The punt was about eight metres long and a metre wide. It was square cut at both bow and stern, with a small till, or platform, at the latter.

Goerge cast off and poled the flat-bottomed craft out into the broad stream and the salt breeze. It looked effortless, but Jenna suspected the ferryman's self-confidence in his manly strength and speediness had probably been boosted by the prolific performance in the cottage and the prospect of its promised repeat.

'The water looks pretty shallow, Dottie,' Jenna said. 'Perhaps we could have waded across. You've already had to strip, after all.'

George scoffed. 'Too deep for wading, and deep enough to drown in. Many foolhardy twits have lost their lives hereabouts. There's currents where a stranger least expects, and the sea rages in something terrible in stormy weather.'

They headed in a more or less straight line for a shingle beach and a lone building on the far side of the estuary. The crossing took less than five minutes, and as they got up close, the girls saw the building was a pub, The Golden Lion, which at the present hour looked deserted. A section of the car park and turning area outside was signposted 'Buses Only'.

George ran the punt up on to the shingle and put down his pole.

'Right, girlies, no mucking me about. We'll go through the gate into the garden back of the pub. There's a shed there where we can be private. Your bus won't be arriving for another twenty minutes. Plenty of time. I always fancied getting my other pole into the mouth of a high-class Elmwood Manor tart.'

Jenna objected to the description. 'We're not tarts! And you've already done it to Dottie.' The desperate thought came to her that if she could argue long enough, a chance might arise for her to avoid being brutalised.

George smiled wolfishly. 'Bloody right I did! Now it's going to be made the two in a row. Her was back there; now it's you here. Those were the exact terms, chosen of your own free will. Your mate said it - you pay the second instalment for the special ferry ride this side of the water.'

'But I said it was disgusting and I haven't changed my mind,' Jenna prevaricated.

'Aye, you did say something about that, but she' - he indicated Dottie - 'said it would be all right after you'd seen her show you how. And you watched a bloody good showing-how!'

George took hold of Jenna's arm and virtually pulled her out of the punt and towards the garden gate.

Dottie trailed behind, making no move to intervene. She looked for once at a loss to exercise command and was rather shamefaced.

'Sorry, Jenna. We did our best. It won't be as bad as it looked, and the bus might get here early.'

George conducted them through the gate and into some dense bushes just inside through which they worked a way to the secluded garden shed. It contained a lawnmower, other implements, and a potting table. It smelled of old grass clippings and moist potting mix.

Inside, Jenna's stomach lurched. She could detect no desire whatsoever mingled with her fear and revulsion. Sex with an unclean stranger in a garden shed at the back of nowhere ... it seemed sordid to a degree she'd not known before.

'Chin up, Jenna,' Dottie said, speaking no doubt from her experience of escort work at swish corporate events, 'a cock's a cock and masters of the business universe can be just as unpleasant.'

'Take all your clothes off like your Dottie did,' George said. 'I like to see a girl naked when she sucks me off. It makes the nips on her titties stand out. Sometimes she gets wet. And I'm generous. I'll let you finger your cunt while you slurp if it'll make you feel good.'

Jenna was in despair. She had agreed, sort of. With fumbling fingers, she removed her jerkin and her tee and unhooked her bra. When she'd got that far, George's impatience got too much for him. With his own pants already off, he stepped in to unzip her denim skirt and drag it down to her feet in a bundle together with her panties.

'Now kneel and get on with it,' George said. 'No more of the madam! A whore does what she's been paid to do. You've had your ferry ride and it's collection time.'

George's cock was as stiff again as it had been in his cottage. Jenna took a deep, steadying breath and began the awful business of feeding the thick, meaty phallus into her mouth, afraid that if she dithered he might seize her by the head and ram it down her throat as he had done with Dottie.

Her nose was assailed by the sweaty, salty smell of his hairy groin tinged with stale tobacco; her mouth by the sourness of his pallid, cheesy flesh. She tried in her mind to overlay the nauseating experience by remembering the sweetness of tasting Dottie on the train with her own urgent needs being gently met in identical fashion.

Although his erection was a powerful one, it dawned on Jenna after a few moments that George was not going to ejaculate this time. Was she going to be spared the dreadful filling of mouth and throat with his choking semen? Had Dottie emptied his great ugly balls at the cottage?

In frustration, George pushed her off him.

'Your mouth's no good! Stand up and turn around, bitch. I want to see that darling little bum.'

Relieved, and thinking she'd been reprieved, Jenna did as he asked.

It was a mistake. The crafty ferryman pushed her forward and across the table. Gritty remains of potting mix were rubbed into the soft flesh of her small breasts, hurting the taut, sensitive nipples.

George's calloused hands spread her rounded buttocks. His hairy legs pushed between hers, parting them. 'I'll take your tight cunt instead, and if that don't work, it's a fine little arsehole I see here...'

Dottie threw herself on his back, pulling back his head and raking his face with her nails.

'That wasn't part of the deal, you rotten bugger!' she cried. 'Get off her!'

Jenna screamed and broke loose. She paused only to snatch up skirt and jerkin, and fled from the shed.

George broke free of Dottie, almost casually tossing her aside into the gardening tools. She slumped to the floor in a tangle of toppled rakes, hoes and spades. 'You shit!' she said.

George didn't check to see if she was injured, but mumbled curses about a little cow, pulled on his track pants in a hurry, and set off in pursuit of Jenna.