In an instant H grabbed the flailing iron and pulled it free from the biker, then brought his head down in a vicious thud against the man's top lip.
H gripped the sides of his head, twisted it and bit off the man's left ear, before releasing him to squirm in agony. As the wagon pulled away Susan felt the smallest of bumps as the wheels ran across writhing legs.
Five miles down the road and away from danger H told Susan she could find some clothes on the bunk at the back of the cab.
It was the first pair of knickers Susan had put on in weeks, not to mention a skirt and top. Both items were quite small, as if they belonged to a young woman, or a teenager perhaps. She didn't query why a lorry driver would have such clothes in his cab, she was just incredibly grateful to be alive and away from 'Smelly Joes,' and the constant thump of a man's cock between her legs or the crack of heavy belt on her arse. Dressed now in a small denim mini skirt and tight jumper that left most of her midriff on view she climbed back to sit in the passenger seat.
"I haven't said thank you," she said, reaching across to look at herself in the mirror. "Christ, don't I look a mess?" She fumbled with her hair, vainly trying to give it some shape. "Can you take me to a phone booth? I have to telephone my husband, tell him I'm alright. Then I'm going to ring the police. You wouldn't believe what I've been through."
Her voice was amazingly calm and collected. Enduring one trial after another had made her impervious to almost anything.
"Don't you fancy a bath and tidying yourself up first?" asked H. "My place is only twenty miles or so. Better you phone from there."
Susan rested her feet on the dashboard and stretched. "Why not?" she smiled. "I could do with a rest and a stiff drink before all the questions start."
They reached Kirkholm by late afternoon. H owned a large Yorkshire stone house and garage with views over some wonderful North Riding countryside. Built into the hillside, the door from the drive entered into the first floor, while around the other side, facing out across the valley, ran a dark pine verandah. Susan dropped down onto the fine pebbled driveway, registering the pain in her feet for the first time.
"Jump up," said H. He carried her inside, putting her down in front of a huge picture window that stretched almost the full length of one wall. It looked out across miles of countryside without another building in sight.
"It's a lovely house," said Susan, appreciating the exposed beams and bare stone walls. "Driving must pay well."
"I put in the hours," said H. "And there's only me." He handed her a cut glass tumbler half full of scotch which she drank in two mouthfuls.
"Where's your phone?"
H refilled her glass and pointed to the hall.
"But it isn't all that urgent, is it? Maybe you better settle down a bit first. After all, you've been away – how long?"
"I don't know. Weeks. Seems like years."
"There you are then. Another few minutes won't matter. You'll cope better after a bath."
The luxurious bathroom complemented the rest of the house. Another large picture window allowed her to gaze serenely out from her bath in the centre of the room. With the house being so isolated there was no need for the usual frosted glass. It was like bathing in the open air, in some miraculously hot woodland spring, with the swirling steam cleansing and refreshing.
She felt totally relaxed, enveloped in warmth and peace and the sweet smelling bath salts. She even smiled when the door opened and the truck driver entered with another drink. He came across and stood by the side of the tub, making no attempt to hide his admiring gaze, but she didn't mind a bit, her troubles were over.
He took a sip of his own drink and sat on the edge of the bath, which was built up with steps and cushioned.
"How's the water?"
"Wonderful!" She arched her back to emphasise the relief it was giving. Her breasts wobbled through the water, lifting tiny bubbles that exploded on her nipples. The black man reached across to a cobalt blue high necked bottle which contained ylang ylang. He poured some into the bath then dipped in his hand to stir the fluid into the water. As he did so his hand brushed her light pubic hair. Susan said nothing, until his hand crept lower and his fingers touched her sex lips.
"Please," she said, her body stiffening. "I can't begin to thank you. But not like that… Peter wouldn't like it…"
He smiled to himself and left her to soak.
Almost an hour passed before Susan appeared from the bathroom. She looked remarkably fresh and quite young in her denim mini and half cropped top, no shoes or socks.
"Here you are," said H, handing her another drink. "And there's some sandwiches on the table. Just cold meat, a bit of salad."
She made short work of the food and after finishing another whisky felt quite drunk.
"I must phone…"
But everything was going all woosy…
When Susan came too, the house was in darkness.
"Hello?" she whispered.
Silence.
"Is anyone there?"
Nothing.
She made to get up but was met by a very bright light that hurt her eyes, forcing her back down on the seat, her hand raised in front of her face.
"Who's there?"
"It's me!"
She recognised the black man's voice and screwed up her eyes to peer into the light. Beneath the glare she made out a pair of very shiny, very pointy, black leather boots.
"Stand up," said H, his voice quiet but demanding.
The order struck terror into Susan's mind. The words, the way he spoke them. Instinctively she found herself doing as he said.
"Lift up the skirt. Just a few inches, until I can see your knickers."
She raised the hem, revealing a glimpse of the clean panties he had given her earlier. The white cotton glowed bright under the glare of the lamp. Behind it, hidden in the darkness, sitting, watching, his presence betrayed by his staccato breath, was the man who had rescued her, the man she had thought she could trust.
"Why?" she asked. "Why risk what you did, for this? If you wanted to fuck me, why not at the cafe?"
"We couldn't let you stay there. Not with those animals. Besides, you may have escaped, and we couldn't allow that."
She knew instantly who 'we' were. The realisation hit her like the slap of a thousand hauliers straps.
"You're one of THOSE Drivers!"
The black man allowed himself a low, sneering laugh. "Precisely. And now you belong to me, so take down your panties and fold them on the floor."
Susan was devastated! No rescue after all! Out of the frying pan into the fire!
She shuffled the knickers down her legs and stepped out of them, then folded them neatly and placed them at her feet.
"Now the skirt, up with it."
She lifted up the heavy denim to reveal just an inch of blonde, down covered mons.
"Far enough. Now, close your legs. Keep them shut until I tell you otherwise."
She remained like that for ten minutes, bathed in the glare of the bright spot light, never moving, eyes front, her skirt lifted for the black man's gaze.
"Turn around," he said, breaking the silence. She did as he said without questioning. This time his eyes rested on the plump curve of her bottom and the gentle swell of her calves. He was in no hurry. There would be no rush to strip her, no uncontrollable urge to split her legs and mount her. He was in control, in command of everything.
She waited. She was full of dread, overflowing with it. In the plate glass picture window she saw a reflection of her silhouette. It was surrounded by the dazzling light that here and there broke into her shadow. She was a moth fluttering around a candle, being drawn ever closer until finally her wings would touch the flames and she would be consumed in a moment of awe inspiring glory.