Country Pleasures (10 page)

‘Who are you?' she said, trying to sound brave. It came out like a lamb's bleat. She was shaking so much that she couldn't get the jeans up her leg.

‘Name's Maddock. From up the farm. I was just passing.'

Sally stared back at him. The words took a while to sink in. Up the farm. Not a totally random nutter, then. She vaguely remembered Janie talking about a nearby farm.

‘Did you see my friend?'

‘Not seen anyone on the road. And once I got here I'm afraid I was a little distracted. Cottage been empty for months, and what do I find the day I decide to come by? A bit of stuff, wriggling about on the floor and giving out a peepshow for free.'

‘She's out there looking for logs, and she'll be back any minute,' said Sally, ignoring the stranger's comment.

‘Who's that, then? Your friend's another she? No boyfriend down here to keep you company, then? That must be why you're wearing Mr Ben's clothes. I daresay he'd give his latest Porsche to see you half dressed in that.'

Sally followed his eyes as they skirted down her body. The jumper was rucked up untidily round her hips and the damp curls of her pubes were clearly visible. She dropped the jeans and kicked them away, pulling feebly at the hem of the sweater. She was too hot. She longed to take it off.

‘I didn't know it was going to be so cold,' she said.

‘I'm sure he won't mind. So you've found a whole new way of warming yourself up, and very generous you are to share it with me.'

Sally made a feeble attempt to feign modesty. ‘I wasn't sharing it with you,' she protested.

‘You saw me looking through the window, and you carried on poking yourself, bold as brass,' said Maddock,
a big grin on his ruddy face. ‘What man could walk away from that? You even beckoned me in, if I recall.'

Sally was beginning to regret her bold display now she was faced with her audience in the house. ‘I thought I was seeing things when I saw you out there. I've had too much wine.'

A smoker's chuckle rattled from somewhere inside his chest, but his face didn't alter. ‘Must be good stuff. Mind if I have a snifter of that, then?'

‘Help yourself,' she said coolly, handing him the bottle. ‘I didn't know they had Peeping Toms in the country.' She curled herself on the sofa, and pulled the sweater down over her knees, then looked up at Maddock. He was built like a shit-house.

‘We have all sorts down here.' He chuckled again. ‘I'd be glad to show you.'

‘One thing at a time, Mr Maddock. Tell me, first. How did you get in?'

‘Not that I needed one, but I have a key.'

‘You could have knocked. Or used the doorbell.'

‘You knew I was coming in,' he said. ‘I was trying to tell you when I was outside. You invited me, remember?'

He hadn't blinked once. She kept her eyes on him. She wasn't going to let him win this staring match.

‘How come you have a key, Mr Maddock?'

‘Maddock. Just Maddock.'

He flung his heavy coat across a chair and stepped in from the kitchen. He had a lumberjack shirt on under the jacket, unbuttoned enough to show a grubby vest, and a wide chest smothered in thick black hair. Sally was determined not to be intimidated by this rustic oaf. The best plan, she decided, was to brazen it out.

‘You can try making yourself at home,' she said, ‘but, as I said, my friend will be back in a moment.'

Maddock looked immovable and faintly amused. ‘Mr Ben give me the key. I come and go as I please when he's away.'

‘Well, he's not away,' she spluttered. ‘I mean, we're here, not him.'

‘I'm to keep an eye on the place: maintenance, and the like.'

As if to prove the point he produced a hammer from behind his back and banged it down on the mantelpiece. Sally jumped, but the surprise was followed by a series of thrills up and down her legs.

‘I see you've already got the paintbrushes in.' He gave a dirty laugh.

Sally gripped the brush tighter, and Maddock looked at her, his mouth stretching into a sly grin.

‘Janie's doing some decorating. That's what Ben asked her to do. She hasn't said anything about any maintenance man. Hasn't said anything about any man, come to think of it.'

‘Good thing I dropped by then, isn't it?'

‘You think there's maintenance needs doing here at the moment?' she asked, her voice going higher with each sentence. ‘Broken shutters, cracked window frames, that sort of thing?' She unrolled the jumper off her knees and straightened her legs out so they were splayed in front of her on the sofa. The room was baking.

‘I'm to come in every day while he's away, Ben says. There's a lot of storm damage to fix, especially up on the roof, and he wants some trees pruning as well.'

Sally felt slightly relieved; at least he sounded like the genuine article. ‘I'm sure there's lots you could do for us, but it's too late to do anything about it tonight,'
she said, realising that his presence was making her feel deliciously vulnerable and quite turned on. There was no point being antisocial. ‘Would you like some more wine before you leave?' she asked. ‘It's kind of dull here on my own.'

‘Don't mind if I do,' Maddock answered. ‘And I wouldn't say it was dull here, not at all. Just think yourself lucky my lads weren't peeping with me. I'd have had to cover their eyes. You town strumpets … no shame!'

‘Come on!' Sally snorted. ‘I bet you have country strumpets as well. You'll probably be needing a roll in the hay to cool off after what I showed you.' She absent-mindedly wound the paintbrush through her messy hair.

‘In this weather?' he scoffed, approaching Sally and standing over her. ‘You must be joking. We're not that basic. A roll on Mr Ben's nice dry hearth-rug would be far more welcome.'

Sally took a swig from her own glass. ‘In that case, I wonder how town and country would compare?'

He thumped down on his knees beside Sally and took the paintbrush, shaking it out of her hair. She curled her legs back up again. Her stomach was clenched with excitement. He held the paintbrush up to his face and sniffed it. She could feel the heat beating off him. She would boil if she didn't rip that jumper off soon.

‘Perhaps we should suck it and see?' he said.

‘Not sure my friend would like it,' Sally murmured, glancing out of the window.

Maddock watched Sally from close quarters for a moment or two, and then his mouth began to split into a grin, slowly, as if it was out of practice. One lower front tooth was missing, which made him look to Sally
like a pantomime villain. Slowly he leaned across Sally's body and started to run the paintbrush in circles round her stomach. She lay totally still, but her legs grew slack, and her feet flopped lazily between Maddock's dirty boots.

‘Maybe your friend's not getting it,' he teased.

A wicked laugh bubbled up inside Sally's throat. ‘But she'll see us. She'll be back.'

‘So what. If she's anything like you, she'll enjoy the show. I can tell you're up for it.'

‘I'm always up for it,' she said, bold as brass.

‘So take the paint brush, and do it.'

‘I've had enough of playing with myself,' Sally whined. Maddock was no oil painting; he was brutish, and looked like a bull about to mount. He was a world away from the pale, besuited men she usually bedded. He looked like he'd grown straight out of the mud. He smelled like it, too. But his blue eyes and his thick fingers wielding that paintbrush, and the slow grin, reduced her to jelly.

‘Tarts like you have never had enough,' he whispered, too close for comfort. He had the paintbrush in his big fist as if it was a sledgehammer. He leaned closer, and blew into Sally's hair. She clamped her thighs together and tried to struggle up on her elbows.

‘Now, you look good enough to eat lying there,' said Maddock. ‘You're sick of doing it alone, is that it?'

He grinned a bit more, and at last he looked more like a man and less like an oak tree. Sally grinned back, and nodded. She could see that he was used to quelling difficult animals, or felling whole forests. Let him quell her. She was tired of being bold and brazen. She decided to lie back like a lamb to the slaughter. He pushed his sleeves up gigantic forearms and continued to circle the paintbrush over her skin, moving it down
towards her pussy, out along her thighs, then back again. Sally's fingers automatically flew to her golden bush, half covering it, half wanting to reveal it. Maddock peeled her fingers away and pinned her arms out to the sides.

‘I'm not into games,' he said. ‘Just let me get on with it, woman.'

Sally laughed coarsely, and all at once she seemed to come back to life. ‘OK, Mr Maddock,' she taunted, trying to free her hands in order to get the paintbrush off him. ‘Show us what you yokels are made of, then.'

Maddock's grin faded just a tad. ‘If rough's how you like it, rough's how you'll get it.'

Keeping his eyes fixed on Sally, he poked the paintbrush handle towards her cunt and, without further niceties, eased it inside, angling it so that it could reach higher than she had been able to get it. Then he rotated it firmly from side to side, and with every inch that he pushed it Sally gave a breathless gasp.

He continued to work the brush with one hand, and with the other he unzipped his fly. He pulled out his cock, which was almost erect, and circled his fingers round the base of the muscled shaft and ran them up to the knob, then down again. His foreskin wrinkled away from the rounded bulb, and smoothed out over the surface as the blood pumped through. Sally chuckled again. Maddock obviously had no truck with time-wasting.

The farmhand bit his lip as he rapidly handled himself, his sharp face intent on what he was doing, his eyes fixed on the paintbrush. Sally started to frown, afraid that he intended to jerk off right there in front of her. But then she realised it was not wanking that he had in mind; he was getting himself ready for something a whole lot better.

He walked his knees up between Sally's pale thighs and spread his own legs so that she was virtually doing the splits again on either side of him. Then he slowly withdrew the glistening paintbrush from where its handle had disappeared again into her shadowed hole, and replaced it with the blunt tip of his penis.

The weight of him on her legs filled Sally with renewed energy. She slid her hands under his checked shirt-tails to get at his arse as his muscular buttocks drew back, then inched the stiff length of his dick a little way into her. Her legs came up and wrapped around his hips, trying to pull his groin into hers, but he was stronger, resisting her, always pulling back, totally controlled, tilting his hips slowly back and forth until he was good and ready. At last they were in harmony, like two parts of the same beast, his grizzled head steady above hers. Sally let her head fall back and, as it came to rest on the back of the sofa, she saw the tall shape of Janie standing in the weak light from the hallway.

‘Janie!' Sally gurgled, her hair bouncing across the sofa as she tried to lift her head.

‘Quiet, woman,' Maddock growled, though Sally knew he had seen Janie. ‘I won't be put off my stroke.'

There was a thump and clatter out in the hall. Janie was dropping something heavy onto the floor.

Maddock allowed his hips to increase their speed. Sally tried to twist aside to see Janie, but she couldn't alter his rhythm and her friend became obscured by the back of the sofa. Now her legs had no choice but to grip tighter and tighter round his thick torso as his meaty cock filled her. She blocked out Janie and anything else that threatened to distract her from what he was doing.

Maddock was evidently as strong as one of his own
oxen. Muscles she never knew existed rippled and flexed constantly in his arms, his neck, his thighs. Then suddenly he shifted his position, and sat back on his buttocks. He spread his hands around Sally's hips and flipped her up towards him so that her back was towards the hallway. They sat upright now on the floor, face to face, Sally straddling his knees with her legs still wrapped around his waist. This way his cock was angled right into the small of her back, filling every nook and cranny, as Janie had put it. They paused for a moment, panting into each other's faces, taunting each other to see who would move first, testing themselves to see who would crack and give in to the mounting excitement. Sally was acutely aware of Janie's eyes boring into her back; she hadn't heard her turn and go. She wondered if Maddock would stop.

But then he pulled his haunches back and, like a double act, Sally copied him. He gave a rising yell and she squealed in answer, and then they slammed their hips into each other, pulling back, arching, slamming back so that they shuddered with the impact of bone on bone. They ground against each other one last time, her body filled with his solid maleness. He started to give an unearthly low groan and Sally screeched triumphantly, feeling his body tense up. She bounced her butt across his legs, tightening her muscles round his cock and her legs round his waist until his face grew dark with the effort of holding on. He was obviously coming, his cock pumping into her, his eyes still blazing, never closing, watching Sally as she bounced and arched herself away from him. She took in every last inch of him before she swore she could feel his spunk shooting inside her, and she allowed her own climax to shatter. Finally she let herself fall back onto the floor
as a stifled roar escaped Maddock's lips and he released her with a crash. They tumbled apart from each other, both falling onto their backs, chests heaving as they submitted to their joint climax. She leaned up to look at his penis; it was still huge and thick across his leg. She watched until it stopped flexing and spurting, and until her own inner quivering had ceased.

‘I'm sorry for intruding.' Janie's voice cut into the silence.

They both turned their heads to look at her, too breathless to speak. Janie started to back out of the room, kicking over the logs that she had dropped in the hallway.