Vineyards

"Oh? And then what shall happen?" she demanded as she felt his large hand on her shoulder.

"Then enter," he said and pushed her into the wine bottle.

He placed his thumb over the mouth of the bottle. He searched for and finally located the cork; during their frenzied coupling the cork had rolled to the floor. Quickly he moved his thumb from the bottle and jammed the cork into the mouth. Clutching the bottle tightly, he used the heel of his hand to force the cork into the bottle.

He scooped the twenty coins from the table. Shrugging, he placed five coins onto the table and put the remaining fifteen coins into his purse again.

He took her coverlet from the floor where it lay in a crumpled heap. Using the simple but clean garment, he wiped his manhood clean. Then he thrust her soiled coverlet and her leather sandals into her crude cloth bag. Glancing around, he saw no remnants of hers about the small room. He pulled the cord next to the heavy door and waited but a moment.

The server entered the room. He bowed to the man while discretely looking about, searching for the comely lass that had been dining with the man. Quietly, the man pointed to the five silvers on the table before leaving the room, bottle in hand. The server thanked him profusely as he scooped up the five pieces of silver.

Stepping into the long shadows of late afternoon, the man walked briskly from the cottage along a well-travelled path. Crossing a small stream, the man paused at the apex of the wooden bridge and dropped the young woman's cloth bag into the gentle stream. The bag bobbed for a moment, slowly drifting underneath the bridge before finally slipping under the water's surface.

Entering his large manor, the man entered the parlor of his home and sighed. His wife was well into her third bottle of white wine. The obese blonde looked at him, her contempt evident in her bleary eyes.

"Another burgundy?" she shrilled, seeing the bottle in his hand.

"Hmm? Oh, yes, yes, a most delightful burgundy," he agreed, forcing a cheerful lilt to his voice. "So rich, so full bodied. A little immature, but still such a delightful bouquet and taste."

"Well then, let's have some," she slurred, holding out her glass.

"Hmm, oh, oh no, no, no my dear," he hastened, pulling back lest she grab for the bottle. "You, you are drinking white, a very dry white wine. This? This would not meld, would not marry well with your white wine."

"I'm not drinking for the taste, you buffoom," she snarled, refilling her glass with the last of the wine from her opened bottle. "I drink for the effects the wine produces."

"Yes, yes, unfortunate that some do not take the time to savor the taste; they are far too impatient," he bemoaned.

"This bottle is empty; fetch me another one," she snarled, throwing the bottle at him.

The bottle fell to the stone floor, shattering. His wife smiled an ugly smile of triumph as he glared at her.

She had once been a beautiful blonde, young, with the promise of a bountiful harvest. But, somehow, even as he nurtured her, tended to her, she had soured on the vine.

"I shall," he stated with resignation and watched as she drank the last drops of her wine.

Stepping into his wine cellar, the man took the time to seal his newest vintage burgundy with paraffin. He then placed her on a rack with other exceptional burgundy wines. Then he located a small cask. This cask was made of a sturdy oak and was sized to hold as much liquid as three or four wine bottles could hold. He first ascertained that the tap was securely sealed, then he worked the cork free from the bunghole of the cask.

"A true shame," he muttered, carrying the empty cask up the stairs. "Apparently, while I was distracted by other more fruitful vineyards and groves, I've allowed my own vintage to become sour, becoming nothing more than vinegar."

"Oh! Now, now this shall slake my thirst!" his wife declared happily, seeing the barrel in her husband's arms.

""When we neglect our grapes, fail to prune and rid ourselves of those that shall not bear harvest," he muttered as he set the barrel onto the table. "Well, old boy, time to tend to our vineyard, time to prune the withered vine even as the grapes appear full. We know them to be harsh, bitter, and quite sour."

"What are you babbling on about?" she demanded, holding up her glass. "Here, fill my glass."

"In due time, my dear, in due time," he said, forcing a smile to his lips. "But first, do see if your rather plump fingers might fit within this bunghole?"

"Plump?" she shrilled, incensed that he would dare make mention of her appearance.

"We have a looking glass within your bedchambers," he muttered. "Surely even as the wine has fogged your thoughts you could hardly fail to notice..."

"See? I can just about put my entire hand within..." she snarled, thrusting three fingers into the bunghole of the barrel.

"Oh? Than enter," he said, firmly pushing on her shoulder.

Quickly, he thrust the cork into the bunghole. He attempted to heft the barrel and staggered under the weight of the quite filled container.

"Hmm. I shall have to employ one or two hands to help me ferry this down into the cellar," he mused.

Locating a straw broom, he began to sweep up the shards of the broken bottle. He shook his head in sadness; this particular wine had been a playful, effervescent spirit. Although it was hardly her first plucking, she'd still possessed a sweetness that did linger on the palate.

"Ah well," he sighed, placing the shards of the bottle into a dustbin. "I'd hoped to enjoy her once more but sadly, it is not to be."

He looked at the heavy barrel once more. Thinking of the one or two strapping young bucks he might hire on to remove the barrel, his manhood began to swell.

"After their labors, I should hope to entice them with some stout beer," he promised himself. "After all, I do have that barrel of dark beer. So strong, such a full head. Yes, yes, I should enjoy serving him to my laborers and when they've drunk their fill..."

The End

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**Author's Note: I write these stories for my pleasure; I post them here for your enjoyment.

I thank you for reading my stories. I especially thank those that take the time to leave comments, good and bad. I also thank those that take a moment to rate my words.

And, this is a re-written version of a story I had posted here on 08/29/2012. The name of the original story was Wine. Although pleased with the concept of the story itself, I was not pleased with my primitive presentation. So, I have labored to improve the narration of the story.

Have a swell day. And some of you, have a swollen day.