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After Cecile walked the rest of her way home from her rendezvous with Cesar, it was almost twilight. She entered her home quickly and quietly. Her delay in returning home from the market was long, but not out of the ordinary. The feeling of Cesar’s touch was so fresh on her body and the taste of him still lingered in her mouth. She stepped softly, careful to avoid drawing her husband’s attention. Auguste was a tailor and a merchant and spent a lot of his time working, examining fabrics or making alterations in the workshop he kept in their home. She walked lightly to the basin in the back of the house and began washing herself, pulling down her dress until it barely covered her nipples and splashing water over her chest and armpits before cleansing her face.
Despite their material comfort, Auguste was obsessed with expanding the sales both of cloth he brought in from the port cities and the clothing he made with it. Cecile’s actions were hardly his main concern. As long as she was not obvious, he would not notice, although recently she had begun to wonder if his ignorance was deliberate.
She had married him in part for stability. She came from a family of little means and knew that by marrying Auguste, she would ensure some security for her future children. Nevertheless, she did find him handsome, and while he was still pursuing her, he was downright charming. He would surprise her with flowers or poems. His body was stout then as it was now, but back then it was muscular too, and she loved feeling his biceps when he embraced her. These days, if she thought hard about it, she believed that all those endeavors were means to an end, tasks Auguste felt he had to complete to secure her hand in marriage. Once she was wed to him, he did little to express his love. He was concerned with the family’s wealth and their son’s health, but seemed to think little about their happiness.
By this point, Cecile had adopted a similar attitude towards him. She he would not fulfill, so she sought fulfillment elsewhere. Her first reaction to his inattention was to begin raising chickens and selling their eggs at the Saturday market in the next town to the east. Aside from raising her son, this kept her occupied and helped her feel she contributed something to the family income. There was an itch this activity could not scratch though. When she sold the eggs at the market, she found herself gazing at the young men who attended.
She was a demure woman and would reply to any advances by stating she was married, but later she would stare off and daydream. She imagined a man ripping his shirt off before pulling her body against his, tearing her clothing off as hungrily as he had his own, running his calloused hands over her breasts.
There was one man in particular. His name was Jean. He was barely taller than Cecile, but his torso was broad, and his shock of brown hair looked thick yet soft. His eyes were a striking blue. Cecile imagined them staring up at her while his mouth covered her vulva, the heat of his breath radiating over her. His tongue would lap slowly at first, from bottom to top, caressing her pussy with his mouth while his hands caressed her hips and her thighs. She imagined how she would lose herself in the gentle rhythm of his touches. She would find herself sitting at the market, floating in her fantasies, excited by how wet she was getting in such a public space.
When business was slow, she would let her daydreams envelope her further. She stared off and thought about the pressure of his face against her pussy. His hand would reach under her and hold her ass firmly while his stubble tickled the inside of her thighs. He would start by pushing his tongue hard against her in broad strokes, then home in on her clit, touching it gently with the tip of his tongue at until she grabbed him by the hair and forced him against it harder. He would moan into her, and the vibrations turned into shocked waves and ripped through her as her juices coated his chin.
Sometimes she imagined a second man as well, one who looked similar to Jean, who would kneel next to her head while Jean lavished her with his tongue. He would pet her hair then caress her cheek as he slid his pants down and freed his half-swollen member. She imagined herself reaching over and rolling back his foreskin before pulling it into her mouth and feeling it harden fully, both men’s hands now attending her body, filling their hands with her flesh as she lost herself in their touch. She was the center of their attention, the object of their focus. She was the source of their pleasure and the one to whom their licks and gropes and kisses paid tribute.
These fantasies left her walking home horny from the market on Saturdays, knowing that Auguste would do nothing to sate her when she arrived. This is what led her Saturday about a year ago to follow the marks carved on one tree at the edge of the woods next to her path home. She had heard gossip of what went on where the marks urfa escort led, and she was surprised that it was Cesar, whom she had grown up with, who was waiting in the clearing on the day she felt desperate enough to venture down that path. He was just one man, but the way he made her feel surpassed the intensity of her fantasy of two.
Now a year later, her meetings with him made her feel more alive than anything else in her life. As she stood over the basin in her house and splashed cold water over her face and on her chest, goosebumps formed on her smooth skin. She could still feel his touch on her. Some animal part of her brain relished the fact that she would not wash off all of his scent, that she would wear it proudly in her home and under her dress. Her reputation would be tarnished irreparably if her affair was ever made public, but when she walked through the market and caught a man’s eye she loved to imagine that he saw her legs and knew that between them was the fruit that Cesar knelt to eat, that her ass was the one that he rode like a horse, and that her back was the one he laid over exhausted when he finished.
Auguste startled her when he entered the room.
“It was a long day for you, eh?”
She fixed her dress quickly and turned to face him. The shock was still visible on her face as she searched for a response.
“Um yes. A good one though. I sold it. I sold all the eggs that I brought I mean.” She felt his eyes glance over her clothes. In the past he had expressed displeasure at how dirty her closed seemed to get when she went to the market, how it reflected poorly on him given his profession.
Hastily she took him by the hand and kissed his cheek, hoping to distract him from any signs of why her return had been so delayed. “And how are you my dear?”
He seemed puzzled by her sudden affection. “I’m fine. Business is slower than usual.”
“Well things should turn around with some patience and good fortune, right?” Cecile responded quickly, but Auguste again paused and eyed her, taking his time to respond.
“I suppose. Regardless of fortune, I need to try something different.”
“Oh, that’s a good idea.” Cecile was not particularly interested in her husband’s business affairs. It was his favorite, if not his only, topic of conversation, and the years of listening had left her tired of hearing of it. Still, she was happy to have him occupied with this and not suspicious of the faint smell of sex or the marks leftover from Cesar’s affections that remained on her body.
“Next Saturday I’m going attend the market with you and see if that would be a good place to expand.”
Cecile was awash in trepidation. She tried not to let her face betray it. Auguste was nearly expressionless. For a moment she thought she detected a smirk, but it could’ve been in her head. Her mind raced. Was he getting wise to her and now toying with her or was this a genuine business decision?
She tried to smile instead of wincing. “The Saturday market? Auguste what could you want there? Surely it is below you.”
“I think it’s worth looking into. You seem to do alright there, and I could even give you a hand”
“Yes, but I just make some extra money and stay busy. You are a true craftsman. Going there would be a waste of your time. Besides I need no help.”
“You must think I’m a fool. Even if you sell out, you take so long. No, I go for my own interests, but with me there to supervise, you will be home an hour sooner, if not more.”
Cecile heard no contempt in what he said. “Maybe his wish to go is genuine”, she thought, though her heart still pounded at the thought that this was part of some ploy to expose her affair. It was true that Auguste had been aloof in their marriage, but if he found out she was making a fool of him behind his back, he would be furious.
Their son Guy walked into the house and shouted about wanting dinner. Normally Cecile would reprimand his poor manners, but she was happy for the interruption.
“I’ll have it ready soon,” she called back. Then she turned to her husband and said sweetly, “Well, I’m sure you’ll enjoy yourself at the market. I usually do” before walking off into the kitchen.
In the week that followed, Cecile tried to scour her husband’s face for any sign that he suspected her. When she was alone, she found herself parsing his tone, his words, even small gestures he had made earlier, for any indication that he intended to sniff around and find out about Cesar. Other than his eagerness to attend the market, he left few clues. Upon bringing up the subject for the fourth time during the week he raised his eyebrow at her.
“You have such concerns about my attendance?” he asked.
She chalked it up to mere curiosity and then did not bring it up again until Saturday out of fear of arousing suspicion where before there may have been none.
Regardless, she would not be visiting Cesar again for at least urfa escort bayan a week. Despite this, her desire had only grown. The thought her husband may know of her affair, that even to him, she was marked, filled her simultaneously with stress and lust. Her muscles would tighten, and she found herself daydreaming about how Cesar’s touch could relieve that tension, only to catch herself fantasizing.
She no longer merely imagined that passerby knew about the things they did together. Now she would lie in bed with her eyes closed, barely awake, imagining standing in front of a small group of marketgoers wearing a thin blue dress with nothing beneath, Cesar standing behind her, displaying her to them. He would lift the hem up to her thighs and tell them why her knees were red. He would tell them how good she tasted and how good it felt when she tasted him. Then he would turn her around. She would hold her hands against his chest and nuzzle her face into his neck while he lifted her dress further and she felt the air and the eyes on her backside. He would rub his hand over her rump while they looked on with envy, giving her a firm pat so they could see how it jiggled. Then she would rouse herself from her trance, and the loud breathing of her sleeping husband would remind her that if she were going to feel Cesar’s touch again, she was going to have to wait.
When Saturday finally came, Cecile awoke before her husband, unusual for her. Although she was still a bit apprehensive, having to wait through the week had eroded some of her fears. Even if Auguste was suspicious, she reasoned, he would make no word of it in public for fear of making himself look foolish. Besides, as long as she herself gave no indication of the affair, what could he do? Tell her he had smelled another man on her a week ago?
While at the market, they barely spoke to one another. Auguste paced around the area a bit, speaking to others little and mostly eyeing transactions from a distance and scowling. It was clear to Cecile that he indeed found that the place was below him.
During a lull, she found her friend Demetria standing alone and staring intently toward the horizon. Demetria was a very earnest woman, twenty-seven years old, and though Cecile did not know her particularly well, she knew she could confide in her. She did not notice Cecile approaching until she was standing right next to her at which point, she smiled at the surprise.
“Cecile! How have you been? It feels like a long time since we spoke last.” She embraced Cecile and kissed her cheek. Cecile noticed the woman’s strength. Demetria’s father had died when she was a fifteen, and she had lived with her mother her entire life, taking on much of the labor after her father’s death, and her physique reflected it.
“It’s been too long Demetria. My mind is a mess these days, but it’s a joy to see you.” She had always found the younger woman’s sunny disposition infectious. Even when she sat at the market waiting for customers, she would often gaze off and admire Demetria. The woman had to work hard to help her mother and had given up a great deal of her own future to do so. She had a full chest and shiny raven hair that bounced as she bounded across the market, getting provisions for the week. Her clothes were simple, but they laid softly over her, and one more than one occasion Cecile had noticed men at the market admiring the firm body whose shape they revealed. She could have married into wealth like Cecile had and avoided much of the work she took on for herself and her mother, but she walked a more difficult path instead. Her smile remained sweet and genuine, nonetheless.
“Ah, your son is growing up. I can only imagine what a headache he must be.”
“No, Guy is a good boy. I’m afraid my troubles are of my own making.”
Cecile had not intended to confess what had been plaguing her mind lately, but her thoughts and feelings seemed to just spill from her mouth as Demetria nodded along, doing her best to comfort her friend. It was Cecile’s first time telling her about the affair with Cesar, and as she looked into Demetria’s sympathetic eyes, she gave more and more details. First, she simply told her that they met in the woods on Saturdays and shared in carnal pleasures, but as her friend became enrapt in her story, she felt compelled to offer more and more details, speaking softer and softer so that no one else could hear her until she was nearly whispering.
She told her what Cesar looked like under his clothes and how his body felt, muscular and warm. She described the mix of satisfaction and guilt that pulsed through her on her walks home from their encounters. Demetria listened most attentively though, when she painted pictures of the positions they made together out in the woods. Cecile was vivid in her descriptions and relished Demetria’s attention when she told her how good she felt sitting with her legs spread and Cesar’s head between escort urfa them or of the animal satisfaction she felt on her hands and knees with Cesar behind her, thrusting deep.
She told her about her predicament, that now after she had told Cesar how badly she needed him and he had been there, she would have to delay in seeing him again to avoid arousing Auguste’s suspicion. Though Demetria reassured her that it was an affair and there was nothing wrong with not showing up, to Cecile it seemed a betrayal. Cecile left the market shortly after that, this time making no stops.
Although Cecile found her conversation with Demetria cathartic, the other woman found her mind occupied by her friend’s stories afterwards. Demetria had always loved nature and many evenings she would relax and look out at the sky. Now, though, when she saw a stand of trees silhouetted in the sunset, she would see in the middle a six-legged creature, Cecile on all fours and Cesar kneeling behind her. It was so easy to picture Cecile’s face flushed red and lost in ecstasy as she grasped at the grass and felt the wind blow across her skin, beautiful man losing himself in her flesh as he pounded away. She couldn’t help imagining them and wanting what they had for herself.
The cottage where she and her mother lived was on the edge of town, and she enjoyed the solitude, the sense that she was as close to the plains and the woods as she was to the village. Knowing so much now of what went on among those trees had shaken her sense of self and the bond she felt with the natural world though. Demetria was no prude, but it had been several years since she’d had a lover. She had found most men wanted too much to impress her with meaningless gestures and gifts, with words strung together in euphony that meant little more than “let me fuck you.” The alternative, she had assumed, were the sots and lechers who could give her no pleasure, emotionally or physically.
She liked the simplicity of walking outside alone and listening to the birds or watching the trees in the wind and feeling a part of it. Cecile’s stories though, filled her with a strange sort of envy. She had felt that her calmness and solitude made her at home in nature even if her social standing was lesser, but now she realized how much she missed. The breeze through the trees was beautiful and it was hers, but what about the lust and the moans and passion of flesh that those trees hid? As well as she had known the tranquility of the sunset, she followed so few of her baser desires. The singing birds and blooming flowers, after all, were not expressions of beauty but of lust, of mindless urges, and eager sex. She began to feel that these things were just beyond her reach and that even where she had felt so at home, others lived more freely.
On the next Thursday following her conversation with Cecile, Demetria set out for the woods next to the path to the market. It had rained the day before and she grabbed a basket and set out under the pretense of foraging mushrooms. The whole walk there she was filled with anticipation, but she didn’t know for what. Based on what Cecile had told her, she did not expect a man to be waiting there. Likewise, she felt unsure what compelled her to visit the location of her friend’s affair.
Nevertheless, when she came upon a tree with a star carved a foot above her head, she paused then walked briskly into the trees. She walked forward scanning the trees for indications of where to turn next. She saw one marked with an ‘x’ and approached it until she saw another. She continued like this until she came to a clearing. She was not so far in that she would get lost, and the sunlight filtering in was enough to keep the place illuminated. Still, Demetria’s eyes jumped all over the clearing as though she had stumbled into an ancient ruin, some place apart from time.
There was a stump conspicuous in the center of the clearing and next to it an empty bottle of wine. Now that she saw the setting of Cecile’s stories, what had before been vague images in her mind of what occurred in the woods now turned to vivid pictures. She saw shadows cast on naked bodies that seemed to move in unison with the wind, of words and moans that resonated in the canopy.
Demetria had seen the shepherd Cecile told her of on few occasions and even then, only from a distance, but she could see from her friend’s description now how his and her bodies fit together in so many ways, how they let their desires guide them. She envisioned Cecile as a woodland nymph dancing there as she waited, dripping with the nectar of the forest as she lured Cesar in to pollinate her. She imagined him entranced, emerging from the trees as he watched her roll her hips and twist her arms, stepping closer and closer until she had ensnared him in her embrace.
As Demetri fell deeper into her imagination, she started touching herself, her hand caressing her toned thigh under the thin yellow dress that draped softly over her body. When she felt her own wetness, she snapped out of her trance. Though she knew she was alone, she felt imprudent and quickly snatched her basket and headed out of the woods. Time had escaped her mind, and she was unsure how much of it she had spent picturing those two in ecstasy.
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