"Oh, please, stop!" Evangeline panted.
John Woliver out a frustrated sigh, rolled off her belly and flung himself into the hay. "Rot it all!"
For the past several weeks, every afternoon at four o'clock, John Woliver had taken Evangeline by the hand and led her to the haymow in his father's milking barn. Ostensibly, John Woliver was milking the cows, but his afternoon trysts with Evangeline were meant to recover a different kind of buttermilk. Thus far his efforts had been fruitless, but he thought he might press his suit a little harder. He had hoped his patience might finally be rewarded, but now she suddenly called an end to their congress.
Face down in the straw he spoke in a muffled voice. "Dear heart, you are driving me mad with desire. Don't you know we are behaving in a perfectly appropriate manner?"
"That may very well be true," she said, rising up onto her elbows, "but it doesn't necessarily mean I must do it."
"You're such a prude."
He rolled over onto his back and let out a heartfelt sigh. Every afternoon he'd escorted her up the railing and into the deepest, most secret part of the haymow where he tucked her away under piles of hay. He plied her with treats and entreaties and he believed at long last his patience would finally be rewarded. God alone knew he deserved it.
He ran his fingers through his thick mane of blond hair and blew out his breath. He gazed longingly at the blonde thatch of pubic hair that he'd finally managed--after many supplicating kisses and protestations of undying love--to persuade Evangeline to reveal to him. And there, basking in the late afternoon's sunbeam, gleamed her lovely, lustrous thatch, and below that were even more enchantments tucked away. He called it her hidden, long-lost treasure. Long lost indeed for he was beginning to believe he would never sample any treasure from the cache. If only she would share this treasure with him she would make him the happiest of men. She tempted him, she tempted him sorely. But the maiden would not give way. Ever resolute she wanted the one thing in the world he could not give her. She wanted a ring.
Evangeline noticed him staring at her thatch and bestowed upon him a winning smile. "You must first make a proper request to my mama. Until you do--"
"You know my papa would never approve the match."
"Well, then! I suppose that's that!" Evangeline cried. John Woliver watched with misery as she pulled up the linen undergarments covering the lovely thatch of blonde pubic hair. Her skirt, which had worked its way around her waist, was thrust back down across her knees. "If I'm not good enough for your father!"
"It's not that, dear heart."
"But it is, isn't it! If that's the case then, you shan't mount me."
His cock throbbing, John Woliver groaned deep in his throat. "Evangeline, do you know how long I've waited?" He rose onto his elbows and gazed directly into her clear blue eyes. Those piercing blue eyes. "Do you know how patient I've been? How long I've waited?"
"As long as I!" she shot back, struggling to her feet. She adjusted the stays of her corset, then flung one foot up onto a hay bale. At first he thought she might be offering him a stolen kiss from her secret lips, but she was merely adjusting the garter. Even so, he was treated once again to her lovely, gleaming thatch. Ah, those pretty thighs, those lovely, creamy thighs. John Woliver watched with increasing despair as she adjusted her garters, snapping them into place with an emphatic thuck, thuck sound.
He bemoaned his fate. Who brought him this recalcitrant virgin? She meant to torture him, cut him to the quick. When all his other mates sampled freely the delights of their female companions, why didn't he get to taste her soft flesh? Oh, he blamed his father. Father looked down on the widow who lived on the outskirts of town and had declared unequivocally that the two beautiful sisters, Evangeline and Rose, occupied a position in society that deemed them unmarriageable.
Papa had explained it all thoroughly to him one night at The Three Witches Pub when father and son knocked back a pint or two before heading home after a long day's work in the fields.
"Oh John you know what I'm getting at." Papa nudged John roughly in the ribs, flashing him a knowing leer. "You can still play with those girls. You can still have your fun. You can rut'em all you want, son. But don't you dare bring one of those hoary sluts home to me, boy, and expect me to sanction the marriage!"
"Yes, Pa," John muttered, sipping the foam off his beer.
"Don't test me son, I mean it, I'll throw you out the door and disinherit you and leave my entire estate to your younger brother, I will!"
"I wouldn't dream of it, Pa."
"Be sure you don't," Papa finished, mollified.
"But, Papa," John said. "Why do you disapprove so of those girls? Everyone in the village thinks they're the sweetest, kindest girls that ever did tread upon the earth."
"One winter, a year ago now I heard a rumor," Papa said darkly. "And one night I stole out to the widow's cottage and took a look for myself."
"Why, didn't you hear any of the villagers gossiping about it like magpies? They were talking about it all winter long."
John shook his head. "No, Papa, you forget. I spent most of my time in the fields."
"Aye," Papa agreed, "I suppose you're right, then." He wiped the foam off his mouth with the back of his hand and gazed at his beer stein. "Well, from what I heard one dark night during one of the hardest winter storms in history the widow and her daughters took in a stray."
"Ach, Papa, how you can be so unkind? Isn't that but an act of Christian charity, taking in the stray soul?"
Papa's bleary eyes focused on John's face. "Boy, you don't know what you're talking about! The stray was a massive black bear!"
John goggled at his father. "A bear? And it didn't eat them alive?"
Papa grinned owlishly at John. "Oh, it ate them all right! The big brute ate those girls up and he rutted them all through the night during that long, dark winter!"
"A bear?" John could not believe it.
"Ayuh, son," Papa said. "He had his way with those little whores through the whole winter long." He gazed at John with a malevolent smile. "I went out there one night and peered in through the casement window." He shook his head as if he could not believe the depravity of what he had witnessed. "Son, that bear was by the hearth on all fours rutting that little raven-haired bitch Rose."
"But Evangeline wasn't there, was she, Papa?" John asked.
"Are you daft, boy?" Papa roared. "She was on her knees behind the bear licking his balls!"
"Oh, Papa, that can't be true! Not my Evangeline!"
"I'm afraid so, lad," Papa said, gesturing to the barkeep for another stein of beer. "Those girls are as wicked as the day is old! Mark my word I wouldn't be in the least surprised if they turned into witches!"
John clutched his head and groaned.
"Oh, rut' em all you want," Papa said. "But don't you dare marry any one of 'em!"
"Yes, Papa," John said meekly.
Ah, but it proved harder, much harder than he expected to honor his father's demands. The flesh of many a fine fruit had passed John's lips. The nectar of many a flower had flowed into his body. He ate of ripe peaches, bursting-at-the seams nectarines, plum tomatoes and luscious pears. No matter the shape, no matter the size, he devoured it all. And yet his appetite grew. He could no longer slake his thirst with the rotund, earthy lasses who toiled in the grand manors as cooks and scullery maids. They were lovely girls in their way, all flesh and bosoms and wide-open lips, but after a time, he wearied of their simple-minded brains, their vulgarity.
No, after a time, his taste for these repasts grew more delicate, more refined. Abandoning the heat and humidity of the summer kitchen, he charged up the stairs, searching for choicer cuts of meat. He rolled about in the luxurious beds with the hoity-toity upstairs maids who only served to further whet his hunger the more he feasted on those juicy morsels of flesh.
His toils were richly rewarded. Sarah, the fulsome cook at the neighbor's manor bore the evidence of his battering ram for she swelled large with child. Soon, he thought with a dry smile another one of his bastards would be scampering across the hen yard, tormenting the chickens.
Yet, over the past several months his taste had grown more affected, more refined, to the point where he found even the upstairs maids not to his liking. He preferred a higher class of young woman. A young woman, to be exact, who looked and smelled and filled her corset just like the demure and lovely Evangeline.
He gazed down forlornly at his throbbing erection and growled.
"It's not my fault," Evangeline pouted, dropping to her knees and searching for her little bag. She found a brush and proceeded to comb out her golden hair. She then pulled it back into a long, loose braid. Her hair, her beautiful hair, gleamed in the late-afternoon sunlight. "It's your father who won't allow it."
She was right, of course.
"That does nothing for my member, Evangeline."
The girl gazed wistfully at the place where his trousers, nearly bursting, strained against the fabric. "Such a shame," she purred, kneeling down on the straw and brushing her fingers lightly across the muslin that contained his manhood.
John swooned. "Woman! Don't do that."
"Don't do what?" she flashed an innocent smile. "This?" and with that, she reached her fingers through the opening in his breaches, unbuttoning him with an ease that simply amazed him. She withdrew his throbbing cock. Its pulsing heat radiated warmth in the girl's cool hand.
"God almighty," he groaned.
"How lovely." She smiled with the air of one inspecting a strand of pearls instead of a young man's glowing manhood. Her fingers curved around the shaft and she squeezed gently.
"Oooooh." John's eyes rolled into the back of his head.
"Lie back down, my sweet," Evangeline whispered, "and let's talk about your papa."
"Let's not. And I swear I'll marry you."
"Don't make promises," Evangeline whispered with a repressive smile, "you have no intention of keeping."
She hoisted up her petticoats and straddled him, her bent knees resting on either side of his thighs. She bent down, her pink tongue darting up and down the length of his shaft. John moaned as she did this. He reached up and ran his fingers through her silky blonde hair. She continued licking him in this fashion for a few more moments, then popped the nubby tip of his cock into her mouth, wiggling her tongue and lips together around the nub. She bobbed up and down on his shaft, increasing, then releasing the pressure of her jaws around his member, bobbing, bobbing, drawing him up, filling him, causing him to lose all hope at reason. She then opened her lips wide and swallowed his cock right down to the balls. She bobbed up and down on his shaft, her talented tongue massaging and circling the full sheath as she rubbed his cock from top to bottom. She pressed her lips tighter, then looser, then tighter again, as John groaned gutturally in his throat, watching her through half-hooded eyelids.
His cock throbbed as he drew close to his crisis. She increased her efforts, bobbing up and down, squeezing tighter on his shaft, until finally he burst forth his seed in an explosive torrent of come. His frothy, creamy come filled her mouth, and she sat back on her haunches, swallowing it all down with a naughty smile on her face.
John fell back, utterly spent onto the fresh clean straw. "You are the greatest, most marvelous woman in the entire realm."
"It's a wonder then," she retorted tartly, "that you don't tell your papa. I'm sure if you thrust your point hard enough he'd agree to the marriage."
She gazed down at his spent member now lying quiescent on top of his breeches. "Just think," she finished with a saucy smile, "the treats I'd be giving my handsome husband every night in our marital bed."
"You're right." John raised himself up onto his elbows and gazed at Evangeline with a bleary smile. "You're better than any whore."
"Hah!" she scoffed. "Of course I'm better than any whore. I'm still a virgin."
"I'll tell Papa I must marry you and make you my wife, that cursed bear be damned."
She started in surprise. "Bear? What bear?"
"The bear," John replied with a patient sigh, "that my papa says you and your sister serviced all winter long."
She gazed at him with a look of horror, her features turning pale. "What?"
John regarded her with a baleful expression. Surely, surely she knew? "The bear," he repeated, thinking she hadn't heard him correctly. "The bear that lived with you all winter long. My papa says that you, your sister and even your mama--how shall I put it--all took a hand in his care."
"A most dastardly lie," she snarled. She jumped to her feet and flounced to the railing, grabbed ahold of the wooden slat and stood on the top rail, staring at him with a look of undiluted hatred.
John staggered to his feet, clumsily shoving his cock back inside his breeches. He ran forward. "Evangeline, wait! Let me explain."
"Sod off! I never want to see you again, John Woliver. And you can tell your bleeding father that he's got a lot of nerve criticizing my family when I happen to know your father likes to bugger the sheep!"
And with that, she scurried down the railing and hurried out of the barn, scampering across the meadow back to her mother's home.
"Wait!" John cried. He stood at the top of the haymow, his clothes all disordered, with bits and pieces of straw clinging to his hair. "You've got it all wrong, Evangeline. The business with the sheep he did it only the one time!"