The Chronicles of Harold the Healer Ch. 02

Harold lay in bed, drowsing in the late Spring morning. The bed was warm and it felt like he was floating in a cloud, with a warm, naked Leila snuggled up to his equally naked back as he rested on his left side. Morning light was filtering through the closed curtains and the sounds of the morning were drifting in through the open window, which was protected by a mesh screen made of fine wires to keep the bugs out. He heard the bedroom door open quietly and quickly closed his eyes, knowing who it was. Padding feet quietly approached his side of the bed.

"Papa! Papa! It's time to get up!" whispered the voice of his daughter Marcie.

"Mmph. Go away," he muttered, suppressing a smile. She gave him a little push.

"It's Sunday morning, Papa. Time to make breakfast for us! I'm hungry! It's 7:00!"

"But it's so warm and snuggly in here," he whispered plaintively.

"Do you want some cheese with that whine?" Marcie whispered back. His eyes popped open.

"You little imp! Where did you hear that one?"

"You said it to me last time you were home," she replied with a big grin, dancing just out of reach of his clutching hand. "I remembered! You also like to say 'Turnabout is fair play'!"

"Not when it's your beloved child sassing you," Harold grumbled with a fake ferocious scowl, making her have to stifle a giggle. He thought that he heard a giggle from behind him, but chose to ignore it. "Fine, I'll get up. Let me get dressed and I'll go make breakfast." Marcie happily skipped out, mission accomplished, and he eased his way out of bed and stood on the wooden floor. "All good things must come to an end," he thought somewhat grumpily as he got dressed in his traveling clothes, which had been brought into the bedroom before Tom and Helen had come for Tom's reconstructive surgery yesterday afternoon. Leila had turned over in bed to face him as he stood in the middle of the room, and though her eyes appeared closed, he made sure to flaunt his ass, well-muscled from hundreds of miles of walking from village to village on his rounds, and to waggle his genitals at her as he dressed. He borrowed a pair of her fuzzy pink slippers to protect his feet from the cold floors, as their feet were nearly the same size. He then left the room, quietly left the door a bit open, and walked down the hallway to the kitchen, where Marcie was waiting for him. All of the ingredients for breakfast were carefully laid out on the counter next to the wood stove, which had been cleaned and stocked, ready for action.

"Nicely done!" he praised, starting the fire with a couple of words and a gesture with his left hand and fingers. "No excuses for delays from me," he added ironically.

"I'm hungry!" she replied with a gap-toothed grin, her eyes, which were a similar shade of blue to her father's, sparkling. "And so are you," she added as his stomach growled.

"I'll be back in a few minutes," he said, sticking his tongue out at her. He went out the kitchen door and walked down the short, paved path to the privy, which was about five feet square and painted pleasing shades of green and brown. Halfway there, he paused and farted loudly. "When, in my illustrious career, did morning wood become morning wind?" he grumbled, continuing on. After using it and washing his hands with the small sink and pump that were included in the building, he returned to the kitchen and set to work. At four-foot-nine, Marcie was more than tall enough to help, and she had her past shoulder-length auburn hair carefully tied back to keep it out of the way. Under his direction, which she barely needed anyway ("Papa, I'm almost eleven! I know how to make pancakes!"), she was mixing the batter as the two frying pans and kettle were heating on the stove. He quickly went to the guest bedroom, where his large backpack had been left yesterday, rummaged around in its depths, and returned to the kitchen with a bag the size of two clenched fists that was carefully wrapped in waterproof oilskin.

"What's that, Papa?" she asked as he spooned four blobs of batter into the large frypan.

"It's a surprise for your Mama," he replied with a conspiratorial wink. "Watch as I flip the pancake." He carefully pushed the flipper under a pancake and turned it over with a small splat. "Are you ready to try?" She took the flipper and expertly flipped the other three. "Hey! Have you been practising?" he demanded with almost mock surprise, hands on his hips.

"Yes, I have!" she replied proudly. "Mama makes us pancakes sometimes and she showed me how." He moved the kettle to the cooler corner of the stove because the water had started to boil. He then poked the contents of the stove to rearrange the burning wood. The first batch of pancakes was moved to the warming rack and the next batch plopped in.

Far too many times, her bladder had forced Leila Parsons to leave a warm, snuggly bed and this was one of them. Many other times had been because of the adorable stomach with legs that is her daughter, but Harold had fielded, albeit involuntarily, this occasion. She had definitely appreciated his flaunting his goods at her as she was pretending to sleep, as the warmth between her legs attested. It was all part of the ritual when he came for a visit on a weekend or in the summer when Marcie didn't have school. On weekdays when she was in school, the ritual started a little earlier, but it was always pancakes, eggs, and milk for breakfast, and sausages if they happened to have any, and she'd made sure that they did today. Sounds of quiet conversation and cooking, along with some delicious smells, drifted down from the kitchen as she got out of bed, stretched and yawned, and stood in front of her full-length mirror for the daily inspection.

She had been born and raised here in the village of Magwitch and had the same farmer's body build that nearly everyone else had, large bones, hands and feet. Her almost D-sized breasts had medium-sized pink areolas with nipples the diameter of a pencil eraser that stuck out about a quarter inch due to the coolness of the bedroom. There was still little sag to them, and only the amount of extra padding one could expect on the body of a mother approaching 50. Her hair, which was long enough to cover her breasts, had been a coppery red, but was now well on its way to becoming silver. The hair of her bush, which she had carefully trimmed yesterday morning in preparation for Harold's arrival, was still its original glorious copper colour.

As always, she paused to pick up and hold the two wooden rings connected by a long leather strap that rested on top of her dresser. Harold was from a distant corner of the northeastern part of the Kingdom, but he had adopted the local tradition of carving engagement rings for them. He had presented them to her one year, one month, and one day after their first meeting at the Cashman's farm when he had repaired Tim Witherspoon's broken femur so well that she could not tell it had been broken. He had made them from an unfamiliar wood, which he had called mahogany, which was from the tropics, and had been stained to a colour almost the same as her hair had been. They were heavier than they looked, but felt warm and comforting in her palm.

"Did you really make these yourself?" she had asked, looking into his shining eyes as Marcie, then two months old, slept in her crib in her room.

"I did," he had replied. "I didn't even cheat and use Magic. I asked a woodworking friend of a friend how to do it. He gave a quick outline on the tools and methods, and after some trial-and-error practising, I made these for us in the downtime during my rounds on the road. Our situation is unusual because I can't stay here with you as your husband because I have to keep moving as part of my work."

"Not to mention that you often wind up in someone's bed, and that I sometimes welcome others into mine," she had replied.

"Will you accept these as a token of my love, for us to wear when you think the time is right?"

"I will," she had replied without hesitation, carefully placing them on the dresser, then turning and kissing him with a fire and intensity that he had returned. "Now," she had whispered after they had finally pulled away, "unhouse that cock of yours and put out the raging fire you've started in my pussy before the other token of our love wakes up and wants to nurse!" His seriously tented pants had been the first to go, quickly followed by everything else and she had pushed him onto the bed and mounted him, easily impaling herself on that wonderful cock of his. "Please," she had added as he had stared at her overfull breasts, "help me with these. Marcie never drains them completely." Harold had willingly complied, gently sucking on each nipple as it sprayed her high-pressure milk into his mouth as she rode him with increasing urgency. "Oh Goddess, it feels so good when we do it this way!" Her orgasm had nearly crushed his cock with its intensity as it flooded her pussy with his cum. She had flopped down on him so that they were nose to nose.

"I love you, Leila Parsons," Harold had said breathlessly, gently licking her lips.

"And I love you, Harold Moser," she had replied, equally breathlessly. "And if you do any more of that, you will get no sleep tonight!" They then heard quiet fussing noises from Marcie's room, as she had awakened from her nap and was hungry again.

"We already don't get much sleep at night," he'd replied with a tired grin as she had gotten off him, leaving a mess on his deflating cock and abdomen, which he had to Clean off so that he could get up too. "I'll get her and bring her to you." By the time he'd come back with the angry infant, she had propped herself in her bed with pillows behind her back and in a few moments the baby was firmly attached to her left breast, sucking vigorously.

Somewhat reluctantly returning to the present, Leila retrieved a warm cotton nightie from her closet, put it on over her head, stepped into her other pair of pink fuzzy slippers, left the bedroom and walked down the hall to the kitchen.

"Mama!" Marcie exclaimed happily, running over to give her a big hug.

"Oof! You're getting stronger!" she said, hugging her back. "Good morning, Harold."

"Good morning, Leila," he responded, turning the sausages over in the pan while eyeing the last of the pancakes in the other frypan. "Did you have a good sleep?" She moved over into his rather gentler embrace and put her nose against his.

"I certainly did," she replied, giving him a soft, lingering kiss. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

"Your sausage will be ready for you," he replied, somehow sneaking a squeeze on her butt. "And pancakes and eggs," he added innocently. They watched her through the window as she walked to the privy and went in. "OK, Marcie, let's set the table." Plates, cutlery, and mugs were arranged on the table that was in the back corner of the room. "Now for the surprise," he said, measuring a heaping teaspoon of black powder from the bag into his and Leila's mugs and pouring in hot water. "You probably won't like this," he said, pouring milk into hers. Looking relieved, Leila emerged from the privy, returned up the pathway, and entered the kitchen. She stopped and sniffed the air.

"Harold, is that coffee?" she demanded, hustling the few steps to the table and sitting down. She held her mug under her nose and inhaled the fragrance.

"A friend got it for me from one of the markets in the Capital."

"Dear Goddess, if you weren't already mine, I would claim you right now!" She took a careful sip of the scalding beverage and closed her eyes in delight.

"Why are you happy with the coffee, Mama? The General Store has lots of it," Marcie asked.

"The General Store's coffee is good enough and serves its purpose, sweetheart, but this is a special blend that comes from the neighbourhood in the Capital where the Magic School is. All the students have to pull long hours studying, as well as gossiping and complaining, in the cafés, and this coffee is the fuel that kept us all going." She and Harold carefully sipped their drinks, lost in years of memories.

"Have some pancakes, Mama," Marcie urged, returning them back to the present. "I made them almost all by myself!"

"She did," Harold said, adding some maple syrup, cutting off a slice and popping it in his mouth. "Soon she won't need me anymore and I can stay in bed longer."

"No, Papa, I will always need you. The pans are heavy and can get too hot!"

"The way you're growing, the heavy part won't be a problem for much longer! Are you sure you can't make her stop growing?" he added plaintively to Leila, complete with batting eyelashes.

"I wish that I could," Leila replied with a smile, stroking her daughter's hair as they all ate their breakfasts. "She's like a human locust with everything she eats. I'll have to take her clothes to the Swap Shop again because she's getting too big for them! Can't you help your Mama and stay the same size?"

"Nope!" Marcie replied with a big grin, swallowing a mouthful of sausage. "When you both make such good food, I just have to eat it all!" Harold snickered and shook his head ruefully.

"Our daughter is learning how to butter up her parents already. We'd better watch out!" Marcie giggled and looked innocent, fooling nobody. They spent a few minutes eating quietly, with the sounds and scents from outside drifting through the open window.

"What are you kids going to do when the rain starts?" Leila asked after the last of the food had been eaten and the coffee drunk. "You'd better not get into the mud again!" Marcie looked slightly guilty. Yesterday, she and the rest of the roaming pack of children had made a total disaster of themselves at the Wemmicks' pond and had had to be Cleaned. Harold and Leila had made it more fun by having their parents throw the spells at their filthy offspring, but the kids then had had their turn. Harold hoped that they'd all had a good night's sleep afterwards.

"It's Sunday, so there will be something to do at the Community Hall," Marcie replied as they got up and brought their dishes to the sink. "Maybe dodgeball in the gym or games in the library."

"Sounds like a good idea," said Leila, Cleaning the dishes with a loud rattle and clatter. "Despite opinions to the contrary, we can't have you all roaming around town every day. You don't want to be all tired out for school." Marcie made a face. "Go close the window in your room. We'll deal with the others when the time comes."

"Yes, Mama," she replied, leaving the kitchen to go to her room.

"I should get changed," said Leila, looking over her shoulder at Harold as she stood by the door to the hallway. "Yesterday's exertions have left me a little stiff and sore."

"It would be ungallant of me to allow my love to hurt herself while getting dressed," he replied with a smile, drawn to her by the pull of her eyes that was far stronger than any rope. They made their way back to the main bedroom, whose door was closed firmly by Harold after they had entered. They knew that Marcie knew what they were doing and that she wouldn't disturb them. They had been surprised when she had told them last night that she could feel it when they were loving each other. He bent down to hold the hem of her nightie, which was at her ankles, and slowly pulled it up, kissing and licking her legs as he went until he got to her pussy, which got extra licks and attention. A soft moan indicated that he was doing it right. Up he continued, giving her navel a lick and her slightly soft belly more kisses. His hands kept a gentle pressure on her sides as he continued raising the garment. Upon exposure of her breasts, which were glowing gently in turquoise and yellow, it was clear that her rock-hard nipples needed some attention, which he lovingly gave, rewarding him with more moans. He finally worked his way up so that the nightie was only on her arms that were over her head.

"You know how to make a woman feel special," she murmured as the garment hit the floor and her arms wrapped around him for a sizzling kiss. "I love you, Harold," she whispered with her lips just brushing his. "I want you to be mine forever."

"Your wish was granted a long time ago, Leila," he replied, gently licking her lips until she thrust her tongue into his mouth for another kiss. "I should let you get dressed," he continued when it was finished. "We have things to do today." His feeble efforts to leave her arms were unsuccessful.

"There is a problem that needs to be addressed," she said, unbuttoning his pants by touch while pressing her nose to his. They fell to the floor, along with his underwear. "You can't go outside with this," she continued, stroking his hot, hard cock that was glowing gently in turquoise and forest green. "People would talk."

"If people knew what was going on down here," he replied, feeling the heat in her crotch with his right hand and easily pushing his middle finger into its needy depths, "they would also talk. What should we do about these problems?"

"I have an idea," she murmured, gripping his convenient handle and leading him to her bed. "I think that we have to make love hot, hard, and fast. That's a reliable way to get rid of unwanted arousal, or so I've been told." Just as she was facing him and getting ready to get on the bed, he gave her a little push, knocking her off-balance so that she landed on her back, legs open. He instantly stuffed his cock deep inside with one thrust. "Oh! You couldn't wait?"

"I want to watch my cock going in and out of you," he replied, moving in and out with small slurping noises. "I want to watch your breasts move as I make love to you." They were moving back and forth on her chest, still glowing, as was her pussy. "I will ravage that beautiful pussy of yours and give you not one drop of my sperm."

"As always, you are a liar. But a sweet one," she gasped as she put the squeeze on him. "You are going to squirt every last drop of your sperm into me and put out the fire you started!" After about a minute of increasingly frantic pounding and bucking, he involuntarily thrust in as far as he could and let loose with a groan and two hard squirts as she clamped down on him and screamed into a pillow. Harold felt something warm and wet trickling down his legs as he stood, weaving woozily as all the blood seemed to rush from his head. His cock came out with a quiet pop as he faded out, and he just managed to turn and slide down to the floor with his back to the bed.

It took a minute for Leila to reassemble her scattered brain functions enough so that she could sit up without falling over. She shakily stood up and then felt something warm and wet sliding down her legs as all the love fluids left her pussy. She had to hastily Clean herself and the bedding before carefully stepping over Harold's legs. A quick check showed that he was rapidly returning to consciousness, much to her relief. She went to her dresser to get her clothing for the day, looked at the rings lying on it, then looked at the twitching form of her long-time love, and made a decision. She knelt and kissed him. "Wake up, lover boy," she whispered as his eyelids opened and fluttered. She made sure to put on her socks first, bending over with her back to him so that he would get a perfect view of her pussy and ass, and felt another flash of warmth as she got an upside-down view of his cock helplessly twitching and drooling out the last of its cum as he stared, eyes fixated on hers.

"Did you like your breakfast sausage?" he managed to ask with an impudent grin, looking down at the mess between his legs and hastily Cleaning it up.

"Yes, it was the best ever," she replied, hauling him to his feet and into another embrace and gentle, loving kiss. "Now get dressed before I give into the temptation to have another one!"