The Faun and the farmers wife

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.

The faun rises

The Faun emerged from the mountains, shaggy hair red and enriched with blood, body filled with the energy of many, many bodies, and came into the first brook for his bathing. His breath smoked in the cooling air.
Sharp and deadly, the current rushed and bubbled and where the bubbles hit sharp eddies, the liquid spun up and first an ankle formed, smooth and the color of the insides of almond, then calves with downy hair, to smoother thighs, the muscles soft and strong, to a softly carpeted triangle, dripping.
The hips formed with soft creases and the waist, the soft under curves of breasts, the cuts of bowed collar and the downward slopes of shoulders, until with a slight flexing of the wrist was a naiad who had waited for the last of the blood to soak the soil and sprout.
The Faun reached for the naiad, and she presented his hand with a foot, the water still dripping off her body and he who took it, his body still covered in grime and kissed it, before he crawled forward. His naked and lithe body relishing the cuts and smell of new grass, kissing up her calf and thigh, biting at elastic skin lightly, and tasting toasted pear, vanilla, sweat and heather. When her hands could reach, she gripped his hair.
He used his tongue more the higher he went, and in the meeting place of two legs, he used a tense, stiff, flat, tongue to lap up the ever growing new wetness. Now the texture of liqueur and the taste of new juniper. Her leg went up and over his shoulder, wrapping slightly around, his head moving in slow and efficient motions to help his stiff tongue parse her lips, dig into her wetness and with deliberate hesitation, a small, round, protected nerve center. He stayed there for an impossible half second before moving away and then again toward until he started flicking it, almost disrespectfully from below, from the side, from below again. She stilled, her leg wrapping tighter, willing him to go faster, suck, to bite even as the world went pink and blue. He was rough and fast for a minute. She collapsed into the sweet grass moments later. After she recovered, quickly- for she was a naiad-she washed him clean and prepared him to meet the farmer’s wife.

Published
Categorized as Erotica Tagged