Deeping Dreams

By Seymour Stevens

Deeping Dreams
A saucy romp, Deeping Dreams begins with an unexpected visitation from above. Unwanted witnesses, Jenny and I are forced to go on the run, pursued by powerful people who do not have our best interests at heart. We seek sanctuary, only to discover that our enemies are so far ahead of us that our refuge was compromised before we even knew we needed one.
Free love breaks out in a sleepy Devon village, posing a pulchritudinous policing problem that threatens to overwhelm the local forces of law and order.
Could there be a connection between this very public display of intimate affection, the visitors, and those that wish to do us harm?
With her Mistress under threat, Samantha knows that only one person can save her, and that’s The Minx. Family complications add to agent Minx’s burden as she takes on a life and death mission to do battle with a ruthless foe.
The situation looks grim, but then it’s time to let The Minx off the leash to show what she’s made of. And that’s something well worth looking at!
From the foreplay of an astounding discovery, with many ups and downs along the way, until the surprise of the thrilling final climax, this adventure will keep you going right to the end.
Content warning - This book is not all that rude!
Deeping Dreams is a fantasy adventure, an English farce, full of fun and a fair bit of fornication. I’ve tagged it as erotic because it’s too much about sex that not to do so would be misleading. What it is not, however, is explicit. Ribald, racy, possibly even risqué in places, it’s not for prudes, but it’s not porn either. Think titillating not torrid, innuendo rather than in your face. Or in your anywhere, come to that! Enjoy. SS

• Language: English
• Publisher: Seymour Stevens
• Release date: Feb 17, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463759301

Book preview

But!

High overhead in the night sky we could see a ring of cloud roiling and twisting together, lit from within by an impossible and unearthly light that had no business being there. The torus of boiling bright vapour was rolling earthward, like a stocking rolling down a woman’s shapely leg. Although I should probably confess that this description may have more to do with the way my mind works than what it actually looked like.

But wait! A column of iridescent bright light shoots from the centre of the shining cloud circle, a blinding pillar of fire which cycles through the spectrum and that reaches all the way to the ground. Even my imagination couldn’t make this new apparition look like a shapely woman’s leg, nevertheless, an object was materialising within the churning ring of cloud, and it seemed as if it was supported by this blazing bar of brilliance.

Whatever it was that was apparently held aloft by this non-leg of lambent luminescence, it was coming closer, and now the scale of the event was becoming clearer. The moon had already been eclipsed and now the rest of the night sky was being swallowed, stars vanishing one by one, by the handful, by the dozens.

The colourful colonnade was shrinking as the mysterious mass moved menacingly closer to earth, and now Jenny and I were beginning to be able to make out some detail. We could see the shape of the thing, but still couldn’t make sense of its stupendous size.

It was eerily silent. Surely an event like this, something that might presage the end of the world, should come with a soundtrack, one of fire and fury, or perhaps a fanfare as God takes the final trick with the last trump.

Jenny and I watched events in awe, both of us more than half convinced that this might be the very last thing that we would ever see. (Hey, sometimes it’s nice to be proved wrong!) At the time, though, we were a pair of insignificant specks in a universe that was proving in front of our eyes that it was a whole lot bigger and more complex than we’d ever dreamed.

Is that ...? Jenny asked, unable to bring herself to complete the question.

I rather think it is, yes.

But they’re not real!

I’m fully in agreement with you on that.

But ...

Quite!

No! They really don’t exist!

A very rational response, Jenny, and one with which, as I mentioned, I concur wholeheartedly. However, there is one rather large fly in the ointment of your logic.

You mean ...?

That we’re looking at one? Yes!

But ...

As you so rightly say, Jenny. But!

Prelude

Deeping Castle sits on its low hill as it has seemingly always done. Overlooked by the heights of the moor above, the castle commands the lower ground and has protected the area for centuries. Given that infantry and cavalry battles are rare in modern day Devon, not unless you count disputes between the rugby club and the local hunt, the castle’s original military purpose is no longer necessary and now it has taken on civilian status.

The villagers of Deeping claim that the castle was built by Merlin, back in the days of King Arthur, with magic being poured into every stone. And Merlin himself once told me that this was indeed the case. He did point out, though, that magic depended on how you looked at it. Back in Arthur’s day, an aeroplane, or even a humble ball-point pen, would have qualified as magical. Incantations, chants and spells, he maintains, are largely formulae and mnemonics that enable the magician, sorcerer, witch or whoever, to perform their feats of so called magic.

Of course, if you ask him a straight question, like how he turns people into frogs, he’ll just say it’s magic! A bit like keeping bloody great aeroplanes up in the sky, if you ask me!

Magical or not, the castle is nowadays home to Sir Leonard Fitz-Robyn and his wife, Lady Mary. Being the keeper of Deeping Castle comes with responsibilities, Len tells me. He is the de facto Lord of Deeping village, a quaint and prosperous settlement nestling beneath the shelter of the castle walls, and he has a duty of care towards it and its inhabitants. He doesn’t own the properties, well, not all of them, but is obliged to make sure that things like the village hall and the cricket ground are properly maintained, and that the annual village fete happens in mid-summer.

Len is a local magistrate, a function that also comes with the castle. Deeping is a quiet village with virtually zero crime. Everybody knows each other and he can largely deal with any local disputes in his role as Lord of the Manor, but every now and then he is called on to deal with more serious offences in court, such as parking fines.

He also suspects that among his privileges as the keeper of Deeping Castle is a Droight de Seigneur, or a right to fuck any of the local women he likes. However, this is a prerogative that he has declined to exercise. No fool, he knows that many of the local lads are of strapping proportions, as indeed are many of the lasses, and he has no wish to test the bounds of local loyalties to the point of possible personal injury.

Besides, Len has no need of such rights. There’s something about being a rich and handsome Lord of the Manor, one with his own castle, which makes finding willing partners none too difficult. Having a gorgeous wife that likes to join in doesn’t hurt either.

Deeping Castle and village, then, a haven of peace, harmony and happiness. Unless it was you that got the parking fine, of course.

That was all about to change!

Part One: Coming

Visitors

Jenny and I had found ourselves a flying saucer!

Well, not now it wasn’t, because it had stopped flying. Stubby legs had sprouted from the bottom and it had settled on the ground in a large field. It had to be a large field because the bloody thing was enormous! It was the size of a football pitch. That’s if circular football pitches existed. Which they don’t. A bit like flying saucers.

But!

Steam was rising from the ground around it, making its outline indistinct. The shining column of light had vanished, swallowed as the saucer settled down on it like a gigantic steel chicken nestling on her egg.

Reality check! There’s no such thing as a gigantic steel chicken! Jenny pointed out. But I mutely indicated the flying saucer and she nodded, Ah! Point taken, please carry on.

In the pale light now cast by the recently revealed moon and stars, the spaceship, which is presumably what it was, towered over us, its silvery ellipsoid stretching far to either side of us and high above. Apart from our ragged breathing, the ticking noise of cooling metal was the only sound to be heard.

We were in a bit of a quandary. It was a tricky situation, as I’m sure you’ll agree. I think that if the idea had occurred to us we’d have been running away just as fast as our legs would carry us, but thought processes had screamed to a sudden stop as we contemplated the imposing immensity of this impossibility. We were rooted to the spot.

And who knows how long we would have stood there, but the sound of sirens made us turn our heads to see the lights of numerous vehicles barrelling down the country lanes from what appeared to be all points of the compass. Red and blue lights strobed in time to the whooo-whooo sound of the sirens that were rapidly approaching. Jenny and I looked at each other, but still we didn’t move.

A squealing of tyres and rattle of flying gravel signalled the arrival of the first responders to this interplanetary intrusion. Car doors slammed and soon we could make out figures scrambling over, under and through gates and hedgerows. They appeared to be heavily armed, but I couldn’t think that anything that a man could carry would have any effect on the monstrous ship as it brooded silently before us.

One of the newly arrived men spotted us and slid to a halt. He was carrying a machine gun. I didn’t recognise the uniform he was wearing, nor the patches on his shoulders, certainly it wasn’t police or regular army. It looked somehow cheap, the cloth low quality, it made me think of a private security guard rather than a member of the constabulary or the military.

If I wasn’t mistaken, then it seemed that the United Kingdom’s first reaction force to a possible alien invasion had been privatised!

He looked me up and down and sneered. Perhaps he really was a policeman after all! Then he looked Jenny up and down, an action that he repeated several times. Well, nobody can blame him for that, she’s worth every look. She smiled sweetly at him and I think he tried to smile back, but sneer was his default expression and he didn’t seem able to overcome it. He snarled at us, still sneering.

You’re not allowed to be here! Get out! Now!

Well, I mentioned earlier that if we’d had the idea we would have been running like scalded cats, and now here was the thought being presented to us, quite forcefully! A quick exchange of glances was all it took, Jenny and I set off at a dead run in the direction of our car, which was parked a couple of fields away.

We were about fifty yards from the man in just over two seconds by my reckoning. As Jenny fumbled with the latch on the field gate, I turned and looked back. I could see men running, attempting to form a cordon around the space ship. It was going to be a very loose cordon until they got some reinforcements. Lots of them!

Then I noticed that a second man, in a much grander uniform, had joined Mr Sneer. They were both gesticulating and pointing in our direction.

Hoi! Stop right there!

It was the new man, presumably an officer of some sort, or possibly an executive. Whatever his title may have been, he was shouting and pointing a gun at us! Jenny had the gate open by now and was also looking back. Correctly summing up the situation, she grabbed me by the arm, hauled me through the gateway and broke into a run, pulling me along with her.

Our first fifty yards had been crossed in Olympic time, but it was as nothing to the speed we achieved as the first bullets started ricocheting off the stone gate posts where we’d been standing mere nanoseconds before. We flew!

This was the first time anybody had shot at me with a machine gun and I can’t say that I was exactly enamoured of the experience! I suppose that it’s possible one gets to enjoy this sort of thing, people do all sorts to get a thrill, and thrilling this most certainly was! But it was more than that, it was bloody terrifying! Fear, so they say, gives you wings, and so it was with us, our feet barely brushing the ground until we skidded to a halt at the car.

We were both inside that car and pulling away quicker than you would believe possible. I was in third gear, accelerating hard, and we were already moving at a more than decent clip when I realised we were heading towards the shooting! Keeping my foot pressed down on the throttle, I pulled the wheel hard over to starboard while at the same time hauling on the handbrake.

This is the sort of manoeuvre that you don’t use very often. I mean, you see it in movies, but there it is performed by stuntmen. Even the film’s characters are supposedly highly trained and presumably practised. I’d never even thought of doing it myself, I was winging it, but there’s something about being fired at with machine guns that encourages a willingness to embrace new ideas and try out new techniques.

I’d been aiming for a hundred and eighty degree turn. What I got was five hundred and forty degrees, along with four dented corners to the car as it bounced off the stone walls lining the lane. Still, we were now facing in the right direction, and when the tyres stopped spinning and got to grips with the road surface, we fishtailed off faster than I could properly control the car. Bullets starred the rear window as we rounded the first bend. I did not slow down for that or anything else!

* * *

We were careering down country lanes in the dark, with my foot all the way down on the accelerator the whole time. Our headlights were reflecting off the foliage covered stone walls of the lanes, frequently from very close range as we bounced off them. In addition to the four corners I’d crumpled during my emergency about turn, I’d now pretty much totalled the rest of the car’s bodywork, but the engine and the wheels were still working and I just kept going.

Jenny had fitted her seatbelt and was holding on to it for dear life, doing her best not to complain about my dreadful driving. She pursed her lips and closed her eyes, but said not a word as we rebounded from yet another wall.

It would actually have been quicker, not to mention a whole lot safer, to slow down and drive a bit more carefully. This was something that we both knew very well, but I was panicking and had no intention of reining in that panic until we’d reached safety. I can’t praise Jenny’s forbearance highly enough for not pointing this out at the time.

We had been on our way back home after a weekend at the Lotus Flower hotel when the light in the sky had caused me to stop and see what was going on. For reasons that now escape me, I’d restarted the car, turned off the main road and driven down a few small lanes trying to get closer. It turned out not to be one of my more sensible ideas.

Although I thought I knew the area reasonably well, right at this moment I didn’t have a clue where I was going, but I was going there just as fast as I could, the car bouncing from side to side like a bagatelle ball in a very narrow pinball alley. Every now and then I could see the gleam of headlights showing behind us, letting me know that we were not alone.

Of course, there are times when it is reassuring to know that other people are sharing the road with you, especially when it’s dark and you don’t know where you are. It can indicate that the road probably leads somewhere and doesn’t just fizzle out in the middle of nowhere. However, this was not one of those occasions, to my mind the presence of company on the road indicated pursuit. If I could have pressed any harder on the accelerator I would have done. I tried anyway.

I could still catch the odd glimpse of headlights in my rear-view mirror, refracting wildly through the bullet crazed glass of the car’s back window. I’d just looked away from this when a tight corner materialised in front of me and we skidded round it, only holding onto the road by a whisker. But it was to no avail, the road ahead narrowed sharply as it went over a hump-backed bridge.

The road may have gone over the bridge, but we didn’t. The car was still wildly out of control after the bend, there was not a chance of making it. I just had time to wrench the wheel so that we wouldn’t ram the bridge’s parapet and we drove past the side of it, hurtling through bushes and bouncing uncontrollably on the rough ground. Not for long, though.

There was a brief period, which seemed much longer than it can actually have been, when all was smooth. The sound of bushes scraping the side of the car ceased, the bouncing stopped and everything was quiet except for the racing of the engine and Jenny’s whispered, Oh, no!

In an enormous burst of spray, the car surged to a halt. The headlights were extinguished, the engine cut out and all was silent. When the water had drained from the windscreen we could dimly make out where we were.

Which was sailing sedately down the upper reaches of the River Thames.

River

Well, that should throw them off the scent.

Throw them off the scent?

We were being followed, Jenny, chased! Let’s see them follow us here!

They were chasing us and we were running away, were we?

Absolutely!

And we’re running away now, are we?

Well, not actually running. A bit of a cunning ruse, taking to the water like this. Eh?

A cunning ruse?

Rather!

What’s your knowledge of hydrodynamics like?

Oh, pretty passable, I should think.

And what, may I ask, does your pretty passable knowledge of hydrodynamics suggest to you in relation to a lengthy river cruise in a car? A car, I might add, that has suffered a considerable amount of abuse in recent times.

Ah!

As you say, ah!

What are you doing?

Removing my seatbelt prior to inevitably being required to abandon ship.

I see.

You, presumably, are intending to do the honourable thing and go down with your vessel?

I am, as you know, an honourable man, but ...

You’re also an idiot!

I say, Jenny! Don’t you think that’s a bit harsh?

Under the circumstances? No, I think not.

I see.

That must be very nice for you. My feet are getting wet.

Good fresh Thames water, that is. Not like the polluted muck you get downstream!

Then I’m going to have clean knees very shortly. Would you mind opening a window for me?

That might let more water in.

I was more thinking of letting me out.

Very wise!

Thank you.

Er, Jenny?

Yes, dear heart?

This window thing you’re so keen on, do you really need it?

Well, it might make avoiding a watery grave just a touch easier. So, yes, I think it’s fair to say that I consider it necessary.

I see.

You said you could see a minute ago. How about the window?

Ah!

Ditto. Would it help if I said please?

Er, not really, no, I don’t think it would.

Would you care to explain?

I’d rather not. You’re not going to be too happy about this.

Am I not? And there was me thinking I was being all sweet reason.

It’s the window, you see.

You are, I take it, referring to the window by my shoulder? The closed window by my shoulder?

That’s the one right enough.

Well, I’m glad we’ve got that straightened out. Have I mentioned that the water, the very clean water, which incidentally is quite cold, is now nearly at my waist level?

No, I don’t think you mentioned that before.

My apologies for the omission. Now, about that window?

There may be something of a technical hitch.

A technical hitch?

The engine’s dead. They’re electric windows. No window winders on the doors.

If you live through this, I may be forced to kill you!

* * *

Things were looking bleak. I suppose that if I’d have thought of it earlier, I might have been able to get my legs out from under the steering wheel and try to kick out the windscreen, but the water level was nearly up to the windows already. The closed windows! The windows we had no means of opening!

I tried to open the car door, but the water pressure held it closed. I punched my window as hard as I could trying to break it. I may have broken a knuckle or two, but the window was unperturbed by my efforts.

So it was perhaps fortunate that somebody started shooting at us with a machine gun. Again!

I may be wrong about this, as I mentioned before, I don’t have a lot of experience in being shot at, but I suspect that it’s not often that you get the chance to use the word fortunate in regard to someone actually firing a fucking machine gun at you!

I hadn’t enjoyed it the first time and I didn’t enjoy it now. Flying spray mixed with shattered glass as it swirled across the front passenger area. I don’t know if either of us screamed, the noise of the gun was far too loud to have heard anything as relatively quiet as a scream of pure terror.

As suddenly as it had started, the shooting stopped. Looking out of the destroyed windscreen I could make out the reason, we had drifted under a bridge. Well, that was a bit of luck!

Sadly, as is so often and distressingly the case, this was one of those good news, bad news situations. Good news - the shooting had stopped. Bad news - the car was about to drift out on the other side of the bridge and the shooting was going to start again. I like to think of myself as a man that sees his glass as half full rather than half empty, but I wasn’t feeling too optimistic about the next few minutes.

Then I heard a sound that indicated another possible outcome. Sirens! Not the sort of sirens that sit on rocks using their watery wiles and seductive songs to tempt passing sailors to their doom, but real blaring electric powered sirens. Nor were they the fake whooo-whooo jobs