"Please, not inside me."
But Harris was moving faster, the energy from his loins pushing the harder against her, the male of the species moving from the pleasant hot and wet caress upon his organ to the full sexual act, the male orgasm and the accompanying ejaculation of seed.
"Please -- outside."
Harris lifted himself up, just like the press up she did in her class; indeed, as she saw the men do who were with her in the class; a fluid motion with rigid and straight back, palms on the ground and the elbows lifting the body upwards. Within their exercise shorts sometimes, just sometimes, she had had thoughts of the men's penises hanging -- naughty thoughts, but did not the men seem to watch her? But with Harris it was not soft, floppy penises and balls hanging there in shorts, rather it was a rigid, excited, so exposed, organ that was lifted up and out of her; released from its confinement in her 'cavern' it sprung upwards and at that moment, as it travelled upwards to slap his stomach, it began to release, spurt upon spurt of male seed, shooting up her body right to her breasts. It was copious and, she was sure, fertile. Had she made a mistake? Would it have been best splashing against and entering her cervix? It was too late now.
She was sticky and perspiring from exertion and, she could so plainly see, from the evidence of Harris' ejaculation all up her body from chestnut hair to her breasts. To her came thoughts of her first sexual experience in that field behind the haystack, far away from anyone but the boy. Could she remember his name? The summer's heat and the silence, just the sound of skylarks rising into the air, up and up. They had been walking for miles and had been looking, though neither had said, for a private and hidden place to smooch and cuddle and... it had been in her mind too, and she was sure the boy -- yes, it was Pete -- had something else very much in mind. When they had kissed on the tarmac road, after he had been so bold as to string daisies around her neck and arranged them over her breasts, she had felt the hardness in his jeans. A hardness she was unused to. She knew what it was -- but did not have such a thing of her own -- well, of course not!
"Have you ever sunbathed naked?" He had asked, behind the haystack. It was an unexpected line. She had rather expected to find a hand creeping under her blouse across her bare stomach before rising and sliding over her brassiere, feeling her budding breasts: but no, this was a more direct approach. She had thought to allow the breast fondling; wanted it indeed, but sunbathing naked?
She had not but was then unsurprised to hear him suggest they try. Alone in the field they could if they wished. Something like, 'just being naked?' she had asked knowing it would not be that at all. And it was not.
The stream beckoned her to wash. So cold yet refreshing. She had giggled up at Harris standing naked on the bank as she had lowered herself into the running water and then gasped as she splashed water across her breasts.
"Naiad," he said, "water spirit."
Free now of stickiness she wandered through the trees ahead of Harris. Nothing but trees. An elven scene of glades and trees, sunlight and shade. Satiated from her recent... 'play' -- was that the rightness of it -- she felt happy just to walk in the warmth and delight of the wood. Had she made a mistake in asking Harris to come out of her? In her mind the thought of babies. She wanted another. Benjamin did not seem to be giving her another, did not seem to be making her pregnant. Might Harris -- even in a dream? Had she wasted a chance?
It was not his nakedness that surprised her, but that he was there at all. She had not encountered anyone but Harris when she had been walking with him before. Yet there in front of her was a young man sitting upon a fallen tree and whittling. The blade of his undoubtedly sharp knife flashing in the sunlight.
It was his ears that made her wonder. They were rather pointed. That he was naked did not terribly surprise her. His white teeth shone in his brown face as he turned to look at her, his eyes twinkling under his dark brow. Boy or man? She did not quite know. Apart from the dark, gypsy curls upon his head he was completely hairless. Between his thighs hung his generative organs, soft and rather large for his body. He had stopped his work and was quite still looking at her.
What he was whittling did not surprise. The wooden representation of the male organ in its aroused state -- a hard cock! He looked up at her and then the curly-haired elfin boy smiled with his eyes like a child, innocent and trusting. She stood still, almost afraid that, should she move, she would frighten this so natural creature away. Gradually, tentatively, he raised and held out the carving and then moved it in his hand, erecting it and his eyes were all of a sudden different; eyes that betrayed knowledge, that seemed to look deeply into her. Slowly he advanced the wooden object, and she knew where it would go. Where a penis is meant to go! She stepped forward, coming closer, still unsure whether a hurried movement might frighten him away.
Her eyes closed as the young man's hand pushed the wooden phallus upwards, the movement slow and purposeful, until it was gone. His fingers did not leave her.
Graceful his fingers as they played upon her; a gentle tapping upon the end of the wooden penis, a tapping that transmitted to her centre; gentle the way he thumbed her clitoris, such pleasure; gentle the song that he sung in a strange tongue.
She was transfixed, her legs would not obey her. She turned to Harris, but he was gone. Her eyes closed as she stood there trembling, knowing she would orgasm again. Her hand reached and found the boy's cock. It was no longer flaccid but big in her hand. As he caressed her and tapped upon the wood, so she stroked, moving his foreskin as she had been taught to do so long ago by her friend, Pete. It was bigger than she was used to, bigger by far than Benjamin's or Harris, her finger and thumb did not meet. The skin was very mobile and generous, easy to move, sliding over the wooden hardness beneath. Her fingers both slid and explored, leaving the head for a while, and lifting and feeling the boy's balls. Goose eggs rather than Plover's? Not that big! But big enough. Such maleness.
She was coming once again, a second time in the forest, the feeling building to a crescendo; a gasp but still she could not move her legs; could not prevent the boy's fingers stimulating her. And in her hand she felt a rushing and knew the lad was spurting his semen out and onto the forest floor. She moved her palm upwards still drawing the skin up and down and felt the hot spurting there, splashing against the soft skin of her hand. Hot male seed.
Had she missed another chance, another opportunity to become with child -- with the curly-haired elfin boy? Boy? He might have been a hundred years old for all she knew. A creature of a mythical forest perhaps? A satyr -- but he did not have a tail. Was his semen potent? It was there in her hand but not where it would count.
For a full minute she stood stock still under the trees; marvelling at the orgasm's intensity. Slowly the gentle stroking of her sex lessened until it was no more, and she released the cock.
Opening her eyes there was the boy as before, whittling a new piece of wood, his generative organs hanging, soft and rather large for his body. She turned, able to move once more. Before her the two trees she recognised and. as she walked back between them, leaving the forest and the elfin boy behind. under her feet the woodland floor became carpet once more. She paused at the translocation. She found it unsettling, however many times it had happened. Her thoughts still of the young man she had met in the forest. But already he seemed a distant memory. For a moment she could not recall the colour of his eyes. Within her hand she felt the warm stickiness fading.
Benjamin looked up. She had said she would only be a moment and, no doubt, to him it had been but a matter of moments: it had not been to her. She walked a little uncomfortably. Within her sex, a wooden carving and there were no panties to hold it there, she was sure; just her perineal muscles. She clasped it tightly. It would not do for it to fall and clatter on the hard floor. Another souvenir from Harris.
