It was November 1983 and I was in my final year of school; the year we call the ‘Upper Sixth’. England was a world without internet, mobile phones, personal computers, e-mails or text messages. Like most of Europe, it was a country with dirty, badly lit phone boxes that seldom worked and letters that got lost for weeks. Students were few in number and fewer still had cars. Sex was much less casual though AIDS was almost unknown. Condoms were made only by Durex and were a source of embarrassed giggling rather than a life-preserving necessity.

It was just past my eighteenth birthday so I could now legally drink in pubs and was learning to drive in my Mum’s already elderly Mini.

I thought I was so grown-up!

Of course I was mostly working flat out for my forthcoming exams the following May and June, with the exciting prospect intended for all of us in our Private School – getting into a good University.

There was a lot of sport too. There had always been a lot of good, healthy sport in Private Schools and I enjoyed it a lot. Apart from being a break from the relentless pressure of academic work, it helped to keep me in shape physically and for an eighteen year old girl in 1983, being good-looking was very important indeed.

I had always been a bit of a ‘Daddy’s Girl’, especially since my mother died in a car accident when I was at Primary School. For a few years it had just been Dad and me at home before he had fallen in love and eventually married his secretary from work.

How corny is that?

Corny or not, it had actually been good for all of us. My new Stepmum was a mother already with two boys of her own – Michael two years older than me, Luke one year younger - so she knew about kids if not about girls. Her own husband had, would you believe, run off with his own secretary a couple of years earlier after getting her pregnant. With so many Boss / Secretary affairs it was almost like a cheap TV comedy but the practical result was that, after years living in a quiet father and daughter household, I had to get used to being part of a busy family of five.

This type of arrangement wasn’t nearly as common in the ‘eighties as it is today but after a year of settling down, we fell into something close to an acceptable way of life. For the last eight or nine years we had effectively been one family; happy enough to call our parents Mum and Dad without feeling awkward.

I was very tall for a girl and skinny and dark like my older stepbrother Michael. I suppose I was considered quite good looking but had always felt self conscious about my height and tended to dress down and be a bit shy. I wasn't at all confident in my own dress sense so on the few occasions when I wanted to look a little sexier I would try and copy the way Mike’s girlfriend-of-the-moment dressed, whether it suited me or not. This had unfortunately resulted in a number of fashion disasters which, if you remember the ‘eighties’ were widespread and hadn’t help my confidence with boys at all.

As a result, most boys didn’t consider me good girlfriend material, still less a prospect for a one night stand, especially after I had spectacularly failed to deliver the goods sexually on a couple of dates. Consequently I had acquired a bit of a reputation for being inaccessible – frigid as one cruel failed date had put it – and my usual dress of jeans, trainers and sweat shirt didn’t do anything to dispel that impression.

I wasn’t a virgin though; on two occasions I had allowed a boy’s penis to enter my body. Both times had been with the same boy; my stepbrother’s best friend and look-alike, David.

David had taken my cherry at sixteen after my Mike’s eighteenth birthday party at our house. Naive, unaccustomed to drink and full of emotion, I had been swept off my feet by this older, sophisticated, handsome boy I had had a crush on for a long time. He had to chatted me and flattered me until I had allowed him to take me into my own bedroom. Before I really knew what was happening I had let him deflower me on my own bed while my stepbrother slept off his boozy evening on the sofa downstairs.

It had been awkward, clumsy and had hurt a lot. Fortunately my stepmother had believed my story of an early period to explain the blood stain on the sheet.

The second occasion had been a week later in the same room. With more time to relax together, I learned that my deflowering had been David’s first time too which explained the extreme clumsiness and awkwardness we had both suffered. The second occasion was much better, if rather short and although it still hurt, I did get some pleasure out of the experience.

In our naiveté we didn’t think to use condoms – they were much more difficult to get in those days before AIDS made us think more sensibly. On both occasions, unable to control himself, David came deep within me. I was lucky not to fall pregnant.

Now I am over fifty and with much more experience, I realise that I was quite tight ‘down there’ and David was unusually large as well as inexperienced. This combination provided an unfortunate and painful introduction to sex for us both and put me off doing it with anyone at all for quite a while.

Then David and Michael went off to different Universities and I was left at home with Mum and Dad. David and I kept in touch intermittently by letter for a few months, though looking back, most of the letters were written by me.

Then I learned through Mike (who didn’t know he and I had actually slept together) that David had found a new girlfriend at University. I cried a lot for a few days then got on with my life.

‘Getting on with my life’ mostly involved working flat out for my exams which of course added to my reputation for inaccessibility and frigidity. Although I did have occasional boyfriends, none of them got further than the heavy petting stage so I had remained secretly ‘busted’ but celibate until the moment this story begins.

***

It was Winter Term at school and the pressure was on! The English education system involves taking Advanced Level exams in three main subjects at the end of your final year, which is usually at the age of eighteen. Known as A Levels (please don’t laugh), they are all-important in that the University you go to, or indeed whether you go to University at all, depends entirely on the grades achieved in those subjects.

The final year at school is therefore focussed hard on exam success and of course, on choosing the right course at the right University. There is still time for some sport and a few other activities but academic pressures always come first.

Part of the selection process in those days involved attending Open Days and having interviews at Universities. We were allowed to select a short list of five. Being a ‘Straight A’ student I was looking only at those colleges that offered the best course in my chosen field. Inevitably, some Universities were strong in more than one discipline and among my top five choices were Oxford and the place where my older stepbrother had been studying for a whole year already.

Mike had done well at school and was at that time in his second year of Medical School in a prestigious University in the south west of the country. Tall, dark and athletic, he had played rugby throughout his schooldays and had continued playing at University. He had always been a favourite with my school friends, most of whom had at some time had major crushes on him. To be honest I had always had something of a crush on him myself and knew for a fact that at least two of my friends had tried unsuccessfully to tempt him into bed. Their failure had partly been due to a lack of self confidence on Mike’s part but mostly due to a reason I didn’t realise at the time.

So I had applied to Mike’s University as one of my five choices and had been called to interview. The first important step had been passed! My appointment was to be on a Saturday morning following the department’s Open Day on the Friday.

Open Days were days in which all important parts of the University would be offering presentations and demonstrations so potential students could get a really good idea of what life there would be like. I had attended just such an event at a college about twenty miles away the previous month so knew what to expect and was excited about the whole, grown-up experience.

I was, as you would expect, very nervous about the interview but Dad had given me lots of practice and I was as prepared as I could be.

The plan was to go down by train on Thursday evening, stay overnight at Mike’s and spend Friday at the Open Day. Afterwards I would spend another night with Mike and have my interview in the morning. Then Dad would pick me up straight afterwards and drive me home so I would be in time to play hockey for the school that Saturday afternoon.

All went well with my journey, despite the best efforts of British Rail. Mike met me at the station looking even taller and more handsome than I remembered, confident in his new stomping ground and wearing the obligatory student uniform of jeans, trainers and a brightly striped rugby shirt.

After we had hugged our hellos, he took my suitcase and we caught a bus through the big city towards his house.

I was enchanted. We lived in a market town in the midlands so the city and the prospect of living there for three years was quite an adventure. As cities went, this one was special too, filled with imposing buildings from bygone periods but still bright, busy and trendy with a waterfront, hills and plenty of green areas. I could tell why Mike loved being there so much.

My stepbrother shared a house with four other boys in a pleasant but run down area not far from the University. The house was big with high ceilings and was rather tatty but to the eighteen year old me it seemed like a palace and the freedom it represented was a dream come true.

I had met some of Mike’s housemates before at rugby matches and had got on well with them. They had tended to treat me like a little girl at times but I was determined not to let this happen again. One or two had made attempts at chatting me up but it seems Mike had declared me ‘out of bounds’ and all attempts had been half hearted, though I had felt very flattered by the attention of good looking older boys. It certainly helped that they were almost all well over six feet tall, which made me feel a lot less self conscious about my own skinny figure and height.

After I had dumped my bag in Mike’s room and seen the mattress on the floor where I was to sleep for the next two nights, we ate the classic student staple diet of spaghetti Bolognese in their kitchen. Then the boys and two of their girlfriends took me on a night time tour of the city, stopping off at a few favourite pubs as we walked down by the waterfront and along the old streets.

As a gesture to the ‘big night out’ I had put on a little more make-up than usual and was wearing a slim fitting jumper rather than my usual shapeless sweat shirt, though the jeans and trainers remained.

After a couple of hours of really enjoyable drinking and chatting I was having a great time. The city was fun and exciting, and being out on the town with the slightly older group made me feel bright, attractive and grown-up. I’m sure Mike was keeping an eye on me because he subtly slowed my drinking at times and made sure I wasn’t too dominated by his rugby pals.

When we called in at an old corner pub from which live jazz music was booming I was feeling a bit tipsy, unused to the strength of the local cider I had been drinking rather too casually. A small group of students came to greet us as we arrived. From their powerful builds they were obviously more of Mike's rugby playing friends and he introduced me quite proudly to them all.

But I didn’t really remember their names because at that moment a Greek God came into the pub and was walking towards me, smiling. Tall and dark, amazingly like Mike but with an even stronger build, he had striking hazel eyes which right now were boring straight into mine.

“Hi,” he smiled at me, then at Mike. “You must be Nicky!” He held his hand out and I automatically took it, almost speechless. His grip was firm but friendly. “I’m Max.”

My knees felt a bit weak and my tummy fluttered as I stammered ‘Hi’ in reply.

Something told me that Mike wasn’t too pleased to see Max but he was polite and fairly friendly.

“Nic, this is Max,” Mike turned to me and smiled awkwardly. “We’re in the same team but he’s one of the glory boys, not a worker like me!”

It was clearly an in-joke which made the rugby boys laugh but went above my head. I pretended to understand and laughed simperingly. Max joined our group and for the next hour we sat near to each other, chatted and sipped our drinks. He was absolutely charming – I had never been the centre of such a good-looking boy’s attention for such a long time and was flattered, loving every minute. He was funny, attentive, bought me rather more drinks than perhaps I should have had and I was aware of his legs pressing against mine under the table.

I was also aware of Mike giving me dark looks from time to time but I ignored him. It was time he realised I wasn’t a little girl anymore and got used to the idea that boys liked me.

The evening passed quickly; all too soon it was closing time and we had to go back to Mike’s place. Max walked me to the bus stop – I put my arm through his in a brave attempt to be romantic - and to my delight he kissed me goodnight just as Mike arrived. I think he was aiming for my cheek but something happened and his lips ended up on mine.

It was a magic moment. For a split second our mouths opened and we kissed properly but then we both realised all our friends – including my stepbrother - were nearby and broke the kiss quickly, embarrassed.

“Are you staying tomorrow night too?” Max asked as Mike moved deliberately alongside me. I nodded.

“I’m going to the Open Day tomorrow.”

“Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow night,” he suggested.

“I hope so,” I said, my face turning red as I got on the bus. “Goodnight!”

Mike made a point of sitting next to me on the bus, scowling. I could tell he had something to say and, sure enough, after a few minutes, out it came.

“Watch your step there, Nic.”

“What do you mean?” I demanded aggressively.

“I’m just saying, be careful. Max isn’t as nice as he seems, that’s all.”

I was getting angry as well as tipsy – a dangerous combination!

“He was charming tonight. Just charming. You just can’t cope with me growing up!”

“It’s not that, Nic! He’s... well he hasn’t got a good reputation. Be careful!”

“I can’t help it if boys like me,” I half shouted. “I’m not a little girl anymore; I can look after myself. You'll just have to get used to the idea!”

The rest of the journey passed in angry silence and we went to bed having exchanged barely a dozen more words.

***

The following morning was the Open Day itself. After a brief breakfast during which there was definitely ‘an atmosphere’, Mike walked me to the Department. A few minutes down the road he spoke.

“I’m sorry Nic. About last night. I was a bit heavy handed.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. I had been very upset too; partly because of the implication that I was irresponsible, but also because I hated falling out with my stepbrother.

“It’s ok Mike. I was nasty too. I know you meant well but I’m not just a little girl now.” I paused as we walked. “But it’s sweet of you to be so protective”.

“You promise you’ll be careful?” he asked sincerely.

“I promise. He was just so nice to me!”

I took his hand and squeezed it. We walked hand in hand for a short while.

“I just don’t want you to get hurt, that’s all.”

“I know you meant well. I’ll be careful but you’ve got to trust me too,” I insisted. “See you this afternoon!”

I kissed him on the cheek and skipped into the Department.

The day passed quickly. I loved the people and the places they showed us, from the classrooms to the sports hall, from the gym to the library.

It felt amazing to think that I was now old enough and perhaps clever enough to become a part of this amazing University.

I resolved to double up on my hard work and make sure I got the grades I would need to win myself entry. After all, I couldn’t let my big bro do better than me, could I?

At six o’clock Mike met me at the Department door and we walked together back to his house. I was bubbling over with excitement and nervous about the interview at nine the following morning.

All his housemates wanted to quiz me about my day and one or two teased me gently about my encounter with Max the previous evening. It seems Max had been a bit smitten with me too and had mentioned to his friends how much he wanted to see me again. That might be the coming evening when Mike, his friends and I were planning to go to the cinema and visit several more waterside pubs.

I could see that Mike was not happy about this at all. He scowled right through dinner and made it plain that I should keep a close eye on Max if he showed up. I didn’t tell Mike that I had bought some special clothes during lunch break that day, and that I intended to make a bit of an impact that evening.

After dinner, I went to Mike’s room alone to get changed while he and his friends watched TV on their tiny black and white set. I quickly unpacked my suitcase and my recent purchases and fifteen minutes later was dressed and very nervous.

Boy, for me, was I dressed! Kim Wilde? Kate Bush? Neither had legs as long as mine and I hoped like mad that my new sparkly, skin tight leggings and heels would show them off to their very, very best.

All that sport was about to pay off!

Of course, leggings as tight as that would make a panty line stand out like nothing else, so there was only one alternative – go without them! This was highly unusual for me and gave me a thrill as well as making me feel rather nervous but I was grown up now, wasn't I?.

My hair had been back brushed to give it volume, I wore gold bangles around my wrists and definitely more make-up than the minimal I usually wore. I had chosen a very loose necked jumper too that would have given tantalising glimpses of my boobs if I hadn’t been so flat chested.

I felt new, grown up and ready to face the older boys with, for me, a bit of real confidence.

As I entered the kitchen, silence fell followed by a low whistle. Mike had his back to me but immediately saw the expressions on his friends’ faces. He span round quickly.

“Jesus, Nic!” He exclaimed. “Wow! You look... Wow!”

There were grunts of agreement from the other boys. I smiled at his honest response, a bit embarrassed but really pleased by my success.

“Do you like it?” I asked as sweetly as I could.

“Well, speaking as your stepbrother, no I don't. You shouldn’t go out like that, full stop.” He leaned over towards me and whispered. “Speaking as a boy, you look sexy as hell, Nic!”

I suppose I should have been revolted at the thought of my own stepbrother finding me sexy but in fact I felt the opposite. I couldn’t remember ever being called sexy in my life before and it made me feel good – whoever said it!

The next few hours passed in a dream. Mike and his friends made a real fuss of me. From their behaviour, it was obvious that the others found me sexy too and in the darkness of cinema I felt the occasional light touch of straying fingers on my body. I was pleased to have Mike sitting alongside me and held his hand several times, especially at the scary parts where my polished nails dug hard into the back of his hand.

It was good to feel his reassuring fingers stroking my thigh towards the end of the film.

Afterwards we went back to the waterfront pubs and had a couple of drinks to relax after our cinematic ordeal. I chose cider again, not realising that in this part of the country, it meant something much more potent than the pale fizzy drink I had grown up with.

By ten o’clock I was tipsy again and enjoying the male company I was attracting. Mike by my side made me more confident still so I was feeling more than content when Max came through the door.

“Nicky!” He greeted me with a huge smile, his hazel eyes melting me inside. “I’m so glad I found you at last. You look absolutely stunning!”

Bingo! My new clothes and style had worked! I glowed inside.

Mike’s demeanour changed immediately. He stood much closer to me and squeezed my hand in warning but by now I was beyond taking advice and allowed Max to deftly manoeuvre me away from the rest of the group to a relatively quiet corner where we chatted together animatedly.

For the next hour I spoke to almost no-one else, aware only of this gorgeous boy who wanted to talk only to me. My self confidence boomed. Two more ciders, both bought by Max and I was really smitten as well as quite tipsy. My very limited experience had taught me little about boys but I knew this was new and very special.

“Have you seen the harbour in the moonlight?” Max asked once last orders had been called.

I shook my head, looking into his eyes and not realising the danger.

“Then you’re in for a treat. Come on; let’s slip out before big bad bro spoils our fun!”

I suppose in my inebriated state I hadn’t thought things through properly. All I knew was that a gorgeous, sophisticated, final year student fancied me and wanted to take me outside to see the harbour in the moonlight. I was truly flattered. He was so much older than me; so much more worldly wise; so handsome!

It was unbelievably naïve, I know but I was innocent, young and romantic and, frankly drunk.

I suppose I had expected a certain amount of physical contact and was looking forward to finding out if he really was as sexy as he seemed. I had kissed open-mouthed with tongues before, until my mouth was numb, and I wasn’t a complete stranger to a reasonable amount of clumsy groping and fondling either. I’ve always enjoyed having my boobs fondled - through my tops of course - especially if the boy was quite rough with me and on occasions I had even ground my private parts against a boy’s legs while heavy petting or dancing.

What I hadn’t bargained for was the extraordinary efficiency with which this older boy – ‘man’ I should say – began to make serious sexual progress with me and how my inexperienced body would betray me with its responses.

After a short walk holding hands romantically we reached the quay and, arm in arm, looked out over the water at the bobbing boats. It truly was beautiful with the moon glinting off the water. I felt romantic and squeezed his hand tightly. He squeezed mine in return and I leaned against his strong body.

“The view’s even better from the other pier,” he said softly, leading me gently but firmly along the waterside and down a short passageway.

Half way along he stopped and turned towards me in the near darkness. I had half expected, even half hoped for this and had looked forward to the moment when our lips would first touch.

When it happened it was every bit as magical as I had imagined when I had first talked to him in the pub. My head was tilted upwards towards his handsome face, my arms around his waist, his hands in the small of my back. We kissed long and hard, our tongues entwined, our bodies pressed close. He was tall and strong and athletic and his body was warm against mine.

It seemed an age before our lips parted, and when they did it felt like I had fallen into darkness. Seconds later his mouth was on mine again, tongues active but this time, before I knew it, his hands were on my boobs and he was touching me exactly the way I liked it. Strong and confident, his fingers kneaded my small globes firmly through my loose, long sleeved jumper and tweaked my nipples through my bra. I felt sexy and attractive and, without thinking, began to press myself harder against his thigh as we kissed and kissed.

Minutes later his hands were underneath my jumper, his fingers dancing over the bare flesh of my tummy and moving up to up my boobs in their cups. Seconds later my bra was efficiently unfastened, my top lifted and my boobs bared to the night air - or would have been if his hands hadn’t been cupping them and massaging them as the coolness hardened my nipples.

Things were moving faster than I was used to but still I felt fairly comfortable. Older, more mature boys would have more experience, wouldn’t they? They would know how far and how fast to take a younger girl. And the feel of his fingertips on my nipples was so much nicer than anything the boys my age had ever done to them!

His hands dropped to my buttocks and the cool air immediately brought goose bumps to my boobs. I instinctively pressed myself closer to his body to warm them and felt his hands kneading my buttocks even more firmly than they had my breasts. He pressed my bottom hard, driving my crotch even harder against his left thigh, which he stuck forward a little to fit better between my thighs. It felt amazing and without realising it I began to rub myself up and down his thigh, feeling a new and exciting arousal growing in my groin.

Our lips parted and I rested my head on his chest and shoulder, our hands on each others buttocks. He nibbled my ear and I kissed his neck as his fingers kneaded my soft flesh deliciously. His hands rose up to my waist, then down to the crease below my buttocks, then back to my waist again.

And then suddenly his hands were inside my leggings, cupping my bare pantyless buttocks, his rough skin on my smooth tender cheeks. This was a step further than I had expected to go – very few boys had actually touched my bare buttocks - but the growing arousal from my rubbing seemed to have dulled my senses and I began to enjoy the feel of his rough skin on my smooth cheeks. His hands delved deeper and deeper into my leggings, tickling me in the creases below my buttocks and, to my delighted astonishment, along the crack in my bottom.

Moments later I felt confident hands rolling my leggings downwards almost to my knees, exposing my buttocks to the night. This was entirely new territory for me but made me feel so daring, so grown up to be in the hands of this gorgeous, romantic boy. I felt coolness around my bare bottom and, to my surprise, a sudden chill between my legs as the cold night air found the large damp patch that my increasingly sensitive vulva had become.

Then, before my rapidly readjusting brain could react, I felt a strong, confident hand slip between my thighs, a hot palm pressed against my pubic mound and a long firm finger slid the full length of my slit.

Oh my God!

A combination of fear, confusion, drunkenness and incredible arousal washed over me. My legs trembled and weakened, parting my thighs a little more. Max must have taken this as an invitation because the next thing I knew, his hand had descended, forcing my thighs further apart and a long, probing finger had slipped deep into my vagina, pressing firmly and slightly painfully upwards as if seeking a hidden prize within.

“Oh my God! Oh Dear God!”

He was fingering me! Really fingering me! This was what it felt like! And it felt... simply amazing!

I moaned aloud but his mouth was back on mine and stifled my protests. His finger began to move within me, sending shock waves of strange unfamiliar pleasure through my body. One moment it was rammed hard up into my vagina as if trying to lift me bodily upwards, the next his merest fingertip was circling the top of my slit and over my clitoris - although in those days I hardly knew what one was or what pleasures it could bring.

What I did know was that he was making me feel like I had never felt before, not even during the two hurried, fumbling occasions I had felt a real penis inside me. I whimpered as more waves of pleasure shuddered through me, scaring me in their intensity.

“Please! Not here! Please…” I croaked, but even I thought my protest sounded unconvincing.

I wriggled weakly in his arms, his finger still deep inside my vagina but he was too strong and I was unsteady from alcohol and my unaccustomed arousal.

Suddenly his finger was pulled out of me and he started doing something with his free hand while holding me tightly against his chest with the other. Something strange and warm touched my upper thighs. Instinctively I reached down with my hand to find out what it was.

My fingers closed around a warm, smooth and to my imagination simply enormous shaft of muscle.

“Oh yes baby,” he moaned.

My fuddled brain finally began to register the fact that this boy, gorgeous as he was, wanted to have sex with me right now, right there in the alley. Ridiculously I remember thinking that this wasn’t how it was supposed to be; that we should be in a large bed; that there should be white sheets, soft music; that above all there should be love. But my aroused body fought against my frightened mind which quickly began to lose the battle as Max’s fingers did their expert work on me.

“No! No! Please!” I protested so weakly even I didn’t believe myself.

“Come on, you little prick teaser,” he hissed, his voice hardened by lust. “You’re going to love it!”

His strong hands swept my leggings down to my ankles and over one foot where they tangled with my heels, tripping me. Feeling my instability, he swayed against me as if trying to lower me to the floor but I squirmed and wriggled. Realising I was not going to lie down and let him take me, he changed tactics and, lifted my leg to his waist, parting my thighs and exposing my vulva, opening me up for his incredible attentions. He pressed my back hard up against the wall of the alley, thrusting his hand once again onto my mound, his fingers immediately in my slit, searching.

Suddenly it all became serious. I realised in panic that this time he was simply trying to locate my opening for his terrifying cock. He was going to fuck me!

My mind screamed ‘Not here! Not now! Not in this squalid alleyway!’ but my body begged for it to happen.

My mind told me to escape, to get away but instead my body betrayed me again, making me freeze, unable to resist – unwilling to resist too, if the truth be known - as if simply waiting for him to penetrate me.

“See! You do want it! You’re turned on! You’re wet as hell,” he hissed, thrusting his fingers deep into me again.

It was true. My body had betrayed me further by lubricating for all it was worth around his fingers as if screaming ‘Yes! Fuck me! I want you now!’

I felt his shaft pressing against my open thigh, his round head colliding with my swollen vulva, seeking my entrance. My mind knew I should stop him but my body seemed to crave him inside me.

He pressed forwards, the head of his cock beginning to enter my body, stretching my tight, inexperienced inner lips. He was about to fuck me!

Oh God!

For only the third time in my short life, I felt a boy’s cock begin to enter my vagina. It was frightening but at the same time so exciting!

“Please,” I mumbled weakly into the night, not knowing if he even heard me; not knowing myself if I meant ‘Please stop’ or ‘Please fuck me!’.

His cock slid further into me. It felt huge, stretching me but the angle was awkward and he couldn’t get more than a short way into my body. He lifted my leg further, spreading my thighs wider, ready to thrust all the way into me.

“Oh God, yessss,” I hissed, my decision now made.

I felt his body tense and prepared myself for the full force of his penetration...

Suddenly I heard footsteps; angry male voices were shouting. Then Max’s strong body was pulled violently away from me, his cock ripped forcefully from my vagina. I yelped in surprise and pain and held on to the wall for balance.

“What the fuck...?” I heard him shout.

There was a brief shuffling sound followed by two loud smacks and he fell to the floor. There was a scrambling, a scuffling sound then he stood up again. A further half dozen loud thumping sounds came from two large shadows in the background.

Strong arms grabbed me and held me tightly. My face was pressed into a powerful chest with a familiar, welcome smell. There was another shuffling sound and I heard footsteps running away down the alley.

“Jesus! My fist hurts!” The voice was familiar and so, so welcome. “Bastard!” he screamed after the rapidly retreating footsteps.

My beloved stepbrother Michael had come to rescue me – whether I wanted to be rescued or not!

“It’s ok Nic. You’re safe now,” he said.