From In The Forest of the Night...

My Private Place Lizbeth Dusseau, general erotica
Copyright (c) 1995, all rights reserved
(Read on for an excerpt from The Barmaid & The Blacksmith)

I could feel the passion gnawing at me like some crude obsession.  It drove me to that place, my private place.  I’d gone there maybe a half dozen times the summer and fall before.  It was the first time that spring that the air was just the right mix of warm and cool, and I could sense my body coming alive, wanting to feel the warm sun bathing me with a shower of prickly heat.

       I followed a path that runs along the stream, hiking back into the forest, coming out into a small open place where there is absolute quiet, except for the sound of the water, and birds, and insects that buzz my ear.  I stared up at the trees with their leaves gently swaying against the backdrop of a clear sky.  I always assumed that I was the only one who knew about this tranquil spot far from the crowded life.

       The rock jutting out to the stream is flat, and large enough to act as my beach.  I laid out a thick pad, and then a fresh washed towel.  Dressed in just a summer shift, I pulled it over my head.  This unveiling shed inhibitions from a woman cluttered with them. 

       I removed my white cotton chemise that clung tightly to my breasts, and let them fall free from the encumbrance.  Garments can be so binding, I wanted to go without, though I never would in my uncle’s house.  I watched my nipples tighten into hard knots as the breeze made them cool.  Goose bumps rose on my shuddering torso, as for that tiny moment of time, I felt free and unfettered.

       I shed my panties too, and immediately felt the prickly sensations of air across my pubic mound tickling the soft hair.  I loved that moment, when at last I was naked to the wide world.  The indelible impression was left in my mind from the last time I was there, and I recalled it fondly as I repeated the ritual acts of disrobing.  Before, it was the fall of the year, and there had been a musty decadence about my favorite place.  Refreshed by spring months later, the glade and the stream and my warm flat rock were going to work their magic on me again.

       I could already feel it, even before I lay down on the soft cushion I had provided myself.  I lay down first on my belly, pressing that gnawing place against the towel and mat which was pressed against the rock.  The sun shone down on my bottom as I felt it penetrating me deeper than the skin.  There was something crawling in me, that started between my legs and spread all over.  I lay there against the rock feeling everything that was surrounding me move me deeper into my passion, until finally I turned over so that the sun would hit my breasts and my thighs and belly, and especially that magical spot between my legs.

       I parted my thighs and felt there with my hand.  It was damp.  When I looked down at my pubis it was glistening wet.  I couldn’t stop myself from moving against the hand that was teasing the tingling folds of flesh.  Ever so slightly my fingers probed.  Ever so gently my fingers found the hard bud of my clitoris.  I was pinching my nipples with my other hand, running it along my warming flesh.  I imagined myself with lovers, men of bold passions, and fierce bodies who would do as I was doing to my flesh, and so much more.

       The day was toying with me like some mischievous imp.  A breeze would cool me and bring back the goosebumps.  Then the sun would hide behind a cloud, and I’d shiver until it came out again.

       I shuddered, more alive than ever when the sun came out again and baked me with its heat.  Then it became a fire in my stomach, my abdomen and thighs.  They quivered the more I rubbed my sensitive clitoris.  And then, when something burst in me, I clamped my hand against my pubis and rocked in tune with the raw wanton lust that created the conflagration.  It was a climax of rude proportions.  I had freed myself from conformity, from a world of rules that put these passions in the stuffy bedrooms of closed up old houses.  Out in the wilds, I was a passionate women in need, pleasing myself.

       “Ah such joy!”

       I didn’t stop touching myself for a long time, as I extended the feelings outward, letting the pleasure drift and float about me and inside me.  I felt as one with earth, sky and myself as possible.  There was only one thing I could imagine better than this.  And that would be the presence of a lover to share my passion with.

       I was aware. when I began to awaken from my body’s reverie, of noises in the bushes by the stream.  I floated peacefully for some minutes not paying attention to the sounds.  But when the rustling became too much to ignore, I opened my eyes, and gazed into the face of a man some twenty feet beyond.

       I sat up, grabbed for my shift and stared at him wide eyed.  “My god, what had he seen?”

       “Please don’t stop, the picture was charming,” he said to me calmly.

       “What did you see?” I asked anxiously.

       “I saw a woman pleasing herself,” he informed me without a trace of embarrassment.

       “What are you doing here?”

       “Enjoying the spring, just like you,” he replied.

       “Please,” I struggled for words, even as I was stunned by the unexpected presence of this man.  He was a substantial figure, maybe six feet tall with slightly graying dark brown hair, and clothes that suggested he was some man of the earth, a farmer, gardener or . . .  I instantly suspected he was my uncle’s new caretaker.  “Please, please leave me, this is private.”  I was shivering scared.  I didn’t know whether to be angry or concerned for my welfare.  But I was genuinely embarrassed.  I hoped he hadn’t seen my entire performance.

       “I was just admiring you.”

       “Please leave me, you have no right to intrude on my solitude.  No gentleman would take such advantage of a woman.”  I was blurting out words right and left, not knowing if I made any sense.  Certainly, in my flustered embarrassment I must have sounded horribly priggish and whining. 

       “I am no gentleman, miss,” he said with just the smallest smile on his face.  “But I have no desire to upset you.”  Without another word, he turned and disappeared into the woods.

       I didn’t trust him not to return, so my day was ruined; and I fled quickly from my once private world back into the austere harshness of my uncle’s.

       “Oooo Jerud!” Fiona giggled as Jerud’s hands went under her long brown skirt.  She wiggled about, feeling his warm palm on her upper thigh.  The more she squirmed, the higher his fingers went along the thin fabric of her underclothes.  “You beast!” she blared, as she felt him at the top of the garment, about to pull at the drawstring.

       “Unhand her!” A gravely voice bellowed from behind them both, and Fiona and Jerud turned their shocked faces toward a mountain of a man in a long black coat, shiny knee high boots, wearing a threatening scowl on his full bearded face.  Tempestuous eyes stared out from a countenance that suggested a past filled with all manner of experience, from the blissful to the dangerous.  He was an appalling sight.

       Jerud’s hand dropped from Fiona’s waist, the sound of the man’s voice whether he had any real authority to not, sent a shock of fear through the younger man.  Jerud, a bright blonde man of nearly twenty-five years was hardly cowed by anything; but this curious blackguard was something to behold.

       Fiona rushed from Jerud’s side.

       “I’ll be right back,” she told him.  And with an empty tray in hand, she returned to the bar for more ale.

       The bearded scowling man nodded at her as she passed.  “I’ll be serving you next, sir,” she told him.

       Returning to her fiancé and his friends with their refreshment, she tried to make a swift exit, though Jerud’s hand was attempting to fondle her again.

       “Stop that!” she whispered.  “Behave yourself!”

       “That man has no right to tell me what to do with my bride,” he exclaimed.

       “I’m not your bride, yet,” she reminded him.  “I have to go, I’ve work to do.”

       Fiona went to her would be rescuer, who was sitting in an out of the way corner of the Half Moon Tavern.

       “May I help you, sir?” she asked him pleasantly.

       “A lady should watch herself with a man,” he told her, brusquely.

       “He is my fiancé,” she informed him.

       He looked at her circumspect, then at the chuckling Jerud, then back at the robust Fiona McTavish.  Her flaming red hair was piled atop her head in lose curls that framed an eager face.  Her green eyes glittered like stars, her soft bosom expanded as she breathed; the sumptuous in and out made the flesh jiggle just slightly.  She had a curvaceous youthful body with a small waist and generous hips, that he could well imagine without the pile of skirts that stopped at her tiny bootclad feet.

       “Nonetheless, miss, you should watch yourself with any man who would take advantage of you like that in a public place.”

       “I assure you, sir, Jerud is harmless,” she countered.  She cast the man a flirtatious smile, even as she thought of Jerud and she in bed.  “If he only knew.”

“I thank you for your words of warning.  Can I bring you anything?”

       “Some ale,” he said.  “Some bread and stew.”

       “Right away, sir.”  She seemed to skip as she moved away.  Hardly eighteen, he thought.  She was the kind of lusty wench he loved to bed; but her youth and innocence suggested she needn’t give herself away easily.  She had a gracious charm that made her even more appealing to him than other young women of her station.  It was as if she would somehow naturally rise above the mundane circumstances of her life.  But why she was marrying the bawdy young man at the far side of the room, he could well understand; women of her standing had few choices in their lives.  It was such a shame.  She could make a remarkable companion, and likely an avid lover.

a

        “So, what did the bastard say?” Jerud asked Fiona later that evening.

       He was pulling his fiancee over his reclining body.  His hands pulling at the strings of her blouse.  He was looking for her breasts to swing loose out over him, so he could press his face against them.

       “He thought I should act more like a lady,” she told him with a twinkle in her eyes. “He was hardly a bastard, much more a gentleman.”

       “Gentleman, my ass!” Jerud exclaimed.  “He’s a bloody blacksmith!”  He had Fiona’s breasts free, his mouth bringing a pink nipple to his mouth.  He sucked it hard.

       “Ouch!” she cried.  “You’re hurting me.”  It wasn’t much of a protest.  She loved the way he turned her baby soft nipples into hard purple buds.

       He took handfuls of her flesh and pressed his face into the warm sweet smelling cushion.  She must have pressed a honeysuckle bud to her skin, for that was the smell of her body, the lovely earthy fragrance tickled his nose with a spring time lusty fervor.

       “You don’t treat me like a lady!” Fiona remarked, with a little petulant pout.  She was suddenly sitting back on his groin.  Even through her skirt, she could feel the familiar manhood rising under her, and she squirmed excitedly against it, as she delivered the gentle admonishment.

       “I never asked you to be a lady, just my wife,” Jerud told her.  He watched her naked breasts swing against her torso.  “Come here, you luscious brat,” he encouraged her, as he drew her toward him again, her breasts at last dangling over his mouth.  His hands moved to her waist and he pulled at the skirt, tugging to get it down so he could have her naked against him.

       With a hearty shove, he had her hips free, and he pulled the skirt away, tossing it to the floor.  As his mouth explored her full soft lips, his hand dove deeper to uncover the fine puss between her legs.  His hands were eager to have her, as he’d had her almost nightly for the last two months.

       When she at last gave into him, she gave in completely, withholding nothing.  All of her fine treasures were his to enjoy.  And her body bestowed on him such pleasures, with such ease.  He thought he touched heaven.  That two people could do the things they did together amazed him.

       Feeling for the center of her sex, he stroked the feather soft plush hair of her pubis.  Tugging the hair gently, she wriggled against his hand with a lilting moan of pleasure sprinkling the air with her fresh joy.  He fingered her deep, where she was succulent and wet, and then pulling his hand from her cunt, he tasted her sweet juice.

       “You are a nasty man!” she purred at him.  He held her ass as he explored her fully, the inside of her thighs and the deep crevice of her rear, with its two tight holes.  He couldn’t wait to plant himself in the lovely forward one, that danced and bobbed before his eyes with a gleeful abandon.

       “Ah, my love,” she was whispering contentedly, as his cock then slipped inside her warm pulsing hole.  She immediately squeezed down on the thick shaft, watching  the wince appear on his face, as his body replied to the welcoming gesture.

       He was hard, thick and filling, going readily to the very depths of her female home.  A tiny pain shot through her, as each thrust made him hit the bottom of the channel; though it was only more fuel for the rising sensations that claimed her entire body.      

       Jerud watched her gently swaying form as it moved with such grace, the effect of her movement made his already stimulated cock surge all the more with the driving need.  Her eyes held that dark aspect he loved so well in her, the way she vibrated with an earthly fire.  Such carnal zeal!  The more he pumped her, the more she pumped him back, fast creating a climax in them both.  Jerud let her take control as he always did with her on top.  She maneuvered her own body to the edge, letting her pulsing pussy play its games, her hard outer bud massaged until it was ready to explode.  On this day, they would almost orgasm simultaneously.

       His cry was invigorating, the groaning sound that emerged from his throat and lips rose raucously into the air around them.  And like inspiration from the heavens, or the earth, as the case might be, Jerud’s cry sent the final jolt through Fiona’s clamoring body.  Her groan was softer, in time with the rude jerking back and forth, that finished off this making love.

       Fiona collapsed against Jerud’s sweating chest.  Their juices mingling in the bristling thereafter.  She swayed against him, ever so gently as his hand stroked her moist flesh.  Feeling the curve of her body at the waist and the swelling hips and buttocks, they clenched just a little when he caressed them.

       “You are a divine creature,” he told her quietly.

       “You were suppose to withdraw,” she said very kindly, though her comment was pointed.

       “Ah! So what if you should get pregnant, we’re going to be married in little more than two weeks.”

       “It was nice to have you finish inside me,” she said, as she knew it would also be nice not to have to take chances with their lovemaking in the future.

       “It won’t matter love, we’ll have a passel of children, and I’ll screw you every night, and hold you when the babies come.”

       Thinking about her fate with Jerud, Fiona was wise enough to know that half of what he said was pure nonsense.  If she kept her figure, and if she hadn’t turned into a haggard shrew of a wife, she might find him, in a year or two, still loyal to her in bed.  He was an exuberant man, bold, eager and very adventurous.  And she had no illusions about him. 

       But even so, marrying him, tying herself to his fortunes was a very good thing.  He was a good man at heart, and at least while it lasted, he was glorious between these sheets.  She smiled to herself happily.