by Jean Johnson
She twitched a little in his grip as he trailed his fingers up the outer edge of her arm. “That tickles!”
“Shh,” he soothed. “I know. It should tickle, because it feels good, doesn’t it?”
“. . . Yes.”
“Good.” Sliding his hands down her arm, he released it. “That is as far as I can touch you . . . but if you want to continue . . . I can tell you how to explore yourself. If you want to.”
EIGHT
Tava mulled over his offer. It was dark enough that even with her eyes shifted somewhat owlish, she couldn’t see much inside the trader wagon. She could see Kodan, but mostly as a shadow along the side of the wagon. Plus the parts she had been exploring were both below the ledge of the window opening, and covered by her nightdress.
She hadn’t had any luck touching herself on her own. It just felt weird, and wrong, and . . . well, somewhere between daring and naughty, with a dash of wrongness sprinkled with embarrassment. Those were parts of her body she had only ever associated with things that made a mess, and men causing it pain. And yet Kodan sounds so sure of himself that there is pleasure to be found . . . and he has been right about other things. So far.
Her curiosity, mixed with the privacy of the night, prompted her to speak before she was quite aware she had made up her mind. “I want. Um . . . yes. If you think it’ll work.”
Kodan closed his eyes, both relieved and yet nervous at her capitulation. By the letter of Shifterai law . . . this was allowable . . . but not generally considered within its spirit. Stepping closer, wedging himself between the wheel and the front of the wagon, he did his best to meld with the shadows, in case anyone glanced their way.
“Right . . . Sit on your knees and your heels,” he directed softly, watching as she withdrew her head and arm from the window opening. “Now, using the same pressure I just used . . . caress the pads of your fingers from the back of your hand up to your elbow. Turn your arm over . . . and trail your fingertips lightly up the soft skin of the underside, all the way up through your palm to your fingers on that hand. Um . . . how does that feel?”
“It tickles,” she whispered back, complying. “But . . . I like it. Except it makes my arm feel restless. Is that normal?”
“Yes. Now switch hands and stroke the other one, back and forth, slowly.” He couldn’t see her anymore, but his ears shifted of their own volition, straining to hear the faint whispering of her fingertips over her skin.
“It doesn’t feel quite the same as when you did it,” Tava observed, enjoying the soothing yet somewhat enervating touches she was giving herself. “It’s still enjoyable, but . . .”
“This is the closest I can be, and still respect you,” Kodan reminded her. This was also a very advanced stage of courtship, but she was curious about pleasure. Having read too much of her mother’s book, he wanted to erase her fears. “Just . . . imagine that I’m the one touching you.”
His words allayed some of her inner fears. Relaxing a little, Tava stroked her arms a few more times, then whispered, “. . . Now what? I feel like my skin is twisting, like a grass-log.”
Kodan closed his eyes, remembering how his fingers had stroked the bundled straws. “Now . . . you stroke your upper arms, up over your shoulders, along your throat, and up to your cheeks. You can use your fingertips or the backs of your nails.”
“Which would you use?” Tava asked.
She is going to be the death of me. He shifted a little closer, trapping his manhood against the frame of the wagon before it could thicken further. “My fingers up until your throat, and then the backs of my knuckles, with a soft caress of my nails. And then . . . I would cup your cheeks. Tell me . . . how soft is your skin?”
He needed to know. Kodan didn’t question why. The painted wood of the wagon lay beneath his own palms, but as she spoke, he imagined the texture of her flesh instead.
“It’s warm,” Tava admitted, running her fingertips up along the requested path. “The air is cold, so I have a few goose-prickles, but . . . it’s warm and smooth, and my cheeks have a very faint, soft fuzz, like the skin of a ripe peach. Only it’s softer than that, with more give. It’s nicer to touch than my nightdress.”
“Good . . . Run your fingers up into your hair. How soft is it?” he asked her.
“Very soft,” she reported, raking her fingers slowly over her scalp. “Father always compared it to rabbit fur. Plain brown, but very soft. I didn’t braid it, since the night is cold and there’s no brazier in the wagon, so it covers my neck and shoulders. I can even feel it keeping most of my back warm, or at least warmer.”
“I would keep you warm.” As soon as the words breathed free, Kodan bit his lip. I am not courting her for real . . . aren’t I? Dragging his attention back to their lesson, he continued in a murmur, “You have lovely hair. Since it’s loose . . . pull some of it down over your front, and stroke it there. Follow the strands down the front of your body, through every curve of each lock.”
Raking her hair forward, Tava did as he told her. She didn’t have particularly thick hair, and it needed washing, but she had brushed it as best she could, and it was soft and long. A soft gasp escaped her when she trailed her fingers over the tips of her breasts. “Oh!”
“Tell me,” Kodan urged, half murmuring, half whispering. “What did you touch? What did you feel?”
“My . . . my hands slid down over my, um, my breasts. And when I got to their tips, I felt . . . twisted, inside. Bound up with something. It felt good,” she confessed, and stroked down over her chest again, wanting to feel it again. “Is this . . . desire?”
“It’s arousal,” he corrected, wishing he could show her the difference in person. “Arousal is contained within oneself. Desire lies within, but it also extends to the other person. You want to give them these feelings.”
Her hands paused. “Do you feel desire? For me?”
He didn’t want to alarm her, but he didn’t want to lie, either. “Yes . . . but I will stay out here. You are safe from me. I promise you that. Now . . . unfold your legs, and place your hands on your calves.”
Puzzled by the odd request, Tava complied anyway, shifting so that she was sitting on her backside instead of her heels. She had to rearrange the skirt of her nightdress, hiking up the hem a little, but managed. “Alright . . . my hands are on my calves. Now what?”
“Rub them, again using a light touch. Rub them in circles that get a little longer with each stroke,” Kodan directed her, “until you are cupping your ankles, and tickling the backs of your knees. How does that feel?”
“Nice . . . but the twisting isn’t quite as strong as before,” she confessed.
“That’s alright. Arousal doesn’t have to happen all at once,” Kodan told her. “Slide your fingertips onto the tops of your feet, and stroke them as you did your hands, and your cheeks.”
“Oh! Oh, that feels good. Ticklish, but good.” Unbidden, Tava switched to dragging the pads of her fingers up her shins. “I’m touching my shins now. It, um, just felt right . . . and it does feel good.”
Good, she’s taking initiative. Now, if I can just keep my mind on what she needs to do, rather than on what she is doing . . . Father Sky, preserve me if I go mad. “Circle your fingernails very lightly around your knees,” Kodan ordered. “Then stroke just a finger length up along the tops of your thighs, but no more than that from your knees, and stroke back down again.”
Doing as she was bid, Tava felt . . . disappointed. “Why only up so far, and no more? It was just starting to feel good up there!”
“Shhh,” Kodan soothed, resting his cheek against the painted wood forming the corner of the wagon. “This is called teasing. It builds arousal more strongly than going straight to one’s goal . . . and as you are trying to touch yourself as I would touch you . . . you may stroke back up onto your thighs, but only as high as two finger lengths. No higher than that, Tava . . . because that is what I would do to arouse you.”
Yes, it has definitely been too lon
g since I last visited an earth-priestess . . . His ears, now elongated and pointed, strained to hear the whispers of skin on skin. His nostrils widened as he inhaled, seeking every scrap of scent he could smell from her, though the wind wasn’t entirely in his favor in this position.
What he did smell, listening to her fingers trailing up and down her legs, was his own musk, and he carefully shifted his groin away from the edge of the wagon. The last thing he wanted was to leave the scent of his own arousal all over the vehicle. Which means . . . dammit . . . I can’t do anything about my own needs until I’m well away from this thing ... The wind shifted slightly, curling a wisp of feminine musk his way. His instructions were having an effect on the woman in the wagon, stiffening his aching flesh a little more.
“I want to touch more,” Tava muttered, switching from fingers to palms and back, trying to evoke more of the shivery-twisty feelings inside her muscles. “Tell me where to touch. Where you would touch.”
The Gods have a sense of humor, I see. Smiling wryly, Kodan pictured where her hands should go next. “If you are cold . . . pull the blankets up over your legs. But also pull up the hem of your nightdress. Bunch it around your waist—and try not to touch your flesh in anything but the lightest caress.”
Squirming in place, Tava did as he suggested. “Done.”
“Slip your hands under the hem of your nightdress and caress your stomach,” Kodan directed her, listening to the soft rustle of linen inside the wagon. “Now . . . lie back on your pallet and slide your hands up to cup your breasts, pushing them up. Imagine they are my hands and that I am holding your flesh as gently as a newborn duckling, cupping and stroking them from the base to the tip as lightly as you would pet such soft, downy feathers.”
Lying back, Tava paused long enough to tug her old, feather-stuffed pillow under her head, then placed her hands on her stomach. Sliding them up, she imagined they were Kodan’s hands, sun-browned and warm. For a moment, she felt a little panicked at the thought of a man grabbing her there . . . but they were her hands, and the words he used said that, even if they were his hands, he would handle her flesh gently, not roughly.
He is trustworthy—isn’t he outside right now, knowing that he could easily climb in through this window? Yet he stays outside, even though I’m very vulnerable . . . The edge of her thumbnail scraped lightly against one nipple as she stroked her breasts. Her breath caught, triggering his quiet murmur.
“What do you feel?” Kodan asked, clinging to the corner of the wagon with his palms, chest, and cheek at the sound of her faint gasp. “What did you do?”
“My thumbnail . . . against the tip . . .”
He bit his lower lip again, stifling the urge to groan. “Again,” he hissed. “Scrape it again, very lightly.”
Already puckered from the cold night air, her nipple tightened further. Tava felt an urge to moan, but she wasn’t sure how close any of the others might be. There were others out there, men patrolling the edges of the camp to keep it safe from whatever dangers lurked among the grasses of the prairie. But this man was close at hand, and it was his hands she trusted, his hands that her mind substituted for her own.
“It feels,” Tava whispered, flicking and rubbing first one peak, then the other. “So good . . .”
I am going mad, a calm, quiet corner of his mind observed. Right cheek pressed to the corner of the wagon, Kodan brought his left hand to his mouth, biting his knuckle. The window was an arm’s length away, open and waiting. He didn’t move, save to release his finger and murmur his next instruction.
“With your left hand . . . pluck at your nipple. With your right hand . . . slide it very, very lightly down your belly. Down under the covers,” he directed her. “Follow your flesh until you touch your nether-curls—remove any obstacles in your way. If it were my hand, I would not let any scrap of cloth get in my way . . . but I would touch lightly, so very lightly—yesss!” he hissed, hearing her gasp, and feeling the slight jiggle of the wagon as her sudden tensing shifted it. He didn’t have to be inside the wagon to know how her back had arched, how her muscles had tensed. “Pinch your nipple! Curl up your hips until your fingers can slide down between your thighs, right into the warmth of your nether-lips!”
His voice had started to rise. Kodan bit his knuckle again, silently admonishing himself to keep quiet. Mindful of the shifters assigned to the midnight patrol, he quickly glanced around, but no one seemed to be near. If they hadn’t erected the geome for most of the rest to sleep in, the two of them would never have been free to do this. But the others were asleep or padding on four feet at the far edges of the encampment. They were alone, for the moment.
Taking his knuckle away, flesh aching from the divots left by his teeth, he asked, “Are you wet?”
The moisture seeping out of her opening surprised her. It was hot and somewhat thick, and very musky, not at all the flowery scent one expected from a more normal sort of nectar. “Yes—yes, I’m wet!”
Again, he bit his knuckle, then forced his hand down. Kodan meant only to free his mouth so that he could speak, so that he could direct her how to touch herself, but his fingers wrapped around his erection. It was pure instinct, and the moment he did so, he could feel his own moisture welling up and seeping from the tip. “So am I . . .”
It took Tava a few moments, fingers gently probing her wetness, to realize what he meant. “You . . . are wet?”
Blinking, Kodan stilled the subtle movement of his fingers and gathered his wits. “Uh . . . yes. When a man is . . . very aroused . . . the tip of him weeps its own nectar. Both are, um . . . meant to lubricate the blissful joining of . . . of a man and a woman, to ensure that both of them enjoy it—slide your finger around your middle opening. Gather the moisture, and bring it up to that bump near the top,” he directed her. “Rub it gently into your skin up there.”
“It’s already wet up there,” Tava murmured, exploring the folds. The twisting shock that speared through her body surprised her. “Oh! Ohhh . . . oh . . . that feels so good! Why didn’t it feel like this before?”
“You, mmm, weren’t aroused before,” Kodan muttered, resting his forehead against his right wrist. He really shouldn’t stroke himself, or let anything more seep from his flesh. The others would smell it if he went any further. Carefully wrapping his fingers around the base of his shaft, he slowly squeezed, focusing more on the compressive pain than on the pleasure of his own touch. “Interest isn’t automatically there. Sometimes it arrives on its own, but most of the time . . . it has to be awakened. In both men and women. For a man . . . it’s often a sight or a smell. For a woman . . . it’s often a sound or a touch. Sometimes it’s the other way around . . . and sometimes . . . sometimes it’s a taste that arouses the flesh.”
“A taste?” she asked, eyes widening, though there wasn’t anything worth seeing beyond the cloud-scattered sky beyond the half-open shutters.
“Yesss,” he hissed, tightening his grip on himself. It wasn’t helping. I’ll have to catch it all and scrub my hands in the water, if I go through with this . . . Mother Earth, I don’t think I could walk, let alone walk away right now . . .
Giving in, Kodan shifted his position so that his weight was propped up on his right shoulder. Wrapping his right hand around his flesh, he lengthened the webbing between the fingers of his left hand, cupping the tip of his shaft. The scent of her musk wafted out of the wagon, swirling and mingling with his in the slow night wind. It was too heady a combination to resist.
“Kodan?” Tava asked, feeling his weight shifting against the wagon.
“Taste yourself,” he urged, stroking his own flesh with a slow, firm pressure. “Dip your finger into your opening, then bring it up to your mouth, and . . . lick . . . ohhh . . .”
“Kodan? Are you . . . You’re not coming in here, are you?” Tava asked quickly, unnerved by his soft moan and the hints of male musk she could smell.
“No! No . . . I’m staying out here, I promise,” he muttered, struggling to keep
his voice barely audible. “I respect you. I desire you . . . but I respect you, and I will stay out here. Lick your fingers, and circle them around your nub. Dip them down into your nectar and stroke all around, but especially that little bump. That’s what I would do to you,” he promised, “if you were my wife. But for now, you can do it to yourself as much as you like . . .”
It almost felt like his fingers were touching her, circling her flesh. She stroked them lightly at first, then with more pressure. “Kodan . . . ohh . . . it feels . . .”
“Flick!” he ordered. “Hard and fast!” He switched from his slow stroking to a faster, firmer pumping, pausing only to dampen his fingers and palm with a few quick licks of his tongue. Her gasp and the faint tremor of the wagon told him she was shuddering under his suggested caress. His own muscles trembled in sympathy, and he followed his own instructions. “Faster . . . faster . . .”
“Kodan!” Trying not to be loud, Tava choked on his name. The rapid strokes of her fingertips had twisted up her insides until they flashed with heat, making her feel as if she were on fire. Her left hand, tucked up under her nightdress and half forgotten, clutched at her left breast, augmenting her pleasure with the squeezing pressure. Her hips bucked, and her finger dipped lower than the stiff, damp nub of flesh giving her so much pleasure. The tip of it dipped into her body, and that felt good, enough that she pressed deeper of her own volition, and shuddered with a deeper, hungrier bliss.
A moment later, dazed and falling back down through her bliss, she heard him groaning, too. She felt the wagon shudder slightly in time with his half-choked gasps. Panting, she slowly relaxed, feeling very tired and yet very—even astonishingly—happy with herself. With what had just happened. She could feel her cheeks aching and realized she was smiling. Pleased, Tava slipped her fingers free of her flesh and brought them back up to her lips. The scent of her nectar was salty-sweet and musky, as was its taste.
