Aidan’s eyes were closed as she lay back, sweating freely
in the folds of her tangled sheets. Her legs were bent; knees spread wide, her
nightshirt pulled up above her breasts. It was unusually hot and humid out, and
the morning sun was burning as it lit up the corner of her room where Aidan lay
on her small, single bed.
Her blonde hair was tangled around her head as she slowly
caressed her nude body, her slender hands stroking along her belly and over the
swollen, hot mounds of her breasts. They tingled as her hands moved across the
stiff nipples, and she closed her fingers on them, twisting lightly, squeezing
and pinching, rolling and plucking at them as she gasped softly.
She reached a hand down between her legs and gripped the
base of the rounded toothpaste dispenser protruding from her pussy. Her thin
line of pubic hair did little to hide the tight, neat line of her sex, which
was now spread wide to envelope the smooth, white plastic body of the tube. Her
sex lips glistened wetly as she ran her fingers across them, and then she
groaned as she stroked her thumb across her throbbing clitoris.
She was hot in more ways than one, and Aidan had few opportunities
in this room she shared with two younger sisters to release that heat. Now she
gripped the base of the tube, thrusting it in and out as she squeezed a breast.
She let her thumb push out straight from the bottom of the plastic tube so that
each time she thrust it into the soft, wet heat of her sex her thumb stroked
across her clitoris.
Each time it did so a wave of sensual pleasure rippled
through her nervous system and her hips rolled up involuntarily, as though
seeking to impale her on the hard plastic.
In her mind’s eye, Aidan was in a golden field of grass
and flowers, an Irish princess who had been captured by a handsome rogue of an
English knight. And now, her dress torn from her lithe body, her legs spread,
the man thrust into her hard and deeply, his tongue caressing her lips as he
drove his hardness into her trembling belly.
And then the image changed, shifted, as her sexual
fantasies were wont to do, and now she was his slave girl, nude, her wrists
bound before her to the pommel of his saddle as he moved down the road. Other
men, knights and servants, followed in a long trail, some few with other nude
girls bound to their horses; the conquered victims, slave girls carried off by
the victors.
People stared at her nudity as she was let past, gasping,
hurrying to keep up, her bare feet warm in the soft earth. The men leered, the
women jeered, and she was defenceless, unable to hide her lovely nude flesh.
And then they were in a castle, and she was still nude,
her firm breasts jiggling slightly as she moved, her nipples stiff and pink as
he led her up the centre aisle of the great hall. Crowds of courtiers were on either side, all staring and smirking, laughing and pointing
as Aidan was led through them. Hands reached out, fondling her breasts as she
passed, squeezing her bottom, stroking her hair.
Still bound, she was made to kneel, and then the King
stood over her and thrust his cock into her mouth, and she sucked helplessly as
the courtiers looked on and laughed and jeered, and she knew that soon she
would be taken, again and again, a helpless slave girl.
She came with a soft, guttural moan, arching her back,
her legs straining wide, lifting her bottom off the mattress as she thrust the
plastic tube as deep into her dripping sex as she could, ignoring the ache, the
pain, as she jammed it up between her sex lips and flicked her thumb
frantically across her clitoris.
She collapsed with a groan, sweating, panting, chest
heaving. Her hands fell away from her body and she lay in the soft afterglow of
languor as she slowly drew her mind away from her sexual fantasies and onto the
day’s work ahead.
After a few moments she sat up and pulled the nightshirt
down over her breasts. And then there was a bang outside the door, and she
jerked the nightshirt down over her hips just as the door was flung open and
her sister Sara – one of those who shared the room – came bustling in.
“Laundry,” she said. “Mam says to get all the sheets.
Good thing you’re up.”
She yanked the sheets off the other beds and dumped them
into the laundry basket as Aidan sat there stiffly, conscious of how close a
call she’d had.
“Come on, come on. Get yer bottom out of bed. I need the
sheets.”
Aidan felt guilt and self-consciousness and fear blocking
her normally quick tongue. And there seemed nothing else to do but stand
shakily as her sister snatched the sheets off and dumped them into the basket.
She was painfully aware of the tube lodged up inside her pussy, and knew a
moment’s panic at the thought of it falling.
But it didn’t. She was too tight, and her sister noticed
nothing as she gathered the last of the sheets and pillow cases, and bustled
out the door. Aidan giggled lightly, moved to the door, placed her back to it,
through it, and down the hall to the toilet, then, locked safely within, she
spread her legs and eased the tube slowly and gently down out of her body
before stepping into the shower.
It was difficult; looking at her, to believe Aidan had
ever been less than beautiful. She was a tall, lithe girl, with shining golden
blonde hair spilling down over her shoulders, soft as satin and glistening like
new spun silk. Her face was narrow, oval, with high cheekbones, a slim,
aristocratic nose, small, yet sensuous lips, and penetrating liquid eyes of the
most amazing shade of bright green. She was a tall, lithe girl, yet with full
high breasts and a firm, rounded bottom.
Aidan had been an awkward child, with too-long legs, and
a mass of freckles which covered her pale face like the remnants of a distasteful
disease. Her straw-like, mouse-brown hair had been so untameable her mother had
given up in despair and slashed it short, like a boys. In turn, Aidan, knowing
herself far from pretty, had much likened herself to boys, taking up sports in
disdain of the softer female pursuits of fashion and hair. She could not, after
all, be beautiful, but she could certainly kick a football.
Her youth had been spent far more among boys than amongst
the other girls of her small town in the south of Munster. She had mucked about
in the woods, chased frogs in the marshes, and gotten gloriously filthy playing
rugby in the long, lush green fields. She had skipped stones in the Atlantic,
made small sailboats which bobbed across the waves and disappeared, and
casually clothed herself in loose jeans and coveralls.
Her teenage years had been uncomfortable for Aidan. Her
body had sprouted upwards so that she seemed all arms and legs, a tall, skinny,
coltish girl with straw hair and freckled face. Worse, her voice had changed,
almost as though she really were a boy, deepening into a soft, throaty burr.
She was flat-chested, gawky, and quite resentful of the way the boys she had so
long called her friends mooned over her softer, sweeter, rounder classmates.
She had no love of females and their silly fixation on
clothes and makeup and hair, and was quite disdainful of the way they acted
around boys, fawning over them and acting preposterously flirtatious. Aidan wouldn’t have any of it, and wished,
more than a few times, that she were a male in reality.
When she was fourteen her aunt Miranda came to stay with
she and her parents, however, and aunt Miranda considered Aidan something of a
challenge in several regards. On the one hand she encouraged, coerced,
manipulated, and perhaps even bullied her into reading things Aidan had
previously had no interest in. Most of her classmates read their textbooks and
little else beside. Nor was Aidan altogether different. But aunt Miranda
assured her that if she really wanted respect, wanted to be taken seriously,
she must learn the thoughts of the likes of Joyce and Kafka, of Dickens and
Chekhov, Aristotle and Rousseau.
Aidan, somewhat withdrawn already from her peers, took to
such tomes with reluctance, at first. She had a keen intelligence, however, and
she absorbed the thoughts and philosophies of the classics like a sponge taking
in water. Alas, her underdeveloped personality failed to survive the
experience, and Aidan became even more at odds with her somewhat less learned
and shallow fellows.
Freckly faced, flat-chested girls who carted about books
on Roman philosophy tended to stand out in any society, and in a small Irish
town, Aidan was a definite outsider. Yet the knowledge she continued to drink
in gave her a sense of arrogance, as well as a waspish tongue that could slice
and dice anyone she disapproved of. Which was to say, almost
everyone.
Aidan was not, in short, a popular girl. She was plain,
arrogant, somewhat smug, and had an almost unnatural talent with subtle and stylish
insults. As she was often the victim of taunting, she honed this talent to a
razor edge, and could reduce almost anyone to red-faced bluster and fumbling in
seconds. This was a skill she used not just on classmates, but adults, as well,
particularly teachers who were less knowledgeable about what they taught than
Aidan was.
Her disparaging corrections from the rear of the class,
where she slouched arrogantly in her chair could set even some of the milder
tempered teachers fuming, not the least because she was invariably right.
Aidan had stopped cutting her hair in her mid-teens,
though she’d never have admitted, even to herself, that
it was because some questioned her sexual orientation. And sometime in her late
teens her hair’s rebellious nature began to soften. Her long skinny legs and
arms began to thicken, and small breasts began to swell and grow. Her freckles
began to fade away, and Aidan began to take on the appearance of a rather
attractive young woman.
Irish society being no less shallow than others, her
newfound attractiveness seemed to ease the dislike so many in the town had for
her. The males, in particular, reconsidered their desire to be anywhere other
than the same location as Aidan. Some of the braver souls even tried to
befriend her in hopes of seduction.
These attempts were not particularly successful, yet
confused the young girl. Despite her stalwart nature she found herself
unexpectedly enjoying such flattery and attention. She had never been
physically attractive, and yet now – she was. And was slightly adrift at how to
respond and react. A part of her was contemptuous of their superficial flattery
and painfully awkward attempts at seducing her. Another part of her loved to
rub their faces, and the faces of the town’s girls, in how pretty she now was.
It would be wrong to suggest Aidan began to dress in
revealing outfits. However, a form-fitting top or pair of trousers caught the
eye on her body far more than they would once have, and she had a certain flair
for colours and subtle styling. Wherever
Aidan walked, men watched, and even those who disliked her found their eyes
drawn to her deliciously rounded bottom, and the way her chest thrust out the
material of the tight blouse straining across her breasts.
Aidan was too arrogant, however, to allow herself to be
seduced by any local boy or man. Or so they thought. In truth, it would be more
accurate to suggest she had built a defensive wall around herself which she
dared not allow breeched. She had no intention of having news and gossip of her
sexual tryst spread about with gleeful abandon by the many classmates who so
disliked and envied her. And so she looked upon every attempt with extreme
suspicion, fending them off even when she would far rather have indulged the
hormonally enhanced longings which had been causing so much tension in her body
for so long.
By the time she was eighteen Aidan had become a
thoughtful, if overly stern young woman. She was quite insightful into human
nature and behaviour, in a clinical fashion, and even recognized the
psychological factors in herself that made her overly guarded and standoffish
around others. That did not, however, allow her to ease those barriers and open
up to other people.
What she needed, she thought, in her cool, thoughtful
way, was a shock to the system; something which would shatter the long-built up
wall around her which kept others at a distance. She could not, she reasoned,
let herself go amongst all the people she grew up with, but in another
location, far from home, perhaps she could cast it aside and try to embrace
people with less wariness, less suspicion.
Or at least, stop herself from becoming the world’s
oldest virgin.
Having passed out of school with superb marks, and
obtained a scholarship to Oxford for the following year, Aidan considered how
to loosen up her nature before she went to England and needs must guard herself
and her reputation once again.
After due consideration, she decided that Greece would be
an excellent place to better familiarize herself with the pleasures of the
flesh, to inoculate herself against the taunts which would no-doubt come from
the sophisticates at Oxford were she to go there as the relative innocent she
now found herself.
And so, that summer, she left for Greece, and what she
hoped would be a host of new experiences.