Watcher

Vanessa de Sade

Description

The summer after the First World War, Moira married Donald, an elderly farmer. At the time, it was abundantly clear that most of the men Moira's own age who had gone off to fight in France were never coming back; women danced together at the village hall, contenting themselves with a sly kiss or two in the dark lanes going home in the scented dusk. But now another war has shattered the peace of Moira's quiet village and young German prisoners of war are bathing naked in the local pond, awakening desires in her that she thought she had buried long ago... This period story about the erotic goings-on of a Scottish village in the 1940s is written by critically-acclaimed author Vanessa de Sade, and is sure to be popular with erotica fans of all genres.

Informations

• Publié par: Andrews UK
• Date de parution: 21 août 2020
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781789823929
• Langue: English

Extrait

The Watcher
Vanessa de Sade




First published in 2020 by
House of Erotica
www.houseoferoticabooks.com
Digital edition converted and distributed by
Andrews UK Limited
www.andrewsuk.com
Copyright © 2020 Vanessa de Sade
The right of Vanessa de Sade to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Any person who does so may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.



Chapter 1
She had not meant to spy on the young German boys. In fact, she had not even know that they used to bathe in the old smithy pond before she had stumbled upon them that summer night. But there they were, about fifteen of them, all naked as the day they were born and larking around in the water, their bare arses out on display to anyone who might come down Dawson’s Lane like she had, clutching her prayer book in one hand, her best Sunday coat draped loosely over her shoulders on account of the warmth of the night.
And they were just boys, too, all about nineteen or twenty, far too young to have been recruited for the army, yet here they were, imprisoned and shipped over to Glen Smeethan to work in the fields by day, and larking around naked like sinners in their free time. She would speak to the minister about it on Sunday and have an end put to it.
But in the meantime there was the problem of the plethora of naked flesh that was parading around in front of her, and Moira lingered uncertainly in the shadow of the twisted elm that marked the end of Dawson’s Lane and McIver’s old smithy, now commandeered by the army to house the huts that the prisoners were kept in. And it seemed like only yesterday that she’d first heard that they were bringing in German POWs to help with the harvest, and she’d been appalled and had visualised grim contemptuous men with handlebar moustaches like the old Kaiser, and, truth to tell, she’d been quite afraid and had urged Donald to oil the old shotgun and keep it loaded by their bedside. But the prisoners, when they arrived, had all turned out to be fair-headed young men, children almost, and young Lukas who worked on the farm for Donald had even been to their house for Sunday dinner, and had been polite and respectful. Not at all the ranting Nazis that the Argus warned about, but country lads like the youngsters from their own village who had gone off to Europe to fight that Mister Hitler and defend freedom. Or, at least, that’s what the minister had said when he preached about it from the pulpit.
And, all of this was very well, but here was she, a respectable married woman, gawping like a tinker wife at a lot of naked young men, and she couldn’t seem to move from the spot and, well, it was making her feel very uncomfortable indeed and, what’s more, it was giving her a very funny feeling, you know, down there. And, it wasn’t like she was a young virgin or anything and Donald was an attentive husband and always met her needs, usually on a Friday night after the church social.