Celtic Mist Ch. 05

So fundamental a jolt had Declan's constitution received the night of Aoife's capture with the three-fold revelation of his idol's depravity, his own identity, and the shock of sexual violence --- followed by the vanishing of the lass who had stolen his heart --- that his usual amorous musings had been subdued since.

When the lasses leant over the bar, his young man's eyes naturally halted upon that which they displayed, but 'twas merely the noting of a fact --- unattended by an urgent current to his vitals.

Two months ago, when he had known himself only as Declan Quickfist, he would have been keenly appreciative of these two bonnie lasses. Nay, he had not been a successful man of the town, but he had been a lad who scarce passed a minute without a half dozen bawdy thoughts. 'Twould not have taken the former Declan Quickfist two weeks to deduce that these girls were flirting with him...and eagerly respond. In his former life, he would not have been able to even pour a pint with the vision of Sophie's or Kate's scarce concealed bosom before him...his hands would have been a-tremble with the craving to seize those ripe, quivering mounds!

In attention to his duty to keep the peace in the tavern, he had already noted matter-of-factly that the two lasses occasionally heightened their flirtatious behavior with certain clients, apparently in the hopes of augmenting their gratuity. No judgement was assessed to the observation --- only the reminder to himself to keep a watchful eye on them lest a rowdy customer attempt to take advantage of their high spirits.

Now as he wondered if they were indeed flirting with him, the dormant urges in him began to gradually reawaken. Strangely however...or not so strangely...although the reviving sensations were fanned by the tempting charms of these two fair maidens, his thoughts in this regard ever returned to Aoife of the fiery red hair.

'Twas a Sunday morning a week and a half after Declan's arrival in Dublin. He had indulged in the rare sensation of lying abed till fully sated with slumber. By the time he rose, he had missed breakfast. Indeed, the kitchen, parlour, and tavern were empty. Making himself a cup of tea and bread and butter, Declan contemplated the quiet house, considering using the day to explore Dublin further.

A clunking noise from outside caught his attention, and he walked out the door at the end of the hall to investigate. Here he discovered Sophie in the fenced yard struggling to prop a tall ladder against the back of the building.

"Here, let me assist ye," he said, hastening to take the ladder from her hands. "Where do ye need it?"

"Ta. Below that window."

He set the ladder where indicated, resting the top of the rails on the sill of a second-floor window. "What are you doing?"

"Washing windows. I've already done the first floor."

"Let me do it for you," he offered.

Sophie laughed, tucking rags into her apron pockets. "You? Wash windows?" With a toss of her chestnut curls, she said, "If ye want to be helping me, then hold the ladder so it doesn't slip. I canna hold it for a big lad such as yourself if you go up instead."

Declan nodded and braced his foot against the side rail of the ladder. "I'll hand ye the bucket then." As Sophie ascended briskly, he asked, "Where has everyone got to this morning?"

She reached down for the bucket and hung it from a hook on a rung. "The Murphys and Kate are off to mass." Two more rungs did she climb till her shoes were just above the level of his head. She began washing the window, commenting about the whereabouts of the various lodgers.

Presently, Declan found himself unable to attend her words, for when he glanced up, he discovered with a guilty throb that he could see under her skirts. Hastily he averted his eyes, scanning the neighboring windows above the fence to ascertain whether anyone had noticed whither he was gazing. He saw no one. His eyes again strayed to Sophie's skirts above him.

Her feet were about a foot and a half apart on the rung, and in the hazy light under the fabric he could see her white petticoat and cream-colored stockings gartered below her knees. Above that, the view extended to a few inches of pale thigh. Declan swallowed, then quickly looked down when she shifted.

A moment later, when he chanced another look up, he saw that she was bending forward to reach the hanging bucket...causing her skirts to curve out behind her and exposing the backs of her shapely thighs nigh to her bottom. Declan gripped the ladder rails tighter as he felt his body stirring in appreciation, his organ awakening in his breeches. When they had escaped from Kilmaedan Castle, Aoife in her nightgown had climbed down the rope first. How lovely the sights would have been had she been above him!

He felt the ladder shift slightly as Sophie again adjusted her position. Now she was leaning to the side, stretching her arm to clean the shutter next to the window.

"Here, come down and let me move the ladder so ye can reach better. You're going to fall..." His voice trailed off as she leant further, her foot coming off the rung on that side to improve her reach. Nigh a yard separated her feet, and Declan stared directly up at her bare cunny and bottom a few feet above him. In the shifting light under the waving fabric of her gown, he beheld the rift between her legs...plump rosy lips with a lacy decoration of dark hairs. His heart and cock pounded in synchrony.

"Let me move the ladder," he croaked.

She glanced down and said something he could scarce make out, then reached a wee bit further to wipe the outside edge of the shutter, the additional spread of her legs opening a glistening pink groove between her lips. Declan's mouth fell open.

In the next instant Sophie screamed and half tumbled, half slid down the ladder, landing in a jumble of skirts and limbs atop Declan. Reflexively his arms caught her, breaking her fall --- her sprawled legs partially astride his shoulders and his head under her skirts. His cheek pressed against the soft curls of her mound, and he smelt the sweet scent of lass and clean linen.

Sophie gasped and clutched at his head whilst he, flustered with excitement and shame, lifted her safely to the ground, his hands unintentionally upon her round, wriggling bare buttocks. He put her to her feet and quickly removed his hands from her bottom. She whimpered.

"Are ye injured?" he asked, his cheeks flushed.

"Oh, me knee hurts!"

She took a few faltering steps before Declan scooped her up under her shoulders and knees and carried her into the house, depositing her gently upon the threadbare sofa in the parlour with her legs upon the seat. Fuddled by the secret glimpse of her little pouter and her subsequent fall --- nigh cunny-first --- onto his face, he endeavored to set things right with his solicitous actions. In her fright, had she even noticed that his head had been under her gown and his hands on her naked arse?

"Is it injured?" he asked.

Cautiously she drew up her skirts to her lower thigh and examined her right knee. There was a light scrape and a reddening bruise on the inside, above the stocking.

"I'll fetch ye a wet cloth." In the kitchen he found a clean linen towel and wetted it in the pot of water on the hearth.

"Ta." She took it from him and dabbed the wound. "Thank ye for saving me, Declan," she murmured, her big hazel eyes lifting to his. "Sure, I could have broken me neck if you hadn't been there."

"I should have moved the ladder..."

"Will ye rub it for me, Declan? So it doesn't swell up fierce?"

He cleared his throat. "Aye."

She scooted closer to the sofa back, making room for him on the front edge of the seat. He sat, turning with one knee upon the cushion and his other foot on the floor, so that he faced her as she lay back against the upholstered arm, with her injured knee raised and leaning against the sofa back.

Gingerly he took hold of her bruised leg, her skirts sliding up to mid-thigh as she tilted her knee towards him to facilitate his task. He began to rub it gently. "Like so?" he murmured, glancing at her face.

"Mmm."

As Declan worked his thumb over the bruise and massaged the hollow of her knee, he saw the worry in her face ease. Encouraged, he continued, stroking the satiny skin of her inner knee and lower thigh, his eyes studying the simple black ribbon garter round her cream-colored woolen stocking, her comely oval kneecap, and a tiny mole on her thigh. "Is this good?" he checked again --- she had grown so still, her eyes closing.

"Aye, 'tis starting to feel better."

When he shifted his gaze back to her knee, he was confounded to find her skirts had somehow drifted higher yet. He hadn't done that, had he? Nigh the whole length of her smooth, rounded thighs was now exposed. How bonnie her legs were! Declan began to feel giddy as the blood went riot throughout his body, inexorably refurbishing his fuddled cockstand.

"Och, me leg is cramping," Sophie complained, lifting her uninjured left leg that was wedged between his hip and the sofa back. She bent it, then stretched it out over his thighs. "May I lay it so?" she asked, her lashes flicking as she opened her eyes.

"Oh...aye," he said in a tight voice. Her stockinged calf was upon his lap, plumb atop bulging fabric of his breeches. Oh God! She must know! Mustn't she? Declan felt his face grow hot. Yet even as his agitation grew, Sophie evinced no reaction to the rigid column under her leg, still lying languorously with her eyes closed. With her left foot thus outside his right hip, and her right foot outside his left hip, he was now most disconcertingly between her legs.

What was...was she...? Ah God! Her leg upon his lap began to roll slightly from side to side as it pressed firmly against his imprisoned cock. Struggling to disguise his accelerating breaths, Declan continued his ministrations to her injured knee, now clumsy with his mounting excitement.

Sophie sighed deeply, her body stirring upon the sofa, and with the small alteration in her posture, her skirts slid a wee bit more. Suddenly peeping below the lace trimmed edge of her petticoat was a tidbit of delicate, dark curls at the junction of her thighs. Declan's dazed eyes fixed upon the frill and his plaintive organ throbbed under her calf.

Christ! She could not be innocent of her exposure...could it be of her contrivance? Even if so, he realized that he cared not a whit --- his heretofore disconsolate body had come to life in a rushing tide of blood. The head of his straining cock was nigh poking out of his breeches pocket! Her warm, curved calf was now rubbing subtly, but voluptuously back and forth against the underside of his staff. Was she the author of the undulation, or was he doing it himself, arching up against her leg? He could not be certain.

To his confusion, she still lay placidly, her lids lowered, her rosy lips parted.

Rub...rub...rub went her calf on his burdened breeches front, her coy knee rising and straightening in an almost imperceptible rhythm.

Declan's fingers shook against her other knee. His hips and legs tensed as the aching pressure raced headlong into his privates, the pleasure burgeoning where her moving calf was serving up its exquisite torment to the junction of his crown and shaft. His furtive eyes shot to her languid face. Jaysis! Did she know what was happening?! He was about to spend in his breeches!

His clamoring body battled with his conflicted heart: where his eyes were fixed, he could only see the patch of flame licking over Aoife's little mound, but his rising ballocks urged him to pop the buttons of his breeches flap, unrig his battering ram, and mount this bonnie lass before him...so advantageously positioned were they...within seconds they could be fucking.

Rub...rub...rub...

She shifted, her uninjured leg rotating ever so slightly outward. The beginning of her pink nick appeared between the silky curls. The lewd sensations overflowed him...the brief feel of her soft cunny hair against his cheek when she fell from the ladder, the tantalizing female scent, the warm, supple bottom cheeks in his hands...and the sight of the spreading pink crevice between her legs...but in his mind's eye gloriously adorned by a fiery red floss.

Oh God!! Declan ducked his flushed face, clenching his teeth and gripping her knee. The jolting contractions raced up along the underside of Sophie's calf and the spunk hurtled forth, erupting in chaos into the folds of his drawers.

He struggled to quell the jerking motions of his body. When at last he raised his head, his chagrined eyes encountered Sophie's...sparkling with mischief.

A moment later, the sound of the front door was heard, and they both leapt to their feet, she thrusting her skirts down and Declan yanking his waistcoat over the rumpled, humid front of his breeches.

He made a hasty retreat to his attic room where he put himself to rights and washed his drawers in the water basin. As he draped the wet garment over the back of a chair, a wry grin overspread his face.

*****