by Simone Leigh
He kneels up straight, inhaling deeply, then slaps me on the rump as he withdraws and stands.
Offering me a hand, he pulls me up, then helps Eva to stand. Cocking an eye at me, he cracks a smile. “You’ve come on a lot my girl. You couldn’t have done that to me a week ago.”
Has it only been a week? No, it’s less than a week. A few days only. It seems a lifetime.
In a sense, it has been a lifetime. When Brin found me, poised on the rails of a bridge, about to jump, he re-invented my life, created a new ‘me’.
No, not created. Rediscovered? Brought to light?
Perhaps it is more like the description sculptors give of their works. They see what is already in the stone. They merely release it. I have been released from the stasis of my previous self, Brin chipping away bit by bit at the dross until the real me emerged.
Later, we sit in a cafe, drinking coffee and cognac. My blissfully aching pussy is still, somehow, sending occasional pulses of after-burn through me, clenching at unexpected moments with a wave of heat following. I wonder if I should confess this to Brin or not while I try to sit still as another spasm ripples through my thighs.
“You enjoying that?” he says, looking up with a twinkle in his eyes. I blush and pay close attention to my coffee. He continues. “I wanted to give you a bit of a send-off. I’ll be off tomorrow and I wanted to be able to say goodbye in suitable style.”
Reminded now that he is leaving, I gulp down a mouthful of the cognac, resisting the pricking in my eyes. Looking down, I say nothing.
Brin takes one of my hands, rubbing my fingers with his thumb. Tilting up my chin, he forces me to look at him. I cannot conceal my welling tears. For the first time in the few days I have known him, he actually looks concerned.
“Hey, it’s not goodbye. I’ll be back, but a man’s gotta work you know. I can’t spend my life sponging off rich widows for my breakfast.”
“Sponging!” I half splutter, half cry. “Sponging is the last thing you have done. Brin, if it weren’t for you, I’d be dead. There wouldn’t even be anyone to miss me. And now you’re going away...”
He mutters, eyes rolling skywards. “Didn’t expect you to take it quite like this.” sitting back in his chair, he folds his arms, looking at me squarely. “Okay then. Come with me.”
A mouthful of coffee reverses its course down my throat and I splutter it over the table. “What?”
“You heard. Come with me. I’ve got to work, but what’s holding you here? Nothing that I can see.”
“But my house. My friends. My....”
I grind to a halt. What is keeping me here? I can close up the house for a couple of weeks. People take holidays don’t they? My friends? None of them care about anything but a better score at bridge or golf. I don’t even have a cat to worry about.
“Where would we go?”
“I told you. There’s work fruit picking. The sheds they put us up in aren’t exactly luxurious, but the weather’s good, there’s plenty of food and you meet a lot of people.” He sucks in his cheeks. “Y’know, the more I think about it, the more I think it would be good for you. You told me that you always met the same kind of people. Well you won’t if you do this. They get all sorts working in these places. Students looking to cover their college costs, a lot of immigrant labour, travellers like me who like to live on the move, seeing the world.”
He sees the temptation working in me. “Yeah, it would be something completely different for you. Mind you, it’s hard work. You’ll know what physical labour is when you’re spent a full day picking strawberries or some such. You get paid by the amount you pick.”
“I’ve got a camper van.”
“What?” Now Brin looks really surprised.
“I’ve got a camper van. It’s hardly been used. It’s not been out of the garage in four or five years. Tom though we’d go sailing down the highways in it, but we took a one-day trip and he decided that he preferred hotels. More convenient.”
Brin scratches his head. “And I’d planned on hitch-hiking.... Not been out in five years you say? Does it start?”
“I’ve no idea, but it can’t need much more than a new battery and perhaps you....” My voice trails off. Brin strikes me as exactly the kind of man who would be able to start up a reluctant vehicle.
He is. A couple of hours later, Brin has his head under the hood of my van, checking leads and connections as he replaces the long deceased battery. He emerges, wiping oil off his hands with a rag. “Should be fine now so far as I can see. You want to try turning it over?”
I turn the key and the engine hums into life. We’re good to go.
I go over the contents of the living area, replacing bedding that has gotten musty with years of disuse, opening windows to let fresh air flood through, wiping five years of dust off surfaces.
I am excited. I don’t remember feeling like this since I was a small child about to go on holiday. I am finally going to have an adventure. My enthusiasm rubs off on Brin and his normally rather dour expression is replaced with a keen interest in the route maps tucked under the dashboard.
“Well since we’re travelling in comfort,” he says “We might as well enjoy our travels. Where would you like to go?”
“I thought we were going fruit picking?”
“We are, but the season lasts for weeks. There’s no reason we can’t take a few days out just to roam. Look and see. That suit you?”
Yes. Oh God. Yes.
“I’d love to do that.”
“So.... where would you like to go?”
“I really don’t know. Tom would only ever visit places with all the conveniences. You know, car parks, MacDonald’s, hotels. I’d like to see things a bit more....”
“A bit more off the tourist map?” finishes Brin for me.
“Yes. Off the tourist map.”
“No problem. As my lady wishes.”
I smile inwardly at Brin’s choice of phrase. Am I hoping for too much? Is he perhaps not quite so bound to his independence as he likes to think?
_______________
That evening we camp by a lake side, pine covered mountain slopes rearing up into the distance. The camper is not huge by any means and so, whilst it must be driven carefully, it can negotiate narrow roads and rough tracks that take us to spots well away from the ‘Madding Crowd’. The weather is fine and warm with gnats dancing over the water and the occasional ‘chop’ of a fish taking an insect.
Brin shows me how to build a fire. I feel like a real explorer now. Heat is something that I have only ever before gotten at the turn of a knob or the flick of switch. Sitting staring into the flames, the sun westering down to the mountain ridge, I sip coffee made in a pan on the fire.
“Thank you.”
Brin, sitting by me, looks startled. “What for?”
I wave my hand vaguely around the landscape; at the fire, the glimmering waters, the rose streaked sunset. “For this. Thank you for bringing me with you.”
His expression softens. “My pleasure. And thank you.”
Now I am startled. “What for?”
“For coming with me.”
He tilts his head, eyes lambent in the flickering flames, pupils huge and dark. He leans forward and very softly, kisses me.
A frisson runs through me. Brin has never kissed me like this before. In fact, has he kissed me at all? I struggle to remember.
It doesn’t matter. Not now. Not in this moment.
My lips still warm from the touch of his, Brin curves his fingers through my hair, tucking a stray lock behind my ear. Then moving closer, he enfolds me in his arms, opens his lips, lowering his mouth onto mine, kissing me hard. His stubble rubs against my own softer skin, but I don’t care. I know that he would not kiss me like this with it meaning something. He has shown well enough that he is happy just to enjoy sex for its own sake. This is something different.
Sharp need strikes through me. A bone-tingling, nerve jarring desire to have this man in every way I
can. His hands run over my body and I am consumed in a firestorm of passion.
He breaks away. Dismayed I sit back. “Wait there.” he says, winking, and vanishes inside the van, returning a moment later with some blankets and a couple of pillows.
“No reason not to be comfortable.” He smiles at me as he spreads the blanket out on the turf, arranges the pillows, and then sitting on it himself, invites me over with a pat of his hand.
Now we sit, facing each other, in the failing daylight. The crackle of the fire counterpoints the whistle of a blackbird making its end of day call from the top of a tree. The waters ripple red and gold from reflected firelight, and close by the sunset, Venus shines bright with promise in the opal blue sky.
Brin strokes my neck and face, drifts over my breasts, then slips to my fingers. Taking my hand, he lifts it to his lips, kissing the fingers, one by one.
Never have I felt so aroused. This man, who I know is perfectly capable of simply fucking my brains out, is making love to me. My breath shudders and breaks as each of his kisses makes the world simply vanish around me.
Slowly, carefully, he unbuttons my blouse, pausing for a moment to look at me, blouse hanging open, before sliding it from my shoulders. His arms curve around my back to unclip my bra, leaving me bare-breasted in the firelight.
As Brin moves over me, I lie back onto the blanket, and now he kisses my breasts, the white skin, the rosy buds. The cool evening air drifts over my nipples, puckering them as Brin take each into his mouth in turn, suckling gently before sitting upright to pull his own shirt off over his head.
For a moment, he kneels upright, looking down on me, smiling. “What are you doing to me girl? It’s been a-whiles since I felt like this.”
I swallow hard, not speaking, not wanting to risk spoiling the moment.
Desire is coursing through me. As Brin unbuttons my jeans, I lift my hips to help shrug them away. My panties follow and I lie naked under the stars for my lover.
I part my legs slightly in invitation as Brin stands to undress. Stepping between my feet, he kneels to me, erection quivering hard against his flat stomach.
He still looks down at me, almost as though he is seeing something new. “Have I told you that you’re beautiful?” he asks.
Shaking my head. “No. The closest you came was that first day we met when you said that I was a ‘good-looking woman’.”
He looks down, shaking his head in mock dismay. “Well, I’m saying now. Martha. You’re beautiful.” His hands run over my body, caressing my waist, my belly, before dipping his head between my thighs.
Parting myself wide for him, I tremble as Brin kisses my nub and my moistening pussy. his attentions are hotly tender, passionate and keen. He nibbles at my clit, bringing tiny gasping moans to my lips. His clever tongue works on my pussy lips, bringing ever increasing waves of arousal rushing through me.
Holding out my arms to him. “Brin, please. I want you. I want you inside me.”
He chuckles as he positions himself. “Not a problem.”
Cock nudging into my wet and swollen pussy, he teases me, sending waves of heat running through me. Rocking himself gently inside me, Brin opens me gradually, easing in, stretching me with his cock, filling my heated core, making me quake and shiver.
For a moment he pauses, whispering into my ear. “Ready Martha?”
“Yes, I’m ready.”
He takes my hands and, fingers entwined with mine, raises my arms over my head. His lean face looking down into mine, slowly he starts to thrust, gently, carefully. I melt around him, my body contouring itself to his.
As he starts to thrust harder, I lift my hips to meet his strokes. Eyes locked, hands locked, we move together, my body rocking in cadence with his. His strokes are sure and hard as he possesses me completely.
Even in the cool night air, I am flushing, heat burning up from my breasts to my neck and down to my belly. The scent of my perspiration mingles with Brin’s, and with the fragrance of my heated sex, now flowing freely.
My heart hammering, blood pounding, I ride Brin as hard as he rides me, a pounding need, a driving hunger. My hips bucking to take him as deeply inside me as I can, the familiar tension builds inside my molten core.
Panting moans escape me and my fingers clutch at his as our bodies collide and merge, again and again, in the two that is one.
My climax bursts free like some caged animal, almost as though it is not a part of me. I howl out a triumphant wail, my orgasm finding a voice that ripples through the night. Hips bucking and juddering, my belly and thighs pulsating, my pussy clenches and spasms.
Brin rides the wave, releasing my hands to hold me in a close embrace. “Go for it girl.” he whispers.
His cock works me, extending the moment, tormenting my pussy through an agony of ecstasy.
My moment passes, but Brin is now heaving and panting, his hips beginning to judder. Breathing hard, he groans quietly before, with a heave, he presses hard into me, grinding and working himself into me. I feel the pulsing of his cock as he pumps into me until, with a gasp, he flops down on top of me.
For long moments we lie, sated, exhausted, loosely linked together, before Brin, raising his weight from me, lies beside me, then leans down to kiss me again. He says nothing. Nor do I. Words are not needed.
Pulling the blankets over us, we lie there entwined, basking in the firelight, before, as the moon rises, we sleep under the stars.
The Story Continues in ‘Enticed’
Enticed
A Tale of Alpha Male, Master and Slave,
Ménage and Erotic Romance
Part Four of the
‘Submissive to Her Master’ Series
Author: Simone Leigh
Part Four
Enticed
I wake to a ghostly scene. Still in the heart of the night, the moon shines bright and clear over a monochrome landscape. Wraiths of mist kiss the surface of almost still waters and the trees, black and silver in the moonlight, reach upwards, silhouetted against a velvet sky.
Warm in the blankets, Brin’s arm curls around me, the warmth of his body comforting against the coolth. I inhale sharp clean air, breathing out steam, then drift back to sleep.
I wake again to bright sunshine, a clattering noise and a delicious odour.
Never had a man cooked for me before I met Brin, but now it has become his habit. I sit up, blinking against brilliant sunshine and a blue vaulted sky.
“What is that wonderful smell?”
Brin looks up from where he is poking something around in a frying pan. It sits atop the fire, revived from where we were sitting by it the night before.
“Morning.” he smiles. “Bacon and mushrooms. Eggs too in a minute.”
Lining up my brain cells. “But I hate mushrooms.”
“Didn’t you just say they smelled wonderful?”
It is hard to argue with the logic of this, so I settle for gathering up the blankets around my skin, naked to the cold air and peering over at what is cooking.
Crisp, pink and brown bacon competes for space with mushrooms sizzling in the pan.
A thought occurs to me. “Where did you get mushrooms? There weren’t any in the groceries.”
Brin head points to a dry-stone wall a few hundred yards away. “Yon meadow has horses. There’s always a good chance of field mushrooms in an unspoiled spot like this. No fertilizers or pesticides.”
Wild mushrooms?
“Are you sure they’re safe?”
Brin, head tilted, gives me an old look, then spears one at random from the pan, blows on it for a moment, and shoves it, whole, into his mouth.
“I’d not be here now if I couldn’t tell an edible mushroom from the risky kind.”
He divvies up two tin plates of food, cracks eggs one-handedly into the pan and less than a minute later serves me breakfast, not exactly in bed, but a passable stand-in.
I hate mushrooms. Tentatively I bite into one.
It is a taste from He
aven. Greedily I stuff myself with the rest of them before starting on my eggs and bacon. Brin watches me with some amusement.
“So you hate mushrooms, do you?”
A bit embarrassed by my own performance, I blush and say nothing, concentrating on my food.
“Don’t worry about it.” he says. “I was just the same as a kid. I always thought I hated mushrooms until my Dad took me on a camping trip when I was about eight. He did the same thing, fried eggs, bacon and mushrooms on an open fire in the fresh air. I’ve loved ‘em ever since.”
He sniffs, reflectively. “Anyway, it’s a good job you’ve decided you like ‘em. There’s plenty more back there and a couple of them are the size of pizzas.”
Wrapped in my blanket, I eat one of the best meals of my life, sitting in chill air and warm sunshine, revelling in the company of this man who has rescued me from myself. I do not realise that I have lapsed into silence until Brin once more breaks into my thoughts.
“So what would you like to do today?”
What do you do out in the wilds like this?
“Um, I don’t know. What could we do? There’s nothing here.”
Brin raises eyebrows at this. “Nothing here? In one of the most beautiful places you could visit?”
I feel a fool. “What would you suggest?”
He waves an arm expansively around the lake. “Well there’s a walk that-a-way that’ll take you over and around that end of the lake,” He waves at the be-lilied shallows a mile or so to our right. “And then along the far shore for, well as far as you want to go. But about seven or eight miles along there’s a pub and a ferry stop. We could take the walk, stop at the pub for lunch and take the ferry trip back. How’s that sound?”
It sounds amazing.
“It sounds wonderful Brin. Yes, I’d love to do that.”
The walk is everything I could have hoped. Dragonflies skim bright water, birds dip for fish and everywhere there is the sweet-scented breeze. The path is winding and rough over broken turf, rocky outcrops and sandy mini-beaches. I almost turn an ankle a couple of times, so when we return, Brin insists that we call by the local small town to pick up a pair of quality walking boots for me. I feel a bit of a clown in the large stumpy boots, but Brin insists I look fine.