Behaviour such as your friend's, no matter what her medical condition, deserves chastisement. A sound thrashing! That is what she needs. That will drive the Devil out of her.' A curious glint had appeared in his eyes. His manner of speech was becoming increasingly agitated while the palms of his hands and his forehead had become visibly moist. 'Mark my words,' he went on. 'There is no other way.
Chastise the Sinner and the Backslider! I have lived all my life according to that creed. Why, only recently one of the more wayward girls of the village was made to feel the full force of my hand upon the seat of her Corruption. If the Lord had not intended the Godfearing man to administer manual correction to the parts of the Sinner, he would not have invented the backside to be the object of such attentions. 'Depravity and Filth! They are all about us. We live in the midst of great bubbling cess pits of Wickedness and Lewd behaviour. Naked Sin comes flooding in-or in this case pedalling in-on us. These Evils must be withstood. The Sinner must be beaten down, driven to her knees in penitence. I at least know my duty. My wife here will bear witness to the fact that I have been ever untiring in seeking out and chastising the Wrongdoer, fearless in my corrective efforts upon the flaunted fundaments of vileness!' 'Yes dear,' said his wife, handing him a handkerchief to wipe away the flecks of spittle that were flying from his lips and running down his chin.
'Depravity and Filth! Filth and Depravity! They must be driven out. The blows of our retribution must rain down on the rumps of the Ungodly!' Becoming dangerously choleric, he raised his right hand high and brought it down with a stinging slap on the hindquarters of his pony. The startled beast snorted, reared up and then bolted down the road. The stout gentleman's wife who was back on board the gig, tumbled backwards off her seat, her legs waving frantically.
'Come back, Dammit!' shouted the Hammer of the Evildoer, but to no avail. Pony, wife and equipage were fast disappearing out of sight down the lane. 'Quick,' said Monty. 'We must catch them before they come to harm. Gwendolen you stay here. Jump on, Sir, and pedal.'
The apoplectic man scrambled up beside Monty on the Sociable.
Swerving from side to side they tore off down the road, their legs pumping in unison. Monty was desperately trying to steer a straight course while the man waved his fists in the air. 'Filth and depravity!' came the repeated cry as they left us, 'Filth and depravity!' We were left stunned into silence. The only sound was of Cecily, gasping for air and slumped forward on her seat. I looked round. 'We had better follow them,' I said. 'That is our direction in any case.' 'But Gwendolen is without a mount,' said Perdita. Possibly we can accommodate her on our machine if we are careful.' I could think of no other solution unless one of the men were to give up his place and walk behind. 'We'll try it,' I said. 'But who is to sit on whose lap?' 'I shall sit on Ian and Gwendolen can take my place,' said Perdita. 'I hope I will not be too great a burden on you,' she said to Ian. She left her seat and lowered herself carefully on to Ian. 'I don't feel very safe,' she said.
'I hope I do not fall off. What should I hold on to?' 'I have an idea,' said Ian, lifting his kilt. Once again the practical advantages of Highland dress were revealed. His uncovered member lifted up.
'Of course! What a good idea,' said Perdita and, in turn,. she lifted her skirt. Inch by inch, she wriggled her way backwards until she was safely impaled on his prick. 'Gwendolen, you must hold my hand. Can you pedal in this position, Ian?' she asked, settling herself firmly. Ian gave a tentative turn or two on the pedals and his prick began to ride up and down with the motion. Perdita gave a little squeal of pleasure at each rotation. 'Now I understand why it is called a Sociable,' said Becky with interest. 'We will escort you, one to either side, in case some mishap befalls you.'
Hannah took up her position on the other flank and slowly we all set off. 'Not too fast,' said Perdita, 'or we will become unstable.' Of course the sight of such wheeled motion had an effect on the other members of the party. Round and round went Ian's legs. Up and down went his sturdy prick. Gwendolen reached across and placed a restraining hand on Perdita's lovely black-haired pussey.
'Whatever you do, Ian,' said Donald, with Hibernian practicality, 'Don't come, or Perdita will lose her support.' Ian gritted his teeth and peering over Perdita's shoulder, concentrated on steering a straight course. 'I'm getting too slippery!' said Perdita.
'Hold on tight,' said Becky. 'Use your muscles.' 'I've never been very good at that,' said Perdita. 'I just go all helpless.'
'Think of something else,' I suggested. 'What?' she asked with a note of desperation creeping into her voice. 'The Queen?'
I said. 'I saw her once,' said Perdita. 'Outside Windsor Castle.
She was all in black.' 'Do you not think that the period of Royal mourning has continued too long?' I asked, trying to keep the conversation going. 'Slow down!' said Perdita. 'What were you doing in Windsor?' asked Becky. 'I was lost,' said Perdita.
'Again?' I interjected. 'I was supposed to be in Eton. My brother was appearing in his House play.' 'What was it?' I asked.
'I don't know,' she wailed. 'It's no good. This isn't working. I remember what happened later. I had a fuck in Windsor Great Park. That was why I missed the play. Oh dear, I think I'm coming.' 'You'd better stop,' Becky said to Ian. 'Perdita get off for a moment and collect yourself.' 'No, I'll be all right if we just rest for a moment.' She sat there breathing deeply, her Head bowed. Ian held her round the waist. We all waited. I looked round. Mine was not the only aroused member. Tell-tale bulges rose on all sides. Becky was sliding backwards and forwards on her saddle. 'We must all practise self-control,' said Hannah, 'like the Indian fakirs.'
'You're sure you don't want to dismount and have a rest?' said Becky. 'No, my legs have gone all weak. I'm not sure I could even stand up.' 'We could change places,' said Gwendolen. 'That is unless either of you has an objection.' 'I suppose we'd better,' said Perdita. 'Just as long as Ian and I can finish what we've started when we get to the picnic site.' 'I shall just carry on considering the problems of the crafting community back home,' said Ian. They took up their new positions. Perdita settled down in the adjacent seat. Gwendolen slipped onto Ian's prick as to the manner born. We set off again. Ian stayed rigid but under careful control. He pedalled on. Soon afterwards Catherine and Jack who had gone ahead, appeared riding back towards us. 'We've found Monty,' Jack said. 'He's by the roadside about half a mile ahead with the Sociable.
They caught up with the runaway dog cart. The fat gentleman has been loaded aboard. He's quite exhausted. His wife is driving him home. I advised a cold compress and a good rest. Actually I suspect that two cold compresses will be needed. He had become visibly over-excited, but I leave that for his wife to sort out.' 'No sign of Rosie?' I asked. 'A trail of devastation,' said Catherine. 'Two more of the local population have driven off the road and there is an extremely animated group of people at the next crossroads. I suspect the incident will be a staple of conversation in the vicinity for quite some time. The sudden appearance of the naked bicyclist will be raised at many a dinner party.' 'There is a more immediate problem,' I pointed out. 'If the road ahead is lined with outraged and overturned locals, we can hardly pedal past them with Gwendolen still impaled on Ian's mighty member.' 'That would indeed be the final straw,' said Cecily. 'I hardly think straw is the right word in Ian's case,' said Jack. 'Rod, pole or, especially in the present circumstances, perch, would seem appropriate.' 'None the less, the problem remains,' I said. 'Just when we were so happily embedded,' said Ian sadly. 'However I accept that we must dismount.'