Erotica Readers & Writers Association
Home | Erotic Books | Authors Resources | Inside The Erotic Mind | Erotica Gallery
Adult Movies | Sex Toys | Erotic Music | Email Discussion List | Links


Story Gallery | Treasure Chest




Erotic Fiction
Queer Fiction
Kinky Erotica
The Softer Side
Quickies
Flashers
Poetry

The Best of 2013

Of Canes and Men
by Sacha Lasalle



Archives

By Amanda Earl
Unraveling The...
The Travellers
The Storywriter
Voices


By Daina Blue
Because I Could
Fetish is a Six-Letter..

By felicia Mansur
The Preparation
The Lesson


By G. Russell
Mistress Elvira's...
The Sisters


By Helen E. H. Madden
A Man in a Kilt
Girls Gone Wild


By J.Z. Sharpe
The Heirloom
Girl on a Swing


By Mike Kimera
A Walk in the Park
The Cellar
Beam Work
Buying Daddy's...
Inside Mr. K
Other Bonds Than...
Back When We ...
My Brother's Wife
Thresholds
Tiger, Tiger
Fucking Forever
Blind Faith


By Nikki Isaak
Night Rain
Tokyo Inferno


By Remittance Girl
The Dinner Party
Dark Garden
Cryptic
Heat Sink


By Robert Buckley
Boink's S&M...
Mr Sheldon


By William S. Dean
My Dominatrix
Heirloom
These Scratches...

In the Woods
by S. Stephens Smith © 2004



It was their last night in the woods, camping. Tomorrow, they'd pack up and go. Back to life, reality. The city, university.

"So let me watch," David had said. And grinned at her, drunk on whiskey and beer.

She shrugged, and he followed her away from the campfire.

As if on the dare, she raised her shirt up, her legs strong and pale in the moonlight, classically curved, though she wasn't wearing heels. Alabaster, David thought, distracted and jolted by something half-recalled. Alabaster, like poetry, like statures, something some teacher had rambled on about in high school. He wasn't in dusty, dreary school, high or law, now. He'd never been farther away. The pines were sharp and clean in his nose, mixing with the rich smell of earth. Tall trees loomed high, sheltering them, but when the breeze shifted, he got the river-smell again. Whiskey burned hot and smoky at the back of his throat, and stars he missed back in the city dazzled the night sky.

The long flannel shirt Holly wore as a nightgown was rising high, inevitable now, and marvellous as opening-night curtains. The dimpled innocence of knees, then the heartbreaking curve of thigh. Whiter than her skin, her panties flashed at him, a secret signal, a triangle of white, of triumph or surrender. Her grin was quick and wicked. Not surrender, then. Complicity? Nervousness?

Her panties were down and off before he knew it, nonchalant, as if she were not awarding him this strange gift of her body. The triangle of hair was dark against her skin, a beckoning blackness. Smudge, he thought. Her little bush. His cock twitched. He swallowed more whiskey.

"I love your little bush," he said, and grinned. The whiskey burned in his belly, and he felt strange. I'm drunk, he thought. Oh, boy.

A hesitant trickle. The sound of mere water joining the night noises, a delicate spatter on the forest floor. Then her sigh as she relaxed. Hiss. Sweet splash. And his instant erection, an iron bar of insistent desire. Silence. He waited again.

She stopped, as if gone shy. Not now, he thought. Don't stop.

Then another spurt, a quick hiss, and a dark thrill, sending his heart beating and his mouth gone dry—her beer would be cold heaven right now.

Doors opening into infinity.

And they were going to fuck, always nice enough, always more than nice, but first she had to do this. Hence, the discreet withdrawal from the circle of firelight. And his impulse, tongue loosened, everything loose. There was only the silence of the woods, the distant sound of river-run. She was going to let him have her, fast and furious fucking, or slow and endless rocking under the trees, in the circle of their campfire, their primal hearth in the late spring night.

The spurt gathered, became a rivulet.

Hiss. Steady now. And Holly was looking at him, and he knew that it felt good, what she was doing. Pissing down onto the damp leaves and fallen needles. Ache building, higher, hotter, insistent, and then sweet release, like sex itself. He couldn't look away, sensed somehow that she didn't need or want him to, not any more. His erection throbbed with need, desire, overwhelming everything else in the world. She knew he was staring, and she smiled again, sweet mischief in the strange darkness. She seemed unselfconscious now as she pissed, half-crouched before him, steadily wetting the ground with her stream of water. David could hear it. Could see it. He burned.

Doors. Opening. Infinity.

He couldn't look away, fascinated by the narrow, delicate and strong stream she made. It was a creation divine and obscene, framed by her sex.

She even pees cute, he thought, and then thought of nothing more but need.

David would remember all this, next week, the year after, ten years later. Standing there in a swirling mixture of lust and taboo, drunk, horny and helpless. How she had stood before him because he asked her to, stood with her thighs spread open, open as they would be for his cock only minutes later, his cock steely and omnipotent as it had been when he was seventeen.

How she had stood, then crouched closer to the ground, as she poured out her flow for him—all because he asked her to.

Then he was unzipping himself, releasing his erection, pointing at her. His jeans were down around his thighs, and his hand was stroking, stroking. He swayed over her, the pine scent strong again, never had he been so big and hard before, he could fuck the whole world and never tire, watching it all fall away under his erection of steel. She was still pissing. For him.

He stood over her, dizzy with lust, taking her hand in his, guiding her back to the fire. The pine was gone in woodsmoke and his need, almost rage, his hardness straining, becoming everything. He took her down to the ground, rolling around on the old sleeping bags, frantic for her mouth, her nipple, his hand gone clumsy on her body. On top of her now, pushing into her, trying not to tear her, rolling again on the old sleeping bags on the ground before the fire.

He entered her, and she was wet from what she'd just done, and there was no resistance. He stroked, panting, silent, frantic. His lovemaking wasn't slow and it wasn't lovemaking. Fucking her, primal by the fire, with no words of love or endearment, only hot urgency.

Twenty years later the sound of his wife, innocent in the bathroom only steps away from the bed, would give him an erection. Darkly pleasurable as always, if not quite as stony as it had been that spring.

© 2004 S. Stephens Smith. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.

_______
Bio: Savannah Stephens Smith lives and writes on Vancouver Island, Canada, by the edge of the Pacific Ocean. She used to smoke, but now she settles for just smouldering a little. She writes dirty stories when no one is looking (and sometimes when they are). By day, she's under cover as a mild-mannered secretary. Her personal fiction website is at eroticfriction.com .


Authors live for feedback!
If you enjoyed this story, please send comments to
S. Stephens Smith

[Filigrie]



  E-mail this page


Search ERWA Website:

Copyright 1996 and on, Erotica Readers Association, Inc.
All Rights Reserved World Wide. Reproduction in whole or in part in any form or
medium without express written permission is prohibited.

Archives

Smoke
by Alicia Night Orchid

Blood of the Goddess
by Ann Regentin

The Peanut Butter Shot
by C. Sanchez-Garcia

Daisy's Chain
by Cervo

Bondage Freundeskreis
by Cherry Black

My Blue Heavens
by Eiffel Crisp

On a Train to NY
by ezwritr

Instructions
by J.D. Coltrane

Olivia's Punishment
by J.T. Benjamin

The Lord of Edocxus
by Jacqui Adams

Strip Search
by Jean Roberta

Sucked
by Jennifer Loring

The Game
by Jill

The Auction
by Jude Mason

City Lights
by Kathleen Bradean

Wednesday Night...
by Lisabet Sarai

If I Have My Way
by MLW

Clarity
by Maffy C

Proper Etiquette
by morgan Aine

Authority 102
by Oxartes

The Dishonourable Member
by Richard V Raiment

Pretty, Pretty
by Rod Harden

Roasting Coffee
by S.F. Mayfair

In the Woods
by S. Stephens Smith

His Secrets
by Valarie Prince

Knot Again!
by Yolanda West