by Jean Johnson
Before she could comment on their lingering footwear, Eduor captured her mouth in a kiss. Pressing her back onto her goat-hair-stuffed mattress, he helped her lift and part her knees, making room for him. She felt his manhood bump against her groin and reached down to grasp the hot, hard shaft. He grimaced and pulled back.
“Please ... please don’t ...”
“Don’t, what?” Chanson asked, worried at this new trouble spot in their lovemaking.
“Don’t stop me,” he all but whimpered.
Suspecting what his owners had done to him, or rather, denied to him, Chanson gently stroked his warm, dry shaft as she spoke. “I’m not stopping you,” she soothed him. “I’m guiding you—wait, lie on your back. Trust me, Eduor. I’m going to give you pleasure, because I want to give you pleasure.”
Hesitating, he finally nodded and eased onto his back. Curling up and over his stomach, Chanson brought her lips to his shaft. He sucked in a sharp breath, then let it out in a long, heartfelt groan. Her tongue wasn’t nearly as long as his, but he clearly appreciated her efforts to dampen his flesh. She in turn enjoyed both the taste of him and the close-up view of his pale golden thighs.
Once he was sufficiently wet and restless, she debated climbing on top, but decided he had conceded enough control to her. Uncurling, she lay down beside him and urged him up over her. “Make love to me, Eduor. Please.”
Groaning in relief, he shifted to climb over her. She parted her knees in invitation and drew his gaze to the crux of her thighs. Seeing him hesitate, guessing at the conflicts rising within him, she caressed his jaw, returning his eyes to her face.
“Another time, and only if you want it. Right now, I want the same thing you want. I want to feel you inside me, Eduor.”
He didn’t even groan, just captured her mouth with his. This time, when she reached for his shaft, he didn’t pull back in fear of rejection, but let her guide him home. Right after he prodded and sank about halfway in ... the first bell for the midday harvest prayers rang.
Eduor froze and whimpered, lifting his lips a fraction from hers. As much as she wanted to curse Jimeyon for his lousy timing, Chanson knew instinctively that she didn’t dare stop her lover. Not with that look of anguish in his dyara blue eyes. Instead of muttering imprecations, she whispered encouragements, telling him how warm he was, how strong and how wonderful he felt. Groaning, he sank deeper, accepting her words and the fingers stroking the side of his face. Accepted the pacing of those strokes as his own, until his need took over and his hips snapped to hers.
It felt good. Like his tongue, his shaft wasn’t thick, but it was long, and he wielded it with skill, lifting one of her knees and hitching his own so that he rubbed against both of her pleasure points, the one inside and the one outside, with each grinding stroke. Drawing his mouth down for a kiss, she let her tongue tangle with his, enjoying her rising desire. Until he choked, stiffened, and shuddered.
Pushing in a few last times, he sagged over her, face buried in the crook of her neck. Hidden against her skin, he muttered something. Chanson couldn’t quite understand. “What was that?”
“... I’m sorry. I didn’t ... I wanted to last, but ... I’ll make it up to you,” he stated and shifted his weight to one elbow, freeing his other hand.
Chanson caught it before it could brush lower than her belly. She smiled to reassure him. “Another time. We will get to do this again.”
“But you didn’t have fun,” he pointed out, his expression sober, serious. “I don’t want it to be like I’m using you. I’m not. You need—”
Shifting her other fingers to her lips, she quieted him. “Shh. Real lovemaking is neither simultaneous nor absolutely equal in every regard. After all, some women can climax six or seven times, and her poor man is often exhausted after two or three—mostly, when he’s young, and less when he’s older.
“What is equal is that both parties enjoy themselves. And I enjoyed you, just now.” Chanson grinned. “It doesn’t have to be a climax. In fact, I felt very good when you attained your pleasure. I was giving you what you needed most, and that pleased me very much.” She stroked his braids back from his face. “Later, we can see how good you might feel when giving me pleasure. But only if you feel good about doing it.”
The bell rang out again, echoing over the oasis. Eduor wrinkled his nose. “That’s the second bell. The farmers will be coming in for prayers. Dammit. I don’t have time to ... to show my appreciation for your generosity.”
She nodded wryly. “Yes. I need to bathe and then purify myself in the mikwah, dry off, and get dressed before the fourth bell rings. I’ll admit it was foolish to start this so close to the midday prayers ... but I don’t regret being so wonderfully foolish.”
He stared at her, visibly thinking, then kissed the tip of her nose. “Your Goddess is very generous, Chanson, in letting me be here with you. I don’t want to get you in trouble with Her.” Pulling free, he shifted to the side and kissed her cheek. “Go. Bathe and purify yourself. I’ll sneak out of here.”
Rising, Chanson lifted her brows. “Sneak? Goddess, no! I want you to swagger downstairs,” she instructed, grinning wickedly. “After you get dressed, of course. I’d rather keep those sexy pale thighs all to myself, if you’re willing. I like being with you, Eduor. In all things. I see nothing wrong with both of us proclaiming that fact to everyone else.”
“Up to a point,” he agreed, watching her shrug back into her clothes. “I think I’d like to keep my pale thighs reserved just for you, too. And my tongue. Um, you haven’t told ... ?”
“Told anyone?” she asked and shook her head. Knotting the laces on her skirt, she tightened the neckline of her blouse with two efficient tugs and a bit of tying, then crossed to the cabinet holding her blue-dyed clothes. “The length of your tongue is your own business. As is the length of your ...”
She glanced over her shoulder at him, giving him a feminine smile. He blushed. She chuckled and grabbed one of the linen-wrapped packets of cleaned and blessed garments. Returning to the bed, she dipped and kissed his cheek, meeting him as he sat halfway up.
“I’ll see you at midday prayers, Eduor. And afterward, too, I hope?” she asked.
“Yes. I’d like that,” he agreed. “A lot.”
Heading for the door, she paused and looked back at him. “Thank you for understanding about my duties, Eduor. I’d rather stay with you and cuddle, and other things, but ...”
He nodded. “We can do those things afterward. Go on.”
Smiling in relief, she left.
SIX
Sagging back onto her bed as the door closed, Eduor cursed himself silently. Fool! Fool, thousand times fool ... Idiot. Inconsiderate ass. It was hard dredging up enough energy to castigate himself. His first chance at intercourse in years had drained his strength along with his wits. Yes, an ass ... as dumb as a donkey headed for the acacia bushes ...
After she had soothed his fear that she might stop him from enjoying intercourse with her, he had sunk into her with the intention of showing her some of the skill he had learned back in Mandare. While his older brother Kennal had treated his women as mere tools to pleasure him, Eduor had been fascinated by the ways he could make his own concubines react, depending on what he did to them. Giving them pleasure had been fun, even if it wasn’t expected of him.
The philosophy back home was that male pleasure was paramount, the most important thing in a sexual act, and female pleasure merely an incidental adjunct. Or perhaps something to be given as a reward for good behavior. In contrast, the philosophy in Midalla’s household was that her pleasure came first, her niece’s second, and that her war-slave wasn’t allowed to have any sexual pleasure in her presence. In the privacy of his own bed, yes, but not in her presence.
As cruel as we were to our women, that was even worse. At least, as far as I know, my father and brother didn’t punish their concubines for experiencing pleasure in their presence, and I know I encouraged it myself. But I also know that
there were times when I didn’t bother to please my own war-slaves ... like I didn’t please Chanson, just now.
Except she seemed to understand I couldn’t help it, he reminded himself, trying to soothe the guilt of that conflict. She is just so beautiful, so different and wonderful ... and it had been too long. Just ... too long. I know she doesn’t demand pleasure, but she should have it, too. Though her comment about women being able to have it five or six times to a man’s twice or so, that fits with my own observations. I should ...
No. He arrested that line of thought. I should not feel obliged to “make it up to her” for the rest of our lives together, however long that may be. Not in the sense of being obliged to do it. Wanting to do it, yes, but not obliged, like it was a chore or an expectation, a demand. That’s what she means when she says “later” and what I believe she means. I believe it.
But ... I do want to give her pleasure, he acknowledged, sitting up and looping his arms around his knees. Even if part of that wanting is guilt-prompted, I do ... and I’m still wearing my sandals, aren’t I? A chuckle escaped him. Looking around her room, he took in the wooden furnishings, carved in the local geometric patterns, but otherwise of modest quality. This place is so simple and plain, compared to Father’s estates. But I love it here. As ... as I love her.
That was another piece of conditioning he would have to overcome, hearing his father’s voice in his younger ears telling him that men should never love a woman, nor especially admit to loving one, because women were treacherous creatures who would use that information to weaken and ruin them.
But if there’s a treacherous bone in Chanson’s body, I have yet to find it, Eduor reminded himself. Gods! These people are so straightforward. They’ll play practical jokes, yes, but they’re too opinionated to keep their feelings to themselves for long. And I am not my father, nor my brother, nor any sort of Mandarite at heart anymore, thank the Gods. I like these people, I especially like Chanson, I love spending time with her, and I want to spend the rest of my life here in Oba’s Well. It’s a good life. Hard, but I feel like I’m accomplishing something good when I work Falkon’s farm.
That was the only flaw in his life; the farm wasn’t his. Not its donkeys, its mare and her foal, its chickens, its wheat fields and ground nuts and acacia trees. None of it was his. Yet. And I can’t . . . well, I should tell her how I feel, but I have nothing of my own to bring to her as a husband.
... Alright, enough lolling in bed. Hopefully you’ll get the chance to show her all the things you do know about making sure a woman enjoys herself in bed, too, but that’ll be later. Right now, you need to get yourself downstairs for the midday prayers.
“Oh, Eduor ... Oh ... ohh, Eduor ... Ohhhh, ohhhh, yes!” Arching her back, pressing her breasts closer to his suckling mouth, Chanson came.
Feeling her flesh, hot and slick, spasm around his first two fingers in time with her shudders, Eduor wanted nothing more than to sheathe himself inside his lover. But he had learned over the last month that it was better to let her rest for a little bit, if she was to fully enjoy intercourse. That meant gentling the pressure of his tongue and lips on her nipple, and meant sliding his hand up to her belly, letting it rest over her trembling muscles while they calmed back down. The scent of her pleasure filtered through the cool, predawn air, and the sound of her panting breaths eased into quiet breathing.
They lay side by side on Falkon’s bed. At least, the frame and mattress belonged to the absent owner; Eduor had since earned his own linen sheets and the light quilt accompanying them through his work in the village, helping his neighbors on their own farms and teaching the children. That had happened before the harvest season; now it was every man and woman and even the older children striving to bring in all that they could from their own fields. Eduor would have loved to help his fellow villagers, but Falkon’s farm was all he could manage during the daylight hours.
The long hours meant spending time with Chanson mostly in the late evenings, snatching as much rest as he could, and making love in the mornings. When they had woken and started, he could barely make out the shape of his hand on her stomach. Now the gray of twilight was picking up the colors of the day, and the golden brown of his fingers contrasted with the deep brown of her skin. She covered his hand with her own, pressing it to her belly for a moment, then dragged it up to her mouth and sucked on the two fingers he had used to please her.
Watching her do that, Eduor felt each suckle like a line tugging on his groin. This time, instead of wanting her lips to wrap around his manhood, he felt the urge to suckle her. Part of him still flinched a bit at the thought, but it was a smaller part than back at the start of the harvest season.
Much smaller; the beautiful woman lying next to him never demanded more than he wanted to give, and usually only just before the deepest moments of her pleasure. She gave as good as she asked, and then some. He wanted to do for her the one thing she had never asked for, though he wasn’t sure if he could, given his learned aversion. Or even if she’d want him to do it.
Her hand lifted to his face, bringing with it a hint of dampness and scent from his now-clean fingers. “I love waking up with you,” she murmured, giving him a warm smile. “Even if all we do is sleep, though this is very nice, too. And I love being with you. Everyone else demands so much of my time, as dyara and priestess, but you ... I know you spend time with me because you want to spend time with me.”
“I love you.” The words escaped him easily, surprising him. They hadn’t been on his mind, exactly, nor had he intended to say them this soon, but he didn’t retract them, either. Eduor twisted his head and kissed her palm. “I’d want to spend time with you even if you milked goats all day long. And I know how precious your free time is to you, busy as you are with the needs of the village. So when you want to spend it with me ...”
“I do,” she agreed. Pushing up on one elbow, she kissed him. She started to curl up further, to kiss her way down his chest as usual, but Eduor didn’t want that.
“Another time,” he murmured, urging her back down onto the bedding. When she complied, he rose and pushed back the linen curtaining the lattice-framed window. Eastern light filtered in, promising another bright, hot day as soon as the sun rose. Returning to her, he climbed onto the bed between her calves and lowered himself to his stomach. It left his legs dangling past the bed, but it wasn’t too uncomfortable. At her startled look, he managed a smile. “I want to do this. If I can. I just ... need to see you while I ...”
She pushed up onto her elbows, concern pinching her brow. “Eduor, you don’t have to. Really.”
“I want to,” he repeated. A thought occurred to him, making him eye her warily. “Unless you don’t want me to?”
Her concern melted away, dissolving in an almost-shy smile. “I’d like you to. But if at any point you feel uncomfortable, you must promise to stop. I don’t want you to feel like, well, like you used to. That you had to do it. I’m quite happy with everything else we do.”
“Thank you.” Knowing she meant it, and that she wanted it, he settled himself into position. The sight of her young, firm thighs, short, nubbly curls, and dark rose flesh were all very different than before. Her scent was different, appealing to his senses because it was hers, and because he had learned to associate it with his own pleasure in the last handful of weeks, not just with hers.
Still, it took him a few moments before he extended his tongue. Just the tip of it brushed against her folds, but she jumped and quivered as if he had tickled her ribs. The sharp intake of her breath, followed by tight-muscled silence, warned him she was anticipating his reaction. Shifting just a little closer, he flicked his tongue a second time. Again, she trembled.
She also tasted good. Better than good, clean and sweet. Dipped from the source, she tasted divine. Scooting closer, Eduor pressed his mouth to her nether lips and licked, slow and deep, before settling in for some serious loving.
Chanson moaned and clutched at his hair. At her
request, he had unbound his braids last night so that she could play with the long, soft curls, and now buried her fingers in the strands, holding him close. A few moments later, she gasped and jerked her fingers free. “Sorry!”
He didn’t get it for a few moments. Swirling his tongue around her pleasure peak, he realized belatedly why she wasn’t touching him anymore. She must think her hands in my hair is too much of a demand—she’s always careful that way.
Loving her thoughtfulness, but not wanting to inhibit her reactions—his own inhibitions were more than enough—Eduor fumbled for one of her hands. It wasn’t easy since he couldn’t exactly see what he was doing without stopping, but he managed to catch one by the wrist and drag her fingers back to his scalp. Her happy sigh, heard between moans, heralded the return of her other hand as well.
Humming in encouragement, he returned to his task, until her moans grew embarrassingly loud, and a freshet of liquid told him she was on the verge of another crux of pleasure. Abandoning her loins made her groan in disappointment, but it didn’t take much for him to crawl fully onto the bed. The hands that had tangled in his curls now clutched at his shaft, positioning him for a perfect sheathing.
This time, the slick, inner trembling of her flesh clasped more than just his fingers. This time, as he drove into her, his name echoed off the plastered walls of the little bedroom, far more than a breathy moan. This time, he knew he was able to get over his aversion to suckling her; his tongue would no longer get him into trouble with this wonderful woman.
“Ohhh ... Chansssson!” He shuddered and buried his face in her throat, spending himself with a groan—and flinched as she tugged hard on his locks. It seemed his tongue might not get him into trouble anymore, but his hair definitely would.
“Goddess, yes!” she shouted, bucking and bowing her back underneath him, before slumping and panting heavily. Rearing back to ease some of the pressure, he flexed his hips a few more times, watching her enjoying herself. Her eyes, strained shut during the peak of her climax, fluttered open. She stared sightlessly at the ceiling for a while before she finally focused on him again.