A Maid for Timon

After her speed and agility in the water, he had expected her to be half fish, but her basic form was close to his -- arms, hands, legs. The 'maid had no gills, which didn't particularly surprise him, but he suddenly realized -- to his astonishment, for some reason -- that her slim legs terminated in perfectly-normal feet as opposed to fins or flippers.

Naia saw his stare and giggled. She wiggled her toes in amusement. "Toes, Timon! Just toes!" He realized that this was not a new joke among the 'maids.

"Pretty toes," he laughed back. She dimpled at the compliment.

A carefully-broken seashell hung on a braided cord between her firm breasts. Before she left the beach, she would place it about his neck. Two years hence, if their offspring was male, the boychild would be left by the shore wearing the other half of the shell to identify Timon as his father.

Putting a scallop back on the tray, she leaned in to him, soft lips teasing and provoking. Clearly, this was not the first time she had been with a man. Remembering the advice given by the Elders, he lay back, let the initiative rest with her, limited himself to sweeping his fingertips slowly over her flawless skin. The sensation was immensely exciting to him.

The 'maid began a slow, sensuous massage with lips and hands. Timon had never experienced anything like it, immensely relaxing yet at the same time infinitely stimulating, redolent with promise. His eyes closed in pleasure, then opened to watch her graceful form move above him, her breasts swinging gently below her.

The ends of the 'maid's hair, drier now and tangled, brushed across his stomach and upper thighs. Timon noticed that his father had left a horn hair comb off to one side. On inspiration, he pulled away from the 'maid, picked up the comb and pointed to her hair with it. A frown of puzzlement came across her face. Curious, he thought. Do not the 'maids know about combs?

He took a length of the tawny hair in his left hand and worked the comb's teeth through its bottom handbreadth with his right. The hairs emerged straighter, less tousled. The 'maid's eyes opened wide, her smile returned.

Timon kissed her gently, then moved around to kneel behind her. Kneeling, her hair still reached the towelsheet they were sitting on. Gently, he began to comb the dark golden tresses. The dampness helped a little, but it was a slow process. From time to time, he leaned forward and kissed her neck softly. Naia sighed each time.

Eventually, while hardly perfect, the 'maid's hair was free of knots, hanging in long, straight strands from head to hip. She looked around, saw the water-filled basin and, kneeling before it, leaned over to use the still water as a mirror. Timon watched as wondering fingers tentatively touched her hair. She turned to him, a broad, happy smile on her face. Clearly, she was both pleased and excited. And grateful.

It's true! he thought. Combs must be unknown on the Islands. How strange.

He was astonished when the 'maid took the thong of his -- no, her -- knife off her neck. Tentatively, she held it out to him, her other hand moving towards but not quite touching the comb lying between them. She bit her lower lip nervously. Naia obviously wanted to trade.

His father had already given him the knife as a gift to the Goddess and Timon knew he could make another comb in a morning, so he pushed the knife back to her. At the same time, he picked up the comb and placed it into her open palm.

The 'maid gasped in wonder. Obviously, she thought either would be a generous gift; that he would give her both was favour beyond belief.

Her hands came up to grasp his head and pulled him into a passionate kiss, one lasting far longer than anything before. Her eyes were closed, her hands ran up and down over his chest and shoulders. Without thinking, his hands came up to her breasts, such firm softness as he had never imagined. Be strong but gentle, his advisors had suggested. He moved his thumbs across her nipples and she gasped. Startled, he began to let go until he saw her smile.

She leaned into him, pressing his hands between their two chests; he continued to fondle. She reached down to his groin and a wave of pleasure rolled over him as her cool hand grasped his crown, fingers tickled the top of his shaft. Her tongue swept inside his mouth, under his own tongue. She leaned into him, obviously eager. Equally aroused, he leaned back before grasping her by the waist and rolling them down onto the towelsheet.

The sun warmed his back as her moved on top of her, his passionate kisses pressing her head back into the sand below. Her hand had not left his cock and he realized he was close. Acting on instinct, he slid his head down to her torso, licking and nibbling her breasts. They tasted of the sea, overlaid with another odor, one strange to him - woman as opposed to familiar man.

The 'maid moaned softly, pulled his head to her in enjoyment. Then, with surprising strength, Naia seized his shoulders, rolling him off her and onto his back. "Stay," she commanded, pressing him down with a hand on his chest. Kneeling between his legs, she began to lick and suck his length.

Timon had never imagined such pleasure. He knew that the 'maid was fertile today or she would not have been allowed to frolic with the men. He knew the process, knew the part he was to play and knew she would leave the 'bower pregnant, but in his inexperience, this was something he had not envisioned. Naia's cheeks hollowed as she sucked, her head bobbing over his groin. One hand cupped and played with his balls while the other pumped the loose skin on his shaft. He felt his climax approaching.

Naia obviously sensed it as well, for she pulled back, squeezed his organ hard. "Timon wait -- more better," she suggested fondly. Disappointed, but willing to learn, the boy lay still, watching her.

She sat, cross-legged, by his side. He could see the swollen lips of her sex beneath a patch of light brown curls. Seeing his gaze, she smiled and reached between her legs with one hand, then the other.

Her one fingertip traced slowly the length of her damp labia, circled her clitoris. Timon watched, entranced. Crude sketches and old men's reminiscences had hardly prepared him for the beauty and wonder of the thing. He could smell her now -- half kelp, half treacle. When he raised his eyes to her face, he saw she was staring at him.

"Happy thing!" the 'maid whispered softly. A slender finger swept her opening, penetrated, moved back and forth. Her eyes closed in obvious pleasure.

Tentatively, the boy moved one hand to join hers, was surprised at the slickness of her oily moisture. The 'maid took his hand in hers and gently moved his fingers over her sex. When she let go, Timon continued the movements she had shown him and heard her purr with pleasure.

His fingers probed, noting a harder area just inside her opening. His fingertip massaged this and she hissed in her pleasure. Encouraged, he continued. One of her hands slipped down to play with her breasts; without knowing why, Timon became even stiffer at the sight of it. With a finger of her other hand, Naia began to sweep around her love bud. She began to utter low cries, further inflaming the young man.

Suddenly her body became almost rigid, her thighs clamped together around his hand and she gave one great cry before sinking back onto the towelsheet. As Timon continued his exploration of her depths, her hand flew down and pulled his away. A moment later, Naia opened her eyes and smiled at him.

"Timon very fine," she said. He could sense love in her voice. He stroked her cheek gently, not trusting himself to speak.

Her eyes flicked down to his still-unsatisfied hardness. She reached out one hand and stroked it, slowly. Clearly the 'maid wasn't finished with him, was just starting.

A few seconds later, she sat up, pushed him back down and straddled him. For the first time in his life, Timon experienced that ancestrally-driven return to the womb as her slippery walls slowly slid down over his length. Her hands balanced on his stomach and she began to move back and forth on him. Her breasts swayed above him as she did so. Entranced, his hands sought them out, squeezed them gently. Her own hands grasped his wrists and she increased the motion of her hips.

Naia's eyes were closed and her low cries had begun again. Surprised, proud of himself, the boy began thrusting his hips upwards to meet her movements, continuing to play with her breasts. The 'maid began rolling her hips instead of moving up and down and Timon felt a heat building in his cockhead.

The 'maid's expression alternated between concentration, happiness and, almost, pensiveness. She bit her lower lip, opened her eyes and stared into his.

Suddenly, he felt his seed burst along his length, erupt into her in a ball of joyous fire. Moaning with pleasure, he grasped her hips, pulled them tight against himself for a minute before relaxing completely. The two of them dozed in each other's arms, mated, napped again, mated. Their 'bower had become their world and the calls of gulls overhead the perfect music.

+

The 'maid walked him to the water's edge, hand in hand. In accordance with ancient convention, the other villagers had retired, leaving only the winning men to witness their 'maids' return to the ocean. Timon wanted to take his time, draw out the moment, but Naia was clearly eager to follow the sun now setting behind the Islands of the 'Maids just visible on the horizon.

Standing ankle-deep in the water, she turned to him, stroked his cheek and smiled. She ran a finger under his manhood and said softly, "Timon -- most fine!" She leaned in for a final hug and a slow, lingering kiss before slipping out of his arms. Turning, comb in one hand and knife around her neck, she slid into the ocean with barely a ripple. Surfacing, she swam out towards the surf without looking back.

The boy watched her go until she was almost at the line of breakers. Suddenly, in a break with custom, she turned in the water and waved, just once, before turning and vanishing into the foam.

Timon watched for a long time, fingering his seashell. The sun had fully set before he turned and returned to the village.

+

"Only two?" Timon gasped.

"You and Ranin."

Happy for his cousin, Timon nevertheless was horrified. "But I thought... Erdaw must have seen many 'maids leaving the Islands! He wouldn't have blown the horn for just two."

His father grimaced. "We at first thought he had been mistaken, that perhaps his eyes had failed. But the Elders checked - his eyes are still as keen as an osprey's. And he said over a four-fold handful started out towards us from the Isles."

Timon shook his head. "But..."

"They don't know," Takon grunted. "'Tis unprecedented. The Eldest has called a general council tomorrow morning."

"But if no maids come ashore, how will the village survive?"

"Damn it, boy! Hush you now! 'Tis not fit to think on." Takon, clearly anxious, stomped away, leaving the shaken boy by himself on what should have been his night of celebration and elation.

+

The meeting started early, over firstmeal. However formal the Elders might have wished to keep it, discussion over the meal inevitably turned to yesterday's events. The Elders managed to keep the discussion from degenerating into argument, but just. Words became heated, tempers were about to flare.

Then the longhorn sounded. This too was unprecedented and, leaving their dishes, all ran up the hill to where Erdaw stood, a grim look on his face. Timon could not recall ever having seen a villager in tears before.

Questions and words of comfort died as they followed Erdaw's gaze. Far from shore, outside the surf, gamboling with a host of 'maids, was a stranger.

A murmur went through the villagers at the sight of his masculine form in the water gamboling with a dozen 'maids out beyond the far line of surf.

From time to time his torso came out of the water; the villagers could see a broad chest, firm muscles suitable for a master swimmer. Nobody in the village had anything like his long red hair and beard. He swam back and forth outside the surf, the 'maids following him.

A ripple of resentment went through the men on shore. How dare a stranger trespass in their bay? And where was his boat? Had he dared to beach it on the Islands of the 'Maids? Surely not, for a man to even approach them was the rankest heresy and certain death.

Suddenly, a murmur of shock ran through the men on shore, turning to cries of horror. Before their eyes, the stranger lashed the water into a frenzy, darting around and through the clustered female forms, faster than any man had ever swum, faster than any 'maid in memory. From the shore, they could hear his basso song -- and the rising chorus of his new-bonded 'maids.

Timon screamed his loudest, "Naia!" Nobody expected his voice to carry that far, but one slim figure rose a little out of the water, turned to face him. Then, turning away without further acknowledgement, she gently drifted to the red-haired figure and, embracing him, laid her head on his broad shoulder.

Timon sagged, fell to his knees, Naia's shell forgotten against his chest.

Beyond the surf, the 'man gave one last disdainful glance at the brooding villagers before His scaled, finny tail pushed him slowly away from shore and back to His islands, taking both 'maids and the village's future with him.

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