5 comments/ 11752 views/ 1 favorites Under The Oak By: MrFoxwood Watching the ghosts of fat carp drift lazily like airships beneath the clouds of duckweed. Flitting columns of pure woodland sunlight caught and reflected from summer's ripe harvest. Everything drips with the essence of readiness. Everything hums with the busy activity of life, from the ancient creaking growth of the immense oaks, grandfathers of the forest, to the fleeting life-beat of the bee and the boatmen. Yet all appears drowsy, it is too warm almost, the millpond keeps a bearable coolness here in the very depths of the wood and all life knows it. All is drawn thankfully closer, deer and fox come to sip, the frog watches with only eyes to see. And here I dip my feet, clumsy, mammal, soft-footed nearly enough yet always watched. A silence has followed me this far in to the wood, opening before and closing after me as I pass through: a velvet cloak marking my movement, stifling the noise of the inhabitant, following, watching, this invader, this quiet wanderer, never settling, never staying. Upon the bank I find a likely spot, a higher clump where oak overlooks and the ground curves away and round down to the still surface of the water. Beneath the heavy limbs of this giant a jetty of sorts is fixed and appears to have been waiting for all time until this moment came, perhaps it comes every summer, another woodland stranger wandering this way rather than that, and upon finding this place, thinking as I have. I sit, I lower my bare feet and watch as the dust turns to smoke and evaporates away in to the cool green. The longer I sit still the smaller I feel the sphere of anxiety shrink, the creatures, the wood itself is growing accustomed to me sitting here, until I feel it shrouding just myself and all under this grand oak. I lay back, the uneven wood accepting me. Eyes closed I can feel the forest hum, a quiet, happy vibration of life beyond the boundary of my little bubble where I'm watched. I imagine I can feel the whole forest at once, all at work with life, save under this tree. My ears trace the birdsong around the banks, a blackbird stakes his claim and higher in the treetops magpies chatter. But like a pip in the pie there is a gap, a hole in the hum, just like this vacuum around me there is another away across the pond, opposite me, where the birds and the bugs and even the trees seem to have stopped to watch a fellow intruder. I sit up slowly and turn my head that way, the foliage is thicker there and the ground cannot be seen. It is perhaps a cat, stalking, ready to pounce, the world holding its breath in that tiny terrifying territory. Fish investigate my toes, nibbling at them. Across the pool a moorhen slips from the clustered lilies in to the water and clicks and bobs. The far bank is partly obscured by reeds, green and yellow, blown as waves by the breeze. Bad-tempered coot emerges to chases the moorhen off the pond, briefly breaking this idyll, strutting around on the water, warning off anything else that may be watching. Dragonflies dip down to drink from the surface and quickly, confidently, tranquillity is restored. The lilies shudder, disturbed by some large fish dwelling within their stems. I am cooled on this hottest of days by the gentle ripple of water around my feet. A swim, a swim would be pleasant, out in the sun, from beneath the shade of the trees, out in the middle of the pond, at once both warmed and refreshed. I lift my feet clear, guilty for the noise of water upon water as they break from the surface. Upon the jetty I strip, leaving clothes bundled and abandoned on the creaking old wood as I lower my body in to the stranger depths of the pond and feel myself accepted at once. Away from the bank the water is deeper, clearer, and I see my hands abstract and sepia pulling me forward through the sunlight. I feel my body cooling, treading water here, buoyed by the simple pleasure of peace. Across the water, behind the reeds, above on the bank a movement, a rustle of leaves and twig and a figure rises, emerges from the undergrowth. A trug, weighted on her forearm and a casual tuck of dark locks behind her ear. She adjusts the dishcloth over half of her harvest and looks about. She is out berrying, the heat of activity and the summer's influence showing on her brow and neck, glistening evidence caught in the elusive rays through the canopy, enough to follow the trails of perspiration down to her chest. A turned hand across her forehead and another loose lock tucked back aside. She looks around again, her gaze higher now, no longer looking for fruit to pick. Then she stoops, out of sight before straightening up with free arms, another brief casual glance around the surroundings and she pushes the dress from her shoulders, her hands dropping to her hips to help it down and then she stoops again. My heart quickens, anticipating the sight of this stranger, this fellow woodland wanderer naked as I, yet clearly more welcoming to my gaze. But she does not rise again, she is gone, perhaps by some trick of magic she is animal, fleeting, running free in the wild wood now, witchcraft doesn't trouble my thoughts but neither does the wish of such beauty revealed so casually. Maybe she has not gone, maybe she were never there, just a trick of the sun upon my mind, it is too warm and I have wandered far already today. Then, there! The reeds move against the breeze and through their bars I see her tread forward, her form obscured and quickly sinking with each step until as her hands push through out of her screen she dips once more, the water reaching her shoulder and her modesty maintained. It is now that I first feel her eyes upon me, nothing but an open stretch between us, not more than seven yards and no more than dragonflies and boatmen to shield our view. Her eyes are unabashed though look away slowly after a moment with mine, faux coy. The ends of her hair trail in the water and she nears my spot, stopping not too far off. It is clear that where she has paused the basin is not so deep, her movement suggests that her feet have found the floor and leave her standing in water up to the base of her neck. Without another glance my way she brings cupped hands to her neck and shoulders, wetting them with cool refreshment. I follow suit, dipping my face under the surface, feeling it take my hair and remove the grime of the warm day from my brow. When I raise my head and look once more in the stranger's direction she is moving closer again. She pauses before me, an arm's-length away, the ripples shaking the sight of her figure beneath the surface. The sun picks out her face in glorious highlights, quickly drying her skin and leaving her porcelain. I feel the draw of her look, perhaps a move of the hand also, perhaps it were just a flick of her eyes, but she asks I come closer. When I am within reach her fingertips find my chest, coasting up and on to my shoulder. As if viewing a skittish creature I wait, motionless as she moves, afraid that reciprocation will alarm. Her hand follows my arm to my side and softly takes my wrist, requesting it forward. I am led and find my fingers alighting on the soft submarine hip of this vision. She smiles all sweetness and coy and returns her hand to my shoulder, pulling her form closer to mine. My placed hand slips across the small of her back unbidden while hers takes my shoulders and neck. Our heads now so close she tips hers aside and presses her mouth to my cheek, kissing me there as softly as the dragonflies touch the water. Again she kisses, below my ear, her breath nurturing my rising spirit and coaxing a second hand to her body. She allows herself to wriggle between my arms, consenting to a closer embrace and placing a kiss upon my lips. My mouth desires more and I kiss back, holding her there as one set of fingers explore her spine. She guides my other hand to her breast, eyes with mine and hopeful. I weigh the full globe in my cupped palm, a woman's breast, full and firm, sumptuous and gravid, fingers tighten and release, thumb grazes its pinnacle and draws her back to our kiss. Her legs kick softly as mine do, keeping us both afloat. Then I sense hers have ceased and I find that we have drifted and she has found the sloping bed once more. Her feet secure I feel a touch of her thigh beside mine, knee bent and caressing up. With lips locked and hands engaged I turn our embrace and find my own feet planted, leaving her sculling once more. Now it is my turn, our legs intertwined and the graze of my thigh high between hers. She is no coy thing and I feel her knees distance themselves. I stand goose-like with this desirous woman upon the thick seat of my leg, softly bobbing in the water, steadied by arms about my neck. Her legs clench mine, intending never to let go, one hand removed from my shoulders and then, tenderest of touch, fingers stroke in coil around my patient yet prepared manhood. Now it is her turn for thumb to graze, teasing, tormenting, the look in her eyes knowing what she does. I bounce her upon my leg and catch her breath, she holds tight to me to keep her balance, tugging upon me seemingly involuntarily, threatening to take my spirit. I wonder if such congress was her intention. Her thighs hold mine with such ferocity that I dull my movement, for which she seems grateful and permits her body to slip away while her hand holds fast. For a moment or two she breathes, a smile appearing on her mouth and her eyes finding mine again. Then, her free hand takes mine and guides me to caress her as she does. She abandons my hand upon her thigh and tells me with her eyes to find my own way. Her thighs are firm and beneath the concealing water my fingers tease them. She has moved beside me now, her feet planted as mine are, her legs able to distance themselves a little, inviting me closer. At the apex of those stems I find the fine soft bloom, fingers delicately exploring the fleshy petals, toying there, an indecisive groundsman. Her mouth parts, tongue firm behind teeth, a soft cry of pleasure all but bubbling from her throat. Yes eyes plead, as her hand holds its ground, asking for, begging for, like for like activity. Her body is back with mine, my grasped self between us, the backs of her fingers pressed low on my stomach, her forthright nipples firm against me. A kiss, quick, urgent, eyes locked and then softening, another kiss comes my way and lingers, reluctant at first and then demanding, tongue ferocious, demonstrating that which she wishes my fingers to do. Her leg lifts, knee brushing outside my thigh, petals parting and finally fingers finding the flowering fruit, the blossom. Now the whimper of bliss leaves her lips to my ear, pushed over her tongue by my duelling fingers thrust with winning strike to her core. We kick away from the shallows once more, drifting across the pond, unaware of our position. Our hands lent to one another as we merge, rising passion amongst the lilies, breathless bodies beneath the surface. The drift takes us clear across the water until my unoccupied hand reaches up and grips the jetty before it strikes my lover's head. Coming to a stop our mouths find union once more, pressed hastily together before trailing across the other's jaw and throat, her lips finding my ear and breathing, urgent and without question of refusal, her desire. She releases me, her twisting body dragging my fingers free and facing me with a view of her slender spine fading to the depths. My hands at once know the flesh of her behind, warm in the cool pool, succulent and ripe. She raises her feet, parting those thighs as I position my need beneath her. My mouth is on the nape of her neck, her hands upon the jetty, mine joining them to lever my movement. While we were adrift her hand has readied me beyond belief and I feel as if I am a beacon, a steady pulse of guiding light as I prepare to enter this unknown cave. One hand takes her breast, irresistible peaks plucked, her perfect plea gasped beside my mouth as my lips find hers briefly. Lips and tongue firm on her shoulder now, grazing her taut skin, the pond soothing my bites, glowing head ready, pressed then withdrawn, not yet, easy now, the exquisite caress of her submarine lips on the upper length back from my tip as I pull my hips back. My angle rises, finding her welcome, a warm embrace ready for my rude intrusion, a final invitation gasped and accepted in a long, hot push. My animal pleasure growled in to her ear and hers barked back. Her knuckles are white upon the jetty, fingers interlocked with mine, difficult to tell which belong to each of us. Bodies locked in tight union, rocking in unison, the slap of water against the bank rhythmic with the soft moan and grunt of our congress. She curves her spine, pressing her plump buttocks back against me, coaxing me, goading me, her knowing smirk snapped from her mouth as I reply deeply and without warning. She cries in abandon, uttering unearthly requests, her fingers losing grip on the jetty until I hold her fast, a steam engine driving a piston to deliver her with shouts that echo through the woods. I hold still within her, planting soft kisses upon her back as her body hums and sighs. She tips her head back and smiles her pleasure, to which I tell her the pleasure is all mine. She giggles again and sighs once more as I idly wrap an arm around her submerged waist. I withdraw a little, feeling her begin to stir as if to bring our union to a close, but holding tight I return to the depths I've visited within. She pretends to scold my insolence but on the edge of her tone I hear the frayed lilt of desire. My own desire is yet unquenched, it has merely rested and now rolls over once more and shakes itself off ready to find its bone. A second time I withdraw to return, firmer now, eager to reach my own deliverance. She has realised my intentions, hoping to share my pleasure and intent on assisting. Her mouth issues more desperate declarations of desire, dark directions, seemingly wanting my fulsome favour, her words hastily becoming frantic and I conclude that the breaking wave I witnessed before has risen again within her, with greater fury. Her contorting bod, centres its violence around my intrusion, pulling at me whilst grinding against me, as a tornado it hits, sucking my spirit from me at the summit of my highest ascent, a seed fired deep inside, my temptress left breathless as I. Our bodies on fire as though the pond were unable to extinguish our heat, every fibre of our beings as one for that moment. Spent and exhausted I permit the water to take me, submerging myself entirely and feeling that we have heated the pond by degrees. Upon my resurfacing I find the satisfied smile of the stranger greeting me. I move to embrace her once more but she passes by with sly eyes and is away across the pond. I wonder if I have perhaps acted unbecomingly to cause her departure and reluctantly I return to the jetty to make my own exit. Soaked as I am I elect to dry myself in the dappled light before redressing. I sit beneath this oak and watch as my erstwhile companion appears as a bust behind bushes. She stoops and clothes her wet skin, rising again and moving away. Here she comes around the pond, approaching my resting place beneath the oak, trug on her arm, smile on her lips, a fresh glow upon her cheeks. She walks as though a casual visitor to the woods, not the dark and passionate lover I have so recently known. Her illusion is negated somewhat by her innocent summer dress clinging as it does to her soaked skin, particularly about her chest and thighs, giving tantalising perspective to her bountiful fruits. She sits upon the ground beside me, amongst the delicate woodland blooms, legs folded demurely beneath her and nothing more than a fleeting smirk of acknowledgement before she plucks a blackberry from her harvest and offers it to me. Together we enjoy the berries, lounging in the dappled light. We must cut and odd image to the casual observer: she dressed and I naked, talking pleasantly and feeding one another these fruits. She expresses a dislike of the heat of the weather, and her enjoyment of berrying in these woods, but nothing to tell me of her identity. Her long fingers offer a red currant and place it with great care within my mouth, lingering there on my lip, drawing my eyes to hers. I reciprocate, and we find ourselves both kissing the others fingers. As if suddenly coy and startled she enquires if I'd care for a drink and removes the dishcloth from her trug, revealing a stone jar stopped by cork. She offers and I accept, tipping it to my mouth and feeling the cool cider pour down to quench my thirst. Thankful I hand the jar back and watch my companion take her own pull on it. The nectar is hard but still refreshes and invigorates the spirit. Fingers return to mouths, pressing lips, finding tongues, teasing with good intention. Meanwhile the brew is passed back and forth, its pleasant intoxicating effect making itself known. She takes another drink and I watch the spilt drops traverse her throat and cascade like a mountain stream in to a crevice, my eyes unwilling and a little unable to pull themselves away. Taking another long pull of the cider I lower the bottle to the sight of this woodland priestess biting through a plump strawberry, its juice following the wet trail left by the drink, smearing her skin pink. Unaware of herself she offers me the remaining half, red lips turning up as she takes another. We continue like this, her making the initial bite on each corpulent berry, her lips, throat and chest slowly taking a deeper pink hue with the ample sweet juice. She requests a kiss and I am on my knees to acquiesce, the slow press of lips and loving embrace of tongues slipping away to the systematic removal of that spilt and smeared juice from about her mouth, then her jaw, kisses preceding little laps as the drying stream is followed down its course. Above my lowered head she pours more cider through her lips and the sudden replenishment to my feast runs in rivulets past my tongue and in to darkness beneath. I stalk the course as far as I think proper before lifting my head, awaiting granted access to sacred territory. She puts her hand upon my shoulder and silently requests another kiss, teeth holding my lip softly as she retracts her probing tongue and then the same hand that offered the invitation pushes me away, down and in to that warm cleavage to chase the disappeared nectar. Hands feel about the firm curve of her breast contained within that dress, moving in soft caress as kiss and laps probe deeper. Fingertips play on the damp hem, skin making subtle sticking contact with skin, mouth keeping attention focused as knuckles buckle to draw back that obscuring garment. This she permits all too briefly, my hungry tongue managing only a florid flick across her urgent nub before she bids me to withdraw with some apparent displeasure. I sit back, perhaps I have been too hasty. She is looking away and while I console myself with idle berries I absently pluck one of the innocent flowers from the ground around us and lift it in offering to her. Her displeasure begins to thaw and she tips her head for me to plant the bloom in her hair, smiling sweetly as I tell her how prettily it improves the flower to be upon her. She offers the jar once more and bites in to another strawberry as I take a drink, watching me from the corner of her eye, barely able to keep the smirk from her lips as she turns the ragged edge toward her exposed knee and smears a few inches of skin. Then offering the remainder to me she keeps it out of reach until my mouth lands upon her knee, at which she finishes the fruit herself and leaves me to find sustenance from her skin. I suck at her firm flesh there until the trace is gone, at which she immediately leaves a further stain requiring my attention higher upon her leg. I shift my body to kneel between her feet, head bowed in worship as inch by inch, juicy smear by juicy smear my temptress guides me closer. The next smear is short and applied with a certain haste. I raise my head to witness her flushed cheeks and parted lips, her chest rising and falling like a galleon on high seas. I make my next lick slow, teasing, her hand returning before I have finished, now the piece of fruit is simply ground in to her thigh, flesh disintegrating as it is dragged high under her dress. Now her legs are spread wide and she lets her body fall to the cushioned embrace of the forest floor as one hand pulls her dress clear and the other mashes a fistful of fruit and applies it carelessly to her hot centre. Under the Oak Tree It was one of those perfect July summer days. Hot, but a mild breeze blowing to not make it uncomfortable. Kelli sat under a huge oak tree in her backyard listening to the sound of the wind. She loved the way it blew through her hair and the way it felt as if she was being touched as it rolled over her body. The feeling of being touched was starting to arouse something inside of her and she slowly moved her hand across her legs to her stomach and finally rubbing her clothed breast. She was in her own little world and didn't even notice Thomas, her fiancé, standing near the corner of the barn. He watched as she caressed herself, eyes shut, head against the tree and the look of lust on her face. She bit her lip and moaned as she felt her nipples get harder under her touch. In a moment of passion, Kelli slid her hand back down her stomach and to her thighs where, as a normal response, her legs fell open. In Thomas' full view; he watched her rub herself slowly. He could feel himself growing, and knew that he had to have her. As he slowly walked over to her, Kelli opened her eyes. She wasn't startled, but rather she grew more excited at the sight of the bulge of his pants. She stood up, bracing herself against the tree for the kiss she knew was coming. He stopped in front of her, he looked deep into her eyes, and without words he knew she wanted it as badly as him. He took her in his arms, and they had the most passionate kissed of their lives. At first the kiss was slow and sensual, but then the urge inside of them both took over. Thomas slowly slid his hands from her back to her breast and undid the buttons on her sun dress, one by one. As the dress fell from her body, he rubbed her bare skin, only making her want him more. She turned him around, and in one full motion, ripped his shirt open. As she pressed harder into her kiss, she reached between them and started undoing his pants. She was longing for what she desperately wanted inside of her. They fell to the ground, not caring about who was around but just fulfilling their urges. He broke their kiss and slowly began kissing her neck. She scrapped his back with her finger nails in the heat of passion. She wanted nothing more than for him to take her then and now, but he had a better idea. He slowly kissed down her body, stopping at her left nipple and rolling his tongue over and around it. He bit it softly and she moaned in pleasure. He then kissed across her body to her stone hard nipple. He sucked her nipple deep into his mouth and she could feel the heat from his tongue. As he bit, she arched her back and moaned, still wanting to have him inside of her. He slowly kissed down her stomach and instead of allowing her to feel pleasure, he moved to kiss her inner thigh and she whimpered with in disappointment. With a slight smirk on his face, he looked up at her, winked and kissed her very wet pussy lips. She spread her legs wider than she ever had. She just wanted him deep within her. He took a long lick and savored her sweet taste. This slow movement was driving her crazy, and all she wanted was him. She sat up, and pushed him over. Deciding to give him a piece of his own medicine, she started kissing his neck. She moved down to his nipple, taking it into his mouth, she rolled her tongue over and around it. She also bit softly, and he too moaned. She kissed the same line to his other awaiting perked nipple. As she sucked his nipple into her mouth, she could feel his penis pushing again her dripping wet pussy, and knew she had to get there fast. She continued to kiss down his stomach and instead of teasing him by kissing his thigh; she lowered her mouth over his penis. After taking him fully, she drew up on his shaft and rolled her tongue around the head. He moaned with excitement and she knew he was ready. She raised her body over his, and slowly allowed his penis to enter her. While she moved herself up and down his shaft, he reached his hands to her breast and pinched her nipples between his fingers. They both moaned in pleasure. Her pace grew faster and faster, and he wanted her to feel the pleasure without the work. He rolled her to the ground and drew himself deep inside of her. He teased them both by starting out slowly but then quickened his pace. He was slamming deep into her, and she could feel him deeper, where he had never reached before. The excitement was building in them both. He lowered his mouth to her ear and whispered for her to cum with him. His pace was faster and she could feel his penis begin his final stage and she to was almost there. He moaned that he was cumming and with this feeling inside of her, she too reached her orgasm. This seemed to have lasted forever, but once it was over he feel on top of her. They laid there both panting from the excitement. Feeling the heat from the sun was causing them to become drowsy, but they both knew sleeping in the nude under the oak tree was a bad idea. Slowly they started moving, finding their clothes, getting dressed and all without words. She finished first and while sitting against the tree watched as he buttoned up his shirt. She had the look of fulfillment in her eyes, and he smiling at her. He sat down beside her and wrapped his arms around her. She leaned her head against his shoulder and felt safe. He lowered his mouth to her ear and whispered that next time she would need a bathing suit. Her eyes still closed, she smiled and drifted off to sleep. Under The Oak Unable to resist my lover's contagious lust I lap faithfully, my hands upon her hot skin as hers, fruit stained still, clutch my crown and guide me down. She is hot, damp though not from the pond, ready, eager to feel my touch, she opens up before me, I taste her heady tang and she responds favourably, her body squirming above my lowered head and tightening as if readying itself to strike. I savour the delicate petals, taking each under my tongue in turn, drawing it back between my lips before abandoning it to make a brief tour higher. I raise my head a fraction to tell her how delectable her body is, particularly this forbidden corner of it. She replies with a throaty groan and clutching fingers in my hair returning me to the feast. The flat of my tongue covers the wet width and with savouring dawdle I draw it up, its tip turning to probe between as I go until my own lips close upon her apex, drawing on with increasing pressure, her body rising on arched back until I release her. That emerging nub, the hopeful peak, begging for touch, to be plucked, it is ripe, its opulent glow beckoning. My tongue flicks, withdraws, returns and swirls, eliciting cries that send ripples across the pond and throughout the glade. Those long legs rise about my worshipping head, knees bent, hips rising to meet my mouth's caresses. The cavity in woodland noise that surrounded us upon our arrival is no more. The wood has seen us and recognises our animal instincts: the organic slap and suck, the beast grunt and howl, we are part of this, just another creature in the cacophony. There is a battle back and forth, a tussle of who controls who, two parts of the same creature vying for the sensuous sensation of the other moving to their whim. Is she puppet upon my tongue or am I bowed slave serving my mistress? The wood had a smell of growth and fruit, of bark, of leaf and moss. Now my nose is filled with the thick scent of this stranger's dripping desire, humid and lush, her musky nectar as dew upon the tip of my tongue. I lick, I lap, I prod and probe, I tease, then I tunnel, boorish, moreish, hungry to taste her darkest depth, plunge until she fills every of my senses, possesses me complete and pirouettes upon the point of perfect light I ignite in the blackest reaches of her hidden abyss. Her hands once desperate to control now clutch the wet flesh of her thighs, nails pawing at skin as she pulls her legs higher, wider, back arched, chest thrust until at my glimpse it seems as though each point of her breasts will rip her dress asunder. My tongue withdrawn I centre it upon that throbbing hub of her pleasure, smothering her there with firm attention and closed lips. Creeping fingers quickly alight at her vacated entrance, teasing briefly about the curled lip before easing in through its overflowing foyer. She gasps at this, the second coming of digits within her in the hour, crossed, uncrossed, finding their own rhythm at odds with my mouth. Just as her body enchants me I feel as though her spirit falls terminally to my dominion. She pants and grunts, hips bucking, her song at once pleading for release and determined that the ecstasy should exist forever, until at last her voice reaches pitches beyond comprehension, my head rising as she lifts the most of her figure clear off the woodland floor and wets my chin and hand with the sudden release of her realised bliss. About my mouth and fingers her body trembles, shuddering, thigh muscles quivering and voice punctuating the forest chorus with blunt exclamations. Throughout I maintain management of her pleasure so that even as she finds her zenith she continues to whimper with the approach of a following crest. Her body sinks back ground-wards, albeit briefly, as no sooner does the sweat upon her behind touch the cushion of grass it is returned up with renewed need. I begin to discern her pattern and on her fourth rise I pull away, leaving her desirous for more, begging through exhaustion for a final touch to complete the cycle a final time. I relent and apply myself once more with previously unknown vigour and immediately find my head held fast between these sodden thighs, tongue delving through the hot raw meat of these lips and revelling in the abundant nectar it finds there. At the following descent I make to caress this enchantress's bulging peak once more but with uncomfortable shudder she pushes my advance aside, expressing a tenderness formerly foreign. We lay upon the ground momentarily, staring through the haze of our union and absently taking in the ageless forest surrounding us. Occasionally she shakes beside me, her legs suddenly clamping together, her mouth issuing a soft moan before relaxing again. For my part I remain violently unresolved, aiming skyward, a raised flag to show the undefeated of my regiment. I feel the clinging touch of her fingers upon my forearm and then gently at my hip. I suspect that this may be the beginning of her casual trail towards taking on my desires, but her hand lingers about my thigh and moves no closer. Presently my urgent need subsides and my frustrated density softens and descends. The rising and falling of my lover's chest beside me remains in the corner of my vision until her breathing evens, at which she rolls on to her hip once more and begins her fingers walking towards my dormant part. I turn my head to look her way but find only the shy dart of her eyes away from mine. It comes as little surprise that my need quickly reasserts itself against the warm soft palm. I enjoy her murmur of delight as she tests its rigidity in her clenched fist. It takes only a few slow movements of her hand before that clear spirit emerges from my engorged crown and it is with unbidden gasp that I watch this wanton woodland priestess move herself on to her knees and extract a thick thread of silk from my bulbous head. Pulling the silver string upon her tongue she twirls it about and lowers it back to its source, utilising it to ease the slow circumference she traces about the tender girth of the dome. The torturous circuit completed she puckers her lips and presses them about me, kissing softly at first before parting them enough to suck at just the swollen summit. My hips involuntarily press my pillar skywards, hoping to feel the warm oral embrace descend its length, but giggles and sighs move with me, keeping contact with just the tip. At my grunt of dissatisfaction she takes pity on me and sweeps the flat of her tongue across the sensitive bulk of my glans, eliciting a rumbling groan. She expresses her pleasure at instilling so much of the same in me and moves around again to repeat the action. My fingers dig in to the grass beside my body, pulling it out by its roots as she torments me, slick tongue now traversing the lower length, lingering about my glans with pinpoint accuracy to raise my desire tenfold, then enveloping half my whole with the entirety of her mouth. She commits this cruel act over and over, never providing quite enough to tip me beyond the edge of the canyon, just maintaining my precarious balance while my visceral groans intensify. Her thumb and forefinger in incomplete ring around my base, salacious smile across her face as her tongue dances its tip over the domed peak of my column. That marble pillar, ancient architecture amongst trees, drenched and glistening, the sunlight flitting across it through the breeze-blown leaves, a thousand stars picked out in my lover's saliva and the copious moisture she coaxes from me. With lusty groan she lowers her head, flicking against the thick trunk and lower to the soft skin, pressing me to her cheek with her hand, smearing a viscous mess before engulfing me. She closes her lips about me, suckling lips and dragged mouth rising skywards until nothing but my engorged acorn remains covered, this she assaults once more with ferocious tongue. I feel spirit rise rapidly, every touch raising it, a raging need to reach a crescendo to this divine performance. Upon which moment, when the slightest of caresses will instigate a violent eruption, the mischievous puppeteer abandons me, that hungry snake bobbing ineffectually in the breeze, behind it the grinning face of she who knows how sweet denial can be. She touches my hand as I instinctively reach down to release that need, a look on her face promises a far better conclusion if I am patient. I watch the kneeling angel raising her dirtied dress over her head and see it discarded, her naked form perfect as she crawls across the grass and moss, lowers her mouth to mine and without a word promises that she'll deliver all that I want. Between our bodies her breasts hang, full and voluptuous, ripe, ready to be plucked. She moves to feed one to my mouth, sighing in content as its point is caught between my lips and drawn down. Her voice is soft but edged with a dark urgency as she first asks and then begs for me to nurse upon her. My hands cup the weight of her fruit, testing their firmness as I feast upon first one and then the other, wetting them in turn and making gentle attacks upon each teat with soft bites and firm tongue. My own lust is not forgotten and at the touch of her wet thigh to my throbbing pillar I feel the climb towards that summit reignite with a vengeance. She slithers her figure on to mine, the feather caress of her engorged lips about my crown is almost enough that when with grunt of simultaneous effort, intention and satisfaction she envelopes me complete, an eruption occurs in an instant without further action. She expels my spirit, a furnace gush deep within her as I feel my body tighten beneath hers, the clamp of her clever internal fingers surrounds me and seems to massage, demanding endless warm pour of need fulfilled. My back arches, my hips lifting this temptress from the ground as the reserves of my will are depleted entirely. I smile in satisfaction as the image of my lover shudders to focus upon me once more, sitting calmly, almost demurely astride me, hands casually resting on my chest. And then she shifts her weight, grinding herself against the tenderness of my raw column. A wicked smile appears across her features and as she witnesses the realisation on my face she lowers her chest to mine, joining them with combined sweat, and signals that I am hers and she is mine, and we'll stay like this for all time. Here amongst the trees, beside the pond and below the oak, my wandering is finished, my body and spirit now subsumed by sensuous beauty. The wood goes on, its living hum surrounds us, our coupling watched by all from bumblebee to rising buzzard, writhing forms upon the bank, caught in constant copulation. Under The Old Elm Author's note: the following story is purely a work of fiction and any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental. The author wishes to express his gratitude to Copperbutterfly for her editing to make this a better story. Ah, she was a beauty. Well, maybe not a raving beauty in the Hollywood sense but she was certainly physically attractive. She had longish blonde hair with big curls that framed her face in a very appealing manner. Her figure was good and he was drawn to it right from the instant he saw it. But the one feature that first caught his eye was her bust line. If he were a betting man, he would bet that she was a D-cup, probably 38 inches give or take a little. She was wearing a purple blouse, rayon or satin, very shiny and soft looking. It had something like flaps over the tops of her shoulders, just two or three inches of material but there were no sleeves. When she lifted her arms to touch her hair, the soft curve of the side of her breast was readily apparent, even though she was wearing a bra. When she turned toward him, his heart leaped with lust to see the deep valley between her boobs, displayed prominently in the low cut of the blouse. Glen Marchant had been sitting in the shade on the park bench, enjoying the faint cooling breeze in the dark shade of a tall old elm tree when the woman approached and sat on the other end of the short bench with a smile but no words. Being an observer, especially of feminine assets, he had spotted her assets immediately. Only after a close examination of her breasts did his eyes fall to the roundness of her bottom encased in black slacks. He would have loved to reach out and pat that shapely bottom but dared not take the chance. Instead he watched her sit and then observed her out of the corner of his eye, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. After several minutes of just sitting, Glen broke the ice. "Beautiful day, isn't it?" "Yes, it is," she replied in a sweet soft voice. "Not too hot here in the shade." "No, just about right." Another few minutes passed in silence and the woman stood. Turning to Glen, she bent forward and extended her hand. "It has been nice sharing the bench with you." Glen took her hand but his eyes were in the now-wide-open valley between her breasts, which were all but exposed to him, the little bra barely covering more than half of the creamy white globes. He licked his lips. "Beautiful," he muttered, believing that he had just thought that to himself. Her eyes followed the trail of his eyes and then she smiled at him, but made no attempt to straighten up. "May I touch?" he asked, barely audibly. "No, I couldn't do that," she replied. "They are very sensitive." "Really? Not even like this." His fingertip started at her breastbone and moved downward, just lightly traversing the smooth skin. He sensed, rather than saw, her change and glanced at her face, only to see her eyes closed in a dreamy expression, her nostrils flared as her breathing quickened. "No, I ... I really ... couldn't let ... " His finger turned toward one of the globes, tracing the outline of her breast just above the ridge of the bra. Their right hands still clasped in a forgotten handshake, she put out her left hand to steady herself and touched his shoulder, grabbing him in a tight grip. Glen didn't believe he had touched the woman. Never before in his life had he touched a stranger in such an intimate way, with so little in the way of introduction between them. Yet now that he had started, and seeing her response, there was no way he could stop himself. His fingertip slid under the top edge of her bra and began a slow journey back across the broadest part of the orb. When he reached her hard nipple, her breathing was ragged and fast; he utterly believed her about her breasts being sensitive! It was an unbelievable response but he was seeing it with his own eyes. His finger lingered on the hard rubbery protuberance, pushing it this way and that, mashing it softly, and rubbing it in little circles. He felt her legs begin to give way. The handshake dissolved as she grasped his other shoulder for support. With his free hand, he reached around her waist, slid his hand down to her round bottom and pulled her toward him. Her legs seemed to spread of their own accord and she straddled him, sitting on his lap with her stomach pressing his rock hard cock. Now with one hand on her ass and the other still fondling her breast, he looked around and verified that there was no one else in sight in the park. Without letting his hand lose contact with her beautiful twins, he began working the buttons on her blouse open. As the creamy white skin was exposed to the shaded light, he dropped his lips to her and began to kiss her. The front clasp of the bra came open with a little effort and his mouth closed over her nipple. The woman groaned with pleasure, writhing on his lap until he thought she would make him cum in his pants. Fortunately she came first, biting her lower lip to keep from screaming out her pleasure. "I couldn't ... I shouldn't ... " "I know, baby, but you need it, don't you?" "Um, hum," she whispered into the side of his neck. He supported her enough to get his mouth back on her other nipple and in a few minutes she was in a state of high arousal. Helping her stand while she kept her hands on his shoulders for support, he unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock and balls. With one quick movement, he pulled her pants and panties down near her knees. As he lifted and turned her, pulling her back onto his lap, she said, "Honey, I really ... really shouldn't ... do this." With her back against his chest, he whispered in her ear as his cock began sliding up into her oh-so-wet pussy, "But you do need this, don't you, sugar?" "Oh, yeah!" she whispered, thrusting her buttocks back against his impaling spear. "Do you really want me to stop?" he whispered. "N...no," she said, slumping against him. His hands went to her sensitive boobs, for the first time able to fondle both at the same time. In moments, the woman was a frenzy of activity, trying to thrust her ass down on his cock to force it deeper into her cunt while she thrust her chest out against his fondling hands. He felt her pussy squeezing, pulsing as she ground down on him after just a few minutes of action. Glen could have shot his load into the woman then and walked away but he believed she wanted more, no matter what her words were. He thought for a few minutes about the smell of rotten eggs, supplemented by remembrance of the stench of an open sulphur storage pit in the coastal town where he grew up. Those two thoughts left his hard-on intact but his interest in cumming immediately was staunched. He dropped a hand between the woman's thighs and felt of her soaked pubes, just a little patch above her crease. His fingers slipped into her crease and circled her clitoris, stopping long enough to graze the sensitive bud every so often. Over and over the woman came, shuddering and pulsating around his cock. At last he could hold out no longer, even with the thought of bad smells in his brain. Instantly they were replaced with the wondrous sweet fragrance of the woman, a soft sweet perfume now mixed with the unmistakeable musky smell of hot sex. She was leaning back against him, her pussy occasionally squeezing his slowly deflating cock, when she said, "I promised myself as a new year's resolution that I would not cheat on my husband any more. I made it over eight months until today." "Oh? Do you regret it?" "No. Oh, no! Not after the way you made me feel." "Do you still have sex with your husband?" "Sure. But he just can't understand." "So he doesn't do it for you, huh?" "Oh, sometimes he does," she said wistfully, as she struggled upward to pull her slacks and panties up. "Just not very often." Glen tucked his penis and scrotum back into his pants and zipped up. The woman sat back on the bench to fasten her bra and button her blouse. "I'm going to have to make a new resolution," she said. "I know it's not right to do this to him." Glen didn't say anything but when she had finished the last button, he pulled her to himself for a long hug. She was so soft and so cuddly that he wished ... he wished she was his to pamper, to caress, to make love with until she was sated. Finally she put both hands against his chest and gently pushed away. "I'll be here day after tomorrow," she whispered and then she was gone. The end