Brandy 2

"Make sure you do a full face shot," Brandy snapped at her photographer. "That means tits and up." I don't want my viewers to think I'm some disembodied head floating over this sorry excuse for a town."

"S-Sorry." Her photographer, a nerdy little wimp just out of journalism school, struggled to carry what looked like less then 20 pounds of equipment. Brandy sighed. She was two weeks shy of her 30th birthday, and still stuck doing shitty little side stories that no one would read outside of National Geographic. Her assignment today was to celebrate Earth Day by covering some sad ass traveling hippy festival way out in Buttfuck, Georgia. She had enough footage of dirty, greasy hippies writhing around in mud to last a lifetime, and she was only sticking around to complete her scheduled interview with the lead hippy that organized the festival. Then she could look forward to spending the next 5 hours driving back to civilization. She only been there for two days, and was already sick of the thick wilderness that spread out in every direction. In the hot Georgia sun, this place was more like a festering mosquito covered swamp then a nature reserve. Brandy slapped at a bug that landed on her arm. It was getting dark, and the rest of the horde would be coming out soon. Where the hell was this guy?

She flipped open her make-up compact and patted some foundation on her nose. Her exasperated expression stared back at her. She had always been lovely, and despite her anxieties about getting older, her face was still youthful and fresh. Her smooth brown skin was flawless and her hazel eyes were striking. Her full, pouty lips were her own, but the 36D breasts were thanks to her plastic surgeon. I am absolutely fucking gorgeous, she thought to herself, so why am I stuck here with some clueless intern when I should be the next Oprah?

"I think we should head back to Atlanta, Mrs. Washington," Eric said. "We should have enough footage for the article." Brandy frowned.

"First, it's Miss. Washington, Eric, I'm not old." She barely disguised her contempt for him. "And second, I've been doing this since you were eating boogers in freshmen AV! Don't you dare tell me how to do my job."

Her photographer shifted uncomfortably as he struggled for the right words. Brandy motioned for him to shut up. They had wondered into a small clearing off to the side of the festival. Two girls and a guy were sitting around a silver pot, laughing and passing around a thickly wrapped cigarette. The girls had long, waist length hair that was woven with different colored flowers. They were both brunette, and wore flowing skirts that came down to their ankles. The youngest, who looked about 20, was bare breasted, and the older one had only several dozen beaded necklaces to cover her chest. The male was maybe in his mid twenties, and had shoulder length blond hair. He had on a pair of blue jeans and nothing else. The three of them saw Brandy and Eric standing and waved them over. The smell of smoke was familiar to her, and Brandy smiled when she realized they were smoking a blunt.

"Roll camera," she whispered. "This is a good chance to get some footage." She put on her best smile and walked towards them.

"We should go," Eric blurted out, far too loudly. "We shouldn't be around drugs." Brandy rolled her eyes at his cowardice and ignored him.

"If you don't want a smoke," the shirtless man said, "you can have a cup of passion fruit tea." He picked up a small wooden bowl and dipped it into the steaming metal pot. He filled it about halfway with tea and passed the bowl to Brandy. She smelled the dark brew. It was scented of lemons, mangos, and cinnamon. Passion fruit seeds floated on the surface. She looked at him and he smiled back, his youthful face still visible in the dim clearing. "Don't worry," his voice was cheerful and smooth, "it's all natural tea. Good for keeping the mosquitoes away."

Brandy took a sip. It tasted a little tart. Better then expected, but not as good as Starbucks. If only these hippies had some Splenda. She took another sip and then set the bowl on the ground.

"Tell me about the festival," she said.

"The Earth Day festival is just a fraction of the recognition our planet truly deserves," he answered. Brandy couldn't help but laugh. She imagined him giving the peace sign to a bunch of pissed off cops and sticking flowers into the barrels of their rifles. Her laugh echoed strangely in the small clearing. Her vision blurred slightly and she closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she could see more clearly.

"What do you mean...the planet...reck...cog... shin..." She slurred. Her body suddenly felt heavy. She could hear the two hippy girls giggling on the ground next to her. "Wha..." Her voice felt as if she was in a dream. She took a step forward and then stumbled backwards, slumping on the ground. She teetered in a sitting position, looking at the people around her. Both girls fawned over Eric, taking turns stroking his hair and rubbing his shoulders. One of them held a bowl to his lips and encouraged him to drink. He either didn't notice or didn't care that something was wrong with her. The male hippy watched her carefully, but didn't move from his spot on the ground. None of the hippies were drinking tea. Finally Brandy fell on her back, her eyes skyward and staring at the rapidly fading twilight.

Passion fruit tea? How the hell could she have been so fucking stupid? Her body felt like it had melted into the ground. Invisible roots reached from the dirt and melded with her limbs, her hair, and her back. She struggled against them and succeeded in lifting her head a few inches off of the ground, looking for Eric. Although the clearing was diming quickly, she saw her skinny cameraman dancing through the field, humming a song as he skipped. The two girls with flowers woven in their hair danced around him, until they stopped at a group of trees and tumbled to the ground together, laughing and gasping for air.

What the fuck? Brandy tried to call out to him but her voice had disappeared. She blinked again and the trio was gone. Instead her eyes met the face of the young male of the group, who now leaned over her, watching as she lay on the ground.

He was obviously someone who spent most of his days under the sun. His shoulder length hair was chestnut at the roots but quickly faded into a soft blond oak color after about half an inch. His tanned skin was a warm mixture of sunflower and honeysuckle. He leaned forward and looked into Brandy's eyes, silently studying her face. She tried to turn away but could only tilt her head slightly to the right. He grabbed her chin and effortlessly raised her face so that she had no choice but to look into his moss colored eyes. Golden flecks in his irises sparkled in the twilight. He breathed softly onto her as he watched her face for signs of movement. He smelled like sunshine and vines of ivy.

Satisfied that she wasn't going anywhere, he leaned closer and kissed her. She wanted to push him off, but she could only manage to squirm weakly against him. Taking this as a sign of encouragement, he reached for the buttons of her steel colored jacket and started to undo them. Brandy moaned in near horror. She wanted his dirt farming hands off her $1500 Marc Jacob suit.

He pulled off her jacket and the dainty white shirt she wore underneath. She fell back to the ground, her head resting on a thick patch of grass. She prayed no ticks or fire ants were lurking in this field. His hands hovered over her bra. Brandy could muster nothing more then a thin gasp as he unhooked the forward facing clasps and her breasts spilled into the warm summer air. He moved down and kissed each nipple, his soft pink lips encircling and then gently sucking her dark areolas, until they stood erect like two small tree stumps on the soft fields of her chest. She moaned again, this time a mixture of pleasure and protest. Her mind was no longer in control of her body, but she wasn't numb. His touch on her skin was clearly defined. His hands explored her body with a determined patience, like a gardener coaxing a plant to grow.

His tongue traced her chest and then moved down to her stomach, the smooth muscle feeling like rose petals against her skin. The ground beneath her was soft and inviting, she could feel the warmth of the earth in the grass below. She could smell the rich, dark soil shift as she writhed on the earth. It was the same color as her skin, and it glowed like the moonlight on her bare breasts. Brandy moaned in near desperation. Despite her best efforts, she could feel her stomach tighten, and a heat coming from between her thighs. Silky moisture dripped from her pussy and onto her panties, spreading in a small circle.

Brandy held her breath as he leaned closer to her. He pulled off her skirt and placed his hands on her knees. She squirmed in his grip, but he held her firmly in place and pulled her thighs apart. She whined as he rubbed the outside of her panties, his thumb traced the line of her opening in long, slow strokes. She could feel herself growing wetter, her body responding further to his touch. He pulled her scarlet colored panties down her hips, then her thighs, and her legs. He tossed them aside and Brandy glimpsed them lying in a small heap on the grass, the color of dying charcoal embers. Disposed of Brandy's last article of clothing, he paused for a moment and surveyed the woman lying on the moonlit ground before him. Her hips, even though she tried to hide them, were curved and full. Her stomach was firm below the swell of her breasts, and her thighs were spread wide, revealing the tiniest glimpse of pink beneath her dark inner lips.

He was already hard, and had been so since he first watched Brandy strut across the field in her tight gray suit. But looking at her on the ground now, her skin radiant against the field, her desperate writhing doing nothing but digging her ass deeper into the soft ground, her glistening pink pussy ready to accept him inside of her... he felt a small bit of pre-cum appear at the end of his cock and drip down his shaft.

He leaned between her thighs and breathed deeply of her scent. There was very little about her he would change, but he did notice the chemicals that covered her natural state. The heavily scented lotions and perfumes would have to go, as well as the hair relaxer, the Brazilian wax, and even the implants. Beneath that however, he could sense the deep essence of her core, the steamy heat that breathed in his face, the odor sweeter then any flower in existence.

"Your pussy smells amazing," he said. Brandy nervously looked up to the starry skies above them. The moon now hung full and heavy, like it was pregnant with the anticipation. She couldn't believe this was happening. She was going to be raped and probably murdered by Charles Mason Jr.

He leaned over her and kissed her neck. She knew what was coming next, but she still winced as his dick found her opening and slowly pushed inside. When he met resistance, he paused, withdrew slightly, and then pushed himself even further into her. Brandy wanted to cry out, but she only succeeded in making a weak whimper. Her pussy clasped down on his cock and he moaned instead, steadying himself for a moment, then increasing the speed and power of his thrusts. She balled her hands into frail fists. She was slowly getting more control over her body, but with each increase in motor function, her sensitivity to touch seemed to heighten. Each blade of grass tickled her skin like a feather, each warm breeze danced around her breasts and stiffened her nipples, and each thrust from his hips was met with more of her warm lube seeping onto his cock.

He lifted her hips at a slight angle and pushed himself deep inside her. Brandy screamed, and this time it was a real scream. He paused and looked down at her, his green eyes shimmering like the treetops after and summer shower. She looked back at him, her expression a mixture of confusion and shame. She struggled to sit up but he pushed her back onto the grass. She may have been getting her strength back, but he was still muscular, and at least 30 pounds heavier then she was.

He buried his face in the crook of her neck and held her close to him. Her eyes were still on the sky however, and as she gazed upward she could see that dozens of fireflies had appeared and were hovering just inches above their heads. They were no doubt enticed by the sweet smelling tea, and they shimmered like heaven above, their glow reflecting in the pale skin of the man inside of her. A tingle crept up her thighs and she shuddered against him. She reached up and clutched his arms just beneath the shoulders. She was going to come. Tears welled in her eyes as the pressure grew inside her, numbing her mind to everything but the steady, rhythmic invasion of her pussy by his cock. A wave washed over her and she came on his dick, squeezing his arms and moaning into the night sky.

He grunted and grabbed her hips, squeezing the flesh of her ass as he came as well, spilling his seed inside her. Beads of sweat dripped from his brow and landed in small pools on her stomach and breasts. She whispered quietly, her hands still clutching his biceps. When he realized she had stopped fighting, he held her for a few moments longer, enjoying the warmth of her body and the wet pulsations of her pussy against his softening cock. Finally he relaxed his grip and lay down in the grass next to her.

Even though she didn't think she was still paralyzed, Brandy didn't move from her spot on the grass. She watched the stars twinkle overhead and listened as his breathing slowed to a normal rate. She should have been angry, furious, and indignant over what had just happened to her, but she was none of those things. She didn't know how she felt. Finally, she rolled onto her side and looked at him. His naked body glistened with exertion. He smiled and reached over to push some of her hair off her face. She blushed and moved closer, telling herself that it was only to keep warm. He leaned over and kissed her forehead, and his lips felt like a cool spring on parched earth.

"The next stop on the festival is Charleston," he whispered. "Why don't you come with me?" Brandy hesitated. She tried to imagine how this would look to her friends and family in Atlanta. Lying naked in a field and clutching some working class white man whose hair was longer then her own. Grass stains on her ass and her clothes heaped in a wrinkled pile. Dirt under her fingernails. Roaming the woods like a half mad flower child. She looked up at her green-eyed lover and realized she didn't even know what to call him.

"What's your name?" She asked.

"That depends," he said. "Is that a yes?" Brandy closed her eyes, listening to the warm summer night's chorus of crickets and feeling the breeze carry the sweet scent of azaleas and hydrangea plants across their bodies. Slowly, she nodded.