Defloured

Defloured
[Baker's daughter x soldier boy, defloration, vanilla, oral]

>This is the rewrite of the story I lost last weekend do to stupidity. Clocking in at a little over 8,300 words, it's nearly three times as long as the original. This time around I used it as an experiment, trying to make it work as a smut fic the ladies can enjoy. To this end, I tried focusing on the character's emotional attachment, as well as some advice given by DLFG a few weeks ago. If any femanons do read this, I would dearly appreciate any feedback you can give me on how much, or little, you enjoyed it and where I can improve the style for future stories.  As a last note, I still find writing from a female perspective difficult, but I think I did fairly well here. Now that I'm done chewing your ear off, please enjoy the story.<

_______________________The Story_____________________________________________________

	That morning, as she did every morning, Hilda Gutenbäcker awoke early, well before dawn.  Yawning, she slid out from underneath the covers and lit the candle on her nightstand.  Though it was still dark outside, she heard the sound of a cart rattling away from her father’s shop and knew she had to be down stairs quickly or someone might steal the milk that had just been delivered.  She stripped off her night shirt and pulled on her white cotton working dress.  It took her a bit longer to lace up her pretty green bodice with the yellow trim, the one that pressed her breasts up against the little opening in her dress, but eventually she got that on too. Obviously the material had shrunk after being washed. Obviously.

	Hilda glanced in the mirror and frowned. I don’t have time for this, she thought.  Her hair, curly and reddish orange like the sun at dawn, was simply a mess.  So she snatched up a clean washcloth and tied it around her head.  Green eyes reflected disapprovingly from the reflective glass.  “It’ll do,” she told her doppelganger with a shrug.

	She made her way down the stairs as quietly as possible and opened the back door, sighing with relief. The large tin jugs were still there.  Hilda cracked her fingers and shimmied each of the heavy containers inside, one at a time, and placed them in the coolest corner of the storeroom.

	“Might as well get inventory over with,” she told no one in particular.

	Paper was too expensive to waste, but she had a reusable scratch board that worked just as well.  Milk? Check. Flour? Check. Wheat?  Double check. Oil? Check. Eggs? Half check, she made a note to get more. Various nuts and small berries? So many, Hilda thought she might run out of checks!

	Finished with that chore but with many more left to do before her father awoke, she placed the scratch board on his little business desk, where he would be sure to find it. While she was in the area, she glanced over the orders for the day. Literacy amongst her class was low, especially amongst women and especially amongst girls, but her father owned and operated a very successful bakery that catered to several wealthy clients, so learning to read had just sort of happened. The nobles always got so testy when a cake had the wrong shade of off white frosting.

	The baker’s daughter made her way to the first of their three big ovens and opened the latch, throwing the door open. She took a second to put on a waiting apron (hers had frills and a line of pink trim, her father’s was larger and plainer) and slid her favorite mixing spoon into its customary place at her hip.  One of the orders had been for three hundred large loaves of wheat bread, with nuts, to be picked up no later than noon. A three oven job, she thought as she started gathering up an armful of logs.

	Though her father had a healthy stock of coal, he swore up and down the street that the right type of wood for the right recipe was what made him a success. So, whenever they had the money to spare, they bought wood. So, every morning, Hilda had to crawl into the ovens, stack up the wood just right, and light it before catching light herself.  This usually took her a good twenty minutes, and as she pulled herself out of the now crackling oven she glanced at the other two still waiting for her attention.  With a sigh, she wiped a bead of sweat from her brow and moved back over to the wood pile. Still, it beat shoveling coal.

	So intent was she on her task that she did not notice the figure creeping up behind her, silent as a cat.  As she rose from her crouch, embrace piled high with logs, two deft hands swept under her arms and pulled against her heavy breasts, squeezing hard.  She gave a yelp, the stack of wood clattering to the floor, as a pair of lips pressed wetly against her cheek.

	Hilda tried to twist out of her assailant’s grip but was held fast. The person behind her planted several more kisses on her cheek and neck as she struggled. Feeling a foot by her own, she brought her heel down against the toes. Hard.  There was a grunt of pain and she was free.

	Spinning around, she snatched the long wooden spoon from her hip and began to thrash against the head and upheld hands of her attacker.

	“How!” Thwack. “Many!” Thwack. “Times!” Thwack. “Do I have to tell you not to sneak up on me like that?!”  Each word was vividly punctuated by another blow.

	Laughing, the young man grabbed at her hand and wrestled the spoon from her grip.  Locked together, Hilda twisted and kicked out at his heel.  He fell to the ground and smacked his head against the wall.

	“Well?” she asked, huffing and puffing with her hands on her hips.

	Rubbing at the back of his head, the youth grinned up at her.

	“Miss me?”

	Hilda glowered at the boy for as long as she could hold it as she watched him struggle to his feet.  Then her expression dissolved into a wide smile and she threw her arms around his neck.

	“Yes!” she said, kissing him on the lips.

	He hugged her close and returned the kiss in kind.  The young man was tall and lithe, standing a good head higher than Hilda.  His soft brown hair was straight and well trimmed, contrasting starkly with her red curls. They held each other close for several long moments until a creaking from above caused Hilda to pull away.

	“We have to be quiet,” she whispered. “Father will be up soon.”

	“I wasn’t the one shouting and beating people with a spoon,” he said, grinning at the way she blushed. “Besides, I’m here to make sure the castle’s order of wheat gets filled on time.”

	Hilda tensed and spun around, bending over to gather up the fallen logs. “Johan,” she grumbled, “I don’t see so much as a hair on you for two weeks and then you only show up because it’s business?”

	Sighing, Johan walked to her side and helped to pick up the wood.  “They’ve been keeping me busy,” he said.
She shot him a nasty look and went back to work.

	“So busy you couldn’t slip out for one hour?”

	“Hilda,” something in the tone of his voice caused her to stop, “I had to beg to get this assignment. If I hadn’t… I might not have seen you until next winter.”

	The logs clattered to the ground once more.

	“Three hundred loaves.”

	“Hilda?”

	“Three hundred loaves. Wheat bread with nuts. Large.” She turned to Johan, tears welling in her eyes. “That’s traveling food. Rations.” The tears started to stream down her cheeks. “I-it’s war, isn’t it? They’re making you fight.”

	Johan gathered her up in his arms as Hilda sobbed into his shoulder.  She had been so proud of him when he earned that soldier’s tabard, but it had been the most frightening moment of her life. Johan Schuster was the son a shoemaker, but had hated the profession with a passion. But their homeland was not a wealthy one and their lord maintained only a small standing garrison. Competition for the right to wear the lord’s tabard war fierce, soldiering being the only realistically attainable replacement occupation someone of the lower class could achive, but Johan had made it. That little white tower with the flames coming off the top that rested on his chest meant he was a soldier. It meant respect, pay, and a future. And it meant he would one day, maybe, have to answer the call to arms.  Every night Hilda prayed and prayed that it would never happen, but now it was clear her pleading had fallen on deaf ears.

	“Hilda,” Johan whispered into her ear. “Hilda, it will be alright. Lord Maximilian hasn’t decided whether or not to call the battle march, we’re only being deployed as a show of force.”

	Even as he spoke Hilda was shaking her head.

	“They always say that and they always end up fighting anyway. Father lost his leg the last time and it almost killed him. Mother cried for weeks and caught pneumonia and died for real.”  She looked up into his sad eyes. “I don’t want that to happen to us. I don’t want that to happen to you.”

	“It won’t,” he whispered. “I promise.”

	There was another creak from above.

	“C’mon now,” said Johan, patting her on the back comfortingly. “There’s still two ovens that need lighting. I’ll take the one on the left.”

	Hilda nodded, rubbing at her eyes, as Johan guided her back to the log pile. They stooped to gather the logs yet again and started the lengthy process of lighting the ovens.

	For Hilda, it was good to work. It took her mind off her problems. At least, it usually did.  Today, that morning, each log she placed reminded her those times when she’d watch Johan splitting the pile outside for her father.  The smoke took her back the times they’d camp out back and watch the stars.  Each time she saw him crawl into the open oven she noted how much harder it was for him, how much he had grown.

	Their parents had been neighbors, the best of friends, and their children had known each other their entire lives. They had played as children, running down the streets naked after it rained.  She could still hear her father calling her back to put on a damn smock already. She couldn’t have been more than three or four, he four or five.  Taking turns choosing the game, they’d been soldiers and married and great warriors and elves in the woods and sailors and pastry chefs (Hilda always loved her father’s workplace) and dragon slayers.

	But one day Johan had grown into his trousers and his father’s old boots. One day he had put down the little wooden sword he used to swing at imaginary demons and picked up a metal one. And now he was planning on swinging it against people.

	It pained her to image the boy she grew up with that way, as a soldier and a killer.  Their innocent childhood games seemed so sinister now, as if every one of them had built Johan up to this moment.  Then she remembered those games where he was  a true hero, a tragic hero, dying to save the damsel in distress who would cry over his dead body and throw flower peddles over his grave.  Hilda had been that damsel, and now the play-mourning was as some sort of awful practice, as awful and prophetic as she could imagine.

	Thump, clack. Thump, clack.

	Hilda’s father had come down the stairs and the interruption had stemmed a fresh tide of her tears. She had expected him to rant and rave at Johan’s being there so early in the morning, alone with his daughter, but he had merely nodded at the young man’s presence and checked to make sure the ovens were properly lit.  Somehow, his casual acceptance, his implied understanding, made it all the worse.

		She watched her father move over to a work table, his foot and wooden leg thumping and clacking as he walked. Thump, clack. Thump, clack. Thump, clack.  He had been missing that leg ever since Hilda was a child and she was so used to it that Hilda forgot about it most of the time, but the sight of him at the table filled her with dread. As Johan took a spot next to him, seeing them standing there together, it looked like a picture of before and after.

	The tears returned, and Hilda ran up the stairs.

	Johan started to go after her, but a hand on his shoulder and a sad shake of her father’s head stopped him.
An image flashed across her mind as she threw herself onto the bed.  Once, when they were young, oh so young, she had wanted to practice kissing. Johan had asked, why?  So I can be good for the one I love, she had told him. And so he had named off half a dozen boys that lived on their street, each more of an oaf and buffoon than the last.  She hadn’t answered, but instead demanded he help her practice.  When he refused, complaining how gross kissing was, she had wrestled him to the ground and tied him up with lengths of string.  Her smile was biter as she recalled being strong enough to do that, to force him still so she could plant wet, loud, and sloppy kisses all over his face.  His reaction to her request had been so stupid, she had thought. How could he not realize? How could he be so stupid?  How, after all these years, had he not changed? Why did he never think?

	The morning went on as she cried into her pillow.  She awoke, hours later, to the sound of hail petering off her window.  As she slept the sky had darkened and everything outside was as wet as her pillow.  She could not tell what time it was.

	Hilda forced herself to her feet and ran down the stairs.  There, she found her father sweeping the kitchen silently.

	“Johan?” she asked.

	He shook his head, telling her the boy had left with the bread hours earlier. Johan had asked to stay longer, but his commander had ordered him on. With the oncoming weather, every hand was needed to cover the foodstuffs and prepare for departure the following morning.

	Hilda’s eyes begin to burn and she ran to the door, throwing it open. Her father called out and it took every ounce of her willpower to turn back.  He threw a heavy cloak into her hands.

	“Thank you,” she breathed before disappearing out into misty streets.

	Behind, in the bakery, her father closed the door gently. Then he walked to the storeroom and gathered up a hidden bottle of rum, he didn’t bother with a glass.  Thump, clack. Thump, clack. Thump, clack, he made his way to a chair and sat down heavy.

	He unstopped the bottle.

______________________________________________________________________
	The rain was cold, colder than spring had any right to be. A last gasp from the winter past, it fell over the little town and stayed there, as though tired from a long journey.  Wet and chilled to the bone and not caring in the slightest, Hilda ran through the streets towards the castle.

	She was stopped at the guardhouse, the men inside telling her to try the stables.  At the stables she was told to head to the main gate.  A man at the main gate led her to the barracks, but Johan was nowhere to be seen.  One soldier said he may be down by the bridge, helping to get the supplies loaded.  She ran back out into the misty cold, breath steaming in front of her face.

	Of course the bridge was empty, of course it was. But there was a light further down where the army had made camp.  Her pace slowed as Hilda’s stamina lagged, but onward she went.  A sentry called to her, demanding to know her business.  After listening to her plea, he sent her to the watch captain, who in turn sent her to the man in charge of the baggage train.

	“Come and gone,” he said. “Hours ago.”  Hilda turned to leave as he complemented her father’s bread.  “They’ll do a lot of good,” the man shouted at her retreating form.

	Back in town, Hilda wandered the streets like a lost lamb.  Though she had never been more than a few miles from the green in her entire life, suddenly nothing made sense and her way was lost.  The rain clouds had darkened the sky early, but now the street lamps were being lit as true dusk faded into night. None of the buildings with their little windows and warm lights looked familiar to her.  She did not even know if the wetness of her face came from the sky, or if she was still crying.

	Thunder crashed above her and the street was bright as day for a fraction of a second.  Hilda curled into her cloak with a shriek.

	Then she heard a voice, calling in the distance.  She looked up.

	“Hiiiiiildaaaaa!” it said.

	Her head swiveled, looking everywhere at once.  The cry came again.  Hilda glanced down the street and saw a hooded figure running towards her, a lantern bobbing up and down in his hand.

	“Hilda!”

	As the figure neared, he pulled off his hood and allowed her to see his face.

	“Johan!”

	She dashed to meet him, embracing together in the middle of the wind and rain swept streets.  Johan, a head taller than Hilda, had to lean down and forward to kiss her.  In the cold and wet of the night, his lips burned against hers, the sensation to press herself closer to him.  They held their embrace for several long moments until Johan eased her away.

	“You’re shivering,” he whispered.

	Hilda nodded and brushed at the wetness beneath her eyes.  Johan glanced up and down the street, at the light coming from windows. Shadows dancing behind the glass told him they had not gone unnoticed.

	“We should go somewhere private,” he said.  Again, Hilda nodded.

	Johan guided her down the way and behind an old building, where they found cover from the weather in a dilapidated old stable.  Neither really minded the musty smell or the feeling of being watched by rats and other small critters.  But it was still very cold, and they huddled together for warmth, and for other reasons.

	Squeezing Hilda’s shoulder, Johan tried to speak. “I’m so sorry, Hilda. I meant to come back, but with the rain, it took longer than-“

	Hilda kissed him, taking the words right out of his mouth. “No talking,” she whispered between mouthfuls. Johan was still for a moment, then felt Hilda’s hands slipping behind his back and pressed into her grip, kissing her back and holding her close.  Their hands searched beneath cloaks, enjoying the familiar lines and shapes of each other’s bodies.  Though they had known each other their entire lives, in recent years propriety had kept the intimacy they desired at arm’s reach.  Now, the act of exploring, finding how things had changed and how they had not, stirred them into a little frenzy.  Yet the moved slowly, savoring the moment and trying to make it last as long as possible.

	Johan’s hand gently eased from Hilda’s back to her chest, cupping her breast lightly. She flinched reflexively, then leaned in against his hand and pulled his mouth harder against hers. The feeling of his fingers probing into her and the taste of his lips made her feel closer to him than she had ever been before. They eased closer and she felt his leg ease between hers, rubbing tantalizingly against her inner thighs. Only her wet and weighty dress kept him from getting and further.

	Reluctantly, Hilda forced herself to push him gently away and her heart skipped a beat as Johan tried to press back into her embrace.

	“W-wait,” she said, faintly surprised how shaky her voice and breathing had become.  With her hands on his solid chest, she directed Johan to a flat spot mostly clear of mud then pulled off her cloak, spreading it over the ground. She took his hand in hers as she pulled him down alongside her.  Hilda let his strong arms ease her onto her back as he pressed his body to her side.  He took a moment to remove his own cloak and spread it over them like a blanket. So close were they, as he returned his hand to her breast and kissed the nape of her neck, that she felt their moist clothing clinging and tugging at each other as thought they two wanted the intimacy.

	“Kiss me,” she said, and he did, nibbling at her lower lip before licking at the one on top.  Hilda spread her mouth over his tongue and sucked at it gingerly, hesitantly sliding the tip of her own across it.  In return he forced it fully past her lips and wiped it across her teeth before using it to press her tongue further back into her mouth, forcing her to try and do the same to him.  She clutched at his shoulder and neck with a squeeze, her mind wandering and wondering at how different this had been to their first kiss, when she had tied him to the ground and forced her lips in amateurish style all across his face, leaving it slick and glistening in places.  His hand now eased down her side and gathered up her hip, stroking it affectionately.

	Hilda slid her own hand down his chest, admiring the muscles beneath. When she reached the buckle of his belt he bucked forward, grinding his groin against her thigh roughly and sending shivers down her spine.  He pulled at her hip and together they eased her around so she was facing him.  Again their lips locked and Hilda ran a hand through his thick brown hair as his hand roamed across her side and lower back, occasionally squeezing at her rump.  She could hardly fail to notice the way her kept pressing his pelvis against her, rubbing it in long, slow motions. Just as her fingers were beginning to probe downwards she felt his hand slide behind her and tug at the laces of her bodice with growing frenzy.

	Moaning impatiently, Hilda shimmied around onto her other side, giving him clear access to her back.  His fingers easily pulled apart the knots and split the bodice in twain.  She raised her arms and let him slide it over her head, the denser material chaffing against her breasts and making her realize for the first time how sensitive they had become.  Then Hilda gasped as Johan’s eased to her front, one sliding under her side and the other wrapping around the other as he tugged her close.  For a moment he simply held their bodies together and she was left to enjoy the strength of his embrace and the dull wash of his breath against the nape of her neck.  But soon his fingers began to twitch and she placed hers on top of them, gently pulling them up obligingly. One hand tugged down at the neck of her dress and the other slid underneath.  Hilda gasped as she felt his calloused yet achingly gentle and soft palm against her bare flesh for the first time in a very, very long time.  She was moist from the rain and growing slicker with sweat and his warm skin against hers was such a contrast that it took her breath away.  Keeping one hand above his probing arm, Hilda eased the other behind her to stroke it against the side of his face.

	Johan squeezed gently as he kissed her fingertips.  The press of his hand into her soft flesh caused a grateful sigh to pass her lips.  She pressed her back harder against his chest, desperate to feel his heat against her, and he reciprocated by once more grinding his hips, this time his groin pressing hard against the soft and yielding mass of her buttocks.  He continued to knead her breast, the rougher surfaces of his palm causing her to gasp and moan each time the waved across her hardening nipple.  Soon she found herself pushing his hand harder into her chest even as she mimicked the movements of Johan’s hips with her own.  Suddenly he pinched hard on her nipple, twisting it slightly and causing Hilda to squeak in surprise.  Again, more gently this time, he tweaked at her, now fully pulling down the front of her dress, exposing her bare chest and sliding a hand over her other breast.   The movements of his rolling hands reminder her of something and Hilda giggled, realizing how often she has seen him make those motions while kneading dough in her father’s bakery.  Thinking of her father spiked a shard of regret and shame into her heart.

	Hilda spun herself back around, catching Johan by surprise and nearly tearing the cloak from their bodies as she forced her lips to his and kissed him deeply. Her shaking hands fumbling at the buttons on his tunic and then he understood, helping her to open the cloth despite the lack of space between them.  Eventually they all but ripped the tunic open and she felt her breasts melt as they squished against his sterner chest and the intense heat radiating from his skin.  The beat of his heart pulsed against her and, though her muddled mind still knew it should not be possible, she could feel their hearts synchronize and beat in unison.  Her arms were around him and desperately pulling him close as she forced thoughts of her father and the war and the future and the past from her mind, replacing everything with Johan, the Johan here and now and the Johan she loved more than anything else in the world.

	She felt his hand return to her side and gather up a swath of her dress, easing it up her leg and thigh.  Hilda hugged him closer and kissed him with renewed passion as her legs were gradually exposed, the warm they were building beneath Johan’s cloak still allowing a blade of chill to pass over her flesh each time the wind billowed across them and sending goose pimples racing across her body. When his knee passed between her thighs and his upper leg gently slid against her all but exposed groin, even Hilda was surprised by the ferocity in which she pressed back against it.  Tension was building inside her like never before and she ground against Johan’s leg with a desperation born of a deep need to sate the tingly numbness that was spreading through her loins like wildfire.  Each inch of Johan’s warm leg that brushed across her enflamed the numbness to new heights and prompted her to redouble her attack.  Her panting and ragged breaths became so intense it was difficult for her to maintain her unbroken kiss with Johan.

	For the briefest instant his bare hand slid down to her rear and squeezed at her meaty buttock with nearly as much intensity as Hilda was feeling.  She yelped happily, but the moment passed and her heart skipped a beat as he pulled his face away from her lips. Hilda kissed blankly at the air, her face following him, but too slow to catch as he shimmied down.  Her hands started to pull at him, trying to drag him back up, but stopped as his lips first pressed against her neck, and again at her shoulder.  Carefully he rolled her onto her back and eased himself over her reclining form, slowly tracing his mouth lower and lower down her front.

	Then Johan’s lips pursed and gently kissed her breasts, one and then the other with slow deliberation.  Hilda shuddered as his lips surrounded her left nipple and suckled like a babe, but with growing strength and passion.  His tongue was gingerly probing and tracing the stiff protrusion, sending shivers all across her body.  Then his teeth slowly closed on top of her nipple, nibbling it as gently as he could manage, and Hilda let out a cry of pained pleasure, grabbing at his head and pulling it hard against her chest.  She felt his face sink into the silky flesh of her breast, tongue still wriggling gloriously, as his deft fingers probed at her side and hip and rear in wandering waves, guided by whim. One of his hands passed from under her buttock to her thigh and she unconsciously lifted her whole leg.  She curled it at the knee and started to tickle his back with her foot.

	Smiling conspiratorially, Johan kissed each breast once more, tweaking her nipples with his free hand affectionately, and went lower still.  Though her midsection was still covered in wet cloth, his lips traced a line of kisses down her best and belly, moving ever closer to her groin.  Just as he neared her hips he broke away, gathering up her bent leg and forcing her to extend it up into the air.  He licked her calf slowly, his whole head following the motion like a bathing cat. Hilda’s toes wriggled as his tongue tickled her, moving now up her inner thigh with tantalizing slowness.  Inching closer, ever closer, but never quite reaching the pulsing numbness between her legs, Johan was driving her mad with his nibbles and kisses and slick licks.  Just as he finally reached the joint and began to moved sideways over her sex, Hilda felt him breathe out deeply, blowing warm air across her exposed lips that cut through the chill like a knife.

		Her hands found his head and squeezed hard into his hair, but to her agonized delight he passed on by and planted several kisses against her other thigh.  Her pelvis gyrated impatiently, begging with silent lips for a deep kiss. She hated his teasing almost as much as she loved it. Hilda, eyes clenched tight, mouthed the words of the plea as well, but could not seem to summon the breath needed.  So lost was she in the sensation of his mouth against her skin that she did not realize he had stopped until his nose tickled against the little patch of curly red hairs above her sex.  Yelping in surprise, she bucked upwards, forcing her gooey labia against his half open mouth.  Johan pulled back for a fraction of a second, a strand of Hilda’s wetness still connecting the lips of his mouth with those between her legs, before he pressed back down with an aggressive growl that left her quivering and breathless.

	Johan kissed at her sex as he would her mouth, opening his lips wide and closing them slowly with a wet slurp, tongue slipping past and tracing the shape of her.  He gathered up her labia with his lips and squeezed them together as though biting her, then eased back and let the slick flesh ease out from between them. Hilda’s fingers tightened in his hair as he did it again, and again, alternating sides then going at one several times in a row, leaving her guessing and unprepared for each attack.  Then, without warning, he forced his mouth between her lips in another deep kiss and forced his tongue as far into her turgid flesh as it would go, lathering around in little circles as he went and squeezing her ample hips with his hands simultaneously.

	As Johan devoured her, Hilda moaned and squeezed and sighed under his attentions.  Many times before, as they had grown, they had seen each other’s naked bodies. In recent years, well past the wildness of their shared childhood, they had often stolen away to whisper in hushed tones as their lips pressed together in shy kisses, or to caress each other while no one watched. But always within reason, always briefly, and always clothed. But never, not even in their youth, had they ever done something so obscenely intimate as the moment they were now sharing. Exposing herself, having a man, even the one she cared for more than anyone else in the world, so close to her most private area filled her with both shame and a curiously intoxicating elation she could not hope to describe.  As she found herself pulling him closer and herself rocking rhythmically into his mouth, her mind filled with the glorious sense of liberating defilement, as if this baser self was always there and only now allowed free reign of her body and soul.

	Yet, as wondrous as the sensations were, a faint fear was building in the back of her mind. What if he doesn’t like the way I look down there?  Those moans, is he enjoying it? Oh no, what if he doesn’t like the taste? What if he hates it?  She bit her lip and gripped his hair tighter.

	When Johan pulled his face out from between her legs, she felt apt to cry.  He smiled at her kindly, deliberately wiping the juices from his mouth slowly.  “Delicious,” he said proudly. Gently he peeled her hands from his head and eased forward on his knees, guiding her down to his belt line.  He forced her hands to his groin as his own moved up to unstrap his belt.  Beneath her fingers, even through the thick fabric of his trousers, Hilda could feel him hardening.  She blushed, despite herself. Intellectually she knew what a man looked like naked. She had seen Johan when they were young, and had seen her father once when she was curious and he thought she was playing in the woods. Now, though, she was strangely embarrassed.  Johan had grown, grown considerably. Once she had thought of it as cute, endearing.  Only now did she realize how much he must have grown, and realized again that she had never seen a man erect, and again realized that she was… afraid.

	In the darkness of the old stable she looked up into Johan’s face.  The glow of their lantern provided just barely enough light to see.  She felt him stirring in her hand and saw the earnest need etched into his features, the way his hands shook and trembled as he freed himself of the heavy belt around his waist.  Then he looked down at Hilda and their eyes met. His hands paused at his waistline, suddenly unsure.

	Forcing an easy, confident smile she did not feel, Hilda nodded hesitantly.  Slowly, she placed her hands upon Johan’s and together they eased his trousers down.  His cloak had long since fallen past his shoulders and as his shaft was exposed so too did he shed his tunic.  The wind shifted and sprayed them with a gentle mist of rain.  Even in the gloom Hilda could see the bulk of Johan’s erect penis and gingerly caressed it with her fingertips.

	It seemed inordinately hot at her touch, twitching away each time her skin grazed against it.  Johan was looking embarrassed and longing and relieved that Hilda was there and he was there and embarrassed again that he was relieved.  His vulnerability touched Hilda more than she thought possible and she smiled reassuringly as she gathered him up in her hands, taking care to be both gentle and firm.

	As her hands passed up and down the shaft, coaxing it further awake, she closed her eyes and let her sensitive palms explore the unfamiliar shape and sensation.  His skin was warm and smooth and yielding, but underneath was a shaft of hardness totally foreign to her.  Probing deeper, she felt the veins, throbbing with a steady pulse, and the gentle ridges of his hardened member.  Her pace quickened as she worked and soon Johan was having as hard a time keeping his breathing steady as she had earlier.  His face grew even more pleading as he started to rock into her grip, rubbing his penis between her palms and spreading little droplets of a thick, sticky goo that was forming at the head of his shaft.  Perversely intrigued, Hilda firmly grasped his shaft and started to pump up and down.

	“H-harder,” Johan breathed, and Hilda obliged.

	Her guided her other hand down and under his erection and she recoiled, the pace of her pumping thrown off completely.  Johan moaned pleadingly and forced her hand back to the leathery skin hanging between his legs.  Almost as hot to the touch as the shaft she was once more rapidly sliding her hand up and down, Johan’s testicles, she suddenly remembered they were called, were roundish and covered in a sweaty little sack covered in curly hairs.

	Gingerly, she fondled Johan as he rocked into her closed fist.  Hilda tweaked his balls lightly and smiled inwardly at the way he flinched. His mouth was open and he seemed lost in a trance, but before she could do it again his eyes opened wide and his hand covered hers and suddenly she felt the little balls in her hand contract upwards. As her hand pumped, the yielding foreskin covering his shaft yielded more than it had before and a thick bulb seemed to pop out from the front.

	Johan’s member twitched and strained as he reached climax, spurting out long ribbons of white in all directions as Hilda continued to beat at him, too lost in the moment to be shocked into stillness.  Hot sprinkles rained down across her body, tingling against the cold sweat on her skin.  Hilda flinched as some arched towards her eye and struck the closed lid and her nose and lower lip.  Eventually the twitching in her hand stopped and she removed it, her fingers tracing the droplets that covered her face and chest.

	She could feel the thick liquid cool in the night air as they slid and trailed down her body, or remained strangely motionless where they were the thickest.  As she cleared her eye with one hand and traced little circles into the goo on one of her breasts, her tongue passed hesitantly out of her mouth.  Slowly, somehow more aware of Johan’s eyes on her than ever before, she licked at her lip, cleaning his seed from the skin.  The taste of him was… indescribable. It was full and weighty, but someone muted.  Her twirling finger rose and passed into her mouth before being licked clean and drawn back out through her pursed lips.  Still not knowing if she liked the taste or not, Hilda smiled up at Johan regardless.

	And then he fell on top of her.

	Johan touched her cheek as he kissed her deeply, his other hand briefly kneading at her breast before lowering to folds of her dress.  He pulled at the fabric, raising it to her hips, as she spread her legs, raising and wrapping them around his back.  The young soldier broke the kiss and whispered into her ear.

	“Hilda,” he said, “are you-“

	“Yes,” she whispered back. “Yes, yes, and a thousand times yes.”

	They kissed again, holding it this time, as he positioned his body between her legs. With their lips locked together his stance was awkward and he slipped, grinding his pelvis against hers.  She gasped as she felt the heat and hardness of his shaft slide over her labia and into her curly red pubic hairs, passing over her sensitive nub and sending a spasm of lightning up her spine.  Johan mumbled an apology as his hand gathered up his penis and righted the angle.

	He pressed forward and his now exposed head pushed aside her moist lips, but the approach was still off and it deflected against her nerve once more.  Hilda’s legs were shaking, and not from the cold, as he missed yet again, aiming too high. He pumped at his member, trying to remain rigid as he searched for her entrance. Another attempt went too low, grinding down between her buttocks and causing her to clench down to keep him accidentally entering her from behind.

	“Here,” she whispered, gently peeling his hand off the shaft and replacing it with her own delicate fingers.  Her thumb slid across his glans, now slick with her flowing juices.  She felt him flex and contract pleadingly as she guided him to the correct spot between her legs.  “Slowly,” Hilda cautioned.

	Johan nodded and eased forward with as much restraint as he could muster.  Even through the tingling heat and numbness she could feel him pressing against her, slipping past her labia so slowly she could picture the exact shape of his member as it eased ever inward.  Then his pace was halted and her whole body tensed, a spike of pain jarring her loins.  She clutched at his shoulder as he pulled back and bucked forward almost instantly.  The strain of his shaft against her virginal wall brought tears to her eyes, but she held her tongue.

	Gradually she began to give and then suddenly he was through.  Hilda yelped in pain as he speared deep inside of her, his shaft seeming to carry the tearing sensations far up into her belly.  Her legs, still wrapped around his back, squeezed down as she clenched against his member, so hard he passed further inside and could not pull out.

	“Wait,” she pleaded.  “Just wait.”

	Johan’s body tensed but he held his position, hardly daring to breathe.  “I’m sorry,” he said.  “D-did I hurt you?”

	She shook her head.  “Only a little.”  Hilda’s voice was strained as she spoke.  “Just don’t move for a awhile.”

	He nodded and focused on not moving.  Still, she could feel him twitch and throb inside of her.  His body was above hers and she could clearly feel the beat of his heart, his ragged attempts to control his breathing, against her chest.  To her, it felt as if his whole body was shuddering under a tremendous weight and she knew he was struggling his hardest to keep from hurting her.

	“Johan,” she whispered, biting her lip.

	“Y-yes?  Do you want to stop?”

	The offer was all she needed to hear.  Resolve gradually replaced fear and she took a deep breath, whispering into his ear, “Just go slowly.”

	After a second he seemed to realize what she had just said.  Her legs relaxed and she struggled to do the same for the rest of her body.  Now free to move, Johan carefully eased himself back, acutely aware of every flinch and shudder that wracked her body as he did so.  Once he had withdrawn nearly all the way out of her, he glanced down and saw the dark sheen of blood covering his member.  “Hilda,” he said with a pause.  “I-I’m going to start moving, okay?”

	Her eyes were closed and she merely nodded.

	Swallowing his own reservations and struggling to keep from giving in the part of him that wished for nothing more than to ravage her body with all his pent up fury.  Johan gulped, and pressed back into her, slowly and evenly.  Again she shuddered but, but told him to keep going.  Emboldened, he pulled back and eased in again, careful not to use his full length.

	For several minutes he worked with slow precision and she thanked him with all her soul.  Gradually the pain subsided as he moved with just enough speed to keep himself hard.  This, to Hilda, was so much more like the kind and gentle Johan she had fallen for before she even knew what love was.  Then, again, she remembered how special and fragile this moment was to them both.  Redoubling her resolve, Hilda began to martial her breathing into a deep and steady pace.

	As his hips pulled back with slow precision, she pulled in with her legs and thrust up with her pelvis.  His member slipped further into her than ever before and, even through the shudders, she told him to move faster.

	His rhythm gradually increased in tempo, passing just a little deeper and deeper with each thrust.  Soon the fading pain in Hilda’s loins disappeared almost completely. Replacing it was a closeness and slick friction that seemed to pass all the way across her body.  As the waves of pleasure washed to her face she clutched Johan closer and kissed him, hard, their tongues sparing frantically.  Joined at mouth and hips, their combined rhythm became almost cyclical, passing from his sex to hers to her head and back to his and around again.

	Coming closer and closer in synch, their bodies matched each other’s pace.  He pulled out as she slid back.  Johan pushed and she humped forward.  The moments passed without their knowledge and soon their bodies were striking with loud, wet thwacks.

	His pelvis met hers and then separated, returning almost instantly.  Hilda gasped as she realized how much she was enjoying this.  Where only minutes ago she was struggling to go on for Johan’s sake, now her hips were rocking on their own.  She abandoned her steady breathes and kissed Johan again and again, all over his face.  He laughed and kissed her neck. All but losing himself to the joy of being with Hilda, he was now humping with as much speed he thought she could take.

	Not nearly fast enough, as far as Hilda was concerned.

	Catching him off guard, she pushed him onto his side.  He rolled almost completely off the cloak, his back pressing into the cold mud of the floor as she straddled him.  She pressed her lips to his, turning the kiss into a bite against his lower lip.

	Her hand grasped his slick erection and guided it back between her labia.  Just as it touched that perfect spot she let herself fall down.  He passed into her and she hopped up again.  Johan grabbed at her hips to give himself leverage, then pumped up.  Bucking into her turgid flesh each time she forced her hips down, they met with a wet crash.

	Their mixed juiced lathered her inner thighs and his entire pelvis.  The building pace of their rutting sent droplets scattering over the nearby area.  Johan’s fingers dug sharply, wickedly into her well curved hips as he pulled himself up and up and up.  He pumped so quickly he forgot to breathe, just as her ragged gasped were interrupted by each rapid thrust.

	Hilda rocked as she straddled him.  Her hand found her heavy breasts and started to knead into them, imitating Johan’s earlier technique.  Crying out each time he pumped into her, she tweaked and twisted at her nipples.  The pleasing pain made her moan and pinch harder.

	Suddenly Johan bucked so hard upwards that she almost lost her balance.  Again he forced her all but off of him.  Her hands dropped to his shoulders as she steadied herself against the oncoming storm.  The young baker’s daughter could see Johan was just about losing himself in the pleasure of her frothing, tight lower embrace.  She kissed him, then nuzzled her breasts against his face.

	His lips found her nipple and he licked wildly.  The speed and strength of his humping increased further still.  Hilda too started to feel light headed.  She could no longer match his rhythm and struggled to simply remain in place.  He was moving so fast she could not tell when he was going in or out, but loved every second of it.

	Johan’s fingernails bit hard into her hips.  Hilda yelped, more surprised than hurt.  The heat from his throbbing member swelled and she cried out.  Her insides were suddenly awash with a boiling heat that shot deep into her belly.

	The boy, the man beneath her cried out her name as he came.  He had forced himself as far into her as he could go.  Johan held her tightly, spurting his hot semen into her again and again.  She was clenching against him so tight that not a drop escaped.

	After several, glorious moments, he was spent.  She felt his twitching cease as he slowly eased out of her.  Hilda held still as he eased to the ground.  Fluids began to pour out of her as soon as he was gone.  Her hand found her lips and she wriggled her fingers over her raw, tender flesh.  She held them to her face and could just make out a streak of red mixed in with the thick whiteness.

	Opening her mouth, she slid them inside, closing her lips around each digit.  One at a time, she licked them clean and eased them back out of her pursed lips.  She rolled the juices around over her tongue, somehow enjoying the coppery tang mixed with the indescribable taste of his seed.  She swallowed.

	Laying down beside her lover, Hilda realized he had fallen asleep.  Smiling at how much of a child he seemed now, she pulled their discarded cloaks over him and curled up at his side.  Her head rested against his shoulder and his arms eased around, pulling her close.  Even in sleep she knew he could feel her near him.

	Then, she too let weariness take its toll and slipped into a sweet, dreamless sleep.


	The cawing of a cock awoke her hours later as the first hint of rosy fingered dawn crept over the horizon.  As they slept, the storm had passed them by and it was a beautiful morning.

	Hilda’s arm groped for Johan, but found nothing.  Her eyes shot open with as a start as she clutched the cloak to her still bare chest, looking around in every direction at once.  Just as she was about to call out he appeared in the doorless doorway, dressed again in his now wrinkled tunic and trousers.  He smiled and held out a towel to her.

	“I brought you another dress, too,” he said while watching her dry herself.  The way he grinned at her wiping at her body under the cloak, suddenly shy, filled her with indignation.  As she finished wiping herself down, she balled up the towel and tossed it as his head.  He ducked aside and laughed, tossing her the folded dress.

	Feeling abnormally shy and blushing beet red, she ordered him to look away as she dressed.   When she saw him peeking she tossed her shoe at him.  Then she told him to fetch it for her as she hoped on one foot.

	He laughed and retrieved it for her.

	When he returned he took a knee and held it as she slid her foot inside.  Once it was laced he grabbed her leg, holding her fast.  He kissed her knee and inner thigh, then she struggled out of his grip.

	As he rose, she hit him in the chest.

	Then she kissed him.

	They held each other as the sun rose, the town crier calling in the distance.  She kissed him again and saw his look grow sullen.

	“I have to go,” he said.

	“I know,” she replied.

	“I’ll come back,” Johan told her. "I swear."

	“I’ll hold you to that, Johan Schuster,” Hilda whispered almost too softly for him to hear.

	“I love you, Hilda.”

	“And I you. Forever.”