Celtic Mist Ch. 06

Then she sat upon him.

"Oh God!" he blurted as the hot, slippery passage stretched over him...luscious with her nectar and his previous spendings. He hadn't known that people could fuck so! Oh what delight! He lay moaning and panting as she bounced wantonly upon his rigid stake...the ends of her long honey-colored hair dancing about his neck and face...glimpses of her jogging breasts visible in the open neck of her chemise.

Declan managed to bend his sore arms to get his hands upon her flexing buttocks. Under his touch, he felt her angling her hips to rub the front of her cunny against his pelvis. Her sighs turned into moans and her motions grew more agitated. Wanting to see their junction, he lifted his head, but her bunched up shift hung upon his belly, obstructing the view.

Then he saw the reflection in the dressing table mirror. "Sweet Jaysis!" he breathed hoarsely.

Everything from their waists down was exposed by their upturned garments. Her lovely, curved body was astride him, her knees upon the mattress and her round bottom cheeks spread open. There at the junction of her thighs, he beheld his broad, ruddy trunk splitting wide the pink lips of her privates...his stones below and the puckered hole of her bottom above. Declan gaped, transfixed at his first view of his organ impaling the female's organ. Again and again the shiny column emerged from and disappeared into her shaking body. Ah God...he would not last much longer! His ballocks drew up and the pleasure coiled tighter and tighter.

Mr. Burke, he now realized, was sitting in the chair alongside the bed, leaning close to observe the bawdy exercise and providing encouragement in a low, intense voice. In the mirror, Declan saw the man abruptly reach for the porcelain cream jar...the next moment his cream tipped forefinger pushed into the pink dimple of Marianne's bottom hole.

"Oh!" she gasped, jumping. "Oh, John! What are you doing?!" In lecherous awe, Declan watched Mr. Burke's finger slide in and out of her anus...fucking the wee hole simultaneously with Declan's cock fucking her vagina. Indeed, through the fleshy wall separating them, Declan could feel against the underside of his shaft the rhythmic incursions of the man's digit.

'Twas too much for both the lad and the lass...Marianne squealed and grunted as her body began to jerk atop him...Declan, with a lusty cry unleashed the sperm assault, quaking inside her till his ballocks at last waved the white flag.

He lay motionless...spent at Venus's game and full demolished. The lass collapsed upon him, her damp cheek against his, her panting breaths in his ear.

"Come now, sweetheart. You must dismount the noble stallion...he's too sore for you to lie upon him so." Mr. Burke climbed onto the mattress as she sat up, letting Declan's cock slide from the warm sheath. "Lie flat," her husband bade, reclining on his side next to her and putting his arms about her. "Oh Marianne, how I love you!"

As they kissed, Declan struggled to sit up, his belly muscles protesting. In contented exhaustion, he regarded the couple. Their foreheads were pressed together, and Mr. Burke's hand was between her thighs, two fingers inserted inside her. "Oh, my love...your pussy is crammed with spunk all the way to the womb!" A little smile lifted her lips; she whispered, "I love you, John."

Declan stood and stiffly made his way across the room.

"Declan," Mr. Burke called. When he looked back, the older man said, "Thank you, Declan."

"Nay, I'm right obliged to you, sir. 'Twas a rare pleasure."

Mr. Burke smiled and returned his attention to his wife.

Declan dressed in the bathing chamber where he had left his clothes. Upon the washstand he noticed a stack of gold sovereigns and realized it was the twenty pounds Mr. Burke had offered for his company. Declan thought back upon the night's events, and a grin slowly spread over his face. He picked up his hat and left the money.

When Declan limped into the inn's courtyard where the Kilmaedan convoy was assembling, the other guards whistled and cheered. From his saddle, Captain Blaylock gave him a knowing grin as Declan dawdled alongside his own horse, in too much pain to climb astride. A teasing shout sounded: "What's the matter, Quickfist? Is yer tackle too sore to mount yer horse?"

"Let's hope he was able to mount well enough last night!" someone else called. The men guffawed.

"Och, let the laddie be," Brodie said. "Canna ye see he's sore from the fight?"

"Sure, from the fight. If ye say so!"

"Quickfist, ride in the wagon," Blaylock ordered.

In relief, Declan stretched out on a bench in the wagonette break.

For several days following the Carlow boxing match, the other guardsmen teased Declan and pressed him for the tale behind his overnight disappearance, but he would only shake his head and smile in reply. He told no one of his remarkable adventure.

But the events of that night were heavily in his thoughts for many, many weeks. The encounter with the Burkes had been revelatory in a host of ways. For one, Declan's education had undergone an abrupt advancement purely by way of the physical acts themselves. Although he had in the past frigged multiple times in the course of one day, during the night with the Burkes he had had the joy of joining giblets with a lass three times...indeed, in a single night he had given a lass his balsamic injection more times than he had done so in whole of the previous year.

He had learnt of the magical button at the front of the cunny...clitoris, Mr. Burke had called it. What a wonderful...fascinating discovery, that tiny spot! A little bud of flesh that like a lad's cock was supremely sensitive to touch and by its state of engorgement betrayed the aroused state of its possessor.

He had experienced the previously unknown means of copulation with the lass atop him riding his cock. In how many other attitudes could a lad and lass join their organs? His mind was agog at the possibilities...by God, he wanted to attempt them all!

And, most miraculous of all, he had felt a lass spending whilst he fucked her! Although attaining this prize required patience and attention, 'twas no faery story, the notion of a lass spending...Tim O'Keefe had spoken true. What irony that he had previously considered the mere act of fucking to the be the pinnacle of sexual delight! The sensation of simply fucking paled in comparison to the sensation of fucking...as a lass moaned and spasmed upon his cock!

But there were yet more novel rewards of the adventure. Without the need for haste, Declan had reveled in his most prolonged exploration of a lass's ruby-tipped globes...with his eyes, hands, and mouth...felt how the peaks stood up under his fingers and lips when stimulated. He had, when Marianne spread her legs, seen more of the intimate territory than he had ever before been privileged to behold. Fleeting as the glimpse was, he now knew that 'twas not a simple slit, but more like a flower. If he had truly been able to follow his natural inclinations that night instead of being subject to Mr. Burke's direction...he would have, first off, dispensed with every hampering piece of their clothing (had the lady been willing) and would have lingered over her cunny, endeavoring to gratify his burning curiosity...wanting to study...smell...taste the precious article.

He also at last had beheld that which he had been striving to imagine for a long time: his engine in flagrante with a lass. What an astonishing sight! The vision of the glistening, pumping junction of their engorged sex organs in the mirror had quickly propelled him to a pearly shower, a trajectory powerfully accelerated by the stunning sight of Mr. Burke's finger penetrating Marianne's anus. Declan had never before considered the bawdy possibilities of a lass's bottom hole...he had never even seen one before that night. But there in the looking glass he had viewed the secret hole, just above Marianne's overstuffed vaginal orifice...how bewitchingly pink and pretty it was!

Not long had Declan admired the tightly clenched pucker ere it succumbed to Mr. Burke's sudden, determined digital probing. The lass's initial reaction had been shock, but her swift, subsequent reaction had revealed that the wee pink aperture was as susceptible to voluptuous sensation as the rest of the charming territory between her legs.

With his enhanced appreciation of this erotic sensitivity, Declan yearned to play with a lass's private parts...learn how to give her pleasure...and shamelessly indulge his own desires. His thoughts returned to the clitoris...now aware of its existence, he was beset with lecherous curiosity. Could the stroking of it alone --- akin to a lad frigging --- elicit such exquisite pleasure that it would cause a lass to spend...without a cock penetrating her at all?

Mr. Burke had expressed his wish for his wife to experience "the pleasures of nuptial congress." It occurred to Declan that notwithstanding Mr. Burke's physical limitations, he was quite masterful at rousing his wife with his fondling of her cunny...if he had persisted in his skillful manipulations, might his wife have spent from just the touch of his fingers? If so, what was the significance of copulation to pleasure?

Did a cock filling the cunny enhance the pleasure? He remembered how Marianne had sighed and panted and embraced him as he thrust inside her...even before he had accentuated the pressure against her clitoris...aye, fucking seemed to give pleasure to the lass too. But couldn't that be simulated with some sort of sham phallus?

Declan knew not how to answer his questions...there was so much more to the realm of sexual pursuits than he had supposed. He hoped at least that he had succeeded in giving the Burkes what they desired...they had seemed well contented when he had taken his leave of them.

Not all the revelations of that night served as happy fodder for frigging. Equally thought-provoking was the new insight into relations between the sexes. Although he had shared with that lass the most intimate act in which a male and female could engage with their bodies, in their hearts they had shared nothing. Throughout the night, there had been a potent current between husband and wife...a current from which Declan had been wholly excluded. Despite their inability to physically indulge in the complete act of love, the profundity of their feelings brooked no compromise. It had been Declan's cock in her cunny...Declan bringing her to the wild rapture, but 'twas her husband for whom she reached, whose eyes she sought, who kissed and cradled her in the bliss of release.

No bitterness or jealousy did Declan feel. He had not been vying with Mr. Burke for Marianne's affections. In the history of Declan's amorous education, that night had been the most fulfilling to date...and yet, at the same time, the most unfulfilling. His gratitude over what he had experienced was as profound as his wistful awe over what he had not.

Love!

What little concern had he previously felt for that emotion! 'Twas not that he had scoffed at it...it simply did not consciously figure into his dealings with the opposite sex. Lasses had ever inspired his admiration, lust, and warm regard, but never had his heart betrayed a symptom that could be ascribed to love.

And now the want of it troubled him sorely. He wanted to feel that force which painted the Burkes' faces in radiant hues. He longed for a sweetheart with whom he could share the mutual fervor of passion that both gloried in and transcended the raw joining of their bodies.

How to find this treasure he knew not. Did such a connection arise by instinct, or must it be cultivated? Engrossed in his new quest, Declan's thoughts whilst frigging...although as lascivious as ever...focused more and more upon this sweetheart he had imagined for himself. When in the company of lasses, no longer was he cogitating upon how best to find bawdy diversion with them...now he gazed intently at them seeking a sign...a spark of emotion. He eventually reasoned that if he wanted a more heartfelt connection with a lass, he must take time to know her heart.

After many weeks of Declan's continued monkish rumination, his fellow Kilmaedan guardsmen began to tease him...misconstruing his brooding manner as that of a lad who had been wounded in love. They advised him that there were plenty more fish in the sea, called his attention to various maidens, and even offered to arrange on his behalf some solace with a cockish wench if he was too dejected to approach one himself. Open to all possibilities, Declan searched each face, but no flash of sensibility was provoked in his heart.

*****

Then there was Moll. He knew not what drew him to her. Aye she was comely...perhaps that compromised his judgement. 'Twas some three celibate months after the night with the Burkes when he first saw her: she was following two other kitchen maids, all carrying large trays of food to the guards' common room.

"What ho! Here's a bonnie stranger!" one of the men said.

Declan, who was doing his exercises on the floor, halted his motion and looked up. There with the maids Mary and Sarah was an unfamiliar girl, dressed in a similar uniform of grey gown and white apron. She had a well-curved figure that put him in mind of Marianne Burke, and her pretty face sported round cheeks and a pert, up-turned nose. Underneath a white cap, a portion of her coiled up auburn hair was visible.

Mary set down her tray on the long table and instructed the lass to do the same, saying, "This is Moll. She's come here from Athy. Now ye lads will be giving her respect, and dinna be getting up to yer pranks with her."

"Sure...'tis eager I be to give her my...respect!" someone called.

"'Tis certain she'd appreciate a lot more "respect" than you can give her!" There was a chorus of laughs and whistles as the guards took their seats at the table.

Mary shook her head, and Sarah rolled her eyes. "Heed me warning, Moll, they're devils, the lot of them!" Mary said as the trio left with the empty trays. Moll glanced back over her shoulder at the group of men, and a small smile lifted one corner of her mouth.

Declan ate, scarce listening as his comrades launched into bawdy speculation about the new kitchen maid. There was something about her that had captured his notice...perhaps 'twas the alert, unflustered expression in her green eyes as she had taken in the curious looks from the guardsmen...or the spirited flick of her skirts as she had turned away.

The conversation eventually shifted to a ribald tale of a plump milkmaid from Athy whom one of the men had met several years ago.

An hour or so later, the three maids returned to clear the table, and Declan had another opportunity to study Moll. Aye, there was an appealing quality to her brisk demeanor. He was trying to craft an appropriate first verbal foray as she made her way round the table picking up dishes.

Across from him, he watched Denis Rafferty sit back in his chair to allow her to retrieve his plate...the man's eyes traveled over her bodice as she reached past him. "So yer from Athy, are ye?" Rafferty said. "Ye know what they say about lasses from Athy?"

Moll straightened and regarded him, one brow dubiously arched. He leant closer to her and whispered something, breaking into a grin. Her mouth fell open and she turned away with an indignant twitch of her skirts. "'Tis something ye'll never learn of me!" she declared, her eyes flashing. Rafferty chuckled and exchanged leers with the men next to him.

But by the time the maids finished the clearing and picked up their laden trays, Rafferty had adopted an air of conciliatory chivalry: he took the heavy tray from Moll's hands. "Dinna be wearing yourself out on yer first day, lassie." He followed them out. Declan, chagrined, wished he had thought to help her.

Over the next several days, Declan saw Moll about...usually coming into the guardsmen's quarters to deliver meals, but occasionally in the courtyard whilst he was participating in drills. He endeavored to catch her eye, and by and by ventured to say "good evening" to her when she brought a tray of food to the table. She returned his greeting politely, her big green eyes meeting his with brief interest.

In the presence of the other guards, Declan was reluctant to address her further --- reluctant to expose his hopes to the teasing of his comrades, however good-natured. Moreover, Rafferty and a couple other men had already claimed the field of flirtatious and provocative banter in her presence. Declan had no wish to compete with these more accomplished rakes, but so long as Moll continued to rebuff their crude advances with calm composure, he took heart in his chances.

One afternoon as he was crossing the courtyard after a training session with Brodie, he spied Moll at the well, hoisting up a bucket. Hastening thence, he took the full bucket from her hands, saying with a smile, "Where to?"

Her lively eyes traveled over him --- he was not at present in his uniform. "You're one of the guards, are ye not?"

"Aye. Me name's Declan."

"Declan, is it? Well come this way, Declan."

He followed her into the door between the guards' quarters and the keep, then down a flight of stone stairs to the kitchen. In the large, busy room he set the bucket near the hearth as directed.

"Ta," Moll said with a smile. She began to tie a second, more soiled apron over her crisp white one.

This was his chance! Declan thought quickly...he had a night of leave the following day. "Moll, are you going to the fair in Kilmaedan town tomorrow night?"

"I will if I'm given liberty," she replied.

Declan trailed after her as she crossed to a table and reached for a bowl of praties. "Erm...if ye go, maybe we can have a jig together?"

"Oh...aye. That would be nice." She nodded.

He sensed she was distracted by her work and decided to depart on that promising note. "I'll look for ye, then."

The next evening, Declan and three other off duty guards wandered about the lively streets of Kilmaedan town. The shops were open late, and stalls and carts of farmers and peddlers lined the square. A group of musicians soon began playing and set people to dancing. For some time, Declan searched the crowd for Moll, whilst his comrades engaged themselves dancing with the village lasses.

At last, he spied her across the square...she was with Sarah and another maid from the castle, whose name he did not know. Declan smiled and waved, trying to catch her attention, but even as he did so, a village lad drew her into the dance. Momentarily thwarted, Declan bided his time and observed her dancing.

She was indeed comely in a blue gown with white trim round the neckline. A blue ribbon was tied in her russet hair. The steps of the jovial dance showed off her graceful figure to fine advantage...her full bosom heartily bouncing, her slim waist twisting and bending, and her quick feet prancing. Declan's eyes warmed at the sight, but notwithstanding her tempting charms, he vowed to not only follow his usual wont of avoiding the rude forwardness of Rafferty and his ilk, but to conduct himself in an especially genteel manner.