The two women were no older than twenty-five, or so Berinda guessed, as she
watched them from her hiding-place among the trees. The small glade where they
met for their weekly tryst lay near the edge of the forest, not far from a half-forgotten trail, and its location had been a secret for many months. A secret
known only to these two furtive lovers, until Berinda discovered it.
She knew both women slightly, having briefly worked alongside them at
harvest time, but only in recent weeks had she learned of their secret meetings
in the woodland glade. There, upon the green grass in the sunshine, they met
each week, at the third hour after noon. In a silence broken only by the
rustling of leaves and the buzzing of honeybees they made passionate love,
breathlessly enjoying each other's gentle caresses until the sun went down on
the western plain.
Berinda knew their names: Cathkin of the River Ridge and Lily of the
Stoneland. She knew also the names of their husbands.
What price, she wondered, would these women pay to ensure the preservation of
their secret?
She wondered, too, what their husbands would do if they ever discovered the
truth. Berinda knew what her own husband would do if he caught her indulging in such pleasures: nothing at all, for he no
longer kept any affection for her and had little interest in her life. After
six years of marriage their relationship had crumbled, although Berinda still
had to yield her body to his drunken passion every Saturday night. She
detested him, and he despised her, calling her a barren witch. He often cursed her
childlessness but still leered at her voluptuous form whenever she bathed. Her
long black hair, reaching down to her buttocks, still fascinated him, as did her
narrow waist and sumptuous breasts. But Berinda no longer found him attractive
in any way, nor indeed did she feel attraction to any man. Her preferences were
shifting in a different direction, as she neared her thirtieth year, and she now
liked to imagine herself sharing her bed with a beautiful woman.
Cathkin and Lily were certainly beautiful. Their lithe, suntanned bodies stirred
Berinda's desires. She loved to see their blonde hair catching the sunlight in the glade, or their blue eyes shining as they whispered their secret love.
Every week, for the past two months, Berinda had followed them furtively to the
forest, creeping behind them as they made their way to their trysting-place,
watching as they slowly undressed. Seeing them kiss and caress in a
gasping embrace made her so envious that she almost wept with self-pity, wishing desperately that she could share the same delight. For
Cathkin and Lily always laughed whenever they kissed. They expressed their affection
with boundless joy, like a couple of golden-haired forest sprites, giggling
excitedly as they held each other close.
Berinda longed to make her hidden presence known to them, to enter their special
glade with an honest heart, to admit that she enjoyed spying on their
lovemaking. Perhaps they might invite her to join them? Perhaps they might kiss
her breasts and stroke her feminine parts in the way they kissed and stroked
one another? Or perhaps they might become angry, running away in shame and fear,
tearfully begging the unwelcome intruder to keep their secret safe?
For the moment, however, she remained content to merely observe them. The
sight of their slender naked bodies writhing on the grass gave her such a thrill
that she always masturbated while watching them. There she would crouch, as silent
as a fox among the green leaves, with a hand beneath her skirt, coaxing her
moist slit to a quiet orgasm. Then, as her climax subsided, she would
crawl swiftly away through the undergrowth until she reached the path.
For how many weeks could she endure such furtive self-pleasure, such
exquisite temptation, in secretive silence? How long must she wait before her
courage grew strong enough to reveal herself to Cathkin and Lily? To these
questions she had no answer, even though the words tormented her each
week as she trod the lonely path back to her village. She knew she was not yet brave
enough to show herself. One day, perhaps, the courage would suddenly come. Until
then, she could only watch and wait, before going home alone and frustrated, with
teardrops stinging her eyes as she walked through the bright woodlands.
THE END
Copyright © Karen Sacoma 2005
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