Either as Juanita or as Noan, she had done herself proud. In addition to using the flour to make a damper, she had found a couple of cans of soup and had opened the tin of butter, Using the now hot water from the kettle on the stove, she had washed a full set of crockery and cutlery for both of us. While searching for a tea towel, she had come across a tablecloth and napery. She had laid the table as if we were expecting royalty; albeit with mismatched crockery and cutlery.
She held out my chair for me, telling me to sit while she served the meal, I noted that, rather than setting our places on opposite sides of the table, she had set them so we would be sitting on adjacent sides; an idea I thought was a much better arrangement for lovers sharing a meal. It made it easier to hold hands and share food with each other. It also made it easier to kiss one's partner without having to lean across the table; a dangerous exercise when eating by candlelight or, in or our case, by hurricane lantern light.
"Before being seated," I said, suddenly feeling over-dressed, "I might follow your example and set my wet clothes by the stove to dry. I don't think I could enjoy your delicious meal sitting in wet clothes. Would you be offended If I undressed for dinner?"
"Not at all, Mister Matthew," she said, stepping back to let me get by her. "In fact, I was wondering if I should suggest it. I would hate to see you come down with a dose of pneumonia simply because you were too modest to remove your wet clothes."
I noticed that she had slipped back into her servant girl's role; perhaps as a result of my threat to throw her into a hot bath and scrub her down before bedding her. Her response hadn't escaped my notice, either. Up until the point where she was given a choice between being treated royally or aggressively, she had put aside her role-playing. I had been talking to Juanita. After the mention of being treated like a sex slave, however, she changed back to her servant girl role. From what she had said earlier, I knew she wanted something more than she had been getting - or not getting - at home. I also knew that, in spite of my protestations to the contrary, she thought I would treat her differently if she were a lowly servant girl.
'Who was I to deny her her wish,'
I thought, as I stripped off my clothes and laid them over a chair in the kitchen.
Noan - which is who I was sure I was dealing with - brought me a towel to dry myself off; although I should say that she brought me a towel, which she used to dry me off. Everything went well until she turned me to face her. After she had finished drying my upper body, she squatted to do my legs and what usually hung between them. Of course, my cock was no longer hanging but, like a steadfast soldier, stood smartly at attention. If it had arms, I'm sure it would have been saluting. It did quite well without arms, though, and its single eye stared straight into those of Noan.
In her real-life role, Juanita had felt my penis against her body earlier in the evening, when we were kneeling against each other during her kiss-of-life training. She had rubbed herself up against it and commented that it represented the eight-inch difference between our heights. But feeling an encased cock is one thing; actually seeing it, was something else entirely. It took her by surprise. The look she gave me when she broke her gaze from its single hypnotic eye and looked up at me was one of trepidation.
It's not as if my penis was unusually thick. In fact, its thickness was in proportion to the dicks of other, less well-endowed men. I thought of it as the ideal Goldilocks cock. It wasn't too thick. It wasn't too thin. It was just right ...for its length, that is. But that made it thicker than most normal cocks. I don't think it was the length that disturbed Noan, though; in fact, I thought she was looking forward to having something inside her that would tickle her cervix. No, I think she was more concerned about its girth. I think she was afraid that it would be too thick for her.
"Don't worry, my darling," I said to calm her fear. "It'll go where it's meant to go. I know it's bigger than you're used to but I think you'll find that it'll give you the kind of satisfaction you've been yearning for. I won't hurt you, my love. I promise."
With that assurance, the fear left her eyes and she smiled. I saw her lick her lips as she lowered her head and kissed the eye and the top of its head. She giggled as it gave an involuntary spasm. She then reached up with both hands and held it steady while she wrapped her lips around its head and slipped it gently into her mouth. This time it was me who let out a long, drawn-out moan. But I had to pull her off when she started using her tongue to play with the trigger point in the crease below its helmet. I didn't want my first climax to end up in her mouth. I knew it was going to be a powerful eruption and I had a more appropriate place in mind for that first load. Besides, I doubted that she would have been able to hold it all, and I hate seeing good sperm going to waste.
I pulled her up and held her to me before lifting her chin so I could give her a long, lingering, saliva-swapping, tongue-jousting kiss. There was a flavour on her lips that hadn't been there before. Was it my pre-cum? I had to assume it was. Strangely, I had never tasted it before. Like Juanita's husband, my wife neither gave nor accepted oral sex. To her, it was dirty. In fact, in her eyes, anything but missionary-style sex was perverted. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy our sex, it was just that she had been brought up in a religiously conservative household. Her strict church-based upbringing had created barriers - particularly regarding her sexual activity - which prevented her from expressing her enjoyment.
For all I knew, she might well scream when she climaxed; just as Juanita had done earlier tonight. If she did, though, she kept it inside. There was never any outward sign that she was enjoying what we were doing; just as there was no outward sign that she was undergoing an orgasm. The only way I knew she had climaxed was that she would go flat. She would simply deflate. If I hadn't cum by then, I would have to pull out and finish myself off. I had never been allowed to test out my theory that all women can achieve multiple orgasms if they gave themselves half a chance.
It wasn't that she couldn't express herself - she had no trouble doing so when she was upset with me about something - it's just that she wouldn't. Not with me, anyway.
"There'll be time for that later, my darling," I said after breaking our kiss. "I don't want you rushing ahead with your human thermal lessons. And I don't want you spoiling your appetite. Nor do I want to be eating burnt offerings."
She hung the towel on a second chair - she later told me that she'd found a set of six freshly-washed towels in the linen cupboard, along with a second set of clean sheets and the table napery - and accompanied me back to the table. Like a good servant girl, she once again held my chair while I sat. She then unfolded my serviette, placing it delicately over my still steadfast soldier. She gave him a gentle rub as she removed her hand. He jumped in surprise. I heard her gasp and, when I looked down, I saw a moist patch develop in the middle of the napkin.
Noan giggled as she left me sitting alone at the table while she brought two bowls of hot soup from the kitchen and placed them, one at each setting. She'd found a rectangular Raleigh Ware tray in one of the cupboards, which she was using as a serving tray. It looked oddly familiar. Someone had gone to a great deal of trouble to set this little abandoned cabin up. And I didn't believe for one minute that they had done it on the off chance that a couple of stranded travellers would need to use it. It felt too much like it was used regularly.
Things like the tray - which probably would have been a wedding present given to every couple who had been married within the past twenty or thirty years; in fact my own parents had had one, and so did Liz and I - and the extra sets of sheets, pillowcases, towels indicated that some thinking had gone into setting this place up. I was sure that we weren't the only ones using the cabin for purposes other than mere shelter.
Whoever had planned it had made allowance for the beds to be made up with fresh sheets and pillowcases while the soiled linen was taken away to be washed. It appeared that enough time had elapsed since their last visit for the cleaned linen to be replaced but the beds had not been used since then. The freshness of the flour, rice and other foodstuffs - combined with the linen and the relative cleanliness of the place indicated that the mill manager's house was being used as a secret love nest. If so, by whom? I made a mental note - just one more to add to my growing list - to start keeping an eye on the place. It was, after all, on my property.
The cream of chicken soup that Noan had served was unexpectedly delicious. It was made doubly so by the accompanying freshly baked damper. Having just come from the oven, the butter melted into it. The combined flavours of the thick soup and floury bread made for a delicious and filling meal.
"You have a choice of tinned fruit or damper with butter and jam for dessert, Mister Matthew," Noan said, as she cleared away the soup bowls. "Missus Juanita said that, had she known she would be staying with you in your cabin tonight, she would have packed some supplies. Had I known I would be staying with you, I would have brought something down from my village."
"I think we might just settle for damper and jam," I said. "It's probably not a good idea for us to have too big a meal before I start you on your temperature-taking lessons. You might want to curl up like a big old python and go to sleep. No, damper and jam with a nice hot cup of tea would be fine. The night is getting on and I still have to throw you into the bath and scrub you down." I saw her shiver at the suggestion.
