Prologue

The following is not a tale of the imagination, although it probably ranks alongside fictional accounts you may read in Literotica. Of course you are at liberty to decide if the subsequent narrative is true or not after you have read it; no assurances from me that it is true would make any difference to how you come to your verdict, you will judge for yourself. If you are inclined, however, to deem it a work of fiction, I ask you to consider the era that it is set in is the 1970's, the decade following the promiscuous sixties with that period's attempt to shape a society that didn't censure a more sexual openness or diversity. The question, 'Could this happen?' should be posed with this in mind.

Fiction I suppose, outside that of science fiction (although a great deal of that is now fact), has to have some factual content based on what people could or would do under certain circumstances to make the story believable, but it still remains fiction; whilst factual based stories like the following narrative may appear as a tale of fiction, and yet is true. It is not a tale of the imagination. It happened. Anyway why should fiction writers have all the fun?

I/we were motivated to set out the following account about our erotic adventures after reading 'The Kings of the Valley" by Victoria John, a terrific tale of erotica set in North Wales and published on the website of Literotica. The following account starts in North Wales, where my wife and I met a fellow holidaymaker who introduced us to a world of erotica way beyond anything we could have imagined. As this happened 30 years ago the dialogue is not verbatim but correct in the round. No matter how outrageous and crude you may think it is, it is much as I/we remember it. We are now enjoying life in our mid sixties.

Both Ruth and I will share our experiences in the following account - mine from a watcher's standpoint, hers from a participant.

Chester England, May1976. An introduction to the players in this drama.

Paul - myself. Working as a security guard at the local car factory. Age 35

Ruth - wife. A very staunch and practising catholic pillar of the local church. Age 34

Cornelius. Retired from his business making ladies lingerie, we meet on holiday, introduces Ruth to the joy of sex and submission. Founder member of the 8"x 6" club. Age 55

Alexandra. Mother of Ruth. Introduced to Cornelius after our holiday was over by Ruth. Age 54

Isaac. Jewish business friend of Cornelius. Escaped to this country from Hitler's Nazi Germany. Set up extremely successful ladies haute couture business, member of the 8"x 6" club. Age 66

Peter Patel. Business friend of Cornelius and Isaac, chief designer for Cornelius' former business of ladies lingerie. Member of the 8x 6 club. Age 57.

Two catholic priests, Father John and Father Thomas - not their real names. Age 42 and 63 respectively.

Anita - cousin of Ruth, peripheral part at this stage, beautiful young lady, extremely shy, recently married, a tiny bit slow on understanding things, slight stutter. Age 19

*

Chapter 1

It is early May 1976, at home near the city of Chester U.K

Sunday morning, my day of rest, was interrupted by the doorbell chimes. I mutter darkly as I go to answer the door; this is my day off and I don't feel like entertaining anyone. However it's my wife's young cousin Anita calling, a lovely looking 19 year old, which stops me feeling grumpy!

" Oh hi Anita come in, what can I do for you?"

"I-I-I-Is Ruth home from ch-ch-church yet?" she enquired as she stepped into the house.

"Not yet," I grumbled, "she lives in that bloody church. You would think the world would end if there weren't a catholic church nearby. So what do you need to see Ruth about?"

"Well me and R-R-Rob (Anita's husband) had a holiday boo-boo-booked by Towyn in North Wales which starts next Saturday, a-a-a- and now he finds with his job of being a long distance lorry driver he ca-ca-can't get the time off beeecause an order from the con-con-con-continent has to be delivered during the period we had booked for this ho-ho-holiday. And as we've al-al-al-al-ready paid for it, we-we-we-we wondered if you and R-R-R-Ruth would like to go in our place?"

"Hmmm," I murmured, " I'm pretty sure I can get the time off from work, and Ruth's waitressing job is a bit slack at the moment, so she shouldn't have a problem either, and it might just get her off her knees."

Anita was a lovely girl, she always smelled of female freshness, a very shy and retiring type, her stutter was quite endearing. I put the kettle on and made a cup of tea.

Eventually Ruth arrived back from church clutching as usual her rosary beads, and full of the sermon the priest had given out that morning. I turned a deaf ear to her proselytising (she hadn't given up on converting me) and told her what Anita had come around for.

"Yes, I think I could get the time off. Mum could stand in my place, but I will have to clear it with the parish priest before I can say for definite; there are the flowers to arrange on the altar, the brasses to be done, and it's my turn to cook for the priests."

"Look Ruth," I said, " I would like to get away for a couple of weeks, do a spot of sea fishing and bird watching and relax a little. We couldn't afford a holiday this year with all the house renovation costs, so if Anita and Rob are prepared to let us use the chalet they've booked for a couple of weeks, let's go."

Ruth pondered about what I had said and mused, "Well I suppose it is quite near being just outside Rhyll in North Wales, and I suppose if the church needed me I could get home pretty quick, and mum, (Alexandra another religious fanatic), will look after the needs of the church and priests. And by the way, I hope you haven't forgotten but we will be 15 years married on the day after the holiday starts. Is there a church near the camp?" she asked Anita.

" Y-Y-Y-Yes, I think so," Anita replied.

"O.K then, providing I can attend mass we'll go."

Anita was pleased we could go and they hadn't wasted their money.

Here I think I should give a brief outline account of our everyday life.

Ruth and I had been married 15 years. She was 20 and I was 21 when we got hitched. I always knew she loved her church and coming from a devout home where everything revolved around catholic teachings, I could not really, I suppose, have expected her to act like ordinary females of her age, and enjoy the fruits of married life. Both her mother's house and ours had images of Our Lady and Jesus, and pictures of the Pope in every room but the toilet; they were known humorously by neighbours as St Alex and St Ruth. Ruth was always up to do 'good works', was pious, devout, virtuous, and moral all rolled into one, but not self-righteous. She was teetotal although she smoked the occasional cigarette. If she had been a plain girl I could have accepted or understood this love of church, but she was a really good looking woman; 5'6" with a figure many women would kill for, blue eyes, natural blonde hair and a clear complexion that needed little or no make up and long shapely legs. However, don't get the idea that Ruth was a prude, she was not. She dressed well in the 70's style of the day, without being flamboyant, she enjoyed socialising and partying although she only drank fruit juice, and loved to dance, at which I am a complete dunce. She went to the gym twice a week, so was very fit, keeping her very feminine figure well toned up.

The very emotional side to her personality became evident whenever we saw a love picture and the female leads and scenes put her in a position of unrequited love. She would identify very strongly with the heroine, and be miserable for days after. She was an avid reader of the Mills & Boon's series of silly love stories, and loved reading Barbara Cartland's 'bodice ripper' novels; the only time she read a book of substance was when she was reading Emily Bronte's "Wuthering Heights". Perhaps this fantasy romantic side of her explained the dark lurking secretive and suppressed Mr Hyde, or perhaps it would be more accurate to say the Mrs Hyde element in her character, which manifested itself in every aspect during our holiday.

Our married sex life was a disaster, no wonder we had no kids! On our wedding night she was very apprehensive; on the advice of her mother she wore a long heavy flannelette nighty, and was on her knees praying for 10 minutes before she climbed into bed. While we were courting she would never allow me above her knee, and certainly never above where her stocking top ended. Her tits also were out of bounds, so her apprehension on the night of the wedding was, I thought, natural for Ruth. When I tried to finger her cunt she shrank away from me; however after a lot of persuasion I managed to get her legs apart and mount her. Her cunt was dry as a bone and almost skinned my cock as I edged it into her hole. The breaking of her hymen caused more loss of blood than I thought possible for such a delicate membrane; a little forethought would have saved the sheets and the stain in the mattress that was always a reminder to Ruth of our disastrous wedding night whenever she changed the bed linen.

Her mother was a malign influence on Ruth's attitude towards sex, teaching her that it was unclean and that men were only after one thing. I learned later that her mother had been fucked no more than about three times in her entire life, one of them producing Ruth. Later in our marriage I tried to introduce Ruth to fellatio and cunnilingus. Big mistake! I was in the doghouse until the day of this holiday.

The church of course didn't help; these women thought they were observing God's commandments by keeping sex to an absolute minimum; procreation not recreation was their maxim, and of course French Letters were against the teaching of the church. I got my leg over once or twice during the first 12 months of married life, but eventually gave up trying, relieving myself on a diet of a regular wanking session accompanied by a men's magazine. However I never thought about getting it on with another woman.

I suppose you could say on the day we set out on the holiday that she was still literally the virgin I married 15 years ago. At the age of 35 her cunt was still more or less brand new.

The one tragedy in her life was the death of her dad when she was just nine years of age, which left her with chronic constipation. Her dad's death still affected her whenever the anniversary of his death came around with a depression than could last for days. The date of his death would unfortunately fall during our coming holiday, something I was not looking forward to.

We both worked; I in the local car factory and she with her mother as waitresses in a high-class hotel restaurant in nearby Chester. We were in the process of buying our own house, and ran an old Ford Cortina Mark 1 car.

Chapter 2

Hi. My name is Ruth, I am the wife of Paul who is writing up the narrative of our past exploits or experiences with other people, which began in May 1976.

In May 1976 I was 34 years of age, and I had been married to Paul for just on 15 years. To add a little towards how Paul has described me at the time we are reminiscing about how I weighed just over 9 stone; my figure was 36-25-38, maybe not perfect but my curves were in all the right places, while even today 30 years later I still have a really nice shapely pair of legs (no varicose veins). I attended the gym twice or more a week, and went dancing with my mum on a regular basis, so I was very fit and kept the spare tyre away.

I worked as a silver waitress with my mum in a first class restaurant serving top people; the wage was pretty poor but the tips made up for it. My mum was also my best mate; I for some reason never had many girl friends although I could have had the pick of the boys. We were staunch Catholics who took our religious obligations very seriously. We attended mass every morning and Holy Communion every Sunday. We carried out unpaid voluntary work for the church and several charities that the church supported. We admired the hard working priests and respected their vow of celibacy. I found the confidentially of the confessional box gave me peace. When my dad died, the church was very supportive of us two and did everything it could to ease our pain of bereavement; we were grateful to the church for this support and from the time of dad's death, the church became the centre of our little enclosed world.

My dad died in an accident in the nearby chemical works when I was nine years old. I remember a teacher calling me out from the class and saying I must go home with a neighbour. When I arrived home mum was crying her poor heart out. I knew something serious was wrong but never imagined that it was dad. When I was told I fell to the floor in a faint; when I was brought round I had a terrible knot in my stomach which proved to be the start of chronic constipation, a problem I suffered from for the next 25 years. I had no relief from it other than a harsh purgative that emptied my bowels once every three or four weeks. Only during the second week of the holiday did I find permanent relief. Anybody who has suffered from this complaint knows how miserable it can make you, and at times how sickly you feel. It also left me with a problem of wind, wind that would make itself evident at inappropriate times and places - a sudden trump, a 'parp' brought hilarity amongst my young school chums but frowns from teachers. The boy's being boy's started to call me 'stinky bum.' It was a deeply embarrassing and depressing time. Eventually I learned to control the outburst and allow the wind to escape quietly. Constipation is not a case for sniggering, nor an item of conversation sufferers enjoy.

I married Paul, a childhood sweetheart at the age of 20; we had a beautiful white wedding held in our local church. Although Paul was a Catholic he did not attend church on a regular basis. I thought once we were married I could talk him into becoming a regular, and maybe getting him to do odd jobs around the church. However he steadfastly refused, saying the church had its place but not in his home.

Before we were married I asked mum about men, as I had no experience of them; she told me that although she felt we were encouraged to have children, sex for its own sake was sinful. She told me in strict confidence and much hesitation that dad couldn't get a proper erection, that he had her no more than three times during the lifetime of their marriage but this to her showed how righteous he was.

Other men she said had only one thing in mind and pointed to the times that I and even she had been approached by men while serving in the restaurant. Sometimes the dirty things had tried but not succeeded in putting their hands up our skirts or pinching our bottoms, and so I should treat men with a great deal of caution. Although it was true, as I can attest, that this did happen in our line of work, it was not what I wanted to hear. I wanted the benefit of an older woman's experience although mum was, as it turned out, almost as inexperienced as myself. Protests to the manager over the harassment from customers he dismissed with a, "Ladies take it as a compliment, you are both very attractive each in your own way, and no harm has come to you has it?"

We could have left but, outside of the odd attempts at touching us up, we enjoyed the job and the convenient hours so decided to stay. Therefore without the benefit of mum's advice, I entered our marriage confused and fearful.

Paul was and is a loving husband but a lousy lover. He never came in late or drunk, turned his wages over, never gave me any doubt over his fidelity, I loved him for that alone, but now love him for what he is.

Our wedding night was a disaster; mum's warning rang in my ears that sex was sinful unless in the pursuit of children, which at that time neither of us wanted. French Letters within the rules of the church were out of the question. Paul's technique in lovemaking was that of a 10-year-old schoolboy; I was petrified and on my knees at the side of the marriage bed asking the Blessed Virgin for guidance and protection. I at last got into bed and finally allowed Paul to mount me. My pussy was dry, mainly through fear, but also because my new husband, who pushed what I thought at that time was a huge cock straight up my pussy, hadn't prepared me properly. The pain was awful but the amount of blood I shed from the tearing of my hymen frightened the life out of me and turned me off sex until I met and was fucked into a state of bliss by Cornelius. After a couple of fruitless and to him at least frustrating months, he gave up, although I remember vividly how one night he tried to go down on me. This I found at that time abhorrent; it was dirty and animalistic. If only I had let him proceed everything might have been different, but mum's warning again was in my head and I shoved him away calling him names I am not now proud of. The poor dear was trying his best.

I didn't realise it at the time but my lack of a sex life with a man started me into reading romantic novels. I couldn't get enough of Barbara Cartland or the Mills & Boon series of love stories. I found them exciting, the heroine at the end always getting her very masculine man, a man to whom she was prepared to surrender herself body and soul. 'If only I had married such a man,' I'd sigh every time I read a story and all I had was Paul. I was filling my head with romantic slush and putting myself into harm's way if ever someone came along who had the qualities of the hero in the novels. It was during the early part of this time that I found how to masturbate. Paul did a week about on nights and days. During his week on nights I used to tuck myself up in bed with a cup of hot milk after I had come from work. I would prop myself up against the pillows and with the book resting upon my knees, which were tucked up towards my chin, I would then enter the world of fantasy love through the novel.

One day I borrowed Emily Bronte's novel 'Wuthering Heights' from the library and as usual took it up to bed to read. I soon fell under the spell of Heathcliffe, a young orphan boy who won my heart. However his vengeful attack on Catherine and her brother and his cruel treatment of his wife Isabella Hinton strangely attracted me, but his brutal treatment of young Cathy, making her act as a common servant, put such a tingly itch in my fanny that on putting my hand down to scratch my slit I brushed my clitoris, which was peeping through the lips of my cunt; touching it sent a shiver through me. I experimented by rubbing it gently and soon I felt my toes starting to curl, and felt shivers run up my spine. I continued to gently rub away until with a groan I climaxed for the first time in my life, my cunt juices running down between my arse cheeks and staining the sheet.

Soon I was dreaming of Heathcliffe, his dark overpowering personality had me longing for his presence. My masturbation session became a regular feature when Paul was on night shift, but always with a book to fire my imagination. During these sessions I would put a towel under my bottom to prevent any staining and found that every time I now climaxed my bum hole would pulse with every contraction in my cunt. I would fire on occasion a string of 'parps' in unison with the fanny contractions depending on the intensity of my climax, sometimes but not often accompanied by an obnoxious smell the result of my constipation. For the next 12 or 13 years this was my sex life. By 21 you would have thought that I should have by then discovered the pleasure of masturbation, but I was a 21-year-old woman with the sex education of a 12 year old, it just didn't enter my head until Heathcliffe came along, and then I only discovered it by accident.

Of course I felt guilty after each masturbation session; I felt that I had offended God somehow. However going to confession and confessing to pleasuring myself always eased my conscience, the priest telling me to try to keep more control of my emotions. He knew it was me confessing these so called sins, but never ever broached the subject to me outside the confessional box, for which I was very grateful. I did wonder at times, however, if under my religious veneer there lived a darker Ruth waiting to get out. I pushed such disquieting thoughts out of my mind.

Chapter 3

Paul---continues.

The Saturday of our holiday arrived. I packed the boot with our cases and my fishing gear on the roof rack. Ruth had dressed in a frock that was cut modestly around the neck and had a flounced skirt that finished just above her knee. We set off in our old banger for the holiday camp; if we had known what the next two weeks were about to bring, would we have gone? In retrospect I'm convinced that Ruth, after experiencing the ecstasy and freedom that a good lover can bring to a woman and the carnal knowledge of being female, would have set out to seek Cornelius 15 years ago!

This was Kismet time for both Ruth and I, but this was the time mainly of her sexual awakening, the time she would learn what her cunt was for. This was also the time she would learn that her arsehole was not out of bounds either. The way that Cornelius, our tutor in these matters, put it was: - "---that a lady's bottom could be compared to the hold of a cargo ship filled with gold nuggets, sailing the high seas, a ship that called into port on a regular basis to release its cargo through its discharge hole; however, there were privateers on regular patrol skippered by marauding captains who were sometimes accompanied by a motley crew of ruffians, who on sighting a potential prize would manoeuvre her into a position where she could be boarded, and if given half a chance, would send their torpedo's from beginning to end into her through her hole and there discharge their own liquid cargo deep into her cargo hold". Those in attendance greeted this elaborate description of deflowering a woman of her virgin bottom hole or an attack on any female bottom with smiles and claps.

Ruth would taste a man's cock in her mouth, comply with men rather than hold them in fear and contempt; she would conspire with Cornelius to betray her mother and bring her into Cornelius' harem; she would recruit her cousin Anita for the pleasure of the small band of men who were members of Cornelius' so called "Eight by Six" Associates Limited. (To be a member of the 'Eight by Six club' simply meant you had to have a cock with a minimum length of 8 inches with a circumference of at least 6 inches. You also had to have plenty of money, although they made room for temporary guests of outstanding physique.)

We eventually arrived at the holiday camp and booked in at reception. The girl on the desk directed us to the chalet we were to occupy for the next fortnight, and told us that a very nice gentleman occupied the chalet attached to ours.

1976 by the way was the year that the U.K. baked in total sunshine for week after week after week.

I drove round the perimeter road to our chalet where, parked outside, was a brand new Rover 2000 saloon with all the trimmings; I could see that Ruth was impressed with this obvious sign of wealth. Our poor old Cortina pulled up sighing and gasping behind this Prince of the road, almost breathing its last after negotiating the steep hills of Wales. I must admit to a little embarrassment and a lot of envy.

The occupant, who turned out to be Cornelius, was standing at his door.

"Hello there," he began, "my name is Cornelius. It looks like we will be neighbours for the next couple of weeks, can I help you unload?" - he said this as he walked down the short path. I caught his brief but acute weighing up of Ruth who must have felt his appraisal because I caught a slight blush colouring her cheeks.

" It's OK." I said I could manage.

"Then perhaps I could offer your good lady a cup of tea or coffee while you unload," he said.

I shrugged and looked at Ruth.

"I could do with a cup of tea after the travelling down" she said.

"Good" said Cornelius as he held out his hand and escorted Ruth into his chalet. I don't know why but the old nursery rhyme of "come into my parlour said the spider to the fly" ran persistently through my head while I unloaded the car.

It took me about 20 minutes to unload the car and place everything in the chalet. The chalets were simple affairs; the front door led into a small vestibule from which ran a sitting room with two armchairs, a pull down sofa, a dining table and small sideboard; off this ran a bedroom with double bed and dressing table with large mirror, and a small kitchen. About 50 chalets were set around an open area of grass with communal toilets and showers in a separate block within the square. Being early in the holiday season few people were about.

When I entered Cornelius' chalet he and Ruth were having a proper old chinwag. You would have thought they had known one another for years, and given Ruth's reticence with strangers I was surprised at the warm relationship they had formed in such a short time. As I entered, Ruth who looked totally relaxed, was sitting not with her usual straight back knees together posture, but knees slightly apart and leaning back in the armchair sitting opposite Cornelius on the sofa. With the short skirt her slightly parted thighs must have given him a fair glimpse up towards her crotch with a possible peep of her knickers through her tights.

"Guess what," she said, "Cornelius is the chief warden in a catholic church in Burnley. Isn't that great!" Which explained perhaps the convivial atmosphere; she was mentally hugging herself and beamed at having the company of a fellow practising catholic. Ruth, obviously very impressed with Cornelius hung onto his every word, and I must say he was an excellent talker. When I walked in he was quoting from scripture something about loving thy neighbour, and quoting the Pope's latest pronunciation on catholic dogma, to which Ruth was nodding her head vigorously in agreement. She looked stunning being all excited like this, her cheeks flushed with the nonsense that Cornelius was feeding her

Cornelius rose from his chair, "Can I get you a cuppa or would you like something stronger, I have an excellent whisky?"

"I'll have a whiskey if you don't mind" I said. Ruth looked disapprovingly at me, she didn't approve of me having strong drink, but the whiskey was really excellent, and in next to no time I was relaxed enough to allow my suspicions of Cornelius to be calmed, and found myself listening to his tales in a believing manner. This guy was good. He had that type of personality or presence that made people turn their heads when he walked into a room.

Cornelius was a man in his mid fifties with a well toned fit body, a very handsome man with a full head of greying hair which made him look very distinguished and a definite hit with the ladies. He had recently retired from the ladies' lingerie business he owned, having sold it off for a very nice profit, and was now living at his ease with his wife in Burnley.

"Ruth tells me that you will have been married 15 years tomorrow," said Cornelius.

"Yes," I replied, "15 very short years; I couldn't have picked a better woman to be my wife." Ruth seemed pleased by this public admission of love and affection.

"Look, why don't I take you two out tonight to celebrate your anniversary? I'm a member of a quite exclusive nightclub and it would give me great pleasure to be in your company and to get to know you better," offered Cornelius.

"That's very kind of you Cornelius," said Ruth, "we would be delighted to accept your offer."

I wasn't so sure, but Ruth was completely taken with by him.

"Right that settles it then," said Cornelius. "Paul would you like to drive my car when we go out tonight, I know this will mean you can't drink too much, although Ruth tells me that you drink very moderately. I promise when we come back I will give you a bottle of my best whiskey. What do you say?"

To drive a brand new Rover saloon, get taken out free of charge, and get a bottle of scotch for my trouble, I said yes right away!

We eventually left Cornelius in order to unpack our cases and get ready for the night out. Ruth could not stop talking about how lucky we were to have met such a nice man as Cornelius. She was impressed with his obvious wealth, how comfortable and safe she felt in his presence, identify this feeling with Cornelius's confession of being a staunch and practising catholic like her. She was completely under his influence. She took great care over her make up and choice of clothes; worrying if she had dressed appropriately for the classy private members' nightclub Cornelius was taking us to; whether he would think she looked nice; I've never seen her in such a state of indecision. She looked absolutely beautiful, desirable and strangely vunerable. Whether she realised it or not she oozed sex with a capital S.

We heard Cornelius calling if we were ready to go. I glanced at my watch - 7.30pm. If Cornelius was right we should get to the club about 8. When we walked down the path to the car Cornelius gave out a low appreciative whistle; Ruth smiled. I thought with some relief that he found her appealing. We got into the car with Ruth and Cornelius in the back seat; I slipped behind the wheel of the Rover. Wow what a car! I drooled over the sheer luxury and feel of it.

"Where to?" I asked. Cornelius gave me the directions - we were going back towards Chester, deep into the Welsh hills heading towards Denbigh, a club I could never expect to get into because of its exclusivity and very fancy prices. I eased the big car into gear and we were away.

Chapter 4

When we arrived at the club Cornelius asked me if I would mind if he escorted Ruth into the club while I parked the car. Ruth took the initiative and put her arm through his. The concierge treated Cornelius with Ruth on his arm like visiting royalty, and quietly paid tribute to how nice Ruth looked. She in turn seemed breathless by all the attention she was receiving. What a night - great food, Cornelius achieving the impossible in getting Ruth to drink some white wine. He kept us entertained with his quite risqué stories of some of the situations in measuring ladies for custom made lingerie. I was amazed that Ruth giggled and sometimes laughed outright at his descriptive tales.

The quartet was top class and played everything from bee-bop to slow waltzes. Cornelius, an accomplished dancer (what else from this man!), danced her socks off. During the rock and roll numbers members, mainly male, gathered around in a circle encouraging Cornelius to twirl her faster and faster; he twirled her so fast her dress flew out revealing her white drawers through her tights, which brought cheers from the circle of men. Several times I saw male members, who outnumbered the women by about ten to one, approach Cornelius speaking to him with the obvious subject of their conversation being Ruth. However I saw Cornelius on every occasion shake his head and smile. She was having a terrific time and looked like a teenager. When the time came to go, Ruth took me in her arms and thanked me for being a good egg and letting Cornelius monopolise her the entire evening, I had however enjoyed seeing her have a good time and witnessing a new Ruth.

We climbed into the Rover with Ruth, a little tipsy, accompanying Cornelius in the back seat. Ruth put her arm through Cornelius and thanked him for a marvellous evening, promising if there was anything we could do for him we would. In answer Cornelius kissed her gently on the head like a father and said the pleasure was all his.

As we drove along the conversation turned to our wedding anniversary. Cornelius asked what Ruth's mum and dad had given us as a present. At this it went very quiet in the back. I looked in the mirror and saw for once that Cornelius was disconcerted.

"Cornelius," I said, "Ruth's dad died 25 years ago this coming Tuesday. She always gets upset at this time of the year."

"Oh dear I am sorry to hear that, I must apologise, please forgive me," he said. "You obviously loved your dad, but after 25 years I would have thought you had learned to live with your sad loss."

"It's not just the loss of her dad," I said, "his death left Ruth suffering from - well I think you're the one to tell him Ruth. "

Ruth had started to sniffle in the back while Cornelius tried to console her.

"Perhaps if you could tell me what the problem is I can help," he said.

"It's to embarrassing," said Ruth, "please don't ask. I'd rather not talk about it."

"Very well my dear, I'll not press any further," he said and patted her hand.

I stopped the car as Ruth had become more upset. I turned round in my seat.

"Look Ruth, why don't you tell Cornelius what your problem is or shall I, it's no big deal?"

Ruth looked daggers at me but started to whisper to Cornelius.

"Since daddy died I have suffered from chronic constipation; for the last 25 years since I was nine years of age I have had this problem. Mum had me everywhere when I was a child to find a cure so that I could be as regular as anybody else but nobody could really help."

"Do you mean to tell me that you have suffered this for the last 25 years?"

Ruth nodded glumly.

"How often then do you go?" he asked.

Ruth looked at me and I nodded encouragement.

"About once every 3 to 4 weeks on average, when I start to feel ill. I go but only after I've taken the purgative prescribed by a local homeopath. Its horrible but it's the only thing that relieves me."

Cornelius could for some reason hardly contain himself; I was never again to see him in quite such a state of suppressed excitement.

"Forgive me for asking my dear, but I do know a lot of people who are in the medical profession, so if you can give me more information about your condition when I get in touch it will help them to diagnose your problem. Sometimes constipation is caused by a lack of certain nutrients and this deficiency prevents the bowel muscles from functioning the way they should, although I do believe that in your case the trauma at the loss of your daddy at such a young age would be a psychological cause of your problem. However, when you take the purgative what kind of motion do you have?" he asked, "Is it very hard, hard or soft or runny? Do you feel there are hard pieces in your motion? And how does your bottom feel after you've been?"

Ruth was by now squirming with embarrassment.

"It comes out of me like water, hot water, and my bottom is on fire for a day or two."

Cornelius visibly relaxed after her explanation.

"I'm relieved to hear that. Do you mind if I continue?" he said.

"No, please go on, you seem to have some idea about my condition," she said, "You seem to know about constipation. How?"

" I did a few years at medical school before dropping out to start my ladies' lingerie business," explained Cornelius. "It is a delicate subject for discussion but it can lead to serious complications. Such a long time to suffer my poor dear," he said patting her hand. "You see if it was a very hard stool it could cause stretching of the sphincter muscle with a release of mucus through the anus which can cause embarrassing stains. Do you have any release of mucus from your anus, or any rectal bleeding?"

Ruth shook her head.

"No I'm completely dry."

"At all times?" he enquired. Ruth nodded, and he again patted her on the hand. "Good, good. May I feel your lower stomach; I'm certain your real problem lies not in your stomach or small intestine but in your large intestine and definitely your rectum - your rectum is where your body stores the waste before you eject it through the anus. When was the last time you went?"

"Two weeks ago," she replied.

He pressed gently on her lower stomach just above her crotch; he seemed very satisfied.

"Yes, I can feel the build up in your rectum," he said. "Is there any additional problem that you suffer from - for instance severe wind in your stomach?"

Ruth looked at him in open admiration. "Yes, yes I do have that particular problem. Do you think you can help?" She sounded desperate.

"Yes, I'm almost certain I, or certainly one of my friends, can relieve you of your distressing condition." Ruth visibly relaxed as we continued our journey on our way back to camp.

When we reached our chalets it was one thirty in the morning,

"I hope you enjoyed your evening as much as I did," said Cornelius. "I would like to round it off with something special for Ruth. Come on in".

We entered his chalet; he went into his bedroom and came out with a small parcel and handed it to Ruth.

"Please open it and tell me if you like it?"

Ruth opened the parcel. It contained a see through 'baby doll' nightdress with matching chemise; her eyes opened wide at the sheer quality of the garment. She put it against her for fit - it ended just below her bottom.

"I don't know what to say, you've been so good to us and now this. How can I thank you."

Cornelius pointed to his cheek; she gave him a peck.

"Now I'm off to bed," he said. "I think you two should get to bed too. Here Paul is your bottle of well earned whiskey, thank you for driving the car; and Ruth, I hope to give you an anniversary present you will remember me by for many a year to come."

I said something about having to get up at seven to catch the low tide in order to go digging for lugworm bait, and we left to return to our chalet.

Chapter 5

Ruth looked superb in the 'Baby Doll'. It just finished below her bottom; she was sexually excited, something I've never experienced before. Her cunt was slippery with her oozing female juices. My fingering brought out a sigh and a plea for me to mount her. I obliged straight away, but I was so excited at seeing her in such a state that I came almost immediately. She groaned in exasperation and vexation, but I had so little practise at fucking her I couldn't hold out. She turned her back in irritation and annoyance on me. I said I was sorry and would make it up to her somehow.

The alarm clock woke me at seven. I got up and quietly made some breakfast, as I didn't want to disturb Ruth, who was sleeping soundly. The weather was exceptionally warm for May and we had shed the bedclothes during the night leaving only the sheet as cover. Before I went out I took a final look in the bedroom and noted that she had moved in her sleep and was lying on her back, the sheet only covering her midriff; the 'baby doll' nightdress was of no use, leaving her slit uncovered and on show. I left the chalet quietly, closing the door behind me and headed for the shore to dig for bait. As there was only one key to the chalet I could only pull the door to, I couldn't lock the door in case she needed to use the communal ladies' toilet. As there were very few people on the site I thought she should be ok.

I left about 7-45 noticing on the way out that Cornelius' car was missing, and walked across the grass field to the path that led to the beach, which was about 10 minutes away. When I got to the beach I realised I'd left my cigarettes and lighter on the table. I debated for a few minutes whether to go back and decided I couldn't go a couple of hours without a ciggy, so retraced my steps. I must have been away about 25 minutes when I arrived at the end of the path by the grassed area. As I got there I could have sworn I saw our chalet front door close. I stood there for a while trying to figure out if I had been mistaken. I thought perhaps Ruth had been to the communal ladies' toilet so gave her 10 minutes or so to get back into bed; after last nights debacle I couldn't face her at the moment. I also noticed that Cornelius' car was back.

When I got to the door I opened it very slowly and quietly and stepped into the vestibule not wanting to wake Ruth. The vestibule door was open. I stepped quietly into the sitting room and heard quiet moans coming from the bedroom; I sidled over and peeked through the half open door. I stood rooted to the spot. There was Cornelius naked with his head buried between my wife's spread-eagled thighs, his hands underneath her buttocks lifting her hips to his searching tongue and lips. He traced his tongue the length of her slash, lapping the nectar oozing from her hole; bringing it up to her clitoris where he employed his lips to swell up the love button, which from my advantage point I could see protruding above her swollen cunt lips. Ruth was quietly moaning through half open lips, her eyes closed, head rocking slightly from side to side on the pillow. When he wrapped his lips around her clitoris and sucked it into his mouth her moans gave way to a hissing sharp intake of breath. She was whispering my name, obviously thinking it was I sucking and licking her cunt. Her hands were on his head encouraging him; his finger was now gently probing her hole to see if she was ready for the next stage.

You may be thinking what kind of a man would stand by while a stranger took advantage of his wife? Please remember, however, before last night I hadn't been with Ruth for over ten years; to me at that moment I was watching a man with a woman in heat, she was not my wife or certainly not the wife I'd known for the last 15 years, and by not acting immediately I was drawn into a spectator role, although a very enjoyable one. I had not seen anything so horny in my entire life. I had a hard on that threatened to pop my pants, my underpants were soaking wet from my precum.

Ruth whispered "Paul, Paul!" and something about Heathcliffe and tugged on Cornelius' hair wishing him to come up and mount her. Cornelius however took his time about acceding to her demands; he was in charge. In answer to her plea he raised her left leg high and, exposing her gash even further, turned half on his side. It was then I saw his cock - it was immense. I managed to suppress a gasp, how on earth was he to get that monster into and up the narrow passage that was Ruth's cunt, even with all the slimy fluids that now were oiling her hole? It was going to be a very tight if not impossible task. (In those days I had an ignorant man's view of how far a female cunt will stretch). His cock was jerking and jumping as if it had a life of its own, eager for the fray that was shortly to begin. Eventually when her wriggling became more pronounced he decided she was ready for the final assault.

With her left leg out wide and handsome (???) he lodged his right thigh hard against her inner thigh just above her arse cheek doing the same to the other side. In order for him to buy time and hide his identity until it was too late for Ruth to do anything about it, he pushed the sheet doubled up ahead of him covering her face. He now had her arse up off the bed in poll position to give him every opportunity to get his cock into her hole.

His control was masterful. He didn't try to enter her right away but ploughed her furrow stopping at her clitoris to give it an extra massage with the huge angry looking purple head. This brought even more soft but urgent pleas from Ruth, who every time he passed the entrance to her hole, would lift her hips that little bit more, trying to hook herself onto the cock. I must say at this stage I was almost swooning with lust. I was seeing a Ruth I never knew, but does the lust that wracked her body and stole her mind lie within all women when the right time or man comes along?

At last he was ready to utter the magic words "Open says me" and started to push at her opening. By this time Ruth had wrapped her legs around his waist exposing to me a sight I thought I would never see; her arsehole. Such a tiny wrinkled little brown hole glistening under the run off from the two contestants' juices. The little sphincter was pulsating, pursing its petite brown lips, as though winking at me through the slime.

Cornelius had now pushed half of his purple-headed monster into Ruth; her pleading had quietened. He pushed a little more, now her cunt was stretched like never before. She lay still, fell silent as if coming to her senses; she struggled a little but only succeeded in impaling herself fully on the huge head. She was now sure it wasn't me that was gaining entrance to her hole.

She started to struggle and plead, "Please mister, please mister, please don't! Please get off me; please sir, please it's too big, it's too big".

Cornelius is very strong and in spite of Ruth being very fit he held her easily. A little more entered her tight passage, then another inch, and then another. Her pleas grew to a muffled shriek and she began to shake. He was whispering into her ear in a low insistent monotone, which seemed to quieten her, but only for a moment as even more of his cock was swallowed.

"Please sir, please sir, please you're hurting me. No – no – no - arrghhh unggghhh oh please, please, nooo - nooo sir, sir oh nooo, take it out, take it out, oh my God, my God, help me, help me!" Inarticulate noises were now being blubbered through the bedclothes, her shaking became stronger, but his murmurings, hypnotically like a metronome, steadily ticking away.

He had by now got half the length of his huge cock up her. Then pressing his upper body hard down on her he reached down with both hands, locking his hands behind her thrashing thighs and pulled her legs up and high; her arse was now again completely off the bed and exposed once again to my lustful gaze. Her little wrinkled arsehole pulsing in time to her ever decreasing and weakening struggles and strangled cries. It was obvious that Cornelius had decided with her weakening that it was time to drive his advantage home.

I estimated he had about five inches left to bury. Her arse was off the bed, her cunt right in line for his final thrust. He had manipulated her into an ideal position for the final assault. He did this slowly but steadily. Ruth's arsehole went into overdrive as her cunt filled with cock. Its tiny puckered lips blew farts rapidly, pursing in and out with the wind being forced from her, Phuttt-Phutt-PhuttPhuttPhutt-phutt-phutphuttphuttphutt, beep beep beep beep beep beep, finishing with a quiet ladylike poooooooooooop. The sphincter muscle puckered out like tiny whistling lips, as his balls came to rest on her arse, hiding her shit hole from view.

There he rested for a while, grinding his hips in a slight circular rhythm into her pelvis. Slowly, slowly he pulled back; her cunt was so tightly wrapped around his shaft that its inner lips followed the cock's progress out; it was as if her cunt was being turned inside out. Ruth was very quiet and subdued; I wondered if she had fainted. He pulled out until only the massive head lay within. I heard a quiet almost inaudible sigh; she was aware. He pushed again slowly back into her.

After several hole stretching and finding her depth strokes, she started to react. She was gaining confidence, she was still in one piece, her desire was returning. She started to whisper through the bedclothes that still covered her head.

"Ooh, yes; ooh, yes; ooh, yes."

Cornelius continued his slow but steady shafting of her overstretched hole, until he felt satisfied with his total dominance of her. He ground his cock hard against her burgeoning clitoris, her legs were now slowly spreading wide to be more accommodating to this man cock, inarticulate noises were coming from her half open mouth, her moans turned to sighs, her sighs to demands, her demands to a sudden stiffening of her body - a low whimper of "At last, at last, at last!" The sheet was thrown back, her lips fastened to his, her legs then wrapped fiercely around his waist, her fingernails raking his bare back until again she cried out in ecstasy in the throes of a shattering orgasm. He started to ram hard into her; she heaved her hips up to meet his thrusts, until at last he shot his seed deep into the dark recesses of her cunt. I wondered later if this was how she imagined her heroine being taken by the masterful man in the love novels she had read so assiduously.

Chapter 6

How I got out of there I don't know. I had just witnessed my wife being given the fucking of a lifetime and all I wanted to do was seek a place where I could have a wank. To this end I headed for the communal men's toilets remembering to pick my cigarettes and lighter up from the dining room table before I left the chalet. I got into the toilet and headed into the first cubicle, dropped my pants and shot my load down the lavatory pan. I stood there gasping with the intensity of the wank and gathered my wits about me. I lit a cigarette and noticed that the toilet had a louvered window; I stood on the lavatory seat and saw that the view through the louvers gave me a direct line into our chalet. After about five minutes I saw Cornelius leave our chalet dressed in his dressing gown, and enter his chalet. He came out carrying a camera. He stood in the doorway of our chalet and called out something I couldn't make out, turned around and headed back to his place. A minute later Ruth came out dressed in her usual heavy, unrevealing dressing gown; she walked in a peculiar manner towards Cornelius's chalet, putting one foot gingerly before the other. Shortly after she had entered I saw the flash of a camera going off a number of times, I assumed he was taking photographs of Ruth in the nude. Later I was shown the proof, Ruth in positions of extreme vulgarity, nothing left to the imagination.

I left the toilet block and headed for the beach, after all I was supposed to be collecting bait. I looked at my watch, 9-15 am. I had watched Ruth being screwed for nearly an hour.

How I collected the lugworm bait I don't know. I argued with myself - should I punch him on the nose or just pretend nothing had happened? I reasoned if I struck him Ruth would ask why I hadn't pulled him off her and I would be more in the doghouse than I was already. I decided to say nothing and play it by ear. I eventually arrived back at our chalet at 12-15pm. Cornelius was taking his ease on the sofa, drinking a whiskey and smoking a fine Havana cigar as if nothing had happened.

"Good catch then"? he enquired. I ignored the question.

"Where's Ruth?" I asked.

"Oh she's getting dressed. Here help yourself," offering me the bottle, "and have a cigar."

I sat down and poured myself a very good slug of his expensive scotch, and lit the fine Havana; why shouldn't I, I thought, he's just been stuck right up my wife.

"What's the celebration?" I asked.

Cornelius looked at me quizzically. "Don't you know?" He rolled his tumbler and drawing on his cigar looked at me.

"Did you enjoy the show?" he asked. He caught me completely by surprise by this straightforward question.

"What show?" I stuttered. He gave a low laugh.

"Come on Paul you know what show. Look Paul," said Cornelius, "I know you were there when I took Ruth this morning; I saw you through the mirror of the dressing table. Your eyes were popping out of your head, and you picked up your cigarettes on the way out, remember? So once again, did you enjoy the show? I bet you went over to the toilets for a wank, am I right?"

He was grinning all over his face. "Don't think you're the first husband to enjoy seeing his wife getting a good seeing to My own wife puts herself forward at some of our parties. I enjoy it, and you've seen my equipment, so why shouldn't you? By the tightness of her cunt I take it you are either very small down there, or you don't give Ruth what she secretly craves. Last night thanks to me she was as ready for stuffing as a turkey at Christmas, and thanks to me you got your end away, right? I would put money down that your sex life is nil, you read naughty mags or stories and pleasure yourself, and because of the lack of full sex you now get your kicks from watching or reading. You've been turned into a voyeur, am I right?"

I was completely at a loss; I couldn't brazen it out and admitted he was right on all counts. He had read me like a book.

"Yes I suppose your right," I admitted. "How could you have the nerve to walk into our chalet and do what you did? How did you know I wasn't there? You took a chance on Ruth screaming blue murder. I also saw you bringing Ruth into your chalet. Why the photographs?"

"When I arrived back into the camp after my errand I saw you going off the site so knew I had a clear field as far as you were concerned. There is an old saying 'nothing ventured nothing gained.' I have also through my business life stood by the S.A.S motto, 'He who dares Wins'. They have served me well. If I read Ruth right and I could get my cock into her, I was pretty certain she would not throw me out. I am not always at first successful; some irate husbands have on occasion chased me, although I have been back when they have been absent and fucked the arse off their wives, but I can't procure them for my members, so in a sense I have failed in my commission. If Ruth had awoken when I walked into your chalet, I would have tested her reaction to my presence by excusing myself and seeing her response. If I thought there was something there for me I would have pressed ahead, if not I would just walk out and wait for a further opportunity. Secondly I didn't ask her into my place, I ordered her in. She is maybe your wife but right now she will do as I instruct. Photos are always a good way to keep ones bitch in future check if she ever gets too bossy or jealous, a threat of public exposure always works."

I was absolutely at a loss with his barefaced cheek, yet this man who had earlier fucked the arse off of Ruth was right; I had enjoyed the episode immensely, which tempered my response. I decided to find out what his game was.

"You are obviously a man of means, you can clearly enjoy a more privileged holiday than this. Why did you come on holiday to such a third rate place?"

"My dear Paul," he said, "yes I can afford better places but why should I? The sport and amusement in such working class holiday resorts is immense. Chaps wives like your beautiful Ruth are a challenge. Working class people like yourselves are too busy earning a living to have sex day in and day out, so you limit it to weekends. Therefore your wives' cunts are underused and above all their arses are mainly untouched and have only experienced back entry traffic outward bound. It really is a blissful delight to be the first to open a tight backdoor orifice to inward bound traffic, and introduce the lady, in spite of their usual initial shrieking, to the delights of anal sex. Where could I get such sport? The thrills of the chase of 'hunt the cunt', not quite knowing what the outcome will be, is beyond price. As for Ruth, I just knew that under that religious exterior lay a woman who longed for and was desperate for a good fucking. And now she will do most anything I say to stop me moving on to another woman."

"As the president of the 8"x 6" club, a collection of close friends, I have a duty to supply them with my conquests such as your delicious Ruth; I am president because I measure

9 inches by 6-5/8."

"You may recall at the private members nightclub several patrons approached me. They were asking about Ruth. I told them she was neither available nor ready but may become so at a later date. We have some fun with the ladies on ladies' night and at the end of the session they don't go away empty handed. Now Ruth's arsehole is a treasure, and I intend to offer it to a good friend and member of our 8"x 6" club. And as I said a moment ago, I just knew that under that total religious exterior lay a woman who longed for and was desperate for a good fucking and now she will do most anything I say to stop me moving on to another woman."

"What if Ruth or any other woman you think you have under your control refuses to comply with your orders"? I asked.

"Then I subject them to the necessary punishment; if they contravene laid down rules or are simply disobedient, I introduce their arses to 'Jock Strap', my leather tawse, or for more serious defiance to 'Mr Swishy', my cane. They soon come around to my way of doing things. I usually have little hiccups of rule breaking at first, but rarely after an application of C.P. One final thing I need to get Ruth into, in order to get her away from church mind control, is to get her to use foul language; once I've achieved that everything should be plain sailing. Give me an unimpeded run with Ruth, no objections over the next two weeks and I'll give you £200. And being a voyeur you will have the delight of seeing Ruth in situations you or she would never dream of."

I was struck dumb at his cold reasoning and his search for working class women to gain their bodies. But £200! That was not to be sneezed at and the excitement of seeing my wife in erotic situations, seeing her possibly subjected to a good arse caning was not one I was going to turn down. After all, for the last 14 years or so she had not been a wife in the true sense, more a companion and housekeeper. I agreed.

Just then Ruth called out that she was dressed and ready for inspection and could she enter the room. Cornelius winked at me, as if to say, 'See what I mean.'

"Come," he called. Ruth entered and gave a deep curtsey to Cornelius and spun around slowly waiting his judgment. She looked stunning. She was dressed in a summer frock that had class and expense written all over it. Cut square at the neck to show a bit of tit, finishing just at the knee but because of the petticoat underneath that pushed the hem out, it appeared higher showing a little thigh above the knee. The cut emphasised her hips and bottom to perfection, the skirt swaying to and fro as she walked on white high heel shoes. The picture hat and gloves set the outfit off.

"Where did that come from?" I asked. Ruth pouted.

"Don't you remember? Corny (this became her pet name for Cornelius) promised me last night that he would give me something special for our anniversary, something that I would remember for a long time, well this is it." I didn't think Cornelius had a dress in mind when he made that promise.

"Come here," said Cornelius. She unquestioningly went and stood by the sofa. He pushed his hand up the back of her dress and felt around.

"Good," he said and I looked puzzled.

He pushed her towards me.

"Feel!" he commanded. I pushed my hand up her dress. She had stockings on but when I passed the stocking top and onto her bare thigh, I then expected to feel cotton or silk, but I only found the bare flesh of her arse and the end of the Basque that finished on the top of her buttocks.

"No knickers!" I yelped, "No knickers!" Even after all I had witnessed that morning and heard the admissions of Cornelius, I was disturbed to think that Ruth would be going around bare arsed. Maybe it was in case Ruth had an accident or something and they found out she had no knickers on – that would reflect badly on me.

Ruth giggled. "Corny forbids me to wear knickers unless he says so, and we are going to see one of his friends for more nice clothes and treatment for my problem."

Ruth had been converted from a God fearing gentle woman who feared men and hated sex. She had turned from being a gentle Dr Jekyll, into an inexplicable Mr Hyde, who to satiate her own sexual lusts would comply with another man's wishes and dress to his whims. Cornelius had released her sexual pixie. I was speechless.

Cornelius broke my stupor. "You're driving the car today but first I must make a phone call from the office. Come on, and you," he turned to Ruth, "wait here".

We walked into the office where he told the girl in charge to wait out side while he made the phone call. He told me to pick up the extension and listen in but make no comment.

He rang the number. A voice answered that was obviously that of a foreign person.

"'Allo, Isaac speaking, vot can oi do vor you?"

"Isaac, Cornelius. I'm ringing about the merchandise and the special object of desire."

Isaac sounded excited

"Gut. Gut. Vot is der verdict, iz eet az sveet az I 'ope."

"Sweeter," said Cornelius. "You will drool when you see this one you dirty old so and so."

I could almost feel Isaac's animation over the wire.

"Ven can you be 'ere? You promised today. Iz she villink, iz she ze 19 yar oldz you promised?"

Cornelius winked at me and mouthed, "Listen to him when I tell him Ruth's age."

"No the 19 year old didn't turn up, but I've got a better replacement, a 34 year old."

"Vot iz you trying to zell me, you promised Isaac a sveet bottom hole, not a 34 year old vrinkled von. I goz avay. Now I putz down der vone!"

Cornelius quickly interrupted him.

"Isaac when have I let you down? You have come to my house on many occasions and gone home happy; you've been to the club and had your pick of the sweet meats on offer, at least listen."

He was enjoying this squabble

"It wont cost you anything to look. If you decide to take the goods we can then come to a solution that benefits all."

I could hear Isaac mumbling to himself about what he should do; the loss of the 19 year old (obviously Anita) was upsetting him.

Cornelius continued.

"Isaac, she has all you want in a woman, a cargo hold full of the brown stuff you like to wallow in that's lain there for over two weeks now, you know how you like to marinate with that funny cock of yours inside a female's rear, stirring it up and getting it caked."

I heard Isaac take in a sharp breath at the description.

"If you don't want it I will offer it to Patel or the members of the club."

" No, no, vate a momentz, vate a momentz, don'tz be to haztee. I look, I look, but if der hole is not gud enough you giz me a free voman next time roun, ok?"

"Right we are on our way, we'll pick up the goods and be at your store later this afternoon." He put down the phone and beckoned me to follow him. I had just heard him sell Ruth's arsehole to another man and a foreigner at that. I wondered how she would take it - not the cock up her arse but the transaction, and how Cornelius would get her into such a situation that she would agree to the arrangement.

To be continued...