Ach… she'd forgotten to hum the bees' song any time her lips were sealed while she did it and Oona had said that was really important! She closed her eyes and heard Oona and Cecily humming, and she realised they'd been covering for her all the time.
Hilde began humming along. She'd forgotten she was at her work, for her own body was singing to the moon.
Ruaridh was reluctant to leave her. He could put his own spend in her right this minute. The painting of the arch was behind her, and she looked as if she belonged in it somehow. Everything about choosing Hilde for this seemed right. He lifted her chin and gave her a kiss on the lips, just a wee peck in gratitude, and she hummed like a bee all the louder. He picked up her robe and helped her put it on before walking across to the arch.
Just as his brother reached his own star, Ruaridh's hands went over Sorcha's among the leaves and vines.
He had to do this from the back, and standing up, and bring her to bliss while her hands stretched out like sunrays to the arch. And Niall and Mirren were looking directly at him now, and he couldna see Hilde at all. He'd maybe be best just shutting his eyes and working by feel. But past his own empty star was his own bit of landscape with the village and the clansfolk that had made him think to choose Hilde. And next to it was the man's hands holding the babe with the one eagle feather, which yanked him back to the reason they were all here. This was for Niall and Sorcha. This was for the clan.
Sorcha's golden hair was all down her back so he moved it in handfuls over each of her shoulders to give him a clear run. She was a Tall Wife, right enough. With the two of them barefoot and touching, the top of her head reached his chin. She had blissed no' so long ago, and loudly too, so he had his work cut out. But he remembered Niall had no' touched her tits much so there was fresh scope to be had there. Kissing her neck or anywhere else would be out. Touching her should be alright, though.
Again he looked past Sorcha's head to the painting of the clansfolk needing her to bear a son. And he found himself looking at his two hands, and the oath cut on his palm, and he got to work.
Stroking, that was the way. In his mind he thought of the eagle feathers… three for the Chief, two for the chieftain and one for the new heir. And the MacKrannan feathers became Ruaridh's fingers slowly stroking Sorcha's hands in the vines… along her arms that would hold the bairns… across the shoulders that would comfort them… down the strong spine she'd need when her sons grew old enough to go into battle…
He stood confidant behind her, working his way over every inch of her body right down to her toes with his feather touch. And then he slid his hands round the front, under her golden locks, and cupped her mothering breasts. He heard a rustling noise, and saw the leaves of the arch being crushed. He fondled and kneaded her breasts long enough to hear her give a wee moan, and that's when he knew it was time.
Ruaridh worked her knees apart with his own, and rubbed his cockstand atween her nether cheeks till she squirmed. And he bent one of her legs up and moved into her, and turned slightly for a better joining, and started to thrust. He had a good grip of her, and still his two hands could reach her breasts.
This could no' be easy for her, having a second man invade her and a third yet to come. He kept thrusting hard, Pushing in the Spend and working her breasts till her head came onto his shoulder and he moved his fingers to her nipples, rolling them atween finger and thumb and rasping over them with his palms. When he felt her trembling he pulled her tighter against him and concentrated hard on working her to this second blissing.
He could feel her backside quivering with every thrust now, with a looseness about her that spoke of her time being near. His big hands took a stronger grasp on her breasts and worked her nipples harder. He quickened his rhythm, ramming in deep the Spend that must reach her womb and the bloodline, and she came apart with a wail. The goddess reached her bliss, and her clenching was enough to tip him over the limit.
Ruaridh pulled away and dropped to his knees. The goddess was gone from him forever, replaced by the vision of a Wisewoman's lusciousness when his seed flowed out of him onto the carved Horn of Plenty and among its fruits.
That same Wisewoman fetched a cloth from under her own star. It felt right to Ruaridh that the task of cleansing the spend from himself and the floor should be hers, a fitting end to what he'd asked her to begin. Hilde walked to the fire where the other two Wisewomen awaited her. And the bees' song was heard again as the cloth was placed on the burning log in the centre of the fire arch itself.
Niall came to the arch to be with Sorcha again, and put a hand on his brother's back in thanks. The brother kissed the Tall Wife lightly on the cheek and left them.
There was but one more part to enact of the Remedy for Wives Too Tall, and the Chamber of the Green Man was charged with its own sizzling enchantment.
As Ruaridh strode back to his star, he saw a changed wife. Mirren looked ill, with the greenness of bellyache about her. Speaking out would have her banished from the clan, for her whinings had been dealt with in the Vault and she'd still had the energy to make venomous assault on others here.
Ruaridh looked to Oona, directing her attention to Mirren and hoping this would no' sabotage the final bit of the remedy.
Oona was on the star beside Mirren's, purposely planned so she could keep an eye on the besom – and a restraining arm, if necessary. She'd been buffeted by the waves of harmful thoughts coming off Mirren since Ruaridh had taken his honey elsewhere, and knew that the greenness came as much from jealousy as from bellyache. Mirren had just watched her husband with two different women. Without care for the importance of the clan's Traditions, and having an active interest in the Heir's Cradle being empty, all Mirren could see was her own humiliation.
From under the cover of her own star, Oona chose a flagon from her array of supplies and encouraged Mirren to drink it all at once. The besom would no' be spoiling anything else for a wee while.
Oona now looked to Hector and bowed her head. She received in return a most respectful bow, and then an eyeful of his gigantic chest as he took off his shirt. A good man, that. Oona was champing at the bit to see if he'd need rousing, for the only fertile women left to do it now were Cecily and Mirren, and Mirren would fall asleep on the job.
Hector MacKrannan could have chosen not to need rousing. After seeing Hilde at her task, and realizing that the Wisewomen were eligible for this, he chose to be completely flaccid when his kilt followed his shirt onto the floor, a feat only managed by the discipline of his mind when he watched Sorcha full frontal being tupped by Ruaridh.
He lifted the cover from his star and picked up his pot of honey, leaving its lid behind.
The fertility energies coming from the Green Man behind Cecily had exhilarated her since the circle had been turned back in. The life forces fairly bounced off the walls now. At key moments she could see the major vortexes swirling around Sorcha at the arch, and a minor one at Hilde's rousing task.
Cecily had covertly watched Hector throughout, his star being opposite hers, and she could see how solemnly he took this Tradition. He'd stood throughout like a statue. Although she supposed that the Captain of the Queen's Bodyguard would be used to standing motionless for long periods of time, the events going on at the arch were hardly of the everyday variety.
His face had given nothing away during the two couplings. Anyone looking at him would think he was overseeing the royals at a game of croquet. But she'd seen his reaction to Ruaridh walking to Hilde, and that escalated when Hilde disrobed and performed the rousing task. His ears went back, and his eyes froze as if he'd stopped them in the midst of widening, and he stopped blinking altogether. An onlooker may have seen nothing much different about his face, because he'd arrested his reaction so quickly, but Cecily saw his initial amazement move into something else.
Either he had a notion for Hilde, which she'd never seen sign of, or he hadn't known the younger Wisewomen could do the rousings.
The trouble with the Sight was that
you never got to use it for your own good. None of the Wisewomen would even use their clairvoyant gifts on each other, for that would be just the same as using your own.
Motivation was everything. She had to let life bring her what she was meant to have. And right now life was bringing her Hector MacKrannan, walking naked towards her with a pot of honey, and she thought her thudding heartbeat would be heard throughout Scotland.
Cecily was supposed to be the face-reader around here, yet she felt like the inspected one as Hector came down from his great height onto one knee and held out the nectar. Her features would just have to arrange themselves without her conscious input for there was work to be done, and her flustered mind was scrambling to remember Oona's sequence of instructions and what Hilde had done to Ruaridh with such success.
A scoop of honey for his ingestion, that was it. He brought her dripping fingers to his mouth and sensuously licked them until she hummed the bees' song and bade him rise.
Take her robe off… was that next, or…
She pulled it up, and somehow got the sleeves into a fankle with her hair and the more she tugged the more the mess wouldn't budge.
Hector knew he should no' help her disrobe but what could a man do when the whole bumphle had stuck round her head? Body exposed, face hidden and arms high and powerless – it was much what awaited him at the arch, except this was Cecily in all her glory, succulent breasts jiggling at him while she struggled. Ahh… hell… even his imaginings had no' done her justice.
He found the Celtic knotwork of the garment's hem and yanked it as far as her waist to let him at her hair for disentangling. Her surprised face appeared briefly before he lifted the whole robe off her in a swipe of impatience. Her arms and chestnut locks came back down, and her eyes went straight to his cock… he followed her stare to find the rousing had already begun.
Hector folded the robe for her, and held her hand as she knelt down and tidied all her hair away. The thought of what she was about to do was enough to stir him further, and he fought it, for she must have the achievement for herself.
Cecily had been attuned to the greater energies around the chamber and the sparkling vortexes appearing. She was excited beyond bearing to be given the task of preparing the third phallus for its part in the remedy, and this was Hector… Hector!
All but Sorcha were watching. The positions of the stars meant that most would see exactly what she did, and the rest would see the final evidence of her abilities when Hector walked to the Tall Wife. But she felt the presence of others too… the ancients… the bloodline Hector was part of… the spirit of the Green Man... and inside her head she heard, Focus… Rouse him full…
She adjusted the pitch of her humming as she rested the phallus along her left hand and lathered it with honey. Already it lay past her palm onto her wrist and she could see a muscle in Hector's groin flex as she swirled the last of the nectar onto his seed sac. He was so tall that her mouth could hardly reach him, so he braced his legs astride until he felt her tongue lick at the ambrosia.
The bees' song came only from the other Wisewomen as Cecily lapped at the sac and the root to imbue the power. She felt Hector take her sticky right hand and bend to lick the fingers clean one by one, and her insides stirred in longing at the feel of his tongue working in perfect rhythm with her own.
The phallus had grown now. A sweep of her tongue from root to the heartshaped tip showed her the massive extent of it.
The tip… she must put honey on the tip when it emerged from its cocoon. The pot was already empty and her hands clean, but she knew where a little might be found.
Cecily needed both hands for this. She took hold of the rigid phallus hand-over-fist, finding it too thick for her fingers to meet her thumbs, and stroked its head against her cheek. She thought to look up as she did so, and there was Hector's loving gaze she'd dreamed of so often.
Rouse him full…
She took him into her mouth as best she could and used her tongue to wipe the last of the nectar. The vortex came down to whirl around them, and her mouth felt the pulsing urgency of his rousing. Her fists moved backwards and forwards, her tongue swirling around the tip, and she sucked and sucked until the vortex grew dazzling as the phallus approached its full power.
Focus… Now that her lips were sealed around the phallus she resumed her Wisewoman humming and felt the vibrations run its length and beyond. The workers' swarm came to rest on her head and she opened her eyes to find it nestled in Hector's hands, his fingers gathering her hair away and his thumbs lightly buzzing over her ears. And when the swarm took wing she knew it was time to release him. The third phallus was roused and Hector must go to the Tall Wife.
Hector was loathe to go when all he wanted was here. Soon, he promised her with his eyes… soon. He robed her quickly and kissed her full on the lips.
The walk to the arch was but a few of his long strides yet a lifetime was shed in its passing. His mind and body were still full of the bees' song and all three Wisewomen were humming again. The buzzing was so insistent in his groin that he must share it with the Tall Wife, for its purpose was her bliss.
Sorcha heard Hector's footfall and turned her head to find him towering over her. She was still dazed from two blisses and had only a short time of recovery between the last and the next. The chieftain's Spend lay deep within her. His brother's Pushing In had been most effective, for her clenchings were fierce with him also, and her legs were still trembling as Hector's hands came upon her own on the arch.
Hector did not seem inclined to caress her with Ruaridh's feather touch. He swept his big hands slowly down her arms, and her sides, and her nether cheeks before laying himself against her back and enfolding her in his giant arms. She could feel a hand steal up to a breast still hidden under her hair, and he palmed her there most expertly for an age, waiting until her back arched before moving to the other breast and continuing his work.
One arm around her waist was all he needed to hold her captive against his chest while his other hand stole lower. Sorcha knew what he was about to do, yet was still shocked into whimpering when his huge finger found her bud and began stroking her there. He must have felt the shaking run through her body, for his grip on her tightened so much that her feet left the floor, yet his adamant finger kept on with its incessant circling.
She could feel his manhood throbbing against much of her spine, but had no idea of its size until he slid down to let it move between her legs. She looked down to see the tip of it appear, and his hand move to press it against her while his hips stroked it along her wetness and over her bud, moving and moving and sending her wild enough to close her eyes and rest her head back under his chin. And still he kept on, imprisoning her against him and spreading her wetness everywhere.
Hector had found that surprise was usually the best way. Lying down would be easier but this would be manageable if he'd gauged their heights right. One last rub at her wee bud and then he let her go completely.
He took firm hold of her legs and spread them well apart, swinging her up and back to the level he needed, and put the tip of his cock inside her.
One thrust half his length was enough to impale her. He stood steady, holding her legs and waiting for her to get accustomed to the feel of him.
Sorcha could not believe that the scarily immense object inside her belonged to any one man… and yet there must be still more of it, for she could not feel anything else of him yet but for the hands holding her up. She looked beyond Niall to the painting of the goddess heavy with child and knew she must have all of this phallus. The arch that had held her now became a solid brace for her to push against as she straightened her elbows and jerked her body to meet his next thrust.
Hector saw that the Tall Wife knew what she wanted with this, and helped her to lock her ankles behind him. He was a bit deeper in her now, with two hands to spare as long as she managed to cling on by herself. One hand went back to her breast and played with the teat there, and the other went to her bu
d to continue its work. She would need this to take all of him. And he started up with his thrusting, setting the rhythm and feeling her relax to receive him as he moved deeper within her.
Every single movement brought such a stinging sensation that Sorcha was sure she was being ripped up the middle, yet she couldn't stop wanting more. This was her last chance. She rode the phallus in desperation, ignoring the pain and yearning for bliss.
Hector felt her tightness squeezing him so hard his balls began their ache for release. He needed to take control of this again, and the Tall Wife was no' helping one bit.
He pulled out completely, freeing her legs and setting her feet down on the carvings. The Tall Wife could grit her teeth and moan all she liked. He had a job to do here.
This time he parted his own legs wider to straddle hers, put his hands on her shoulders, bent his knees and fed her his length. And he stilled, not thrusting, just rocking into her gently again and again until she had all of him. Her moan was more of a gasp now, and the breath left her when his ballocks finally hit home. And he nudged her more with his phallus, letting her settle around him and feel what was there.
And she could forget having his hands back on her breast and bud, for it roused him too much and he was no' here to enjoy himself. He must focus on Pushing In the Spend with everything he had, and her bliss must come from that alone.
The Tall Wife had laid her head back onto his chest again, her cheek lying flat on his own nipple which rose to the occasion. That was stopping right now. He reached under her outstretched arms and pointed her chin firmly at the chieftain.
And he fixed his own gaze on the space between the chieftain and the Bard, beyond his own empty star where his kilt lay, and onto the painting of the ripe goddess about to fill the Heir's Cradle. He took a good grip of the arch for a bit of leverage, and started moving. Spreadeagled they were, and it was no' the comfiest position he'd ever tupped in, but he knew this to be the right way. Finding purchase for his feet among the floor carvings, he moved from thrusting to pummelling, long strokes from nearly out to full deep, battering her backside with his groin and feeling his ballocks slap against her. And he kept ramming into her so hard that the arch shook. Leaves started coming loose, and with every thrust more fell amongst his hair and stuck green to his sweating back as the Spend was Pushed and Pushed and Pushed to its home.
The Chieftain Needs an Heir - a Highland ménage novella (Clan MacKrannan's Secret Traditions) Page 7
