3 comments/ 36233 views/ 5 favorites Merlin Ch. 01 By: Drmaxc 1. Wood She ran across the field, the brilliance of the early morning sun making the dew on the grass shimmer ahead of her. Rozz was up ever so early on this perfect summer morning. She had pulled on her clothes and trainers, quietly gone down the stairs and been out of the door almost before her eyes were fully open. She had planned to do this the night before though over night the idea seemed to have strengthened - become almost a compulsion and now she was out, free as a bird sprinting, wonderfully alone across the landscape. Rozz had come to the cottage as a somewhat indolent girl. Indolent as regards exercise anyway but a few days into the holiday that had changed. She had taken to walking long distances alone, exulting in the open air and use of her muscles. It was as if a switch had been clicked in her mind and the light turned on. She could even pinpoint when it had happened. She had been walking with her parents and sister down the cobbled street of the nearby village to its little harbour. She had been wishing the visit over so she could go and sit in her pretty bedroom in the holiday cottage and read her book at the window seat looking out over the sea, when she had caught sight of an old man sitting on a stone seat by the way. He was looking right at her; had smiled and raised his straw hat to her; she hadn't even responded but she could recall the sudden change of mood, a feeling of pleasure in the walk such that rather than go back with her family the short way by the coast path she had ventured further exploring and got back only just in time for supper, much to her mother's amazement. This change of habit had continued. It was almost as if something, or even somebody, was compelling her, ordering her, making her different, planting ideas in her mind - and she was happy, very happy with her new desire to be out and about, running free. She paused at the stile, chest heaving and looked at the first few trees of the wood. They were hawthorns but she knew these would soon give way to beeches, oaks, silver birch, ash and a host of other beautiful trees. She climbed the stile and dropped down the other side. Now in the wood now she no longer felt the need to run. She walked quietly, the wood though was by no means silent, filled, as it was, with bird song but she did not wish to disturb it with her own noise. The path forked and she took the left, climbing upwards deeper into the wood. She was quite warm now despite only wearing a tee shirt and jeans. She also needed to pee. She had not bothered at the house. She had wanted to be outside, to be completely alone, just herself and the morning, to be herself at one with nature. Out of habit she glanced around but of course she was alone; she was about to pull her jeans down and squat when she had a different idea; she stopped and undid her trainers and stepped out of them, her fingers fumbled at the metal button holding her jeans together and she undid it and zipped down the metal fly. Slowly she pulled her jeans and pants down her legs until they were round her ankles before stepping out of them. She glanced around again but she was alone. Down on her haunches she paused feeling the stillness of the wood, relishing being alone in a natural world and then she let herself go releasing the pressure in her bladder and watched the strong stream as it hit the soft earth, the crumbly brown leaf-mould, bubbling and splashing as it gouged a hole in the earth. The simple pleasure of this act performed in the open air brought a happy smile to her lips. Finishing, she stood and hesitated for a moment before making a decision. She felt good being free of her jeans, so she bent to pull on her socks and trainers, picked up her jeans and pants and walked without them in her hand, her tee shirt falling to cover her hips like a rather short dress. It felt free to be walking without jeans, without pants, it felt a bit naughty but natural. A feeling of freedom that there was nothing between her thighs, nothing hiding her sex, no restriction on her movement. She had not gone far when this feeling intensified, so that she thought how good it would be to take off her tee shirt as well. She did not do this straightaway letting the idea sit in her mind, the anticipation of being completely naked in the wood running through her head. If she met someone with just her tee shirt on, well, that looked like a short dress - almost: but no shirt at all? She stopped by a tall beech tree and looked around. There was no one there and she could see a fair distance through the trees. So if anyone came she would see the person and be able to head off quickly in the opposite direction. The risk, the possibility of being detected added to the excitement - not that she wanted to be seen: quite the opposite she wanted to be alone. Rozz pulled off her tee shirt. She was not wearing a bra that morning - really there was no need with her small breasts for her to wear one at all. She looked down at herself, the pattern of sun and shadow, light and dark, through the trees above her playing across her breasts and down her tummy to where her curly patch of hair shone in a shaft of sunlight like flame. Her long red hair, flame orange was exactly mirrored in her colouring lower down - a dramatic demonstration of her Celtic ancestry. She felt good, she felt free, she felt in this early morning a child of nature. She walked; her skin unclothed feeling so sensitive, so sensual, so real. The very act of placing one foot in front of the other felt different. Of course when wearing a skirt, thigh touched thigh as she walked but this was different again - she was wonderfully conscious of the lack of constraint at the top of her thighs, at their secret joining. The path wound upwards through the wood. The early morning sun surprisingly warm and already raising the scents of the wood. Warming the volatiles so they rose in the still air to Rozz's nostrils. A gap in the trees created an area of bright sunlight. She stopped to rest for a moment on a fallen log, feeling the texture of the bark on the bare skin of her naked bottom. She stretched feeling completely content, so happy that she had decided to come out for a walk early in the morning. It was so unlike her, usually she had to be extracted from her bed almost forcibly but these last few days and this morning had been different. She had so wanted to rise, had felt almost bidden to do so, almost as if she had had no choice. The birdsong rose around her, the bees buzzed seeking the flowers around her in the small clearing. She glanced upwards at the perfect blue of the sky and then downwards to her slim naked body and to her hands resting on her knees. She pulled them towards her rubbing her thighs. It was so good being naked. Her hands rubbed the top of the thighs and then her right hand softly touched her springy red curls, her thighs opened and she rubbed their insides. The hot sun made her feel, well quite sexy, the sunlight touching and warming her thighs and even her secret place. She felt very tempted to touch herself intimately, to play with herself as she did sometimes alone in bed. It would be rather lovely to make herself wet, feel herself all slippery and oily between her legs with the hot sun touching there as well, perhaps even bring herself to a climax sitting alone here in her wood. She was tempted and might just do that further on but not just yet. The prospect was exciting in itself and as she got up she felt herself already a little wet between the legs. It was good walking on with that feeling. She felt somehow more real, more female walking like that. A female in heat, she thought to herself, releasing pheromones to attract a mate. Nature fecund. The old man sat on the root of a great oak. It was one of his favourite places to rest and he knew it well - had known it for a very long time - had sat there most days since he had first come to the small village close by. He was certainly old, his full head of hair and long beard grey almost white in places, but how old it was difficult to say. Certainly the villagers knew him as the old man but that was not just the young people, their grandparents too knew him as old as if he had always been old, indeed when or if they thought about it they seemed to remember him as having been old when they were children. Unlikely of course. He sat almost unmoving, his bright green eyes watching a pair of squirrels scampering round and round a nearby tree. Not awful greys but the smaller, rare red squirrel. He watched them for a long time until all of a sudden they disappeared. The old man raised his right hand to his face and rested his beard on it, his eyes looked along the path winding down into the wood and his face, previously in repose, broke into a smile. He liked this spot though this was only one of many places he liked to sit whatever the weather. The villagers would shake their heads seeing him stride out from the village come rain, come sleet come snow. A thunderstorm could be raging overhead and up the village street would come the old man, stick in hand, purposely, steadily. What he was wearing would change with the seasons, a great coat in winter, shirtsleeves in summer but always a hat. Broad brimmed in rain, woollen in snow, straw in summer. Always a hat and always raised to the ladies whether old or young. Not to children of course but many a young girl was surprised when the old man first raised his hat to her - the pleasant surprise of suddenly being acknowledged a woman whilst still thinking of herself as but a girl. The puzzlement of the sudden change of status from a day or two before coupled with a wondering if, perhaps, he somehow knew that only the day before she had begun to menstruate? He was a quiet feature of the village like the pub, or church or harbour. He lived in a stone built cottage down at the bottom of the village near the harbour. A small cottage butting right up against the land, against the rock of the land, its windows looking out to sea, a single stone chimney rising up above the roof slates. It was doubtful it was modernised, it was doubtful it had the electric. Certainly no bright lights ever came from it and it was more likely any dim light was of a candle flame than a low wattage bulb. Heating was undoubtedly by wood both by the scent of the wood smoke on the evening air and because the old man always carried sticks back from the wood on his return home of an evening. What did he do? Clearly he was retired - beyond the age for work. What had he done before? Nobody knew. Certainly it was not something he had vouchsafed in the village pub when he called in for a glass of ale. It was not of course that he was taciturn. He would talk to anyone about anything - anything that interested him anyway certainly not modern things, football or television. He would also listen. He was a very good listener. Many a problem had been solved by talking to him. He would listen, ask the occasional question and somehow the answer would evolve. How did he live? Well, it was obvious his wants were few so, presumably, his pension covered that, whatever that was. He seemed to live to a large extent off the land. He grew some beans and vegetables; he fished and evidently trapped from the hares, rabbits and pheasants he brought back with sticks from the wood. Towards him, up the path, came a young naked girl carrying her clothes, her red head bobbing as she walked, her pale limbs moving steadily and even at this distance the patch of red between her thighs visible. She was evidently happy - it could be seen in the way she walked. It might have been expected that she would have seen the old man but his clothes were the colours of the land - natural fabrics, natural dyes - and sitting motionless he did not attract attention. So she was almost on top of him before his presence registered. Her hand flew to her mouth. "A very good morning to you, young lady, what a very fine morning for a walk." Rozz's hands flew to cover her sex and breasts, "I... I am sorry... didn't see you. Yes good morning... lovely for a walk...sorry...bye." She turned to flee, presenting her round dimpled bottom to the old man. "Don't let your nakedness bother you, it does not bother me, it does not bother the squirrels." The girl turned to look at the old man and her eyes followed to where he was pointing and there were the two red squirrels chasing each other round and round a tree. "See they are the same colour as you, they are not ashamed of their red fur - are you?" Still it was obvious she intended to go, to run down the hill but the old man said, "see they are coming over to look at you, to see if you are a squirrel too!" His face was all amusement but it was true the squirrels were coming to them. Rozz had never squirrels so close before, running, jumping across the ground towards them. She was torn between a desire to flee and fascination with the squirrels. She chose not to move - she reckoned she could still run after she had seen them. The squirrels came closer and closer and the old man began feeding them nuts from his pocket. They were taking them from his fingers with their tiny little paws. He looked at her quizzically and offered her some. Her palm opened almost by itself and slowly, tentatively she went down, down on her haunches and offered a single nut to one of the squirrels holding it carefully between thumb and forefinger. The little furry creature carefully, nervously, reached out with its paws and took it. She actually felt the slight tug as it pulled the nut away from her. It was a marvellous moment only spoiled by her realisation in squatting whilst facing the old man she not only had, presumably, surprised him with her nakedness but had also in squatting down and opening her thighs revealed her sex to him as well. It was too late, too late to bring back her immodesty so she carried on feeding the red squirrels, only occasionally glancing up at the old man sitting on his tree root. He was watching her but watching her feeding the squirrels not her body. "Amusing little things. So few I hear in the country these days. All these rough American grey invaders. Too late to trap them now. Soon, I fear, our little friends will be gone though perhaps not for a while, certainly not in this place - whilst I remain here." Rozz looked at him closely. He looked so old, his face so wrinkled and lined but his eyes were bright and he seemed still to have his teeth. "The squirrels are lovely. I didn't think they would eat from your hand. Are they tame?" "No, no perhaps it is because I feed them sometimes. Perhaps it is me. And are you tame I wonder, little child of nature?" "I was... I was out for a walk and it was hot, and..." "You felt like being free?" "Free? Yes, I suppose yes. I'll get dressed now." Rozz stood dropping her clothes to pick up her shirt. "No, stay as you are little squirrel. Stay with your nature. Does it not feel good?" Rozz was surprised by what he said and not sure how to answer. Here she was naked in a wood with an old man and he was suggesting she stayed naked because it felt good. It did though - it did feel good. "You remain shod, you do not feel the cool softness of the beech mast, the sweet mould between your toes. I expect it is only on the sand of the beech you walk, perhaps run, free?" Rozz remained surprised at his questions. "I would have liked to... but I was frightened of sharp sticks and stones." Why had she said that? Why had she admitted that? It wasn't untrue but why say it? "Let me see your foot." He stretched out a calloused wrinkled hand. And she found herself dropping the shirt, bending, untying a shoe, taking it off and placing her foot in his hand. Why had she done that? What a symbol of trust - moreover an action of great risk. Previously she could simply have run - run and run in her trainers to safety but now she only had one shoe on, had placed her foot in his hand. He could hold it tight, pull at it, pull her over and old as he was he could probably hold her down. Hold her limbs fast, spread her legs, pull out his penis and ravish her. If he could - of course. He did look rather old. Why had she let him hold her foot, why had she done that? The old man looked at the pink foot in his hand. His thumb rubbed, massaged the soft sole relaxing it. With his other hand he spread the toes. "A strong little foot but soft, so soft. Yes my dear you will have to be careful. Just a little thorn would prick, would slip into this soft pad. But I don't see why you can't walk a little way without those shoes. There is little to hurt your feet here. Come take off the other one." And she did. Almost without thinking and there she was standing in front of this old man without a thing on. No clothes, no shoes, no ring, no bracelet, no necklace. "Go, walk through the trees a little way, feel free. I will wait here." And Rozz did just that. She began to walk feeling the soft ground with her feet; she stretched her toes sensing with them the variation in texture, dampness and level of the forest floor beneath her. She walked away from the old man, away from her little pile of clothes, her shoes. She felt so free. She walked on, the sunlight dappling her naked skin in an ever changing kaleidoscope of dark and light, her thighs brushing together, her arms swinging. The sound of the birds, the buzz of the bees, the play of light, the heat of the sun, the cool of the shade, the scent of the leaf mould, the pine trees, the flowers. It was gloriously sensual. Unexpectedly her thoughts returned to between her legs. She had been thinking of playing, touching herself, creating wetness, excitement and release. But that was hardly possible now given the old man. She looked back but she could no longer see him. It was time to turn back. It would not do to go to far though she was hardly lost. She walked back smiling. The old man had not moved and was simply watching her return. "Am I right little squirrel? Was that good, did you feel one with nature; did it satisfy your senses? Rozz replied, "I like, yes I like being like this. I don't know why and I do hope I haven't offended you." "There is something more you want isn't there?" Rozz looked startled, a little panicky, "I... I might walk up the hill to the top." "Your need is good, it is good to walk with a wet feeling between your legs, to feel the buds of your breasts hard in the warm air. See your buds are almost hard now." Rozz looked down confused and, yes, the little pinnacles of her breasts were raised, the pink areolae puffing up forming little cones atop her little breasts. "I don't think..." she said standing in front of the old man, hands now on hips her legs a little parted. "And you are a little wet." The old man's hand reached out and, before she knew it, was between her thighs touching her red curls, touching her sex. The sudden contact with her sex, on her lower lips was pleasurable and a shock. It was the momentary of touches before it was gone and the old man was looking at his hand, the forefinger clearly showing wetness along its top. "Walk now, my little squirrel, walk up the hill, let yourself go, become wet as you walk, feel the pool build, feel it running down your thighs, making them slippery so they slide together as you walk. Go, walk!" And Rozz was off, away from the old man and walking up the path beyond him, up the hill through the trees. She found she was not upset by what the old man had said, what he had done, it was so in line with her own thoughts, her desires that she did not know what to think about him. To be walking free in the warmth of an English summer morning, in such a beautiful place and feeling so aroused. She was feeling wetter, deliberately she held her thighs together as she walked, her hand touched her breast and she squeezed. Merlin Ch. 01 Rozz came out of the wood into the small clearing at the top of the hill. Instead of leaf mould under her feet it was grass, grass still slightly wet from the dew wetting her feet. More sensuous experience, the sun was hot on her skin and here she was alone, naked, a little pink elf with her long red hair, small breasts and patch of red curls. She raised her arms up high stretching herself as she stood on tiptoe. A first trickle of moisture ran right down the inside of her left thigh to her knee. Had she ever been so wet? She turned and gazed out over the wood towards the sea and the little village. The sea was a brilliant blue and so calm today. She could not really see any foam on the yellow beaches. Perhaps she would swim later. What was it like to swim naked? On impulse she lay down, the sudden feel of still wet grass on her naked skin exciting. She stretched her arms high above her head on the grass and opened her thighs, wantonly wide, allowing the sun to pour down on what was now a very wet pool but it would take more than the heat of an English summer sun to evaporate all that liquid. She imagined herself lying here with some tall boy making love, pushed into the green grass by the pressure of his weight holding her down, penetrating her, his hard penis thrusting in and out, busy in her wetness. But she did not touch herself. She thought about sex. Hard animal sex. A succession of boys taking her. A rut. It was good lying there thinking of sex but nonetheless she stood and walked back into the soft light of the wood. It was good lying on the damp grass but it was exquisite to feel her wet thighs rubbing together, being conscious of her sex moving as she walked, of being a naked sexual female walking in the wood. She came back to the old man. He was not looking up the hill at her but at the squirrels that were once again chasing each other round and round the tree. She walked past him and turned standing once more hands on hips, legs parted in front of him. A drop of liquid ran down the soft inside of her thighs. His eyes watched it. His hand reached out touching her knee at the point the drip had stopped. Slowly he slid it upwards, feeling the wetness on the inside of her thighs until it was once more between Rozz's thighs, she gasped at the touch, her knees going weak. A gentle touch at first, the lightest of strokings back and forth. He began to play with her, pulling her lips, swirling round with his fingers and pushing them up inside her, one, two three. Rozz knew how wet his hand must be, she knew too she was close to orgasm. She hardly thought of what she was permitting, what she was allowing, what the old man had chosen to do. All it needed was a little touch on her clitoris and, and that she knew would send her over. The movement of the old man's fingers slowed. She looked at his face; his bright green eyes were shining with amusement. He raised an eyebrow and the ball of his thumb touched her clitoris. Her mind exploded with electric pleasure, she was coming, hard and powerful, wave upon wave, her knees gave way and she dropped to the ground, the old man's hand still between her legs, her eyes now firmly closed, panting as the orgasm carried on. She passed out. Sometime later she came to. Her eyes opened to see the two red squirrels watching her only about a foot away. Their little furry faces looked quite puzzled though this was a rather an anthropomorphic assumption. Rozz was laying on the forest floor her head on her little pile of clothes. She sat up sending the squirrels racing to climb a tree, and looked around. She was alone. She glanced down at her nakedness, the evidence of her recent sexual arousal clear in the wetness of her thighs. Where was the old man? She stood, stretching and heard a noise below her in the wood, the noise of voices. She had her shirt and jeans on in a trice; pants and bra stuffed in a pocket and by the time the people came into view she was sitting on the tree root tying up her shoelaces. A couple with young children in tow came up the path. "Hello" "Lovely morning, isn't it?" Where was the old man? She watched the children and their parents continue up the path. Where was the old man? Surely she hadn't imagined him? Why on earth had she let him... why had she stayed? It seemed a compulsion in her mind; a feeling right from waking that she should be naked and free; that this was right; all very odd. Rozz walked back down the path, pausing to listen intently and then put her pants on as well. It was a lovely morning, she felt invigorated, refreshed, happy, somehow more real than before - but what a strange experience it had been. Rozz was surprised by what he said and not sure how to answer. Here she was naked in a wood with an old man and he was suggesting she stayed naked because it felt good. It did though - it did feel good. Merlin Ch. 02 2. Beach "It's a bit like a bell going," thought Rozz, "five o'clock and they start packing up. Six o'clock and they're all gone." Rozz walked along the wet margin between sea and dry sand, sandals in her hand. The beach was indeed deserted; the day-trippers had gone home and the holidaymakers staying local had gone in for a glass and supper. It was a lovely time of the day. Still very hot but without the harsh midday light - rather a warmer, softer light that bathed the sea, sand and land in rich colour. Rozz's strong brown legs strode across the sand. Her sister hated the feeling of sand between her toes but Rozz loved the scrunchy texture of the wet sand. She could feel with her toes where the tide had graded the grains so that in one place it was all coarse grains, almost little stones, yet a little further towards the sea the sand was fine, so your feet sank in and left water filled footprints as you walked. She glanced inland towards the rocks and then at the wood rising up towards the hill that only the other day, in the early morning, she had climbed completely naked. What a strange experience that had been. She arched her feet in the sand. She would rather like to be naked now, not that she had much on in any case. Just a bikini and a white linen blouse open at the front keeping the sun off her neck and shoulders. She looked back along the beach but there was no one there. Rozz reached behind her and undid the bow of her bikini and pulled the strip of material from her. She glanced down at her small breasts only partly obscured by her open blouse. That felt better but... She walked on a few paces then shrugged her shoulders. "Why not?" she said out loud and tugged her bikini bottoms down and off. Now she was as she wanted to be, naked apart from her loose blouse. It hardly covered her buttocks and at the front her breasts and her vivid patch of red hair were easily visible, or would have been had anybody been there to see. Rozz felt much better and walked easily along the shoreline swinging the scraps of bikini and her sandals in her hand conscious of the freedom between her legs and the lack of restraint at her chest. Her stroll reached the other end of the beach where the sand gave way to rocks and rock pools. She sat down on the sand which was still quite hot despite it now being evening. It felt good on her naked buttocks. Rozz smiled, her sister would really hate doing this, far worse than getting sand between your toes: getting sand up between your buttocks so your bottom hole got all sandy! She wriggled a bit pushing the warm sand right up into the crack of her bottom. It felt all right to her. She opened her thighs and rested her arms on her knees and gazed out to sea feeling the rays of the warm evening sun on her sex, watching the light on the water. Rozz could feel a moistening between her legs, the result of both the sun, walking nearly naked and, yes, her own thoughts which were turning to the erotic. It was a fair way back across the bay to the other side and she could see nobody on the beach. She slipped the white linen from her shoulders and, rising, she walked the few steps to the edge of the sea. She glanced around conscious that with her blouse on or just sitting her nakedness was not very visible but being completely naked was a completely different 'kettle of fish'. She was still alone. The water felt cool on her feet and ankles after the heat of the day. A little further and she was splashing up to her knees. She paused for another look around before wading deeper. At mid thigh she paused, not to look around but for the courage to dip her hips, her sex in the water. This was not the Mediterranean Sea or the Caribbean: it was the English Riviera - Cornwall - and it had been a hot summer but even so the water was cool to a body heated by the July sunshine. Rather than edge slowly forward, letting the water slowly rise up her thighs until she received the small shock of it touching her sex or quickly dipping down and up again to get it over with, Rozz launched herself into the water and swam about ten yards breast stroke before standing and breathing quickly and thinking it wasn't nearly as cold as she had first thought. Now she could enjoy the feeling of swimming naked - skinny-dipping indeed! There was still no one in sight and swimming parallel to the shore she could keep a weather eye on the beach for anyone coming. It felt exhilarating, free and naughty all in one to be swimming without a costume and Rozz loved it. Pausing to stand again she let her fingertips roam about her body, feeling the nakedness of her little breasts, the cold buds of her nipples, her smooth stomach leading down to her patch of red hair, her soft buttocks and her sex where her hands lingered playing with herself in the cool water. Slowly Rozz swam in towards the shore, feeling herself pushed by the little waves until there was but inches of water under her so her breasts grounded on the pebbles. She stood, the water running from her and walked back to her clothes and sandals. Goose pimples had risen a little on her legs though she had not really got cold in the water. The beach was still deserted so she decided to try a run to warm herself up and to dry. She broke into a sprint and crossed half the beach before she skidded around in the sand and ran back again. She was warmer now but not quite dry. If she sat on the sand it would stick to her like it had to her wet feet and calves and whilst she had not minded the feel of the dry sand on her dry body she was less happy about having her still damp bottom coated in sand. Instead she sat on a band of smooth pebbles, warm from the sun, and gazed out to sea energised by the exercise, excited by her nakedness and by the feel of the sun's rays drying her skin. Rozz opened her legs and looked down at her sex. It was wet from the sea but lubricated and wet from her own thoughts. She looked at the pink folds framed by the red curls and touched herself with a finger. She could almost see herself getting wetter as she touched herself again. Amongst the pebbles scattered down between her thighs were one or two large stones, smooth and rounded by continuous rolling in the ebb and flow of the sea. One longer and slimmer than the others caught Rozz's eye. She picked it up and smiled to herself. It really was quite penile in shape. Bulbous one end, with a bit of a shaft before widening the other end to a slightly irregular shape, hinting, if you thought that way - and Rozz was - at a scrotum. She turned it around in her hand, her fingers stroking its smoothness, then encircling the head and simulating the hand movements her friends had told her was the way to "do it." She laughed at herself for what she was doing and put the stone down. Her eyes looked to the horizon and she wondered what it would be like to be sitting here, not alone, but with a naked boy, having just been swimming and running with him. She imagined his cock rising and expanding before her eyes,to stand hard between his thighs, the skin peeled back and the shiny head exposed. What would it be like to be sitting there wanking him, her fingers around his cock as they had been around the stone? Would she dare bend her head towards him and take it in her mouth as her friends had told her about? What would that feel like? Rozz glanced around the beach satisfying herself she was still alone. There was no one there. She bent and picked up the stone again and pointed the bulbous end towards her sex and lightly touched herself rubbing it gently up and down her lips. She wriggled a little, the smoothness of the stone felt good. Looking down she watched the action of the head on her sex, noting the way the stone slightly changed colour where it was made wet by her. She stopped her movement with the head of the stone at the entrance to her sex. Well, why not? She pushed the stone slowly up into herself, eyes closed, concentrating on the feeling of being opened, penetrated, and filled. It was good - but how much better would it have been with the boy? Rozz let go of the stone and clamped her legs closed on it, feeling it there inside her, and sat staring out to sea thinking about all sorts of erotic things but principally what it would be like to have sex on the beach with a boy. The awareness that she was not alone did not come as a creeping uncertainty or as a sudden panic: rather as a comforting certainty because she knew who it was. A rough hand touched her and rested on her naked shoulder. Rozz did not need to turn and look to see who it was. Both she and the visitor standing beside her stared out to sea. "You will miss it when you go away. Ever changing, mysterious and beautiful. It calls doesn't it? So calm and smooth tonight." The hand stroked her shoulder, "like you little squirrel." "I like it here, I love it around here. So beautiful, so peaceful, so empty. I thought perhaps you were a dream." There was a chuckle. "Now there's a thought. All I am is the dream of a young girl; thought of but a few days ago and maybe gone in less. A puff of smoke, a breeze across this landscape. Here one moment: gone the next." "I didn't mean to be rude." Rozz was very aware of her nakedness but it was not something he had not seen before. She was also aware of the stone within her feeling very big. The old man sat down beside her and she looked sideways at him, he seemed even more ancient now she saw him very close to. Above his thick grey beard his skin was fissured with wrinkles and his hair was turning white. But when his eyes turned towards her they were anything but rheumy with age: quite the contrary they were clear, green and had the quickness of youth. "What have you hidden away this evening, little squirrel. Squirrels are always hiding things." Rozz knew immediately what he meant by the question, knew he was aware of the stone, knew she must show him. Rozz slowly opened her thighs revealing the thicker, testicular shaped end of the pebble emerging from her vagina. She sucked in her breath as the old man's fingertips took hold of the stone and gently pulled it from her and held it in front of him. It shone in the evening sun, her wetness reflecting back its orange glow. "Does it feel good in you, little one? You have, I think, a need to be filled." Slowly he brought the stone back down between her thighs and pushed it in again, it slipped easily up the canal until Rozz could again feel the wider end pushing at her lips. He began to move it in and out of her, simulating the motion of intercourse. "Is it big enough for you?" To Rozz it seemed as if the stone was getting bigger, as if it was lengthening, the helmet shaped head going deeper and the scrotal end becoming wider so it now touched her clit with every inward thrust. She clasped her arms around the old man holding herself to him, her naked breasts pressed tightly against his shirt, her hard nipples rubbing against the material and her head pushed into his shoulder. The stone was sliding very easily now with little wet sounds as the old man rhythmically pushed and pulled it at just the right pace. He seemed to know when she wanted to go faster: when she wanted to go slower. To Rozz the sea and sand seemed to dim and all her concentration, all her focus moved to her sex, to the pleasure she was feeling and then it happened. An explosion of light in her head as the ecstasy of a strong orgasm hit her and just kept going as the stone kept moving. Rozz shuddered again and again totally caught up in the electric waves coursing through her body. Then, as the spasms ran on, she felt herself falling, falling down into blackness and unconsciousness. Rozz awoke. Where was she? It felt like pebbles not sheets under her and wasn't that the sound of the sea close by? Rozz opened her eyes; above her the sky was the dark dusky blue of late evening. She sat up and remembered. She was on the beach and had been... the old man had been... where was he? She looked around but there was no one to be seen. Beside her she saw her clothes. Yes, she had better put them on. Oh, the stone. Was there a stone, had she recently and violently come? She put her hand between her thighs. The stone was still there in the squashy wetness of her recently aroused sex. She pulled it from her and looked at it amazement - the stone was much longer than she remembered, the helmet shape more obvious and the balls more realistic. She was sure it had not been like that. It had been smooth and usable before but only a penis shape by a degree of imagination and fancy - but now! But now it was embarrassingly realistic. Not something at all to leave lying about. She stared at it on the sand as she dressed, what should she do with it? Should she just leave it; should she throw it into the sea; should she take it with her as a... as a souvenir? She picked it up and brushed the sand from it and put it in her blouse pocket - it stuck out, the helmet end poking obscenely out of her pocket. That would not do at all. She walked to the edge of the sea and readied herself to throw it in, but she did not want to do that. Instead she bent and washed the sand off before walking back to pick up her sandals. Slowly she set off back up the beach towards the holiday cottage, sandals in one hand, dildo/stone in the other. The sound of a dog barking across the bay and the sight of dim figures, presumably walking the dog, made the need to do something about the stone more urgent. She stuffed it down her bikini bottoms, scrotum end front most, penis running backwards between her thighs. It was not awfully comfortable walking like that and the balls end stuck out at the front making her bikini front swell out as if she was a boy. Rozz stopped, it just didn't look right! Where could she put it? The obvious answer came to her and she restored it to its earlier position up inside her. She walked, slightly ungainly and slightly uncomfortably past the dog walkers with a cheery, "Wonderful evening!" "Yes, isn't it." And made her way along round the coast, through the village and up and back to the holiday cottage, only pausing to remove or replace the stone as she came to habitation. Merlin Ch. 03 3. Cottage "Well, that's an English Summer for you," mused Rozz as she sheltered under a stone overhang of one of the village cottages. The rain was pouring down from a dark grey featureless sky. Rozz glanced up and thought this must be what a leaden sky was meant to look like. It was cold, moreover she was cold, made none the better by the quite strong wind blowing. It was July, no August and only yesterday it had been gloriously hot, not a cloud in a perfect blue sky, not a breath of wind and the sea as calm as calm could be. But now... now was very different, not just the weather but the sea as well which was grey, topped with white foam and crashing against the old breakwater of the harbour. She had come into the village on one of her walks. Her last walk actually - because the holiday was over. The car was packed, the cottage vacated that morning and her family driving home back up the A38 past Exeter and onwards northwards up the M6. She wasn't going straight home, that had never been the plan, and that was why she had brought her own car on holiday as well because she was going to drive on to visit a friend in Portsmouth. She was looking forward to going there, had never been there and was actually quite excited at the prospect of seeing the 'Mary Rose' and going on the oldest commissioned warship in the world, Nelson's Victory. Her friend had extolled the virtues of the factory shops in Gunwharf Quays and going up the new Spinnaker Tower. She had wanted one last walk and despite the weather being what it was, had set out clad only in a summer dress. The weather had held for most of the remaining morning and the afternoon but by the time it was clear it was not going to be better: rather was turning for the worst she was far, far beyond the village. Walking back the sky had opened and it was a soaked Rozz that had walked up the streaming cobbles from the coast path into the village. The rising wind and the increasing intensity of the hissing rain had caused her to pause and take stock; even the fast path would take her quarter of an hour to twenty minutes to reach her car though less if she ran. She looked down at herself. The print cotton dress clung wetly to her, moulding her limbs and showing her bra and panties beneath. The cold and wet had made her nipples hard and they were pointing through the thin material. Her arms were covered in droplets of water and rivulets ran from her hair down the front of her dress into the valley or depression of her small breasts. She looked a mess and the goose pimples on her arms showed she was actually quite cold. Looking a mess didn't really matter as the rain had driven everyone indoors. The village streets were surprisingly deserted. "Well," she thought, "I'm not going to get any wetter and if I run I'll get warmer and it can't get any worse." That is, of course, not the thing to say or think and a sudden flash of lightning and clap of thunder confirmed it. A wry smile crossed her face and she walked out into the rain. Another flash lit up the street and brought into clear sight a figure making his way down the cobbles. It was the old man in a sou'wester. Despite the rain he raised his hat. "Rather too wet for a squirrel. I should expect you to be tucked up warm and snug in this weather. Come with me." Rozz did not feel any urge to resist or decline as he lead her by the hand down the street to the harbour and to a stone built cottage, its windows looking out to sea, a single stone chimney rising up above the roof slates. It would have been pretty in sunlight but Rozz wasn't in the mood for pretty and in the dark light of the storm it just looked grey and wet. The old man lifted the latch to the green front door, it did not seem he locked it, and lead her in - in out of the rain - straight into a kitchen, a very old fashioned kitchen with range and stone floors. Despite being day, the storm made the room gloomy and the old man lit an oil lamp, which cast a warm glow around the room. It was warmer inside and the old man opened the range letting the orange heat of the fire escape. "Come, take those wet things off and I'll find you a towel." It did not for one moment seem an odd thing, a wrong thing, even an unusual thing to Rozz to take off her clothes in front of the old man rather than going into another room. It was not as if he hadn't seen her naked before and... yes, had been more intimate than that with her. Her soaked dress fell heavily to the flags leaking water. She pulled off her wet transparent bra and panties to stand naked, cold and shivering. The old man draped a large old towel around her shoulders and led her to the fire where he busied himself with a large black kettle to boil water. Soon Rozz was sitting with a steaming mug of tea between her hands feeling a great deal better than she had done a few minutes before. The old man disappeared for a time and Rozz was surprised to see, when he reappeared, he was carrying an old galvanised bath - the sort her grandparents perhaps had used in front of the coal fire and kept hanging on the wall behind the back door. She wondered what it must have been like for her grandparents sitting in the kitchen on the floor in such a bath placed in front of the coal range. It was only when the old man started to fill the bath from the black kettle that she realised she was about to find out. She watched the water pouring from the kettle into the bath. The steam rose from the water as the water continued to pour from the kettle. Rozz was quite surprised at how much water the kettle seemed to hold and her surprise turned to disbelief as the kettle continued to pour filling the bath with water. Half filled the old man stopped pouring and gave an amused glance at Rozz and winked. Plucking a rose from a jug of beautiful blooms on the window cill he plucked the petals and sprinkled them across the bath water. The scent of rose perfumed the rising steam filling the room with its summer fragrance. "In you go." Taking Rozz by the hand he took her over to the bath, pulled the towel away from her and helped her in. She stepped one foot into the bath; the temperature was just right, following with the second foot and then eased herself down into it. It was of course not very long, not like the proper bath at home where she could stretch out and read for hours with just the occasional topping up of water using her foot on the tap. So she had to sit with her knees drawn up nearly under her chin. Rozz felt much better, warm now and relaxed in the hot bath. The old man poured some more tea for her, putting the mug by the bath and sat with his own mug watching her. Outside the rain beat at the windowpanes and the wind howled. It was good to be inside warm and safe. After a time Rozz picked up the soap and began to wash herself. The old man just sat and watched her, nodding at her every so often. Finished she stood, the water cascading off her back into the bath and he picked up a towel and came across and began to dry her, face and shoulders first, then rubbing her back, then her chest, down her arms, bending down to dry her legs, rubbing the towel across her bottom even pushing the towelling into the crack of her bottom to dry her there. Rozz stepped out of the bath and he dried her feet. She stood there pink and glowing from the bath the old man towelling first one foot then the other dry, even between her toes - which tickled. The old man put down the towel but did not rise. Instead, calloused fingers stroked her red springy curls, resting on them before a finger slipped to find the start of her slit, moving gently at the beginning of the valley just lightly pulling the soft skin, a feeling transmitted, transmitted by the pulling downwards, down the slit to her clitoris. Rozz stretched arching her spine, the wet feeling between her legs intensifying as her secret lips swelled, blood pumping into them as they moistened readying her body for intercourse. She anticipated the lovely feeling of another's fingers touching her secret places, pushing up right inside her, manipulating her wet soft skin, touching her standing clitoris. But the hand moved to her small breasts squeezing her little nipples, now hard on the little cone shaped mounds of her engorged areolae. She smiled at the old man reached up and pulled his face to her and kissed him on the mouth, his grey/white beard tickling her chin. The old man draped a towel around her and sat her back in the chair by the fire as he began to disrobe. Rozz was not frightened or alarmed though this clearly meant that the sex would not simply be the old man pleasuring her with his hands. She watched as he pulled his shirt off and her eyes widened as she looked at his naked torso. Of course it was not the young taught skin of a young man but it was not flabby. Far from it the old man's chest was all muscle and hardness. What caused her surprise were the scars of long healed wounds and the strange tattoos - not of anchors, hearts or curvaceous ladies but strange symbols. His legs and bottom were no different, muscular, hard, scarred and tattooed. Even his penis - and inevitably Rozz's young eyes were drawn to that - had not escaped the tattooist's needle. It hung limp between his legs swinging as he moved across to get into the recently vacated bath. The old man did not linger in there, a quick purposeful wash and he was out rubbing himself dry with the towel. Rozz stepped towards the old man. She was aroused, sexually aroused just as she had been in the wood and on the beach. She had wondered what it would be like to be with a boy, even boys in the wood and on the beach, to touch a penis and hold it in her hand. She reached out and her fingers encircled the old man's strangely tattooed penis. She gripped the soft flesh and felt it respond, could feel it getting harder, growing as she held it. Rozz looked down and watched as the blood pumped into it making it rise, pulling her hand upwards with it, the purple head poking out from its protective sheath and then the sheath retracting as it grew to its full height standing proud of the old man. Rozz dropped to her haunches to look closely at it and the curious tattoo which, now it was erect, she could understand what it actually was: a dragon climbing sinuously up the shaft as if wrapped around it; the blue vein running up the shaft cunningly incorporated in the design. Her fingers moved pulling the foreskin up and then down again as her friends had told her was the thing to do. With her free hand she cupped the soft ball sack feeling the testes within like a pair of walnuts within the bag of wrinkled skin. The bag was pendulous, warmed by the bath not tight against his body and she could lift it and weigh the balls in her hand. Her other fingers kept up the sliding movement. She looked at the shiny purple head and the little eye in its centre. It was quite bulbous, an acorn shaped head atop the shaft. Rozz recalled her friends talking of sucking it, how much their boyfriends enjoyed their licking - could she, should she? Lightly, as she retracted the foreskin, she brushed her lips against the smooth purple skin and then she kissed it. She had gone that far, so... Rozz opened her lips and slowly moved her head forward letting the head come into her mouth. It was a big thing to have in her mouth but as she moved her lips backwards and forwards she could understand how nice this must be for boys, wet and smooth just like a vagina but, as she began to move her tongue against the smooth head tickling it, with the bonus of a tongue playing. Strong hands lifted her up and off the penis so she was standing again. The calloused hands returned to her sex and she clung to the old man, her arms around his neck, as her sex was entered by a finger. She stood there, eyes closed, revelling in the pleasure of the invading fingers, then she pulled herself upwards, opening her thighs and wrapping her legs around his hips so her sex could rub against his erection. She could feel it hard against her lower lips as she pulled herself up and down offering herself, offering to be penetrated, to have his penis in her, for him to come inside her, plant his seed in her. The old man picked Rozz up and carried her into his bedroom. The morning had that pale washed fresh look you get after a stormy night. There was a strong breeze and the clouds scudded across the sky but they were high and white in a light blue clear sky. It promised to be a fine day, a fine day to drive to Portsmouth. Rozz walked up the still wet cobbles of the street with mixed feelings. She was not completely sure the night had been the 'right' thing to do. Sleeping with an old man when she had never slept with anyone before? But what pleasure she had experienced, how happy she had been at the repeated intercourse! It was the end of the holiday in a place she had grown to know well and love dearly - a special and happy ending. She sighed for many things as she turned onto the coast path and towards her car and her leaving of Cornwall. Rozz did not really think about her first missed period. The newness and excitement of starting at university was so much at the forefront of her mind she did not really think about that. It was only well into term that it occurred to her that something had not happened for quite a time and she was feeling different. In fact when she counted back it was well over two months since she had last... The pregnancy kit from 'Boots' was easy to use and confirmed what she was already sure of. It did not occur to her to put an end to it. A gradual change into sloppier, ill fitting baggy clothes and perhaps a little putting out of mind meant her friends and parents suspected nothing, only her rather perceptive tutor thought she recognised signs and made concerned enquiries as to whether 'everything was all right?' but received blithe reassurances in reply. Late April found Rozz descending the stone cobbles leading down to the harbour in the little village. It was a typical April day, a shower had recently past leaving the cobbles wet but drying in the sun now coming out from the clouds. Spring flowers peaked from the little gardens and the world felt renewed, clean and fresh, a time for new life to burst forth from the earth and it was, indeed, Rozz's time. It had been a long drive to Cornwall, a long and uncomfortable drive and she was pleased to have arrived, to be standing rather than hunched over the wheel and she was happy simply to be back in this place she had so loved back in the summer - even given the consequence. She wasn't sure why she had come, wasn't even sure she was going to see the old man. Why had she not simply gone home to her mother or the local hospital or a friend? Somehow she had felt she had to come here, it was not so much a compulsion or a feeling but a knowledge. Below her the harbour with its fishing boats looked so pretty in the weak sunlight; above her she could see the wood she had climbed in the heat of the summer, a naked child of nature; her footsteps carried her on down the way passing where she had stopped to shelter from the August rain until she came to the cottage; she paused looking at it and, after a minute or so, placed her hand on the gate and then gripped it hard at a sudden pain in her tummy - a contraction. The cottage door opened and there stood the old man looking as ancient as ever but with his so young green eyes looking at her. He smiled and held out his hand, "Come, my little squirrel, it is time." Rozz drove along the A38 the next day, alone. Had she done the right thing, had she broken a law, would the baby boy be all right? The old man had been a good midwife as far as she could judge. It had, she supposed, been an easy birth and the tiny baby seemed a strong and healthy boy. She had sat by the fire nursing it, the baby at her breast, the old man sitting opposite her and she had asked what now? He had said he would look after the baby, had done such a thing before and she should not worry for it but go back to her studies and her young life. Somehow this had seemed the right thing and even now as she drove she did not feel different about her decision. A year later Rozz had been shopping in her hometown with her mother. They had just been having a cup of coffee and a piece of cake in a cafe and her mother had been asking why she was so quiet today, was she all right, was there anything wrong? Rozz had said not but she was thinking back to exactly a year ago when she had given birth to that little baby boy. She was a mother too though her own mother did not know it - did not know she was a grandmother and probably would not have relished the appellation in any case had she known! Rozz was wondering what the baby was like, whether it was all right, was the old man taking good care of it? When her eyes widened as along the road in her own town far from Cornwall came walking towards her the very man she had just been thinking of. He looked rather rough and out of place though anything but decrepit and he was carrying, carrying a little person, a little red haired baby who was looking at her, right at her with a smile and the brightest green eyes. "What a pretty baby!" said her mother and was surprised when as the old man drew alongside the child put out its arms to Rozz as if it wanted her to pick it up. Automatically Rozz put out her arms and took the little boy. It put its arms around her neck and carefully gave her a big wet kiss before turning and indicating it wanted to go back to the old man. He took the baby with one arm, raised his hat and walked on. "Well!" said Rozz's mother, "how very odd. What was that strange old man doing with a baby - its grandfather, if not its great grandfather I suppose? What a pretty baby though - could have been yours with that red hair." "Yes," said Rozz, there was a pause, "it could have been." And so it was, wherever she was on her baby's birthday the old man would somehow turn up with the child - but never for long. The boy called her "Mummy" the next year and brought her a bunch of wild flowers the year after - which caused her to cry. Those flowers remained carefully kept in a drawer, dried and faded. It was only the fourth year that she learnt the boy's name, Arty. She was at Glastonbury, the children of her marriage, two girls and a boy, away from her side exploring the ruins. It was on her first boy's eighteenth birthday and of course she was thinking of him, her other son, and of the old man - the old man who seemed ancient but yet appeared year after year. How was this? She stood in the shop at the Abbey looking at all the souvenirs, the gifts, the tat and worthwhile, amused at all the New Age hocus pocus and mythical ephemera. Posters depicting Merlin the great wizard, King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. Rozz picked up a replica of the unlikely lead cross found by monks at the Abbey, 'Hic jacet sepultus inclytus rex arturius in insula avalonia, rex quondam, rexque futurus'. Rozz looked up from the souvenir to gaze out of the window and across the Abbey grounds, green and fresh in the April sunlight, and there, talking to her children, was a tall handsome red haired lad and, beside him, an old man, a man who seemed as ancient as the ruins of the Abbey yet carried himself as if age was not a problem, as if there were weightier things for him to consider than his advancing years. The colour drained from her face as knowledge suddenly came to her, prompted by what she had just been looking at, the place she was in, the people before her - she made the connections. She knew him, she knew the boy. She looked at the boy, her son, confident, strong, amiable and knew - rexque futurus - with dreadful certainty that the days ahead were going to be dark, that it was not by chance that she had run naked in the wood all those summers ago, it had not really been her own choice that she had swum naked, it was not an accident she had become pregnant, it was not for idle amusement that Merlin had brought a second Arthur into the World - rexque futurus - the future king. What awful thing was about to befall the World - what was going to happen? She was frightened for all her children, the girls, the boy and the red haired son of her youth, she was frightened for herself, her husband - everyone. Rozz stood motionless, her white face staring out of the window in shock and fear. Across the grass the old man looked up at her and raised his hat.