Time of Her Life

by Josephine Scott

  "One last adventure," she told herself, half-turning towards her mirror. "Just one. And then I promise I'm going back forever. I want to hear minstrels playing, I want to see the castle, I want to be with the dogs, especially that lovely bitch..."

  She went to her wardrobe where she had hidden a special dress to take her back, changed nylon and lace for cotton undies, pulled the dress on and then spent 15 minutes with heating tongs curling her hair into tight, tight curls.

  When she was ready she went towards the mirror.

  "If nothing else, it'll help me forget Des" sad face!"

  And she glanced in the glass.

  Dane House stood dreaming under an October sky, a blue so cold it almost hurt, the sun sparkling from gable windows, the slightest of breezes disturbing the dead leaves on the beeches as they shivered with the first hint of winter.

  Abigail stood on the gravelled path, her heavy wedge heels and platform soles sinking into the shifting pebbles. Prim and proper, her dress was a round-necked decorous knee-length floral print, her hair twisted into curls, tight curls, as if permed. Very forties, she told herself; I hope that's where I am. One last adventure. One last Happening. I hope it's a really really good one.

  After this it's -

  "Have you come for the game?" A male voice. She spun round, almost overbalancing on the shifting gravel.

  "Yes," she told the smiling Bryl-creemed young man. His dark hair was cut close to his head, he wore a short-sleeved shirt, baggy shorts, and plimsolls. He was tanned, athletic and good-looking. Instantly fanciable. She moved a step towards him, feeling the treacherous gravel give way. "I am at the right place, aren't I?"

  "Dane House, that's right. What's your name?"

  "Abigail."

  "I'm Ralph." He took her arm, escorted her onto the grass, where it was easier to walk. "I hope you brought some suitable clothes?"

  "Well, no, because no one told me what to expect!" He grinned, sudden gleam of pure white well-maintained expensive teeth. Rare in this time.

  "Janet will have something you can change into, I'm sure. After all, you won't need much, will you? Come on."

  Abigail followed as he set off at a fast pace, crossing the lawns and huge sweep of gravel before the large porch with elegant columns and elaborate facade. The door stood wide, allowing the cool October air into the hall. Abigail caught a swift scent of money and then they were inside, surrounded by panelling that reminded her of Sir Anthony's London Club, then up the stairs, passing huge windows which ended in cushioned window seats. She looked out across vast areas of green fringed with trees, caught exciting glimpses of a pool, perhaps a lake, dark blue and glittery cold.

  "Janet!" Ralph banged on the door with a fist, smiling at Abigail as he did so. "Someone's here for the game, needs some suitable clothes!"

  "I'll be right there!" Ralph stood aside.

  "I'll see you later then, all right?"

  "Sure." Abigail trembled from head to foot, wondering what she had let herself in for. It could be good, it could be bad. Either way it promised to be an experience. What sort of game could it possibly be?

  Janet was a short tubby girl with bright blue eyes, a pretty doll-like face and an engaging laugh. She was wearing tennis shorts, baggy enough to almost hide her thick thighs, and a floppy shirt, not baggy enough to hide full pendulous breasts. Abigail could almost feel the sensuality radiating from her. She smiled, while looking puzzled.

  "I don't know you, do I?"

  "No." Abigail fought for a name, and found one. "Anne said if I came along I could be a part of the game, but she didn't tell me any more."

  "Anne? Oh you mean Anne St John?" Abigail nodded. She didn't, but that didn't matter. Janet's face cleared. "Oh yes, I remember telling her about it at darling D'Arcy's engagement party." Janet rolled her eyes in her head and fluttered her hands. "Such a gorgeous man out of circulation! What are we going to do? Come in, come in."

  Abigail entered the frilled lacy room, was overwhelmed by perfume and sheer girliness. A huge canopied bed occupied most of the room, hung with delicate lace, trimmed with pink bows. Clothes were draped here and there, over a printed screen, on the back of a spindly-legged chair, on the floor. The whole room shouted "female", and was too cutesy cute for her liking. Janet walked around the obstacles, talking about the fine day they had for the game, who was coming... Abigail caught some names but they passed on by. She hoped it would come back when she met the people who wore the names. Janet was flaunting her bust as if she were a figurehead for a large ocean-going wooden ship. It made her feel inadequate. Her breasts were small compared to this Amazon.

  "Now, do you know what we have to do?"

  "No, not really. Anne wasn't very specific."

  "Well, she wouldn't be." Janet sank down on a cushioned window seat, pushed the floral drapes aside, and looked out across the fields. "Well, we're hounds, us girls. There's going to be six of us altogether. We get a head start on the guys, and what guys!" Again the eye-rolling and hand-fluttering. Abigail presumed from that, that the men would be hunky and good-looking; at least, she hoped they would. "We have all the grounds to roam in, and you know how big they are! We can go where we like, run where we like, but if we're caught, we have to pay a forfeit. Then we're free again." Smiling, deeply sexual, very telling. "I think they've devised some wonderful forfeits for us girls. I'm glad you could make it, what's your name?" She got up again, burrowing around in her wardrobe.

  "Abigail."

  "Right - Abigail. Here's some plimsolls, I think they'll fit you. And a top and some shorts. That's all you'll need. And then we gather in the porch ready for the off!"

  "Sounds great!" Said with all the enthusiasm Janet had shown, almost gushing. Not Abigail's style at all but it seemed appropriate.

  "John's arranged for some Yanks to come along too!" Janet looked in her full-length mirror. "God, what I'd give to get off with a Yank, get him to take me back to the States out of this drab dull land!"

  "It'll be all right when the rationing's over."

  "Sure we will, but how long do we have to wait? I'd kill for some new nylons. A cat laddered my last pair, and the coupons don't go anywhere, do they?"

  "Well, no." Abigail sat on the end of the bed, putting on the plimsolls, reluctant to change her dress in front of Janet and wondering why. In the end she decided she was being stupid, but still blushed as she pulled the dress over her head, glad she had thought to change her underclothes for the serviceable cotton items instead of the lace-and-nylon ones she had worn that morning.

  After all her fears, Janet never even looked at her.

  Dressed in the shorts and top, Abigail felt at least up to running. The dress had been somewhat hindering, even to walk in, she had to concede that.

  Even if it did give her a problem, she had to come back to change out of the shorts and plimsolls and get her dress and shoes back. And she had to find the mirror which wasn't here, not in Janet's elaborately feminine room.

  "Here they are!" Janet leapt up, grabbed Abigail's hand and began to tow her towards the door. Abigail had time to see a jeep swing into the space in front of the house, saw some young men with huge smiles pile out and then they were running along the corridor, down the carpeted stairs and into the hall.

  "Hi, gang!" The men clustered on the porch, shouting jokes at one another in English and strong American accents, slapping backs and shoulders, smiling at Janet and the stranger with her. Abigail began to blush, wondering why she should do that every time someone looked at her.

  "Hey, a newcomer! Who brought you along?" They pushed closer, admired her hair, one of them letting a curl slide round his finger, another running a thumb down her face.

  "Anne St John sent her along." Janet hung on the arm of a dark-haired man who looked down at her with smiling eyes.

  "Good, we needed a new face."

  "Where's everyone else?" Even as the blond man spoke, another car drew up behind the jeep and four girls got out. Abigail watched them
come towards her, elegant in smart suits, tight dresses, hats and heeled shoes. She felt a bit out of place, but then realised they, too, would have to change into the same outfit. Fair's fair. Those of us playing a game of hunt, all have to have the same clothes on.

  "Hello there!"

  Janet took Abigail's arm.

  "This is Joy, here's Maria, the blonde there is Marilyn, and that's Patsy." Abigail nodded to them all.

  "This is Abigail. She was sent along by Anne St John, who obviously isn't coming."

  "No, she can't make it - indisposed, and we know what that means, don't we? But she didn't say she would send anyone else." Marilyn shrugged. "Not that it matters, we need six for the game, don't we, guys?"

  "Sure do." Ralph took over the introductions. "John, Martin, our two American cousins, Barry and Gareth, and over there, Damien, thinks he's too good for us, doesn't he?"

  A dark-haired man sat gloomily on a stone bench by a fountain throwing water out of a dolphin's mouth. He had his back half-turned to them.

  Gareth moved closer to Abigail, his dark-hued skin tanned as if he had been in the sun too long, gleaming white teeth and very pink gums. Very well-fed and cared for, thought Abigail, despite the shortages; but then the Americans didn't seem to go short.

  "Damien's all right," he said in a heavy accent she couldn't quite place, but thought might be Southern. "He just needs his own company now and then. But he likes the game, doesn't he, Jan?"

  "That he does." She turned back to Abigail. "You got the rules all right? The guys set the forfeits. Could be - well, be prepared for anything from being dunked in the pond, to -"

  "To being fucked." Ralph took her arm. "I'm sorry to be crude but we need to know you're game before we start, don't we, guys? We don't need anyone shouting rape afterwards."

  The other women stood staring, curious, waiting for her response. Abigail felt out of place, the complete stranger, at that moment. The breeze touched her with ice-cold fingers. Apprehension? Sexual excitement? Fear of the unknown? All of that, and more.

  "I'm game."

  Everyone smiled.

  "Good for you." That was Joy, with a genuinely friendly grin to go with it. They went past Janet into the house, obviously to get changed. Abigail watched them go, envying their money and their self-assurance.

  "Go talk to Damien, he hasn't met you yet." Gareth pushed her gently and she set off across the gravel feeling very conspicuous. They no doubt wanted to talk about her while she was safely out of earshot.

  Damien appeared half-asleep, resting against the back of the stone bench, his eyes heavy-lidded and sultry, his mouth pressed in a hard, almost cruel line.

  "Damien? I'm Abigail, they said to come and meet you."

  "Hello there. I don't think you've been here before; I would have remembered you." He sat up, extended a hand, drew her down on the coolness beside him. "You know what we do?"

  "Of course. Janet spelt it out, and what she didn't make clear, Ralph did."

  "He would. Well -" He let his finger run down her arm, making the hair stand up, "you're a fine-looking girl. I'll enjoy finding you." The hand clasped her wrist tightly, making the skin go white. She clenched her teeth against the sudden pain, not letting him see he was hurting her. This man would give the other thing she had come for. On the other hand, as this was to be her last adventure, wouldn't a simple fucking do?

  No.

  "Okay, everyone." Ralph was calling, obviously in charge of the proceedings for the day at least. Damien got up, held out his hand to Abigail, and led her back to the group.

  Now the women were all wearing the same thing, shorts, tops and running shoes. Ralph held up a watch, glanced at it, looked around and grinned.

  "Fifteen minutes, that's all you've got, now go."

  They scattered in all directions, Abigail making for the side of the house, panicking, wondering if there were outbuildings she could use for a hiding place until she got the lie of the land. If the others had played this game before, they knew where they were going. She didn't.

  A stable, smelling of fresh horse and old straw. Abigail slipped round a half door, crouched down so no one could see her head above the top of it, burrowed among the straw bales, and sat down to rest and think.

  Six men.

  Six different forfeits, or did they all want the same thing? She could hear voices, screams that sounded more like pleasure than terror, shouts of laughter and a few calling out names just to see what would happen. She heard hers among them but didn't move.

  Anticipation surged through her, strong enough to make her worry about dampening the shorts. The mirror had heard her request for a good one this time, a real adventure, if ever there was one! Six men, six chances of getting what she wanted - and more - before ...

  A face appeared at the door, shadowy, indistinct. A body slipped into the stable.

  "Abigail? I'm sure I saw you come in here." Damien, looking for her. Damien with the cruel mouth. She stayed very still. Suddenly he pounced on her hiding place, caught her wrist, dragged her free.

  "I knew I'd find you here, it's the first place all newcomers go for." He pulled her to him, kissed her cruelly hard. She felt her lips plastered back against her teeth, felt his probing tongue, felt herself responding, her arms sliding around his neck, her body grinding against his.

  "Your forfeit is a roll in the hay with me," he told her, pushing her down on the straw bales.

  "My pleasure is to roll in the hay with you," she told him, pulling at his shoulders, drawing him down on top of her.

  And it was. Already she was moist, ready for anything. He pulled at her shorts and cotton panties, threw them to one side, allowed his fingers to find her clit, pressed hard and sent her writhing in ecstasy almost immediately. With her top out of the way, he found a breast with his free hand, rubbing the nipple which came erect. Abigail found his buttons, pushed his shorts out of the way and allowed her fingers to run the length and width of his cock, longing for it, wondering if she should go for it immediately.

  There was no decision to be made. He was on top of her, pressing her down onto the sharp needles of straw, kicking his shorts out of the way and plunging deep into her.

  "You're one of the most willing we've had for ages," he muttered into her hair, kissing her neck, thrusting deep into her with every word. "Sometimes they play coy, but not you!"

  Abigail said nothing, just pulled his body, grabbed his buttocks in both hands, feeling the muscles, feeling the firmness, pulling him harder and harder into her.

  He rocked backwards and forwards, kissed her neck, her eyes, her shoulders, bit at the soft skin of her breasts, soared with her on the heights of passion, her legs locked irrevocably around his slim muscular body. The explosion came instantly, and perfectly together.

  A moment, thought Abigail, a moment to relish the feeling. But there were no moments. Damien looked down at her, rolled off, pushed her clothes over her naked body.

  "No time to rest, you have to keep going, someone else might want you! And if they feel about you as I do, they will!"

  "You were good." She spoke while struggling into the panties and shorts again, pulling her top down, pushing at her curls.

  "Go!" he pushed her towards the door. "And if I find you again, there'll be a different forfeit, believe me!"

  With a shiver of apprehension and excitement, Abigail crept out of the door. She could hear and see no one, so she took a chance, rushing across the beautifully kept lawns towards the trees and summerhouse she could see. Her legs felt weak. She wanted to lie down somewhere for half an hour, but somehow she kept going, breath pumping, arms swinging, getting a surge of emotion, of pleasure, from the mere act of jogging.

  A mistake. The summerhouse was a mistake. If she'd had time to think, she would have realised it was an obvious place for the hounds to go.

  "I should have thought," she told herself, dismayed, as Ralph appeared from the back of the building, smiling broadly. "I did want time to unwind a litt
le!" But the power of the game, the hunt, was with her now, and she didn't mind that much, not really; this was pleasure, this was pure emotion, this hunting and being hunted, being found, being set free to run again.

  Whoever devised such a wonderful game knew what they were doing, understood the psychology of s/m, even if it was never expressed in words.

  "Caught you!"

  "You have," she agreed, standing obediently and waiting for him to decide what her forfeit was.

  A shriek split the air from another part of the grounds, laughter and the sound of revelling.

  "Sounds like someone else has been caught, too." Ralph smiled, looking her up and down. "Now, I wonder what would be appropriate for someone like you?"