25 years earlier

Linda smoothed her skirt down primly as she stepped off the bus, her polished shoes clicking against the pavement. The bus hissed and pulled away, leaving her standing there with her school satchel hugged to her chest. She blinked, frowned, and looked around.

This wasn’t home. Not even close.

The streets looked wrong, the buildings grimier, the air thicker. She’d got on the wrong bus. Silly, silly her.

“Well, this is frightfully awkward…” she murmured under her breath, her plummy voice prim even when she was anxious. She fiddled with the hem of her blazer, biting her lip.

No money for another ticket. No way to call. Just her, stranded, and the shadows of late afternoon stretching long across the cracked pavement.

Then she heard voices. Male voices. Rough, easy laughter. She turned the corner and found them, three workmen in fluorescent vests, clustered around the open back of a battered white van.

One was ancient, sixties at least, skin weathered, hair thinning. Another was middle-aged, broad, still strong under the layer of sweat and dirt. The third was younger, maybe her own age, his arms corded with muscle, his T-shirt smeared with paint.

Linda’s heart skipped. Men. Real men. She’d been at her all-girls’ school so long she hardly remembered what it felt like to stand in front of one, let alone three.

She cleared her throat and approached, her knees knocking under her pleated skirt. “Excuse me…”

All three turned, eyes raking her in from head to toe. Her neat uniform. Her tidy bobbed hair. Knee high white socks. The satchel strap cutting across the swell of her blazer.

The oldest grinned, yellow teeth flashing. “What’s this then?”

Linda blushed, twisting her hands. “I, ah, I got terribly turned around. Wrong bus, you see. I don’t have any money for a fare back. Would you be so kind as to give me a lift home?”

The middle-aged one cocked his head. “Lift like that doesn’t come free, love.”

“Oh, but I can pay,” Linda said brightly, opening her satchel. Inside were only books, pens, and a half-eaten apple. Her face fell. “Oh bother.”

The younger one laughed. “She’s skint.”

The oldest licked his lips. “Doesn’t mean she’s got nothing to give us.” His eyes dropped pointedly to the hem of her skirt. “Tell you what, sweetheart. Hand over your knickers, and we’ll talk.”

Linda blinked. Then her lips parted in a little “oh!” of surprise. Her knickers? Right here, in front of them?

Heat bloomed in her chest. She should have been scandalized, outraged. But instead her pulse quickened. Her thighs pressed together. The idea of it, of them knowing, of them seeing made her dizzy.

“Well,” she said softly, her voice trembling but not with refusal, “if that’s the price…”

Her fingers slipped under her skirt. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her plain white cotton knickers and wriggled them down her thighs. The men stared openly as the fabric slid past her stockings, past her knees, past her ankles. She stepped out daintily, bent, and picked them up.

“Here,” she said, handing them to the old man as primly as if she were passing over a handkerchief.

He snatched them, pressing the warm cloth to his face and inhaling deeply. “Christ almighty.”

Linda’s cheeks flamed. She squeezed her thighs tighter. Without the knickers, the summer air kissed the lips of her cunt under the skirt, cool and shocking. She felt bare.

“Get in the van,” the middle-aged one ordered, his voice thick.

Linda obeyed at once, climbing up. The back had no back seats, only three at the front and in the rear crates and tools, so she perched delicately on the edge as the men entered. The younger one clambered in beside her, and when the van jolted into motion, she pitched sideways, squeaking, and landed squarely on his lap.

“Oh! Terribly sorry,” she gasped, steadying herself with her hands on his shoulders.

“Don’t be,” he muttered, his arm curling around her waist.

That was when she felt it. Pressing against her thigh through the thin, loose fabric of his tracksuit bottoms. Hard, hot, insistent.

Linda froze. Her eyes went wide. Then she gave a little gasp, lips parting, as she realized exactly what it was.

“Oh my…” she whispered, her cheeks flaming. She shifted slightly, the blunt head of his cock nudging more firmly against her bare flesh. No knickers. Nothing between them.

Her pulse hammered. She should move. She should scramble away. Instead she stayed, perched primly on his knee, her skirt bunched, her pussy tingling with every bump of the road.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” the younger man murmured against her ear.

Linda bit her lip, dizzy with shame and delight. “Oh dear,” she said faintly. “I think it rather does.”