Island in the Barley Ch. 04byDrmaxc©
The play, the masque, began with austere, crackling cold winter, or so Sasha judged from the heavily clothed players and the general drapery of white spread around—even the music lent a chilly air. There was a lack of excitement; a lack of life, for it was the dead time of the year when nature slept.
The mood that the play now cast was sombre; the usual gaiety of the household became subdued but then, gradually, there was a change; the music developed a livelier edge and in through the door danced a young man with green oak leaves in his hair; indeed he was garlanded in a great many of them and nothing else. He danced solo for quite a time, rather creditably, before a whole company of the young people entered, looking like flower children dressed in nothing more than flowers Sasha had seen in the garden, to set up a maypole and dance around it. Playful green spring complete with light jolly music, the people dancing naked with flowers in their hair, the girls white painted and the boys in red and blue.
The symbolism of spring, the time of new life, accentuated, or perhaps overdone, by the arrival of a giant green phallus made of greenery woven around a wicker former held high. Its entrance was greeted by much cheering and laughter; it seemed the signal for further amusements as the next entrance was by a man on stilts who strode around the room naked with an absurdly elongated penis and pendulous balls flapping between his thighs—not, of course, real but simply an appendage made up to look like oversize genitalia—to the great amusement of the company. It seemed to represent a very good joke indeed: the giant's cock.
The freshness of spring, the urge to renew, indeed to bring forth new life seemed, inevitably, to lead to copulation. Sasha could not disagree that it was integral to the play—however odd public copulation seemed to her upbringing: though not to the House, as she well knew. Presumably the display was planned and practised but it was dramatically real for all that. One of the young girls around the maypole was chosen by her fellows and pulled forward, feigning reluctance, to be crowned as the May Queen with her crown of interwoven flowers. Seated, or enthroned, the young people danced around her taking it in turns to dance forward and make obeisance with a kiss between her legs.
The re-entry of the young man with the crown of oak leaves was greeted by a cheer from the audience and he danced around the whole company seeming to be trying to get to the seated girl and as he danced his penis grew -- not, Sasha thought, the easiest of dance moves to practice. It seemed as if the white women were trying to prevent him getting to the seated woman: the red men seeking to encourage—but all as dance. It was no surprise to Sasha that the men had the day, the women were subdued , and the oak clad young man danced around the throne in increasing wild and dramatic leaps, his vigorous masculine energy both mysterious and familiar, until he stopped still, waiting with his penis raised like a sceptre before him. With a balletic grace the girl arose and in one fluid movement descended to kneel before the man, her mouth opening to absorb the penis head—the fealial duty of a queen to her king. As one, the figures in red, blue and white moved to repeat the action and all was still.
Sasha applauded with the rest. A very strange tableau but so well acted and danced for all that. And then the players moved, the men to mount the women from the rear but all in a circle around the royal couple, hands to hips as the whole company walked in a circle around them, actually fucking as they went. Not, though, for the couple, the position of the beasts, instead the oak clad king carried the May Queen with her legs locked around his hips and his penis lodged within for all to see as the company circled around them. Then the circle broke and the players exited all still fucking as the jolly music played on. A remarkable sight.
There was a pause whilst more wine was served and then a languid song introduced the next season, summoning up a vision of hot, sultry summer. A vision little needed because that was how it had been since Sasha had found herself at the House; a summer that seemed almost to have overstayed its welcome; a summer that was going on for too long and had passed its time.
The oak clad man re-entered but not with a vigorous dance but a much more stately progress, a circuit of the room attended by women ensuring his penis maintained its erection, a progress designed it seemed to Sasha to show the power of the man, his maleness and fecundity. A king at the height of his power, waiting. Then came a re-entry of the players but with even the women sporting erect penises in the form of corn dollies woven to shape.
A further dance and then they brought out the Wild Man once more, bound and restrained, again to be teased by the women to the amusement of all. He seemed confused at first by the corn dolly penises as if not recognising the white women as women, his eyes darting around the room only to light briefly upon Sasha. Once more the sight of her seemed the cue for his erection but bound as he was he could do nothing, not seek Sasha nor indeed touch the women around him. For all his masculinity unable to do more than display: the male impotent without the woman.
Once more the small white hands came to tease, touch and stimulate, some girls even lifted by their sisters and with legs opened brought close to the Wild Man so their sex just touched the club like end of the mighty penis, not to effect entrance—probably physically impossible—but to stroke and tease, to slide their wetness across his knob to stimulate the beast and feel his monstrous cock where they were softest.
The re-entry of the May Queen seemed to drive the Wild Man into a frenzy. Was it just that she was the only woman without the corn dolly penis and therefore the only true woman close to him that he could see to assuage his need to rut? Indeed, as the players moved, the whole tableau seemed to celebrate masculinity. The King, the Green Man, standing erect waiting as the May Queen approached attended by some of the white woman but androgynous with their upstanding corn dollies, the red men truly erect with their own penises and the enormous Wild Man with his monstrous erection outdoing all.
Carefully lifted, the May Queen's legs were parted and she was presented to the King, a sexual gift. Standing proud his penis was inserted into the woman and union achieved. The women releasing their hold on the May Queen so the King carried her alone, joined to him in the special way of men and women. This seemed to annoy the Wild Man and he pulled even harder against his bonds but there was no let up in the gentle stimulation of his penis by the small white hands as they covered and recovered its head. Beneath his shaggy coat his muscles strained at his bonds seeking release but all the while he was being sexually stimulated; small white hands pulling at the great foreskin and sliding it over the head. The result inevitable, just as it had been before when Sasha came to the House, but it was not the Wild Man who came first.
As the eyes of the audience flicked from the pretty copulating couple to the Wild Man it was the Green Man who came first; at the height of summer, at the peak of his fecundity it was he who came releasing his seed within the May Queen—the motion obvious to Sasha, the expression on his face clear; not simply public copulation but the completion of the act for all to see.
No sooner done, than the Green Man danced away around the hall, his wet, erect penis displayed, still weeping, and the women lifted the May Queen high above their heads, spreading her legs wide to display the result of the copulation for all to see, rotating her around the company before lowering her and bringing her to the Wild Man for him to know that it was the Green Man who had enjoyed her not he. This seemed to be too much for the Wild Man and, once again, Sasha watched in amazement at the size and strength of the ejaculation—a display of maleness difficult to believe.
A great roar filled the hall, once again a cry of frustration and anguish mixed with pleasure, and the penis jerked out of the small white hands that were both restraining and stimulating it; the enormous balls drew upwards, as if pulled by a block and tackle, and the great bulbous head released its first spurt of semen high into the air, higher even than the great shaggy head of the Wild Man. Before even the first shot had reached the ground, a second even more powerful spurt left the penis. It was a remarkable sight. The unrestrained penis pumping its charge this way and that to the evident delight of the audience as the sound of their clapping filled the air, competing with the roaring of the beast. Even Sasha found herself joining in—it was a sight to see, a fitting climax to the scene of summer.
The onset of autumn brought back the central dancer, still garlanded in oak leaves but leaves now faded, brown and dry. No longer did the audience see the skipping, lively young man of spring but now with a slow pace, bent but still dancing—his penis no longer displaying the magnificence of summer. Not surprisingly, Sasha thought, given it had just so publically come within the girl playing the May Queen, but it did fit the mood completely.
The company though, danced energetically and still sexually, weaving past the principle dancer almost ignoring him until, as they passed, they began plucking the leaves from him, a leaf at a time. It took many revolutions of the hall but gradually, like with the steady pull of autumn winds, the fall came and he was denuded—leaving only a few oaken leaves in his hair. Still he danced but slower and slower as the music too lost pace and seemed, to Sasha, to feel colder and colder.
One by one the company dropped the leaves into the great crackling fire and each leaf in turn caught and flared briefly before its gossamer, skeletal remains floated upwards on the rising heated air and was lost. It was almost mesmerising, the burning leaves one after another catching the audience's attention as the dancers passed and re-passed the fire until, when the audience looked again, the whole company was laid motionless on the floor and the principal dancer was no longer there.
Applause. The play had been well done, very well done but it was not yet over. Once more the players re-entered playing austere, crackling cold winter in thick clothes and continuing the sombre, reflective mood of the burning leaves but then, just as there had been earlier, there was a change to the music as it built and built to a jig, teasing the audience's anticipation until through the door danced the young man once again garlanded with new green oak leaves in his hair. It was the culmination of the play and the audience rose as one to applaud and summon back the whole company of players. Sasha had never seen the like.
The feasting and drinking went on far into the night and as always, despite the merriment, Sasha was guarded from reaching Nat and, she could see, he from reaching her. Not that she had any shortage of suitors wishing to touch and caress and this kept her in a state of perpetual arousal, her nipples distended and a warm wetness between her thighs. It was undoubtedly enjoyable to sit on a bench between two fine young men sipping wine and feel one hand on each thigh and then two different sets of fingers teasing her moist flesh before, together, simulating the motion of intercourse. And, of course, wine was not her only drink; how pleasant it was to take the proffered smooth plum of an erection in her mouth and suck the salty creaminess from it. Difficult to refuse the advances of the men and, she had to admit, she was particularly pleased when the young principal dancer, still with the oak leaves in his hair, asked if he might engage in a few strokes with her. It seemed quite the done thing to swap freely from one partner to another, very like the easy exchange of dancing partners; a dance with one young man and then a turn around the floor with another. So pleasant to be lifted like the May Queen by the athletic young man and lowered onto his cock. How strange, but nice, to be both carried and fucked at the same time as the young man walked across the room. He did not come but she did!
The master of the house, the old man who had first fucked her was in fine form; so different from when Sasha had first seen him; his energy surprising as he directed the festivities. Seated in a great oaken chair, engaged in conversation he looked very much a king—if a king was to sit naked with oak leaves in his hair and his erect phallus standing exposed; revealing his pleasure in the erotic scenes around him. And not just around him for, every so often, he would beckon another woman to come and sit not so much on his knee as on his lap and, to get comfortable, it was clearly so much easier to slip the penis up into herself.
It was later in the evening before Sasha was summoned. Evidently it was the done thing, to sit upon his lap and mount the ancient man rather than he doing the mounting, the done thing for her fingers to hold the slippery cock as she let herself down, its smooth head once again parting her opening and ensuring its knarled rigidity slipped up inside her. How strange to converse with the man in the archaic way she had become used to; how strange to be sitting like that, conjugally joined, whilst discussing the merits of the masque, the players and of the grand feast; how difficult to know what was the etiquette—should she gently bounce or simply sit with the penis within her, should she use her vaginal muscles to discretely stimulate, would it be a faux pas if she was to cause ejaculation?
On and on into the hot night the masque continued until, exhausted, the revellers one by one fell asleep, but, as dawn broke and the first hint of light showed through the window glass, two of their number began to move, slipping naked between the sleeping people towards each other. It was not pre-arranged—there had not been the opportunity—but independently the idea had come to them and Nat and Sasha moved closer together unobserved, closer and closer until they were touching, kissing and holding each other as they had first done in the copse so long before. So happy to be together.
The sexual thrill of at last holding each other sped through their bodies, raising Nat's much used penis for use and moistened Sasha's sex ready to receive it. No one stirred as gently, and quietly, Nat rolled on top of Sasha and her thighs parted, one moment his cock hung between her thighs, the next it was pushing at her seeking entry—forbidden ingress.
Outside, out in the night, out in the hot, arid night the enemy had been coming together, quietly like mice, creeping towards the house, a house they found silent and unguarded. The denizens had not been watchful and they paid the price.
Nat's penis slid into Sasha, an easy entrance. He was not the first that night and it was not just Sasha's moisture that lubricated: but it was not as if Nat's penis, in turn, had not been exploring other women that self same night. Neither was under an illusion but they wanted each other—it was what they had been wanting since that first meeting in the copse. And now it was happening, really happening, they were fucking together as lovers should do, arms around each other, lips to lips, sex within sex.
There was a stirring, a realisation all was not well all, a staggering to the feet, first by the ancient man and then a pointing, a pointing at them, the only people in the room engaged in sex—a public copulation. A look of dismay on one of the onlookers, a look of sadness on another, visible fear on the face of a friend; the rising tide of sound and then the distinct words amongst the babel coming to Sasha, words from a girl, a friend she had often played music with in the garden, had played games with and more—the simple words, "Nay, I beseech, not yet..." But it seemed to Sasha, whilst Nat continued to rise and fall upon her with increasing urgency, that the people were not quite as distinct, not quite in such strong colour, just a little washed out as if they—or she—were not quite there. And then it happened.
A crash of glass, the sound of shouting, a bursting open of the doors, confusion, the ancient man tripping and his hair catching alight in the fire, the leaves in his hair burning, fire coming through the windows catching the hangings, the shouting, the smoke, the confusion all around Sasha and Nat. But as the flames rose higher and the acrid smell of smoke filled her nostrils, the house seemed to be becoming less distinct—and still they fucked. She could hear cries for water to quench the fire but the voices were becoming fainter and all she could see were the flames and all she could feel was the heat and Nat pushing against her.
Gradually, though, the flames around them lost their heat and colour; there was a fading and Sasha found herself still on her back, still being fucked by Nat but outside on the hard grassed ground whilst high overhead in the early dawn she could see black clouds racing in to cover a pale clear sky.
Despite the events all around, Sasha had not let go of Nat, had clasped him tighter and to her amazement she felt an orgasm building; despite it all she was going to come. Her attention focused on the penis driving her, Nat's lovely curving penis, and on the sensations coming from her clit being pulled by the regular motion; her hands sought Nat's bottom and pulled him hard into her.
It was the clap of thunder that actually set her off, an unusual aural cue, but nonetheless it had its effect and as the skies opened and the dry heat was suddenly eased by the torrent of water falling on their joined bodies, a long delayed and simultaneous orgasm shook them. Two lovers alone in a copse, a wood in the middle of a field, making the beast with two backs: the culmination of so much desire and waiting.
Sasha mind was filled both with the awful fire, the crackling sound, the cries and screams but with joy at having, at last, lain with Nat. The rain poured down, already soaking them as they got unsteadily to their feet, hand in hand, under the dark sky, looking around them in a dazed way as the ground was drenched with the cool rain water. They had escaped.
The lightning flashed and the rain poured down and down. Across the field in the rain they ran, the water running in rivulets down their naked bodies, their hair plastered to their skin, the hard clay of the field becoming slippery with the rain. It would take time for the rain to seep in and loosen it and, instead, just the surface of the clods was emulsified like grease to their naked feet.
Slipping, sliding, falling into the channels of water between the furrows; sometimes one falling, sometimes both together in a muddy, wet slippery heap of bodies and mud; and still the rain poured down. Had they not recently been copulating, had they not just escaped, had they not been in shock then they might just have just stopped running and rolled together in the mud, mouths seeking, hands clasping and just fucked like that in the pleasure of the rain at last coming to end the overstayed Indian summer. Instead they kept running away from the horror of the burning house and their captivity, putting distance between them and it; as Sasha led them to her friends' house.
The frantic knocking in the early dawn, the sleepy words, "Who is it?" from an upstairs window and then the disbelief, the joy at finding Sasha—naked and mud bespatted as she was. Hugs, introductions, baths, breakfast and the inevitable, "Where on Earth have you been? So worried... missing persons... just your car and piles of clothes..."