Micro Monday, Historic Fiction

A Dutch Interior 1680

I lift my linen shift and feel the heavy dew about my lips before gently finger dipping my cunt

This tale is told by the woman. The pestle has its own POV here — by May More…

Awake, but still in my dream, I tumble from my bed and go to the kitchen, where there are spices to be ground.

From the cupboard I take some precious coriander seeds. Then I let them fall like hailstones into the mortar. I press down on them with the wooden pestle and as they crack apart, releasing their exotic lemon-like fragrance, I realise my dream will not let go of me.

A dream, brimful of country matters with my lusty master, who presently is travelling to Delft. But I am in need of pleasure at this very moment and so with a brush of my hand I remove the remains of coriander from the thick rounded end of the pestle and take it into my mouth like a wanton succubus.

Sitting on the kitchen chair I lift my linen shift and feel the heavy dew about my lips before gently finger dipping my cunt. Then my fingers make way for the ever constant pestle. I do not take it all, as patience is often a virtue. Instead, after a few moments I retrieve it and taste my sweet and pungent juices which besmear its head.

But the time to strike is now, so I plunge the shaft deep inside me. I shudder. My other hand, close by, dances attendance upon my pleasure. My breathing becomes shallow and I whimper with delight as the pestle seems to swell like my master’s cock. Until at last, ecstasy, a visit from a long forgotten friend, arrives and sends me wild and whirling into breathless abandonment.

Through weary eyes I see my pleasured nakedness illuminated by a moted sunbeam come newly through the window.

The pestle drops onto the icy flagstones and stirs me from my reverie.

Entered into the Erotic Deluxe fiction Meme for the prompt of Back in the Day…

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