On Sunday, I went for a walk in the woods.
The thin, crusty snow crunched under my feet as I walked, hands deep in my pockets, the icy wind making my eyes water, the young bare trees around me offering little protection. The occasional oak murmured loudly as all its dead leaves were rattled by the wind.
I imagined walking with you, listening to you talk, the rapid staccato rhythm of your words. "So, yesterday I took a U-bolt, and stuck one end through the rear-brakes hole and nutted it on," you say, miming the action with your hands. "The seat tube used to sit on a bolt through the brakes hole, but now it sits over the other end of the u- bolt. I dremeled a groove in the conduit for where it sits against the bottom of the U. There was too much play in the tube, so I cut a--"
I consider asking what dremeling is, but then I have a better idea. I grab your jacket and shove you hard against a treetrunk, then burrow my hand through your scarf and grip you by the hot skin of your throat and lean in close.
Our eyes lock, and for a moment there's no strength in me at all. Your bow-shaped lips are parted in a gasp, your cheeks are flushed from the cold air. I want to fall to my knees and wrap my arms around your waist, hold you very tight and not let go. I push that aside and lean in close. My other hand comes up and I run my thumb lightly over the chilled skin of your cheek. Your breath shudders and you bite your lower lip bewitchingly.
I grab your short hair in one hand, and jerk your head back 'till you're facing the bare branches above us. You whimper in pleasure. I frantically unwind the scarf from around your neck, and bury my face in your throat, nuzzling and licking, while our bodies twine together tightly.
Now I pull you away from the tree, spin you around, and push you back. Your cheek is against the cold rough bark now, your arms around the narrow trunk I press up against your back, my cock grinding between the cheeks of your ass, your hips pushing back to meet me. I bite the rim of your ear, and groan aloud at the feeling of your wild little body beneath me.
I bring you around once more, and part your lips with my fingertips. I flicker my tongue across your lips and your strain to meet me against my grip on your fine dark hair. I can't resist you long--I kiss you hard. My hands burrow through layers of winter clothes 'till I can put my hands on the hot skin of your waist, feel the lean muscles underneath.
I do kneel now, and I kiss the white skin of your belly again and again, bury my tongue in your navel, run my lips along the inch or so of exposed little black hairs that run down to your cunt.
While I'm kissing and licking, I unfasten your pants. I jerk them down to your knees, rapidly followed by your tights.
Oh, god. The shiny black hairs of your pussy, gleaming in the winter sun, the delicate pale skin of your hips. The hint of rich burgundy at your labia. I feel dizzy.
I press my cheek against your vulva, feel the heat of your skin, rub my face in the soft hair. My hands grip your taut thighs, feel the hard muscle under the soft pale skin. I urge them apart, and you crouch down a little and spread your knees. My lips find your opening, so wet already. I hear you groan, and your fingers tangle in my hair, pushing my stocking cap off my head to fall on the snow beside us.
One of my hands spreads your labia open, the other braced against the tree trunk. The cold of the snow is starting to seep through my pants. I ignore it. My lips close on the tiny hood of your clit, my tongue drumming against the bottom... I nip at it and you grunt, your hands tighten, unsure whether to pull me closer or push me away.
My fingers are exploring your opening now, working their way inside, where it's slick and hot. Two go in up to the knuckle, then a third, and you groan and bite your lip. I rise to face you, drinking in the sight of your brows knitting as you writhe your hips against my hand.