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Belfast Road

"About bloody time," said Lord Upton as the last spats of a driving rain pattered down on the roof of the carriage. "Intolerable, this weather, like everything else in this bloody, backward country." Lord Upton leered across the closed carriage at his young wife, mistaken in his belief that his crude language somehow titillated her. Lady Upton looked away, out the window and across the moors as the carriage slipped and sloshed its way up the muddy road towards Belfast.

Lord Upton had made the journey from England to Ireland to determine why wheat production was down on the vast holdings he had been given by the Crown. The Irish land had been a reward for a speech he had given in Parliament, explaining why higher taxes were actually good for the poor. He had insisted his wife accompany him so that she might witness the manly way he would deal with the thieving Paddys. His bed had been a cold one ever since she had discovered him there with Lord Henroid-Smithe's nephew. "Well, dammit. A man needs his diversions," he had explained.

"Bloody bog-wallowers," he snorted, causing his wife to jump. "Thieves, the lot of them. Imagine thinking that I wouldn't notice that they were stuffing their bellys with my wheat. 'But our children have no food.' Rot! They would have no troubles if they didn't breed like vermin. Rutting sows, these women. Mark me well, wife. Your Paddy is like a plow horse. It takes a taste of the lash to make him pull his load. And just look at the way they live! Filthy bastards."

The carriage was passing a ramshackle farm house. It was indeed a hovel, but Lady Upton couldn't help but notice the sounds of music and laughter coming from inside. Sounds that had been absent from her home for many years.

"Are you listening to me, wife?"

"Yes...yes, of course."

"You seem distracted."

"I'm sorry. Travel makes me weary."

"Well, we will soon wash the mud of this beastly country from our shoes and sail again for England." He leaned across the carriage to pat her knee with his pale, soft hand.

Lady Upton turned her gaze again to the window. The clouds had begun to part and a strong wind was blowing. The dancing of the trees in the blue-white light of the moon gave the landscape a magical look. She found it beautiful, wild. She wondered how such a place would shape the men who lived there.

Suddenly, there was a loud crack, a pistol shot or a bull whip, she couldn't tell. She was thrown to the floor as the horses reared and the carriage crashed to a halt. She lifted her head to the window again and saw the coachman running away across the moor. With an oath, Lord Upton threw open the door and jumped down onto the muddy road. The Lady rose and went to the hatch. What she saw there caused her heart to leap in her bosom.

It was a man. A giant of a man, standing in the road. In one hand he held a saber. In the other a bullwhip. The moonlight shining in his wild, golden curls made an angelic halo about his head. But his soft beard and the gleam in his ice blue eyes made Lady Upton think of the other place. He wore a loose, white shirt and had a woollen cape tossed back from his broad shoulders. He wore high boots and leather breeches so tight they might have been painted on. Lady Upton could see every muscle in his iron thighs. She had to stifle a gasp when she saw the bulge beneath his belt buckle. He seemed more god than man.

"See here, what is the meaning of this?" Lord Upton stammered. "Do you mean to rob us, like the rest of your thieving kind?"

"You mistake me," said the Highwayman. "I was merely curious to see what manner of man would take food from the mouths of starving children. I must say, I am not impressed."

"What...what do you intend?" Lord Upton's shoulders began to twitch and a tic tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Well, I thought I might whip you to death in front of your lovely wife, as you did that poor farmer this afternoon."

Upton staggered back and sprawled on his ass in the mud

"But there would be little sport in that," the Highwayman continued, a laugh in the lilt of his Irish brogue. "Instead, I shall simply take up a collection. For the widow and orphans, don't you see."

"Yes, yes, whatever you like," Upton cried, offering his purse. "And my wife has jewels."

Indeed she does," said the Highwayman, his eyes on the brooch that nestled between her ample breasts. "And in such a lovely setting."

He strode slowly towards her, taking her in. She was indeed lovely, her skin like alabaster, her eyes as blue as a spring sky. Her rust-red hair whipped in the wind. She stood defiant in the door of the coach, her head high and her chest thrust out. Her soft lips were slightly parted and the white of her teeth gave her a feral, dangerous look. She might almost have been an Irishwoman. The Highwayman locked his eyes on hers, but her gaze never wavered. Suddenly, he caught a movement from the corner of his eye. He whirled to face the coming attack, but instead saw Lord Upton high-tailing down the road as fast as his spindly legs would carry him. The Highwayman roared with laughter as he turned back to Lady Upton.

"Well, Milady, it seems your husband values his purse more than he does his bride. I always suspected the British were fools. Step down, Milady. Let me have a look at you."

Lady Upton lifted her long skirt and stepped down into the Irish mud. The Highwayman circled her, his insolent eyes taking in every curve. He lingered over her mud-spattered calves and smiled.

"A little thin, you are, but nicely put together. I will have you."

The Lady had had enough. With a shriek, she leapt at the rogue, a well-aimed fist sailing at his face. He easily side-stepped the punch and the Lady spun past him and splashed face first into the mud.

The Highwayman stood over her, his hands on his hips, and he laughed long and hard. The sky chose that moment to break open again and the rain joined with her tears of rage. Still laughing, the rogue reached down and grabbed a handful of hair at the nape of her neck.

"Best come with me, Milady, or you will surely catch your death." He yanked her roughly to her feet and dragged her a little ways up the road to the ruins of a stable. By the time they reached shelter, they were both soaked to the bone. The rain had washed the mud from the Lady's face and her sodden blouse had become nearly transparent. He tossed her like a rag doll into a pile of hay and she lay there, her up-thrust breasts heaving with anger and her cold-stiffened nipples straining at the thin fabric that hid them from his seeking eyes. Her dress had bunched up to her waist when she landed in the hay, exposing the creamy white of her bare thighs. She sprawled there and her eyes flared with undisguised contempt.

"Beast," she hissed, yet she made no move to cover her nakedness.

"If you like," he said. Then he began to undress. He pulled off his cape and tossed it aside. He slid the soaked shirt over his head and hung it on a post to dry. Then he stepped to her and thrust his boot in her face. Flecks of mud speckled her cheeks.

"If you would," he said. It was barely a question. She reached up and snatched the boot from his foot and heaved it at his head. He dodged, then held his other foot out to her. The heel of his muddy boot pressed lightly on her left breasts. She caught it around the ankle and the pressure increased. He pulled his foot free and she tossed the boot aside. There was a brown footprint on her chest. He smiled down at her.

"It's a nasty chill you'll be catching, if you don't get out of those clothes."

She humphed and turned away.

"Suit yourself. Women are most attractive when they're wet."

He turned his back to her and stripped off the rest of his clothes. She watched his taut ass as he hung up his socks. Then he turned to face her, his naked skin shining in the dim moonlight that filtered through the cracks in the stable's walls. She had to stifle the gasp that leapt to her throat when she caught sight of him. His half swollen member slapped against his hard thighs as he walked toward her. She bolted to her feet and broke to the door. His massive arm shot out and scooped her up around the waist. He slung her back into the hay and fell astride her chest, pinning her arms to the ground. His cock hung inches from her lips. His blue eyes stared down into her soul.

"Never!" she cried.

"Is that so? Then how is it you've gone all wet between your legs?"

And even as his words reached her ears, it was true. She flushed, and felt the hot juices gush in her center. She could scarcely breath.

"It's not much of a struggle your putting up. Maybe you'd be liking a taste?"

She growled in her throat. He had grown hard now, and his rod jutted out to her. Its purpled head transfixed her, like a snake holding a bird in its hypnotic gaze. He sat back on his heels and his long cock lay across her face. Her tongue, against her conscious will, slid from her hot mouth.

It traced a line from the base of his cock to its tip. When her mouth reached the head she engulfed him. She slid her lips up and down his shaft like a street corner harlot, drenching him in her saliva, her tongue curling up one side and then the other. She moaned from deep in her being. He began to thrust into her. Tears came to her eyes. She struggled, but her arms were pinned. Her nails carved deep grooves into the dirt floor of the stable. She felt him swell. He caught her hair in both of his fists and crushed her face into his belly. He stiffened, then bucked and a hot jet of salty cum flooded the back of her throat. Helpless, she gulped him down, again, again, again. He hurled himself off of her and fell back into the hay.

"I'm killed," he said, "You've done me certain."

Her slender hand slid up and wiped a drop of his cum from her lip. She licked it from her fingertip. She slipped three fingers into her mouth and sucked them. She stared at him with cat's eyes. He rose up and stared into her wanton face . Before she could speak, he was on her again. He slid his great arms under her legs and clamped his large hands around her thighs.

"Ah, the scent of ya," he laughed, and he buried his face in the wet silk between her legs. He caught the thin fabric in his teeth and tore it away, along with more than a few strands of the thick tangle of red curls hidden beneath it. His tongue found her and she twisted and bucked, sucking in air through her clenched teeth, then huffing it out again. Her juices drenched his beard as his tongue sought the deepest parts of her. He slid his rough hands up her body and with one swift jerk, he tore her sodden blouse from her. Her breasts were firm, and jutted up with each gasping breath she took. Her long, pink nipples turned red. He pinched them hard between finger and thumb. She began to grow dizzy. She had never felt a sensation like this, had never known such exquisite delight. A climax began to boil within her. The Highwayman's tongue flicked out, again and again, driving her closer to the brink, holding her just this side of release. Then, in a flash, his hands darted out and caught her wrists.

His body rose up, locking her legs over his shoulders, bending her double, lifting her to him. His cock, hard again, paused for a moment at the gates of her passion, then he drove himself into her and she screamed like a cat. He felt impossibly huge to her. She thought she must be split apart. He thrust his full length into her, his heavy balls slapping at her ass. Then the climax crashed through her, rocking her to her core. She let out a wail as her body spasmed, driving him even deeper into her. It seemed to go on forever. An eternity passed between each heartbeat. At last she collapsed like a rag doll. He released her wrists, slipped her legs off his broad shoulders and fell atop her. Drops of sweat fell from his brow onto her lips. She licked them up, eager to taste every bit of him. He began to withdraw, inch by slow inch, sending aftershocks of pleasure through her. Not again, she thought. It can't happen again. But the waves of pleasure crashed against the shores of her consciousness and she became a creature of sensation, lost to time and space, existing only in a universe of joy. She felt him pull away and his strong hands turn her over. The cool, wet hay against her cheek brought the world back into focus.

She was face down on the stable floor. The Highwayman was lifting her ass, pushing her knees apart.

"God, No!" she cried, "Dear God, No!" But even as she spoke, she thrust her rump into the air and spread her cheeks like a cat in heat. The Highwayman took his cock in his rough hand and began to rub it in the sopping wet juices of her muff. Then he held it to pink, puckered bunghole and began to force it in. She tightened, thwarting his entrance. He swatted her ass with a hard slap. The sting of it bit at her. She felt another orgasm build within her. The thought of her husband, fleeing down the road, leaving her to her fate. She thought of the Highwayman laughing, his broad back turned to her as he watched Upton run. She thought of the shotgun in its scabbard by the carriage door, inches from her fingers as she stepped down into the mire. She thought of golden curls in the moonlight. She yielded herself to him. He plunged into her and she howled. He drove his throbbing cock into her virgin ass, over and over, as shocks of pleasure/pain shot through her. Her cum gushed from her, drenching his balls as they slapped against her burning cunt. She felt as if the material world was receding from her. The stable was gone. The rain ceased. She felt that she was lying bound and naked on a stone altar, a huge, yellow moon shining down on her. It seemed to grow larger and brighter, closer and closer. Moonglow danced about it like flame. Then the flames became a halo of blond curls and the moon became a face and the face was his and the face was hers and they were one.

Then all was darkness for a time.

When she awoke, the Highwayman was dressed and he sat gazing at her naked body. He wore a Cheshire grin.

"What did you dream?" he asked her. She bolted into the night.

He caught up to her after she had run far out into the moor. She stood, naked and unashamed in the moonlight, the cool night breeze tightening her skin and feathering its fingers through her hair. She turned to face him, her eyes searching his face for a time. Then she threw herself on him and covered his mouth with hot kisses. The scent of her passion was still thick in his beard. He took her face in his hands and held it against his heart. They stood silent and still for a time and the Highwayman stared out over the moor. He stroked her hair and she spoke.

"Will I see you again?"

He answered her in a deep, quiet voice.

"They say that if you stare deep enough into the moor, you will see you future."

She turned and looked out across the barren plain. She leaned back against the sturdy wall of his chest.

"I will come to you again," he said.

She turned back to him, joy in her eyes, but he was gone. She could see near a mile in the bright moonlight, but he was gone. She sank to her knees, then fell back against the soft ground. Her red, tangled hair splayed out from her face like a pool of blood. The wind breathed one last sigh.

"I will come to you again."

She stared up at the Celtic moon and let the stillness take her.
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