by Ruth Davis Hays 2011
Their titillating meeting in the secret hiding space being interrupted by Sarrah calling for Lauralei, the two young, would-be lovers parted hastily. Lauralei disappeared out the small, wooden door to the hall stairs closet, much to ‘Khiall’s disappointment.
PART SIX — Congenial Contemplations
The small closet was suddenly quiet without her inside it. ‘Khiall sat back heavily, his body swirling with the new impressions that life had thrust upon him. The strange, aimless urges of this past week had integrated in a storm of contact with soft flesh. Reluctant to abandon these sensations which buzzed about his loins, he closed his eyes and imagined Lauralei’s warm, supple form was still against his, goading him on to a stronger frenzy.
Her image moved slowly against the blackness of his private suffering. Her eyes enticing him to caress her silken skin and made promises of remuneration. As his pulse tingled, the centralized draw curled towards his hips. Reaching down to examine the thickness pushing tight between his thighs, he felt the contact send a spark through him similar to her touch.
His head fell back against the beams of the cupboard, its chipped paint flaking off into his fine hair. With a soft moan, he brushed his fingers harder against his trouser front, imagining her hands there. The fabric was harsh against him, but he no longer cared. His breath becoming labored, his burgeoning affliction demanded extra consideration. Stretching out one leg, he bit into his lower lip as he thought of Lauralei’s round, creamy breast and his palm cupping the bare flesh of her hips.
A wonderful misery throbbed along his tense muscles. He felt the desperate constriction of his clothing and fumbled with the drawstrings. With a sweating pant, his groin cried out for more than just imaginings.
Barely hearing a pounding from without the closet that matched the rhythmic pulse in his ears, he was not aware of the determined steps of Solomen until his name was shouted only a few inches away from his hiding place. His boiling blood turned to ice.
Fearing that his own breath would give him away, he sat motionless, trying his best to quiet his nagging excitement.
“Khiall!” his stepfather shouted from the hall. “Where are you?”
He knew trouble would come if he kept Solomen waiting; so, banishing the last thoughts of Lauralei, he tried to silently scramble to the door. In an awkward panic, he tied his trouser front again only to discover, in horror, that his enthusiastic lower member was still in shrouded evidence. As Solomen’s legs came into view just outside the door, ‘Khiall saw them through the small slats and became desperate to rid himself of his incriminating impediment.
“Khiall! We have a foundered horse in the east meadows!” The patriarch bellowed before storming off down the hall mumbling loudly, “Where is that damned faerlin?”
Seeing this as his chance to escape the broom cupboard unseen, ‘Khiall hurriedly searched for how to diminish his erection. He felt his hand pricked by a straw of the broom that had repeatedly attacked him earlier. He quickly snatched out one of the hard reeds and rammed it under his thumbnail. Biting his lip and wincing with the pain as tears came to his eyes, he felt with satisfaction that it was working. His ardent stumbling block was dying. Sucking the blood from under his nail, he quietly opened the door to find his stepfather and muttered curses under his heated breath as he did.