1.
England in the early Eighteenth Century was a lawless country populated by the toffs on the one hand and the proletariat on the other. It was also a land noted for its number of highwaymen, chief among which was Dick Turpin from whom nobody who travelled the highways and byways of that green and not-so-pleasant land was safe.
But there was another Dick roaming the countryside at the same time, a highwayman of equally villainous proportions who has not gone down in folklore as his contemporary Mr. Turpin has, even though they shared the same Christian name. Dick McCabe, known by all those whose path he crossed as Big Dick and not without reason, was a highwaymen of a different kind. He wasn't interested in stealing people's loot, since he was actually an aristocrat with, some said, a fortune in gold bars stashed away somewhere or other. No, Dick's interest lay in sex, he couldn't get enough, was horny from the moment he opened his eyes every morning to when he closed them at night and since the women wouldn't come to him, he had to go out and get the women.
Such was McCabe's legendary notoriety that most women surrendered themselves completely to his advances, it became a point of honour amongst them to say that they had been fucked by Big Dick McCabe. Sure, there were those who resisted initially but Big Dick only had to show what he was made of to make them wilt at his charms. It was a well-known fact that McCabe possessed a prick of such enormous proportions, hence the adjective before his name, that even when flaccid it must have been very uncomfortable for him with it tucked away inside his trousers. Even those females who hadn't yet succumbed to its charms hoped to do so eventually while those that had always went away satisfied, only too happy that they had lived to tell the tale since the consequences of a refusal didn't bear thinking about.
McCabe lived not far from one of the main coaching roads in the shire county of Nottingham though the route could hardly be described as a road, more a lengthy stretch of dust which became a quagmire on wet days when, often as not, many of the carriages plying between London and the Midlands and the north would be delayed for hours at a time. The warm summer days were the best since, in addition to the scheduled coaches, there were also those rich bitches who liked to go for a drive in their private carriage on a sunny afternoon and it was these that McCabe made a beeline for. He liked older women for two reasons, one they were more experienced and two they were less likely to resist.
Some were daft enough to go out on their own and, if that was the case, then so much the better, it meant he could do what he wanted to do without having to deal with a companion, usually of the male sex, first. One or two male escorts had tried in vain to protect their ladies from McCabe's advances but McCabe simply told them to shut up, pointing his gun at their heads provocatively. Most shut up immediately but there was always the odd one who wanted to be a hero and they usually paid for that with a whack round the head which would see them out cold until McCabe had done the dastardly deed.
One hot day in the summer of 1727, McCabe saddled up his horse and rode down to the coach road to see if anything was happening. The coach that ran weekly between the cities of Leicester and York would have passed a few hours before his arrival and, sure enough, the road was as quiet as a tomb, slumbering in the heat of a perfect afternoon.
McCabe hung around for an hour or more and was just about to give up hope when he noticed it, a miniscule speck heading his way along the dirt road. There was no mistaking it and, as it drew nearer, he realised he was in luck. A private carriage with one of those old biddies he preferred, most of whom knew that to be fucked by Big Dick McCabe was something of an accolade, even if some of them did kick up a bit of a song-and-dance against it first.
McCabe fastened his mask over his face and shook the reins and galloped on his horse down the hill to the road as the carriage drew nearer. It was occupied by two people, a woman in her sixties, he guessed, and a man some thirty-five years or so younger. As McCabe, his face obscured by the mask, reered up in front of them, the young man shook the reins and brought the carriage to a halt.
"We haven't any money with us," he said, glancing at his female companion and assuming they were about to be robbed.
"That don't matter," said McCabe, "I ain't interested in that."
"Oh my goodness," said the woman, "it's Big Dick McCabe."
The young man's eyes widened in horror. "We've heard of you, and I'll tell you this for nothing, you lay a finger on my grandmother and ..."
"You'll what?" interrupted McCabe.
"I .. er .." stammered the man.
"It's alright, sweetheart," replied the lady, "if we both want to get out of this alive, I think Mr. McCabe should have his fun. Then we can all be on our way."
"Grandmother!" gasped the young man, horrified. "I can't let this man molest you."
"But it wouldn't be molesting if I agree to it, would it, sweetheart?" said the woman, fluttering her eyelids at her grandson.
"That's right," said McCabe, dismounting from his horse and rubbing the formidable-looking bulge that was tenting out the front of his trousers, "much more sensible to enjoy it. May I ask to whom I will be having the pleasure?"
"I am Lady Sarah Ponsonby-Smythe," the woman said grandly, in rich aristocratic tones, "and this is my grandson, Hugo."
"Well now," said McCabe, "I think Hugo ought to take himself off behind the trees so he can't see what I'm gonna do to his old granny."
"No!" cried Hugo, jumping down from the carriage, "you ain't gonna do this."
"Shut up!" replied McCabe threateningly, pointing the gun at Hugo's head.
"Hugo, please," said Lady Sarah, pleadingly, "don't be an idiot. The man will kill both of us if we don't do what he says."
Hugo tried to stare out McCabe but he was no match for the highwayman. He glanced at his grandmother and then made towards the trees on the far side of the road.
"I need a piss anyway," he said, "but I warn you, McCabe, you hurt my grandmother in any way and I won't be responsible for my actions."
McCabe giggled, he knew the spoilt little pipsqueak wouldn't say boo to a goose so how he was going to get the better of him, the great Big Dick, didn't faze the villain in the least.
"I ain't gonna hurt your grandma," said McCabe, "we're just gonna have some fun to which she has given her consent. Now, unless you want to piss your pants, I suggest you get over to the trees now."
Hugo disappeared behind the bushes and a few seconds later his grandmother and Big Dick could hear the steady splish splash of his pee as he relieved himself. Lady Sarah turned back and smiled at McCabe.
