The Craftsman Read Free

might have made a good marriage if not for that. Her face was pretty, her figure well-carved under that fitted gown, her waist high, suggesting long legs. Clearly she could have done better than marry Wulf, if she’d had all her faculties. He studied her slyly above his tankard, his gaze following the graceful lines. As she reached for the fruit platter, he studied the long sweep of her slender arm, the arch of her shoulder and then the pull of her gown across a full, round breast.
    Very well made , he thought again with a little stab of surprise deep in his gut. Surely she wore a shift beneath her thin gown, but he could have sworn he saw a nipple pricking against the material. Was it possible that she forwent any undergarments because of the sticky summer weather?
    She moved again and the little peak became more pronounced. He tried to look away, but found it impossible. There was the other one. Definitely nipples and hard ones too, perky. He knew what a woman’s roused naked breasts looked like, not that he’d ever touched one. When he was fourteen he’d watched his three brothers with a whore. She was actually purchased as a gift for him, on his birthday, but he’d been too embarrassed by his teasing brothers. So they’d got their money’s worth by mounting her themselves. Wulf had watched them rut the bosomy wench like curs on a bitch in heat. He still remembered, vividly, the sight of her pale thighs spread wide, welcoming each man in, one after the other, her pussy lips slick with their creamy seed and her own juice. He recalled his brothers’ grunts and her groans, the way her dimpled buttocks trembled with every hard thrust as she struggled to accommodate a brother in every orifice; all three at the same time. The writhing, sweating, grunting mass of bodies. He was aroused by the vision, when he did not want to be. He felt he should be appalled by it.
    At fourteen he hadn’t known what to do or think. In the end he’d run away in shame. That was his last birthday before the Normans came, his elder brothers were all killed in battle and he taken prisoner. As a consequence, Wulf was now twenty nine and still a virgin, very confused about this swiving business. If he must endure these lusty needs, he would rather no one know he ever had them. They surely were not good needs and the refined, ladylike woman across the table would not take kindly to being treated like a whore.
    She must be hot under that wimple, he thought. The evening was very warm, the heat of the day still clinging, unrelenting as they slid into night. If anything the air seemed to grow thicker despite the sun’s retreat.
    She’d selected a handful of cherries and now enjoyed them slowly, biting them carefully from their stalks, her head tipped back, her small white teeth clasping each ruby red bud and tugging. She chewed, swallowed, and then readied for the next cherry. This one, it seemed, was already leaking juice. She sucked upon it for a moment, before it disappeared between her teeth and she bit down. A little trickle of cherry juice stained her plump lips and her tongue swept out hastily to clean it.
    Wulf’s hair stuck to his brow with sweat. He poured more ale for his suddenly unquenchable thirst. A familiar stirring had begun in his groin. Usually when this happened, he would handle himself quickly and get it over with, but tonight he had no opportunity. He couldn’t leave the supper table until the lady was done eating. If he did, his sister would accuse him again of being deliberately rude and difficult.
    His wife-to-be dangled another cherry above her lips. She was still swallowing the previous one and Wulf watched the sensuous movement in her fine, smooth throat. Then his eyes returned to her mouth as she opened it to take the next scarlet fruit. The tip of her tongue appeared and touched the shiny, round surface in greeting.
    Wulf shifted on his bench, his breeches pulling uncomfortably on his rigid cock. His breathing