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Subject: "A YANK IN THE OUTHOUSE" (M/FF; F VOYEUR) 2 of 2
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"A YANK IN THE OUTHOUSE" (M/FF;  F VOYEUR) 2 of  2

By

David Shaw
<shaw_david@hotmail.com>

(THIS STORY IS INTENDED FOR THE ENJOYMENT OF ADULTS ONLY)

Continued from Part 1

	There was total confusion in my mind about whether to run away or
apologise for being there. Then I realised that I was being a fool for
thinking that any sort of an apology would get me out of this situation. The
only thing to do was to get away as soon as possible. But Mrs Walsh was a lot
more quick witted than I was. She forced herself up and back and looked down
to where the Yank had put his pistol on top of the table. She reached for it,
picked it up and aimed it directly at the window I was looking through.

	"Stay there!" I heard her shout.

	The pistol was waving around a lot but her finger was on the trigger
and the barrel looked as big as Braunston canal tunnel as it was aimed
straight at my eye. Until then I hadn't had the faintest idea of how
frightening it can be to have a gun of any kind aimed at you, especially when
you don't know if it's loaded or not. And especially when you're in a
situation where the person holding the gun might really be angry enough to
use it. So I did something I never thought I'd have to do in my life, and
held my hands up over my head like a surrendering soldier. But in my shock at
what was happening I'd stepped down off the bricks and lost my viewpoint
through the latched window. I could hear through it though, a mingled bellow
of male triumph and a higher pitched shriek of  absolute pleasure. It seemed
as if the Yank and Mrs Harrington both had reason to be satisfied with their
present position in life.

	I was much less sure about my own. Staring at the window pane a few
inches in front of my face I wondered whether I was still visible through the
misty glass from the other side. Perhaps I could  run off now, get on my bike
and pedal like mad for home. On the other hand maybe Mrs Walsh could see my
outline against the daylight outside and if she saw it moving she might pull
that trigger. I was pretty certain that the pistol wasn't loaded, and I was
pretty sure that she couldn't be crazy enough to try to kill me even if it
was, but somehow those two facts seemed to weigh very lightly against the
deadly reality of the weapon. Especially when it was in the hands of a highly
aroused woman still quivering with unsatisfied lust who certainly wasn't in
her normal state of mind.

	There was more to it though. If I stayed there it was certain that I
was going to meet the Yank. And even if I wasn't as smart or as well to do as
my ladies Walsh and Harrington, I was younger than they were and with just as
good a figure as either of them. And to be honest, I couldn't see that what
they were doing for their luxuries was so bad, especially not with a man who
looked like that. I suppose I was getting bored with being a dutiful bible
imbiber and bored with living within the rules of village life. Truth to tell
I'd just seen two women being treated like Chicago gangster's molls and I
envied them because it had been a mad moment without any rules at all except
those made by the dominanting  male animal. Not that I would ever have
admitted in those days that that was the real reason I stood still with my
hands up in the air and waiting for whatever was going to happen next.

	What did happen was that I suddenly found myself staring down the
barrel of the pistol again, only without a window between me and it this
time. And the reason for that was because the window had been pushed open and
the man was standing in the frame, aiming the pistol straight at me.

	"Who are you then, honey?" he asked me. He spoke very slowly,
dragging the words out of his mouth as if he was pulling them out like strips
of toffee. There was a deeper tone in that huge chest than I'd ever heard in
anybody's voice.

	"Sarah Vandell - Sarah Vandell. I just came to deliver some wine,
that's all."

	"Oh God. It's that bloody Sunday School teacher," I heard Mrs
Harrington say sharply. I couldn't see her though, the Yank was completely
filling the window space with his body.

	"Wine?" He looked down at the bricks I'd piled up against the wall
underneath the window. "You sure seem to go to a lot of trouble making your
housecalls. Tell you what, young lady, why don't you just step back up here
where you where and tell us about yourself?"

	"Please stop pointing that gun at me," I protested. "It looks
dangerous."

	He grinned, again looking for a second like a small boy: "Lady, in
the army they always tell us that it's the unloaded gun which kills people.
This one is loaded and cocked and the safety catch is off, so it can't
possibly hurt you. Now just kindly come back where you where and then I'll
put the gun down."

	The wind seemed to be blowing even more strongly as I took a pace
forward and put my weight on the brick pile again. Now I was looking directly
into the Yank's face. Dark skin, hooded eyes, high forehead, that convict
style haircut, a glimpse of white teeth in sardonically smiling lips, a
strange smell of sweat and - perfume? From Mrs Harrington or Mrs Walsh, or
was it true what I'd heard, that American men splashed scent on their face
after they'd shaved?

	It wasn't something I had time to think about. He did get rid of the
pistol by passing it to one of the women and immediately afterwards he put
his hands underneath my armpits and lifted me off my feet as if I was a
little girl. It was a tremendous surprise because I was never a lightweight,
even as a teenager, big hipped and big chested and taller than most. Even
though the rationing and lots of exercise kept my weight down I was hefty
enough by any standards, and to be just lifted up and through the window was
something I'd not have thought possible. If it hadn't been for the fact that
I was wearing my long bicycling skirt my knees would have been badly grazed
on the window sill.

	"Hi, honey, my name's Reuben. I guess you know Harriet and Susan."

	Well, I didn't, not by their christian names, and I still didn't know
which one was which, nor did I care too much right then, because I was still
being held up in his crushingly powerful hands with my toes just just
touching the paving stones. Above everything else I was acutely aware of the
fact that I was about as close as I could be to a completely naked man

	 "Ladies, I think it's time we turned the handle here".

	I didn't have a clue as to what he was talking about though it was
obvious from the smile on Mrs Harrington's face that she did. As for Mrs
Walsh, she moved as quickly as she could to the mangle standing near to the
copper. Perhaps I should explain that a mangle was used to wring water out of
the laundry after it had been rinsed in the copper. It was a heavy cast iron
upright frame and in the top of the frame were two wooden rollers, each as
thick as my arm, with the wet laundry squeezed item by item between the
rollers as it was turned by a handle on a wheel...

	Yes, Mrs Walsh already had her hands on the crank handle. I saw that
before the Yank spun me round so the mangle was behind me. Then I felt the
back of my skirt being plucked up. Straining my neck around, I saw that Mrs
Harrington had lifted up the hem and was feeding it between the rollers as
her friend cranked the handle around. The American laughed and let go of me
as more and more of the skirt was drawn up between the rollers and I was
pulled backwards, uselessly trying to hold down the hemline as it rose up and
up my legs. I suppose I must have protested, but nobody took any notice of
whatever I said, not until I was pinned back against the mangle with most of
my skirt hanging out the other side of it. What was left to me was rucked up
around my waist, so high up that I knew the bottoms of my old fashioned
bicycling briefs with the elasticated leg pieces must be showing. The sneer
on Mrs Harrison's still flushed face was proof enough of that, let alone the
grin on the Yank's face.

	"Honey, you sure do have one nice pair of legs, especially for a
Sunday School teacher."

	"Let me go, please."

	He picked up one of the towels off the table and tied it around his
waist, sat down on the top of the table and reached out his hand to Mrs
Harrington. She gave him the gun and he put it down next to himself. Then she
picked up the tray from the floor and put the glass on it and went around to
the other side of the copper. I could see there was another table there, with
clothes and a bottle on it. Mrs Walsh remained where she was, holding onto
the mangle handle and breathing hard, giving me dirty looks all the time.

	"And you sure haven't been short changed in the upperworks either,
Sarah. I thought Henrietta had just about as juicy a pair of melons as there
was around here but maybe yours are even an inch on hers. Course, it's no
sort of a fair contest to judge them until you're both raw hided and roused
up."

	I felt my face burning and my tongue completely tied.

	"Henrietta, why don't you put some more wood on the fire? This is the
only place I can get warm in a goddam country without any central heating
anywhere. Don't worry about our unexpected guest, she's going noplace soon."

	A couple of his fingers tapped lightly against the pistol and Mrs
Walsh - Henrietta? - went to the fire, making no effort at all to cover
herself up apart from tugging her skirt back down over her bottom. Rolled up
and pinned in folds as it was, it was hardly any higher than mine and as she
walked past the Yank he caught her right tit in his oustretched hand and
pulled her round to his lap, putting his other hand underneath the folds of
blue material. Henrietta grunted as if she was a pig rooting through kitchen
garbage and twisted her hips against him in delight.  The Yank was watching
my face all the time he was playing with her.

	"See, I told you she wasn't going anyplace soon. She's too interested
in watching what I'm doing to you girls to want to leave."

	"You're wrong about that." I said as confidently as I could. "I want
to leave, so you'd let me go. And you can't get away with threatening people
with guns in this country. This isn't Chicago."

	"Honey, I would never have guessed that," he said sarcastically.

	 Mrs Harrington came back with the tray. On it were three glasses and
a very expensive looking gold cigarette case. She took two cigarettes out of
it, put the filtertips in her mouth and lit them with a lighter built into
the case. I'd never seen such a fancy thing before. She passed one of the
smokes to the Yank who released Henrietta as casually as he'd grabbed her to
take the white tube of paper from her hand. Mrs Walsh was obviously unhappy
about being discarded for a mere cigarette and knelt down to begin shoving
sticks into the fire with unecessary force. The man and the woman still at
the table drank and smoked and stared at me, Reuben with lazy unbothered
interest, Susan Harrison with sharp eyed annoyance.

	"What are you doing here, Sarah?" she asked.

	"I don't have to answer your questions!" I answered with defiance.

	Susan smiled coldly: "How would you like us to feed you through that
mangle tits first?"

	"I was just delivering a bottle of wine for the Vicar." I answered
quickly, my stomach feeling as if the wind had just been knocked out of it.
Henrietta snorted in disbelief from the fire. "It's true - the bottle is in
the saddlebag of my bike outside. But when I got here I heard some noise from
inside here and I just wondered, well, what was going on...."

	"So you decided to spy on us and now you're going to go back to the
village with a lot of gossip which everybody in the county will hear about in
a day or two - or at least you think that's what you're going to do."

	"I won't tell anybody anything." I told her, trying to damp down her
rising anger.

	"No you won't, not if you know what's good for you. Reuben is a Major
in the American military police and very rich as well, so you'd better not
say anything or you'll be in real trouble."

	"Gals, gals, quieten down will you, I'm getting a head ache," the
Yank rumbled. "This is no problem. There's twenty pounds in the jeep that
I'll give to Sarah here in return for keeping quiet about our little get
together.'

	Twenty pounds - it was a fortune, as much as a skilled man could earn
in a month. "And seeing as how she's here and paid for, I guess she may as
well join in the fun as well. It sure would be a waste of a good Sunday
school teacher otherwise, for Jacob can see there is corn in Egypt."

	I was almost as startled by the quotation from the old testament as I
was by his implied threat of what he was going to make me do. "Now you
needn't look so surprised, honey. We've got bibles back home as well and my
folks were kinda strict about bringing me up on it. Anyway, I guess we need
to make a sinner out of you so there'll be no temptation for you to go
throwing any stones. Now if only I'd have known that I was going to have to
teach a pretty young lady like you as many sins as I can in one afternoon,
why I guess I'd have preserved my strength a little instead of sinning
straight off with Susan myself." He spread his arms out to encompass all
three of us, then reached down and stroked his groin underneath the towel,
still looking around and leering. "The harvest truely is plenteous, but the
laborers are few.""

	Next his eyes turned directly towards me: "Never mind, Sarah, ye
shall eat of the fat of the land." Henrietta and Susan seemed bewildered by
the second quotation, though I knew straight away what he meant and then the
pair of hussys started laughing at my embarrassment.

	"I wonder how long she was watching us?" Henrietta asked and Susan
laughed even more.

	"Give her the tray and the drink and tell her to serve it up to
Reuben the same way as you did. And if she says she doesn't know what we mean
we'll have to drop her drawers for her instead." The three of them each
seemed to find the idea amusing. Reuben put his arms around the women , each
of his hands cupping one of their breasts, almost out of sight underneath
Henrietta's ample one.

	"One of you ladies around here is a mite overdressed for the
occasion. Maybe we can do something about that," he drawled. His cigarette
was hanging from the corner of his mouth, an eyelid screwed up against the
smoke. I'd never seen a man so self assured. He dropped his hands and slapped
both of them on their bottoms. "Go on, gals, help her strut her stuff."

	As they moved towards me I reached round to the handle but my skirt
was bunched up in the rollers too tightly for me to be able to turn it from
that difficult angle. And anyway, it was two against one, two who would have
grabbed my arm before I could have turned the wheel once - and behind them
was a hulking great giant strong enough to pick me and the mangle up at the
same time.

	"Keep away from me!" I yelled at them. There was a rattle of snapping
steel as Reuben pulled back part of the pistol on the top and it snapped
back. Something shiny flew out from the side of it and rattled on the stone
floor. Susan bent down, picked it up and showed it to me. A fat looking
bullet made of deeply colored copper. Then she nodded backwards, towards
Reuben and the pistol now aimed directly at my stomach before speaking.

	"Sarah, isn't it awfully hot in here underneath that thick pullover
you've got on?"

	Of course it was. In a situation like this I would have been hot and
bothered enough anyway, let alone in a hot steamy room with a thick woolen
jersey on. My skin was pricking underneath it and drops of sweat were rolling
down my face.

	"So why don't we help you off with it? Or would you rather we remove
something lower down first?"

	Once more in the same day I held my arms up over my head in surrender.


THE END






















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