Lucky Jack Ch. 01

Only it wasn't Rugby Roy. Roy wouldn't have gone down that easily. Roy wasn't that soft. Roy shouldn't smell of Lancôme Eau de Parfum. Roy wouldn't shriek like a fucking banshee, and Roy did not have tits. The content of my hand was undeniably a woman's breast; that is one thing that I am a fucking expert at recognising even in the dark...especially in the dark. The breast was soft and round and clad in what felt like an underwired bra...categorically not one of Josie's tits, far too small and too firm, not at all like my erstwhile sex partner's beautiful massive melons the feel of which is now locked in my memory for ever. If I was not mistaken my other hand was resting on a female thigh, high up, indecently close to the owner's crotch, a thigh which appeared to be clad in soft flowing material, a skirt or dress, a thigh which was heaving and rolling as my opponent's heels drummed on the wooden floor.

But if the woman pinned beneath me was not Josie... the only female I knew in the village... then who the fuck was she? A ghastly thought flashed through my mind. What if this was the bloody vicar? Not all women ministers dressed in dog collars and grey trouser suits these days a lot of them wanted to be seen as trendy and blend in with their parishioners. Maybe she had called round to welcome a lost sheep back into the fold and instead had been attacked by a drunken neurotic lunatic!

Right then I just wanted her to stop that incessant squalling, my head was splitting, the room was spinning and the sudden adrenalin surge was working with the vodka to make me feel sick in the gut... all of which were combining to erupt in a dangerously savage temper tantrum. I didn't know who the hell she was but she was seriously winding me up, which did not bode well for her as I had the upper hand.

I shifted my weight so that I had her pinned beneath me and clamped one hand none too gently over her mouth. I could feel her teeth brushing against my palm but she was unable to sink them into my flesh, her hot breath made my hand tingle erotically. Her legs were still thrashing and she was beating futilely at my shoulders with her fists.

"Just shut the fuck up!" I growled. I needed some peace to be able to think.

The really strange thing was that it felt good. For the first time in days, weeks even, I felt in control again; in a sad way just being able to subdue this shadow woman who I could feel but not see put me back in command of my destiny if only for the next few minutes. What was really disturbing and would have worried me if I was less pissed and angry, was that it had given me a hard-on... a real honest to God rampant erection which was straining against the flimsy material of my sleeping shorts and pressing hard against this strange female's thigh. She could not fail to be aware of it!

She was still trying to mumble and cry out through my fingers and was tossing her head from side to side although my hand was effectively gagging her. I could feel the softness of her hair flicking across my wrist and caught the slightly erotic perfume of her salon quality shampoo.

My eyes were slowly becoming accustomed to the gloom and I could now make out that the woman beneath me had lightish hair, a round pale face and eyes which were bright with fear and glistening with tears which were starting to trickle onto the hand which I had clamped over her mouth.

I guessed that she was probably middle aged. She felt middle aged, the body beneath mine was firm and rounded but soft, not the athletic body of a young girl or the chubby plumpness of one of the village 'Miss Piggys' she had the swells and curves of a mature woman. She appeared to be wearing, or almost wearing, a pale coloured frock which had rolled up to her waist in the struggle exposing firm white thighs and a pair of white cotton high waist full briefs. The bodice of the dress was ripped at one side, exposing the white curve of her breast and her lace trimmed cotton bra, the sort of utilitarian bra that my mother wore. I realised at once that I had torn the dress when I stumbled against her falling from the stairs.

"If I let you up, will you stay quiet and not start screaming again?" I hissed and tried to gauge her response by looking deep into her eyes, but they were wide and terrified and gave no hint of compliance.

"Y-u-u-u-u-r-g" She mumbled through my fingers and tried to nod her head in agreement.

I pulled back until I was kneeling at the side of her with one hand covering her mouth and the other tightly gripping her wrist. I counted to three and then released both hands simultaneously. She gave a sharp gasp and then scrambled away from me sobbing to where her handbag had landed when I had knocked her to the floor. I suddenly realised what she was doing when her hand came up grasping her mobile telephone.

"P-p-p-p-police... Calling the police... Arrest you...YOU RAPIST!" She stuttered fumbling to get the clam-shell telephone open.

I acted instinctively. I leapt up and bounded over to where she was trying get up off her knees and slapped out knocking the phone out of her hand and heard it land with a brittle crunch on the hard wooden floor and skitter in multiple pieces away beneath the sideboard.

"Stupid fucking bitch!" I screamed at her, "I wasn't going to..."

I could understand where her fear was coming from, she had ben jumped by an almost naked man wearing nothing but a pair of loose shorts tented out with a prick in full erection. That alone would probably be seen by most judges as an intent to rape. Inadvertently or otherwise her dress had been ripped away exposing her tits and her attacker had then held her down whilst gagging her with one hand and fondling her thigh with the other, which was pretty damning evidence of sexual assault at the very least. Her attempts to call the police for assistance had been met with violence and her telephone smashed.

If she ever told anyone about her experience then I was totally and royally fucked! My future prospects seemed destined to involve getting my poor little arse drilled by a never-ending line of tattooed convicts probably for the rest of my life which was going to seem to last far too long.

I needed to calm her down and explain, I was great at talking my way out of things. I stood up and took a step towards her reaching out in what I hoped was a gesture of peace with my hand up and my palm forward.

"N-o-o-o-o-h!" She gave a loud shriek. "Keep away! Don't touch me! Please... don't hurt me!" She tried to back away from me but ran out of space and found herself backed up against the wall with nowhere to go.

I guess that I misjudged the distance in the shadowy darkness of the room and kept moving forward until suddenly the palm of my hand was cupping her breast through that heavy duty bra and she was slapping my arm away and gasping hysterically.

"Don't! Don't! Don't! Please Don't! You Pervert!"

I hadn't intended to grab her tit, but even though for just a couple of seconds it felt really good in my palm, this whole thing was developing into a collection of unfortunate accidents and was playing out like the script of a 1970s Val Guest sex farce or a 'Carry On' film. I took a step back and lowered my hand.

"I'm sorry..." I mumbled but a voice inside my head was screaming angrily...Why should I be sorry? She was the one who invaded my home - well my Grandmother's home technically - Who the fuck was she? What the fuck was she doing here? Christ but I needed a drink... the vodka was all gone and the beers were in a sink full of cold water in the kitchen to keep them cool and I was stuck here with this bloody woman accusing me of attempted rape.

It was apparently a tactical mistake giving her space. She suddenly swung a slap at me from out of nowhere. This was not just a swipe around the chops it came from low down behind her with all the weight of her spinning body behind it and caught me full across the cheek and ear. Bugger, did that sting! I had taken punches from guys in bar fights that hurt less. She stepped forward and followed it up with a nudge to the chest as she tried to get past me and run towards the front door. I know I was pissed but I weigh about 80 kilos and was a good foot taller than her but I felt myself going down and for the second time that night grabbed out at whatever was at hand to break my fall. For the second time what I grabbed was her dress.

This time the dress did not rip... neither did it stop my fall but I did succeed in dragging her down with me so that for the second time we were rolling on the floor. This was getting to be like Groundhog Day! She was not getting away from me this time...I had a twisted handful of dress in my clenched fist which I used to drag her across the polished wood floor to the settee, the same couch that Josie and I had shagged on the night before. It was almost de ja veux, I sat on the edge of the couch with the woman firmly in my grip kneeling in front of me... only this time it was not boobilious Josie preparing to give me a BJ.

"Ow! Ow! You're hurting me! Let me go! Please, please stop!" She was panting and sobbing but at least she wasn't screaming loud enough to be heard outside of the cottage anymore.

"If you don't shut up I am going to bloody gag you!" I snarled angrily. If fact that seemed like a good idea right then and I glanced around for a suitable gag. My eyes were drawn to the torn shoulder strap of her dress and I grabbed it and tugged hard, twice, until it tore and came away in my hand.

She was whimpering and sobbing but not actually shouting out at that moment. The pain around my ear where she had struck me reminded me that she could be unpredictable and might strike out again, maybe hurt me enough to allow her to get away. I needed to get her restrained whilst I thought out some sort of plan to deal with the situation, persuade her that I was not a rapist and that in the end no harm was going to be done to anybody. I temporarily abandoned the idea of a gag and quickly grabbed both of her wrists, twisting her onto her front and straddling her with my knees pinning her down. I quickly bound her wrists together behind her back with the strip of dress fabric. She squealed with pain when I pulled the improvised binding tight and tied it off with a large knot. I instinctively mumbled an apology.

"Please, please let me go... don't hurt me..." she pleaded. I was starting to get angry again, it was her fault that I was in this fucking predicament and her constant whingeing was making me thoroughly irritable. I knew that whatever happened next I was in serious fucking trouble. At least she was now partially immobilised, enough that I could risk dashing to the kitchen to fetch a couple of lagers and a pack of cigarettes.

"Stay there and don't bloody move!" I barked at her nudging her with my foot to emphasise my order. "If you do move... then I'll kick the shit out of you when I come back..." It was an empty threat I really would not resort to serious violence.

I am not in the habit of brutalising women... not unless you count the occasional rough sex session with 'Queenie' Lowe. Queenie was a punk from Hackney and had the most incredibly strange ideas about foreplay involving canes, whips and her naked buttocks. She also gave the most incredible BJs utilising fresh cream or warm chocolate as a lubricant. We had been friends with benefits at university and still met up every few months to share her unique brand of fun and games.

When I returned a few seconds later she appeared not to have moved. I sat down on the couch, popped a lager can and took a long draft then lit a cigarette. There was a small table lamp on the end table by the sofa and I reached over and switched in on.

"So let's see what we have here..." I said. The low wattage lamp illuminated my captive well enough to shock me with the knowledge that I knew this woman... Her face was familiar but I could not immediately put an association to it. I struggled to fit a name to the face in the trash bin of my memory... it was Chambers... Chandler... NO! It was MRS CHALMERS... Mrs Audrey Chalmers. Memories flooded back. She had been the parish Sunday school teacher when I was living here as a kid... I never went to Sunday school myself, not my sort of thing, but I knew her by sight and sound, all the kids did.

In fact all of the village knew Audrey Chalmers she was the sanctimonious self-appointed keeper of the village morals, outspoken critic of the decline of traditional values and Witch Finder General when it came to hunting down and exposing those residents whose sexual activities did not meet with her narrow minded set of moralities. The village adulterers, of which there were many, nymphomaniacs, unfortunately fewer, and gays of both sex lived in fear of Audrey Chalmers shining her moral light on their activities and scalding their lives with her caustic accusations and gossip.

Kneeling before me on the floor she did not look a lot different to when I had last seen her some ten years ago although she was probably now in her late forties or early fifties. Despite my dislike for the woman I have to admit that she was not unattractive even now. She about 5'6" tall with the firm curves of a mature woman, neat rounded breasts, wide hips and a tight firm arse. Her blonde streaked light brown hair was cut in a shoulder length page boy style above an oval face with deep blue eyes and a wide mouth which she always kept perfectly painted with a carmine red lipstick. Mrs Chalmers make-up was always perfect and her hair always neat and tidy... normally.

Right now her hair was mussed and her customarily pale face, which never saw a sun tan, was flushed with deep spots of pink on the cheeks and her eyes were puffy and damp with tears. Oddly her eye shadow and lipstick remained perfect as though they had been permanently tattooed on. Despite myself I couldn't help but think that she was an attractive woman, she would probably have been extremely pretty when younger a real beauty who would have turned heads. If I had known her then I would have sold my soul to get into her knickers.

She had been a part of the Woodley Hill community for as long as I could remember. According to my grandmother she had come to the village in the early 1980s with her husband and her pretty face and well-dressed shapely figure had caused quite a stir. The rumour was that the pussy-whipped husband had decamped a couple of years later, probably to escape from her vitriolic tongue and had not been heard of since and the Chalmers woman had stayed on her own in the tiny cottage at the rear of the vicarage. There had never been any hint that she was involved in any sort of relationship, I guess that she was more interested in the sex lives of others.

She remained seated on the floor at my feet with her legs drawn up under her, her head slumped forward and her shoulders heaving with shallow sobs, I was put in mind of harem girls seated at the feet of some sultan. She was, or had been, clothed in a light cotton summer dress of cream with a print pattern of small bunches of pretty coloured flowers with a tight bodice which emphasised her rounded tits and a flared skirt which had now ridden up to expose her smooth well-shaped thighs. The left side of the dress hung down where I had ripped away the shoulder strap and exposed the round mound of her white breast and the top of her lace edged bra.

"I know you..." I announced softly, "You are Mrs Chalmers, aren't you?"

"Yes, and I know you too," she responded without looking up. Her voice was soft and educated but acerbic with accusation. "You are Jonathan Drake... I remember you well with your amoral ways... You were always a filthy seducer of young girls!"

Nobody EVER, called me Jonathan although it was my given name. It had been Dad's choice and Mum had always hated it so I had been Jack to everybody since I was born. I guess this woman knew more about me than I imagined.

"Look, we need to talk..." I started. I needed to start digging myself out of the shit hole I had got myself into.

"I don't want to talk to you!" She spat back at me. "You are a libertine, a drunkard and a rapist and I am going to see you locked away for the rest of your life for what you have done to me... you can't go around raping decent women and get away with it..." She hissed.

I was getting pissed off with her ranting. I hadn't raped her, or anybody else, not by a long mark, but I was seriously considering giving her a slap. I took a tug from my lager and lit another cigarette.

"Don't smoke near me!" she suddenly yelped. "It a filthy, filthy habit... Put it out this minute!"

"What the fuck...?" She was totally bloody amazing, tied up on the floor at my feet and she was telling, no commanding, me not to smoke. "That's it... I have had with you!" I exploded. "You are my captive, remember... YOU do not tell me what I can or cannot do in my own house..."

Now she had made me really lose it, the anger surged through me, everything that had fucked up over the past few months, all the crap and resentments were building up into a serious temper storm and were being directed at this bloody supercilious woman. Whether she was to blame or not she was going to take the backlash of my self-pity... the trouble was that I was now running completely out of control I knew where I was heading and I just didn't give a camel's dick how much shit it got me into.

I reach down and grabbed her arm with one hand and thrust my fingers of the other into her hair at the base of her skull producing a squeal of pain as I twisted them to secure my grip.

"Get the fuck up!" I shouted at her, hauling her to her feet and half frog marched her to the bottom of the stairs. "Get up there! I pushed her and she stumbled with her hands tied behind her so that I had to lift and drag her up the narrow staircase until we were at the small landing and I was able to thrust her through the door into the bedroom.

"What are you doing? Don't hurt me!" she moaned. Her eyes lighted on the big double bed with its rumpled covers. "Oh My God No!" She wailed in panic, "You can't... you mustn't..."

I was not listening to her. Keeping my hand tightly twisted in her hair to hold her upright I reached down with the other hand and picked and tugged at the strip of material binding her hands until it came free. She didn't attempt to strike out at me again but started to sob as pain coursed through her fingers when the circulation returned and started to rub her wrists. I spun her around and pushed her away from me into the centre of the room. Her eyes darted towards the door and I stepped back, turned the key in the lock and then tossed in with a metallic clatter into a far corner.

"Take your fucking clothes off!" I snarled at her. Something in the back of my mind was telling me that what I was doing was horribly and terribly wrong but my conscious mind was screaming that I really didn't give a fuck any more. I needed to recover that joyful feeling of being in control... I knew exactly where this was leading and just the anticipation was starting to give me another hard-on.

"Oh no...please no..." She was pleading.

"STRIP!" I bellowed at her and saw her shrink back and stagger as if I had physically struck her. Her hands were trembling but she managed to reach around and pull down the zip at the rear of her dress and I watched the flimsy material slide and float down her body and pool on the floor around her bare feet like a mound of many coloured petals. I guessed that her shoes had come off when I first attacked her and were downstairs somewhere.

She was standing in just her bra and knickers with her hands crossed in front of her breasts protectively the way that women do when they feel exposed to a man's gaze. Her shapely well-formed legs were quivering slightly and her waist was narrower than I had imagined.