Eden had bought and sold so much land that he couldn’t really be blamed for not knowing what he actually owned. Not that he was ever involved in the purchase. He employed people to do that for him. All he knew was that where land was cheap, the best medium-term strategy for a man of means and ambition such as himself was to buy it. A growing population and a declining supply of housing stock only pointed in one direction with regards to future profit for those with the wherewithal to survive the current economic recession.

It wasn’t Eden who’d made the decision to tear down the ramshackle, decrepit rows of houses in the recently purchased Broad Oak estate, but it was his choice, once presented with the options, to replace it with a single mansion that could house only one man, his family, his guests and his many servants. Eden had probably been resting in his villa in Switzerland or maybe on his yacht in the Caribbean when the eviction orders were issued and houses demolished. No one had troubled to inform him about the protests, sit-ins and angry protests that accompanied the clear-out of the squatters and scum who’d previously been dossing in what was now his land. Their eviction would surely be no loss to either the estate that Eden St John-Easton had inherited or the town of Ashton Lovelock of which it had once been a part. It would be difficult to imagine how anyone wouldn’t cheer to see the back of the filthy, unclothed, uncivil and over-educated rabble that were driven away in the back of police vans and the well-reinforced vehicles used by the security firm that Eden also owned.

Eden’s current visit to Broad Oak Manor wasn’t going to be for very long. There was a show in Broadway he’d soon be flying over the Atlantic to see and he was anxious after that to return to either his yacht in the Mediterranean or his villa in the Maldives. He felt rather more at home abroad than he ever would in a modest mansion in the English Midlands.

Nevertheless, even the wealthiest man had duties to attend to in his home country. There were accountants, lawyers and politicians to see and that could only be done in the United Kingdom that Eden feared was in danger of not staying united for very much longer.

Eden’s penance for enjoying himself in luxurious homes drenched in the best sunlight on the planet was to spend the occasional week of purgatory in one of his English properties such as, for instance, Broad Oak Manor.

Fortunately, the English weather wasn’t always as bad as Eden remembered it from childhood. Climate change couldn’t be that bad if there were to be more of these balmy June days unspoilt by even a single cloud in the sky. The changing climate might have badly impacted on Eden’s agricultural shares (especially in the southern United States and Russia), but it was worth it if there could me more pleasant evenings like this.

Eden had all of Broad Oak at his disposal, and he could see no reason why he shouldn’t stretch his legs and enjoy it. Much of the estate was now blanketed with freshly grown lawns and woodland that replaced the original dreary suburban streets and back gardens. He could have taken the air accompanied by an accountant or a lawyer or one of his many female companions, but tonight Eden chose to stroll in the gardens by himself. He spent very little time alone and he wanted some respite before he had to attend the meetings and conference calls that had been arranged for him.

And after paying all those millions for a plot in Middle England, Eden thought that he really ought to savour it.

The gardeners had done a good job in transforming the land into something presentable. At long last, the roads whose names had celebrated various species of tree were actually turned over to their cultivation. There was now elm, oak, beech and sycamore on land that once sported their names. Nevertheless, there hadn’t been enough time for the trees to grow especially tall. Although the genetic modification that facilitated rapid growth and disease resistance made the landscape rather more densely forested than would otherwise have been the case, the trees could scarcely be described as towering. They seemed short even to Eden who despite his great wealth was not similarly blessed by great stature.

Indeed quite the opposite.

The foliage was no more thick than it was tall, so Eden could easily spot the presence of shadowy figures in what might otherwise be called a thicket. He was sure that they weren’t his servants and he knew that he wasn’t entertaining any guests. And even if he were, no guest would be skulking around like these people.

Ever alert to the possible risk of terrorism, Eden gripped his mobile in his palm. His forefinger stroked the red alarm button that would summon security staff to the scene. If these shadowy figures were foolish enough to threaten him, then within minutes their bullet-ridden bodies would be splattered across the well-manicured lawn.

As he approached closer, Eden could distinguish that there were only two trespassers. They were becoming gradually less distinct as the sun dipped behind the trees. Eden decided to bide his time until announcing his presence, but he didn’t want to get so close that he couldn’t alert security in good time if these figures belonged to a cabal of green anarchist Muslim feminazi terrorists.

“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?” Eden commanded. “Are you aware that you’re trespassing on private property?”

There was rustling in the shrubbery.

“Don’t hassle us, man,” one of the shadowy figures announced as she emerged from the dark. “We don’t mean no harm.”

Eden was startled by the sight of a totally naked woman. She was probably in her late twenties, but thanks to the privations of a hippy life-style she hadn’t put on the kilos of excess fat that almost everyone else found impossible to shed. He wasn’t sure whether it was her nudity that startled him or the fact that her crotch sprouted more hair than he thought a woman could grow. Most women of Eden’s acquaintance, including his wife, maintained nothing more than the merest suggestion of such florid growth. Maybe it was also the unexpected hirsuteness of her limbs and armpits. Only the most specialist pornographic website could have prepared him for such a sight.

Behind her was a similarly undressed girl who was probably only about eight or nine years old. There was enough apparent family resemblance for Eden to surmise that she was quite likely to be the woman’s daughter.

Eden knew exactly what he wanted to do. He wasn’t really bothered about his legal rights as owner of the property, but he always liked a bit of fun. As he normally had to pay for it, it pleased him to have an opportunity to get something for nothing.

He strode towards the woman and carefully focused his eyes on her face rather than her expanse of bare flesh.”You do realise that you’re trespassing on private property?” he said officiously.

“Yeah, man, whatever,” said this woman, “but there’s nowhere else to go. It’s not as if we’re doing any damage or anything.”

“The law is the law,” Eden reminded her. “Private property has to be respected. You wouldn’t like it if someone decided to squat in your house or garden.”

“Well, no,” conceded the woman. “But it’s not like we’ve got anywhere else to stay. And anyhow this is where we used to live...”

“You did what?” wondered Eden who was genuinely surprised.

“...When there was houses and roads and lamp-posts and things,” the woman elaborated. “Didn’t we, Benita?” she asked her daughter.

“I don’t remember,” the young girl replied. “It was a long time ago. Ages!”

“Yeah, we did,” said the woman. “It was round over there just by that new pond that’s been dug up.” She pointed in the direction of the ornamental lake and the exotic river birds with clipped wings that had been imported into the estate.

“That really is of no concern to me,” said Eden who didn’t appreciate the direction this conversation was taking. This naked bitch clearly had no idea who he was. “I have no choice but to evict you.”

“Yeah, man,” the woman sighed who walked purposefully towards Eden with a resigned expression. “I know the deal. You guys are all the same...”

As the woman cupped her hand over a crotch which was clearly tumescent under the cloth of his Camellia Geldoff jeans, Eden was initially inclined to protest that no, he wasn’t the same as any other guy. He was phenomenally rich. He’d done well from the astute investment of his inherited wealth in the rising Stock Market and the accompanying rise in commodity prices. He had everything he wanted. On the other hand...

The woman knelt in front of him while her bored daughter gazed on from a distance. She unbuttoned the expensively tailored denim crotch and eased out Eden’s penis. Clearly this wasn’t a sight that troubled young Benita who was more interested in watching the dance of golden butterflies over the lawn.

“My name’s Betty,” said the woman as she placed the tip of her tongue on the purple tip of Eden’s glans. “Just so’s you know.”

Betty might be a stranger to Eden, but blow jobs most certainly were not. Fellatio was something he enjoyed on most days: usually at the service of a different woman each time. There would sometimes be two or more women competing for the gratuity that they hoped would be both forthcoming and generous.

However, it was unusual for Eden’s penis to experience a blow-job from a naked woman of extraordinary hirsuteness in the open air on a sunny evening. He was rather enjoying the peculiarity of it as the woman slid his penis deep down her throat and lubricated the length of his shaft with saliva which dripped in large gollops onto the daisies between her parted thighs. She gripped the penis with one hand while her other cupped Eden’s hardening testicles which she handled in such a way to control the release of his seed.

Eden surveyed his estate while Betty concentrated on his manhood.

He was shorter than most people. This was a fact that raised heels could never satisfactorily address. Even selecting only the most petite escorts couldn’t lessen Eden’s resentment that it wasn’t wealth, reputation or clothes sense that most people associated with him. Rather it was—and always had been—his stature. On the other hand, there were no heads higher than his as he gazed at the lengthening shadows by his mansion walls, the pale orange glow of the early evening sky, and the sight of a little girl. And this girl’s eyes were focused on her mother and the swell of her mother’s cheeks as she pushed Eden’s erect penis back and forth in her mouth. She could, if she wished, regard the trail of saliva that slobbered out of her mother’s mouth and dripped onto the soft pale hair of her motherly hips.

Despite his wealth and his deficiency of moral boundaries, Eden observed limits to the extent of his depravity. There were others in his circle of wealthy friends and acquaintances who might take advantage of the wealth of under-age flesh that world poverty and world travel made so available. All the same, it was while his mind wandered to the notion of sharing his semen with the very much pre-nubile but still naked daughter of the woman whose lips encompassed his throbbing member that his penis spurt forth in unrestrained fashion into the woman’s mouth and over her matronly bosom.

Betty had achieved what she’d intended. There were few men who after releasing so much semen could button up their flies and then forcefully expel the woman who’d provided that pleasure. And not much conversation normally followed such an encounter.

Eden returned to the mansion. Despite Betty’s efforts, she and her daughter would have to be evicted, of course. Eden couldn’t tolerate squatters on his estate. You allow one in and you opened the door to an unstoppable rabble. These eco-anarchists might think they represented the future, but like the many generations of utopian idealists before them they represented nothing more than a hopeless fantasy that would soon be dispelled by the imperatives most people were subject to: which was to earn a living and to be housed.