Wild in the Country

Copyright © Portia Da Costa, 2007
All Rights Reserved, Total-E-Ntwined Limited, T/A Total-e-bound.
Excerpt From: Wild in the Country

“Good morning, Flora,” said a deep American voice that went well with the solid, God-like body.
Completely thrown, Flora dithered. How on earth did he know who she was? He hadn’t even looked up at her yet, much less been introduced.
“I... I...” she stammered, her eyes locked on Declan McKenna’s firm, hard buttocks, “Hello, Mr McKenna—” She froze again. He was turning over... “I’m sorry...but how the devil do you know who I am?”
“Word travels fast in Marwick Magna,” said the nude man before her, stretching luxuriantly, his musculature flexing and rippling, “I didn’t think it’d be all that long before we met... Would you like some coffee?” He nodded towards his empty mug, “I’ve got a potful on the hob inside.”
“N... No, thank you.”
It would choke her, she was sure. She couldn’t think about drinking; she wasn’t even sure she remembered why she’d come here; she could only stare at Declan McKenna’s naked body. And the beautiful penis that nestled between his thighs.
He wasn’t erect, but he wasn’t completely flaccid either, and even as she watched his flesh twitched and seemed to thicken.
“Does my nakedness bother you?” he enquired with a grin. “I can get dressed if you prefer... but it seems a shame on a glorious day like this.”
“No, it’s fine. Stay as you are,” replied Flora, managing to claw back a little of her composure despite an awareness of her own body’s responses, “It’s just that where I used to live, people don’t go in much for nude sunbathing... The gardens aren’t as secluded as yours.”
“I can imagine,” he murmured, shifting to one side of his rug, “You’re a city girl, aren’t you? Come to the country to escape all the madness... Why don’t you sit down—” He patted the tartan cloth a couple of feet from where he lay, “—and tell me all about yourself and why you’re in Marwick.”
Trying not to look at Declan McKenna’s cock, Flora sat down at the extreme edge of the rug and folded her skirt protectively around her legs.
What could she tell him that would make sense? Her reasons for being here would sound crazy enough as it was, without her ability to describe them being fuddled by his splendid naked presence.
Plucking absently at the grass, she began:
“Well, as you already seem to know, my name’s Flora Swain, and up until a month ago I worked in a bank. I was a small investments advisor, quite a good job, really, but not exciting... Not very fulfilling to the real me... Do you understand?”
Declan nodded, smiling slightly. Of course he understood, he was an artist. Bank work would stifle a man like him. And he’d have to wear his clothes all the time, she thought, managing an amused little smile of her own.
“I was fed up. In a rut. Bored to death,” she glanced across at his drawing pad, and saw that he’d been sketching a woman’s shapely torso, the curves rich, the breasts and pubic triangle wildly exaggerated. “Then, out of the blue, I was left some money. Quite a lot of money, actually. And I decided I’d do what I wanted with it, not what everyone at the bank said I should so with it. Investments and suchlike.” She looked up, feeling stronger, and somehow pleased with herself. “I packed in my job, gave notice on my flat, and started looking for somewhere entirely new to live... Somewhere in the country. And I found this place—” She nodded over her shoulder towards Pennyroyal Cottage, “in one of the Sunday supplements. It said “beautiful idyllic surroundings”, “carefully renovated property” and stuff like that. And I just knew in my heart it was for me!”
“But what are you going to do here in the country?” enquired Declan softly, his brown eyes intense and challenging. “Tend your garden... Make preserves... Press wild flowers?”
A thrilling shiver shot down Flora’s spine and seemed to coil itself like a serpent in her sex. His question had been casual, off the cuff, almost mocking, but did she detect an emphasis on those final two words?
“I might do all of those,” she replied airily, “But what I really want to do...”
It petered out again. Her aspirations would sound puerile to a man who could do, effortlessly, what she only dreamed of.
“What is it you want to do, Flora?” he prompted, regarding her steadily, his hand resting—she noticed—on his thigh, just a couple of inches from his semi-erect cock.
“Well, ever since I was a kid, I’ve love to draw and sketch and paint... So I’ve decided that now I’ve got a bit of money to tide me over, I’m going to take art seriously and see if I’m any good. That’s why I came here, to Marwick Magna. The literature about the cottage said the village is a bit of an artist’s community. A haven of creativity and all that... I thought this was a good place to settle. I hoped that with all that artistic talent flying around, some of it might settle on me.”
It’d come out in an ill-considered tumble of words, and pulling up more grass stalks, Flora waited for the inevitable laughter.
“That’s a great idea, Flora,” he said, surprising her. When she looked up, his dark eyes were warm, but quite serious. The mockery of a few moments ago was gone. “You’ll do okay here. There’re plenty of people in the village who’d be willing to advise you... Even I could, at a pinch.” He grinned, but it was an honest, boyish grin. “But I warn you, I don’t pull my punches. If your work is crap, you can be sure that I’ll tell you!”
“That’s what I want! An honest opinion...” Flora caught her breath, stunned for a moment, when Declan’s fingertips drifted across his penis, the action natural and entirely unselfconscious.
“And is that one of your drawings?” he said, apparently unperturbed by her scrutiny, and the fact she was blushing as red as carnation.
Flora was puzzled for a moment, then looked down and saw the corner of the envelope protruding from her skirt pocket.
For the past minute, while describing her high hopes and her dreams, she’d almost forgotten about her lewd, exotic letter, but now she drew it out and turned over in her fingers.
“No. No, it isn’t.” She hesitated, knowing that to show the letter would bring a whole new set of parameters to their barely nascent relationship. Change it from a flickering, delicate flirtation into an erotic torch that might be difficult to govern.
“It’s something someone posted through my letterbox this morning,” she said, taking out the single sheet of paper and unfolding it, “I... I wondered if you knew anything about it.”
“What is it?”
“It’s a letter, of course?” Was he teasing her again? She held out the cream-white paper towards him, and waited for him to take it.
But he didn’t...
“It’s your letter, Flora. You read it to me.”
“I... I can’t!” It was obvious to her now, that he’d written it.
“Then neither can I,” he replied, his voice sounding a little odd and tense, “Words aren’t my thing, Flora. I express myself in other ways...” He nodded towards the rough but powerful drawing, then shrugged his shoulders and looked vaguely resigned.
For a moment, Flora felt confused. Not only by Declan’s nakedness, but by the letter, its contents, and his strange refusal to look at it. Suddenly a hideous idea occurred to her, something more embarrassing, in a different way, than anything that had happened so far.
He can’t read, she thought, feeling a peculiar mix of astonishment, pity and tenderness. He’s intelligent, obviously, and artistically gifted beyond measure, but for some reason, he can’t decipher the written word. Feeling a profound urge to reach out and hug him, she withdrew the problematical letter.
“I... All right then,” she said, looking down and blushing again at the rawness of the language.
“Welcome Flora,” she began. “Or perhaps I should say Wild Flower? It’s obvious...”
It was only one page, just a paragraph or two, but it seemed to take her a century to read. She stumbled over some words, and had others dry up inside her mouth, but eventually she whispered, “And it’s just signed “The Scribe”...’
“So, do you have any idea who might have sent it?” asked Declan, quite calmly, as pornographic letters were read out to him every day.
“I thought—” She stopped short and looked at him in alarm, horrified at the thought of facing his illiteracy head-on.
Declan said nothing, but just flashed her that peculiar half-regretful smile again.
“I’ve no idea at all,” she continued, relieved by his tact, “I don’t know anyone here yet. I’ve spoken to Morwenna Carfax on the phone, but I haven’t actually met her... This could be from anybody...” She looked down at the letter, seeking answers but getting none, “Anybody who’s passed across that meadow since yesterday,” she nodded towards the field at the back of their two properties, “All they’d need is a good pair of binoculars.”
“Most country people have field glasses, Flora,” replied Declan, “For bird-watching, for observing wild life—” He grinned again, “I have some myself... And I’m sure there’s a pair somewhere in your cottage too, if you look for them. So I wouldn’t say that owning a pair of binoculars necessarily makes anyone a suspect.”
“I suppose not,’ said Flora doubtfully, “But who’d write such a thing? It’s... It’s...”
“Sensual? Flattering? A turn on?” suggested Declan, his eyes glittering, “You’ve got to admit that he—or she—thinks very highly of you... If I’d received that—” He nodded at the letter, “I’d be making every effort to reach out to the person who’d written it.”
Flora fell silent. She felt at a loss, out of control, strangely vulnerable. She did want to meet her ‘admirer’, but she didn’t have the slightest idea how to find them.
“Morwenna will help you,” said Declan, breaking her fugue, “Morwenna knows everything and everybody. The whole of village life here seems to revolve around the lovely Mrs Carfax.”
“Yes,” said Flora, preparing to get up, but feeling distinctly reluctant to abandon the glorious sight of Declan, “I think I’ll go and see her. Show her the letter...”
“That’s great, Flora,” said Declan, darting out to grip her wrist with a big, strong hand, “But before you do go. Will you do me a favour?”
“Yes. Yes, of course...” Flora felt something flutter in her mid-section, and her heart begin to race. When she looked downwards, she saw Declan was now erect...
“Oil my back for me,” he said, his eyes dancing and his mouth totally wicked. He’d seen her ogling his cock, that was obvious.
Releasing her hand he lay down on his front, then gestured towards the bottle of milky lotion. “That’s the stuff... One of Morwenna’s finest concoctions. Complete protection and terrific for the skin.”
Flora picked up the bottle and sniffed it dubiously. The scent was powerful and citrus-like, with elements of flowers and spices. When she poured a little of the mixture onto her fingers, its consistency was thin, but unexpectedly silky. She shuddered. To the touch, it felt extraordinarily like semen, and to look at it there wasn’t much difference either.
“Yeah, I know... It reminds me of that too,” said Declan as if he’d read her mind, “I think Morwenna does it on purpose... Everything she does is provocative, and everything she makes either turns you on, or looks like something to do with sex.”
“You sound as if you know her well,” said Flora, tentatively dribbling a little of the lotion onto Declan’s broad back, then smoothing it in with the pads of her fingers. His skin was fine-textured, but so warm it felt feverish.
“You could say that,” he murmured, chuckling softly.
They’re lovers, thought Flora. The tone of voice gave it away. There was passion beneath the surface, and memories and possessiveness. Her own jealousy was a strong as it was sudden.
“And what about her husband?” she asked crisply, hoping to score a point as she added more lotion, then slicked it over the plains of his shoulders.
“Robert?” Declan settled himself a little on the rug... “You can do my ass, you know... It won’t mean we’re engaged or anything...”
Flora slapped a dollop of the white lotion on the crown of each buttock, and massaged it in with a fair amount of force. When Declan moaned softly, she almost tipped the bottle over, feeling the muscles beneath her fingers flex and tense. “God, that’s good,” he whispered, a shudder ascending the whole length of his back.
“What about Robert Carfax?” insisted Flora, feeling her own body shake, and remembering the words in her letter.
“Robert’s a great guy. A good friend of mine. He’s devoted to Morwenna... But then we all are,” he paused, his thighs stirring and his toes curling on the rug, “You will be too, when you meet her.”
Flora couldn’t think about Morwenna. She couldn’t really think about anything, except the naked male flesh beneath her fingers and the uninhibited reactions of the man she was anointing. Declan was sighing now, quivering and squirming on the blanket, rubbing his crotch against the firm earth beneath him. By now, Flora had coated his skin from his heels to his hairline, but almost dreamily she poured more lotion on his bottom, then began working it in in meticulous little circles.
My arsehole... My crease... she thought, feeling her consciousness drift. She pressed with her thumbs, and made the snug aperture of his anus stretch and pout. Declan scrabbled at the blanket, then twisted it maniacally between his tightly clenched fingers. “Oh my God,” she heard him mutter indistinctly. “Oh God, please, do it, you beautiful girl!”
Do what? Flora asked herself, but even as the thought formed, she knew what he wanted. Clasping hard at one buttock, she slid the thumb of her other hand inside him, the entry made easy by the slipperiness of the lotion.
“Yes!” sobbed Declan, the single word cracking with grateful power. Rotating his hips against the mat, he whimpered with pleasure, and the tiny sounds made Flora’s sex respond to him, the very core of her beating like a pulse.
He was in her power now, this glamorous, talented man whose company had so recently intimidated her. He was a moaning wreck, because she was playing with his bottom. Rocking her thumb, she thought fleetingly of Ian, and how much he’d disapproved of anything like this. He’d been scared, she realised, not man enough to show his abandon. Declan McKenna clearly harboured no such doubts; he could surrender to anything without losing his primal maleness.
Feeling his sphincter clench around her slowly thrusting thumb, Flora wondered if Declan were about to climax. His being pleasured like this was clearly a great joy to him, and he might well need no other stimulation. And he was grinding his cock against the blanket.
Even so, she leant over him, and whispered, “Do you...you want me to touch you?”
She couldn’t quite say exactly what she meant, but Declan understood.
“Oh yes, Flora, yes,” he whispered, then rolled over as she popped her thumb out of him.
Declan’s penis was a wonder. He was bigger than Ian, bigger by far, and not only in length, but girth also. His fat reddened staff pointed skywards in the sunlight, rising from his groin like a shiny living tower.
Flora’s first instinct was to throw her thigh astride him, hitch aside her panties, and just let her wet sex slide down and engulf him. But that was far too much, and far too soon. Good Lord, she hardly knew him! And yet, she’d gone this far now, and made an offer. She poured more lotion on her fingers, then took a hold...
Making a ring of her thumb and forefinger, she encircled him, having to stretch around his fat rosy glans. Delicately, but enjoying herself, she worked his foreskin back and forth, smiling mischievously as his tiny love-eye winked.
“Harder!” cried Declan suddenly, his teeth gritted and his hands once more gouging at the blanket. “Go on, woman, do it!” he commanded, thrusting up his hips as if to urge her with his body.
“All right then,” muttered Flora. Unconsciously, she’d been planning a long, slow rise for him; she’d wanted to show him her skill, what she had of it, and to explore him. But clearly all Declan wanted to do was to come, and come quickly. The bastard! With no further ado, she began to move her fingers jerkily, the action rough as if to punish him for his greed.
Declan, however, seemed enraptured. Rising to her strokes, he pushed himself upwards through her grip, thus intensifying the length and force of each slick pass. Within seconds, he was shouting—some wordless nonsense that Flora barely heard—and his semen was jetting out into the air. Great droplets arced, then fell back down on him, covering his chest and belly like a string of milky jewels.
Flora was dumbstruck. She sat motionless on the rug, watching the white fluid’s pearly, running trails, and feeling Declan subside stickily in her clutching hand.
What on earth have I done? she thought, looking down at her semen smeared fingers, and the softening male flesh still clasped in them. It’s probably only half an hour since I met this bloody man, and I’ve just jerked him off! What the hell’s happened to me? How could I do such an insane thing?
“Thank you, Flora,” murmured Declan sleepily, “That was incredible... Just what I needed.” He reached down and laid his hand lightly over hers for a second. “It’s going to be quite something having you for a neighbour.” Laughing, he circled his fingers around hers, then drew her hand to his lips to kiss it, his eyebrows lifting as he tasted his own come.
“I’m sorry... I don’t know what got into me... I... I...” She couldn’t make sense. She couldn’t think. He’d tricked her into masturbating him, and she should be furious—but all she could do was want what she couldn’t now have.
“You’re a wonderful girl, Flora,” he said, turning her hand over and kissing her palm too, then licking it slowly and suggestively. “Would you like me to thank you in return? Properly, I mean?”