In an age after nuclear fire, the ground unconvinced by science to grow, a woman of the old religion had remembered that gods may do what men could not. Her prize was forty acres of fertile field. The first payment was due immediately, 200 corrupt politicians and 114 corrupt business leaders she’d thrown live into the grotto.
The second payment, taken generations later, washed, and combed, lay in the sun, pondering games of conquest. The third of the farmer’s wives waited for something to happen.
At the end of 4 o’clock, the farmer was plowing the field and seeding the soil. At the end of 4 o’clock, the farmer’s wife had collected eggs, plucked and defeathered a chicken, which now lay spatchcocked on a cutting board. She wore a plaid shirt and it was rolled to the elbow while she cleaned the blood off herself. She wore a simple, dark green, skirt below it, and mud encrusted boots.Dried herbs, small bowls of spices, and one small pile of seasoning salt waited by the chicken. She looked forward to dinner.
With the twilight, there normally comes a colder air but the cold didn’t shift much this night. It was slightly moist, and a colder spring shower seemed to be imminent. On nights like this, the farmer fished downriver and stayed out late drinking slow hootch in a small and covered fish shack by the piers. He said the fish liked to jump at the rain. It made him happy
The farmer’s wife checked her baking bread and put the chicken in the wood fire oven. She swept and stretched and soon there came a soft knock at the door.
Her husband should have been away and if he was to home, he was the type to burst in after a day’s work, hungry and tired. All misgivings aside she came to the door still expecting to see him and was surprised, moments, really seconds, later to see a well developed chest, silken short hairs covering it, and as she craned her neck up, the figure crouched down slowly revealing a brutal, beautiful face. His beard was neatly combed, his lips full, his nose straight and strong, and maybe slightly wider than she’d seen before. The eyes, at times dark brown, at times golden, looked down at her, and then lower at her hands which she realized, mortified, were stroking his chest.
“What am I doing” she thought just as the figure started to speak.
“May I come in miss?” Rizomenos the Faun asked.
Nameless before, his baptized name matched his purpose at the cottage and his intentions with the farmer’s wife.
“No” she said “I apologize sir but I neither know nor recognize you”
“Still, having been so familiar with me, we must have met each other” Rizomenos replied “you look like a good miss, steady head, not too caught up in fanciful notions.”
His logic didn’t make sense, the tone itself was deadly with intent and yet the farmer’s wife felt an odd compulsion to let him in.
“Maybe he will free me” she thought but oddly enough, she couldn’t remember what the trap was.
As he stepped through the doorway, she felt a scent overtaking the room and filling it with the scent of summer wildflower. As he took the first steps inside and shrunk to fit the room, she shivered. Now she could see all of him, large slacks hiding odd legs, white shirt open to reveal the chest she had subconsciously put her hands against, and a face that looked like a younger man’s, twenty or so years of age maybe with its full beard and full lips, and mostly unlined skin. His eyes darkened in her home but acquired an odd green tint. His nose looked like it had broken and healed but it gave him an aura of violence.
He was quick with his long steps and soon he had taken her tea pot to boil, and some loose leaf rooibos to steep and two cups. He sat and she sat on the other side of a long covered table, watching him, his woodland scent now fully filling the room, and her head swimming in it. She caught herself smiling loosely at nothing, her hand resting strangely between her legs.
He pulled, from the strange pack he carried at his waist, a handful of sugar cubes. These he made into a little pyramid after which he dropped one, very casually, into his cup of tea.
“Ah a good cup of cha will make even this rainy gloom lift aye miss?” He said very suddenly breaking the silence
He sounded Northern and for a little bit she sipped her tea. She liked her tea black, over strong, but oddly enough, the more she looked at that little pile of sugar-cubes, pure white and fragile, the more she caught her mouth watering for sweet tea.
“If I may have a cube please” she said
“I could’ve sworn you took your tea black” Rizomenos said, dropping yet another cube into his own cup.
“There are days for black tea, and days for sweet tea” she said “besides, I think you over boiled the water.”
“I don’t doubt you know your tea miss…miss..well Miss Whoever you are” Rizemenos said
“Mrs. Thalia sir” she said “and what is your name”
“You can call me Faun” Rizomenos said “Faun of the Creek if you want to be formal about it”
He had, without drinking his tea, added another cube of sugar and she was sure there was something in that sugar she wasn’t understanding.
Her hand, which had been growing more active between her legs, was no longer hiding its activities well. She had pulled up her dress and was touching herself with ever increasing abandon. Her legs, under the table, were wide open. All the while, this ‘Faun’ pretended nothing was happening, adding his stupid sugar into his even more stupid tea. For a second, she thought of lunging across the long table to stuff the dwindling pile into her mouth.
That thought shocked her more than the fact she was debasing herself in front of a stranger, even more than the possibility that her husband would walk in at any moment.
“A guest shouldn’t be so bold as to pull out sugar and then hesitate in sharing” she said
For a second he picked up a cube, delicately, with two fingers.
“I was not aware I was behaving with such disrespect. Although, it seems to me that you are conducting yourself very strangely for a hostess. You’ve been playing all by yourself for many minutes now” he said
So he had noticed. And he knew. He took his first sip of the tea. She nearly buckled.
“I suppose I could share” he said
“All you have to do, is come get some.”
When she made a movement to stand, he made a small sharp sound with his tongue.
“No miss. You have to crawl. Under the table if you would” he said
“I can get around perfectly with my feet thanks” she said
He picked up his cup of tea and slowly poured a small stream to the floor at his feet. The scent of something dark honey filled the air. Her brain, for a few seconds, was awash in pleasure, and then, just as quickly the aroma faded into one place, the exact place she saw him pour the tea.
She stood and it was like standing at sea. Her feet moved drunkenly, one step taking what seemed like hours, her head very much determined to eat directly from that little supply of sugar in front of him. He noticed her molasses motion and for the first time, he smiled, cupping the rest of the sugar in a playful, near boyish way.
“No” she said “no”
He tipped his hand and with a fair splash, the sugar was in the tea.
He mixed it watching her second step.
There wasn’t a third.
He removed his pants, now bulging at the crotch, and poured the remaining tea between his legs.
She fell faster than she could walk. Once she was on all fours, immediately, the exhaustion she had experienced while standing was gone. In fact, she felt fully awake, alert, and powerful.
She attempted to crawl forward and the weariness came once more.
“Under the table dear” Rizomenos said
So she lifted the tablecloth and went in, crawling forward to a scent that was intricate and inescapable. Before her, a partially hard, very thick, cock hung. The puddle of tea was slowly sinking into her carpet but before long, she caught herself kneeling before him, trying to get whatever bit of that sugar hadn’t been soaked up. Less than a foot away, the cock began to stiffen and suddenly, with strange and hypnotized focus, she started to realize that the sugar itself was coating, completely, the cock before her. The fact she couldn’t see the faun, couldn’t see anything except his toned thighs and almost comically large cock helped her when she finally put her lips to the head of his cock. The sugar revealed its true nature in her mouth, ambrosia. The drink of the gods. Solid form. As her body flushed through, her frenetic playing with herself took a new turn. The more she sucked his cock, the deeper it went in her throat, the more soaked she became. She started to finger herself roughly, first with one cocked finger, then three, and as she stretched she wondered what it would feel like to have this cock inside her. It was growing in thickness, to the point she had to take breaks and massage her jaw to continue. She couldn’t help but continue, as the scent of ambrosia and sex, and the idea he was about to cum in her mouth took hold of her. Almost too suddenly, the door opened and she heard a voice, her husbands. She slowed down, his cock still in her mouth, then held still. There was a small, low voiced, conversation. Whatever the “Faun” had said must have been convincing because the tablecloth was not lifted, and she was not revealed. She heard the door close.
Slowly she started to notice the cock straining up and down in her mouth, seeming to ache for release. Feeling powerful, for the second time that evening, she sucked it slower, more meticulously, more intently. The hips tried to buck, slightly, at first but she stopped utterly every time it tried. The chair was moved back and as she followed forward, Rizomenos the Faun held her head in large strong hands, her hair bunched in one, the back of her neck in another, and he started fucking her mouth slowly and with the same meticulous, teasing, pace she had set to torment him. She came as he fucked her face, and she felt shame, and then she came again.
“You young miss, are going to make me cum” he said “hard”
And he did, first hitting the back of her throat, then filling her mouth, until he had to let her catch a breath lest she choke.
For a moment, the tension had disappeared, the strange hypnotic spell vanquished, and there was cum in her mouth. Another man’s, another male something’s, cum in her mouth. A pool formed below her still sensitive, still aching, still cumming, pussy.
She took a deep breath and as she started to rise, she felt his hands around her waist, almost romantic, ever so close to being intimate. She rose expecting him to kiss her, or feed her small fruits, but noticing, all too late, the smile on his face. He snapped her shirt open, ripped apart her bra, he lifted her as if she weighed nothing and looking at him, his pupils dilated, his powerful figure, his towering height just shy of her tall celining, she felt that marriage between a broken terror and a terrible curiosity. What if he was to…? And as if he read that thought, he bent her over the table. Not bothering to remove her dress, he merely pulled her underwear down around her ankles, pulled her dress up so he had a full view of her. And he studied her, playing with her, his fingers curious and mobile, spanking her hard, until she was all but lost in guessing where he would go, what he would touch, or finger, or pinch and then suddenly there was that intruder. The head of his cock teased at her, sliding between her cheeks, then at the entrance of her pussy, he slid up and down her lips, lubricating himself, teasing her, maybe teasing himself. Every time she thought he’d start to push himself inside her, finish whatever seduction or spell this was, he’d go back to teasing her. He ran his hand up her back, to her neck and then up to her head, until his grip tightened around her hair and slowly pulled. As she craned her hair back, his other hand dangled a small object in front of her mouth.
“Open up” he said and as she did, he dropped the last cube of ambrosia. It melted almost instantly and in the buzz it generated, in her head, in her body, and at that place where her body was touching his. She almost didn’t realize when he started truly fucking her, his cock making her feel like she was inside out, a hard, rough, deliberate, fucking. He fucked her in long pulls and hard pushes, for a few minutes he would hammer her in and then he’d slow down to a brutally slow tease. It was funny how much he seemed to own her, playing with her asshole, coming in her mouth, but at the moment his cock got thickest, as his frenzied fucking took on a taboo rhythm, she knew he was about to cum and cum hard. As he hit a fever pitch and she came again and again, tightening around his cock with every orgasm, she felt him start to cum inside her and she backed her ass into his dick, driving him deeper, feeling his cum from somewhere deep inside her. He filled her and when he came out, he turned her over and he covered her, face, hair, tits. He face fucked her and came in her mouth again. In a seemingly endless scheme of degradation, he fucked her quickly when he came, cumming quicker and quicker each time, like he was in the midst of a long and sustained orgasm and she was merely an instrument. He fucked her in short bursts, switching from her pussy to her her mouth so quickly she could, at first, taste herself on him. Ofcourse, at the end, all she tasted was cum.
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/unt0j4/the_faun_and_the_farmers_wife