Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience. ================= Daylight Robbery ================== --------------------- by Jean-Michel Maserati --------------------- Warning ====== Just to make it perfectly clear up front. This tale contains explicit sex scenes; if you find such descriptions offensive, I suggest you leave the site now. Also, if for any reason whatsoever you should not be permitted access to this material (for example, due to your age and/or the laws of the area where you either live or are currently staying) then you should quit now. I can and will take no responsibility for any consequences if you don't. The King's Highway ----------------- It was a risky way of making your living, but in the war-torn kingdom there were no longer any safe ways of guaranteeing a good income. Naturally there was the privileged upper stratum of nobles and courtiers who ran the army and the treasury; they still did all right. Those whose trade was needed for the war effort could turn in a handsome profit as well gunsmiths, wheelwrights, carpenters, merchants and middlemen, bankers charging usurious rates. But both the common folk and the professional classes were suffering economically. So alternate methods of making money thrived: smuggling, black marketeering, burglary. And Alex was no different, having chosen through necessity a path that was far from legal. But the rewards were considerable, if the targets were carefully selected and the hold-ups precisely planned and misleading evidence was left behind. Alex was the kingdom's most wanted highwayman. The profile, such as it was, was posted in every village hall in the area. A slightly built young man of just under six feet in height; the left eye covered with a velvet patch and the right a startling blue-gray that almost verged on violet; a red kerchief over most of the rest of the face; a handsome dappled gray horse; dark clothing and felt tricorn hat. Witnesses put his age anywhere between sixteen and twenty-five, but remembered little of his appearance. Everyone remembered the unusual item - the presumably fake piratical eye-patch - and often they could be quite definite about the color of the other eye; but only rarely could they be sure of the jet-black hair or the pale complexion. They could often recall the beautifully inlaid flintlock pistols down the barrels of which they had stared so uncomfortably and the velvet-gloved hands holding them so professionally, but very little was known about the owner. And Alex was also most careful to make sure that all commands were issued in a disguised voice and accent, very different from the ones used at home. A change of vocabulary as well - the highwayman gave orders that were bespeckled with obscenities and curses that would have made a trooper blush, whereas most acquaintances of the real-life person would never have thought the alter ego would have known such phrases, let alone used them. Additionally if there were womenfolk in the targeted carriage, Alex would mostly frighten them a little too; that had turned out to be the masterstroke in confusing the searchers about the felon's identity. Any women and girls would be orderd out of the coach. The highwayman would stroke a face gently or squeeze a breast playfully in the pretence of searching them, maybe make them demonstrate they weren't hiding anything under their skirts. Some were clearly terrified they were about to be raped; the eyes of many others betrayed the fact that they would undoubtedly have welcomed the attentions... but a lone robber couldn't afford to turn his back on the other victims. Still, a little of that kind of gamesmanship certainly made them more ready to part with their cash and valuables. All in all, Alex had become very proficient at the chosen trade. It wasn't necessary to make a raid more than once a month or so - perhaps not even that, but the adrenalin rush of the successful operation was addictive. Oh, the smugly delighted feeling of having outwitted the authorities again! The town house was very nicely appointed nowadays, which presumably made the social circle of friends wonder exactly where the resources came from. But nobody ever asked. The Bishop's Coach ----------------- The Bishop's coachman had been given strict instructions not to stop on this trip, but there wasn't too much he could do about the fallen tree. A young man with an axe had almost finished moving it off the road, so he got down to help lug the big log away. At which point, the axe wielder had straightened up, a red scarf swiftly pulled up round the face... suddenly the coach driver was staring goggle-eyed down the barrel of an uncompromisingly large pistol. He turned to face away and knelt as instructed, hearing his assailant's shift of weight and a brief whistle as the axe-head came down. Clubbed unconscious by the flat of the blade, he fell face-down to the ground. The Bishop's daughter was the sole occupant of the carriage. "Out here, you fucking bitch," she heard, "and let's see what you've got for me." Shaking with fear, the young woman got out as ordered, handing over her jewelry and the little purse of coins she had with her. "My, what a pretty thing," whispered the robber, whom she now recognized from the notices tacked up outside the church. "Very fine clothes too. What is Daddy? A merchant or a cleric or a squire?" She tried to keep calm as the stranger walked round behind her. Cold metal pressed against her skin under the right ear. "Let's have a look at you, shall we?" The Pawn's Sacrifice ------------------- When he came round five minutes later, the coachman was devastated to find his teenage charge had been robbed and abused. The young blonde was lying on the path, sobbing and terrified. She was bound at the ankles and wrists with her own stockings, gagged and blindfolded with other items of her own clothing. And otherwise entirely naked; the highwayman had undoubtedly had his wicked way with her. Aroused by the thought and relishing the sight of his attractive mistress in the nude, he let his imagination go. The defenceless girl couldn't see him, couldn't scream, couldn't resist. How would she know it wasn't the robber coming back for seconds? The Queen's Defence ------------------ A quarter of a mile away across the valley, an interested observer extended the brass tubes of a powerful pocket telescope. As anticipated, the driver was making the most of the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and violating the helpless victim. Knowing the girl a little in normal life, Alex didn't care; she was pretty enough all right, but the girl was an obnoxious snob, unintelligent and spiteful... she had it coming to her. And if the highwayman were now thought to be a rapist too, that suited Alex as well. Another red herring - all part of the plan. On the other horizon, with the aid of the spyglass, a small band of horsemen could just be made out. With a banner... soldiers. A slight frown; this would call for a little more acting. Still, it had been done before. Satisfied with another money-or-your-life job well executed, the lone rider collapsed the telescope back in on itself and put it in a small pouch by the saddle ready to ride off away from the crime. The velvet patch had been removed, and been put in the saddlebags along with the axe, the three-cornered hat and the flintlocks, the dark coat and britches and (last but not least) the loot. The horse hadn't been involved this time, so there was no need to brush any chalk out of his nearly black coat. The violet-blue eyes sparkled happily as Alex shook out her mane of wavy black hair, relished the feeling of freedom as she took off the restricting bodice that had held her small round breasts in, and then threw on a simple white cotton dress over the tall and athletic frame that could so easily pass for a young man's. The Knight's Move ---------------- "Rider approachin', Sir," called the front patrolman. "Single woman, it looks like. In a hurry, too." He turned to the young lieutenant. "Summat's not right, I reckon, Sir." Indeed it wasn't. Gregory Dart recognized the rider well enough as she galloped up to them: Alexandra, the younger sister of Mark Waterstone with whom he had served in a recent campaign. The woman explained breathlessly that there had been a robbery further up the road which she had seen from a distance as she came cross-country through the wooded valley. He nodded. Yes, they had indeed seen the Bishop's coach heading that way an hour ago. Thinking quickly, he began issuing orders to the six-man patrol. One rider would head back to inform the Bishop that he should come at once; the sergeant would take the remaining three men to investigate what had happened and chase the bandit; he himself would accompany Miss Waterstone back to town - no gallant soldier would leave the woman to ride on her own when there were cut-throat thieves around - where he could take a statement from her. It being a splendid summer's afternoon, he suggested they should head cross-country: through the valley and up over the moor, cutting three or four miles off the route. Gregory found it a less than onerous duty, trotting gently along through the heather in the sunshine with a pretty young woman to guard. It was working out very nicely, he thought: his suspicions had been growing slowly about the identity of the masked robber. And now he might have the chance to find out. He probed with a couple of cautious questions, remarking how it was surprising that the lad in question hadn't been called up for military service, commenting on the rumors that had once gone around concerning her late brother - the right build and complexion, the unusual color of the eyes. But the hold-ups had continued after his death, so it couldn't be him, could it? Miss Waterstone - or Alex as she was happy to be called answered him politely, but he was sure there was a flickering smile of amusement in the full red lips. And she was definitely still rather flushed and nervous. Soon he found the place he was looking for. Just over the brow of a hill, there was a small stony outcropping, an island of bare rocks and mosses and wisps of grass amongst the blazing of magenta heather. Depressed a fraction below the hilltop, there was little breeze. At his insistence, they sat down for a brief pause on the sun-warmed stone and the soft mosses, sharing the slightly brackish water from his canteen and a few small apples he had with him. Then, lying there on his back staring up at the blue sky, he dropped his bombshell. "Would you believe me, Alex, if I told you I had solved the puzzle of our robber's identity?" She was sitting nearby soaking up the warmth: legs stretched out and forward and leaning back with the weight on her arms, head tilted up towards the brilliant sun. She laughed gently at him, tipping her head further back so that the long black hair cascaded down to the lichen-covered rock behind. "If you knew that, Lieutenant Dart, I'm sure the culprit would be behind bars." "Not if I found a good alternative," he said, grinning. "Gregory," she said flirtatiously, using his Christian name for the first time. "Maybe you're corruptible after all. Prefer to take your share of the spoils?" "No need. I have a good income from the manor, as you know." He propped himself up on one elbow, and turned to her. "Mark was always hinting I should marry you. Did you know? A good match for you, save the family fortunes, and the like." "We survive well enough," she said acidly. "So I observe. I told him I had no need of a wife, but I would gladly bed you if you were willing." He waited for an outraged reaction, but to his surprise received only a stony silence. He continued, "Your brother just laughed, told me you were yet a maid and I had no chance and bought me another pint." The tall brunette looked away from him, staring into the distance. Her voice was now cool and unfriendly. "That tale has nothing to do with your brigand's identity. Why not issue the warrant? I assume you would yourself not be safe if the perpetrator is aware of what you know." Ah, a veiled threat... the first hint that he might be right. Time for a bluff. "No, seriously. I just haven't the proof yet. But I am quite certain. And I have also committed my thoughts to paper, in sworn testimony which my advocate will make public in the event of my death. Please hear me out." Checkmate -------- The young soldier sat back, relishing the moment. "I have no great need of money. I live well enough, but the great lack in my life is the same as many young men: insufficient adventure with the fairer sex to satisfy my tatste." "A rich man and a soldier - and you are both - never need go short. Whores abound at the gaming tables and at the barracks. So I am told." "Indeed. But the clap and the pox are not the adventures I am looking for." He sipped from the canteen and tossed it over to her. "A beautiful mistress, on the other hand, that would be good. Tall, elegant, raven-haired, athletically sensuous, mysterious and adventurous in her own secret way. Do I make myself clear, Alex?" "Why should I comply?" she said uncertainly, sitting up now with her elbows on her knees. "Because you have no choice. I shall prove Mark wrong: you are from now on going to be compliant and obedient, mine to spread and take whenever I wish." He was sweating now, on uncertain ground - he'd never spoken to a woman like that before. "It sounds more as if you are thinking of violating me," said the tall woman. "This is absolutely outrageous. I think we should now be heading on, Lieutenant." But she knew the game was up. He grinned. "I'll spell it out for you, Alex. If you don't want me to go looking in those saddle-bags..." She stood up, and suddenly smiled ruefully as if acknowledging that something of the sort had to happen sooner or later. Adopting a perfect local yokel burr of an accent, she shrugged her shoulders. "Sure enough, Lootenan', it's a nice day and I do have quite a fancy for gettin' well fucked." His eyes widened in surprise, then he nodded. "Show me," he laughed. They went over to the horses and then he watched in amazement as the young woman produced all the items. There was a tense moment as she retrieved the matching pair of guns, but maybe she couldn't be sure his tale about the testimony wasn't true. Tomorrow it had better be, he thought grimly. And anyhow, all the soldiers had seen them ride off together so she couldn't easily explain his disappearance if she shot him. No, the moment had passed. She put the hat and the eyepatch on for him, then the matching velvet gloves and the red kerchief. To him, Alex still looked ravishingly feminine as she stood there in the simple white dress - no way you could mistake the gender, he thought. Then suddenly she changed her posture, clicked the heels of her boots together like a saluting soldier - a man's size and style boots, he realized in sudden annoyance at having overlooked the clue. Alex sprinted to the horse, hitched the skirt up and sprang lightly on; now you would have been quite certain it was a young nobleman dressed up for some dubious party. Straight and erect, poised and muscular, controlled - every movement was masculine. The horse dashed right at him, reared up on its hind legs and came crashing down next to him. From under the red kerchief, beneath the one cold and glittering eye, came the peremptory cry. "Right, you little shit: Stand And Deliver!" Gregory's musket was aimed at the highwayman almost before he knew it, but then the figure's aspect changed back again. "What gave it away, Lieutenant?" asked the young woman in a little girl's voice as she tugged the red scarf back down round her neck. "The eyes," he said truthfully. "Such a color. If it wasn't your dear brother, who could it have been...?" She paused only to push the eye-patch up before holding out one hand to be helped down by the genteel soldier. They walked back to the mossy hollow. He sat down in the sun, stunned at the completeness of the transformation this woman could make. She was beautiful, yes, but oh so dangerous. He lay back in the soft moss, soaking up the warmth of the sun, thinking of the risk he was taking in not handing her over. He was effectively becoming her accomplice. He was blackmailing her. His career was on the line. But on the other hand, he had lusted after this tall and graceful young woman since he had first met her, coming home with Mark on leave after some battle. He had immediately wanted to tame the fourteen-year-old minx in the time-honored fashion, had harbored a youthful crush on her two years later, and had admired her from afar when the unit was billeted in the vicinity on their next tour of duty - but by then his mate Mark had been killed and the newly promoted Lieutenant had no reason to visit her. But now: the opportunity was heaven sent and he was going to take it. He looked the tall slender figure up and down, and was sure she would be worth it. "Right Lieutenant, you've had your proof. Seen what you wanted to see," she said finally in a business-like manner with her hands on her hips. Her unspoken question left it up to him to say what was next. He gestured grandly with one arm. "Correct on one count, my dear: the evidence of your criminality is clear. However, that which I most want to see has not yet been shown. You said it yourself, Alex, in that bumpkin speech you affected so accurately. Nice sunny day, up here on the moor, nobody around..." She finished it for him, "... and you fancy a fuck." He smiled mirthlessly. "If I arrest you, I'm sure nobody will worry too much what happens to you in jail before you are hanged. I think I'm the lesser of the two evils." The tall woman seemed strangely distant. Thinking it through. "Very well, Lieutenant Dart," she said quietly. Then those cool amethyst eyes, glittering chillingly crystalline, fixed on his. "You may have me." End Game ------- The eager soldier needed no second invitation, jumping up eagerly with the intention of impressing his dominance on the relationship by stripping his inexperienced victim and violating her uninhibitedly. But the willowy girl with the mass of thick black hair proved to be less innocent than he could ever have expected. She kissed with passion, unfazed initially by his probing and groping and then even responding in kind. She seemed to be every bit as physically strong as he was, easily flipping him over as they writhed around so that she was the one on top whenever she so wanted. After a minute or two, he discovered that she was the one taking control - and she was so smoothly sensuous underneath that plain white dress that he soon just acquiesced in what she was doing. The black-gloved hands were undoing his tunic and unbuttoning the shirt, then expertly unbuckling his trousers and hauling both them and the light undergarment down to his knees. He lay there astounded, lying on his back naked from knees to chest. His prick had been hard as a rock within seconds of the first kiss, but now as he lay there feeling the slight breeze on his erection as it jutted up towards the sky, well - it felt as if he were going to burst... Ah, the black velvet gloves were stroking up and down his penis, strong fingers inside the soft material. Caressing him. He was ready: and then she stopped and stood up. The graceful young woman reached up under her white dress and untied the laces of her knickers. They fell to the ground, and she stepped out of them, kicking them aside with the pointed toe of one of the black leather boots. She came and stood astride him, one foot either side of his chest so that when she then knelt down, his arms were pinned down. He tried to reach behind to grapple her buttocks, but she slid suddenly forward, lifting her skirt so that it covered his face. Such wantonness - he would never have believed it if one of his men had described such events in the inn. But it was real all right; he could not see much in the twilight world under the linen cloth, but could still feel the stiffer curls of the pubis being thrust into his face, he could taste the muskiness of her labia as she squirmed eagerly into position. There was no holding back as she wriggled herself into place - all he could do was probe with his tongue into the invitingly juicy slit, nuzzling and teasing the warm bud of her clitoris with his tongue and lips. When she was satisfied, finished squirming and panting with pleasure, she stood up again. "Good boy," she said. "Now you get your treat." She slid the simple dress off her pale shoulders. It slithered down her slender torso to the ground, leaving Alex wearing just the black gloves and boots and the red scarf. Her body was every bit as delectable in reality as it had been in his wildest imaginings. Unblemished skin, pale and creamy smooth. A lithely muscled body, with a hard flat stomach and slender limbs - not an ounce of unnecessary fat to be seen. Splendid firm breasts, upright and rounded with temptingly vulnerable pink nipples. Narrow waist and hips, strong legs, a thick vee of pubic hair so black it was almost shiny steel blue. "Quit staring." She laughed at him, lying there wide-eyed and open-mouthed. "You've seen tits and fannies before, to judge by how well you knew what to do just now." She stepped to stand astride him and then squatted down, balancing with an almost feline natural ease on the balls of her feet, using one gloved hand to guide him into herself gently as she sank down with an audible sigh. Arching that splendid body backwards and leaning back on her arms locked straight behind her, she began rhythmically sliding up and down the shaft in time with the growing crescendo of Greg's counterpoint rhythm of upward thrusts. He had thought initially that he was the one taking advantage of her, and found himself shoving in ever harder as if trying to make that point - yet the young woman on top seemed only to like it more and finally Alex climaxed every bit as delightedly as he did. She knelt forward so that her face was close to his, the raven-black hair falling in a veil around the two of them. "I trust that was sufficient payment, Lieutenant?" she laughed. He nodded, only able to marvel at his good fortune. Next Moves --------- Nobody ever connected the cessation of the highwayman's activities later that year with the marriage of the genteel Miss Waterstone to the dashing Lieutenant Dart, and her subsequent pregnancy. Well, you wouldn't, would you? It was generally assumed that whoever it was had either perished during one of his escapades, or that military service had cost him his life. But it has to be said that the two young sons did get some strange looks occasionally in later years when playing at being bandits and robbers. Big amethyst colored eyes from behind their scarves... --------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---- All original work, copyright (c) J.M.Maserati, 2002. May be freely disseminated for non-commercial purposes as long as the author is clearly identified and copyright stated. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----