The Longest Day

It was a luxury to just lie on the straw pallet and watch the sun rise through a chink in the barn planks. The first rays of sunlight peaked over the tree tops on the horizon, spread across the field, touched Molly's garden, and kissed the stone foundation of the cottage. Summer at Molly and Will's place meant that there were more than enough daylight hours for all the chores to get done. There'd be time, in the evening, to listen to Will tell a tale - mostly true, she thought, at least most of the time - of an adventure he'd had during one of his many trips abroad to purchase goods for his store, or for her to tune up her sorry excuse for a fiddle and scrape out a tune. There'd be time at midday to gather some flowers to decorate Molly's table. And there was time now to just lay and appreciate the sunrise.

It seemed to her that with this luxury she should feel calmer than she did. Something was interfering with her peace, irritating her like the straw poking through her thin blanket into her backside. She tried to figure out the source of her unease, but it baffled her. Then she heard the barn door creak on its hinges, and Will's footsteps as he approached his horse. She abruptly lost all interest in her musings. She hopped up and grabbed her skirt from the stool, and, pulling it on over her chemise, jumped down out of the loft.

This morning leap from the loft was another nice thing about staying with Molly and Will. It was far enough down that she could do a little pirouette in midair. Almost anyone else would have landed with a thud and a grunt, but she settled lightly down on her toes.

Her quick entrance meant that she hadn't given a thought to what she'd say to Will in greeting. He'd watched for her descent, though, and winked at her. "Mornin', Peg. You know, your skirt swirls fetchingly when you do that."

She flushed at the compliment. "Could I help you load your cart this morning?" she asked, hoping she didn't sound too eager. She loved to watch the muscles in his legs strain against his leggings as he knelt to lift a heavy load, the hair at his neck turning into ringlets with sweat.

He looked at her, but she couldn't read his expression. "Maybe you should help Molly with breakfast this morning."

“I’ll do that.” Disappointed, she turned away to root through the chicken house for eggs and draw a pail of water from the well. She could see Will out of the corner of her eye as she stooped there, and she tried to see if he was looking in her direction. She thought he might be, perhaps admiring the slenderness of her waist or neatness of her ankles. Or maybe he was intrigued by the glossiness of her long, pale hair or her unusual eyes. She walked along the stone path that led from the barn to the cottage, passing through Molly’s garden and near the huge dolmen, a relic from some forgotten time that had passed along with the land through generations of Will’s family. The summer had been fairly cool so far, but today the granite dolmen seemed to shimmer with heat in the morning sun. She noticed the season’s first ripe strawberries, and bent to pluck some to serve with breakfast.

She was the first one in the kitchen this morning, and she bent over the hearth to stir the fire back to life, then busied herself frying eggs, slicing the berries, and cooking oatmeal. The breakfast smells seemed to draw everyone to the table at once. Molly climbed carefully down the ladder from their sleeping loft, her swollen belly making it hard to see her feet. Cassie and Alex ran in just ahead of Will, who was threatening to toss a bucket of water over them if they didn't wash their hands and faces more carefully.

Peg set out the food on Molly's table. The table was decorated with a lacy cloth Molly had tatted, and other examples of Molly's handiwork adorned the room: pretty baskets, embroidered cloths, woven wall hangings. As a merchant's wife she didn't have to spend her days working in the fields, and with no children to occupy her time, Molly had channeled her innate industriousness and artisanship into making her home pleasant. She'd attempted several times to teach Peg basketry and crocheting, but Peg just seemed to have no head for it. Peg, who could remember more verses to more ballads than anyone else in the county, couldn't complete the repetitive steps in order. She'd inevitably lose track of what she was doing, and stare at her unfinished work in consternation.

Molly and Will weren't sticklers for saying grace before meals, and everyone dug into the breakfast without ceremony but with considerable enthusiasm. Watching Cassie and Alex eat their fill of wholesome fare was the best thing of all about staying with Molly and Will, Peg thought, and the reason she'd never do anything that would cause Molly to regret her hospitality. Will was clever and strong and attractive, and he had a lightness of spirit so akin to her own that she enjoyed any time spent in his company. And even though her head sung, her tongue thickened, her skin tightened whenever Will was near, she admired Molly's generosity and steadfastness, and she wanted Molly to like her, too.

"Peg, your hair's especially pretty this morning. It looks lighter than it did just yesterday. How did you manage that?" Molly asked.

Everyone was looking at her - even Cassie and Alex were starting to be aware that their mother was a bit different from the other village children's mothers.

"I don't know, it just does that sometimes," Peg answered, running her hands through it as if to muss it up and make it look more normal. She tried to change the subject. "Cassie and Alex, did you know that today is the longest day of the year?"

Cassie and Alex didn't look all that impressed with her pronouncement, but Molly and Will both looked at her with interest. "And how did you know that? Did you see that in my book?" Will had managed to acquire a handful of books during his travels; along with his wife, they were his most prized possessions. One of the books, he'd showed her, listed feast days and other special days of the year. Will had been teaching Cassie and Alex to read, and maybe he hoped that she'd been learning her letters too.

Molly made a small sound of protest, of discomfort. Peg noticed that Molly's hands were clutching the table, and her brow was beading with sweat. "Molly?" Molly's eyes were large and fearful, glistening with unshed tears. Will jumped from the bench and supported her.

"Molly?" Peg asked again. "Does it feel like the times you lost your other babies?"

Molly nodded in misery.

"Cassie and Alex, you take the cart and tend the store by yourselves today," Peg shooed them out the door. Will's eyes never left his wife, but he still joked with the children as they left: "And there'd better be maple candies left tomorrow! Or I'll dock your pay!"

"Let's get her up to bed," Peg ordered, and between them they supported her, half-carrying her back up to the loft. They stopped for a minute on the ladder as another contraction wracked her. Laying her gently down on her blanket, Peg stepped over a small cedar chest at the foot of the bed. Inside the chest, Molly had shown her, were the tiny gowns she'd embroidered and blankets she'd woven each time she'd been with child. None had ever been used.

"I'll have a look at your belly, and see how the baby's doing," Peg suggested, and Molly nodded and pulled up her frock. Molly had fine, slender legs, in contrast to the great roundness of her belly. Peg ran her hands gently over it.

"The baby's in a good position for birthing. The head is down, the bottom's right here-" rubbing the upper right curve of the belly, "and here's an arm - do you feel it?" Molly and Will seemed somewhat reassured. "Let's listen to the heartbeat...I hear it - swish, swish, swish - the baby seems strong, a doughty little fighter. I'm going to check inside now."

Molly nodded, and Peg carefully worked her fingers into Molly's slit, feeling the warmth and moistness and mystery of the woman's most intimate parts. "Well, your cervix has thinned and opened a little. The herb I gave you won't do anything more to prolong your pregnancy." Her words sounded so harsh; she wished she could find a gentler way to say this. "The baby is about this size - " using her hands to demonstrate - "I've heard tell of babies this size surviving."

As she was speaking, Molly's belly was tightening in another contraction. Her head turned towards Will, and his eyes, too, filled with tears. Peg had never seen a marriage like theirs. She'd never seen Will strike his wife, or even speak harshly to her. Though they'd been married for many years, they were tender with each other, and even though their personalities were so different, they were always companionable. She saw despair in Molly's eyes; in response, Will's face seemed to harden in resolution.

"I'd like a word with you, Peg," he said, and he kissed his wife's forehead before propelling Peg back down the ladder and into the kitchen.

Peg turned to Will and spoke softly. "Will, I'm sorry - I can't give her more of the herb, it wouldn't be good for her or the baby."

And she was right about Will's expression - his voice, though quiet, was stiff as iron. "But you're not just an herbalist, Peg." He leaned closer to her. He hadn't taken his hand from her arm, and his touch sent a wave of warmth through her. "I'll never forget what I saw that day. When that soldier tried to assault you, you summoned some sort of power to help you. Isn't there anything you can do with that power to help my wife?"

She wrinkled her brow in thought. "I've never been trained, it's not something I can control. It just surges through me sometimes when ... well, in response to pain, or sometimes..." She didn't finish the sentence; women should not speak of such things. Resolutely, though, she demanded, "Slap me."

"And you'll go back to my wife with the mark of my hand on your face? No, I won't have her see that. Think, Peg - when that soldier started to attack you, I don't think you were in pain. Was it fear you were feeling? Or rage at his control over you?" Suddenly he grasped both her wrists in his hand and tugged forcefully on them. He looked at her questioningly. She gave a slow, slight nod, assenting to whatever he might do next.

He pulled her hands across the table, bending her over it. He held her firmly, her head pressed against the polished wood. The table gleamed in the sunlight streaming through the open door. She could feel her heart pounding between her ribs, pulsing through her body, reaching all the way through her fingertips, synchronized with the low throbbing hum she'd felt in her head all that day.

Will ran his other hand over her hips and her buttocks. "Maybe it was realizing that he lusted for you, desired your body the way I've wanted it since I first laid eyes on you," he whispered. Her breathing became shallow, faster, ragged; she closed her eyes, dizzy, as if she was caught in a whirlpool.

"I saw something that day that's haunted me, waking and sleeping, ever since: your perfect buttocks exposed and quivering," and she felt him raise her skirt up to her waist. "They're beautiful, Peg. And your long, lovely legs. And between them, here - " His hand felt between her legs, dipping into her vagina, sliding along her labia. "You're a little wet, my sweet. I think you like this treatment." Her breath caught in her throat.

"Or maybe it was the way he punished you, like this, " and he tapped her buttocks, then gave them a stinging slap. Her ears filled with the sound. How, she wondered, would he explain that noise to his wife? "Yes, I liked doing that. I liked the feel of it, and I liked having you at my mercy. I'm going to do that again," suiting his action to his words, "and again," spanking her one more time, hard enough that her eyes watered, "and now let's see what effect that's had on you. Ummm...your quim is so hot now, like a furnace, and so wet." His fingers spread her, exploring. He gently exposed her clitoris and squeezed it, his fingers slick with her juices. She felt something rising inside her, surging like a river in spring.

He stopped abruptly. "Look - "

She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts, and opened her eyes. Her fingertips were pulsing red. She broke free from his hold, and climbed the ladder to the sleeping loft as lightly as any squirrel, Will clambering up behind.

"Molly," he called out, "she's going to help you."

Well, I'm going to do something, she thought. Let's hope it's a help.

Molly was lying as they'd left her, but she looked up at Will's voice. She looked surprised, of course, by Peg's glowing fingers, but not horrified - almost hopeful. Peg climbed into bed with her. She tore open Molly's frock to expose her breasts, swollen and beautiful in her pregnancy. She grasped one in each hand, pushed them together, rubbed their enlarged tips. Molly squirmed but said nothing; she could feel the energy rushing through Peg's fingers and flowing into her all the way to her womb, which was hardening in response.

Peg moved to squat over Molly's midsection, and raised one hand, clenched, over her head. Dancing motes of dust in the shadowy loft reflected the red glow. "Now," she said, or intended to say, but instead she heard herself make a different sound, a susurrus that seemed to issue from deep inside her. And now it was as if she had left behind her humanity and inhibitions like a husk, becoming a creature of spirit and lust. She thrust her hand under her skirt, toying with her clitoris with one hand, and spread Molly's labia to expose her nub with her other hand. She could see her desire permeate through Molly. Molly's cheeks were flushed, and her eyes unfocused. Molly thrust her hips up to meet Peg's hand, rubbing her clitoris against Peg's fingertips. Another sound issued from Peg - this one a rising, joyful trill - as she thrust the fingers of the one hand deep into her vagina, and the other's into Molly's. Her orgasm flooded over her, pounding through her, and she could feel Molly's vagina clutching her hand. "Oh my!" Molly said, but she smiled at Peg as she collapsed back onto her bed. She clutched Peg. "How's the baby doing now?"

Peg listened for the baby's heartbeat again, and soothed Molly with the news that the baby still seemed to be fine.

Peg lay down beside Molly, leaning on one elbow and resting the other hand gently on Molly's belly. Molly snuggled against her as she drifted to sleep. Here and there specks of red still swirled overhead, drifting gently over them.

Peg almost drowsed off, too, but instead she pushed herself up and looked around for Will. He was smiling: amusement, or was it desire? "No more contractions since, hmmm, since..."

Will nodded. The relief that filled his face lifted years of care away, and Peg suddenly ached to feel his hands on her again. She realized that her skirt was still pulled up around her waist. If she didn't put some distance between Will and herself, she knew, she'd soon be doing something Molly wouldn't approve. She pulled her skirt back down, but couldn't resist parting her legs a little to give Will one last glimpse of her swollen and slick cunny. She stood up and made her excuses to Will.

"I should go gather herbs now, there are some that are best picked on this day." This was prevarication; Peg wasn't aware of any plants whose efficacy depended on being picked on a certain day. "Make sure she rests today."

"I will," Will agreed, and watched her climb down from the loft.

Escaping from the house, she ran down the path, past the barn, under the shade of the maple trees. It was a short climb up the hill to a spruce stand where she knew she'd find some trailing arbutus, then a longer trek to a bog where she had several plants to carefully harvest. She sat on a fallen log as she packed her finds away, her mind drifting back to the scene in the cottage that morning. She felt so confused, her head was throbbing. Why had Will acted as he had - could it have been just because he thought it might help his wife, or was he also acting out of desire for her? "My sweet," he'd called her. Was he teasing, or did he have feelings of affection for her? How could he be so rough with her, then, when he was always so gentle with his wife? She could hear the smack his hand had made against her exposed bottom, feel the sting and the warmth spreading from the area of contact. She recalled every word Will said. "Your perfect buttocks...your long lovely legs..." She touched herself everywhere Will had touched her, thrusting her fingers into her pussy, wishing it was Will penetrating her.

It was supper time when Peg made her way back to the cottage. Her long delay - and the cause of it - should have eased the tension she'd felt all that day, but she felt it building again as she crossed the yard. The food was already laid on the table, and Alex and Cassie were impatient to get started on it. Will and Molly were holding hands, Molly looking as proud and satisfied as the tabby cat Peg had seen in the barn the other day with a mouse tail dangling from its mouth. Molly made room for her on the bench in welcome.

After the food was gone and the table cleared, Peg tuned up her fiddle and started in on a song. A long, slow ballad, she decided. Wouldn't want to start a dance number and inspire Molly to do a jig! She sang the verses, and left the chorus to the others, accompanying them on the fiddle. She found herself drumming on the fiddle back during the verses, though, and time after time the ballad threatened to turn into a reel as her fiddle got carried away ornamenting the melody. She reached the verse where the two young lovers of the ballad gazed down into the horrors of hell, knowing they were condemned to enter, and reached for each other's hand for comfort. The words jumbled in her head, and she heard herself singing, "He grasped her breasts..." as the children looked up in sudden interest. She brought the bow down on the strings with a squeal.

"Time for bed," she told them, and led them out to the barn. Once there, she shushed them to sleep, but she couldn't sleep herself. She leapt quietly out of the loft and paced the barn floor. Her chemise was suddenly hot and irritating, and she ripped it off. The air in the barn was close and stifling. She opened the barn door.

The silvery light of the full moon illuminated the garden. She blinked in surprise; the dolmen seemed to be writhing and pulsing with life. Squinting, she could make out the cause for the illusion: the dolmen was covered with not-quite-human forms. The moonlight gleamed on the naked limbs and bodies of a couple dozen creatures that were quite obviously entangling amorously.

She wanted a better view of their activities, so she tiptoed around the garden and over to the house, where she could hide on the stoop by the door. She knelt there, one hand on the rail and the other between her legs, enthralled by what she saw.

The dozen or so females perched on the stones resembled young human women, but with limbs more lithe, and slenderer waists, than any Peg had seen. Their breasts and bottoms were as full and round as if gravity had no pull on them. They had long, glossy hair in silvery or golden shades, large dark eyes, and delicate faces distorted in lusty leers. A couple had gossamer wings arching over their backs, and one had a long pointed tail. None wore a stitch of clothing.

The males were also nude, save for a hat or a boot here or there, but displayed much greater variability in form. A couple looked like little wizened men, with round faces and potbellies and large, tufted ears. Others had long, muscular arms ending in big hands with large knuckles, and fearsome faces with exposed fangs. One was as large and hairy as a troll, with a surprisingly intelligent-looking face, and one had a young man's slender, well-proportioned body topped with the head of a mule. All had sex organs very much like those of a human male, their testicles perhaps a bit larger and meatier, and all those cocks, from what Peg could see, were erect and ready for any opportunity to thrust into a willing female.