeling by the large, open doors with his rifle. I knelt behind some packing cases. I could see the foot of the Harbour master sticking out of the heavy Tarpaulin sheet beside me that somebody had covered his body with. Somebody knelt beside me. Turning my head I saw Conchita. She smiled at me. I smiled back.

"You should be with the other's." I said, nodding towards the warehouse.

"But you are my patient." She replied. "I must stay with you."

To be truthful I was glad to have somebody with me.

She was kneeling close enough to my side for me to feel the heat from her body. I could smell her. A sweaty, musty smell quite unlike anything I had ever smelled before.

My father was shouting to the men by the gates.

"What do you want?" He called. "There is nothing for you here."

"We want your women and we want you." A voice replied.

"You will have neither." My father shouted.

I opened the pouches of the bandoleer I'd taken from the man Alistair had struck with his artificial hand back in the village. I'd recharged the weapons magazine, as I had been instructed by my Army Cadets instructor at school, during the drive to the docks and so knew that there were ten bullets in that. I quickly counted and had a further twenty-one rounds in the pouches.

I placed my rifle on the top of a packing case and sighted along the barrel. I had fired the weapon three or four times in the drive from the village-square but knew I hadn't hit anybody. I realised that the time might come, and soon, that I might have to. Could I do it? They called me a young man but I knew I was little more than a child. I knew that my father had served in the trenches in the great war when he was only a little older than I was but that had been a time of National emergency and everybody had gone to do their bit. I suddenly felt very alone. I was glad Conchita was with me.

I stole a quick glance at her. She was about my age. Black hair and a deep brown tan. She had lovely brown eyes. I couldn't remember ever being this close to a girl for this long. I attended an all boy boarding school in Hampshire. The only association I had with members of the opposite sex was the School staff, fraternisation with who was frowned upon and two cousins who we meet at most Christmas times.

They would never believe this at school. Here I was in the port of Malaga with a very pretty girl by my side and a rifle in my hands. This was better than any adventure story I'd read.

"Go away and leave us alone." I heard my father call out.

"No Senor. You will pay for what you did in the village. My men have lost Brother's and cousins. They will have their revenge."

I had never thought of it in that way. In the stories I had read the villains were very much one-dimensional characters. They would appear in the story, something nasty would happen to them and they would be gone. I never thought of them as being people.

At least six and probably eight men had been shot in that village that morning. All of them would have had parents. Some had had Brother's.

I didn't have a Brother. But I did have parents.

"David." My father called.

"Yes." I replied.

"I think they are going to try to get behind the back of the warehouse. To do that they will have to come through the gates. You have a better view than I do. If some try to get through you must stop them. Can you do that?"

"I'll try. I will."

I stumbled over the words.

"Good lad. Keep still. You have good cover behind those cases."

Everything went silent for a few minutes. I could see some Seagulls starting to congregate near the dock entrance. I could hear them squawking as they squabbled over something.

Suddenly a shot rang out and they rose as one into the air. A second shot then a fusillade rang out. I ducked as a bullet splintered the wood of the packing case by the side of my head.

"They'll be coming." My father called to me.

He was right. As I hadn't fired back nobody was firing at me. They were concentrating their fire at my father's position and at Miguel in the doorway of the warehouse. People were running through the gates of the dock. I looked down the barrel of my rifle and squeezed the trigger. The weapon tried to leap out of my hands. I cocked it and fired again. And again. And again. Count your shots the Army Cadet instructor had said on range days. I did, five, six, seven, and eight. I could feel the heat from the rifle barrel burning my fingers where they touched it.

I stopped firing and the silence seemed to descend upon me like a weight. Slowly I could hear again. Conchita was sobbing quietly. I think the noise must have frightened her. A baby was crying in the warehouse. I looked towards the sound. Alistair had Miguel by the shirt collar and was dragging him inside the warehouse. I saw Roddrego slithering out on his belly to retrieve the rifle and take up position in the doorway.

There was a movement by the gates. I could see a man dragging himself towards the black cars. He stopped moving and seemed to look over his shoulder straight at me. Then he lay down on his face. There were two other men lying inside the gates.

Three man. Had I shot three men? My hands were trembling and I wanted to be sick. I think it was only Conchita by my side that stopped me bursting into tears. I looked at her and tried to smile.

"We'll be alright now. I think." I said to reassure her.

I placed my hand on her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. As I pulled it away she caught it between her own and held it tight. I didn't think. I released my rifle and pulled her to me. I ran my fingers through her hair and mumbled words of encouragement. She lifted her face to mine. Two big tears were running down her cheeks. I pulled her head back against my shoulder and closed my eyes.

A shout from the gates and the sound of a car engine revving made me lift my head to look. One of the big black cars was driving away. Two men were leaning from the rear windows and firing towards us. Then it had gone.

All was quiet and still. Even the baby had stopped crying.

"I'm going up to check they have all gone." My father called to me. "You give me cover."

"Yes, Dad." I called back. "I need to re-load." "Good lad." I could see him smiling at me. "At least they've taught you something useful at that school."

I released Conchita and filled the magazine in my rifle.

"I'm ready." I called and my father left his position behind the large cotton reels and walked slowly towards the gates.

I saw a movement in the corner of my eye and saw Alistair leave the warehouse, revolver in hand, and walk slowly towards the two bodies inside the gates. He knelt by the side of each in turn and rummaged through their pockets. My father had gone through the gates and was checking the buildings outside. I heard a shout and a shot rang out followed quickly by two more. Roddrego was firing at something I couldn't see, as was Alistair with his revolver. Even as I looked he'd emptied his own weapon and had taken the weapon from one of the dead men and was lying down behind his body.

I had to find out what was happening. More shots rang out. The black car was returning. They'd left some men behind and we had fallen into their trap.

The car was only a hundred yards away now. I sighted along the barrel of my rifle at its windscreen and fired four times. The car swung violently to the right, hit the wall of a building and turned over, sliding some fifteen yards on its roof. There was smoke then flames then the car seemed to explode. I could hear screaming and shouting. Somebody had pulled himself free and was rolling over and over trying to smother the flames on his back. I could see two men running away from the buildings outside the docks. I lifted my rifle but couldn't bring myself to fire.

Nobody else did either.

The two men reached the man near the car and by using their own shirts beat out the flames on his body. Between them they lifted him and half dragged, half carried him away.

My mother was hurrying towards the gates. I stood up and, with Conchita close behind, followed. As we passed the cotton reels I could see the whole scene. My father was leaning against a wall. One of his trouser legs were torn and stained bright red. My mother was kneeling by his side and pressing a piece of material, the torn sleeve from her blouse, onto father's thigh.

"I need something to bind this with." I heard my mother say.

All I could do was look at my father's face. It was deathly white. He was trying to smile.

There was a rustling of clothing by my side and I turned my head and saw that Conchita had lifted her skirt and was pulling off her under-slip.

"Don't look, David." My mother hissed. "Go and help Uncle Alistair."

"I'm sorry about that." I heard her saying to Conchita as I walked away to where Alistair was making a small pile of weapons.

"Ah David." He said as I approached. "Go outside the gates and keep lookout. Warn us if anybody else comes."

I couldn't take my eyes from the two men lying dead before me.

"Don't think about them." Alistair said, placing his hand on my shoulder. "If you must think then think about what they would have done had they won."

Somebody was crying. We both turned and saw Conchita standing there. Tears were rolling down her cheeks.

"What's the matter, Conchita." I asked stepping towards her.

She seemed to shrink away for a moment then stepped to meet me. I slung my rifle by its strap over my shoulder and put my arms around her.

"It's my Uncle." She sobbed. "He's dead."

For the second time that day I ran my fingers through her hair and said soothing things into her ear. People were moving around us as we stood there. I could smell her hair. The smells of travel and sweat from her body. Feel her warmth. It was gentle and relaxing. Gradually she stopped crying and Her body relaxed. I could feel the softness of her breasts as they pressed into my chest then the gradual hardening of their points. They weren't the only things hardening. Her hips were touching mine and a slightly raised part of her lower anatomy was pressed hard against my groin. It felt soft and springy. It moved a little across my prick then back. She sighed gently.

"Do you feel all right, Conchita."

Somebody was asking. I could have answered she felt wonderful.

"Come with me." I opened my eyes and looked into Sister Hortencia's. "The men have work to do."

Conchita seem reluctant to move away from me and I didn't want her to go. Sister Hortencia placed her hand on her shoulder and almost pulled her from me. Conchita looked into my eyes, quickly down at my crotch then back into my eyes. She must have felt the stirrings of my prick.

I thought she was going to say something but all she did was smile and allow Sister Hortencia to lead her away. My eyes were drawn to her backside as she walked. To the lifting and dropping of her skirt as she moved.

"Right David." Alistair was standing by my side. "Go to that corner." He nodded towards a café whose large plate glass window lay shattered on the pavement in front of it. "You will be able to see in three directions from there. If you see anybody come back and tell us."

The two men we had picked up on the drive to Malaga were dragging the bodies of the dead men to the edge of the Quay and letting them slide over the edge into the sea. Some of the women were moving packing cases and boxes to the gates to form a barricade. The President was sitting in his car and starting the engine as I passed. He drove it to where his wife and my mother were kneeling beside my father. He waved to me as I looked towards him and my mother gave a weak smile.

I was on the main sea front road. I stopped and looked carefully around. I could see nothing. Apart from some gulls squawking overhead I could hear nothing. I crossed the road and walked quickly to the café on the corner. I crunched over the broken glass and knelt at the corner of the building. I could see up into the main square and along the entire seafront. Nothing was moving. All I could hear was the squawking of the gulls.

* * * * *

Somerset 1972.

Jenny.

I lay back in my bath and watched as my pubic hairs stood up in the water, away from body. It was a sight that always seemed to fascinate Paul. I suppose I could see a certain fascination in the way they moved from side to side if I created a current by wriggling my fingers beneath the water. I lifted my ass up and watched as my hairs become plastered flat to my pubic mound. I relaxed back into the water and watched as they slowly lifted once again. They were interesting but I wouldn't want to make a hobby out of watching them.

With the arrival of Mary, David had rather skirted through the end of their adventures in Spain. There was so much I was sure he could have said. So many threads he'd left dangling in mid air waiting for somebody to gather them together and weave the final chapters.

Why not me? I could weave.

When it had been his turn to stand guard in the café later that night had Conchita joined him. He had indicated that he found her very attractive and he was certain she knew. Yes, a woman could tell when a man fancies her, and to have an erect penis thrust against your pubic mound is a bit of a give away. But, with all the suffering she had just gone through would she have felt amorous? Her parents and Uncle had been killed. Her mother raped before her eyes.

What would I have felt like? So much bereavement in so short a space of time could have driven her to hide within herself. I could imagine the sister encouraging her suffering. Was I being unfair to her? But I could imagine it.

Alternatively perhaps it made her feel alive. To realise that the ordered, settled ways of the week before were gone, perhaps forever. She could have been raped and murdered herself when held in the village and again that afternoon if they had lost and Lupe had won.

I think that would have been what she would have been like. I know I certainly wouldn't have wanted to die a virgin but I also wouldn't have wanted to lose it tied to a bed in a gang-bang. But then, she would have been much more religious than I am and would have had the black and white conscience called Sister Hortencia with her.

I think she would have followed David to the café. Did he almost shoot her as she crept up on him? There would have been windows on two sides of the café so they could have been inside out of sight. Did they talk at first? Very, very quietly so as to be able to hear any sounds from outside. Did their hands touch in the moonlight? Did they hold each other's, just for company?

Who would have made the first move? David was young. Probably still a virgin himself. Yes, of that I was sure. In nineteen thirties Britain there wasn't a lot of pre-marriage sex around. Not for somebody at his age. I had lost my virginity when I had been eighteen and that was in the permissive sixties. He would have been around that age himself.

Hmm. Why do they call it lose your virginity as if it was something you mislaid? I didn't lose mine I gave it freely and wholeheartedly to Paul.

Back to Spain. I was enjoying my soak and I knew that from the time I left the bathroom until I was alone with Paul in our Hotel room that evening I would become public property. There were five or six women waiting down the stairs for me. I was to be manicured, pedicured, coifured, perfumed and dressed. Then my father would be allowed to come back to the house and dress whilst Paul's parents went to check on him and the arrangements in the Village.

Back to Spain. It was irritating that the present kept getting in the way of the past.

They were holding hands in the moonlit café. Were they standing up or sitting down? Sitting down, I would have expected, so that anybody outside would have had difficulty seeing him or her inside. What had they talked about? Did Conchita tell him about her parents, her growing up? What would David have said? Would he have been embarrassed and tongue-tied? How long would it have been before they kissed? Would Conchita have taken the lead and placed David's hand on her breast?

I could imagine what it would have felt like. Soft and warm. I wondered what foundation garments they wore in those days. But Conchita was young; she would have had no need of a bra to hold her breasts up. Would David have unbuttoned her blouse or would she have done that for him? I could see her nipples standing erect in the cool night air. Would she have pulled David's mouth down to one? I knew what that would have felt like. To have a tongue, wet and soft swirling around one then two lips sucking gently.

Would they have taken her skirt off or just lifted the hem above her waist to give him access to her fanny? I could imagine David with his hand inside her knickers prodding and poking, not really knowing what to do. Would she have given a little sigh as a finger entered her? How wide would she have opened her legs? Did she bend her knees? Would they have spoken or did their actions say it all?

Who would have made the decision to go further? I don't imagine they discussed it. I could see Conchita lying on her back and lifting her hips from the ground as David pulled her knickers from her. Did she reach into his trousers and pull out his prick? I could see her leading him by it until he was between her legs. Would she have known to hold the lips of her fanny open as she guided the tip of David's prick between them? Yes. I was sure she would have known what to do. Women have been discussing this moment with their friends for centuries.

Would David, though? Would he be eager, over-eager, and push too soon, before he was in place? Yes, I think he would have. I could almost hear Conchita squeal with excitement as she tried to control his prick. Finally it would have been in position and David would have felt it sliding inside her. Did her fanny contract in an automatic attempt to prevent its entry? Would David have kept pushing? Would he have felt her hymen tear? I felt mine go. Did Conchita cry out in pain? I did. It hurt.

Did it hurt David? Paul told me it had him. He'd never had his foreskin pulled back as far before, he'd said. I remembered that. He was behind me one Sunday morning having a long slow one. I'd asked him who else had pulled his foreskin back for him before then as he moved in and out of me. He just said that it was nobody I knew. I had intended to take the matter further but he was quickening his strokes and I was going to come and, well, one thing lead to another. I liked our Sunday morning shags.

It was Sunday tomorrow.

I was getting married.