Wildwood Read online

  I couldn’t answer. Michael lowered his lips to my ear and carried on in a low, pleasantly conversational tone.

  ‘You’d be the first thing everyone saw as they entered. Your ankles, chained apart. Your long leather-clad legs. Your beautiful pert bum, the cheeks a little spread. Your bound wrists. They’d be able to walk right round the cage and look up at you, at your face, at your tits, at your arse. Up between your thighs, at your soft, sweet little pussy. And later in the evening … I think there’d have to be a chain attached to your collar, a long chain leading down through the floor of the cage … and I’d come and shorten it. About halfway at first, so that you had to bend over with your bum out and open and your pussy properly displayed. Then I’d shorten it all the way, until you were forced to kneel on the floor with your face pressed down and your hands up behind your back and your thighs apart, so everyone could see your open crack and your tight freckle and your juicy slit. I’d have to put bodyguards round you, wouldn’t I? Or else people would put their hands through the bars and touch you. Touch your softness and your wetness. But maybe you’d like that. Would you prefer I gave the bodyguards the night off so that everyone can finger you?’

  He touched the nape of my neck gently and I nearly went into convulsions. I don’t think it would have made any difference if there had been builders in the room at the time, I’d have still melted helplessly under his words.

  ‘Later on, I’d let you out of the cage. Then I’d take the end of the chain in my hand and lead you about the room. Every time I stopped to talk to someone you’d have to kneel at my feet with your thighs spread. You wouldn’t be able to speak even if you dared, because in your mouth you’d be carrying a leather riding crop. Your hands would still be tied behind your back, you see. Every time someone got too excited by your beautiful body and they came up and grabbed your bum cheeks and tried to stick their pricks into your deep, willing pussy – because you’d be so turned on by now that you’d be ready for any prick at all, wouldn’t you? – I’d have to take the riding crop and thrash them off you. And if you were naughty … if you tried to lure men to ride you by wiggling that bum around and spreading your thighs … then I might have to use that whip on you. On your beautiful arse. Until you squealed. And if you were very very bad and you enjoyed that, then I think I’d have to put you over my knee and spank your bum cheeks and finger your pussy in front of everyone until you came.’

  My body – the strong body I had so much confidence in, so much trust – was betraying me utterly. My panties were awash for a man who wanted to degrade me in public. Swallowing, I mustered the remnants of my defiance and whispered, ‘You go to the wrong kind of parties.’

  ‘Oh, I prefer to host that kind of party. It’s amazing the hold you have over people if you can give them exactly what they really want.’

  ‘Cabinet ministers?’ I sneered.

  ‘I wasn’t just referring to the guests, Avril.’ I fell silent and he chuckled, his lips so close to my ear that I could hear the sound of his tongue against his teeth. ‘You have an exhibitionist streak a mile wide, you know? You’re fascinating. You crave respect, yet you want to be the most monumental slut.’

  Is it my fault the two aren’t compatible? I wanted to ask, but at that moment a builder came in through the front door with a wheelbarrow of dry mortar mix and Michael withdrew smoothly from my side.

  ‘Shall we go upstairs?’ He indicated a sweeping curve of wooden risers that seemed to emerge from the wall with no support of any other kind. ‘Straight through at the top to my office.’ It was obvious that he wanted to follow me up for the sake of the view of my backside. And it was too late to begrudge him that.

  His office was a bit of a shock. I pushed through two layers of thick plastic sheeting, expecting to find a room which was still under construction like all the others. Instead, aside from the plastic covering the thick cream carpet pile and a certain disarray upon the furniture surfaces as if he were still unpacking, the room was finished. A huge desk dominated the far end, beneath an oriel window. Into one wall was set the biggest television screen I’d ever seen. There were quite a lot of electronic toys around in fact, but also lots of books, some of them stacked on sofas and armchairs.

  ‘What do you think?’ Michael came up behind me and put his hands on my shoulders, smoothing off the flecks of paint.

  ‘You moved in already?’

  ‘Almost. The important parts of the build were given priority and this … is important.’ He traced the edge of my top, sliding a finger beneath the fabric.

  I shrugged off his hands and stepped away. This was my first, perhaps my only chance. My gaze swept the room. ‘It’s … sort of old-fashioned.’

  ‘Old-fashioned?’

  The books I glanced at first were all on business theory. ‘Well … classical.’ I indicated the niches down the walls. In each was a white statue, almost life-sized, on a plinth. ‘You surprise me. I thought you’d be a chrome and gadgets sort of guy. Not … Roman gods.’

  ‘Greek.’

  ‘Whatever.’ I was deliberately taunting him, playing for time as I looked around. ‘Dead ones, anyway.’

  ‘Dead?’ He’d folded his arms across his chest. ‘These aren’t dead, Avril. The Church of Rome did its best, but even it only managed to hold them quiet for a millennium. The gods are with us, Avril. Here.’ He tapped his temple. ‘Every god, in every one of us. We are the gods.’

  That was weird enough to get my attention. Crossing the plastic floor he clasped my arms and turned me to face a niche.

  ‘There.’ The statue was of a young woman wearing a short dress, with a bow and a greyhound. ‘That’s you – Artemis. The goddess of the deep woods, rejecting the rule and the love of men. Protector of wild nature. Fiercely independent. Prickly. Quick to anger. An object of worship from afar.’ He pulled me sideways to the next niche; the statue it contained was of a much more voluptuous woman, quite naked. Her blank eyes stared straight into mine. ‘This is you too – Aphrodite Porne. Goddess of primal, conscienceless, self-centred desire. The slut, burning to be filled.’ He kissed the side of my neck and I instinctively moved to accommodate him. He bit my ear softly. ‘The source and the object of all lust.’

  I pulled slowly to the next niche along. It was Poseidon, bearded and wreathed in waves. ‘What about him? Is he in me too?’

  ‘Yes, if you know where to find him. Mysterious, sullen, vengeful. A rememberer of wrongs. Like our friend Ash.’

  ‘Ash? How did you wrong him?’ Given what I knew of both men, I guessed the obvious: ‘Was it over a woman?’

  ‘Not quite. All the gods are within us, Avril, in all their majesty and power. If you know how to invoke them properly you can do anything: call down the lightning, raise the seas, look into the future, speak to the dead, bend the wills of others …’

  ‘Michael,’ I had to ask, ‘was it you who made Simon fall?’

  ‘Simon?’

  ‘At the wedding. The bloke on the fountain with me.’

  He turned me to face him. ‘What if it was me?’

  ‘I …’ I didn’t know what to say. I’d never really believed that Michael was guilty of the sheer nastiness Ash accused him of. But his eyes were remorseless.

  ‘What if it wasn’t me – what if it was you?’

  ‘Me?’ It came out as a squeak. ‘It wasn’t me!’

  ‘Why not? Because you couldn’t or because you wouldn’t?’

  ‘Both.’ I shook my head. ‘It’s just sick. You don’t do that to people. Even if I knew how – which I don’t.’

  ‘Don’t you?’ Mischief glinted in his eyes. ‘Yet every day you invoke the god of the gardens. I’ve seen you at work. I’ve felt his presence. I’m not the only one either; I’ll bet your men feel him moving on them every damn day.’

  ‘What are you talking about? The garden god? I don’t even know who that is!’

  Michael hooked his hand down the front of my jeans and pulled me up against him. At the same time
he took my hand and pressed it firmly to his crotch and, through the fabric, I felt the thick cylinder of his erection stir. ‘There. He’s called Priapus. And you’re calling him into manifestation right now.’

  ‘Oh …’ I couldn’t help squeezing him through his trousers; my hand seemed to have a will of its own. I couldn’t help measuring his length with my fingers from scrotal sac to solid tip. He was very very erect. Knotting his fingers under my shoulder straps he pulled my lips to his. Then without warning we were pressed up against each other, writhing, fumbling frantically at each other’s clothing. I got his belt open and his fly down and his shirt pulled free; Michael got my top off over my head. We kissed like we were trying to eat one another alive. He scored my shoulder and sides with his nails and I dug my fingertips into his chest so hard I’d be leaving bruises. I bit his throat and nipped at his collarbone and he got his own back by grabbing my crotch so hard that I saw stars and cried out loud. Pushing me back across the room he pinned me against his desk and shoved me down on its wooden surface, clearing papers and clocks and pen trays with a sweep of his arm. The shock of collision with the mahogany top knocked the wind out of me for a second, and he took the chance to pull open my jeans, his hands working with savage efficiency, and yank them down, panties and all, to bare me. He couldn’t get my trousers down past my boots, which were too big, so he left them there, manacling my ankles. I bent my legs at the knee, spreading them wide.

  ‘Slut,’ he whispered, bending forwards to capture a nipple between his teeth and worry my tit from side to side like a dog shaking a toy. I writhed and thrashed beneath him, stifling my own cries with the heels of my hands. Then I knotted my fingers in the curls at the back of his head and pulled on his scalp so hard that he was wrenched from his quarry and tears ran from his blazing blue eyes.

  ‘Fuck me,’ I moaned, half commanding, half pleading.

  Michael put his hands to my wrists and broke my grasp with cruel pressure, forcing my hands to the desktop next to my head. As he leant in on me his hard crotch, barely restrained by his dishevelled clothes, ground against my open sex. I writhed against his bulge and he tutted. ‘Fuck you?’ he asked. ‘You’re saying you want me now?’

  ‘Yes,’ I whimpered.

  ‘You’ve changed your tune, Avril. What happened to “I’m not your type”?’

  ‘You are my type.’

  ‘And what type’s that?’

  ‘Strong,’ I confessed. ‘Powerful. With a great big fucking hard cock.’

  He hitched a half-grin. ‘Flattery will get you everywhere, Avril. But … I find you a little too glib. I think I’ll have to do something about that.’ He ground his pelvis in a circular motion that made my pulse race. ‘In the meantime …’

  ‘Please!’

  ‘Since you ask nicely.’ Releasing me, he stood back so that he could extract his cock from his trousers, cradling it proudly in both hands. ‘Is this what you want?’ He pumped it lovingly, enjoying my frustration. His prick was dark with engorged blood and its blunt head gleamed wetly.

  ‘Uh-huh.’ I nodded, unable to trust my voice.

  ‘I thought so.’ He came down back over me to insert his member, sliding it into my tight passage. I arched and gasped as he stretched me wide. ‘You are a slut. Luckily, that’s my type,’ he whispered, sheathing it all the way with merciless, shuddering thrusts.

  Then he fucked me, one elbow on the table, one hand on my knee holding me wide open. Unable to get a purchase with my legs I was nearly helpless, at his mercy for my own pleasure. I’d expected something quick and rough, and I wasn’t wrong. What took me by surprise was how turned on I was by the discomfort of the hard desk and by the frustration of being unable to get my legs apart and round him. I writhed and jiggled like I’d never done before. As Michael quickened to his climax he ran the hand up from my knee to my crotch, his thumb stirring my clit to make sure I came. I was already teetering on the edge of that roller-coaster drop into orgasm, but I wasn’t going to protest.

  ‘Look at you,’ he grunted. ‘Legs wide open for the boss. Getting fucked by your boss. You’re shameless. You shameless slut.’ As I came down the plunge and went into roll after pulsing roll he thrust savagely, and then just as I was flattening out into exhaustion he whipped his cock out and came up the length of my body, ragged pennants of jism unfurling to splatter on my breasts and belly.

  Over his groan I heard the sound of feet on the stairs.

  ‘Christ!’ My heart turned over and went crashing down into my stomach.

  Michael’s eyes flashed open. ‘Shush.’

  ‘Mr Deverick?’ The voice was close, just outside the plastic barriers. A man’s voice.

  ‘Come on in.’

  I felt a bolt of sheer panic go through me. I made one attempt to sit up but Michael put his hand on my breastbone and shoved me down flat on the table. His face was like a mask. ‘Stay down.’

  I heard the rustle of the plastic curtain. ‘Mr Deverick …’ Then: ‘Jesus Christ …’ I knew exactly what the builder could see: his employer stood between a pair of splayed knees. ‘Sorry, mate, I’ll come back later.’

  ‘No. Stay.’ Michael adjusted himself and pulled up his fly, his eyes never letting mine go. ‘I’ve just finished.’ He stepped away, leaving me totally exposed. ‘Take a look if you like.’

  ‘Fucking hell,’ said the other man in awe.

  It was my worst nightmare. The blackest fear I could think of. I put my forearm over my eyes in a pathetic attempt to hide. I tried to close my knees but Michael slapped them casually apart and I had no strength to resist; it was far too late. My breasts heaved as the air fled in and out of my lungs.

  ‘Like her, Mr Dunster?’ Michael walked smartly around the desk to my head.

  ‘Fuck yes.’ Dunster sounded more stunned than anything. I was glad I couldn’t picture his face. I was glad it was no one I knew.

  ‘She’s beautiful, isn’t she? She’s a goddess, Mr Dunster, laid upon the sacrificial altar for you. Come a bit closer if you like.’

  His feet squeaked on the plastic floor covering. He swore again under his breath, keeping it going like a mantra.

  ‘You should worship her, Mr Dunster. Get your face down in there, why don’t you, and pay her beauty homage?’

  ‘Ah … Not where you’ve just dipped your wick.’

  For a moment Michael’s voice went very cold. ‘I came on her tits, you’ll find. Get on your knees. Taste her.’

  I felt callused hands on my thighs and I cried out in protest. At once Michael clapped his hand to my throat, drawing my head back. His touch was gentle but firm. He laid my arm aside and suddenly I was looking into his face upside down over mine, his blue eyes like salvation. ‘Shush,’ he chided me tenderly. Then he looked back down the length of my body. ‘What are you waiting for? Make her come and I’ll give you a fifty per cent bonus this month.’

  Dunster’s warm head pushed between the tops of my thighs and pressed against my slit. One arm circled my left thigh; I imagined that the other hand was going to his own crotch. I began to sob, the tears spilling out to run down to my ears, and Michael brushed the tears away with his thumbs and bent to brush his lips against mine, gently. ‘It’s OK,’ he whispered.

  Then Dunster’s mouth found my wetness and my openness, his tongue delving the length of my split sex, and all the world went away. That world with all its fears and betrayals was too much for me to deal with. All that I knew was his mouth and Michael’s, one on either end of my body, and Michael’s hand sliding down to caress my breasts and throat. He’d never been so gentle with me. His lips were soft like the touch of petals. Dunster was serious, revelling in his task, his sucking mouth and lapping tongue dedicated. My body was still charged with desire from our frantic quickie and he found his job neither difficult nor unpleasant. His slurping was enthusiastic as he drank my juices. And I was nothing, less than no one, just lips and tits and cunt, no Avril attached to them any more.

  Then I was all cunt.
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  I came, sobbing, three times, one after another like a cascade of fireworks. The last time Dunster was almost gobbling, and when he’d done he mashed his face, groaning, into my flesh and jerked off. I felt it splash up my leg.

  ‘Tissue,’ said Michael after a decent interval, opening a drawer and throwing him a pack. As Dunster fumbled about, Michael stroked the hair back from my forehead and kissed me again. His eyes were shining.

  I didn’t sit up. I felt so drained that I was sure I could simply cease breathing and die there. I closed my eyes.

  ‘Well, um, Mr Deverick …’

  ‘You wanted something when you came up here?’

  For a few minutes they discussed the complications of customised soffits that were not up to the order specifications over the length of my supine body as if I were not there at all. I felt as if I’d ceased to exist. My breathing slowed until I must have looked as if I were asleep. I had nothing to fear about the future; the worst had already happened.

  ‘I’ll, er, keep this one under my hat, shall I?’ Dunster still sounded dazed. ‘Jesus.’

  ‘It would probably be for the best.’

  I heard him leave. I opened my eyes and looked up at the man who’d betrayed me. He was watching the plastic curtains with an intense expression. Then I heard it: a cry, a thump that became a long tumbling series of blows – the sound of a man falling headlong down a staircase. From the floor below came shouts of enquiry and alarm.

  ‘A stroke,’ said Michael quietly. ‘Extensive damage to the speech areas of the brain. Even when he recovers he’ll never speak or write an intelligible word again.’ He slid his hands under my shoulders and sat me up on the desk. ‘Your need for discretion,’ he murmured into my ear, ‘has cost me a foreman.’

  I think that was the moment I first realised what Michael was doing to me. I should have been horrified and disgusted and frightened. And I did feel all those things, faintly. But overriding every other emotion at that moment was a great wave of relief.