He stood at the head of the placard wavers, playing it up for the benefit of the cameras from the local TV station – Julia hadn’t warned him they were coming – until some kind of kerfuffle behind the gates caused him to turn around.
They opened mechanically, and a parade of exotically dressed people poured forth, dividing the protesters into two groups.
At their head, Sebastian and Kasia were dressed in top-to-toe rubber, carrying whips and placards of their own. “FREEDOM OF EXPRESSION!” it read.
A bevy of oiled, muscular men in thongs and curvaceous women in similar followed, chanting and smiling, inviting all to join in their procession. In the centre, held aloft on a kind of chair on poles borne by four strong men, was Evie.
At first, Adam thought she was completely naked, but closer inspection revealed that she wore little wreaths of strategically placed flower petals on her breasts and between her legs. A bacchanalian Queen of the May, her locks flowing from beneath her crown of cherry blossom.
Adam dropped his placard in dismay.
‘Sweet Lord!’
He ran alongside the chair, begging her to come down and get dressed, but she laughed down at him and waved, then turned to wave at everyone on the green.
The cameras kept on rolling, despite the film crew’s reservations about being able to show this on the pre-watershed news bulletin. Julia’s protesters chased the caravan, shouting abuse, but it soon became clear that the procession had more support than hostility from the village in general, and defeat had to be admitted.
‘Give us a twirl, Evie!’ bellowed a village lad into Adam’s ear.
She stood, wobbling perilously, on the chair seat, and spread her arms in a gesture of universal beneficence. The pert cheeks of her arse were bisected by a cunning little twine of greenery, firmly wedged in her crack and continuing below to hide her pussy from view.
‘I love you all!’ she shouted. ‘I love my people! Free speech and free love for all!’
The children of the village were being hustled home by their parents. The mood was changing from one of bucolic innocence to something darker. The jam judging was cancelled. A crowd built up around the maypole, muttering, swigging cider, under a lowering sun.
Adam wondered why some dancing round the maypole was building up so much tension in the air. Then he watched the crowd divide as Evie, down from her chair, was led on to the green by two of the musclemen, each drawing her forward by reins made of threaded flowers, the colours striking, ravishing, against her bare skin.
‘What is this?’ he asked the person next to him, his hackles rising, stomach churning with a kind of exhilarated dread.
‘Maypole, ennit? Saxonhurst tradition. Oh, you’re in for a treat, vicar.’
Adam watched as the musclemen placed Evie with her back to the maypole. She raised her arms above her head, and one of the ribbons was wrapped round and round her wrists until she was bound in position. Another ribbon performed a similar function around her waist. Her hair hung loose over her petal-strewn nipples and her face was ecstatic, beatific. She reminded him of depictions of female martyrs. What on earth was she doing this for?
Before he could move forward to try and intervene, the Morris dancers had surrounded Evie in a tight circle. They began to jig around her, their bells jingling and sticks clanking while a man played an accordion and the villagers clapped in rhythm. The sun dipped lower, sinking under the horizon, and the dance got faster, the music wilder. Once the red-streaked skies had turned purple and then inky blue-black, the Morris dancers abandoned their performance and Adam found himself caught up in a free-for-all as villagers surged forward, eager to grab themselves one of the maypole ribbons.
He was almost knocked over and staggered sideways. By the time he’d steadied himself, 16 villagers stood hanging on to the multi-coloured strands, over which there had been a few angry exchanges and even a slap.
Now an equal number of men and women had succeeded in taking a position and they stood, facing inward, waiting for something to happen.
But what?
The accordion started up again and the villagers began to dance, ribbons criss-crossing, forming a different pattern with each move. At one point each one of them wound their ribbon around Evie until she resembled a more colourful version of an Egyptian mummy, then they were individually unwound again and she was once more a beautiful, nearly naked woman bound to a maypole.
The music ended once all the ribbons were unravelled and an expectant tension rippled through the crowd.
‘Go, Evie!’ yelled one man, prompting a little wave of encouraging shouts.
A man Adam recognised as the owner of Saxonhurst’s biggest fruit and vegetable growers came to stand beside Evie. Anthony Farren was his name; he was a broad, brash man, given to vulgar displays of wealth.
‘May our first bearer of tribute come forward and worship your queen.’
Queen? Adam narrowed his eyes, frowning as one of the maypole dancers, a woman, approached Evie.
She dropped to her knees, lifted Evie’s right ankle in her hand and began, quite slowly and deliberately, to suck her toes.
Evie giggled and squirmed with infectious delight as the middle-aged farm worker held her foot in rough hands and flicked her tongue into the grooves between her toes. With thick fingers, she caressed Evie’s instep, causing her to scream out loud, and covered her red-painted toenails with kisses. Only when every inch of Evie’s little feet had been smothered with attention did the woman stop.
A man was next, and he gave Evie’s calves, shins, and knees the same treatment. She fussed and wriggled when he took his time kissing and licking the sensitive backs of her knees. Adam noted how flushed her face was and how her eyes rolled back with pleasure. Something told him he should stop this from going any further. Something else prevented him.
A second woman had stepped up, and she was sucking on Evie’s fingers, one by one, then putting a few of them in her mouth at a time. Fervently, she kissed the knuckles and let her tongue lick a trail in the creases of her palms.
The second man was in charge of wrists and forearms and inner elbows, while the third woman took over the upper arms, even going so far as to bury her face in Evie’s exposed armpits.
What was coming next? Adam wondered, transfixed.
Another man took the woman’s place. He worshipped Evie’s stomach and hips with his tongue and his hands, circling her navel for a good, long time while she threw back her head and moaned.
It was up to the next woman to untie the sash around Evie’s waist and turn her to face the maypole. She massaged Evie’s shoulders and back with a touch that looked sensuous but firm. With a jolt of shock, Adam recognised the woman as Mrs Witts, his own housekeeper and Evie’s aunt. Was there no end to the barbarity of this village?
She patted Evie’s side and said something in her ear before turning her back around to face the front once more and retiring.
The next man seemed to signal a new phase in the action. He kissed Evie from shoulder to neck on both sides, then set to sucking at the tender flesh there until it was marked in several places. Evie’s eyes closed in rapture, and when he withdrew, her nipples were poking rudely through their petal covering, pink and stiff.
The fifth woman took Evie’s face in her hands and subjected her to a passionate and thorough kiss, tonguing her so that the crowd could see how deeply Evie’s mouth was taken. The young women smooched until Evie was rubbing herself against her embracer’s pelvis, rubbing her legs up and down the other girl’s jeans.
Adam tried to look away, but it was the most gorgeous and sensual sight he had ever seen and he felt lightheaded, his throat and mouth too dry to attempt speech.
Oh, Lord, if that could be me, please let it be me.
The young woman released Evie from that epic kiss and had her place taken by the fifth man. He gently unpicked each petal from around her left nipple before fondling it, squeezing the breast, tonguing and sucking its pert pink tip for a l
ong time; perhaps it was five minutes. The crowd did not seem to tire of the sight, egging him on to keep up the pressure. Evie’s hips bucked wildly and she tried to capture the man by hooking a leg around his waist, but he maintained his severe focus on her left breast, leaving her pussy unfilled.
The sixth woman repeated this process with Evie’s right breast until the maypole-bound girl sobbed with desperate lust.
‘Touch me down there, please, please.’
But the woman’s only response was to nip at Evie’s right nipple so that Evie sucked in a breath.
‘I know I’m a bad girl,’ groaned Evie. ‘I know I shouldn’t … I wish you could just touch me there.’
‘You’ll have to wait,’ teased the woman before resuming her tormenting task.
Evie was panting, her breasts heaving up and down on her ribcage, by the time woman number six retreated.
There were still five villagers waiting to pay their tributes. How much further could this go? Adam stumbled forward, half-intending to say something, to try and stop it, but the crowd pushed him back again, linking in front of him to prevent his further ingress.
The sixth man turned Evie back around again, revealing the succulent curves of her back and bottom, before accepting a handful of sappy green willow wands, tied at the end with a red ribbon.
The crowd, already vocal, began to roar their encouragement, cheering wildly when the young man drew back his arm and applied the first of several firm strokes to Evie’s quivering bum. The word “Stop” died in Adam’s throat the moment he saw the faint pink tinge the willow switches conferred to her skin. His fantasy made flesh. All he could do was gawp, eyes swimming, throat tight, heart pounding.
The willow wands were young and supple, bending and flexing as they swished through the air. Evie’s little mewls of protest could barely be heard under the baying of the villagers, but Adam could just catch each yelp. He should be rescuing her but instead here he was, a voyeur in her moment of fleshly subjugation, enjoying it.
The man hesitated after 11 strokes of the switches and Evie’s hips wiggled, then she pushed out her bottom, as if begging for more.
Adam thought he would swoon. She wanted it.
The final stroke fell with vicious efficacy, striping the lower portion of her bottom with marks that would last a few hours, by the looks of them.
Evie sighed some incoherent words of thanks, and her flogger retired, flinging the switches to the ground. They were seized as trophies by several of the nearby viewers and brandished in the air.
The penultimate woman turned Evie to face the crowd again. Her eyes were shut, her lip swollen and bitten. She writhed almost continually, as if trying to force herself on the woman, who maintained a strict distance until Evie behaved herself and calmed down.
Then the woman dropped to her knees and put her hands on each of Evie’s inner thighs, gently parting them as far as they could go. Once she was spread and on show for the whole village, the woman ducked her head closer and began to massage Evie’s vulva and clit with deft, sure fingers.
Within half a minute, Evie was jerking on her floral chains, face bright red, clearly in the throes of orgasm.
But the woman did not stop there. She gave Evie a moment to subside into passivity, then she slowly and deliberately inserted two fingers inside her cunt and began to lick her clit.
Evie moaned and protested that it was too much, she couldn’t, she needed a rest, but the woman’s fierce absorption in her task made Adam wonder if she’d even heard the girl whose juices she was scooping out with her tongue. He watched Evie’s stomach ripple and squirm above the girl’s head – who was she? Was every villager in Saxonhurst perfectly content to perform depraved acts on each other at a moment’s notice? It certainly seemed like it.
After five minutes with her face buried in Evie’s pussy, the woman struck gold again, and Evie came a second time, almost sobbing, trying to yank her wrists free of their bonds without success.
The woman stood back up and turned to face the cheers of the crowd. Her mouth and chin shone with Evie’s juices, which she tried to wipe away with the handkerchief she waved in victory. She ran back to join her friends, who hugged and kissed her, as if eager to get their own little taste of the wanton maypole captive.
Now Anthony Farren pulled a sturdy wooden stool from the side of the green and placed it in front of Evie before calling up the seventh man.
He climbed up to kneel on the stool, unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his jeans and introduced the tip of his cock directly to Evie’s lips. She opened them and her pink tongue darted out, drawing a feathery circle around the cock’s bulbous head, licking up the pearly drops at its end. The man pushed his shaft further into Evie’s receptive mouth, holding it tight, breathing hard, while everyone watched her lips stretch to accommodate their invader.
Her tethered wrists meant that she couldn’t get a hold of him, but she did her best to swallow as much of his length as she could, then he began to thrust. His balls swung against her chin and all Adam could see was the very root of his cock, shoving back and forth, fucking Evie’s beautiful face until tears began to stream from her eyes. Once again, he tried to step forward. This time, he was tripped up and he fell back on his arse in the dust. The crowd’s roar signified that the man had ejaculated into Evie’s throat.
By the time Adam was on his feet, she was licking her lips, grinning like a Cheshire cat as the man she had just blown righted himself.
Only two villagers were left now.
What on earth could the final woman have lined up? Was Evie going to lick her as she knelt on the stool? Adam couldn’t work out how that would be possible, given the angles involved, and indeed, it seemed that this was not the plan, for Anthony Farren removed the stool and replaced it with a much lower one.
From his little box of tricks, he produced something Adam had never seen in his life – a kind of leather harness, from the front of which protruded something unmistakably rude and phallic.
The woman buckled it around her waist and through her crotch, over the top of her spray-on jeans, until it seemed that she was blessed with an erection of her own, albeit a shiny black latex version.
She turned to the crowd to give them a few suggestive hip thrusts, making them roar and whistle, then she stepped onto the low platform and pushed the end of the dildo between Evie’s pussy lips, circling until it was wet with her juices.
She clung to the back of Evie’s thighs, pulling them forward so that the dildo slipped into the shallow basin behind her vulva and butted its tip in the opening of her vagina.
Evie moaned.
‘You ready for this?’ shouted the woman, her voice as penetrating as a military drill sergeant. ‘Your cunt nice and wet for me, is it?’
‘Yes, yes,’ whispered Evie.
‘I can’t hear you, slut. Tell me your cunt’s fucking hot and wet for me, and when you talk to me, you call me ma’am, right?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘Go on then. Say it.’
‘My cunt’s so wet for you, ma’am, real wet and juicy. It wants a good fucking, ma’am.’
‘It’s going to get one, slut. Take this.’
Adam winced as the long, curved phallus entered Evie in a swift stroke.
‘Have ’er, Gill!’ yelled the woman next to Adam. ‘She took your man. Get ’er back!’
He felt his hackles rise and a strong instinct of protection kick inside him. Evie was being revenge-fucked by this scary specimen of a woman. Somebody should stop it.
But Evie was submitting readily enough, moaning as the woman grabbed and squeezed great handfuls of her bum cheeks while she slammed into her cunt.
‘That was a good whippin’ you got,’ gasped Gill. ‘You deserved more, though. Didn’t you, eh? Little slut.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘You ever cross me again and I’ll be givin’ you more than that. Get those legs wider, go on. Get that cunt proper stretched.’
She ban
ged on in a frenzy until Evie began climaxing in a high-pitched whimper, her head flailing from side to side. The violence of it both shocked and aroused Adam, and when Gill completed her hard shafting with a smart slap to Evie’s face, he doubled over and squeezed his thighs hard, only too conscious of his erection.
Gill yanked the dildo out of Evie so swiftly that her legs buckled and she seemed to hang there, all her weight supported by her poor bound arms, until she found her feet again.
Gill put her face to Evie’s cunt, taking a good long look at it.
‘That’s been well fucked,’ was the verdict. Then she unstrapped and flung the harness aside, marching down to the green’s edge like Joan of Arc in battle.
Adam was on his knees when the final man took his place.
The vicar covered his eyes. Surely Evie couldn’t take another pounding up there, so soon after that barbaric Gill had done her worst.
But when he peeked between his fingers, he saw that the man had turned Evie around again and was spreading her bum cheeks, stroking gently around her exposed little rosette. Evie was twitching and flexing up and down on tiptoes. The man’s attentions to her arse seemed to be ticklish and she wriggled and giggled as he got closer and closer to the target.
He was going to take her there.
Adam couldn’t look. He knew it would inflame him over the edge and no woman was going to make him disgrace himself on the village green in full view of his entire parish.
The commentary from the surrounding audience was more than enough to undo him, though.
‘Ooh, he’s got a finger in there, see?’
‘Rather ’er than me.’
‘Nah, she loves it. Look at ’er. Most every man in Saxonhurst has had her up the bum before now. She’s well known for it.’
‘She’s well known for everything.’
‘That’s true. Oh, he’s getting her lubed up now. Nice and shiny.’
‘Big cock too, our Jase.’
‘You used to go out with him, didn’t you, a few years back?’
Saxonhurst Secrets Page 6
