Island in the Barley

Gently Nat's fingers and thumb moved together, their tips sliding up the skin of Sasha's outer lips to rest on their edge, where the sparse hairs stopped and the wetness began; he squeezed, pulling the lips together, hiding and protecting what was within; and then with just one finger he burrowed, pushing past the lips into the wetness beneath, to touch the very edge of her vagina and slip a little way within. Sasha shuddered again and Nat released the lips allowing all of his fingers access. He was surprised at the degree of wetness he encountered, not simply a lubrication but an oily pool of liquid. Sasha was aroused.

Nat stroked and explored, his fingers entered, first one, then two travelling deeper until his hand prevented further movement, and then three, all bunched together, simulating the entry of a penis.

"Yes," whispered Sasha and gently Nat moved his bunched fingers in and out, simulating the motion of intercourse.

In her turn, Sasha was sliding Nat's foreskin up and down—again a simulation of intercourse. It was inevitable their thoughts would turn from simulation to reality.

"Shall we?" said Nat and they moved to lie together on the green mound, holding each other tight, the hardness of Nat between them. They rolled together; Nat on top, pushing Sasha down into the green grass, a friendly weight upon her, something she had thought about a lot. They kissed, tongues wrapping around each other, and Sasha closed her arms around Nat's back pulling him to her. Between her now opened thighs Sasha could feel Nat's erection as it lightly touched first one thigh, then the other as it moved forward seeking; she imagined how it looked hanging there, long and curved with balls suspended below in their scrotal sack. They swung when Nat moved—Sasha liked that. The round end of the penis would be pointing right at her sex; it was so exciting to think of its shiny end inches from her. In a few moments Nat would pull himself a little up her body and that knob end would touch her, touch her where she was so soft and felt so wet. Would he pause or move onwards to open her? What would it feel like—at last—to be penetrated, to feel herself opened by a real penis and know it hard within her? Different from fingers she was sure. Sasha spread her legs wider and then it happened.

Nat's cock touched her, touched her where she most wanted to be touched, right at her entrance and it felt wonderful, but at that very moment there was a change, an alteration in the air, a softening of the light, a feeling of difference, a sense that all was not as it had been. A familiar smell came to Sasha, the vegetal smell of crushed herbs, and then she heard the sound of voices.

All around her Sasha could see shadowy shapes becoming substantial, commencing, though she did not know it, a ritual they had undertaken for centuries. The scent of herbs became stronger, the image of otherness more substantial. She was no longer on a grassy mound, no longer under the clear blue sky, no longer alone with her boy. Instead she was in a room, a high hall and lying on a table still with the weight of Nat upon her, his cock still touching her between her legs; a room full of people all around her; looking at her. Painted men, painted women. Naked people with their skin coloured, coloured from head to foot, painted or perhaps dyed it was hard to tell. The men red or blue, even their penises coloured and the women painted red or white. When they lent over, Sasha could see their eyelids were coloured. It was, unearthly and strange, it was frightening. Nat leapt up from her and she too made to get up but hands came; coloured hands preventing her rising; not hard hands, not rough with her but very gentle; coaxing her, encouraging her to lie down again; whilst at the same time hands were taking hold of Nat, easing him from her, taking him away from her; separating the two of them. Nat with his now shrinking penis, a penis she had so wanted inside her

There was a commotion; the people thrust to one side, pushed this way and that, falling blue, red or white from the rush of the biggest, strangest man Sasha had ever seen—if man he was. A naked man, naked but covered in dark, dark hair; not just his mane of hair and his beard but all down his chest, his arms, his legs, his back, his feet, his hands. Covered like a beast—even his very obvious penis was part covered in dark hair. He roared when he saw Sasha and made for her, his arms outstretched and his penis lengthening. The company, recovering, held him back, coloured hands restraining him, holding his fur, stopping him before he could reach Sasha but all the time his eyes were on Sasha and the state of his enormous club like penis made no secret of his object. Her eyes were wide with fear, one moment she had been ready to accept Nat, had so wanted him to be inside her, and now there was this wild man seemingly intent on taking her. Despite all the other naked bodies around him, in the room, it was she he was staring at and trying to reach, his outsize penis rigid and seemingly aimed between her legs.

The attempts to hold him appeared only partly serious, half hearted as if, to the onlookers, there was no real threat. As they held him the men and women were laughing, calling to the beast, poking at the wild man; there was no fear in their eyes, instead they seemed to see it all as a joke; hands holding his fur, others stroking and placating him; there were even hands, small delicate hands painted white, stroking the beast's erection, uncovering its club like head, working it as she had seen Nat work his own erection in her dreams. Below the raised staff of his penis the creature's balls swung in their pendulous sack, more reminiscent of the bull in the field than a man. The beast seemed to like the caress, but was still pulling to be free, his eyes fixed on Sasha, his massive dark hairy thighs trying to push forward, but there were restraining arms around them holding them back; his great arms were struggling for release, his mouth making inarticulate sounds as he fought against his captors, but to no avail; and all the time the small white painted hands worked his penis, small white painted hands lifted and played with his enormous balls, the size of cricket balls, and the women smiled up at Sasha, seeking perhaps to reassure her that she was in no danger from the wild man, no danger from his maleness.

The red men seemed to be teasing the beast, tormenting it, pretending to let go so that he started forward trying to get at Sasha, and then catching him again, holding him back, his great head with its shaggy main and beard looking side to side in annoyance; and all the time the white women stroked. It did not seem as if this was for the first time, rather the teasing had been done many times before.

Sasha could do nothing but stare, despite the shock of her dislocation, the presence of so many strangers and the removal of Nat, her eyes were fixed in trepidation upon the wild man. What if he was released, what would that penis do to her, were they actually teasing her not him? She watched the white hands sliding the covering of the great penis head, stimulating it; pulling at it, she hoped; to such an extent that it would release its fluid and so remove the threat to her. There were five or six white hands upon it, caressing and stroking; surely they would have an effect soon.

There was laughter, there was jollity and palpable happiness; a festive mood which not even Sasha in her fear and surprise could mistake; a sense of relief and of joy.

Still the white women teased the great hairy man, bouncing his penis up and down, Sasha had not seen the like—it was so huge. There was a sudden exertion and the wild man was almost free; a last attempt to get to Sasha, to cover her naked body and gain entry; but it was too late, the white women and the sight of Sasha naked on the table had taken him too far and he could not prevent the inevitable result.

The coming of the wild man was accompanied by a great roar, his shaggy head fell back and his mouth let out the sound, a cry of frustration and anguish mixed with pleasure, a sound that echoed around the room and quietened the happy throng; the white hands withdrew leaving the great club like penis unrestrained, unattended and standing free; and then it happened. Just as Sasha watched in amazement and the whole company looked on, the penis jerked upwards, its great, shiny, bulbous head traversing an arc, the enormous balls drew up an inch or two as if lifted by an invisible hand and the head began to spurt. A streamer of semen shot from the end of the penis and, rising into the air, traversed a parabola for a remarkable distance before falling down onto Sasha's naked skin; the penis dropped down a little before bouncing up again to release another stream of milky, creamy fluid to make another flight through the air.

To Sasha it seemed as if time had slowed and the colourful world dropped out of focus as she stared at the enormous spurting penis and the impossible flight of the semen. It could only be that the size of the man and the evident strength of his body had its reflection in the development of those muscles used in ejaculation, the power very considerably exceeding what she had seen, or was it dreamt, of Nat's ejaculation in the copse.

Again the semen came, as the beast roared and his unrestrained penis twitched sending a third jet even higher; there was no control of direction and it did not simply fall on Sasha but others too; suddenly there was laughter, cheering and clapping as the wild man continued to perform—a virtuoso performance indeed. As the clapping ran around the hall so did the wild man's semen until there was no more to come. Still dripping, the standing rod began to lose its firmness and, similarly, with the ejaculation done all the strength seemed to go out of the beast himself. Upon his face was a look of disappointment and resignation and slowly he turned, the men letting go of his fur and, head a little bowed, he went out of the room; hands patting and stroking him as he went.

Across the room Sasha could see Nat looking as shocked as herself, restrained like her by hands, the hands of pretty women, hands not just holding his body but holding his penis as well, keeping it hard—the cock she had been so looking forward to having inside her. Why were they prevented from that? Were others, coloured others, going to have him in her stead?

There was a parting of the crowd; between the people and in the gap made by the moving aside of the gaily painted bodies came a naked man, not a young man like Nat, not a powerful man like the hairy beast who had just so publically ejaculated, not even a coloured man but an old man, an ancient man: almost a withered man. He was completely naked except for a few leaves, autumn leaves, leaves of oak plaited in his long white hair. Between his thin thighs dangled a wrinkled manhood, swaying as he walked; he alone of the males in the room unerect—probably past it, Sasha thought, and a sad figure. His skin seemed thin and, through the paleness, blue veins were clearly visible. That he was important to the people was obvious by the respect they showed, but so ancient, as if he had been with them a very long time, that his time was nearly done. His face, though, belied the age of his body, his eyes were bright and animated, almost twinkling, and his smile a delight to behold. Despite it all, and there was much to be frightened and fearful of, Sasha warmed to him; he looked both sad and happy perhaps sad at his age and happy in his company. He stood looking at Sasha with a look both benevolent and welcoming.

The white women came to the ancient man, helping him, supporting him as he stood at the end of the table, his gaze directed downwards at Sasha's nakedness; there was a hush around the hall and Sasha felt the hands holding her were seeking to move her, position her differently, hands taking hold of the soft flesh of her thighs, easing and opening them, separating them to show her sex to the ancient man, moving her legs apart so the secret opening between was revealed: but not just a little, it was a wide splaying so that nothing was hidden, neither from the man nor the assembly; not one of her folds or auburn curls were left hidden; all was shown.

A tall girl with long flowing flaxen hair, her skin painted white as snow, full breasts and a profusion of yellow curls between her thighs lifted an ewer; and from its thin spout a stream of oil flowed down to splash across Sasha's sex. It was both cool and warming, fragrant with herbs. Why were they doing this?

Another girl, to the side of the ancient man lifted his penis in her hand, cupped both it and balls in her hand, raising them towards the girl with the ewer, another girl took hold of the end of the wrinkled penis and slowly retracted the foreskin exposing the head, a motion seemingly ritualistic, a revealing of the man, and again the oil was poured to come as a thin stream onto the penis and hands. The girls began to work the penis, now slippery with oil. Sasha was doubtful there would be any effect but she was wrong: there was movement, a gradual stirring, a thickening and lengthening as it rose upwards, curving towards the wooden ceiling of the hall.

It was then completely obvious to Sasha what was to happen. The connection between her opened legs and the now erect penis with its foreskin retracted, its tapered, domed end revealed, both sexual organs covered with the same oil, the same warming, stimulating oil, was clear; it was not going to be Nat who would first enter her but this strangely ancient man. He was being prepared for intercourse: she was being prepared for intercourse.

Carefully the ancient man was assisted forward; hands, white delicate female hands gently lifted him upwards, and all the time his kindly eyes set in his smiling face looked at Sasha as if to reassure her, let her know this was not going to be too bad for her and to just let it happen. There was little she could do but accept, hands held her, hands held her thighs apart, hands were stroking her breasts, hands warm with the oil, sliding easily, fingers pinching her, once more, erect nipples. Despite the untimely removal of Nat and the shock of the change, the oil and the hands were bringing back her sexual excitement as if she was again in her dreams, her dreams of walking naked in the copse.

Was this a fulfilment of those dreams, was she actually really in those dreams: was she actually dreaming or was this somehow real?

The ancient man was lifted, carried forward and the women gently lowered the ancient man to lie along her body, face to face, chest to chest, stomach to stomach and oily sex to oily sex. Sasha could feel against her the difference between her sex and the male, the so different hardness of the male erection—unexpected because she had not thought the ancient man capable: but the proof was between her thighs; she could feel the hands of the women there, still moving him, still stimulating him but now positioning him, positioning him for intercourse, positioning his erection, the smooth exposed head, shiny with oil, at her entrance, her virgin entrance. And then it began.

Sasha could feel the head of the ancient man's erection pushing against her; was it him pushing or the women pushing him? She could feel a hand clasped along the shaft to aid its rigidity, she could feel fingers opening her—perhaps testing her readiness. Were hands pushing his bottom and transmitting the pressure, the movement, down along his shaft to her? Was it he who was attempting to enter her or was it the women, the people who were doing the deed? Was it him or them who had pushed the domed head into her entrance?

Already the old man had gone further than Nat, he had only touched her there, but this man's erection was actually pushing against her, seeking entrance, seeking to part or to break her hymen and enter. Hands were stroking her, seeking to reassure or was it to stimulate; Sasha looked from side to side, to all the people watching her, watching them, watching with a palpable air of sexual excitement; so many erections and there too was Nat with his lovely long curved penis, held not by her but by another girl. Why she—not her?

On top of her the old man felt warm but almost without animation; it was clear everything about the intercourse was being done for him. He was the conduit, but not the participant; it was not him but the women who were seeking to take Sasha's virginity as if it was a collective action by the people rather than personal act by the man.

They had been preparing, had sown the seed in the two young people's minds, seen the ripening and now it was time for harvest.

Sasha could feel the pressure mounting, the smooth, dome shape of the penis pushing against her, seeking to enter, seeking to tear her, rend her hymen and slide up into her body. The smooth dome of the penis was pressing hard against her. And then it happened, a sharp pain and then movement; the penis was moving on up into her; all at once her legs were lifted and her feet brought up to be held locked over the old man's back as his penis slid completely into her—Sasha a virgin no longer.

There was a cry, a cheer as if something great and wonderful had been achieved. Everyone was watching, holding hands, red people, blue people, white women, all watching; the men all with penises upstanding, coloured penises raised—in salute?

And then the full movement began, the motion of intercourse, the rhythmic pumping; slowly at first the ancient man began to move, helped by the white women but there seemed now to be some strength in his body as if the very act of penetration had given him strength; there was a small pushing of his hips, a drawing back so the penis slid out a way and then a pushing back. Despite the pain, Sasha could not but respond; the warming oil and heady scent of herbs seemed to be taking her body where she did not want to go—towards a sexual release, a climax with this man rather than the boy she so wanted to share the experience with. She felt her own hips moving against him, her legs clasping; and then one by one she felt the hands leaving her, leaving the ancient man and her to have intercourse alone and unaided.

What would Nat be thinking? But she could not prevent herself. Perhaps they would be allowed to fuck afterwards or would he have to stand in a queue; there was no way of knowing where this was all leading but Sasha could not help herself, could not stop herself responding to the fucking, responding to the sensation of feeling a penis hard within her, stretching her, pulling at her clit. She knew the oil had something to do with it, she had never felt her sex so warm, so invigorated, so excited; never felt such an orgasm building—never felt so sexually alight as she did now, thrusting hard against the man.

Sasha came hard and with abandon, her face contorted and it must have been obvious to all what was happening yet she was unable to care; but still the man moved; he had achieved an erection but was he also capable of ejaculation, the strange male sexual act so graphically, and recently, demonstrated to the company by the Wild Man? Still his penis was sliding, still Sasha was pushing against it, and still the two sexual organs were moving together sliding on Sasha's wetness and the herb oil—perhaps she could come again?

She could feel more oil had been poured from the ewer; she could imagine its travel as well as feel the result; scented oil poured from the thin spout of the ewer onto the bottom of the ancient man, to run into the crack, warming his anus, slipping downwards onto and around his scrotum to run up the shaft of his penis, some to be pumped by it into her but a stream to run on past the penis and onto her lips, thence to her clitoris—oh the feeling of heat—and on downwards heating and stimulating her own anus. Sasha pushed with renewed vigour and it seemed the ancient man responded—were they reaching the climax, she thought she would come again but what of the man? Would she for the first time feel the pulsing emission of semen inside her, the thing she had watched with such fascination when Nat had come for her in the wood?