The Good Samaritan

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It had been foolish of him to take the path through the tract of heavily gorse shrubbed land known as Tommulty’s Acre, let alone in haste. After recent heavy rains, the ground was unpredictable in places and it was only when his horse began to stumble and slip after a fairly stable patch of terrain that he tugged upon the reins in an effort to slow the pace. It was too late by then though. To make matters worse, the rough path, if it could be classed as such, was somewhat elevated with a mucky and occasionally rocky slope below.  

Nostrils flaring and with an outraged whiny, both stead and rider tumbled down the almost but not quite hill. Before they could reach the bottom there was a distinct snap which emanated from the gentleman’s rib cage that might have been heard rather than just felt, if only all other motion and sound in the world ceased at that particular moment in time. 

His horse righted itself immediately, unaffected by his rider having rolled on top of him a few times. He wandered over to an area of thickened lush grass at the base of an oak tree to graze. As for its master, that was an entirely different story. Already bruises were blooming like ink on the skin beneath his torn and muddied shirt. It hurt to breathe and his head was light. For who knew how long, he lay there blinking, gasping, hands clutching at his shirt, tearing asunder the front so that buttons flew into the grass like seeds expelled from the water balsam plant.

He knew to stay in such a position for too long was not the course of wisdom, so he attempted to call his horse over in the hope that it might be possible to grab the trailing reins and pull himself to standing. The horse was having none of it though. Perhaps the grass was just too delicious or more likely, perhaps the horse now associated his rider with falling and for the present time chose to remain riderless lest it happen again. 

After a little more convalescing, the injured rider managed to get himself to his knees, whereupon he noticed a pain to rival that of his ribs in his left ankle. Taking a few shallow breaths, he set his weight upon his right foot and was pleased to find it sound. Then gritting his teeth because he knew what must surely come, he gingerly tested his left foot. The red hot stabs of agony that lanced through him as a result caused him a slight lapse in bladder control that he would have been mortified over had he been in civilised company. But considering he was slathered in filth, bloodied and bruised, clothes shredded, he saw it through the eyes of one who was too much in the grips of discomfort to fully exercise the folly of pride. 

There was little wind to speak of, yet he swayed as if there was. Then he tried a few faltering steps in the direction of his horse. The beast eyed him warily, as if to say, ‘you only have yourself to blame. Do not involve me in this. Our partnership is over.’

The man murmured soothingly to it; he really did have affection for the animal but his motives in this instance were entirely selfish. His scheme worked nonetheless and his fingers wrapped tightly about leather. 

Now for the business of getting up into the saddle, he thought with dismay. 

It seemed impossible but he had to try. After several attempts he got one foot into the stirrup but could do no more. He dangled from it by his good foot, drenched in sweat and gasping.

‘I don’t think that horse be overly fond of you,’ said a feminine voice that he instantly recognised to be working class even though he couldn’t quite see her from his present position.

‘Madam, might I call upon you to assist? I would be much obliged,’ he puffed. 

He heard her skirts brushing the grass.

‘Aye, you might,’ she said, offering her hand and then her shoulder for support. Shoving aside the fact that he was touching a female who appeared to be all alone which could be deemed as most improper, he hoisted himself up into the saddle. A grimace marred his handsome countenance. She stood there, hand on hips assessing him.

‘Have you far to go?’ said she.

‘I was meant to be at Croxdale Hall this afternoon but I am in no fit state to attend now. I should try to make it back to the village.’

‘But that’s further away. Does it not make more sense to continue on your journey? I am in actual fact headed there myself. I am to start my new post as cook’s assistant.’

‘Impossible. I cannot present myself to Lord and Lady Allerton looking like I’ve been fighting pigs in a sty.’

‘Suit yourself then,’ she said and started to make for her destination. 

He watched her go for a moment and then urged his horse forward with a jarring kick of his heels. No more than a hundred yards progress had he made before he toppled over in pain and landed with a thud on the ground. The woman appeared beside him within moments.

‘You really have done yourself a mischief haven’t you?’

Not taking no for an answer this time, she heaved the man back into the saddle then climbed up behind him and set the horse on the path to Croxdale Hall. For a long time he was too winded and in pain to speak but eventually he offered her his thanks. As they neared the Allerton’s estate his anxiety over his disheveled appearance grew and upon seeing a sheltered pool of water in the river that they now followed, he requested that they stop so that he might attempt to better himself.

This could no more be managed on his own than getting in and out of the saddle, so she joined him in the shallows, hitching up her skirts and began scooping up water to wash the dirt from him. It was a tedious operation and impatient woman as she was, she came up with a scheme of greater efficiency. She removed her petticoat and doused it in water, squeezed out the excess and began rubbing his bare skin and clothes where necessary. The effect was nigh on immediate and also shocking to him. A cockstand of the most painfully obvious variety tented his trousers. 

She gave a little smirk and continued her ministrations with the wet undergarment that was the source of his reaction. His embarrassment was acute.

‘Please forgive me, this…this..indiscretion,’ he said. ‘I am clearly not myself.’

‘There isn’t anything to forgive Sir. I am old enough to know that this be the way it is with men on occasion.’ 

He nodded away his shame or rather tried to.

The wet petticoat was now being smoothed down his face and his awareness of her uncommon beauty grew greater still. She looked up at him and said, ‘I also know that there are things that can be done to ease the situation, happen a man should require it.’

Distracted by the movements of her full lips it took him a moment to realise what she had just said.

‘How…um, what do you mean?’ 

Immediately he regretted the question. He knew all too well what she meant. He should have just ignored it, not inquired further. He swallowed hard, his cock straining pitifully for what it sensed was near.

She looked a little bashful. ‘Well I could show you if you’d like?’ 

His eyes darted about and then settled on hers, further lighting the inferno. He gave a tiny nod. She draped the damp petticoat over her shoulder and with one hand wrapped around his waist for support, she slowly dragged her palm along the front of his trousers. He shuddered. Encouraged, she repeated this action. When she stopped he whispered for her to continue. Braver now, she gripped the length of his rod through the material and stroked him for a few moments but the barrier proved to be an impediment that could not be borne. So she carefully unfastened his breaches and for the first time ever she saw what she had overheard her two married sisters talking about amongst themselves.

She thought it fascinating and in fact wanted to get a closer look but she reminded herself that this task was not for her for enjoyment and that it was merely a means to an end. So she diligently set about helping him reach that end. It did not take long. But such was the heat of his lust for her, it did not dampen his ardor. Then she recalled another thing she had heard her sister’s mention.

‘There be another way Sir if you would but humor me?’

She led him out of the water towards a nearby tree. 

‘I cannot consent to fornicating with you Madam,’ he said in an almost apologetic tone. The look in his eyes told her that he would not take much persuading to change his mind on that count but that was not her plan, for she intended to keep her virtue for her future husband. 

‘Don’t you worry Sir. It does not involve intercourse the likes of which begets bairns. Just you lean back against that tree and leave the rest to me.’

He did so and she again exposed his turgid member to the air whereupon she knelt down and got her first good look at it. What she saw pleased her greatly but not to the extent he was pleased when she finally took him into her warm mouth. Even though his injuries burned, the fire in his loins outmatched them. 

What unspeakable bliss!

The sight of her pretty lips wrapped around his cock made his precum seep into her mouth. His buttocks clenched when her hand found his balls and when she moaned with pleasure over her task he fed her further drippings of his own desire. She swallowed them dutifully and leaned in to lick his tip then sank her mouth as far down his length as she could. He groaned and gazed up at the leafy canopy through which the late afternoon sun was shining.

After some experimentation, she realised that by bobbing her head up and down whilst sucking she could give him maximum pleasure. As she persisted in this action he started to moan.

‘Oh it is coming. It approaches swiftly…please don’t sto…Oh…Oh…Oh!’

Just as he had said his body fountained up its essence into her. She slowed but continued to work him with her now filled mouth until he softened and finally slumped against the tree. She swallowed his seed; a first for her and then did her very best to make them both look respectable. 

They continued the rest of their journey in silence until they hit the long driveway leading up to the great house.

‘You know that was really quite something,’ he said. ‘In fact you are really quite something.’

She grinned broadly.

‘Aye. And I’m pretty good cook as well,’ she said with a chuckle. She shook the reins and pressed her thighs about him.

‘Well you may stop that young lady or you’ll be cooking up something else again.’

But it was too late, he was already hard for her once more and that was how he spent most of his time at Croxdale Hall, knowing that she was near and thereby recalling all that they had done.

Throughout the rest of his life he took many journeys, some to far away places, some near and he even took a wife and then a second, once the first had passed. But nothing seemed able to dampen the intensity of his memories concerning the good Samaritan girl and her untried explorations of him in that glade. And so, many years later, when he died at the ripe old age of eighty two, his final and most precious thoughts were of sunlight peeping through beech leaves in the glade –  from a place and time that only they knew.

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