Free Wildwood by Janine Ashbless Page A

of the cut lawn I glimpsed his cock for the first time. It drooped now in a pale elegant curve, spent but still engorged, and I couldn’t help wondering what he’d look like close up. I swivelled on my perch, trying to keep him in sight as he passed from one window in my tree canopy to another. He moved with an easy grace. I liked that too.
    But I didn’t like what happened next. He stopped abruptly and bent to pick up something from the ground. Whatever it was, it was small enough to fit in his hand and dark in colour. Only when he lifted it in both hands up to his eyeline did I realise that he’d found my knickers.
    I went cold. He stretched them across his hands, examining them. They were my after-work panties, bright aquamarine and a bit lacy, not the ones I’d sweated into all day, but there was still something horribly humiliating about having a strange man handle my most intimate clothing. They would carry the perfume of my sex, the proof of a whole evening’s horny anticipation of the pleasure awaiting me as soon as it grew dark and I was sure I would be alone. Outrage flared in my breast, sending a blush roaring up my cheeks.
    He looked around him carefully.
    I knew I was being hypocritical. Hadn’t I shed those knickers so that I could climb a tree naked and have a wank? Hadn’t I fantasised about being used mercilessly by a man I really didn’t like that much? Wasn’t my pussy wet and swollen with my own unsated longings after watching this man fuck someone else? Who the hell was I to condemn him?
    He spun slowly on the spot, searching the landscape. His gaze lingered for a long time on the lights of my cottage, the only lamps in sight. Almost absently his hand drifted up towards his face.
    I realised that the real reason I was angry was that I was afraid. It would only have to occur to him to come under the beech canopy and look up, and then he would see the ropes hanging from the low branches and me stuck up here like a big featherless pigeon, unable to hide or escape.
    He was stroking his cock with his other hand, I realised. Again, almost absently, his gaze on the shadowy landscape, his mind far away. My mouth went dry. Was he thinking of me? He had no idea those were mine, did he? He couldn’t know I was living on site? The thought made me squirm inwardly. Then he turned his face to my tree as if looking straight at me, and my heart gave a great kick of fear under my breastbone.
    Then he strode away, headed I don’t know where – the same direction as his shadowy friends, anyway. He took my panties with him. I put my hot face to the beech bark and cursed myself for a fool.
    The moon drifted behind a cloud. Descending as quietly as I could I abandoned my ropes and ran back towards the house still wearing my harness, my clothes balled up in my hands. My heart raced to a beat faster than my bare footfalls.
    Partway there something big and solid loomed out of the night. I stopped in my tracks, embarrassment turning to real nervousness. It moved with a lumbering heaviness. There was a loud snort of breath and I quivered, then a waft of distinctly bovine aroma reached my nostrils. A cow? I wondered, feeling the first gush of relief. What’s a cow doing here?
    Then the moon came out again and my relief shrivelled away. It wasn’t a cow. It wasn’t even a bull, though it had the thick forward-swept crescent horns, because it stood on two legs and had the body of a muscular man, as heavyset as a wrestler. I couldn’t make out much detail. Against the grass he just looked very dark, but the whites of his eyes flashed. He must have stood a good seven foot tall, and he was between me and the house. He took a shambling step forwards, swinging his head from side to side. A great thick semi-erect pizzle hung against a scrotal sac that looked as big as my two bunched fists.
    ‘Oh God,’ I said, shrinking away, dropping my clothes.
    He struck a fist into an open palm either in threat or anticipation, and took