The Paul & Jenny Stories Pt. 15g

The Paul & Jenny Stories Pt. 15g: Another June Wedding Part 7

A Paul and Jenny story.

(Copyright 2001 by Paul. All rights reserved).

All events and characters are fictitious.

* * * * *

Spain 1937.

Roland Wagstaffe.

Roddrego could hardly stand let alone walk by the time we slid down the opposite side of the hill. I couldn't tell whether his ankle was sprained or broken. It mattered little, as he certainly wasn't going far unaided.

What were we going to do?

It was about three miles to the convent over some pretty rough terrain. I looked at my wristwatch. It was nearly three in the afternoon. It would be full darkness by six-thirty. Over three hours. We could make it. I just hoped that we were not going to be followed.

The Convent was fairly isolated from what I recalled from when we had visited it once with Roddrego's father on a previous stay. Then there had been about thirty Nuns and an equal number of girl students in its school. We could never take sixty in the truck. With Roddrego's father and staff that would mean nearer seventy. Three trips. Perhaps their parents had collected all of the students by now? It would still leave forty people. Two trips. At least some if not all of the Nuns would want to stay. That would leave just the former President and his staff. One trip. Always assuming Miguel got there all right.

"Come on, Roddrego." I said, standing up from where we'd rested for a few minutes at the foot of the slope. "We'd best get on."

"Leave me here, my friend."

"No. Of course I'd leave you if it only affected you." Appeal to his sense of duty before he became stubborn. We didn't have the time for a protracted debate. "You know your mother and father wouldn't leave if they knew you were out here."

His father might but not his mother. A formidable lady.

"You are right." He struggled to his feet using his rifle as a support.

I felt the relief in him that I had given him a face saving reason for my not accepting his offer to stay behind.

We started with my trying to support him on one side but the narrow track down which we walked meant that one of us was always stumbling over the rocks and bushes to the side. In the end I found a narrow slab of rock sticking up from the ground and perched him against it. I look back down the track. We had only covered a few hundred yards. I looked at my watch. Nearly half an hour had passed. If they had been following the must have caught us in this time.

I returned to Roddrego and turned with my back towards him after handing him my rifle.

"Sling them over your back then place your arms around my neck." I instructed.

I thought he was going to argue at first but he thought better of it and I felt him move close. I reached behind and picked him up by the thighs while he took some of his weight on my shoulders with his arms. I could have cried out loud as I felt the skin across my back tear open and something warm ran down inside my shirt.

I stumbled on along the bottom of the steep sided valley we were in. The sun was behind Roddrego's back and I concentrated on our shadows on the ground before us. They seemed to lengthen with each steep I took then they were overtaken by the shadows of the hills around us.

We stopped frequently. Whenever I could find somewhere to rest Roddrego against. I didn't want him lying on the ground, I knew I would never have the strength to get him back up on his feet alone. And all the time my thirst grew.

It was nearly dark when we stumbled across the well-used dirt track that Roddrego assured me led to the Convent. "Ten minutes, my friend." He said by way of encouragement. "No more."

Again we walked and hopped side by side with my trying to support as much of his weight as I could. I could see a light ahead. A single lantern hung above a doorway as a sign of invitation to weary travellers. And we were nothing if weary.

There was a metal bell pull fitted to one side of the doors, I pulled it and heard a clinking sound from inside the building. A small wooden slide in the door was moved and a white face peered at us from behind three metal bars.

"Yes?" The woman asked. "Can we help you?"

"My friend and I are injured." I replied, never had I been so grateful for the two years we had spent in South America after the Great War and the knowledge of Spanish it had given me. "We seek his father and mother. They are here."

The panel slid back into place and I could hear the mumbling of voices behind the door then one half opened and two heads peered through the crack at us.

"It is Senor Roddrego." One of the heads exclaimed.

I could see now that they both wore the Habits of Nuns.

"Si Sister." Roddrego replied, holding onto the wall for support.

"But, you are hurt." The second said and the opened wide the door and lent their support on either side of him.

I carried the two rifles as the sisters helped Roddrego inside and closed and bolted the doors behind us.

I could see no sign of the truck. That worried me. I could see Roddrego was looking for it as well. We looked at each other. This could be awkward.

One of the sisters called ahead and two other nuns appeared and helped and escorted us into the convent chapel, to a narrow side door in the shadows of one corner and down into the crypt.

A number of lanterns lit the tombs and monuments throwing ghastly, fantastical shadows over the inhabitants.

It was cold in these cellars and most of the occupants had blankets draped around them. It was difficult to estimate the numbers but there must have been upwards of fifty people down here. It looked as if the evening meal had just finished as I could see two nuns scraps from the various groups of people in buckets.

"Roddrego."

I heard a woman's voice cry out.

"And Mr Wagstaffe."

I turned to watch an elderly lady move towards us. Despite her advancing years she still carried herself with an air of authority and grace.

"You are hurt." She said looking down to where one of the nuns had removed Roddrego's shoe and sock to reveal a multicoloured grossly swollen ankle.

I flinched as a nun pulled the tattered remains of my shirt from the dried blood that surrounded the wound on my back.

A second lady, whom I recognised as the wife of Roddrego's father's Chief of Staff joined us and looked from each of us to the narrow flight with a look of anticipation on her face.

"Did you see Javier?" She asked the stairway.

"We saw him." Roddrego replied, looking at his mother and shaking his head slowly.

"When will he return?"

"I'm sorry." Roddrego replied.

"Sorry?" Her shoulders seemed to sag as she turned slowly towards Roddrego. "Sorry? Why are you sorry. Where is he?"

Roddrego's mother placed her arm around her shoulder.

"No, they cannot mean it." She continued, turning her gaze towards the stairs again. "They are mistaken."

"There is no mistake. He fought like a Lion and killed four men." Roddrego spoke. "He tried to protect the girls."

"Tried?"

Roddrego's father had joined us and picked up on the one word.

"He tried." Roddrego replied. "The girls were coming here in a truck with a driver. Has it not arrived?"

"We have seen nobody since the village priest came and left with two of our order to administer to the sick and needy." A large, middle-aged woman said. From her air of authority I imagined she would be the Mother Superior. "He has not returned. Can you tell us what is happening."

A jug of water was produced with a metal cup and both Roddrego and I drank deeply. Then, whilst my shirt was removed and my wound bathed and a cold compress applied to Roddrego's ankle we told them what had happened since our leaving Gibraltar that morning. We spoke quietly so as not to alarm the others. The Chief of Staff's wife had to be taken away by Roddrego's mother when we came to tell of our arrival at the Villa. We glossed over the details of what we found in the servants quarters. Then went on to tell of our plan to lead the Communists away to give the others a chance to escape in the truck.

I heard the Nun behind me working on my back and shoulder gasp a number of times as we told our tale. I looked into her face when she had finished to offer my thanks. It was a pretty face. In her early twenties perhaps. I hoped the gangs of men roaming outside still retained some respect for those in holy orders but from what I had seen that day I doubted it.

We had to get them out. All of them.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Somerset 1972.

Paul.

I could hear a bell ringing. It seemed so far away at first, then it was closer. Somebody was tight up close behind me breathing into my hair. I could feel a cock between my ass cheeks.

I looked over my shoulder at Steve's face. He was asleep but his hips were starting to move. I could feel his cock getting harder. I tried to move but we had been roped together around our chests, stomach and thighs. Our hands were tied together with the Morning Bell rope. Each time I moved it rang. I was going to move. I could feel Steve cock against my anus.

"Wake up." I said loudly over my shoulder.

That hurt. I clenched my anus tightly shut.

"Steve." I shouted. "Wake up."

He stirred, flexing his muscles pushing the tip of his cock hard against my anus. I could feel it open. That really did hurt. The bell rang.

"What?" He mumbled his body relaxing and his cock pulling away slightly.

"What?" He repeated.

"That bastard Len has stitched us up." I explained. "We've got to get out of here before anybody comes."

"Yes." He agreed. "They certainly mustn't see us like this."

I could feel his going down between my ass cheeks. It felt good. Warm.

"I think that if we push hard against each other I can get my other hand out." I said. "It's either that or ring the bell for somebody." He replied moving closer.

His prick was still lodged between my ass cheeks and I could feel it growing again. I had to push back against it to release my hand from the rope tied about our waists. It was growing. It was nudging against my anus again. I cried out as it started to open me.

"Sorry about this." Steve breathed into my hair.

Once the first stab of pain had passed my ring settled down to a gentle throbbing as I wriggled my hand free. That gave us more room but Steve didn't move. He stayed as he was. The tip of his cock just inside my hole and I didn't pull away.

"I often think about it." He said softly.

"What about?" I knew but I had to ask.

"About what we did in Ireland."

"Oh." I said. "That."

"Haven't you?"

"Sometimes." I confirmed.

But my memories were clouded by the memories of being buggered by Tommy. He'd fucked Steve once. I'd never talked to him about that.

"Did you like it?" He asked as I started working on the knots that were tying our hands together.

"What?"

"You know."

"It was alright."

It had been more than all right. The warm glow that filled my body after the pain of penetration. His jerking inside me as he came. Yes. It had been more than all right.

"I liked it." He said, pulling back slightly to allow my anus to close.

The final knot came free and I rubbed my wrists to restore the circulation to my fingers. The bell clanged once.

We could get to work now, pulling the ropes that had tied us together over our heads and kicking them down our legs and off. I sat up and shivered, it was cold away from the warmth of Steve's body. They had covered our bodies in the night with a couple of choirboy cassocks. I could see where our clothes had been spread out over the near-by pews.

I looked down at Steve. He was lying on his back slowly stroking his cock with one hand. As I watched he pulled his foreskin back to its fullest extent then slowly released it so it slid forward, nearly covering his piss hole.

He did it again.

I looked up at his face. He was watching mine. I looked back down.

His hand was moving faster. I looked back at his face. His eyes were closed. Should I finish it for him? Did I want to?

I was reaching out my hand as he came. I jerked it back as he opened his eyes and looked down at his come as it shot from the end of his cock.

Suddenly, I think we both felt embarrassed. I looked away then stood up and walked to my clothes. Looking back I could see him cleaning himself up with one of the cassocks.

It was only six-fifteen when we left the Church by the Vestry door, to which, as a bell-ringer, Steve had a key. We walked past the pub and turned into the lane that led to my grandfather's house. I didn't know about Steve but I was beginning to feel quite ill. My stomach was gurgling, my mouth tasted like somebody had had a shit in it and my eyes hurt. The Sun was too bright. I wished the birds would stop singing. I needed the toilet.

We crunched up the gravel to the front door and I turned my key in the lock. Millie, my black Labrador bitch was sitting on the rug wagging her tail. I wasn't going to wag mine. I told her to go outside and do something, anything and just beat Steve to the downstairs cloakroom. Dropping my pants and trousers I sat down and waited for the explosion. It wasn't long in coming. I breathed a huge sigh of relief as my bladder and bowels emptied simultaneously.

That was better. I did the paperwork and stood up looking at my face in the mirror over the small sink. Not a face many would call handsome. Especially now with the cheeks flushed and the pupils the size of pin heads.

I hoped Jenny had had a peaceful, relaxing night.