27 comments/ 46269 views/ 2 favorites Desertion By: Green_Gem Jana wondered whether the exquisite drifting feeling that she was experiencing was what floating in the womb and being born felt like, or whether it was closer to dying. Either way it was heavenly. She groaned contentedly as she moved her hands through the glutinous mess of mud that covered and cuddled her lithe body in the open air mosaic-tiled bath at the exclusive Wildside Valley Spa. She had never believed it could be so luxuriantly sensual. The skin on her face was taut but everywhere else she was slippery yet buoyant. Her limbs and muscles were no longer distracting her with their anxieties and vague discomforts. It was as if her body had floated away and her mind had been left alone to its own blissful devices. She breathed deeply and looked up at the cloudless sky as she savored the desert morning air and the strangely wholesome smell of the liquid dirt in which she lay. Jana rearranged her head on the wooden platform with it's carefully placed white towels and the attendant hovered by, watching closely for the signs of claustrophobia that some people showed in the mud baths. "Why does this feel so good?" Jana murmured. "It's all to do with the mineral salts and the texture and temperature of the mud," the attendant replied politely. "Many believe that mud has healing powers." "Maybe they're right," Jana groaned as she closed her eyes and let the mud work its magic. She felt almost as good as if she'd had a hard satisfying fuck. A smile flickered across her full lips at her thoughts. This two day stay; complete with pampering was in fact, preparation for a night of fucking. There were definite advantages to being the mistress of a wealthy businessman, she mused cynically but there were downsides too and although she had agreed to participate in a threesome for her lover, Ian's benefit, she was not certain of how it would all work out. The attendant's voice cut into her reverie, "Time's up, Ma'am." Jana staggered from the slippery mud and was swathed in a large crisp towel and led to a wooden floored shower area where coiled hose pipes waited with powerful jets to rinse off the mud. She joined another guest in the shower and they giggled like schoolgirls, twisting and turning as the powerful jets pounded their bodies, teasing their nipples to full erectness and reminding them of the pleasures that lay nestled between their thighs. Still tingling, Jana was dried off and rubbed down with a loofah until her rejuvenated skin glowed. Being naked in the open air seemed as natural as breathing and Jana caught a few women glancing enviously at her tight body with her pert breasts and smooth pussy. She shrugged on a white terry robe and strolled over to one of the pools at the Spa. It was a large heated rock pool with a breathtaking view that stretched for miles to the mountains across the parched desert plains with their gnarled spiky plants and stark trees surrounded by gleaming white dunes "It's all about the desert," Jana whispered as she felt the warmth from the sun caress her face and the first flush of excitement tingled up her spine. That's why she was here, why she was preparing to fuck a strange man. Her eyes scanned the picturesque dunes with their perfectly contoured shadows of ripples and undulating crests towering against the sky. Deserts could be forbidding, inhospitable even treacherous places where the land and its inhabitants, human and otherwise, lay exposed to the harshest of earth's elements. Yet, as she had learned, they could also be places of unexpected and astonishing beauty. Places in which that very exposure yielded a kind of spiritual cleanliness and seductive mystery. Christopher Santee, artist extraordinaire, and her soon to be lover, lived and worked on the outskirts of the desert she was gazing across and after tonight, Ian would own a priceless piece of Christopher's desert. *** Jana thought back to how it had all started a week previously when they had seen a painting called 'Desertion' on display at a gallery cocktail party for the Painter's latest work. Ian was smitten from the instant he had set eyes on it and was consumed with a passion to own it. It was exquisite in its rich simplicity and stark reality. The canvas bursting with color as it depicted the desert with it's spectacular dunes under a dying dusk sky, blood red from the slaughtered sun with other colors crowding in from the edges; marmalade orange, magenta, dusky pink and shades of purple. Almost too real for life but breathtaking in it's vivid beauty and magnetic power. Ian's dilemma had begun when he had seen that 'Desertion' was clearly marked 'Not for Sale.' It was on exhibition merely as a tribute to the genius talent of the painter and to generate interest in his other work. But Ian had not reached the pinnacle of success as a property development tycoon by accepting 'no' as an answer. He existed and thrived in a world where the impossible was negotiated and deals were forged, no matter what. Everything and everyone he believed had a price and 'Desertion' would be no exception. All that remained was for Christopher Santee to name it. He could already see the painting dominating the wall of his imposing office awing and seducing his staff, his competitors and his wealthy clients. The one thing Ian hadn't counted on was Christopher's resolve. His art was about passion and soul and his own satisfaction rather than money or success. "Trust me on this," Ian said, "My collection of art is impressive and this painting will be shown to full advantage. I am prepared to pay whatever you believe its value to be." Jana suppressed a smile as she'd watched the egos play out. Ian's persuasion was not working but she knew he would not capitulate. For him it was all about ownership and possession. He had once bragged that he could possess any beautiful thing his heart desired, and he had proved it in his relentless pursuit of her. Although flattered by his attentions, she had been slow to submit, enjoying the chase and being in the position of the coveted prey. Ian too had relished the challenge of the hunt and the eventual conquest, finding Jana to be unlike any other woman he'd ever known. Christopher Santee shot a glance of pure exasperation at the ceiling. "You think it's all about money, don't you?" His voice was cold and hard. He detested the megabuck collectors who believed their money made them connoisseurs of life and art. "Now, listen Christopher, I won't profess to know what it takes to create a work of this magnificence," Ian replied, trying hard not to sound condescending, "But I do know that I want to reward you for it. I love it, I want to own it. Whatever your price, I will pay it." The light from the overhead lamp caught Christopher from the side and illuminated his dark moody eyes. They flickered from Ian and settled on Jana. It had been difficult to ignore her although she had remained silent throughout the conversation. Her auburn hair hung sleekly to her shoulders and her almond-shaped green eyes showed the merest hint of amusement. The simple black dress she wore was haute couture, probably Chanel or Givenchy, he decided and the almost total absence of jewellery suggested that she was either rich, or completely at ease with herself, with no need to impress. Christopher had noticed as well that there was no wedding band and no flashy diamond ring but it was patently clear from Ian's body language and the possessive way his arm encircled her waist that theirs was not a casual relationship. "What does this painting say to you?" Jana turned to the canvass. Christopher Santee was a man of few words, but these were directed towards her. The avant-garde gallery with it's chattering people had gone away. Ian had receded into the background and for a moment, there was only the artist and his vibrant and stark landscape that stared back at her. "It's very strong," she said. "It's not just about the sun deserting, falling below the horizon, it's about the brimming life in the desert. The energy and the raw passion, it's like...like a wild animal's hunger." The words spilled from her lips with a fervor and a breathlessness she could not understand. "It speaks to me of the simplicity and wonder of nature and yet the strength and raw power of survival. It's a little eerie but I don't only see it, I can almost hear it as well ..." She tore her eyes from the canvas and looked away, embarrassed for an instant at the seemingly senseless response that had erupted from her. The force of the painting and the presence of its creator had momentarily overwhelmed her. She stepped back and tried to gather her composure as she gulped down a mouthful of champagne. Christopher stared straight at her not blinking but his heart pounded as if he had raced across the desert with the howling of a hungry coyote ringing in his ears. The woman had felt it. She had even heard it! How could she have known that the sounds emanating from the dunes always captured his imagination when he painted? Sometimes they were a low hum or a whistling sound, other times the incredible roaring sounds of distant dunes that he heard during the quiet hours of darkness and daybreak. A true phenomenon of wind and earth that no-one could ever control and that he struggled to capture in its arid splendor. She had somehow seen the raw spirit of the pristine wilderness and his soul exposed amid the vivid colors splashed across the canvas. The hair prickled along his spine and he felt a rush of adrenaline and excitement surge through his veins. It was like a wave crashing on the beach. "Very few people who do not live in the desert understand it; even fewer really see and celebrate my work as it is. But you do," Christopher said huskily. "And so yes, perhaps I will now be prepared to let it go." Ian smiled in triumph. He'd been right about everyone having their price and despite the objections of the artist he was no exception to the rule. The sweet scent of a successful deal closing teased his senses. "So what's the price to be?" he asked confidently. "No money," Christopher replied evenly, "But I will take this woman for one night as payment." "What?" Ian hissed in disbelief. Anger flashed in his eyes like the flame of a campfire in the shadows suddenly flickering to life. "How dare you...?" Jana let out a shaky exhale. She could hardly believe what she was hearing. Suddenly she had become the prize or rather the price of a priceless painting. The rational side of her brain said that she should be outraged and insulted that this man would have the audacity to believe that she would be prostituted for his art, but inexplicably she wasn't. Instead she was acutely aware of the sensuality simmering in his expression as his eyes stared frankly at her. He was attractive in a rugged way with his dark hair swept back from his temples and his skin stained brown from the sun. Beneath the black silk of her dress, Jana's body was talking to her. She could feel a delicious tautness in her nipples at the thought of provoking his lust and unleashing his passion while his hands that seemed graceful and sensitive in contrast to his craggy appearance, caressed her secret places. Her mouth was painfully dry and she felt a pink flush of heat steadily creeping up her throat as she tried to digest the outrageous situation that had developed. "The asking price is too high I see," Christopher drawled, the flicker of a smile playing across his mouth. He was not one to make small talk or to banter and Jana had no doubt that the price he had fixed would not be negotiable. She glanced quickly at Ian whose face was as dark and grim as a thunder cloud across the sun. He was furious and looked as if he might lash out at the artist, but despite this Jana noticed his eyes dart guiltily back to the canvas. The desire for the painting still raged within him along with his fury. The atmosphere was suddenly parched and deliciously brittle, the sort of surroundings in which a single flame could become a conflagration. She realized that the moment was all hers. Both men were influential in their own rights, but unexpectedly, outside the boundaries of social etiquette, the power had shifted to her and she had become the dealmaker. Inexplicably a charge of adrenaline raced through her veins throwing her into chaos as a wild riot of sensation pulsed through her body. The response staggered her. She wanted to believe it was a combination of the champagne and the stress of the situation she found herself in, but the aching arousal she felt could not be denied. Whether it was the incredible power of flaunting convention and having both these men at her mercy she did not know, but the words tumbled from her mouth with absolute clarity. "We can get together next Saturday evening. However, since the painting is for Ian he must be part of it too." Her voice was low and her smile cool but she had never felt so deliberately sexy in all her life. "Is it a deal?" "My ranch is on the outskirts of the desert. I'll expect you at seven," Christopher said as he gave her a careless once-over and then directed his gaze slowly over her breasts up to her face. "And yes, it seems that we do have a deal." The way he had looked at her drew up yet another physical rush of sensation sending all thoughts of playing it cool and aloof from Jana's head. It was quick, arrogant and terribly male. It made her feel as if he'd already taken advantage in some way that he shouldn't have, as if he'd pulled her into one of the gallery's seductively lit recesses and slid his hand up under her dress to finger her pussy. Perspiration dampened her lip as she turned to Ian. If he didn't get her out of the gallery immediately, they might not have to wait until next Saturday. *** It was a strange week that passed. A week in which Jana had waited with interest to see whether Ian would reconsider and renege on the deal. During her three year affair with him, she had remained faithful and despite her attraction to Christopher, she'd wondered whether Ian would eventually come to the conclusion that pimping his mistress out for a painting was indeed too high a price to pay. During their lovemaking he had taken her with a passion and hunger that she didn't recognize. Thrusting his cock into her while reiterating over and over again how she was his and his alone. Like another beautiful possession, like a piece of property, she though cynically. Something close to conscience prickled him but he never mentioned the deal. Instead he bought her a Cartier bracelet and insisted that she spend two days before Saturday at the Wildside Valley Spa, a place that resembled paradise and catered to those who valued pampering. *** Christopher Santee stepped outside onto the deck at the front door to his ranch for a breath of fresh air and a wall of cold air hit him. The sun and the heat were long gone, the clouds had drifted from the distant mountains and the blueness of the sky had quickly thickened to a dark metallic color as the temperature dropped rapidly. The silence from the fierce remoteness rushed down and engulfed him but as always he felt strangely at peace. Here in the desert he was able to strip away the layers of façade that had surrounded him in his former business as a freelance commercial artist where clients dictated what he created. Christopher had always been drawn to wide open spaces and could see parallels between deserts and oceans. In his mind they echoed each other and it was here in the desert that he could paint and explore his relationship with nature and find the roots that nourished him. But tonight he was excited and it was not the desert that was thrilling him. He had left Ian and Jana looking at some of his new work in his studio while he had gone through to the living room to place fresh logs in the fireplace and pour cognacs. Dinner had been a civilized affair but he had been distracted by Jana for much of it. Unlike their first meeting, she had worn spiky black heels, a black miniskirt and a jacket that looked like a man's tuxedo jacket over her naked body. Two strands of choker pearls adorned her neck. During dinner and much to the annoyance of Ian she had subtly flirted with Christopher, playing with the foaming champagne flute and fingering the glassware's smooth lines as if it were a cock. She was a millennium Jezebel with a touch of class; sassy, sexy and alluringly feminine. Everything about her said that she was there to fuck and she made no apologies for it. Christopher's testosterone was pumping. "You have some fabulous work in progress," she purred as she strode into the living room. "Who knows, perhaps we can commission for another piece." Christopher laughed, "You thinking of becoming an art dealer?" Jana let her eyes sweep over him. He was casually dressed in jeans and a black cashmere sweater but she had felt his presence everywhere closing in around her, enveloping her in his raw masculinity "Well, anything is possible..." she said breathing in the faint scent of his male musk. "Yeah, with a dealmaker like you anything is possible..." Christopher had made enough small talk and he pulled Jana towards him. His fingers stroked her face tenderly exploring the line of her jaw and her throat. The first tentative touch of his lips caused her to sigh with excitement. The anticipation of pleasure was sharp, almost more than she could bear. He immediately sensed her arousal and kissed her hard searching her mouth restlessly with his tongue as his hands began to prowl her body, hot and violating, fumbling with the buttons on her jacket and dragging up her skirt. Her stomach fluttered and clenched as she felt his hardness pressing into her. It had happened so quickly. For a fleeting second she wondered what Ian was thinking but the sensations of Christopher's hands fondling her nude breasts were so intense, so startlingly vibrant that Jana felt as if she were going to slither to the floor and dissolve in a puddle of hot pussy juice. Her skirt slid to the floor with a whisper and she stood naked except for the black heels and the pearl choker before Christopher. He kissed her again passionately, curving his hand to the fiery mound between her legs. Jana gasped as his finger slid through the folds of her pussy. His touch was like a branding iron on bare flesh and she convulsed as he penetrated her deeply. "You're wet," he said huskily. "You want it, don't you?" She couldn't speak, she could hardly breathe. How the fuck had this become so thrilling? Ian was watching her being taken by another man. It was crazy but why did this whole insane encounter suddenly excite her? "Answer me Jana, you want it don't you?" Christopher insisted. "Yes," she moaned as writhing jolts of electricity coursed through her from his touch. "But who do you want it from Jana? Me or Ian?" Her eyes flickered to Ian who had come into view. He was watching them closely and she could see the mix of explosive jealousy, anger and desire darken his features. Bastard, she thought. Unreasonable bastard! Having her pay the price for his painting and then being pissed about her having a good time. "From you Christopher, I want it from you." It was the truth and he could see it in her eyes. She wanted him now, urgently. "Touch me," he said. "Take it out of my pants." She reached down and pressed her fingers to the throbbing heat that filled his jeans. He was rock hard beneath the crushing fabric. She had never felt such tensile power. Her fingers trembled as she struggled to draw his zipper down. He was huge and bulged against her fingers arousing her terribly. His moan of frustration told her she was driving him wild with her fumbling. "Take it out for Christ's sake. Touch me," he urged. The material of his cotton briefs was stretched tight, giving her very little working room, but she curled her fingers around the base of his thick cock and gasped as it came out her like a steel spring. Desertion "Isha Cloudberry," the sergeant began, pausing while two of his soldiers hauled the woman to her feet. "Isha Cloudberry, you have confessed to the crime of desertion and must now endure the appropriate punishment. Do you have anything to say?" The woman answered by spitting at his feet, a gobbet of saliva spattering the toe of his left boot. In her loose white shirt and long brown skirt she looked like an ordinary villager, but the tattoos on her hands were regimental insignia and identified her as a warrior. The sergeant shook his head in disappointment, remembering her as she once was, when her valor in battle had earned her the right to wear the coveted badge of heroism on her red tunic. In those days she had worn her long blonde hair in a smart ponytail, tied with a black velvet ribbon, but now her tresses hung in a wild tangled mane around her shoulders. Like many deserters she had eluded the military authorities for several months, living under a false identity, until her capture on a lonely highway. The sergeant admired her for that, for she was tough and courageous, the type of woman he felt honored to march alongside. "Well?" he repeated. "Do you wish to speak?" "Yes," she replied. "I do indeed have something to say." With a shrug she shook her arms free from the clinging grasp of the two soldiers who held her. They were taller than she, and younger too, their scarlet tunics and white trousers showing the luster of newly-issued uniforms. Behind them stood two gray-bearded men in peasant garb, each holding a bundle of short ropes and, further back still, a dozen villagers huddled together while observing the proceedings. "Hear my words," Isha continued, keeping her eyes fixed on the sergeant but addressing her statement to anybody within earshot. "I do not deserve this cruel punishment, nor do I consider myself guilty of any crime. Have I not served this kingdom admirably for ten years, risking my life on countless battlefields? And now, at the age of twenty-nine, I've had enough of war and death. That is why I escaped from the regiment six months ago, to find some sanity in this wild and dangerous world. The things I have seen ... " "Enough!" cried the sergeant, raising his hand. "This is not the time for sermons. Let the punishment commence!" Isha took a deep breath, staring up into the clear blue sky as her shirt was ripped from her body. Strong hands tore the white material to shreds before tugging her skirt down to her ankles. A murmur rose from the huddle of village folk as they watched the brutal stripping. Isha recognized the voices, especially those that giggled and sniggered. Immediately behind her she heard a soft whistle from one of the gray-bearded peasants, and she twisted her head to glare back at him. "Enjoying the view, Bargate?" she inquired. "Yes, indeed," came the reply, the man licking his dry cracked lips as he spoke. "Your ass is round and firm, my lady, like a ripe apple." The sergeant clicked his tongue at the remark and signaled to both graybeards, beckoning them to a small patch of bare ground, in which a deep narrow hole had been dug. Beside the hole, on the green grass, lay a wooden cross, its post more than twelve feet high, its beam fixed with rough iron nails. To the cross the soldiers now led Isha, naked but defiant, while the others followed close behind. The spectators from the village moved slowly forward to gain a better view, their faces full of excited anticipation. Isha spoke no word of protest as the two young soldiers laid her down on the cross, their hands pulling her arms taut along the beam. Bargate and his companion knelt at either end of the beam to bind her wrists to it, wrapping the ropes tightly and securely. The sergeant stood solemnly at the foot of the post, gazing down at the deserter and feeling a flicker of remorse at his part in her degradation. Isha stared back at him, her blue eyes showing no emotion, though her face winced as the knots were tightened. Near the base of the post two smaller crossbeams, each barely twenty inches long, had been fixed with nails. To the ends of one the gray-bearded men now bound Isha's ankles, so tightly that the cords chafed and reddened her skin. When the men had finished, her legs were slightly parted, displaying not only the triangle of dark hairs at her crotch but also the pink slit of her womanhood. The sergeant coughed, shuffling his feet awkwardly, trying to avert his gaze, feeling his former comrade's shame and humiliation. Then, with a click of his fingers, he ordered the cross to be raised. Isha clenched her teeth against the pain as her body's weight dragged on the ropes binding her wrists, and she gave a small yell when the post settled into the waiting hole with a spine-juddering jolt. For a brief moment the pain in her wrists burned like fire, but suddenly eased when her heels found the lower of the two smaller crossbeams, for she was then able to support her body without exerting strain on her arms. It was some time, however, before the initial surge of panic dissipated, her large round breasts heaving as she struggled to regain her composure. Her gasps attracted a few sly chuckles from the village folk, who now crowded together ten yards away, their upturned faces staring as though transfixed. "Corporal Cloudberry of the Sixteenth Infantry Regiment," the sergeant declaimed, gazing up from the base of the cross. "Here on the edge of this village, beside the ancient military road, you will hang as a warning to all deserters. Stripped of your dignity, displayed without honor or respect, you will remain in this place until noon on the day after tomorrow. Then, to atone for your disloyalty, you will toil for a year in the king's personal silver mines. So be it!" "So be it!" echoed Isha, aiming a second gobbet of spittle at the sergeant as he turned away. The projectile struck his back, staining his red tunic, but he ignored the insult and walked off along the highway, taking the two young soldiers with him. Bargate stood near the foot of the cross, his waist on a level with Isha's feet, his weathered old face leering up at her body. Isha looked down at him, her mouth curling in disgust as she felt his gaze crawling over her nakedness like hot rough hands. She recalled feeling similar disgust when he tried to grope her breasts and buttocks in the tavern three months ago, soon after her arrival in the village. On that evening she had struck him with her fist, knocking him out cold, earning herself the fearful respect of many folk but incurring the bitter hatred of Bargate and his cronies. Even as she glared down at him, her tongue worked a fresh blob of spittle around her gums, her eyes narrowing as she waited for an opportune moment. But Bargate perceived her intent and stepped aside just as she spat, the missile landing harmlessly near his feet. By now, the other old graybeard was slowly trudging back towards the village, but two of the spectators approached the cross, the rest having already dispersed. These two were a man and woman in their early twenties, both of them brown-haired and swarthy, the man bare-chested in dirty breeches while the woman wore a filthy dress of gray wool. "Wait a while!" the woman hissed, looking back over her shoulder. "The other folk will soon be out of sight." Her companion nodded, though his attention was distracted by the vision of Isha's naked body, his eyes admiring the smooth curve of her hips and the firm round orbs of her bosom. "They've all gone," Bargate observed, casting a glance behind. "We're alone, my friends, alone with the warrior slut. How I wish we could take our revenge upon her!" The scruffy woman snarled, baring her yellow teeth and forming her hands into cat-like claws. Her brown eyes smoldered with rage and disdain as she looked up at Isha. "You bitch!" she rasped. "You came to our village and tried to seduce our menfolk with your city charms. But we've got you now, just where we want you!" With that, she clawed her hands down Isha's thighs, her sharp fingernails leaving livid red stripes on the skin. Isha whimpered in pain, her legs instinctively tensing and stretching. "Stop it, Keesa!" hissed Bargate. "The law forbids us from harming her. Leave no mark on her flesh!" "He's right, cousin," said the other man, idly stroking his bare-chest with a grimy thumb. "If we hurt the bitch properly we'll be in serious trouble when the soldiers come back to cut her down." Keesa nodded, then grinned like a tiger, licking her teeth and slavering. Again she reached out, but this time higher and using only her right hand. For an instant the hand hovered over Isha's crotch, before the fingernails scraped slowly through the triangle of dark bristles. Keesa gave a satisfied smirk when she heard the helpless woman's plaintive squeal and, when she withdrew her hand, she sniffed the fingertips. "A strong scent," she observed. "The typical aroma of a warrior woman: fear and sweat!" The two men laughed, Bargate clapping the younger fellow on the back. "Go on, Miggot!" he urged. "Try some of that sweet honey for yourself!" Miggot stepped closer to the cross and looked up at Isha, relishing the sight of her naked body. For weeks he had dreamed about seeing beneath her garments, ever since she rebuffed his clumsy advances in the tavern. He had guessed then that she possessed a fine figure, for the way her clothes clung to her lithe form hinted at the beauty they concealed from his leering eyes. He remembered, too, the jealous envy that had boiled in his veins when he saw her kissing a shepherd in the meadow beside the river. Now, as his gaze followed the sleek shape of her legs, upward to the place where her thighs parted, he glimpsed the pink lips of her vagina and guessed that the shepherd had been welcomed within. Miggot wished desperately that his own manhood, its shaft already stiffening in his breeches, could probe that succulent orifice, but there would be no opportunity to do so. In two days, Isha would be taken down from the cross to be borne away to the silver mines, far away in the south of the kingdom. With a heavy sigh he reached up and with his right hand caressed the exposed slit, his fingers stroking it gently, almost tenderly, before the forefinger pushed inside to explore the warm inner flesh. Isha's whole body tensed, the muscles in her limbs stretching taut, her belly flattening to become a hollow beneath her heaving breasts. A hiss of mingled loathing and disgust escaped from her grimacing mouth, her blonde mane thrashing her shoulders as she shook her head violently. "You ugly bastard!" she rasped. "Go back to your pigs!" Miggot withdrew his finger and held it to his nose, meeting Keesa's intense stare as his nostrils flared. "She smells so good," he whispered. "No wonder all the men of the village followed her around like thirsty dogs!" A faint slurping noise behind made him turn around quickly, his puzzled expression changing to a grin when he saw Bargate masturbating openly and furiously. Beads of foam flecked the gray whiskers at the corners of the old man's mouth and his trousers hung around his knees. His eyes were locked in a wide upward stare, transfixed by the vision of Isha stretched high and naked on the cross. Keesa licked her lips, looking from Bargate to Isha and back and forth between the two. "Yes!" she hissed. "The tattooed slut does look very beautiful today. I'll wager no image is more arousing than the sight of a crucified woman. If I had a cockstem now, my friends, I'd be rubbing it just as vigorously!" "Ah!" said Miggot knowingly. "So that's the source of your resentment, cousin? You tried to seduce the bitch into your bed, and she rejected you?" "Hush, fool!" Keesa crowed, baring her teeth in a snarl. "That was a secret, held only by Isha and me!" At that moment, Bargate ejaculated with a growl of pleasure, his semen leaping towards the cross and spattering Isha's feet. Her toes wriggled among sticky globules of white fluid, a sensation that to her seemed more horrible than the degradation of her punishment. "Clean it away, you old goat!" yelled Keesa, aiming a kick at Bargate's knee as he stood crouching, gasping hoarsely, his flaccid shaft slimy and glistening as it dangled between his legs. "No," retorted Miggot. "The law states that we must not attend to a crucified deserter. No food, no water, nothing must be brought for her comfort. Nor are we permitted to respond to the needs of her body. If anyone sees her feet being cleaned with a rag, they might tell the soldiers!" "Simpleton!" Keesa snapped, striking his ear with her fist. "Why do I have an idiot for a cousin?" "I'll clean it up," said Bargate, straightening as he caught his breath. "You two should return to the village at once, or the others will become suspicious of our motives." Miggot looked up at Isha and gave a wistful sigh. "I wish we could take her down tonight and carry her off to the big barn!" "So do I," Bargate replied, buttoning the front of his trousers. "Yes," said Keesa, giving a last glance at the cross as she turned away. "That would be nice!" * * * * * * * Desertion "Ahh fuck yes," he breathed shuddering at the touch of her soft hands. There was a couch behind her and she fell against it as he hooked his hands under her legs to draw them up. Her pussy lay wantonly exposed to him, swollen with her excitement, slick with her need. "Give it to me, Do it! Fuck me please," she hissed suddenly frantic with the desire to have him inside her. She tried to guide his throbbing cock to her slippery entrance but he pulled away and knelt down over her. "Not so fast," he groaned. "You're to be savored slowly and appreciated like a fine piece of art." She saw his nostrils flare as the thick fragrance of her lust filled them. A low moan came from him as he latched onto a nipple and sucked causing a tugging that pulled all the way down to her clit. He sucked harder as his hand traced its way down her belly to the slickness that churned between her thighs. He teased the wet lips of her pussy but didn't dip in until she thought she might go insane with need. "Oh God please," she sighed pressing her pelvis frantically towards his hand. Christopher was breathing rapidly against her breast. He released the nipple and let his tongue follow the path his fingers had traveled until her molten skin burned against his face. He probed her with his tongue separating her moist folds and licking deeply until he found the throbbing pearl which was her universe. He sucked it gently letting his tongue circle it while she writhed beneath him, holding his head firmly in place while her hands raked through his hair. "I can taste the champagne in you," he whispered hoarsely into her cunt. Jana felt like she was teetering at the top of a hundred foot dune. Her pussy was dripping thickly around Christopher's tongue as the throbs of pleasure built within her. The strong smell of testosterone filled her nose and her eyes shot open. "Come here!" It was not a request. It was a demand. Ian's hands encased her breasts and squeezed her nipples as he leaned in to kiss her with bruising passion before she could say a word. Her breathless gasp gave him a deep sense of satisfaction. Desire and anger mingled with possessive lust shook through Ian like a storm as he'd watched her with Christopher. She was his, Goddammit! She was his! That thought had driven itself through his brain stem like a stake and he suddenly realized that he didn't want the fucking painting. Not at this price. But it was too late. Jana was too far gone; writhing beneath Christopher's tongue, panting in the way he knew she did when she was deeply aroused. She was unashamedly hot for the artist, the hunger and raging desire painted across her face and body. "Oh! Oh! I'm going to come," Jana gasped. Her face twisted in pleasure and her mouth contorted in a joyous scream. Ian's body trembled with a ferocity more primal than anything he'd ever experienced as he pushed his cock into her mouth and watched her wrap her lips around him. "Suck it hard," he commanded. Jana moaned around the thickness that assaulted her mouth. Ian's precum was sharp against her palate, but she drew him in hungrily. Her orgasm had been intense yet she was still aware of Christopher touching her, stimulating her senses into a frenzy. His fingers caressed the taut resistance of her ass, insinuating themselves between the cheeks, stroking her puckered hole and creating an ache so deep she nearly convulsed. Ian's cock slipped from her mouth and he moaned as he dug his fingers into her hair pulling her back onto him. She let her tongue flutter over his engorged tip and then sucked hard in deep passionate pulls, wanting to bring him to climax, wanting to have the raw taste of his come in her mouth. Yearnings she had never felt before soared through her like a lightening bolt and Ian sensed it as the tension locked inside him exploded in ecstasy deep inside her throat. Jana let out a breathy wail as she swallowed Ian's seed, realizing suddenly that Christopher had been watching her. She licked the last drops from her lips, giddy with a power she hardly understood, delirious with it and with desire. Her cunt was throbbing with excitement. She trembled as Christopher reached for her and pulled her from the couch into his arms. His touch aroused her to near savagery. She had never been so hot, so sexually hungry and so wanton. Jana felt him hard against the smooth skin of her thigh and then slippery at her entrance. "Yes! Yes!" she moaned as she grabbed at him, frantic in her need. "Do it now! Yes now, please!" she cried as he obliged, entering her body with a force that pushed her up against the wall. His breath came as fast as hers. She ground her hips against him and reached with her fingers to feel the place where his cock merged with her cunt. The touch of her fingertips reduced him to shudders and he thrust harder, driving deeply into her clutching wetness bringing them both mindless, groaning rapture. "God, this is so good," she groaned, "Harder, fuck me harder! Please don't stop." Christopher kissed her hard as he lifted and plunged into her. It was as an act of total passion and possession and her body shook helplessly with the deep thrusts. She clung to him with her arms and her mouth and caught her legs around his hips as he pinned her to the wall and buried himself inside her driving again and again. The wet sound of their fucking together with Jana's trembling moans filled the room. Ian seemed paralyzed by what was happening but Jana glimpsed a flash of icy hatred in his eyes. She cried out wildly as she approached orgasm. It was like a tremor from the center of her being, from the center of the earth, a powerful charge as the air gushed from her lungs and her body soared in exquisite release. Her pussy clenched convulsively around Christopher's cock and the strength drained from her body as the pleasure washed over her like a fever rising languidly to its breaking point. Christopher was close. She heard the low rumble from the back of his throat and she felt it inside her, the intensification of his rhythm; deeper, harder, the pause between thrust and withdrawal longer, the tautness in his buttocks. His face screwed up in erotic abandon as the breath shuddered out of him. Passion enveloped her and she gloried in the wild pleasure of his orgasm. "Yes Christopher! Come for me darling." "Oh God! Argghh Jana," he cried out as his fluids erupted hotly like a spurt of fire from a rifle barrel deep inside her. She held him tightly reveling in the power of his throbs lodged inside her and when it was over they both slumped to the thick carpet, shaking uncontrollably. "Jana, it's time to leave." Ian's voice pierced the stillness of the room. He was fully dressed and he tossed her clothes at her. The room swirled dizzily as Jana shakily stood up and came face to face with Ian. The only thing darker than his black jacket was the expression on his face. "Let's just relax," she said softly. She gestured towards the canvas secured with bubble wrap that rested on a side table. "You've got what you wanted, now let's just be cool about this." A small smile played across Christopher's lips as he walked towards the drinks trolley. "Anyone like a cognac?" "No, we're getting out of here," Ian barked. "Now Jana get your fucking clothes on and let's leave!" He strong–armed her towards the couch where her clothes had landed. "Wait a minute!" she said as she spun around and glared at him. His eyes were like balefires, but hers flashed hotly as well. "I'm not ready to leave and stop manhandling me! Nobody pushes me around like that, especially you." Ian threw up a hand in frustration. "Christ, Jana don't make a scene! Get dressed and let's just get the hell out of here." "No!" She ran her hand through her disheveled hair. "I'm not ready to leave yet," she said forcefully. "In fact, I'm not going anywhere with you ever again," she spat. "What the fuck is your problem?" Ian snapped. His heart was hammering so hard he could hardly think. She couldn't possibly be saying what he thought she was. Dammit she was his mistress but he did love her. Didn't she realize that? "You're my problem," she said, mouthing the words as if they were a curse. "I'm through being one of your pretty possessions to be used at will." She laughed cynically, "Funny thing is all last week I hoped you'd change your mind, but you didn't! So I did this for you and now, I think I'm coming out having gained the most." A brief look of pain flashed over Ian's face followed by a glance of icy contempt at the artist. The coveted painting was called 'Desertion,' and the terrible irony of the name was not lost on Ian. He swallowed the bile that rose in his throat. "Jana please, don't be ridiculous. Lets talk-" "It's over Ian," she said emphatically. "There's the painting. Take it and go. You can think of me when you look at it." The room was suddenly cold in the thunderous silence. Anger flared through Ian galvanizing him into action. He reared, clenching his hand as if he meant to destroy the canvas with his bare fist. He stared enraged at it for a second while he struggled to get himself under control. Then he flinched away throwing a look of contempt at Jana and Christopher. "Goddamn you both!" he snarled as he headed for the door. **** Jana threw back the covers and walked to the window as she recalled the previous night's happenings. She drew back the drapes and bright sunlight flooded into the room. Lawns and trees were arranged in some formality on the fenced property before the landscape surrendered to the desert scrub and raced away for miles to the foothills of the distant mountains. She breathed deeply and smiled as she slipped back under the sheet. It was a new day and a new beginning. A knock sounded on the door. "Come in," she called. "Good morning," Christopher said. His voice was gruff and formal, but his eyes roved lustily over her. "I've brought you some coffee. There's breakfast waiting inside." "Thank you," Jana said with a smile. It had been a long time since anyone had brought her coffee in bed. "Christopher, there's something I'd like to ask you about a painting..." "Well, 'Desertion' is still here," he said. "Technically it's yours now." "I know, but that's not the only one I'm interested in." "Oh yeah," said Christopher arching his eyebrow. "Which one has taken your fancy?" A small tantalizing smile played around Jana's lips. "I want the piece called Rebirth," she said boldly. "Rebirth?" Christopher said seriously. "Sorry, but that's definitely not for sale." "Oh right I forgot. It's not about the money for you," Jana said letting the sheet fall from her body and giving him an unfettered view of her nudity. His gaze drifted up the length of her bare leg to the smooth mound between her thighs. She opened herself just a little, obliging his hungry stare, knowing what it would do to him to see that she was already wet. He flashed his slow sexy smile and drew his eyes up to hers. "That's right, money often doesn't feel like a fair exchange for the passion I put into my work, but we might be able to negotiate something more suitable..." "Gosh, I'm starving, aren't you?" Jana asked slyly reaching for a silk robe at the edge of the bed. She could already feel the heat radiating from her aroused body and she noticed that small beads of sweat had broken out on Christopher's forehead. He was in as much of a sexual fever as she was, but prolonging it would make it even sweeter. "Now, how about we have some breakfast and see if we can work out a little deal..." THE END Author's note: This was originally written with the Earth Day 2005 contest in mind but I was unable to make the deadline. Nonetheless, I enjoyed writing the story and incorporating an earthy theme into it. I hope you enjoyed reading it. Please vote and feel free to send me feedback which I will always reply to providing there is an email address. J