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Saturday, June 19, 2010
After the Harvest by Lindsay Townsend
Campania, AD 81
Aching in every limb, Corinna lay over her husband's lap. It was already twilight and moonrise and they were still outside their tiny farmhouse, surrounded by olive trees and by baskets and baskets of olives. When she closed her gritty, tired eyes, she could see only black, shiny, ripe olives, against a backdrop of bright mid-winter stars.
She wondered if Decimus felt the same, weary but exultant from their rich olive harvest. Was his mind, like hers, full of the tiny, dark fruits?
'Honey-cake, you are so tired,' he murmured, kneading the knotted muscles in her legs and the cramped muscles across her shoulders.
'I long for a bath,' she admitted, sighing as his fingers eased the burning in her calves and thighs.
'Soon, Corinna. I have a good fire going for hot water.' He caressed the back of her neck.
She wriggled on his knees, trying to rise, but he planted a palm in the middle of her back and held her fast.
'I must make our supper!'
'No need.' He kissed her ear. 'We can use the bread you made yesterday with cheese and olives and our new wine.'
'More olives,' muttered Corinna. 'We beat them, though,' she added, opening her eyes to glower at the baskets. 'We are victorious.' She knew Decimus would appreciate the allusion. As a former slave, like herself, and a former gladiator, Decimus had been bred for triumph.
'A win, as you say,' he remarked above her, his hands skimming over her back, pressing tenderly through her rough work-tunic. 'You worked hard today, as ever, and we shall do well this winter and spring. You make a good farmer's wife.'
His praise or her own weariness brought tears to her eyes and a sob escaped her.
'Weary, and yet so uncomplaining, and I have been forced to neglect you.'
Corinna shook her head, feeling her long, loose red curls brush across the dry, packed ground. She knew what Decimus meant by neglect but he had been working far harder than her, with the grape harvest and the wine-press, harvesting and pickling the green olives and now beating the ripe black olives down from the trees.
'That stops tonight,' he said, and rolled her over on his lap to kiss her trembling mouth.
He tasted of salt and his own sweet maleness as his lips possessed, conquered and teased. Raising into his embrace she wrapped her arms around his broad, muscular back and heard his breath stop as their bodies collided. He scooped a big hand into her working tunic, cupping one of her breasts, and cursed as the coarse cheap fabric tore.
'Rip it off me,' she whispered, reading that desire in his starkly handsome face.
'Do not tempt me,' he growled, 'or I will do more.'
She reared up, taking his mouth again, plunging her tongue between his teeth as she twisted her fingers through his iron-gray hair, taunting him. The heaviness of her limbs had been swept away by a sparkling desire, more heady than wine. 'Do your worst,' she whispered against his taut throat, rubbing her breasts against his hairy chest.
A shooting star, fleeing across the heavens, could not have been faster. In a dazzling blur of action, Decimus used the speed he had been famed for in the gladiatorial ring and, gripping both side of her tunic so she would not be scored, rent it top to bottom. As she gasped at his strength, he ripped his own tunic allowing both to flutter in a puddle of dull cloth by his feet.
Still perched on his knees, she licked at his naked belly but missed: he had seen her slight movement and anticipated it, swooping his own head low and tonguing her naval, then lower. He caught her hands and held them easily by her wrists with one of his own, chuckling deep in his throat as she drummed her heels against his legs. It was like striking warm marble.
'Shameless, you are,' he hissed against her. In a swirl of motion, he raised her off his lap, then lowered her onto the bench, kneeling down and keeping her in place by a warm, heavy arm. His other hand was already busy, running up her thighs as he blew a loud kiss into her belly, 'Here we are, out in the open -'
'No one comes after nightfall,' she countered, her voice raising as his questing fingers and now his tongue tracked over her shivering body, closer and closer to her hot, molten center.
'Honey,' he rasped, panting as he lapped against her nether curls. He embraced and kissed her in her most intimate place and she felt to be flying: soaring and expending while within her loins and womanly folds his tongue worked and plunged and ravished, at times slow and screamingly-nerve tingling, at times quick as a fluttering moth and so hot, so delicious.
Naked now, with her head and back against the bench and her flailing feet kicking against a basket over and over, she came, shrieking his name.
'Over you go.' Decimus cradled her off the rough seat and sprawled her into the biggest basket of olives.
Corinna felt the smooth fruits tumbling and rolling against her full breasts: her protest became a moan and her hands, buried in the black olives, reflexively gripped part of their yield.
'Such a lush and juicy ass.' Decimus was right behind her, fondling her bottom, smacking each cheek, each spank a little harder, a little faster than the last. Again, her desire surged and she begged him: harder, harder.
'Fuck me!' she howled, lifting her quivering haunches to his smarting, spanking hands, wanting more and longing for him; for him to drive his jutting cock into her.
Olives spilled everywhere as he entered her. His love-making wild and rutting, he slammed into her, their flesh smacking together in a blurring, fierce rhythm.
It was their own harvest, at last.
About the author: Lindsay lives in Yorkshire, England, where she was born, and started writing stories at an early age. The books Lindsay is currently writing for Kensington are medievals, but she is also fascinated by the ancient world, especially Rome, Egypt and the Bronze Age, and she writes historical romances and erotic romances for Siren-Bookstrand covering those periods. This short story is a follow up to her Siren erotic novella, 'Silk and Steel' and features the same characters. Her website is here: www.lindsaytownsend.com