Island in the Barley Ch. 02

Not only was there the embarrassment of so public a copulation both in the people seeing but also in the sound as well; the sucking, squelching noises as the penis pumped; sounds enhanced by the exceptional lubrication of the poured oil. Still it continued and Sasha felt the building of her second orgasm—a feeling stronger than the first, a feeling building in her loins and creeping outwards.

The intensity was a shock, the sense of heat from the oil remarkable; and louder, much louder than the sounds of intercourse was her scream, a scream of pure pleasure as she came—wave after wave. And despite it all, despite the intensity of the feeling she felt it, that true culmination of the purpose of sexual intercourse, yes, she felt that pulsing emission of semen deep within her, an ejaculation she had wondered was even possible; the ancient man's orgasm had come.

The movement ceased; there was stillness and then applause, a cheering, a huzzah from everyone. The happiness of the crowd so evident, so real, so palpable it could not but affect Sasha; but why the joy, why the pleasure in watching two people copulating, seeing her virginity taken, watching a rape?

They were assisted to rise from the table, Sasha could feel the women disconnecting them, hands feeling between them and removing the penis from her. The ancient man stood; the same man but changed, renewed; even the leaves in his hair seemed greener, less autumnal, more summer than spring; his face looked the same, the same kindly, smiling animated visage but it was in his body that there was change: no longer withered but yet still old, there was strength there now as if he had been given new vigour by the very act of intercourse. Indeed there was no other explanation. But it was not just he; the whole company, even the house seemed brighter, stronger and with more colour—and colour there certainly was. Colour brash, bright, even clashing but strong—not just in the painted people but in the tapestries, the hangings, the furniture.

Once more the ancient man's penis was the only one in the room not fully erect but the reason now was very different from before; it was so very evidently recently come from its business, it glistened wetly and upon it were the very clear signs of intercourse with a young virgin girl—the semen and the blood. Now standing Sasha could feel a trickling between her legs and, as she looked down, there, upon her thighs, were the self same signs—the semen and the blood.

It was the harvesting of Sasha: the ritual of defloration. Fresh blood, fresh girl changing to woman: a freshness needed.