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In The Forest of the Night & The Barmaid and The Blacksmith

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In The Forest of the Night and The Barmaid & The Blacksmith by Lizbeth Dusseau

In The Forest of the Night
Restless and looking for excitement, Isabella is seduced by the brooding caretaker of her uncle's estate, Will Sage. Becoming lovers she receives a racy sexual education, until she’s caught bare-assed with her lover. Will is banished from the estate and Isabella is thrown into the deviant but "proper" world of English society, where “gentlemen” take advantage of her lusty nature and then destroy her reputation. Ruined, she begins a search for her first lover, the only man who can give her the love and satisfaction she desires.

The Barmaid & The Blacksmith
(A 17th Century Tale) After a murderous incident leaves the lusty red-head Fiona to fend for herself, she's stolen away by a handsome but secretive blacksmith, Joshua Kane. When their indelicate arrangement turns into a bawdy love affair, Fiona finds her lover’s dominant ways difficult to handle. And yet, submitting to this controlling man is the only way to make their rocky romance survive. Includes a wealth of sexual diversions and some delicious out of the bedroom sexual heat in an alluring Old World setting.


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 was struggling 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.

Artist Credit

Zoey B

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