Saxonhurst Secrets

by Justine Elyot

  It was no use. She wouldn’t. He had to stand by and watch, it seemed. She wheedled and cajoled with soft words and apologies, but the upshot was the same. He had to suck it up.

  Finally, Hamframpton gave up the ghost, having no chance of catching up with the mighty Saxonhurst total of runs – 506 for 3 at tea time.

  They all trooped into the pavilion for sandwiches and cake. Adam sipped tea in a corner, watching Evie sit across two giant laps, being fed cucumber slices and strawberries. Julia, in charge of the tea urn, followed the direction of his sour looks.

  The sons of Hamframpton despatched to their minibus, only Saxonhurst team members remained, with Evie. Julia and the other villagers had decamped with the empty plates and cups, and suddenly the atmosphere of affable gentility had gone with them, replaced by a kind of avid anticipation that owed everything to testosterone.

  ‘Team talk,’ said the skipper gruffly to Adam. ‘Not for a vicar’s ears.’

  ‘What about Evie?’

  ‘She’s part of the team.’

  ‘I fail to see how …’

  ‘You don’t need to know. Thanks for your services, vicar, much appreciated. Good evening to you.’

  He thought about arguing, but each of the Saxonhurst cricketers was built like a Greek god and furnished with shin pads and bats.

  ‘Evie,’ he said, his final gambit, but she smiled, a little sadly, and shook her head.

  He tore off the ill-fitting coat and stormed out, leaning up against the side of the pavilion, flattening his spine against its pebbledashed wall. His arms spread, his let his fingers press into the little sharp stones, relishing the mild pain, anything to get the image of Evie with all the cricketers out of his head.

  Because that, beyond doubt, was what would be happening in there.

  Another sick Saxonhurst ritual involving the use to exhaustion of Evie’s genitalia.

  He took a few lungfuls of sweet summer air. How uselessly the sun shone a benevolent golden light over the pitch, how pointlessly the bees buzzed and flowers vented perfume and the cries of children playing with hosepipes drifted on the air.

  It was all ugly, all without purpose, while Evie rutted like a mindless beast.

  He crept, crablike, around the side of the building, finding the store cupboard unlocked and concealing himself in there, amidst the nets and racquets and balls and other paraphernalia of rural sporting life.

  The smell of stale sweat and old rubber was none too pleasant, but he couldn’t seem to tear himself away from the pursuit of knowledge that would do nothing but hurt him. He needed to know how bad it was, how very low his love could stoop.

  The cupboard walls were thin and beyond them lay the changing rooms. He heard the hot splash of the showers, and shouts loud enough for the words to be made out.

  ‘Hand ’er over, Jase. I think you missed a bit.’

  Evie’s shriek and a chorus of ribald male laughter. More splashing, louder, and some screaming.

  ‘Fuck me, that’s cold! Turn the dial back, you bastard!’

  Slaps on wet skin, female giggling, male shouts and whistles.

  ‘She likes it. Seen the state of her nipples?’

  ‘Oi!’ Evie’s voice. ‘Two against one ain’t fair! No!’ Rising to a shriek again. ‘He’s got me! Charlie, get him off me!’

  But Charlie didn’t seem inclined, judging by the fulsome applause and shouts of approval coming from the other side of the wall.

  ‘Hold her down, Gav. Ready with the wet towels?’

  Evie, half-laughing, half-screaming, ‘No!’

  The sound of the towels flicking on to Evie’s presumably bare, wet bottom was indescribably sharp and cruel, making Adam flinch and swallow and claw at the plaster.

  Evie sobbed through it, yet it was clear those sobs weren’t indicators of distress. Throughout, she kept up a defiant commentary.

  ‘Just wait till I get hold of you, Ben Summers. You’ve got it coming to you. Ow! You ain’t seen me with a whip, have you? I’m good. Shit, that hurts! Stop it!’ She broke into wailing as the vicious swish-flick-swish-flick kept up its wince-making rhythm.

  ‘Still got ’er, Gav? Watch her, she’s got sharp nails.’

  ‘Look at that arse. Bright red.’

  ‘She loves it.’

  ‘I know she does. Gave her 20 with my belt last week, she came before I’d finished with her.’

  ‘Kinky little bitch, ain’t you?’

  ‘Yes, yes, I fucking well am,’ she panted. ‘Want to make something of it? Ow, ow, ow.’

  The towel-lashing came to an end.

  ‘Learnt your lesson, have you? Gonna be a good girl?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  General laughter.

  ‘That’ll be the day.’

  ‘My bum’s killing me now.’

  ‘It’ll be worse soon, once Charlie’s cock’s been up it.’

  ‘I want one in my cunt, now. I’m horny as fuck. Please, Ben.’

  There were cheers and a shout of ‘Ride him, cowgirl!’

  ‘Ah, oh, that’s good, you’ve got such a good one, fills me right up, mmm.’

  Adam screwed shut his eyes and uttered a voiceless howl.

  As the grunts and moans grew louder and wilder, he took a tennis ball and threw it against the wall, letting the thump of it drown out some of the sounds of Evie’s pleasure.

  But not all of it could be disguised. The men’s voices rang out as clear as anything.

  ‘That’s it, my son, give her one.’

  ‘Got one waiting for you when you finish with him, love.’

  ‘She’ll be 11 not out before the game’s finished.’

  ‘Bet that vicar wishes he could be in on this. Pervy sod, I reckon he is. What do you say, Evie?’

  But Evie could contribute no more than inarticulate ohs and ahs to the conversation.

  ‘Does he spank your bum when you go to Bible study? Does he get you on your knees and give you a mouthful?’

  ‘Oh God, shut up, don’t talk about him,’ said Evie, finding her voice in extremis. ‘You’ll spoil my orgasm, you cunt.’

  Adam sank to the floor and hid his head in his arms, hot tears springing into his eyes.

  It was all so wrong. It could never, ever be right.

  He kicked aside a net bag of footballs and slammed out of the cupboard, then he ran across the cricket pitch, faster than he had ever run in his life, all the way to Julia Shields’ flat.

  She let him in without a word, turning to a cupboard and taking out a bottle of cognac and two glasses.

  ‘No, no,’ he said, putting up a hand, then using it to dash the remnants of tears from his eyes. ‘Not for me.’

  ‘Drink isn’t a demon all the time. Like most demons, actually. A lot of them look pretty attractive and act like good people for a large percentage of the time.’

  She poured the brandy and handed a glass to Adam. It was clear from her face that she wasn’t going to brook any refusal, so he took it anyway and twisted the stem in his fingers, avoiding putting the rim to his lips.

  ‘That makes sense,’ he muttered.

  ‘Woman troubles?’ she asked, sitting on the sofa and patting the cushion beside her.

  ‘Julia, what do you know about Evie? Clearly it’s more than you’re prepared to tell me. Why won’t you tell me?’

  Julia took a lugubrious sip of her brandy.

  ‘It’s not my place,’ she said. ‘I can warn you to keep away from her. I can’t do much more than that.’

  ‘That’s not enough,’ he said, bringing a fist down on the sofa arm. ‘Why is she used like some kind of sexual talisman? What is it about her?’

  ‘Oh, the cricket thing. I see.’

  ‘What would happen if she said no?’

  ‘The sky would fall in.’

  ‘I’m serious.’

  ‘So am I.’

  He shut his eyes and took a breath, too close to blasphemy to trust himself to speak.

  ‘Please, for the love of a
ll that’s holy, stop talking in riddles and help me understand.’

  ‘Now listen.’ She put her drink down on the coffee table and came to stand behind him, putting long fingers on his shoulders and rubbing them in. ‘Poor darling. You’re shaking.’

  He tried to shrug her off but the series of tremors running down his spine blanked his resistance.

  ‘Evie Witts,’ Julia continued, ‘wishes you no good. If she pays you attention, it’s all part of a game. A nasty game that you can never win. I know you don’t want to believe it, my love, but you must.’

  ‘Evie is a victim in all this,’ he said, his voice weakened by the increasing waves of pleasure. Julia’s hands were confident, her thumbs pressing into the tense muscles at the back of his neck. He shut his eyes and focused on his breathing. ‘I’m sure she is. There’s somebody behind it all … I wish I knew – who it was.’

  ‘Put down your drink,’ whispered Julia.

  He obeyed without reflection. The fumes had unsettled him enough; coupled with Julia’s seductive massage, he was in danger of losing his head completely.

  ‘I’m in love with her,’ he said, a desperate attempt to shake Julia off that didn’t work.

  ‘I know that, sweetheart. Everyone knows it. But she can’t love you. She never will. Let it go. Come to the one who wants you.’

  Her hands were in his scalp now, easing the pressure so beautifully. His skin fizzed and celebrated, his hair standing on end.

  ‘The one who wants you,’ he repeated, voice barely audible.

  ‘Such lovely hair you have,’ she told him, running her fingers through it. ‘Lustrous, that’s the word. And so dark. Dark enough to get lost in. I always wanted dark hair, but I’m the palest thing imaginable. I’m drawn to the dark, though. Perhaps because of my own pallor. Who knows?’

  Adam’s breathing lost its hard-won regularity as she began to twist coils of hair around her fingers, then she lowered her lips to his ear and spoke directly into it.

  ‘God made you desirable, Adam Flint. Why would he do that if he didn’t mean for you to be desired?’

  ‘Temptation,’ he murmured. ‘To show strength of purpose.’

  ‘What purpose?’ She kissed the tip of his ear.

  ‘Purity.’

  ‘This world is impure. You belong in this world. Purity is so terribly overrated.’

  She licked a little trail downwards to beneath his earlobe, the tip of her tongue pointed and probing. His breath hitched.

  ‘Besides, you’re anything but chaste, Mr Flint. Virginity doesn’t equal chastity. Everyone knows you like to watch.’

  He panicked at that and tried to rear up, but Julia pressed her hands hard on his shoulders and pinched, her nails digging into the black cloth of his shirt.

  ‘Shh, don’t, darling. Don’t resist it, don’t deny it.’

  ‘What do you want from me? Why are you doing this?’

  ‘I’m giving you what you need, for the pleasure of it. Because I want you, Adam. Very badly indeed.’

  ‘Nobody ever wants me.’

  ‘You try to repel them, with all your gloom and your talk of sin and your whiff of sulphur. Not literally, I mean. You smell rather nice. But you know what I mean. If you’d let that go, you’d be fending them off.’

  She kissed the spot that her tongue-tip had recently bathed, then moved her lips down his neck. Tiny frissons unknotted his stomach and hardened his cock. Evie and the sports cupboard seemed very far away.

  ‘You think I’m attractive.’

  ‘Aw, bless you, fishing for compliments. You are attractive. Those lovely scared eyes, that flawless skin. Long limbs like a colt. Do you work out?’

  ‘No. I walk a lot.’

  ‘And you abstain from all pleasure. I suppose it keeps you fit and toned, if nothing else.’

  ‘All flesh is grass.’

  She laughed and gave his neck a playful lick.

  ‘Negative,’ she said. ‘I don’t like the taste of grass.’

  Events were a long way out of his control. How had he lost his grasp on his morality, his certainties, his entire philosophy of life so easily? Was it the pervasive taint of Saxonhurst, or was he simply weak? He had worked so hard, all his life, at avoiding weakness, all for this – his toil and labour washed away by the easy blandishments of these Saxonhurst women.

  ‘So you aren’t going to tell me about Evie?’

  ‘I’m not in the mood for telling. I’m in the mood for showing. Let it all out. Let all the bad feelings go, my love, so I can fill you up with the good ones. Let me help you.’

  Her kisses on his neck grew more forceful, the vibrations they sent through him full-blooded, irresistible. His code of ethics was a balloon, floating up through the top of his head and up and away, far away, out of reach.

  ‘Come to bed.’

  ‘Julia, please, no.’ He tried to stand but his legs didn’t want to support his weight.

  She gave his shoulders a final squeeze and hurried around to face him, pushing herself between his clenched legs and kneeling on the edge of the sofa there. Hooking one arm around the back of his neck, she yanked him into a kiss even fiercer than the one at the seaside, accepting nothing but full surrender until he fought back even harder, using his tongue, using his hands to envelop her, bringing her close until her trimly-skirted pubis ground against the bulge in his trousers.

  She forced him to accept that he wanted and needed this contact, this connection, this liberation. Kissing as if it would save his life, he pressed his palm against her silk shirt, feeling the outline of a nipple poking through from inside its lace confines. She was excited, she desired him. The roar of power this knowledge sent straight to his head drove him to further exploration. He tugged her shirt from the waistband of her skirt and pushed his hand up inside, over her flat stomach and her protuberant ribs, up to her bra cups. The lace crackled and grazed against his skin. He closed his fingers over the little mounds, testing them for resistance, shape, texture. They felt every bit as satisfying as he’d imagined they would, in his off-guard moments.

  She purred into his mouth, rotating her hips against his pelvis.

  He delved inside a bra cup and rolled the gorgeously firm, round nipple he found there between his fingers, gently at first, then harder as her moans seemed to request.

  ‘Oh God,’ she gasped, breaking off from the scouring excavations of their tongues, ‘you’ve got the touch.’

  ‘Really?’ He was more flattered than he could say.

  ‘Really. But this isn’t about me.’

  She set herself to loosening his clerical collar and reaching behind him to undo his buttons. He sat almost immobile, watching her at work, fascinated by the twin flushes in her usually pale cheeks, the sheen of her brow, the unaccustomed sparkle in her eyes. She looked astonishingly pretty and, oh God, why had the word fuckable popped into his head? Was it even a word?

  She is so fuckable like this, with her just-kissed lips and her lust glaze and the way her chest rises and falls and her throat is bare and asking for my teeth to …

  He was painfully hard. He had to stop thinking these thoughts. There was no way he could stop thinking these thoughts.

  Indeed, he was still struggling with his resolve when Julia lifted his shirt off him. He raised his arms, helping her, absent-mindedly obedient to her will.

  ‘Oh, you’re lovely, such a lovely thing,’ she said, then she was rubbing her head between his pectoral muscles and then, oh, what was this? She flicked her tongue swiftly and skilfully over one of his nipples and he nearly bent double with the pang of pure lust she aroused in him.

  He moaned and put his hands in her hair, throwing his own head back against the sofa top. It was useless now, he was defeated. Until his cock found relief, he would not be able to stop her.

  She spent a long time lavishing his nipples with her attention and kisses and licks and nips and sucks. He twisted and squirmed underneath her, moving one hand to his crotch in a sly attempt to get him
self off before anything more inflammatory happened.

  But she thwarted his plan, grasping at his wrist and playfully biting the nipple she had been feasting on.

  ‘No, no,’ she rebuked. ‘Not yet. I want you to come in my mouth.’

  He cried out at that, fatally unmanned. Why had the Lord made this such a delirious pleasure if it was sinful? How could this ever be fair? Man couldn’t win against such odds.

  Julia unbuckled his belt and made swift work of releasing his cock from its restraints. He couldn’t look, but he could feel her breath wafting its gentle warmth around his shaft. Her hands parted his thighs a little more, then he felt her bury her face between them, licking and kissing at the soft inner flesh, the top of her head bumping exquisitely against his heavy balls so that they were caressed by her hair.

  He covered his face with his hands, as if this might absolve him in some way from any responsibility, and let her do what she wanted.

  He let her whisper sweet breaths over his sac and up his shaft, then paint his cock with the teasing tip of her tongue. He let her investigate his foreskin, pulling it back with eager fingers so she could bathe his uncovered end, wrapping her lips around it and subjecting it to a thorough tongue bath.

  By the time she came to take him, inch by inch, into her mouth, he was so close to orgasm he despaired of lasting longer than a minute or so. He wanted it to last longer, to luxuriate in his sin now that it was inevitable, to gather all that pleasure inside him and store it for the long, lonely nights.

  She cupped his balls and lowered her lips still further, sucking at him with a force he was surprised she possessed, being such a wisp of a thing herself.

  She drew sensation from the crown of his head, the tips of his toes, all the extremities of his body, and made it rush pell-mell to his velvet-sheathed cock. He felt like the national grid, lit up, alive with electricity. The power surged through him, leaving him weak and tremulous, then he cried out as he filled Julia’s mouth. Oh, if he could capture this feeling, remember it in its exquisite entirety, he would have riches forever.

  She looked up at him, her spark of triumph catching him like a barb. Unease possessed him; a sense that she now had a hold over him he might find difficult to escape. And yet … She was attractive, and she liked him and …