backpacking
It feels good to walk along the path with you. This has always been one of my favorite state parks. When I was a child, I loved the river and foot trails. Now I love it because I am here with you. The shadows are deepening and underbrush encroaches on the path. Most hikers stop at the overview of the river, a mile behind us now. It was a lovely spot and we ate our lunch there. A typical Texas hilltop with prairie grasses and shrubs growing out of the miserly layer of soil spread across flat rock. The Perdernales wound its way below us, deep enough at that point for inner tubes to float downstream. Like black olives stuffed in the middle with colorful pimentos. A few other hikers stopped briefly, laden with cameras and little ice chests and bottles of water. Their picture snapping and exclamations about the view did little to interrupt our lazy lunch. The wildlife was thick: roadrunners, and bugs, and birds and campers.
None of the native sights are as stimulating to me, though as your hard body stretched out next to me. My fingers weave idly through your hair. It is addictive-- touching you. I can never seem to get enough of it. Whenever you are within reach my hand is stroking or petting you. Testing the textures: the sculpted lines of your shoulders and back under the thin cotton of your t-shirt, the soft and sensitive spots along your neck and clavicle, the prickly sensation of your beard, the soft wetness of your lips. The lines of your body are relaxed now. Being outside always does that for you. The habitual watchfulness disappears some. Your eyes are closed, an arm thrown over your face. Your head rests on your backpack, a thin sheen of sweat shows on your arms and neck.
I love to look at you. My big sensual cat with all that sexy damn power packed away under your sleek exterior. You move like a big cat, too: easy grace with a purpose. It is why I am following you deeper into trees. So I can enjoy watching the way your legs eat up ground and the ease with which you carry both of our packs. Little fingers of sunlight dance over your shoulders and I am drunk with the spectacle. You seem to know where you are headed, and I am content, as always, to follow you. The sun is dropping down by the time we stop. The clearing you chose will make a good spot for the night. We move together with easy compatibility to set up camp. When the tent is done and our sleeping bags are rolled out, I dig through my pack for the last of our sandwiches and some fruit. There are even a few granola bars and a wedge of cheese. I am so hungry that it looks like a feast. Sitting on one of the bags with my back to your strong chest and your back to a tree, we demolish supper in record time. Your heat feels so good against my back and I absently stroke your thighs with both hands.
The cicadas are screeching out their noisy foreplay and moths dance crazily in the light of our two lanterns. I close my eyes and concentrate on you: the touch of your skin, your smell, the rhythm of your breath, your hands moving over my breasts and abdomen. Your mouth brushes my hair, planting little kisses along my scalp. In return, I take your hand and kiss and bite the pad beneath your thumb. "Right her, right now," I tell you, "I am more complete than I have ever been, Paul." The pleasure my words bring you is obvious. Your body hums with it. When I raise my face, your gentle kiss feels so very good. Fitting my mouth to yours and exploring with little tentative thrusts with my tongue. Your beard tickling my face and your strong hands cover my back and waist. Bodies close enough to melt into one another. Your taste and your scent fill me until I know only you and hear only your quickening breath. The little moans in your throat tug at me. Like fingers pulling at my center and drawing slick wetness from my core.
Your thighs cradle me. I can feel your hardness against my back. Kisses along my neck send shivers through my body. My heart knocks against my ribs now, and breasts are swollen and hard beneath your hands. You have such talented fingers: caressing and teasing me. You stroke my breasts until even a slight touch draws me tight. I am so glad that I didn't wear a bra today. I raise my hands when you take the shirt off of me, and even the air feels sensuous on my skin. Just the tips of your fingers, tracing designs on my skin. I am trembling now with need. The smell of your skin, warm, slightly salty, gave me the same feeling that a glass of wine might: slightly dizzy and flushed and a little breathless. You are intoxicating. I am panting now and straining towards your hands. "Please, please, fix it. Sweet, fix it." Your clever hands continue to tease me. Brushing the tips of my breasts, my back, my neck and my waist.
I do not argue when you guide me to one of the open bags and pull me to lie beside you. It is easy to slide out of my shorts and discard my socks and sneakers. I lick and kiss your skin when you let me undress you as well. Propped on your side, one leg thrown over my thighs you stroke me again with maddening thoroughness. Need curls through me hot and heavy because of your touch. Your hand trembles and the look on your face is raw and possessive. Your arousal is so obvious: glorious and masculine. My fingertips itch to stroke you. Your hands brushes the underside of my breast, strokes my belly and thighs. Low coursing pleasure fills my womb. All I want is the feel of your heavy cock inside me, your weight above me, and your hard body filling me—covering me, consuming me. "My pet," just those two words. Deep and husky; your voice slides over me like liquid heat. You always make me feel like the most desirable woman, some pagan goddess formed just for your pleasure. I do not even argue when you tell me I am beautiful. Right now that is exactly how I feel.
Rolling to face you, I explore you in return. Brushing your hot skin reverently. Grasping your buttocks and pulling you close. Squeezing your tight ass like a kitty kneading with its paws. I smile when you gasp against my hair. Your cock is heavy against my leg. I slid my hand to cup the pouch at the base of your sex. Your balls are almost cool compared to the heat of your turgid shaft. My fingertips trace your skin now. Covering the ridges of veins that lead all the way to the tip. When I drew the pad of my thumb over the satiny bulb I am rewarded with wetness. You hug me close and groan when I bring my thumb to my lips and lick it clean. "Does that please you?" I whisper. In response you tilt my head back and bring your face close to mine. Your face shimmers with sweat and your eyes are like a blue blaze. You still kiss me as though we have just become lovers. Not the perfunctory and easily forgotten kisses that long time lovers share easily, but a soul deep kiss that burns right through my soul and brands me as yours alone.
Moving your body over me, I shift so that you are cradled in my thighs now. Your manhood is throbbing, searing me like a brand and I cry for you to fill me. Your hand guides the thick head across my smooth slit. I am so wet for you; there is no resistance at all. Your palm moves to my thigh and draws my leg up around your hip. "Now, now please. Paul, take me now. I want you inside of me. I want—"
You interrupt me with a deep kiss, your tongue dueling with mine. One hand caresses my breasts again. "Turn around," you whisper, "lie on your side and hold your bottom to me." Your fingers are busy now pinching my nipples and I groan into the curve of your neck. "Now, pet, I know what you want." Your hands are directing me to roll over. "More, I know what you need." It is easy to obey you then, settling so that my back is pressed against your chest spoon-fashion. I can feel the rise of your erection against my ass, and I writhe against you. My need is so great now. Your lips and teeth at my nape make me wild and I arch instinctively. It is so good when you enter me finally. I groan as you drive deeper, until I am stretched tightly around you heat.
Your broad hands stroke my breasts again. One slides down my quivering stomach to rest at the apex between my thighs. Clever fingers resting just above the tingling spot without quite touching it. Teasing me sliding away each time I strain towards your hand. The elusive pleasure makes me desperate. Each time my hips move forward you follow the movement. Each liquid glide delights and stimulates me. The exquisite tension climbs higher and higher until I can barely hold back my screams. Every limb is stiff and my skin is wet with sweat. Even my hair is plastered to my scalp. I claw at the hand against my pubis, straining to reach my climax now.
It is almost enough to send me over the edge when your dark voice croons, "All right, my pet. You've earned your pleasure." You are thrusting so hard and then you pinch just slightly at the skin around my jewelry with your thumb and forefinger. The world seems to explode around me then. Fire and sensation rip through my body and I clamp on your hardness with little spasms of ecstasy. The rippling of my inner muscles brings you to the point of climax, and you withdraw from me with a groan. "Your mouth, stacy. Take me. Take all of me." My brain is still foggy with desire, but my body moves quickly to take your beautiful cock in my mouth. I can taste myself all over you as you lay beneath me and in just a few strokes you are hard against the back of my throat. The trembling of your hands in my hair is an epiphany and with a deep breath is swallow you until my nose is tight against your hard abdomen and your spear is past the sphincter of my throat. When I am ready to pull back you grasp my head tight to you and I feel your sweet liquid pulsing in my throat.
The sound of your pleasure nearly undoes me and I slide two fingers deep into my own cunt while I wait for breath. Even my breath is yours, I think. And then your hand moves away and I raise my head to gasp for air. I slick stream of cum hangs from the head of your still throbbing cock and my swollen lips. I use my tongue to break it and make sure you see me draw the sticky strand into my mouth.
