Chapter 3
THREE
“Yes,” I said before I could talk myself out of it. “But we’re not doing this in Gran’s kitchen.”
Why not?
“She eats her breakfast on that table.”
She has done far worse things on it.
I stared at him. That was not something I ever wanted to think about. Not when we were talking about my elderly grandmother.
Or so I have heard.
“That statement has killed the mood.”
Sorry.
The wicker cock dipped slightly.
I kicked my jeans and knickers off the rest of the way. They were muddy and damp, and there seemed little point putting them back on when I planned to be naked again soon.
I sniffed my hair. Bonfire smoke. I sighed. “I need a shower.”
The cock tilted towards me.
“No.”
You have not heard my suggestion.
“I don't need to. You want to come with me.”
Yes.
“You’re made of wicker. Gran said the damp would ruin you.”
Cold damp damages cut willow. Warm water encourages it to grow.
“That sounds suspiciously convenient. And what part of you is going to grow?”
There is only one way to find out.
Creel gathered the loose strands back into his sides. The large cock remained where it was, pointing upwards from the front of the basket.
I sighed and slid my hands beneath him. He was heavier than he looked. The basket bumped against my stomach as I lifted it, which brought the wicker cock level with my breasts. Its tip brushed one of my girls through my jumper.
“Control yourself.”
The passage is narrow.
I laughed despite myself. "Nice try. We’re still in the kitchen.”
Then perhaps you are carrying me too close.
I moved him away from my chest and nearly dropped him. His handle curled around my forearm, steadying himself.
“You could make that thing smaller.”
You did not ask me to.
I groaned. This basket was becoming frustrating. “Make it smaller until we reach the bathroom.”
The cock shortened enough that I could carry him without being repeatedly poked by a wicker dick. At least he was listening to my instructions.
Gran’s bathroom was at the end of the hall, squeezed into a space not much bigger than a cupboard. The shower enclosure took up half the room. There was barely enough space for me, never mind a large wicker basket.
I opened the glass door and placed Creel in the shower tray.
“You’re sure this won’t kill you? I don’t want to explain to Gran that I drowned her favourite basket.”
Concerned already, Kathleen? Turn on the water. I promise I will still be able to please you afterwards.
I reached past him and twisted the controls. The pipes complained before a blast of cold water struck the basket. Creel swore so loudly inside my head that I nearly dropped the showerhead. I didn't even understand half the expletives he used.
I laughed. “Very ancient. Very powerful.”
Make it warm. Now.
“I’m trying. Gran’s plumbing was installed before I was born.”
The water heated gradually, running over the wicker and turning it from pale brown to a deep chestnut. His strands relaxed beneath the spray, becoming smoother and more flexible. It reminded me of the way my hair changed when it was wet, although mine had never tried to fuck anyone.
A tiny green point appeared near the base of his handle.
I crouched and peered at it as the point opened into a leaf. More buds pushed through the weave, unfurling beneath the warm water until fresh green leaves covered the rim of the basket. One appeared halfway up his shortened cock.
“Oh my God. You’re growing.”
I did tell you.
“This is adorable.”
I am an ancient fae.
“You’re an ancient fae with a little garden on your handle.”
Several strands bristled at once. I ignored his outrage and touched one of the leaves. It was soft, with tiny veins beneath the surface, and Creel made a quiet sound when I rubbed it between my finger and thumb.
“Can you feel the leaves too?”
Every part of me.
I gave the leaf a playful tug and it came away in my hand. Creel yelped so loudly that I almost fell backwards.
“Shit. Sorry. I didn’t think it would come off.”
You destroyed part of me!
“I'm sorry. It came away really easily.”
I fail to see how that improves matters.
I stroked the bare stem with one finger, feeling strangely guilty. “Does it hurt?”
It stings.
“I’m sorry.” A new bud pushed out beneath my fingertip and opened into a replacement leaf. Relief made me smile. “There. You’ve grown another one.”
Don't you dare pluck that one.
“I won’t. I promise.” I leaned forwards and kissed the new leaf before I had time to question that very questionable impulse.
The wicker trembled beneath my lips.
That small, involuntary reaction affected me more than his dirty comments had.
He’d spent years sitting in Gran’s cottage, unable to speak or feel anyone touching him.
Before that, he’d belonged to other MacRaes.
I had no idea how long he’d been trapped in the creel, but his desperation whenever I stroked him gave me a fairly good clue.
He was desperate for attention and for being touched.
I stood and pulled my jumper over my head. Creel’s cock immediately regained the inches he had removed in the kitchen.
“Subtle.”
You are beautiful.
I cringed. “You really have been asleep for a long time.”
That does not make me blind.
“You don’t have eyes.”
That doesn't mean I can't see. I don't have a mouth and yet we're communicating. Let go of the narrow constraints of your human mind. It will do you good. Now take off the breast cage.
His commanding tone went straight to my clit.
I unfastened my bra and let it drop to the floor. I was naked in front of a sentient wicker basket. For some reason, that didn't bother me as much as it should have done.
I squeezed into the shower and pulled the door shut.
Creel filled the end of the tray beneath the controls, and I had to stand with my feet on either side of the cock rising from his front.
Warm water ran over my hair and down my back, while the basket’s new leaves trembled beneath the spray.
When an extremely long wicker tentacle uncoiled from his side, I pointed the shampoo bottle at it.
“Behave. I want to wash first.”
I thought you wanted me to join you.
“I meant you could be in the shower. I didn’t say you could immediately start poking things into me.”
The tentacle grew higher and took the shampoo bottle from my hand.
“You can’t possibly know how to wash hair.”
I have watched many women bathe.
“That sounded much creepier than you intended.”
The strand paused with the bottle held above his rim. Would you like my help or not?
"Okay then. Do your worst."
He squeezed the perfect amount into my palm without emptying the entire bottle, which put him ahead of most men I’d dated. The last guy I'd been with had regularly used up my conditioner because his beard apparently needed half a bottle to look 'glossy'.
While I washed my hair, two strands of wicker worked soap across my back. They moved in slow circles over my shoulders before sliding down either side of my spine. One curled around my waist and stroked my stomach.
I choked when it reached lower. “This is supposed to be innocent.”
It is soap. Soap is very innocent.
The strand travelled upwards and wrapped around my breast, rubbing the lather over my skin before circling my nipple. A second tentacle attended to my other breast with equal care.
I leaned back against the cool tiles, tempted to close my eyes and give in to the sensation. “It doesn’t feel innocent.”
You would complain if I washed only one.
He sounded so offended by that idea that I laughed. “I’m sure I’d survive.”
Both strands tightened around my nipples. A moan threatened to escape my lips, but Creel didn’t need ears to know what he was doing to me. I was sure he was fully aware of every one of my reactions.
His cock had returned to its full size between my legs, now decorated with several small leaves. I reached down and wrapped one hand around it.
“This is going to be the strangest thing I’ve ever done.”
What was the strangest thing before me?
“I once had sex in a tent during a thunderstorm. The tent leaked, I was cold and wet, and he finished before I did. That said, I don't think I even came. The sound of the storm was a turn-off. I just wanted to cuddle to get warm.”
Unforgivable.
A narrow braid slid down my stomach. I caught it before it reached my clit.
“I said I wanted the cock.”
You will have it. Now, if you wish.
I was so very tempted, but something felt wrong about doing it here. “Not in Gran’s shower.”
Does she eat breakfast in here too?
I laughed and released the strand. It immediately slipped between my legs and rubbed across my clit, turning the laugh into a gasp. Creel circled it slowly while the other tentacles continued playing with my breasts. I pressed my thighs together around him.
Open.
“No.”
He stopped at once.
I waited for him to argue or tease me. He did neither, and the sudden lack of movement became unbearable within seconds. I opened my legs again.
Good girl.
“Fuck.”
The wicker pressed harder against my clit. I tightened my hand around his cock and stroked him from base to tip, enjoying the rough groans that filled my head. The wet strands moved easily against one another, bending and shifting inside my grip as he thrust through my fist.
Creel sped up between my legs. I was already close after what he’d done in the kitchen, and I didn’t want my first experience of that enormous cock ruined because I was too sensitive to take it.
“Stop.”
He instantly stopped moving. Good to know he respected my boundaries.
What's wrong?
I stood beneath the shower breathing hard, my hand still wrapped around him. “Nothing’s wrong. I just don’t want to come yet. Not until we're in the bedroom and I can slowly sink down on you."
You intend to take all of me?
“Don’t sound so surprised.”
His cock thickened in my hand.
I am delighted.
I turned off the water before he could tempt me into changing my mind. Without warning, Creel shook his strands from side to side, spraying the walls, the glass door and my face.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Drying myself.
“You’re not a dog.”