THE STABLE BOY

Felicity threw her tawdry romance novel to the floor with a furious exclamation. She had to stop reading such filth. It was in the poorest of taste, and besides, she had not been able to read past the first line all morning. Her hands shook. She had been worrying the hem of her dress with what remained of her fingernails.

The cause of her distress was no mystery. Each morning, for five days, she had found an excuse to visit the stables. And each morning, upon her arrival, she found her husband Frederick already there, discussing details of the upcoming harvest with The Stable Boy. The fact that she could not ascribe these coincidences to anything more than bad luck did not improve Felicity’s mood.

And what was worse, as her own frustration intensified with each passing day, Frederick seemed to be attaining unprecedented heights of joviality and good humor. He smiled all the time, his lids drooping over his strangely sparkling eyes. He had even started writing poetry again. “To tell about those woods is hard, so tangled and rough,” one of them started. It was intolerable.

She saw Frederick there through the library window, urging his horse and a dozen hounds off into the forest. As his figure disappeared into the foliage, she rose and moved like a trapped starling to the door. Her novel, “The Accommodating Footman,” was left abandoned on the floor. Felicity would go to the stables and become undisguised and naked. She was mad for him, mad for the monumental pectorals straining beneath his suspenders.

The yellow firmament above the vast courtyard was assuming an ominous gray. The play of moisture and heat in the air made the supple boughs wag. The tumultuous wind tore violently at her hair and thrust its cold cruel fingers through the laces of her bodice.

Then came the rains, first in scattered drops that teased her skin with their heated lightness, then in a warm torrent that laved her arms and head and parted the shirt from her bosom and thrust its tongue into her bare-stript heart. She struggled, gasping, in the direction of the stables.

When she came into the stable, she was thoroughly wet. She was unraveled.The mares and steeds were pawing restlessly at the ground in their stalls. “Stable Boy!” she called. There was no answer.

An instant later The Stable Boy strode through the door. He was soaked from the rain, and as he entered he pulled off his shirt in one fluid motion and tossed it to the ground. In the gray light of the stable, drops of rainwater could be seen sliding between the Olympian muscles of his shoulders and back.

“Why don’t you take off that dress?” he suggested coolly, his biceps bulging as he raked his fingers through his darkened curls.

Felicity stiffened. “How dare you speak to me with such disrespect?”

“You don’t desire respect,” he said. This time he spoke more slowly as he walked towards her. “Why don’t you take off that dress?”

He looked down at her with his penetrating green gaze. Without pausing to think, Felicity raised her hand and slapped him hard across the face. He didn’t move. Her diamond ring had left a thin scratch across his cheekbone. With complete control, The Stable Boy grabbed her wrists and pushed her against the wall, her arms above her head.

Her chest strained against the wet, almost transparent fabric of her dress. “Someone will see,” she gasped.

“Let them see,” he whispered huskily in her ear.

Still holding her pinned with one hand, he slid his other hand beneath her petticoats. He trailed his thumb slowly up her leg and began tracing lazy circles on the inside of her thigh. His fingers were rough and callused against her creamy skin.

“Yes, my mountain flower,” she moaned. The Stable Boy’s tongue was everywhere.

Just when she could no longer bear it, The Stable Boy made a guttural utterance, lifted Felicity, and tossed her over his shoulder. Her derrière bobbed helplessly in the air as he strode to the back corner of the stable.

There, in the darkness, he flung her down into the hay. She looked at him as he stood over her, massively muscled and aroused. She was splayed wantonly on the ground, her half-open bodice slipping over her shoulders and her foaming petticoats pushed up around her thighs. With a wolfish grin, The Stable Boy unbuckled his belt.

Then he reached down and ripped open her dress with a single masterful movement. Her nudity gleamed, luminous, against the hay bales. Neither spoke.

He lowered himself upon her. It had begun.



* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *



It had finished. The rain drummed steadily on the roof of the stable as Felicity lay there, her body sweaty and sticky and utterly satiated. She pushed her hair back from her face with a languid hand and rolled over toward The Stable Boy. A piece of hay dangled between his lips. He was chewing on it slowly and contentedly.

With a sigh, Felicity draped herself over The Stable Boy’s magnificent chest and snuggled closer. She was aching in muscles she hadn’t even known existed. But just as her eyes were about to drift shut again, she saw something glint in the hay next to The Stable Boy. She turned her head to see what had caught the light.

It looked like...no, that didn’t make sense. She reached out her arm, encircled the small object with her delicate fingers, and pulled her husband’s monocle from the hay.

The Stable Boy pushed Felicity aside and got up to start putting on his trousers, but Felicity sat motionless, the monocle in her palm. She stared at it for a moment, uncomprehending. Then she looked up.

The Stable Boy had fastened his trousers over his prodigious loins and was smiling to himself as he sharpened a scythe. “Ah,” he said. “That must have fallen from your husband’s pocket as he was getting dressed this morning.”

Felicity’s head reeled. She threw Frederick’s monocle to the ground and stumbled to her feet. Then she looked back to the monocle, which winked playfully up at her. “You mean”—the words stuck in her throat.

“But didn’t you know, milady?” The Stable Boy asked. He was smiling openly now, and his eyes were wide. He had not broken rhythm as he sharpened the scythe. “Perhaps next time we could do it in the house,” he said. “I’m quite interested in your house, actually.”

Now Felicity really could not breathe. In a panic, without even bothering to put on her clothes, she made to rush from the stable.

The Stable Boy caught her easily at the door. He ran his fingers through her hair, tugged her head back, and kissed her full on the mouth. The strength drained from Felicity’s legs as she returned his embrace. She clutched helplessly at his suspenders.

The Stable Boy pushed her away. His lips curving into a smile, he handed her the tatters of her ripped-open dress. Felicity tossed it aside, incapable of speech. Then she turned and stumbled back towards the house stark naked, her feet squelching in the mud.

In the barn, The Stable Boy continued to sharpen the scythe. “One takes one’s pleasure where one can find it,” he said softly. He gave the scythe one final stroke. This time, it threw off sparks.



Thus concludes Part I of The Stable Boy. Lesley R. Winters’ serialized novel will resume in the fall.