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Forest
If you are under the age of 18, or otherwise forbidden by law to read electronically transmitted erotic material, please go do something else. This material is Copyright, 1996, 1997, by Uther Pendragon. All rights reserved. I specifically grant the right of downloading and keeping one electronic copy for your personal reading so long as this notice is included. Reposting requires previous permission. All persons here depicted, except public figures depicted as public figures in the background, are figments of my imagination and any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly coincidental. |
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Forest
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We turned down the road that led to the motel in the early evening. There wasn't time left in the day to do the jobs we'd scheduled for the break time. Getting to the motel after dark would just cost us two nights' rent. We'd look for a place to camp along the road. At twilight, we found a good camping spot, left our packs, and went to the farmhouse that looked attached to those woods to ask permission. One of the problems of a fully-equipped hike with a beautiful woman is that the pack and frame hide her hips from behind. This walk, however, gave an unhindered view. On a country road near dark, safety required that we go single file; and politeness required that the lady precede the gentleman. Jeanette may have noticed the day birds returning to their nests. I spent the entire quarter of a mile watching her hips tighten, relax, and sway slightly as they swung her marvelous legs in their all-day pace. People like newlyweds. The farmer gave us permission, and his wife gave us two glasses of iced tea. The walk back was as scenic as the walk down, with Jeanette's hips moving with the slightly difference of walking uphill. You have to look closely to see the difference, but I managed. My mind held another thought as well. I had been afraid of our sex life turning into something which was done for Bob. "Sometime," I thought -- as I had before -- "she has to realize that she is giving me permission to seduce her, not acceding to my pressure to have sex." This would require a night when we petted, and it was my decision not to go further. That was a hard decision with the sexiest woman in the southeastern United States in my arms. "This, however," I thought, "might be the night." The next day we would be in motel, in bed, after showers, behind locked doors. I'd be shaven. We'd check in before noon, and she might be amenable to a long matinee. Tonight might be a good time for me to call a halt. Then I concentrated again on her hips. Setting up camp with a partner who knows what she is doing, what you are doing, and why, makes the Ice Capades look messy and inefficient. If our team lowered its efficiency with an occasional smooch or hug, we hadn't brought a stopwatch. We were trading off tasks day by day so that I was that night's cook. After dinner I scrubbed the pans and then took the little spade to the next clearing in. After I had covered over the hole I returned to find her, as usual, in the sleeping bag before me. The tent was not all that much bigger than the double sleeping bag, and we had our heads out the flap on a fine night like that one. I stripped outside the tent, slipped into the bag, and stowed my clothes from there. Finding her mouth in the dark had been a problem in the beginning, and we now made a game of it. Where it had taken me 20 seconds to get from her hairline to her mouth on the first night on the trail, it now took me several minutes to find my way from her shoulder. I was kissing all the way, of course. The mouth that I found was as firmly shut as her giggles allowed, and I had to push my tongue between her lips. Then the game was over. Her teeth opened, and her tongue darted to meet mine. When she pulled me down into a hug, I felt her firm nipples pressed into my chest by her soft breasts. I always have a tremor of fear that I am going to damage them or crush their lovely shape. Jeanette didn't seem to worry about that, however. She hugged me tight against her. With a slight shift, I freed my right hand so I could pet her side. At that moment I was as helpless as I had ever been stroking inside her. I could not have stopped that hand for a year's tuition. Yet I was not touching her breasts and was passing over the least sexy part of her hips. I was not groping her sexual parts, but I was holding Jeanette. And I had to feel Jeanette right then. She rolled her leg back and forth so her thigh rubbed against my erection, but that was mostly an acknowledgement. When we broke the kiss, I settled down on my side. She nestled back against me with her head on my arm. I held her right breast and licked the back of her ear. She held my hand against her breast and occasionally shoved her butt against me a little harder. After a few minutes, I drew my head back. My eyes had adjusted to the light, and the clearing outside looked bright -- if monochrome -- in the starlight. We talked. Does that surprise you? Daylight is about 14 hours in that season, and we'd been actually walking for more than 11 of that. We were tired if not yet sleepy. We didn't dive into a muscular session of sex. But it was more than that. We had things to say. We had four or five years of common history which had been transformed by a marriage service. We had a decade before that which hadn't been shared and needed to be shared now. We had the fifteen month period of near-constant separation which was the difference between four and five years. On the trail, you see things which you stop seeing if you say, "Look at that doe." We had the universe pressing a million stars down among the treetops. Besides, we had broken from a year of clothed writhing under threat of a clock. We were going to make love, and we didn't have a deadline. The lack of deadline was, itself, sensuous. Then too, I think that love and lust are further apart in women than in men. Jeanette certainly needed time to put the trail pace behind her and to be a naked woman held by a naked man before she was ready to be a naked woman pierced by a naked man. That had nothing to do with love or trust. I was beginning to learn that I had dozens of wives, all named Jeanette. I think she had two husbands, day shift and night shift. Then Jeanette pressed her hips back into my lap once too often. She met an erection a little too engorged. I rolled so that my thigh pressed into the line between hers. I stretched my left hand to cup her left breast. I stroked between her thighs with my right hand. She parted her legs so I could press my right thigh between them until it reached her dampness. The back of her neck and the tendon reaching to her shoulder get a lot of kisses in this position. Partly it is because they are minor erogenous zones. Mostly it is because they are the only areas that I can reach while breathing. Even then, however, there was time for talking. "Did you know," I asked, "that you have the sexiest butt in North America?" "You haven't seen all the butts in North America." "Not for lack of trying." "Anyway, you don't even check out the boys." "Guilty." "You spent the whole walk back from the farmhouse ogling mine didn't you?" "I was not ogling. I was making an impartial aesthetic evaluation of the clench of your gluteal muscles as you walk uphill." "Absolutely, purely, aesthetic?" For some reason she sounded dubious. "Pure as the driven snow. Of course, actuality is only part of aesthetics. One has to consider potentiality as well. For instance, to take a random example, there is the question of how gluteal muscles which look beautiful while propelling a gorgeous stride of lovely legs would look -- or even feel -- while thrusting back at a lover thrusting himself between those thighs. Purely as an aesthetic example, of course. There could be many other questions." "Which others did you consider?" "Umm, well...." "And I believed this man's promises." Having reached her mound with my hand, I fingered the very top of her cleft on alternative sides. I imagined that I felt the clitoral shaft moving side to side as one finger pressed down and then the other. I lowered my thigh to make room for my hand. Then I had her whole perfect cunt in my hand. I just held it for a minute while I played with her nipple and kissed the back of her neck. Then I parted her lips with one finger. She was wetter than she had ever been at this stage. "Oh, love," I whispered. "Ihm hmm." She tensed when I stroked up her cleft. I stroked down again to her entrance. I slipped the finger into her tunnel, and she gasped. Bringing it out, I stroked upward almost to her clitoris then returned. I moved it around a little in the moisture to guarantee a smooth passage. Then I smoothed some lubrication a little way up and returned for more. All the while I was playing with the nipple on her left breast. By the time I had spread the lubricant all the way up her cleft to her clitoris, she was panting and thrusting back against my thigh. I could hunch over so that the fingers on my left hand could stretch to her right nipple. I took it and rolled it gently between thumb and forefinger. Each stroke of my right middle finger now went the entire length of her cleft, passing lightly over her clitoral area. Each time this happened, she pressed her hips back into my thigh. By this time, I had quite forgotten my noble scheme of showing her that I could decide to just pet even when she invited intercourse. Finally, she tried to turn in my arms. "No, love," I said, "this way." The condom was at the bottom of the tent flap on my side. I extracted my left arm and reached for it. It took both hands and 30 seconds to get it on. I returned and pressed into her cleft from behind. "Help me," I said. She reached back and placed me right. She arched her back, and I pushed forward. Something was wrong, and I caught. She shifted, I pressed, and I slid in. She arched her back more and pushed back. I slipped in until her butt was resting on my legs. I could feel all of her warmth grip all of my length. I slipped the remaining lubrication from the foil onto the second and third fingers of my right hand. I reached around her leg again to finger her labia. I could reach the bottom of my shaft, and from there I stroked the taut lips up to their juncture. I stroked this tiny area repeatedly with my two greased fingers. I slipped my left hand under her side to reach her breast again. "I did have one other image on the road," I said. "I kept picturing your perfect hips and thighs with my phallus disappearing between them. I kept picturing your gluteal flexings as you pushed your hips back at me." The words, or the digital stroking, had their effect. She did press back, inch forward, and arch herself back again. Her nipple was hard, and the area around it was pebbly and hard. She was breathing quite rapidly, and I was no better. I abandoned any attempt at talk and moved my hips against her motion. I worried about coming out. Then I worried about coming. The phallic sensations were exquisite. While I slid within her, she tightened on me. Then I hung at her entrance ring for a moment before thrusting into her hips rolling toward me. That drove the shaft through the tightly clutching ring, and the glans along a slippery, less clutching tunnel. Then the clutches came over the whole length. Her hip motion became erratic, and the clutches became rhythmic. I could only grab her hipbone and hold on. She moaned, and her tunnel squeezed me in earnest. I drove into her and shook as my seed poured out. She was calling out. "Bob? Bob. BOB! Oh. Oh. Ahhh.... Oh Bob." Then she relaxed. Neither of us moved except for our breathing. I was still in her and could feel an occasional quiver, whether from her or from me, I couldn't tell. The sense of 'one flesh' where we joined was both erotic and spiritual. I was hoping that we could lie like this all night. I almost felt disappointment when she turned in my arms. Then she hugged me hard and kissed my chin. She found my mouth with the next kiss, which was open-mouthed and wild. Neither of us had really regained our breath, and we were breathing into each other. Somewhere my mind considered asphyxiation, but it wasn't an urgent worry. Dying with Jeanette kissing me like that was as good as living another fifty years. We did survive, however. I freed my arms enough to get them around her. I rolled slightly so that she was mostly beside me and a little on top. She broke the big kiss to give me lots of little ones all over my face. Then we went back to a deep, almost restful, kiss with just a little of her tongue on top of mine. The taste was literally sweet. "So that is what it means?" she said. "That is what it means." I suddenly remembered the plans for the locked, clean motel room and smiled. My plans can gang agley like that as aft as they please. "I love you, Bob." "I love you Jeanette. Since the first day I saw you." The barrier we penetrated, there in the forest, was much more important than a hymen. |
The end Forest Uther Pendragon anon584c@nyx.net 1996/06/29 1996/10/09 1997/04/07 2001/10/17 2002/09/04 2004/09/14 This is the second of a series of stories about the Brennans. The next story in the series is: "Forecast" The first story in the series is: "Forever" The directory to the entire series is: Brennan Stories Directory Another story of a another couple's beginning can be found at: "Wrapped Attention" The directory to all my stories can be found at: Index to Uther Pendragon's Website |