A Devastating Circumstance.

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She must be in Heaven.

She must be in heaven. Maybe she was an angel? What did angels need clothes for? He was an angel too; equally naked. Oh lord! And still like that, too! Massively aroused. Did that part never get any smaller and rest?

Part of her wanted to giggle like a young girl; part of her knew it was not a moment for giggling. It was more serious than that. She should object before it became worse.

The time for objecting had also gone, along with her shyness it seemed. She resigned herself to her fate, objected to nothing that this man-god might do for her, or to her.

He had saved her life and she now belonged to him, if that was how it worked, just like the cows all belonged to that bull, and the sows to that boar, and the mares to the stallion. Would he claim his right to have her, next?

She knew, as all women soon learned, that it was too late to object after the clothes had come off. Even his naked body within her reach, if she chose to reach out to him, did not frighten her as it would have done at any other time, and she did not understand that.

And yet she did understand it. Her mind had touched upon this possibility many times.

This was her last and perhaps her only chance at life, hanging by a thread. Should she hang onto it, or should she let it go?

If she hung onto it, then the consequences might be more than she would like, from what she could see of him. She felt as the cow would feel when that monster of a bull came at her with that stiff rod, and… and; or how the mare felt when the stallion charged upon her with that enormous… and drove it into her tender body into that far-too-small and delicate an orifice; small and delicate only until he, got there and reshaped it.

She clenched herself down there, feeling that going into her, as though it were her, suffering that indignity, suffering, as the mare and cow had suffered, having that gigantic thing driven into their tender bodies several times in short succession. One big push, until the next time. Humans didn’t do it that way. They took their time and enjoyed it. She had watched them.

Not quite, Judgment Day, but another inescapable day with inevitable consequences for her, considering that she did not have a stitch of dry clothing to her name, and nor did he.

What was there about him that engendered this reckless feeling within her? She could see both sets of their clothes on a clothes-horse, warming at one side of the fire, and a large dog lying in comfort, asleep on the other side, basking in the heat radiating from the stonework.

This man—and she did not even know his name—had carried her back, and he’d paid the price for that, getting wet himself.

No. That was not right. He had been too wet for that simple act. He had been in the river with her himself, risking his own life to get her out. Now, she was doubly indebted to him, and liked the feeling. It meant that there was an indissoluble bond between them that would never be forgotten; never broken.

He was handsome, whatever that meant, though his hair was untidy. He had a kind face; kind eyes when he looked at her, which was often, and he seemed to be smiling all of the time as he spoke to her, ministered to her, held her.

Kissed her!

He seemed to kiss her a lot, but she hadn’t complained. She liked to be kissed the way he did it. Gently, and as though he meant it... and all of the time, speaking to her.

Everything he had said, and asked, had been gentle and considerate.

He had thick eyebrows and a shock of dark hair that he hadn’t had chance to tidy up. It was shorter than was fashionable, except in a certain segment of male society. He had little chest hair, except around his nipples (thank god a woman was not cursed with hair there), but thicker hair upon his muscular arms and legs and even more upon…. Yes, especially there, from which that other entity rose up so proudly!

She stared at that, never having had chance to study one of those before, or so closely.

Men, were disfigured by that thing, and those other things lying beneath it, so out of proportion with the rest of their body, totally unlike a woman there. But women were cursed in their own way by having breasts, which he’d seemed equally curious about on her, and that damned monthly visitor, which men didn’t have. He was curious about everything to do with her, and had even touched her upon her breasts and even in that hair down there on her body. She would have liked to have touched him there, to find out about that, on him. However, touching a male there was not something a woman was advised to do, or so she’d heard, except it happened quite often when a man and woman were alone with each other and had got rid of their clothes, because she had watched them. A man liked to be touched upon that, just as him touching her... in there... seemed to give a woman pleasure too. And then the real fireworks began between them after that, when he pushed into her with her help.

She could not help but be curious about him, just as he had been curious about her as he had been drying her. She had vaguely remembered that, hearing him speak to her.

So this was what a grown man looked like close-up. Close enough to touch. Strange, indeed! But also interesting and even… imposing, and impressive.

There were scars on his rugged body and in the hair line on his head, no doubt from the violence of war, yet he was little more than her own age. She reached out to touch one on his shoulder and then looked up into his eyes and then she froze, becoming breathless at what she saw.

This was not a mere mortal man, but a god, looking kindly upon her. He was smiling at her. His look burned her, and yet he was always smiling at her.

He had clearly seen where she had been looking at him, between them, a short time before, and sensed her concern over that item, and its relation to her as it had seemed to respond to her noticing it, rising to life even more as they’d sat closer together.

“Ignore that eager rebel, and drink this.”

That ‘eager rebel’ as he’d called it, could never be ignored by any woman. She was not sure whether to laugh or....

She heard, and understood his words, and why he’d cautioned her about being too attentive to him there, and tried to ignore it, reaching out to hold his hands as he lifted the cup to her lips.

What woman could ignore that, when it was so close to her?

She drank thirstily, feeling warmth running down her chin and dripping on to her breasts, but with more of it being swallowed, to spread warmth from within.

More please! Please, more!

He brought it back to her lips. Hot tea with sugar. A lot of sugar. She could feel the spreading warmth inside her now, as well as outside, from the fire, and from his body being close to her, supporting her, holding her, and she was alive and feeling the pain of being alive, tingling in every limb; comfort, overall-warmth.

He followed that with a cup of soup. Salty soup, but full of flavor and warmth, with more of it dripping onto her breasts and running down her body.

He stopped it running any farther down her body by pushing her gently back to lie beneath him, setting the bowl aside as he licked along her body, setting her squirming and laughing beneath him as he continued to lick, kiss, suckle (suckled?), even where no soup had landed or run, giving such pleasure to her in his touch. He made her gasp at the sensations she felt as he did that; Enervating in its own wonderful way. He was lying over her, upon her and something else was beginning to happen between them. He was beginning to touch her with that part of his, moving the hairs out of his way as he did so. He was going to claim her. Then he paused.

‘No. Do not stop’.

He was not about to stop, but that more intimate moment had passed. He sat her up again to feed her more. Then she was covered over again, and allowed to lie down and to rest at last, but her eyes did not close, and she managed to thank him as she watched him move around, haunted by his body and what it told her of him. He was more obvious than before. He wanted her. And she knew how he wanted her, and just how much.

He found her interesting. More than interesting. He must, to be like that. He was interesting too.

The way she watched him, and knowing how she was feeling, told her even more about herself. Something had changed about her.

Then, darkness. Except for the bright blaze of the fire. A naked body again. Adult, male. Him! Shockingly male! but when was his body not shocking?

And that body had been beside her all of the night, and with no objection from her over what had then gradually happened between them. Getting closer, breathing into each other’s faces and bodies, moving even closer, nuzzling, and then kissing eagerly, hungrily on neck and cheek, nose and eyes. Then lips. Her, as much as him, no quarter asked for, or given.

Notice of intent and of invasion.

No woman could ever do such amazing things with her body, even as she watched his body come to life again, bringing it to life just by watching it, acknowledging its presence. She knew why it did that. She was watching it too attentively, maybe admiringly, and he knew that she was watching, and everything else she was doing to encourage him to life, touching him now as he had been touching her. She found courage to reach out and touch him, hold him, feeling him come even more to life in her hand.

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