Feral heart
She is totally feral, a child of the forest. Abandoned at birth and brought up by wolves and wild creatures, nurtured by the trees themselves, nursed by raw nature. She knows nothing of civilisation, and her language is her own, her nouns are bird calls, her verbs are chatters and howls. She eats berries and roots and sometimes, raw flesh.
She sits on a high branch looking down at the boy, fascinated. He has no idea she is there. He is clearly lost, and frightened, with no knowledge of the forest or her lore. He sits beneath her sobbing and calling out in his strange tongue, scared and lonely.
She has had dealings with the humans before. Once, their men captured her and caged her and prodded and poked at her with strange, ugly tools. Escaping from them was a cinch and she remembers how she scampered up one of their silly, closed in, little dwellings and how she threw her shit at them before leaping back to her forest home where her walls breathed with life and her ceiling glittered with starlight. She sniffs deeply, there is a storm brewing and she makes a little chirping sound in her throat, calling the rain, it is her magic and she believes the rain calls back to her – and maybe it does.
The boy is not like those men, he seems fragile and sad. He starts, violently when she drops from the tree, gracefully, almost silently, in front of him, his eyes wide and terrified at the sight of her. She is naked and filthy, her hair matted and locked, her body caked in the earth she grew from. She stinks. The storm grows closer and she calls to it again and stares, enthralled, at him, tilting her head from side to side, curious and aroused. The first drops of rain bounce at their feet and thunder makes a distant rumble and she responds with a guttoral chatter, telling the thunder where she is, how to find her. The boy looks scared at this, to him she sounds like a crazed monkey, but there is a greed in his eyes that is stronger than the fear. He is young and never known a woman or even seen one naked.
The feel of his hungry gaze on her breasts and belly excites her. The wild orphan takes a step closer to him and reaches out. Clothes are a mystery to her and she tugs clumsily at his shirt and trousers wanting to free him, driven by instinct and passion. By the time she has him naked, the rain is beating, in hard, heavy, drops onto them and around them. Animals scream loudly in awe at the growing tempest and the forest quakes at its power. The girl knows nothing of social mores or decorum and she licks at the boy and sniffs him, takes him in her hand and makes him take her in his.
Furious raindrops burst around them and lightning flashes across the sky and through their eyes and hearts and loins. She beckons him to enter her and he does so, hurridly with the virgin impatience of youth. She claws at him, her nails digging carelessly into his flesh and she howls at the black sky as the rain turns dust to mud and they drench themselves in it and each other.
When they are done, it is not for long as giant raindrops now batter their shaking bodies, not allowing their desires to rest, awakening every little nerve, every sinew, the thunder shaking the ground beneath them. Their eyes meet and lock and, for the first time, she smiles at him. She wants more and mounts him and they begin afresh, this time the rain beats so heavily on them that it is hard for them to breath and they spit and fire, dripping with animal fury. She likes this thing she will call ‘men’ she will seek out more of them and the idea of several of them at once fills her imagination, she wants to be smothered with these hands, full of their lust, covered in their disgusting pleasure. Lightning strikes so close that the ground beneath them jumps and she throws her head back and howls so primally that for that moment the entire jungle is quiet for her, even the storm itself hushes as she yells.
Sudenlly she senses movement nearby, there are others and they smell human and not like her boy, there is something ugly and violent to their stench and she forces herself away from her desire and glances in their direction. She cannot know that it is the boy’s father and mother and the ranger.
“There he is!” shouts the boys father.
“Christ!” screams his mother, “He’s being attacked by something! Do something!” she pleads to the ranger, “Do something!”
The ranger’s bullet passes through her feral heart and lodges in a nearby tree. She collapses, lifeless, onto her lover’s chest.
Rain
There is no wind
and the rain beats straight down onto us
in long hard streams,
the drops tickling every inch of our naked bodies
like a thousand tiny kisses.
Our mouths and eyes meet and lock,
rain running cold over our heated lips,
our hands sliding wetly
over each others trembling flesh.
My mouth slips down
and over
your breasts and belly,
following rivulets of chilly water
as they run down to between your legs.
You swing round and take me in your mouth,
the rain cascading over us,
making us shiver lightly,
contrasting with the tingling heat
of our passion and lips.
Our tongues coax deep moans and sighs,
a plume of water sprays into the air
as you slam your hand down into a rippling puddle
in time to your rising orgasm.
Your scent and flavour fill my nostrils
and mouth
and intoxicate me
as you shudder
and rise and fall and scream
and I fill your mouth with hot thick love.
After, we kiss
long and slow and sticky,
your blue eyes sparkling
sharing our flavours,
my cum on your lips,
your nectar on mine.
Little fishy 2/2
We kiss for ever by the breakwater, our mouths and eyes locked in a deep salty embrace, the waves licking our flesh, washing over our passion. We have wanted each other for so long and are not going to rush this, and back on the beach our foreplay lasts an age. Our mouths and fingers explore each other slowly and gently, gradually building our passion, our heat rising with the morning sun. Our lips and tongues travel over each other’s naked, vulnerable bodies, covering every inch. Our hands caress and stroke and grasp, and we hold each other tight as we kiss, oblivious to the cold sharpness of our pebbly bed. I kiss your breasts and your belly and blow softly on your glowing pussy, feeling you quiver with delight and wanting. You tease my cock with the tip of your tongue delighting in how it dances for you. You run a single finger lightly and slowly up and down its length, enjoying how it pulsates with desire for you, and then, wrapping your fingers around it, you plant a single, long, wet kiss on the tip, feeling it throb against the soft wetness of your lips and tongue.
Pushing me back onto the pebbles, you straddle and stroke my hardness against your burning, welcoming pussy, moaning as you rub my length up and down your clit. Then you push my tip gently into you and slide down onto me, filling yourself, smiling. We both groan and gasp as you slowly rise and fall like the waves behind you. Months of longing take over our bodies and and we lose ourselves in our love making, our rhythm becomes fast and fierce, my hips thrusting and your body pumping in perfect, animal unison. You throw you head back, filthy little words bursting from your throat in between your gasps of deep, red pleasure as I drive deep into you, over and over. Our eyes meet as we both begin to come, and we both shout each other’s names at the same moment. Our orgasms crash, like the waves we just swan in, over us and through us, consuming us and shaking our bodies and hearts to their cores.
We collapse into a trembling, smiling heap and lie there just kissing and stroking each others hair and faces, smiling into each others eyes. You raise you eyebrows, as if to say ‘ that’s impressive’ when you realise how quickly I am getting erect again, but I have wanted you so badly and for so long that I that I think I could stay stiff for a week. Rolling over onto your back, you open your legs and beckon me in with your eyes. This time our love making is long and slow and deep, until our orgasms rack us and shake us like a great earthquake, the sea rolling up onto the pebbles a symphony to our love. We lie their again, side by side looking up at the skittering little clouds, holding hands and making plans. A man walking his dog shouts at us angrily, but we barely hear him.
kyle mew 