OxonWoods Man

Author: Richard Foster

  • Ode to Clitoris

    Hidden Pearl

    Beneath the folds, a gem lies still,
    A pearl of flesh on tender hill,
    It quivers soft with whispered air,
    A shiver wakes with gentle care,
    Hooded close, its heart beats true,
    In quiet dark, it hums anew,
    A secret held in silken keep.

    Crescent Bloom

    A crescent curves, a moonlit sweep,
    It rises bold where shadows creep,
    Each touch ignites a fiery stream,
    A pulsing spark, a waking dream,
    No twin alike, its song takes flight,
    A rhythmic bloom in endless night.

    Velvet Knot

    A knot of silk, so small, so tight,
    Smooth as velvet, rich with might,
    It thrums to strokes, a steady beat,
    A tide that swells with rising heat,
    Fingers glide, its weave unfurls,
    A velvet pulse that grips and twirls,
    A knot that binds the soul to bliss,
    A tender twist none dare dismiss.

    Jagged Spark

    Some jut sharp, a rugged ridge,
    A lightning flash o’er passion’s bridge,
    Nerves snap tight, a sudden flare,
    Screams of joy tear through the air,
    Wild and rough, it claims its reign,
    A jagged jolt, a sweet refrain.

    Swollen Rose

    A rose unfurls, plump and grand,
    It fills the frame, defies command,
    Each kiss awakes a rushing flood,
    A heat that courses through the blood,
    Petals part, its power sings,
    A swollen bloom on ardent wings,
    A fragrant throne that holds the dark,
    A rhythmic rose with beating mark,
    A queen of flesh in full array.

    Shy Nodule

    A timid dot, so slight, so meek,
    A whispered note where few would seek,
    One touch, it leaps, a trembling start,
    A quiver drums the hidden heart,
    Soft and small, its might lies low,
    A secret star with quiet glow,
    A shy delight in shadows spun.

    Twin Peaks

    Twin ridges rise, a paired delight,
    Two crests that gleam in tender sight,
    Hands roam free, they pulse as one,
    A doubled dance beneath the sun,
    They sway, they merge, a rhythmic call,
    A twin-born thrill that conquers all.

    Deep Well

    A hollow dips, a shadowed sink,
    A well of want on pleasure’s brink,
    It pulls you down, a plunging dare,
    Ripples ride the heated air,
    Deep it hums, a primal tune,
    A spring that flows beneath the moon,
    A liquid beat, a surging swell,
    A dark embrace where passions dwell,
    A rhythmic rush no dam can bind.

    Polished Stone

    A stone lies smooth, a gleaming prize,
    It shines where tender flesh resides,
    Firm at first, then soft it bends,
    A pulse that yields as touch descends,
    Each rub a chant, each sigh a chime,
    A polished beat through endless time.

    Flickering Flame

    A wick so frail, a fleeting spark,
    It flares alive in velvet dark,
    Quick to blaze, swift to fade,
    A twisting flame by breath remade,
    It flickers fast, a teasing glow,
    A rhythmic fire she alone can know,
    A dance of light in fleeting streams,
    A spark that fuels her wildest dreams.

    Braided Cord

    A cord twists tight, a woven thread,
    Where nerves entwine and joy is bred,
    It tautens sharp with every tease,
    A beat that begs for sweet release,
    Braided fine, it hums alive,
    A lifeline strong where passions thrive.

    Echoing Drum

    A drumhead taut, a circle round,
    It thrums to love, a booming sound,
    Each tap resounds, each slap a roar,
    A rhythm shakes the very core,
    Echoes roll, deep and grand,
    A beat that only she can stand,
    A drum that calls through flesh and bone.

    Glistening Dew

    A dewdrop gleams, a bead so bright,
    It crowns the peak in morning light,
    Air alone can make it sing,
    A trembling note on fragile wing,
    Each brush a wave, each breeze a hum,
    A glistening pulse where joys come from,
    A liquid shine, a rhythmic tear,
    A jewel that whispers life is near,
    A drop that dances free and bold.

    Crooked Path

    A line runs bent, a winding trail,
    It twists through flesh, a crooked tale,
    Each curve a pulse, each turn a grace,
    A rhythmic map to sacred space,
    Off-beat yet rich, it charts the way,
    A path to bliss in wild array.

    Radiant Crown

    A queen ascends, a regal gleam,
    A crown of fire in flesh supreme,
    It reigns with force, both fierce and free,
    A spark that sings eternity,
    Each breath a hymn, each beat a throne,
    A radiant rule she claims alone,
    A final note, a grand decree,
    A rhythmic end to ecstasy.

  • The Tapestry of NSFW X

    Beneath the scroll of endless feeds,
    A corner glows with daring deeds,
    Where NSFW X unfurls its wings,
    A realm of raw and wondrous things.
    Not merely shadows cast in lust,
    But sparks of life, of grit, of trust,
    For those who post, for those who see,
    A mirror gleams with liberty.

    The poster stands, a soul laid bare,
    A canvas bold, beyond compare.
    No mask to wear, no shame to flee,
    They craft their truth for all to see.
    A photo shared, a tale unbound,
    A whispered roar, a sacred sound,
    In lines of flesh or words that sing,
    They claim the crown of self-made king.

    And those who read, who pause, who stay,
    Find light within the shades of gray.
    A stranger’s courage, fierce and free,
    Reflects their own humanity.
    It’s not the act, the skin, the thrill,
    But stories carved with iron will,
    A scar embraced, a flaw turned art,
    A bridge from screen to beating heart.

    For some, it’s not the carnal flame,
    Though sex, when there, deserves its fame,
    Stupendous, wild, a primal cheer,
    A dance of joy that banishes fear.
    Yet often, no, it’s something more,
    A quiet knock on shame’s closed door.
    A body loved, though once reviled,
    A spirit free, a self reconciled.

    The poster types, “This is my frame,
    My stretch, my curve, my chosen name.”
    And readers sigh, “I see me too,
    The me I hid, the me I grew.”
    A tattooed thigh, a laugh out loud,
    A quirky kink, a head unbowed,
    These gifts of X, both loud and sweet,
    Make broken souls feel more complete.

    It’s laughter shared in quirky threads,
    It’s knowing eyes on late-night beds,
    It’s finding kin in strangest ways,
    Through NSFW’s unfiltered gaze.
    The one who posts, they bloom, they mend,
    The one who reads finds strength to bend,
    A cycle spun of give and take,
    A space where masks begin to break.

    And when the heat does rise, oh my,
    The sex explodes beneath the sky,
    A symphony of want and play,
    A glorious romp in X’s sway.
    But even then, it’s more than skin,
    It’s trust, it’s power deep within,
    To own desire, to set it free,
    To shout, “This too is part of me.”

    So here’s to NSFW X,
    A wild, weird world that often wrecks
    The walls we build, the lies we tell,
    The silent wars within our shell.
    For those who post, a chance to shine,
    For those who read, a lifeline fine,
    Not just a thrill, though thrills abound,
    But roots to grow on shaky ground.

    In pixels bright or words that tease,
    A chorus forms of “I am these.”
    Acceptance weaves through every post,
    A haunting, healing, holy ghost.
    So let it glow, this strange delight,
    This NSFW X that burns so bright,
    A beacon for the lost, the shy,
    A place where souls refuse to die.

  • Seen in Black and Green

    At 5:03 a.m., the world is still cloaked in the quiet of predawn, and she wakes with a rare, buoyant energy humming through her. It’s not the usual groggy stumble toward coffee that marks her weekdays, but something lighter, a flicker of self-assurance that pulls her from bed. The house is silent save for the soft, rhythmic snores of her husband, still lost in sleep. She doesn’t mind; this moment is hers alone. Padding across the room, she slides open her dresser drawer, fingers grazing over neatly folded sets of underwear. Her hand pauses on a particular one, black with lime green accents, a bra, knickers, hold-up stockings. a bold, playful combination, and as she lifts it out, she feels a quiet thrill. The lime green, vibrant and fresh, mirrors the season outside her window, where spring is just beginning to tease the earth with its first shoots of growth. It’s a color that speaks of renewal, and in her hands, it feels like a secret she’s about to claim.

    She slips the set on, the fabric cool against her skin, and stands before the mirror. The contrast is striking. During the week, she’s the woman in overalls, managing a small team of engineers with a steady hand and a sharp mind. Her days are filled with problem-solving, grease-streaked blueprints, and the hum of machinery, a world where her competence, not her curves, defines her. But here, in the dim glow of her bedroom, the lingerie hugs her body, accentuating every line and dip. It’s not a rejection of the woman in overalls, but a different lens on her, a softer, sensual one that she rarely allows herself to linger in. She feels feminine, desirable, and powerfully herself, as if this quiet act of dressing up stitches together parts of her identity she keeps compartmentalized.

    Her phone sits on the dresser, she sets it to timer mode. She experiments with poses, head tilted, hip cocked, a half-smile playing on her lips, until the shutter clicks on something that feels right. The images capture her in a way she doesn’t often see, not the manager, not the wife, but a woman reveling in her own skin. She uploads a few to X, the platform where she’s carved out a small, anonymous corner for herself. The replies roll in quickly, a mixed bag she’s come to expect. Some are short and crude, with no effort, “Bang it,” “Sxy,” and she skims past them with a smirk. A few come from men she admires, accounts whose wit or insight she’s followed for months, and their blunt appreciation makes her grin widen. But then there are the others, the creepy ones that linger too long on details, and those she skips entirely, a faint unease prickling her spine.

    It’s the longer replies that draw her in. A man writes about the elegance of her pose, the way the green pops against the black, and she feels a warmth bloom in her chest. Another, from a woman, praises her confidence, the way she owns the frame, and it lands differently, less about desire, more about recognition. These words, from strangers who see only this sliver of her, amplify the feeling she’d chased when she chose the set from her drawer. They make her feel more feminine, more complete, as if their gaze validates something she’s only half-articulated to herself. She sips these compliments like a fine wine, letting them linger on her tongue, surprised by how much they matter.

    The clock catches her eye, 6:45 a.m. and reality nudges her back. She slips out of the lingerie, folding it carefully before tucking it away, and pulls her nightie back on. Climbing into bed, she listens to her husband’s snores, steady and familiar. He hasn’t stirred, oblivious to her private ritual, and she’s glad for it. This wasn’t about him, not directly, though it circles back to him in a way she’s only now piecing together. She’s not seeking sex with another man, not chasing some illicit thrill. The online attention, the act of dressing up, the photos, it’s a spark she’s kindling for herself, a way to feel alive and seen in a skin that spends most days hidden beneath practicality. And yet, as she nestles against her husband’s warmth, she knows it’s more than that. This quiet rebellion, this reclaiming of her sensuality, doesn’t pull her away from him. It draws her closer.

    She thinks about the nights that follow these mornings, how she’ll turn to him with a renewed hunger, how the confidence she’s tasted here will spill into their sheets. It’s not infidelity, not even close. It’s fuel. The men and women on X don’t know her, don’t own her, but their words stoke a fire she brings home. She smiles into the dark, amused by the paradox, a handful of strangers, a lime green bra, and an early morning whim making her a better lover. The thought settles as she closes her eyes, the snores beside her lulling her back to sleep, content in the knowledge that she’s more than any one lens can capture.

  • Ode to Camel Toe

    Yoga Pant Praise

    Oh, yoga pants, a glossy black sheath, tighter than a serpent’s coil,
    They grip her hips like a lover’s greedy hands, slick with sweat and toil,
    The camel toe emerges, a plump ridge carved in spandex sheen,
    A glistening cleft that winks through downward dog, bold and serene.
    It flexes with each lunge, a taut crescent moon against the neon gym glow,
    Fabric stretched thin as a whisper, tracing valleys where desires flow,
    No shadow can cloak its brazen arc, no modesty dares intrude,
    A pulsing silhouette of primal grace, raw and deliciously lewd,
    Through steamy studios, it struts, a sculpted hymn to sinew’s might,
    A glistening jewel of flesh and thread, radiant in morning light.

    Bikini’s Bold Claim

    By the ocean’s frothy roar, the bikini bites like a coral fang,
    A scrap of crimson or teal, dripping wet, where salt and sunlight clang,
    The camel toe thrusts forth, a swollen seam kissed by briny spray,
    A brazen mound glistening like a pearl in the sun’s fierce midday.
    Strings tremble, barely tethered, framing a slit sharp as a blade’s edge,
    It dances with the tide, a sandy throne where seaweed dares to pledge,
    Waves crash, and still it holds, a glistening delta of flesh and hue,
    A tropical tease, brazen as a gull’s cry, wild and fiercely true,
    No towel can tame its dampened crown, no shade dims its gleam,
    A seaside siren’s secret, etched in heat and summer’s dream.

    Jean Queen’s Reign

    Denim clamps like a blacksmith’s vise, faded blue as a storm-tossed sky,
    The camel toe reigns, a rugged ridge chiseled where thighs collide and sigh,
    Stitching bites into tender curves, rivets glint like watchful eyes,
    A creased furrow pulses with each step, a denim-wrought surprise.
    Worn threads fray at the edges, outlining a plump, unyielding seam,
    It struts through dust and diesel air, a rebel queen’s fevered dream,
    Faded patches hug it close, a canyon carved in indigo deep,
    A saucy groove that grinds the day, fierce as a bull’s wild leap,
    Oh, jeans, you mold her like clay fired in lust’s own kiln,
    A streetwise sculpture, rough and proud, thrilling to the skin.

    Legging Lament

    Leggings cling like a lover’s breath, a velvet shroud of midnight ink,
    They ripple over flesh like liquid tar, teasing where thoughts sink,
    The camel toe blooms, a swollen bloom pressed beneath the weave,
    A shadowed cleft that smirks through coffee steam, too lush to grieve.
    Each stride ignites a friction dance, fibers snapping taut and fine,
    It gleams in leopard print or gray, a sultry ridge divine,
    No seam dares blur its vivid thrust, no fold can steal its stare,
    A juicy imprint stalking dawn, feral in the crisp air,
    Through city streets or twilight runs, it prowls with feline grace,
    A legging-clad temptress, fierce and free, etched in every pace.

    Shorts’ Summer Song

    Shorts of summer, frayed and brief, ride high on sun-scorched thighs,
    A cotton vise or spandex snap, where camel toe boldly lies,
    It bulges like a ripe peach split, kissed by noon’s relentless blaze,
    A sweaty crease that taunts the breeze, wild in its brazen ways.
    Grass stains smear the hem, yet still it glows, a golden-hued delight,
    Through picnics thick with honeysuckle, it reigns in humid light,
    The fabric bites, a shallow gorge where dampness pools and plays,
    A saucy scar of fleeting heat, searing summer’s days,
    Oh, shorts, you frame her like a canvas stretched on lust’s bright loom,
    A fleeting tease of flesh and fire, blooming in the gloom.

    Swimsuit Serenade

    Swimsuits gleam, a chlorinated skin, teal or red as a siren’s wail,
    They hug her like a eel’s embrace, slick where water trails,
    The camel toe rises, a sodden peak crowned with chlorine’s sting,
    A glistening rift that slices the pool, where bubbles cling and sing.
    Dive deep, and still it juts, a sculpted wave in fabric’s grasp,
    Droplets bead like diamonds on its edge, a liquid clasp,
    Lane lines blur, but it stands firm, a mermaid’s brazen mark,
    A slippery groove that mocks the tide, fierce in the wet and dark,
    On sun-bleached decks, it dries and shines, a trophy of the deep,
    A swimsuit’s bold confession, vivid as a shark’s swift sweep.

    Skirt’s Secret Whisper

    A skirt, pencil-thin as a stiletto’s heel, hugs hips with silken guile,
    It sways like a willow in heat, yet grips where secrets pile,
    The camel toe lurks, a phantom swell beneath the satin’s sheen,
    A tender crease that flickers through, half-hid, yet keenly seen.
    Each twirl unfurls a fleeting glimpse, a slit kissed by twilight’s hue,
    It teases like a candle’s dance, a shadowed rendezvous,
    The hem rides high, then dips to cloak, a game of hide and seek,
    A whispered ridge of molten grace, sultry and oblique,
    Oh, skirt, you veil her like a mist, yet let the bold peek through,
    A camel toe mystery, soft as sin, radiant in its brew.

    Tracksuit Triumph

    Tracksuits drape in velour folds, a plush cocoon of ruby red,
    Yet tighten where the camel toe rules, a king on a cushioned bed,
    It swells beneath the zipper’s gleam, a juicy seam in fleece’s grip,
    A sporty crown that jogs through dawn, dew-kissed at every dip.
    Drawstrings cinch, but cannot tame the mound that bucks and sways,
    It glows in sweat-soaked glory, bold through misty morning rays,
    Elastic snaps like a lover’s whip, framing flesh in cozy vice,
    A tracksuit’s saucy paradox, tender yet precise,
    From couch to trail, it claims its throne, a beast in soft attire,
    A camel toe anthem, loud and lush, stoked by comfort’s fire.

    Dress’s Daring Dance

    A dress, bodycon or satin slick, pours like wine over trembling skin,
    It clings like a serpent shedding silk, where camel toe begins,
    A swollen ridge ripples through, a scarlet seam in candlelight’s glare,
    It pulses with each hip’s slow roll, a vision raw and rare.
    The fabric shivers, stretched to breaking, outlining every dip and rise,
    A molten groove that steals the breath, mirrored in widened eyes,
    No flounce can dull its vivid thrust, no shadow cools its heat,
    A dress-wrapped tease that stalks the night, fierce on satin feet,
    Oh, dress, you paint her like a flame, a canvas of desire’s flood,
    A camel toe masterpiece, alive in passion’s blood.

    Lingerie Legacy

    Lingerie, a lace-wrought web, black as midnight’s lustful stare,
    It cradles camel toe like a chalice, tender yet brazenly bare,
    A silken slit splits the thong, a rosy crest in candle’s flicker,
    It gleams through gossamer, a jewel where shadows thicken quicker.
    Lace bites soft as a spider’s kiss, framing flesh in fragile thread,
    It reigns in the boudoir’s hush, a monarch on satin’s bed,
    No prudish bow can mute its cry, no clasp can chain its might,
    A private ridge of velvet fire, glowing in the night,
    Oh, lingerie, you crown her form, a legacy of skin and soul,
    A camel toe eternal, vivid, wild, and whole.

  • Ode to the Bulge

    Briefs’ Brazen Salute

    Oh, briefs, a cotton cage stretched taut as a drumskin’s beat,
    They cradle the bulge like a sculptor’s fist, fierce in their tight retreat,
    A swollen mound rises, a proud hillock beneath the white-hot seam,
    It strains against the weave, a pulsing knot in morning’s steamy gleam.
    Elastic snaps like a hunter’s bow, biting hips with savage grace,
    The outline juts, a meaty ridge, framed in a fabric embrace,
    No fold can tame its hefty thrust, no shadow dims its reign,
    A primal crest that greets the dawn, bold in its coiled strain,
    Through quiet rooms or locker haze, it stands unbowed and true,
    A briefs-clad titan, raw and ripe, bathed in sweat’s fresh dew.

    Swim Trunk Swagger

    By the pool’s chlorinated kiss, swim trunks cling like a siren’s snare,
    A nylon shroud of cobalt or lime, dripping wet with brazen flair,
    The bulge blooms bold, a sodden peak crowned with water’s sheen,
    A hefty swell that parts the waves, majestic and serene.
    Drawstrings sag beneath its weight, outlining girth in liquid hue,
    It bobs with every stroke, a buoyant beast breaking through,
    Chlorine beads like pearls on its curve, a trophy of the deep,
    A glistening arc that mocks the tide, fierce in its watery keep,
    On sun-scorched decks, it dries and struts, a king in summer’s glare,
    A swim trunk saga, vivid and vast, rippling through the air.

    Jean Jock’s Throne

    Denim grips like a blacksmith’s clamp, faded gray as a thunderhead,
    The bulge reigns supreme, a rugged knot where thighs and pelvis wed,
    Stitching groans beneath its heft, rivets gleam like steely stars,
    A thick ridge pulses with each stride, a denim-wrought memoirs.
    Worn patches stretch over its swell, a canyon carved in blue,
    It prowls through dust and gravel paths, a rebel’s lusty cue,
    Frayed seams bow to its command, a meaty throne laid bare,
    A saucy bulk that grinds the day, wild in the open air,
    Oh, jeans, you forge him like a blade, tempered in desire’s flame,
    A streetwise bulge, rough and proud, staking its fierce claim.

    Track Pant Triumph

    Track pants drape in silken waves, a glossy shroud of midnight ink,
    Yet tighten where the bulge commands, a hefty prize on passion’s brink,
    It swells beneath the polyester sheen, a plump arc kissed by sweat,
    A shadowed beast that sprints through dawn, too bold for regret.
    Elastic cuffs cling to its base, framing girth in sporty vice,
    It bounces with each pounding step, a rhythm fierce and nice,
    No breeze can blur its vivid bulk, no fold can steal its might,
    A juicy mass that stalks the trail, primal in the light,
    Through misty fields or gym-lit nights, it strides with brazen cheer,
    A track pant king, untamed and free, roaring far and near.

    Shorts’ Summer Crown

    Shorts of summer, khaki or mesh, ride high on sun-baked thighs,
    A loose veil turned tight where the bulge defies,
    It thrusts like a cannonball primed, kissed by noon’s relentless fire,
    A sweaty heft that taunts the heat, stoked by raw desire.
    Hems fray against its girth, a swollen prize in daylight’s blaze,
    Through barbecues thick with smoke, it reigns in sultry ways,
    The fabric clings, a shallow cave where dampness pools and grows,
    A saucy knot of fleeting sun, vivid as the rose,
    Oh, shorts, you crown him like a stag, rampant in the glare,
    A bulge that roars of liberty, wild and debonair.

    Boxer Brief Ballard

    Boxer briefs stretch, a hybrid grip, black as a raven’s wing,
    They mold the bulge like molten lead, a heavy, swaying thing,
    A thick ridge ripples through the knit, crowned with cotton’s bite,
    It lounges bold in twilight’s hush, a monarch of the night.
    The pouch sags beneath its load, outlining every curve and vein,
    It shifts with lazy swagger, a beast too grand to chain,
    No seam can dull its meaty arc, no shadow cools its heat,
    A boxer brief empire, fierce and full, pulsing to the beat,
    In bedrooms dim or morning’s rush, it holds its regal ground,
    A bulge of quiet majesty, rich and richly crowned.

    Suit’s Subtle Swagger

    A suit, tailored sharp as a razor’s edge, hugs hips with pinstripe guile,
    It cloaks the bulge in woolen grace, yet hints at primal style,
    A gentle swell stirs beneath the fly, a secret carved in gray,
    A tender heft that whispers low, bold in a muted way.
    Each step ignites a subtle bounce, a bulge that dares to tease,
    It glides through boardrooms, sleek and sly, a wolf in polished fleece,
    The zipper strains, a fleeting ridge, kissed by office light,
    A hidden bulk of quiet power, stirring in the night,
    Oh, suit, you mask him like a king, yet let the wild peek through,
    A bulge of class and cunning, sharp as morning dew.

    Jogger’s Jolt

    Joggers flow in tapered streams, a soft cocoon of ash or teal,
    Yet cinch where the bulge demands, a meaty truth too real,
    It juts beneath the drawstring’s pull, a plump knot slick with sweat,
    A bouncing mass that storms the park, fierce and unoffset.
    Fleece hugs its girth like a lover’s grasp, tracing lines in dampened hue,
    It leaps with every stride, a beast unbound, breaking dawn in two,
    No wind can tame its vivid thrust, no pocket hides its play,
    A jogger’s bold companion, loud in the sunlit day,
    From trails to streets, it claims its reign, a pulse of primal cheer,
    A bulge that sings of motion, vivid and severe.

    Speedo’s Stark Glory

    Speedo gleams, a lycra vise, red as a matador’s dare,
    It grips the bulge like a vice of steel, brazenly bare,
    A swollen crest surges forth, a torpedo in the pool’s embrace,
    It cuts through water, a glistening spear, fierce in its race.
    Wet fabric clings, a second skin, outlining every ridge and swell,
    It dives and rises, a hydrodynamic king, too proud to quell,
    No wave can blur its stark relief, no depth can steal its fire,
    A Speedo’s stark confession, fueled by liquid desire,
    On tiled decks, it struts and shines, a trophy of the lane,
    A bulge of aquatic splendor, vivid as the rain.

    Jockstrap Jubilee

    Jockstrap, a warrior’s gear, straps taut as a bowstring’s hum,
    It cups the bulge like a chalice of steel, a prize where passions drum,
    A meaty mound thrusts through the pouch, kissed by locker steam,
    It reigns in the gym’s raw haze, a gladiator’s dream.
    Elastic bites into flesh, framing girth in rugged thread,
    It swings with every squat, a beast too bold for bed,
    No prudish veil can mute its roar, no cage can hold its might,
    A jockstrap’s fierce legacy, glowing in the fight,
    Oh, jock, you crown him like a god, rampant in the fray,
    A bulge eternal, thick and wild, ruling night and day.

  • Emma – 06 – New Chapter

    A Clearing at Dusk: Rekindling a Marriage

    The late afternoon sun cast a warm, golden glow over Emma’s Oxfordshire cottage as Derreck’s car pulled into the driveway. Emma stood at the kitchen window, her body still tingling from her morning with Richard, her pussy sore but sated in the best way, the memory of his thick cock and their passionate fucking in his workshop lingering in her mind. She still wore the pale blue summer dress with tiny white daisies, the same one she’d worn for her first encounter with Richard, her body bare beneath it, the fabric clinging to her skin, a reminder of the freedom she’d felt with him.

    But now, as Derreck stepped through the door, his familiar smile lighting up his face, Emma felt a new determination settle over her. Her marriage to Derreck was loving, a partnership built on trust and companionship, but their sex life had always been lacking, a fact that had driven her into Richard’s arms. Derreck’s acceptance of her dalliances had given her the freedom to explore her desires, but she didn’t want to rely on others to fulfill her needs forever. She wanted to awaken their sex life, to teach Derreck how to please her, to build a deeper intimacy between them. The morning’s quick, unsatisfying sex had only solidified her resolve, and she was ready to take the first step.

    “Evening, love,” Derreck said, setting his bag down and pulling her into a hug, his arms warm and familiar around her. He was in his mid-forties, average height with a solid build, his dark hair flecked with gray, his brown eyes soft with affection. “How was your day?”

    Emma smiled, her hands resting on his chest as she looked up at him, her hazel eyes bright with intent. “It was good,” she said, her voice light but laced with meaning. “But I was thinking, how about a walk after dinner? Just the two of us. It’s a beautiful evening.”

    Derreck raised an eyebrow, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “A walk, huh? Sounds nice. Let me change, and I’ll help with dinner.”

    They moved through the evening with a comfortable ease, preparing a simple meal of grilled chicken and salad, their conversation flowing as they ate at the small kitchen table. Emma steered the discussion toward their shared memories, reminiscing about the early days of their marriage, the trips they’d taken, the dreams they’d had. Derreck opened up about his day at work, his voice animated as he described a new project, and Emma listened, her heart swelling with affection for the man she’d chosen to spend her life with. The conversation was lovely, a reminder of the bond they shared, and it set the tone for what she hoped would be a transformative evening.

    As the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting the sky in shades of orange and pink, they set out for their walk, hand in hand, the warm August air wrapping around them like a soft embrace. Emma led the way, her bare feet slipping into sandals, her dress swishing around her knees, the lack of underwear making her feel bold and free. Derreck wore a light shirt and trousers, his hand warm in hers as they walked through the village and toward the woods where she and Richard had seen the herd of Roe deer just a week ago. The memory of that dawn, the deer, and Richard’s cock inside her, sent a shiver through her, but she pushed it aside, focusing on the man beside her, the man she wanted to reconnect with.

    They reached the clearing just as the light began to fade, the sky a deep indigo streaked with the last traces of sunset, the air heavy with the scent of wildflowers and damp earth. The clearing was as beautiful as Emma remembered, the grass shimmering with the first hints of evening dew, the surrounding trees casting long shadows in the fading light. They crouched behind the same cluster of ferns where Emma and Richard had hidden, their movements quiet to avoid startling any wildlife, and waited, their eyes scanning the clearing for the herd of Roe deer they’d come to see.

    The deer appeared just as they had before, emerging from the trees on the far side of the clearing, their slender forms moving with a quiet grace that took Emma’s breath away. It was the same small herd, eleven Roe deer of different ages, heading in the same direction as they had a week ago, their movements calm and deliberate as they grazed and explored the clearing. Emma squeezed Derreck’s hand, her voice a soft whisper. “There they are,” she said, her eyes bright with wonder, and Derreck nodded, his own expression filled with awe as he watched the deer, his hand tightening in hers.

    The herd consisted of three adult does, their reddish-brown coats glowing in the dusk, their movements methodical as they nibbled at the grass, their large, dark eyes scanning the clearing for any sign of danger. Two adult bucks followed, their antlers small but elegant, covered in velvet, a sign of the late summer season, their steps confident as they moved through the grass, occasionally lifting their heads to sniff the air. Four yearlings, their coats a slightly lighter shade, stayed close to the does, their movements playful, darting between the adults in short bursts of energy, their hooves barely making a sound on the soft grass. Two fawns, born earlier in the summer, trailed behind, their spotted coats blending with the dappled light, their small ears flicking as they took tentative steps, their curiosity evident in their wide, innocent eyes.

    Emma and Derreck watched in silence, their wonder growing with each passing minute, the deer’s behavior a perfect blend of caution and curiosity. The does grazed with a steady rhythm, their teeth tearing at the grass with a soft, rustling sound, their tails flicking to ward off the occasional fly. The bucks were more alert, one of them pausing to rub his antlers against a small sapling, the faint scraping sound echoing in the still air, marking his territory with a quiet confidence. The yearlings bounded playfully, chasing each other in short bursts, one of them leaping over a patch of wildflowers, its hooves kicking up tiny droplets of dew that sparkled in the fading light. The fawns grew bolder, venturing a few steps away from their mothers, their small noses twitching as they sniffed the air, their small bodies trembling with the excitement of the evening.

    As they watched, Derreck’s hand tightened in hers, his voice soft but tinged with vulnerability. “Emma,” he began, his tone hesitant, “do you feel like I’m enough for you? I know this morning wasn’t good, I came too quickly, and I could tell you weren’t satisfied. I just… I don’t want you to feel like you’re missing something.”

    Emma turned to him, her heart aching at the uncertainty in his voice, and she squeezed his hand, her eyes meeting his with a fierce honesty. “Derreck,” she said, her voice firm but gentle, “you are enough for me. I love you, and I want us to be better together. This morning wasn’t about you not being enough, it’s about us needing to take the time to learn each other’s bodies, to understand what we need. I want you to please me, and I want to show you how. You just need to let things last longer, to explore me without rushing.”

    She paused, her gaze softening as she continued, her words direct but kind. “I enjoy sex, Derreck, but sometimes it feels like you treat it as something dirty, like you’re using me and don’t want to debase me by taking too long. I don’t feel that way, I want you to take your time, to worship my body, to let us both enjoy it fully. It’s not about abusing me, it’s about connecting with me.”

    Derreck’s eyes widened, a mix of relief and nervousness flickering across his face, and he nodded, his hand trembling slightly in hers. “I want that too,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I want to make you feel good, Emma. Show me how.”

    The deer moved off, their forms disappearing into the trees, their departure as graceful as their arrival, and Emma turned to Derreck, her confidence a stark contrast to his nervousness. She stood, pulling him to his feet, and began to undress, her movements slow and deliberate, her eyes never leaving his. She slipped the straps of her dress off her shoulders, letting it fall to the ground, leaving her naked in the fading light, her small breasts and neat pussy exposed to the warm evening air. Derreck hesitated, his hands fumbling as he followed her lead, pulling off his shirt and trousers, his body bare beside hers, his cock already stirring with arousal but his movements betraying his uncertainty.

    Emma stepped closer, her hands guiding his to her body, her voice soft but direct as she began to teach him. “I want to show you how to touch me,” she said, her fingers sliding down to her pussy, parting her lips to reveal her clit, already swollen with arousal. “Start here, with my clit. Use your fingers like this, light, circular motions, not too hard.” She demonstrated, her fingers moving in slow circles, her breath hitching as the pleasure began to build, her eyes locked on his to ensure he was watching.

    Derreck nodded, his fingers replacing hers, his touch tentative at first but growing more confident as she guided him. “Like this?” he asked, his voice a mix of nervousness and determination, and Emma moaned softly, her hips shifting to meet his touch.

    “Yes, just like that,” she said, her voice a sultry whisper. “Now, I want you to use your fingers inside me. Slide two fingers in here.” She guided his hand, positioning his fingers at her entrance, her pussy already wet with arousal. “Go slow at first, then curl them upward, toward my belly. You’re looking for a spot that feels a little rougher, a little different. That’s my G-spot.”

    Derreck followed her instructions, his fingers sliding into her with a slow, careful motion, her pussy clenching around him as he moved. Emma moaned, her hand resting on his wrist as she guided him, her voice direct and clear. “There, right there! You feel that? Now press against it, not too hard, just a steady pressure. And move your fingers in a ‘come hither’ motion, like you’re beckoning someone. Keep the pressure consistent, and don’t stop.”

    Derreck’s fingers curled, pressing against her G-spot with a steady pressure, his movements slow and deliberate as he followed her instructions, the motion sending sparks of pleasure through her. Emma’s moans grew louder, her hips rocking against his hand, the sensation building in waves as he found the rhythm she needed. “Yes, Derreck, that’s perfect,” she gasped, her voice trembling with pleasure. “Keep going, just like that.”

    She let him work her G-spot for a moment, her body trembling with the intensity of the sensation, before she spoke again, her voice a mix of need and encouragement. “Now, I want you to use your tongue on my clit at the same time. Lick me here,” she pointed to her clit, her fingers brushing it lightly “in slow circles, like you did with your fingers. Don’t be afraid to get messy, just keep the pressure light and steady.”

    Derreck hesitated, his nervousness evident in the way his hands trembled, but he leaned down, his breath hot against her pussy as he pressed his tongue to her clit. His first licks were clumsy, too fast and uneven, and Emma guided him with a gentle hand on his head, her voice patient but firm. “Slower, Derreck. Like this, circle it slowly, keep the pressure light. Don’t flick it too hard, just let your tongue glide over it, like you’re tasting me.”

    He adjusted, his tongue slowing, the circles becoming more deliberate, and Emma moaned, her hips bucking against his face as the pleasure intensified, the combination of his fingers on her G-spot and his tongue on her clit driving her closer to the edge. “Yes, that’s it,” she gasped, her voice breaking with need. “Don’t stop, Derreck, please don’t stop.”

    Her orgasm built quickly, a deep, rolling wave that started in her core and spread outward, her pussy clenching around his fingers as she came, her cries echoing through the clearing. The pleasure was strong, a release that left her trembling, her body shuddering against him as she rode out the waves, her hands tangling in his hair as she held him close. Derreck pulled back, his face flushed, his lips glistening with her juices, and Emma smiled, pulling him into a kiss, tasting herself on him as they shared the moment.

    They took a break, lying together on the grass, their bodies pressed close, their hands caressing each other as they talked, their voices soft in the quiet evening. “That was amazing,” Derreck said, his voice filled with wonder, and Emma nodded, her hand stroking his chest, her touch tender and loving.

    “You did so well,” she said, her voice warm with affection. “I just need you to take your time, to let us enjoy each other. It’s not about rushing, it’s about connecting.”

    They lay there for a while, their caresses gentle, their bodies still humming with the afterglow of her orgasm, the warmth of the August evening wrapping around them. But Emma wasn’t done teaching him, and as she felt his cock harden against her thigh, she guided him into her, rolling onto her side so they could spoon, her back pressed to his chest, his cock positioned at her entrance.

    “Like this,” she said, her voice soft but direct, guiding his cock into her pussy with a slow, deliberate motion, the angle allowing him to fill her completely. “Move slowly at first, Derreck. Use your cock to stroke me here,” she guided his fingers to her G-spot, showing him the angle,“and let me use my fingers on my clit. I’m not degrading you or complaining by using my fingers, they’re here to worship your action, to make it even better for both of us.”

    Derreck nodded, his breath catching as he began to move, his thrusts slow and deep, his cock stroking her just right, with each movement, the sensation sending sparks of pleasure through her. Emma’s fingers found her clit, rubbing in tight circles as he fucked her, the combination building her pleasure higher, her moans growing louder in the quiet clearing. She could hear his breath catch, a sign he was close, and she turned her head, her voice urgent. “Derreck, I can feel you’re close. Step back from release, try to last longer. I want to come with you.”

    He heeded her words, slowing his thrusts, his breath ragged as he fought to hold back, his hands gripping her hips as he focused on her pleasure. Emma’s fingers moved faster, her pussy clenching around him as her first orgasm hit, a deep, rolling wave that made her cry out, her body trembling against him. She came again soon after, the pleasure building more slowly this time, a longer, gentler wave that left her gasping, her pussy pulsing around him as he continued to thrust, his control impressive as he held back his own release.

    Finally, Derreck couldn’t hold back any longer, his thrusts growing erratic as he came, his hot cum filling her pussy as he groaned her name, his body shuddering against hers. They rested again, their bodies still pressed close, their hands caressing each other as they caught their breath, the warmth of the evening air soothing their sweat-dampened skin. To Derreck’s surprise, he felt himself harden again, his cock stirring against her thigh, and Emma smiled, rolling onto her back and pulling him on top of her.

    “Missionary this time,” she said, her voice a sultry whisper, guiding his cock into her pussy as he settled between her legs, his body covering hers. The sex was good, not as great as it had been with Richard, but far better than their usual, Derreck’s thrusts deep and steady, his eyes locked on hers as they moved together, their connection deepening with every movement. Emma came again, a soft, gentle orgasm that left her smiling, her hands stroking his back as he followed, his second release filling her pussy as he groaned, his body trembling with the intensity of it.

    They lay together in the grass, their bodies tangled, the stars beginning to appear in the indigo sky above them, the clearing quiet now that the deer had moved on. Emma felt a new hope blooming in her chest, a belief that she and Derreck could improve, that their sex life could become something more fulfilling. As they dressed, their movements slow and tender, she pondered finding some guidance for him online, perhaps articles or videos that could help him learn more about pleasing her, about taking his time, about connecting with her on a deeper level.

    They walked home slowly, hand in hand, the warm August night wrapping around them, their conversation soft and filled with promise. Emma felt a sense of closure, a chapter in her life coming to an end, and as they walked, she discreetly pulled out her phone, sending a text to Richard: “Thanks, you were good for me.”

    Richard’s reply came quickly, his words affirming her decision: “You too, Emma. Take care.” The brevity of the message, unlike his normal rhyming texts, was clear, he knew their sexual encounters were over, a mutual understanding that closed the chapter of their affair, leaving Emma free to focus on her marriage, on the man she loved.

    As they reached the cottage, Derreck pulled her into a hug, his arms warm and familiar around her, and Emma smiled, her heart full of hope for the future, knowing that she and Derreck had taken the first step toward a deeper, more fulfilling connection, one that would grow with time and care.

  • Emma – 05 – Work of Desire

    A Morning of Unfulfilled Desire and a Workshop Reunion

    The morning sun streamed through the bedroom window of Emma’s Oxfordshire cottage, casting a warm golden glow over the rumpled sheets where she lay beside her husband, Derreck. It was a week after her dawn encounter with Richard in the woods, where they’d watched a herd of Roe deer and resumed their passionate lovemaking, and the memory of Richard’s thick, long cock and the way he’d fucked her against a tree still lingered in her mind, igniting a restless heat in her body. Her marriage to Derreck was loving, but it had never fully satisfied her sexual needs, a fact he accepted by allowing her occasional dalliances, and this morning, she woke with an ache between her legs that demanded attention.

    Emma stirred, her body already humming with arousal, the faint scent of sex still lingering in the air from the night before. She and Derreck had made love, a session that had given her a couple of orgasms but left her wanting more, her body craving the intensity she’d found with Richard. As she rolled onto her side, her hand brushed against Derreck’s cock, still soft in sleep, and she could smell herself on him, the musky scent of her arousal from their previous encounter sending a jolt of heat straight to her pussy. The memory of Richard’s touch, his scent, his cock, flooded her mind, and she couldn’t resist the urge to act.

    She slid her hand beneath the sheets, her fingers wrapping around Derreck’s cock, stroking him gently as she pressed her body closer to his. He stirred, a soft groan escaping his lips as he began to harden under her touch, his body responding even in the haze of sleep. Emma’s breath quickened, her pussy growing wet as she felt him grow in her hand, the familiar shape of him a contrast to the vivid memory of Richard’s larger, thicker cock. Derreck’s eyes fluttered open, a sleepy smile spreading across his face as he registered her touch, his voice rough with sleep. “Morning, love,” he murmured, his hand reaching for her, but Emma was already moving, her need too urgent for words.

    She straddled him, her pussy slick with arousal as she positioned herself above him, her eyes shutting tight as she lowered herself onto his cock. Derreck groaned, his hands gripping her hips as she began to ride him, her movements slow and deliberate at first, her mind drifting to a scene in the woods with Richard, their first encounter, the rough bark of the tree against her back, the way his cock had filled her so completely. She imagined Richard’s hands on her, his deep voice growling her name, and her own hand slid between her legs, her fingers finding her clit as she rode Derreck, enhancing the sensation with quick, tight circles.

    The fantasy was vivid, the memory of Richard’s body, his scent, his touch, driving her closer to the edge, but Derreck’s groans grew louder, his back arching beneath her as he came far too quickly, his hot cum filling her pussy as he shuddered with release. Emma’s eyes snapped open, her body still teetering on the edge of orgasm, frustration washing over her as Derreck’s cock softened inside her. She rolled off him, her breath coming in short gasps, her pussy throbbing with unfulfilled need as he sat up, running a hand through his hair.

    “Sorry, love,” Derreck said, his voice sheepish as he leaned over to kiss her forehead. “You got me too worked up.” He slid out of bed, heading for the shower, and Emma lay there for a moment, her hands wandering down to her pussy, her fingers brushing her clit as she tried to finish what he’d started. But as her fingers moved, her mind drifted back to Richard, and she realized what, or who, she truly needed. She stopped, her hand falling away, a determined resolve settling over her as she heard the shower start.

    Emma waited until Derreck was finished, then took a quick shower herself, the hot water doing little to quell the heat in her body. She dried off, her skin still tingling with arousal, and pulled on a light summer dress, the same pale blue one with tiny white daisies she’d worn the first time with Richard, the memory of that day making her pussy clench with anticipation. She wore nothing beneath it, no bra, no knickers, the fabric clinging softly to her bare skin, her nipples already hard against the cotton. As Derreck left for work, giving her a quick kiss and a promise to be home for dinner, Emma grabbed her keys, her mind set on one destination: Richard’s workshop.

    The drive to Richard’s workshop was short, the morning sun warm against her skin as she parked outside the small, rustic building on the edge of town. Richard was a craftsman, his workshop a haven of wood and tools, the air always filled with the scent of sawdust and varnish. The door was unlocked, as it often was when he was working, and Emma let herself in, locking it behind her with a soft click, ensuring they wouldn’t be disturbed. The workshop was dimly lit, the morning light filtering through a small window, casting long shadows over the workbenches and shelves lined with tools.

    Richard looked up from his workbench, a piece of wood in his hands, his tall, six-foot-four frame filling the space. At 59, he was trim but fit, his body still strong, his hazel eyes lighting up with surprise and desire as he saw her. He opened his mouth to speak, but Emma crossed the room quickly, her bare feet silent on the wooden floor, and pressed her fingers to his lips, silencing his greeting. Her eyes locked on his, a silent command passing between them, and without a word, she reached for the hem of her dress, pulling it over her head and letting it fall to the floor, leaving her naked before him.

    Richard’s breath hitched, his eyes raking over her body, her small shapely breasts, her narrow hips, the neat triangle of her pussy, already glistening with arousal. He moved quickly, stripping off his shirt and trousers, his cock springing free, thick and hard, the foreskin partially retracted to reveal the glistening tip. Emma stepped closer, her hands reaching for him, and they came together in a frenzy of need, their lips crashing in a hungry kiss as their bodies pressed close, the scent of sawdust and their arousal filling the air.

    Richard lifted her onto the workbench, the wood cool and rough against her ass, and entered her with a hard, desperate thrust, his cock filling her completely. Emma moaned, her legs wrapping around his waist as he fucked her, his movements fast and forceful, the workbench creaking beneath them. The intensity was overwhelming, the roughness of his thrusts exactly what she needed, and she came hard, her pussy clenching around him as waves of pleasure crashed through her, her cries echoing in the small workshop. Her orgasm was incredible, a release so powerful it left her trembling, her nails digging into his shoulders as she rode out the waves, her body shuddering against him.

    But they weren’t done. Richard slowed his pace, his thrusts becoming more deliberate, more sensual, as he pulled her off the workbench and turned her around, bending her over the edge. He entered her from behind, his cock sliding into her pussy with a slow, deep thrust, the angle perfect for hitting her G-spot. Emma moaned, her hands gripping the edge of the workbench, the wood digging into her palms as he fucked her, his movements now slow and measured, drawing out her pleasure. Her orgasms came more slowly this time, longer and less intense but deeply satisfying, each one rolling through her like a gentle wave, her pussy clenching around him as she moaned his name.

    They moved through different positions, their bodies finding a rhythm that was both passionate and intimate. Richard sat on a stool, pulling her into his lap, her legs straddling his hips as she rode him, her hands braced on his shoulders, her breasts bouncing with each thrust. He lay her down on a pile of soft wood shavings, the scent of pine surrounding them as he fucked her missionary style, his eyes locked on hers, their connection deepening with every movement. They stood again, her back against a wall, one leg lifted over his shoulder as he thrust into her, the angle allowing him to go even deeper, her moans growing louder with each thrust.

    For hours, they fucked, their bodies slick with sweat, the workshop filled with the sounds of their pleasure, the creak of the workbench, the soft thud of their bodies, their moans and gasps mingling with the scent of wood and sex. Emma’s orgasms came one after another, each one leaving her more sated, her pussy soaked and sore in the best way, the ache a delicious reminder of their passion. Richard came too, his hot cum filling her pussy as he groaned her name, his body shuddering against hers as they collapsed together on the floor, their limbs tangled, their breaths heavy in the quiet space.

    Emma lay in his arms, her body spent, her pussy throbbing with a satisfied ache, the scent of sawdust and their arousal heavy around them. She felt a deep contentment, her needs fulfilled in a way Derreck could never manage, and she knew this wouldn’t be the last time she sought out Richard. She stood slowly, her legs shaky, and pulled on her dress, the fabric clinging to her sweat-dampened skin, her pussy still slick with their combined juices. Richard watched her, his eyes filled with a mix of desire and tenderness, and she leaned down to kiss him, a soft, lingering kiss that promised more to come.

    She left the workshop, locking the door behind her, the morning sun warm against her skin as she walked back to her car, her body sore but sated, her mind already drifting to the next time she’d see Richard, the man who had awakened a passion in her she couldn’t ignore.

    Emma – New Chapter

  • Emma – 03 – Logging Bats

    A Summer Night’s Survey and a Hidden Passion

    Four weeks had passed since Emma and Richard’s last encounter at her cottage, and the memory of his skilled hands, his talented tongue, and his thick, cock still sent shivers through her body whenever she thought of him. Derreck’s unspoken acceptance of her occasional dalliances gave her the freedom to explore, and Richard had become a fixation, a man who fulfilled her in ways she hadn’t thought possible.

    It was a warm August evening in rural Oxfordshire, the sky a deep sapphire as the last traces of daylight faded, the air heavy with the scent of blooming wildflowers and freshly cut hay. Emma and Richard were working together again, this time on a bat survey for the same conservation project that had brought them together. They stood in a narrow country lane, flanked by dense hedgerows and rolling fields, their bat detector a small, handheld device, emitting faint clicks as it picked up the ultrasonic calls of bats flitting overhead. Emma wore a light jacket over a thin cotton blouse and a skirt that swished around her knees, her body bare beneath save for a pair of panties, the warm air caressing her skin and making her nipples harden against the fabric. Richard, at 59, stood tall at six foot four, his trim frame clad in a short-sleeved shirt and trousers, his cock already stirring in his pants at the sight of Emma in the soft twilight.

    The lane was quiet, save for the hum of crickets and the occasional rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze. Emma held the bat detector, her eyes scanning the sky as she listened to the clicks, noting the frequency to identify the species. “That’s a common pipistrelle,” she said, her voice soft but tinged with excitement. She glanced at Richard, her lips curving into a smile. “Forty-five kilohertz, right?”

    Richard nodded, stepping closer to check the device’s display. “Spot on,” he said, his deep voice sending a shiver down her spine. His hand brushed hers as he adjusted the detector, and the contact, however brief, sent a jolt of heat through her. She looked up at him, her hazel eyes meeting his brown ones, and saw the same desire mirrored there, a hunger that had been building between them all evening.

    They’d been professional for most of the survey, focusing on their task, logging the bat activity in a notebook Richard carried in his rucksack. But the tension between them had been simmering beneath the surface, a palpable energy that made every glance, every touch, feel electric. Emma’s mind kept drifting to their previous encounters, the woodland in July, the massage at her cottage and her body ached for him, her pussy already growing wet at the thought of his touch. The warmth of the August evening only heightened her arousal, the balmy air making her skin feel alive, her senses heightened by the scent of summer around them.

    Richard must have sensed it too, because he stepped even closer, his tall frame looming over her as he leaned down to whisper in her ear. “You’re distracting me,” he murmured, his breath hot against her skin, carrying the faint scent of mint from the gum he’d been chewing. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

    Emma’s breath hitched, her body responding instantly to his words. She turned to face him, their bodies now mere inches apart, the bat detector forgotten in her hand. “Then don’t,” she whispered back, her voice a sultry invitation. She reached up, her fingers brushing his cheek, feeling the slight stubble there, and that was all the encouragement he needed.

    Richard’s hands found her waist, pulling her against him as his lips crashed down on hers in a hungry kiss. Emma moaned softly into his mouth, her arms wrapping around his neck as she pressed herself closer, the bat detector slipping from her hand to dangle from its strap around her wrist. His tongue teased hers, the kiss deepening as their bodies molded together, the heat between them igniting like wildfire in the warm summer air. She could feel his cock hardening against her stomach, the thick outline pressing through his trousers, and her pussy clenched with need, her panties already damp with arousal.

    They stumbled backward, their lips still locked, until they reached the hedgerow lining the lane. The dense branches and leaves, lush with summer growth, formed a natural barrier, and Richard guided her through a small gap, the foliage brushing softly against their clothes as they slipped into the shadows on the other side. They were in a small clearing, a patch of grass bordered by the hedge and a field beyond, the twilight providing a sense of privacy despite the proximity to the lane. The air was warmer here, the scent of earth and wildflowers stronger, and Emma felt a thrill run through her at the thought of being so exposed yet hidden, the summer night wrapping around them like a cocoon.

    Richard’s hands were on her again, pulling her jacket off and tossing it aside, his fingers deftly lifting her skirt to reveal her thighs. Emma kicked off her sandals, helping him push her skirt up around her waist, her blouse clinging to her skin with a light sheen of sweat from the warm evening. Richard’s hands slid under her blouse, lifting it over her head, and she sighed as the balmy air kissed her bare skin, her nipples hardening instantly. He groaned at the sight of her, his hands cupping her small breasts, his thumbs brushing over her nipples as he kissed her again, his lips trailing down her neck to her collarbone, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

    Emma’s hands were just as eager, fumbling with his shirt and trousers, pulling them down to free his cock. It sprang out, thick and hard, the foreskin partially retracted to reveal the glistening tip, and she moaned at the sight of it, her pussy throbbing with anticipation. Richard kicked off his shoes and trousers, his shirt following quickly, until he stood naked before her, his tall, trim body illuminated by the faint twilight glow filtering through the hedge, his skin warm from the summer heat.

    They sank to the ground together, the grass warm and slightly dewy beneath them, the scent of it mingling with the wildflowers that dotted the clearing. Richard pulled her into his lap, her legs straddling his hips, and Emma’s panties were still on, but they were soaked through, the fabric clinging to her pussy lips. Richard groaned as he felt her wetness against his cock, his hands gripping her hips as he kissed her deeply, his tongue exploring her mouth with a hunger that made her dizzy. The warmth of the August night enveloped them, the air thick with the hum of insects and the distant song of a nightingale, adding a primal rhythm to their movements.

    He slipped a hand between them, his fingers brushing her clit through the fabric of her panties, and Emma gasped, her hips bucking against his touch. “You’re so wet for me,” he growled, his voice rough with desire, and she nodded, her breath coming in short gasps, the heat of the night making her feel flushed and alive. He pulled her panties aside, his fingers sliding into her with ease, her pussy slick and ready for him. Emma moaned, her head tipping back as he fingered her, his movements slow and deliberate, his thumb circling her clit while his fingers curled inside her, pressing against her G-spot. The pleasure was intense, building quickly in the warm air, and she rocked her hips against his hand, chasing the release she knew was coming. But Richard had other plans.

    He pulled his fingers out, bringing them to his mouth to taste her, his eyes locked on hers as he licked her juices from his skin, the act so intimate it made her pussy clench. “I need you,” he said, his voice a low growl, and Emma nodded, her hands guiding his cock to her entrance. She sank down onto him, her pussy stretching around his thickness, the sensation exquisite as he filled her completely in the warm summer night. They both moaned, their bodies trembling with the intensity of it, and Emma began to move, her hips rocking in a slow, deliberate rhythm, the grass beneath them tickling her knees.

    Richard’s hands gripped her hips, guiding her movements, his thrusts meeting hers as they fucked, their bodies moving in perfect sync. The warmth of the August evening made their skin slick with sweat, the air heavy with the scent of their arousal, and Emma felt a primal thrill at the thought of being so exposed, the hedge their only shield from the lane beyond. She came quickly, her pussy clenching around him, her cries muffled against his shoulder as waves of pleasure crashed through her, intensified by the balmy night air. Richard groaned, his thrusts growing faster, deeper, as he chased his own release, but before he could reach it, a sound from the lane made them freeze.

    Voices, low, authoritative, and approaching, cut through the night air, accompanied by the faint crunch of footsteps on gravel. Emma’s heart leapt into her throat, her body tensing as she realized what was happening. Richard’s hands tightened on her hips, his cock still buried inside her, and he whispered urgently, “Police.”

    They moved quickly, their movements frantic but silent as they disentangled themselves. Emma’s pussy felt empty without him, a dull ache of frustration replacing the pleasure as she scrambled for her clothes, the warm air now feeling cooler against her sweat-dampened skin. Richard pulled his trousers and shirt on, his cock still hard and straining against the fabric, while Emma tugged her blouse and skirt back into place, her panties still damp and clinging to her skin. They shoved their jackets on last, smoothing their hair and trying to look as composed as possible, just as the beam of a flashlight pierced through the hedge.

    “Anyone there?” a gruff voice called, the tone laced with suspicion. Two police officers stood on the lane, their dark uniforms barely visible in the dim light, their flashlights sweeping the area. Emma and Richard stepped through the gap in the hedge, their expressions carefully neutral, though Emma’s cheeks were flushed from both the heat and their interrupted passion, her breath still coming in short gasps.

    The officers, a burly man in his forties and a younger woman with sharp eyes, looked them over, their gazes lingering on the disheveled state of their clothes and the faint sheen of sweat on their skin. “We got a call from a neighbor,” the man said, his tone clipped. “Said they saw strangers lurking in the lane. What are you doing out here?”

    Richard held up the bat detector, his voice calm despite the adrenaline coursing through him. “We’re with a local conservation group,” he explained, gesturing to the device. “Surveying bats. We’ve got logs to show you.” He reached into his rucksack, pulling out the notebook and handing it to the officer, who flipped through it with a skeptical eye, the warm August air carrying the faint scent of honeysuckle as he did.

    Emma forced a smile, her heart still racing, the lingering heat between her legs making it hard to focus, the warmth of the night adding to her flushed state. “We didn’t mean to cause any alarm,” she said, her voice steady despite the circumstances. “We’ve been out here for a couple of hours, recording bat activity.”

    The female officer shone her flashlight on the detector, then back at Emma and Richard, her expression softening slightly but still tinged with suspicion. “You’re lucky we didn’t find you doing anything else,” she said, her tone pointed, and Emma felt her cheeks heat further, certain the officers could guess what had been happening, especially given the warmth of the evening and their slightly disheveled appearance. The male officer handed the notebook back, his gaze flicking between them. “Looks legitimate,” he said gruffly. “But you should be wearing high-vis vests on these dark lanes, even in summer. It’s not safe otherwise.”

    “We’ll make sure to do that next time,” Richard said, his voice polite but firm, his hand brushing Emma’s arm reassuringly. “Thank you for the advice.”

    The officers nodded, their flashlights sweeping the lane one last time before they turned to leave. “Stay safe,” the woman said over her shoulder, and then they were gone, their footsteps fading as they resumed their patrol, the warm night air settling back into stillness. Emma let out a shaky breath, her body still trembling with a mix of adrenaline and unfulfilled desire, and Richard chuckled softly, pulling her close, his hands warm against her skin.

    “That was close,” he murmured, his lips brushing her forehead, the warmth of his breath mingling with the summer air. “But I’m not done with you yet.”

    Emma’s pussy clenched at his words, her arousal flaring back to life, the heat of the August evening making her feel even more alive. “Neither am I,” she whispered, her hands sliding up his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin through his shirt. They waited a few minutes, ensuring the police were well out of earshot, the crickets resuming their song around them, before slipping back through the hedge into the clearing. The grass was still warm where they’d been, the air still heavy with the scent of their arousal, and Emma felt a thrill run through her at the thought of resuming where they’d left off, the summer night urging them on.

    Richard pulled her into his arms, his lips finding hers in a hungry kiss, the warmth of his mouth a contrast to the cooling air, and they sank back to the ground, their clothes coming off more quickly this time. Emma stripped down to her panties again, her blouse and skirt discarded in a heap, the grass tickling her bare skin, while Richard shed his shirt and trousers, his cock springing free, still hard and ready for her, glistening with a faint sheen of sweat from the warm night. They didn’t bother with foreplay this time, their need too urgent, the heat of the evening amplifying their desire, and Emma straddled him again, her panties pulled aside as she sank down onto his cock, her pussy stretching around him with a delicious ache, the warmth of their bodies merging with the summer air.

    They fucked with a renewed intensity, the interruption only heightening their desire, their bodies moving together in a desperate rhythm, the grass beneath them warm and slightly dewy from the evening’s humidity. Emma’s hips rocked against him, her clit grinding against his pelvis with every thrust, the heat of the night making their skin slick with sweat, and she came again, her pussy clenching around him as waves of pleasure crashed through her, intensified by the balmy air. Richard followed soon after, his hands gripping her hips as he thrust up into her, his hot cum filling her pussy as he groaned her name, the sound mingling with the nightingale’s song in the distance.

    They collapsed together on the grass, their bodies slick with sweat, their breaths mingling in the warm August air, the scent of wildflowers and their arousal heavy around them. Emma lay in Richard’s arms, her head resting on his chest, the bat detector forgotten beside them, its faint clicks a reminder of the task they’d abandoned. The night stretched on, the stars above them a silent witness to their passion, the warmth of the summer evening wrapping them in its embrace, and Emma knew this wouldn’t be the last time they found themselves tangled together, their desire for each other as endless as the August sky.

    Emma – 04 – Dawn and Deer

  • Emma – 04 – Dawn and Deer

    Dawn in the Woods: Deer and Desire

    The first light of dawn crept through the canopy of the Oxfordshire woods, casting a soft, golden glow over the forest floor. Emma and Richard had spent the night in the woods after their bat survey, their bodies tangled together on a blanket under the stars, the warm August air lulling them into a light, dream-filled snooze. They’d woken intermittently, their hands roaming each other’s bodies, but exhaustion from their late-night activities had kept them from doing more than sharing soft kisses and whispered words. Now, as the sky began to lighten, the air was cool and fresh, carrying the scent of dew-kissed leaves and the faint musk of the earth.

    Emma stirred first, her body still bare beneath the blanket, her skin warm from Richard’s proximity. She sat up, the blanket slipping down to reveal her breasts, her nipples hardening in the cool morning air. Richard stirred beside her, his brown eyes blinking open, a slow smile spreading across his face as he took in the sight of her in the dawn light. “Morning,” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep, and Emma leaned down to kiss him, her lips soft against his, the taste of him familiar and intoxicating.

    “Morning,” she whispered back, her hand sliding down his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin. “We should go look for those deer. They’re often seen at dawn in that clearing we talked about.”

    Richard nodded, his hand brushing her hair back from her face, his touch tender but laced with the same desire that had been simmering between them all night. They dressed quickly, pulling on their clothes from the previous evening, Emma in her thin blouse, skirt, and panties, Richard in his shirt and trousers, but they left their jackets and shoes behind, the grass soft and warm beneath their bare feet. They grabbed their cameras, small digital devices they’d brought for the conservation project, and set off through the woods, the dawn light guiding their way.

    The clearing was a short walk away, a wide, open space surrounded by dense trees and underbrush, known to be a regular haunt for a herd of Roe deer. The air was still, the only sounds the soft rustle of leaves and the distant call of a wood pigeon, the forest waking slowly around them. Emma and Richard moved quietly, their steps careful to avoid snapping twigs, their eyes scanning the clearing as they approached. They crouched behind a cluster of ferns at the edge of the clearing, the fronds providing a natural screen, and waited, their cameras at the ready.

    The dawn light painted the clearing in shades of gold and pink, the grass shimmering with dew, the air alive with the hum of insects beginning their day. Emma’s heart raced, not just from the anticipation of seeing the deer, but from the proximity of Richard, his body pressed close to hers, his breath warm against her neck. She could feel the heat of him, the faint scent of his skin mingling with the earthy aroma of the woods, and her body responded, her pussy growing wet with a familiar ache.

    Richard’s hand found hers, his fingers intertwining with hers as they waited, but the tension between them was too much to ignore. He leaned in, his lips brushing her ear, and whispered, “I can’t stop thinking about you.” His voice was a low growl, sending a shiver down her spine, and Emma turned to him, her lips finding his in a hungry kiss.

    The kiss deepened quickly, their tongues tangling as their hands roamed, the cameras forgotten in their laps. Emma’s hands slid under his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin, while Richard’s fingers deftly unbuttoned her blouse, pushing it off her shoulders to bare her breasts to the cool morning air. She moaned softly into his mouth, her nipples hardening as his thumbs brushed over them, the sensation sending a jolt of heat straight to her pussy.

    They moved quickly, their need too urgent to wait, the dawn light casting long shadows around them. Emma stood, pulling her skirt up around her waist and slipping her panties off, the fabric damp with her arousal. Richard shed his trousers and shirt, his cock springing free, thick and hard, the foreskin partially retracted to reveal the glistening tip. He stepped behind her, his hands gripping her hips as she bent forward, bracing her hands against a nearby tree, her ass lifted in invitation.

    Richard entered her from behind, his cock sliding into her pussy with a slow, deliberate thrust, the angle perfect for filling her completely. Emma moaned, her voice soft but echoing in the quiet woods, the sensation of him stretching her exquisite in the early morning light. He began to move, his thrusts deep and steady, his hands gripping her hips as he fucked her standing doggy style, the tree bark rough against her palms. The warmth of the August morning wrapped around them, the air heavy with the scent of their arousal, and Emma felt a primal thrill at the thought of being so exposed, the clearing their only shield from the world beyond.

    She was close to coming, her pussy clenching around him, the pleasure building in waves, when a movement at the edge of the clearing caught her eye. A Roe deer stepped into view, its slender legs moving gracefully, its coat a rich reddish-brown that glowed in the dawn light. Emma’s breath caught, her body tensing, and she pulled away from Richard, her pussy feeling empty without him as she grabbed her camera, her voice a frantic whisper. “Richard, look a deer!”

    Richard groaned softly, his cock throbbing with need, but he followed her lead, grabbing his camera as they moved closer to the ferns, their naked bodies crouching low to avoid startling the deer. More deer emerged from the trees, a herd of eleven Roe deer of different ages, adults, yearlings, and fawns, grazing and moving through the clearing with a quiet grace that took Emma’s breath away. They clicked their cameras, capturing the moment, their nakedness forgotten in the wonder of the scene before them.

    The herd consisted of three adult does, their coats sleek and glossy, their movements calm and deliberate as they nibbled at the grass, their large, dark eyes scanning the clearing for any sign of danger. Two adult bucks followed, their antlers small but elegant, covered in velvet, a sign of the late summer season. The bucks moved with a quiet confidence, occasionally lifting their heads to sniff the air, their ears twitching at the faintest sound. Four yearlings, their coats a slightly lighter shade, stayed close to the does, their movements more playful, darting between the adults as they explored the clearing. Two fawns, born earlier in the summer, trailed behind, their spotted coats blending with the dappled light, their steps tentative but curious, their small ears flicking as they took in the world around them.

    Emma watched in awe, her camera clicking softly as she captured the herd’s behavior, her heart swelling with wonder at the sight. The does grazed methodically, their teeth tearing at the grass with a soft, rhythmic sound, their tails flicking occasionally to ward off flies. The bucks were more alert, one of them pausing to rub his antlers against a small sapling, marking his territory with a faint scraping sound that echoed in the still air. The yearlings bounded playfully, chasing each other in short bursts, their hooves barely making a sound on the soft grass, their energy a stark contrast to the calm of the adults. The fawns stayed close to their mothers, nibbling at the grass but often pausing to look around, their large eyes wide with curiosity, their small bodies trembling with the excitement of the new day.

    Richard’s hand found hers again, his fingers squeezing gently as they shared the moment, their naked bodies pressed close in the ferns, the warmth of the dawn light bathing them in a golden glow. “They’re incredible,” he whispered, his voice filled with awe, and Emma nodded, her eyes never leaving the deer, her camera clicking as she captured a fawn taking a tentative step away from its mother, its small nose twitching as it sniffed the air.

    For an hour, they watched the herd, their cameras documenting every movement, their wonder growing with each passing minute. The deer moved through the clearing with a quiet grace, their behavior a perfect blend of caution and curiosity, their presence a reminder of the wild beauty of the world around them. The bucks occasionally let out soft grunts, communicating with the does, while the yearlings continued their playful antics, one of them leaping over a small patch of wildflowers, its hooves kicking up tiny droplets of dew that sparkled in the light. The fawns grew bolder, venturing a few steps away from their mothers, their spotted coats glowing in the dawn, their small tails flicking with excitement.

    As the sun rose higher, the deer began to move off, their forms disappearing into the trees on the far side of the clearing, their departure as graceful as their arrival. Emma lowered her camera, her heart still racing with the thrill of the sighting, and turned to Richard, her eyes bright with excitement. “That was amazing,” she said, her voice soft but filled with emotion, and he nodded, his own camera lowering as he smiled at her, his expression mirroring her wonder.

    But as their eyes met, the tension between them flared back to life, the memory of their interrupted passion rushing back. Emma’s gaze dropped to his cock, still hard and jutting out from his body, the sight of it making her pussy clench with need. “You’re still hard,” she murmured, her voice a sultry whisper, and Richard chuckled, his hands reaching for her as he pulled her close.

    “I can’t help it,” he growled, his lips brushing hers. “You do this to me.”

    They moved back into the trees, the ferns providing a natural screen as they returned to their blanket, their naked bodies warm in the dawn light. Emma bent forward again, bracing her hands against the same tree, her ass lifted in invitation, and Richard stepped behind her, his hands gripping her hips as he entered her, his cock sliding into her pussy with a slow, deliberate thrust. The sensation was exquisite, her pussy still slick from their earlier encounter, and they both moaned, their voices soft but echoing in the quiet woods.

    Richard resumed his rhythm, his thrusts deep and steady, his hands gripping her hips as he fucked her standing doggy style, the tree bark rough against her palms. The warmth of the August morning wrapped around them, the air heavy with the scent of their arousal, the memory of the deer adding a primal edge to their passion. Emma came quickly, her pussy clenching around him, her cries muffled against her arm as waves of pleasure crashed through her, intensified by the beauty of the morning. Richard followed soon after, his hands tightening on her hips as he thrust deep, his hot cum filling her pussy as he groaned her name, the sound mingling with the soft rustle of leaves around them.

    They collapsed together on the blanket, their bodies slick with sweat, their breaths mingling in the warm dawn air, the scent of the woods and their arousal heavy around them. Emma lay in Richard’s arms, her head resting on his chest, the memory of the deer and their shared passion filling her with a deep satisfaction. The sun continued to rise, the golden light filtering through the trees, and Emma knew this moment, like the others they’d shared, would stay with her forever, a testament to the wild beauty of both nature and their desire.

    Emma – 05 – Work of Desire

  • Emma – 02 – A Massage to Remember

    The morning sun filtered through the lace curtains of Emma’s Oxfordshire cottage, casting delicate patterns on the hardwood floor of her bedroom. It was the day after her encounter with Richard in the woodland, and her body still hummed with the memory of their passionate hours together. She’d woken with a lingering ache between her legs, a delicious reminder of Richard’s thick, cock and the way he’d filled her so completely. Her husband, Derreck, was still away for work, not due back for a few days, and the freedom of his absence allowed her to revel in the afterglow of her indiscretion.

    Emma had just finished a light breakfast of toast and tea when the doorbell rang, a soft chime that echoed through the quiet house. She smoothed her hands over the simple cotton robe she wore, the fabric clinging to her bare skin, she hadn’t bothered with underwear, her body still craving the freedom of being unencumbered after yesterday’s escapades. Her chestnut hair was loose, tumbling over her shoulders, and her skin glowed with a post-coital radiance that made her feel more alive than she had in months.

    She opened the door to find Richard standing on her doorstep, his tall frame filling the space. He wore a fitted t-shirt and loose trousers, the outline of his impressive cock already faintly visible through the fabric. His brown eyes met hers, a spark of recognition and desire flaring between them, and Emma felt her pulse quicken.

    “Morning,” Richard said, his deep voice sending a shiver down her spine. He held up a small bag, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “I thought you might be a bit sore after yesterday. Brought some massage oil, thought I’d give you a massage to remember.”

    Emma’s smile widened, her body already responding to the promise in his words. “That sounds perfect,” she said, stepping aside to let him in. “Come in.”

    She led him through the cottage, the scent of lavender from a diffuser filling the air, and up the stairs to her bedroom. The room was softly lit, the curtains still drawn to let in just enough light to create a warm, intimate atmosphere. The bed was unmade, the sheets rumpled from her restless sleep, and Emma gestured to it with a casual wave. “I’ll grab a towel,” she said, her voice light but laced with anticipation. “Make yourself comfortable.”

    Richard set his bag on the bedside table, pulling out a bottle of massage oil and a small speaker that began to play soft, ambient music, a gentle melody that filled the room with a calming energy. Emma returned with a large, fluffy towel, spreading it over the bed before turning to him. She untied her robe, letting it slip from her shoulders to pool at her feet, revealing her naked body. Her small breasts, tipped with rosy nipples, stood pert in the cool air, and the neat triangle of her pussy glistened faintly with the first stirrings of arousal. Richard’s eyes darkened as he took her in, his gaze lingering on her curves, her skin, the way her body seemed to glow in the soft light.

    “You’re stunning,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire. He began to undress, pulling his t-shirt over his head to reveal a chest dusted with graying hair, his body still fit and strong. He kicked off his trousers, his cock springing free, already half-hard and as impressive as she remembered, thick, uncut, and long. Emma’s breath caught at the sight of him, her pussy clenching with need, but she forced herself to focus on the massage. She wanted to savor this, to let the anticipation build.

    “Lie down on your stomach,” Richard said, his tone gentle but firm. Emma complied, stretching out on the towel, her arms resting by her sides, her cheek pressed against the soft fabric. She could feel the heat of his gaze on her as he moved to the side of the bed, the faint scent of the massage oil, sandalwood and citrus, filling the air as he poured some into his hands and rubbed them together to warm it.

    Richard started at her shoulders, his hands strong and sure as he kneaded the muscles there, working out the tension she hadn’t even realized she was carrying. His fingers were skilled, pressing into the knots with just the right amount of pressure, and Emma let out a soft sigh, her body relaxing under his touch. He moved down her back, his hands gliding over her skin, the oil making her feel slick and warm. He worked the muscles along her spine, his thumbs pressing into the small of her back, and Emma felt a wave of pleasure that was both soothing and arousing.

    “You’re good at this,” she murmured, her voice muffled against the towel. “Really good.”

    “I’ve had some practice,” Richard replied, a hint of amusement in his tone. His hands moved lower, kneading her glutes with a firm, steady pressure that made her moan softly. The sensation was exquisite, the line between therapeutic and sensual blurring as his fingers worked the muscles, his touch lingering just long enough to make her squirm. He moved down to her thighs, his hands gliding over the backs of her legs, his thumbs pressing into the sensitive spots just below her ass. Emma’s pussy throbbed with each touch, her arousal building as his hands moved closer to her most intimate place.

    Richard’s hands paused at the tops of her thighs, his fingers brushing the edges of her pussy lips, and Emma’s breath hitched. “Turn over,” he said, his voice low and husky, and she obeyed, rolling onto her back. Her breasts jiggled slightly as she settled, her nipples hard and aching, her pussy now fully exposed to him. Richard’s cock was fully hard now, jutting out from his body, the foreskin partially retracted to reveal the glistening tip, but he made no move to touch himself, his focus entirely on her.

    He poured more oil into his hands, starting at her shoulders again, his touch lighter now, more sensual. He massaged her collarbone, his fingers brushing the tops of her breasts, and Emma’s breath quickened, her body arching slightly into his touch. He moved to her arms, kneading the muscles there, his hands gliding down to her wrists and back up, the oil making her skin glisten in the soft light. When he finally reached her breasts, his touch was gentle, almost reverent, his hands cupping them as his thumbs brushed over her nipples. Emma moaned, her hips shifting on the bed, her pussy growing wetter with each passing second.

    Richard’s hands moved down her stomach, his fingers tracing the dip of her navel, the curve of her hips, before settling on her thighs. He massaged the fronts of her legs, his hands working the muscles with the same skill he’d shown before, but now his touch was more deliberate, more teasing. His fingers brushed the edges of her pussy again, and Emma whimpered, her legs parting slightly in invitation.

    He didn’t make her wait long. Richard’s fingers slid between her thighs, brushing against her pussy lips, and Emma gasped, her hips lifting off the bed. Her outer lips were slick with arousal, her inner lips peeking through, throbbing with need, and Richard took his time, his touch light and exploratory. He traced the outline of her pussy, his fingers gliding over her lips, teasing her entrance without entering her. “You’re so wet,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “So ready for me.”

    Emma moaned, her hands gripping the towel beneath her as his fingers continued their slow exploration. He parted her lips gently, his thumb brushing over her clit, and the sensation was electric, a jolt of pleasure that made her cry out. He circled her clit with his thumb, his touch light but firm, while his other fingers teased her entrance, dipping just inside before pulling back. Emma’s hips bucked, her body begging for more, and Richard obliged, sliding two fingers inside her with a slow, deliberate motion.

    Her pussy was tight, still slightly tender from yesterday, but so wet that his fingers slid in easily, her walls clenching around him. Richard curled his fingers, searching for her G-spot, and when he found it, Emma’s moan turned into a cry, her body trembling with the intensity of the sensation. He pressed against that sensitive spot, his fingers moving in a slow, rhythmic motion, while his thumb continued to circle her clit. The dual stimulation was overwhelming, the pleasure building in waves that made her head spin.

    “Richard,” she gasped, her voice trembling. “Oh, God, that feels so good.” Her hands reached for him, her fingers tangling in his hair as he leaned down, his breath hot against her pussy. He kissed her inner thighs, his lips soft and teasing, before moving to her pussy, his tongue flicking out to taste her. The first touch of his tongue on her clit made Emma cry out, her hips bucking against his face, and Richard groaned, the vibration sending another wave of pleasure through her.

    He lapped at her clit, his tongue moving in slow, deliberate circles, while his fingers continued to work her G-spot, the combination driving her closer to the edge. Emma’s moans grew louder, her body trembling as the pleasure built, her pussy clenching around his fingers. Richard’s tongue was relentless, alternating between circling her clit and flicking it with quick, precise movements, while his fingers pressed harder against her G-spot, the pressure almost too much to bear.

    Emma’s orgasm hit her like a tidal wave, her pussy clenching around his fingers as she came, her cries echoing through the room. Her body shuddered, her hips bucking against his face, and Richard didn’t stop, his tongue and fingers working her through the waves of pleasure until she was gasping for breath, her body limp on the bed. He pulled back slowly, his fingers sliding out of her, his lips pressing a final, tender kiss to her clit before he sat back, his cock throbbing with need.

    But he wasn’t done with her yet. Richard stood, his tall frame looming over her, his cock jutting out, hard and ready. Emma’s eyes locked on it, her pussy clenching with anticipation, and she rolled onto her stomach without being asked, her ass lifting slightly in invitation. Richard positioned himself behind her, his hands gripping her hips as he entered her, his cock sliding into her pussy with a slow, deliberate thrust.

    The angle was perfect, his cock filling her completely, the head brushing against her G-spot with every thrust. Emma moaned, her face pressed into the towel, her hands gripping the fabric as he fucked her, his movements deep and powerful. Richard’s hands roamed her back, his fingers tracing the curve of her spine, the dip of her waist, as he thrust into her, his pace quickening as his own pleasure built.

    Emma came again, her pussy clenching around him, her cries muffled against the towel as waves of pleasure crashed through her. Richard groaned, his thrusts growing erratic as he neared his own release, and with a final, deep thrust, he came, his hot cum filling her pussy as he shuddered above her. They collapsed together on the bed, their bodies slick with sweat, their breaths mingling in the quiet room.

    As they lay there, tangled in each other, Emma felt a deep satisfaction, her body sated in a way she hadn’t thought possible. Richard’s hand stroked her hair, a tender gesture that made her smile, and she knew this wouldn’t be the last time they shared such a moment. The memory of his massage, his fingers, his tongue, and his cock would stay with her long after he was gone, a reminder of the passion they’d found in each other.

    Emma – 03 – Logging Bats