Lady Arlen wore her new gown to Easter mass. Made of a thin silk, she shivered in the cold glare of the old stone chapel. The chapel was built from the local bedrock—the same stone used for the stretch of Hadrian's wall that lay in her husband's barony, and thus held no warmth in the April noon. Lord Arlen had never been a religious man, and jilted mass in favor of tending to the plowing and sowing of the cornfields on the far edge of their land. The soil was rocky up in northern England and proved to be an arduous task; Lord Arlen would be gone for days at least. Lady Arlen didn't care much for the Church of England either, but she had to attend because it was expected of her.
The lisping Anglican clergyman carried on in his devotional jargon and Lady Arlen found herself licking her lips as her glance caught young Matty Groves. He a youth of eighteen—she was six years older—and she had never noticed what a fine man he turned out to be. Matty spent his days in fields and barns, far from Lady Arlen's gentle life of embroidery, singing, and child rearing passed in the manor. She had seen him last eastertide a gangly youth, but in a year's time he had grown in strength and height. His muscles bulged through his rough spun tunic and his legs were sculpted and powerful beneath his trews. He wore his hair long, shorn at the base of his neck and it was colored in a lovely chestnut. His eyes were springtime green, nose long and straight, and lips full and crimson.
Lady Arlen's legs clenched together with a stir and her undergarments were dampened and warm. Stuck in the church for another hour at least, she squeezed her thighs together in a quest for succor; each nudge of pressure was a dull relief to her mad lust for young Matty Groves.
Matty didn't enjoy church; he much preferred to be out in the fields, laboring, or between the thighs of an easy wench after a night at the village tavern. He passed easter mass with thoughts of the fresh spring air awaiting him outside, and admiring the slender figure of Lady Arlen. Her gown was a deep red and tight around the bodice, pushing her breasts high and proud. The plump, creamy globes melted over the neckline just so, and Matty's hardness strained at the confinement of his trews. He wondered what it would be like to run his tongue along the soft skin of her breast, pushing his fingers through her thick golden hair and entering her as her blue eyes were dark with lewd hunger.
Matty drank the blood of Christ and dissolved the wafer under his tongue, concluding the service. As the villagers filed out, Matty felt a light caress on his forearm. "Matty Groves, won't you come home with me tonight? I'm lonely and I desire you. Please, Matty Groves, please sleep with me tonight?" Lady Arlen whispered into his ear for him alone to hear; her lips tickling the tender skin at his neck.
His lust was stirring and his cock was fully hard but he resisted. "I can't come home with you, I won't come home with you, for the gold ring round your finger tells me your Lord Arlen's wife, and my head would surely come off."
"My husband's far gone and won't be home for days now. Don't you desire me, Matty?"
Matty's head was pounding with unchecked lust as her comely breast rose and fell with her waiting breath, and the plump bloom of her lip opened wide with each sinful word she spoke. He found it harder and harder to resist. "Meet me at the servant's entrance round back at nightfall," she whispered and turned on her heel to leave.
As she was passing through the threshold of the old stone chapel, she threw her head back and shot a simmering gaze in his direction, causing Matty's skin to tingle throughout.
When dark fell over the yellowed Northumberland hills, Lady Arlen's pale face stuck out of the service entrance like the specter of an angel. Catching the eye of Matty Groves, she bade him closer and took him by the hand. Like two apprehensive virgins, they ascended the back stair, careful not to slip upon the damp cobblestone. In the diminishing light, Matty studied Lady Arlen's shadow, imprinting it into his mind for he knew he would never know her again after tonight.
They stood against the firelight in the Lord's bedroom. It flickered around the stone walls and up upon the weathered oaken beams at the ceiling, casting a luscious glow on the pale skin of Lady Arlen. She stood a length from Matty. With deft and slender fingers, she unbuttoned the bodice of her striking scarlet gown to reveal full, rounded breasts capped in rosy nipples. Matty stood frozen as he took in the glorious sight. She drew her hands down and pushed down the rest of her gown until it fell in a silken heap at her ankles. Her hips were rounded like a perfectly formed cloud; soft and white and beckoning as they framed the spare bush of spun golden hair between her thighs.
"Come here, Matty." Her voice was husky and deep with the lust that burned within her.
Her breath was softly ragged as she fiddled with the buttons at Matty's chest, giving way to a triangle of smooth chest. She ran her cool hands across it, scraping her nails over the skin ever so lightly. He tweaked with a flood of desire that begun at his hot red cheeks and shimmied down to a lump in his throat before meeting the earth at the tips of his toes. His head was ringing as she pressed her soft lips on his muscled contours, running her warm pointed tongue along his pectorals and flitting around his faintly haired nipples.
She ran her hands down his strong sides and lifted his tunic over his head to reveal his torso. It was hard and muscled from long days laboring in the fields, and accented with a light showing of soft chestnut curls that extended from his clavicle to his pelvis. Matty grasped Lady Arlen close to him; her firm breasts swelled on his chest and her nipples beckoned like two sweet butter tablets.
