the freedom she had been enjoying felt like a painful pinch. If she called Jasper would he come? Could she go back for a shower and a latte and return for the sex? Was it all or nothing?
She slid from the bed and more sticky fluids trickled down the inside of her thigh, reminding her of last night’s tumble. She unlatched a shutter and pushed it out. No clock. She looked to the east and saw the lighter glow over the tops of the trees and knew it was time to get up. Day started early here. It ended early, too, though, she reminded herself. She stirred the embers of the fire and looked in the basket for the last loaf of bread. She did not know what Maggie had been feeding him for breakfast. She hoped thick slices of toast and fresh butter would be enough. Her heart sank. She knew it was not. That muscle had to be fed and he had a long day of work ahead of him. No office cubicle and thirty minute commute for him. This man worked hard. Twelve hours six days a week. He needed more than a slice of toast.
She sighed and peeked in every crock, looking for a clue. The sharp trill of a rooster made her jump, but Jack’s snore told her the sound had not even registered. Eggs. She got up and slipped her dress over her head. It was chilly outside, though it was summer. She paused long enough to tie her shoes on her feet and grabbed a basket. This was not like running down to the all night market. The air was crisp and had that new day freshness to it. The birds were not awake yet, except that rooster, and the silence was as refreshing as the air. No traffic rumble or lawnmowers or leaf blowers to mar the morning. She pushed open the barn doors and looked for chickens. Good call. They were lined up in the straw, ladies on their nests and they only blinked at her with round bird eyes when she snaked her hand under each warm bird butt for the smooth egg that lay under each hen.
“Thank you, ladies” she said to them.
They trilled softly at her. She wondered if he fed them, or if she was supposed to. She took the basket back to the cottage and set it on the table. Another snore from the bed. He would be up soon. She wondered if she normally woke him and if he relied on her to get him up. She chewed her lip. This was a big day. Better do it.
She padded over to the bed and leaned over him. His cock was standing, tenting the blanket over his hips. She lifted the edge of the cloth to see it in the dim light. Very nice. She never had the angle to look at it for more than a few seconds when it was engaged in entering her. She remembered the evening when she and Torgal watched this cock deflower Maggs. Was it her? Victoria? It was. She had slid into Maggie’s body that night. She was Maggie. A different body, but it was still her. Mine. She reached out and grasped the cock gently.
He jumped and covered her hand with his own for a moment before he was fully awake, then he laughed.
“Did you not get enough last night?” he asked.
“I was about to ask the same thing,” she nodded toward their two hands around his erection.
“Never.” He took her arms and pulled her on top of him, rolled her over deftly and inserted the cock inside her so fast she was still blinking. “It is always ready for you, Maggs.”
He closed his eyes and pumped. She was too surprised to respond. It felt good, like a massage feels good. Having him so close felt better, and seeing his love for her in his eyes was best of all. He came with many little spurts this time, rather than big gushes and quickly dismounted, bending over the bed with a little grimace. “Not a good idea to do that before I’ve pissed.” His face twisted in mock agony, and he limped out the door, naked.
Victoria laughed. While he was gone she explored the fireplace looking for a way to cook those eggs. She found a cast iron pan and the crock of butter. He was getting them fried today whether he liked it or not. She opened