The Canyon 1

Dear Literotica,

This story contains female masturbation and rough, heterosexual intercourse... (are you excited yet?!)

This is my first attempt at writing erotic fiction and I'm very pleased with my results however, I'm totally open to critique.

*Special thanks to Kaylie for helping me with grammar.

Yours in misbehaving,

WillowedCabin

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I sketch in fevered abandon; my blackened hands finger the charcoal like a familiar lover. I pause and breathe in the hot, sandpaper air while futilely attempting to weave some stubborn, sweaty ringlets back into my braid. My eyes squint against the oppressive terrain of my surroundings.

I am the only person for hundreds of miles.

The horizon is bleak and savage; flushed reds, amethyst, Jericho tree green, and buttery tans color the distance. My love for this canyon stirs within me something ancient and prophetic, a love as old as the sandstone cliffs and as deep as her valleys. This is the feeling I used to go to churches searching for. Who would have ever thought I could find heaven in a nameless slice of desert off Route 66?

"It's so beautiful" I say out loud; startling myself with the wanton timbre of my voice. It's a stark contrast to the bass commands sung by the canyon walls. They seem to ask for submission, but glancing back to my canvas, all I have to offer is repentance.

I step back from the drawing with a critical eye, knowing it isn't enough—though I knew it wouldn't be enough even before I put my chalk to the paper. The canyon walls I drew aren't bleak enough, not vast enough. My lips twist in disgust and I take the paper roughly between my hands, finding some solace in the seductive tearing sound of the parchment. Drawing is the most profoundly honest medium of art I know; it's either good or it isn't.

I glance at my watch and realize I still have a few hours before the sun's zenith. A few more hours, a few more hours... I need to think.

Gazing out over the unforgiving skyline I feel myself grow smaller and smaller. The rough terrain here almost has a way of penetrating me to my inner self; making me feel more like the canvas than the artist.

I walk to the canyon's edge with my water bottle in hand and squat down, sitting Indian style towards the landscape. My dusty overalls and white t-shirt bunch and constrict with the dampness of my sweat. The crux of my overalls gathers against my pelvis and, once sitting, it drags painfully across my clitoris. I cry out softly from the bittersweet sensation then snap my eyes to the distance around me.

I suddenly am very aware of the sweat beading in the nape of my neck and trickling like tiny tongues down my spine. I am also very aware that I am alone.

What would be the harm?

After a few more glances around me, I unhook the overall straps and lift my t-shirt off in a swift, freeing motion. My breasts peak out from under my chin, their rosy tips straining towards the canyon before me. I sigh and slip my charcoal covered hands across my nipples drawing delicate black lines around their flushed blossoms. My sweat lubricates the dusky residue and soon I can't help but create intricate swirls across my sun-kissed skin. God, it feels like heaven. I lie back on the sand and embrace the pleasure-pain sensation from the hot pebbles. I roll to my side grasping my Nalgene bottle and hurriedly dumping it into the sand beside me. I mix the warm sand and water, taking it and smearing it across my nipples and chest; the sharp pebbles create a burning friction against my sensitive tips and belly. It isn't enough.

I pull down my overalls farther and dump more water on my hands to rinse off the dirt and pebbles. Whimpering with lust, I pinch my nipples fiercely, slapping them and tweaking them in time with my throbbing clitoris. I bite my bottom lip until I taste the coppery, salty blood pearling under my teeth. It's still not enough.

Pushing my overalls down over my thighs, I jackknife my pelvis upward as if in offering to the bright horizon and slip my hand towards my hot center. My fingers slip over my outer lips, rasping my nails against the sensitive flesh. I dip my middle finger inside to gather the wetness there and slick it over my sensitive clitoris. Faster and faster my finger moves, probing and strumming myself into abandon. I begin to moan louder, shoving my slippery fingers inside my tight opening. Over and over again I ram my fingers in my sex, first one and then two. God I'm so close. I feel my finish bubbling up from within me, just out of reach. At the last moment I lift my eyes to the canyon walls, imaging for a wild moment that the canyon itself is gazing at me with flushed lips and eyes. My orgasm is upon me and I buck and seize, whimpering and calling thanks to whatever mountain deities lay watching across the canyon's reach.

I lay there for a warm while, thinking absently about my surroundings. My limbs feel weightless and yet somehow rooted to the terrain around me. I close my eyes and see my secret mountain God beneath my eyelids; his gaze as hard and unyielding as the horizon before me.

Tossing my t-shirt to the sand, I stand up hoisting my overalls back on. The cool metal catch snaps of the jumper hit right at my sensitive aureoles sending a chill down all the way to my toes. I cross to my backpack and retrieve my color pastels. I cross to my Jeep's cargo and haul out a medium sized canvas.

I place it gingerly upon the easel, pacing around it as if willing the drawing to emerge from beneath the white fibers. I calmly unravel my tight braid, feeling every bit the eye of the storm.

I know what needs to be drawn.

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Finished.

I step back from it and the air is knocked out of me.

He's perfect.

He sits hunched on my canvas, his solid torso bent in on itself as if he holds the world on his shoulders. His head emerges from the muscular torso all angles and jaw. He looks at me with one Jericho tree green eye, one amethyst. Like a predator I was never made to outrun. His skin is the luminescence of sandstone, his hair the rugged brown of the mountain tops, and his lush lips are the clay of the canyon walls. He could almost be pretty if it weren't for the harsh, arrogant nature of his lines.

Almost immediately, I feel exhaustion from his completion. I glance warily at my empty Nalgene and then towards the sky; just about high noon. The sun beats down on me like some sort of petulant child begging for a nap. I remove the canvas from my easel and carefully wrap it in plastic and place it in my waxen portfolio cover.

After collapsing and stowing the easel, I grab my discarded t-shirt and backpack and toss them in the back seat. Once settled behind the steering wheel, I can't but help yawning until tears of fatigue prick the corners of my eyes.

When was the last time I allowed myself to take a nap? I don't have to be back in the city until tomorrow morning. Besides, studies show that fatigue effects your driving just as much, if not more, than alcohol—right? Surly I heard that somewhere and didn't make it up. Yeah; it won't be that big of a deal. Just a little shut eye. Only an hour or so. Not a big deal.

The last sensation I had was thinking how ridiculous I must look: a grown woman, covered in dirt and chalk, sleeping in her car without a shirt on.

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Lightning strikes somewhere behind me, momentarily illuminating the canyon basin as I spring over the rocky terrain.

I know he is out there in the darkness hunting me. My foot, slipping on a boulder, is sliced open and a ragged moan of pain is dragged from my chest. The noise of my groaning seems alien in this dark place.

And suddenly I know he's out there watching me... toying with me.

I spin wildly in the darkness, looking for him, but can only see inky nothingness at every side. I have to keep running. I can't let him catch me.

I start running again, wincing with every step. I absently notice I'm naked, my breasts bouncing beneath my chin. For some reason I'm not cold, but I still shiver with fear. The rain begins again and its droning hum nearly smothers the sound of my thoughts; I cannot be caught. I must not be caught.

Lightning strikes in front of me this time and I scream. Tumbling ungracefully to the ground, I bruise my side; every inhale and exhale bringing pain to my ribs. I crawl next to a boulder and clutch myself into a fetal position. For a moment, I think that he won't find me. Maybe if I make myself small enough he won't notice me. After a few minutes the dark seems less invasive and my heartbeat gradually slows. I allow the rain to pelt my raw skin, washing away the stink of my fear.

I knew it was him before I even lifted my face. When he came upon me I didn't even have thought to scream. He picked me up roughly by my arms and fixed me pointedly with his arrogant and commanding eyes. I began weeping as he looked at me, the rabbit caught by the lion, but his wild eyes never faltered. This close to him I took in so much without knowing: his mix-match irises, his scent of earth, his twisted full mouth.

"You're so beautiful," I whimpered, my words drowned out by the storm's torment. He looked at me then, calmly and almost ignorantly, as if I had finally done something which interested him. The inquisitive glance lasted only a heartbeat before he shoved me to the rock wall. I wailed in pain, stars coming before my eyes, and prayed to whatever Gods would listen. My eyes sealed shut from terror, I felt him bite my shoulder and draw blood from me.

"Mine." he said with a voice that wasn't a voice.

A voice that was so low and loud, I thought I may have heard it in my thoughts and through the reverberations of rock. After a few heartbeats, I opened my eyes to him kissing me. It was surprisingly inviting and nurturing, as if his lips had been formed only for pleasure. His plumed lashes were dark like pitch and ruffled slightly as he sucked on my lower lip; then my upper. Drawing my mouth into his like he was savoring sweet wine. I couldn't hold out any longer.

I began to kiss him back; taking in his sweet, earthy taste and letting it rock me to my core. While we kissed, it was as if I became nothing but blood; the blood pulsing to my forgotten ribs, my wounded shoulder, and my throbbing sex. I began to grow bold with my kisses and nip at his mouth. When I caught his tongue he seemed to purr into my mouth, the deep sonic reverberations making my teeth ache. He held me in a vise-like grip against the rocks, kissing his way past my lips and down my jaw line. His probing mouth stumbled upon my breasts, and for a moment nothing happened. The absence of sensation made me whimper to the night air and thrash my head from side to side.

Slowly and reverently, I felt his hot breath upon my breasts. I arched my bruised back from the stone facing and was rewarded with his feverish mouth upon my tips. He sucked me in long sips, drawing my stiff ends into his mouth and lavishing them with his methodical tongue. I had a moment to wonder who was making that odd keening noise, when I realized it was me. Slowly his tongue began to swirl down, over my rib cage, making me fight and resist his grip, unable to stomach the tortuous pleasure. He nipped the soft and sensitive underneaths of my breasts, bringing more tears to my eyes.

Lightening struck in the distance as he threw me to the ground. The light lit up our surroundings, showing me his hungry expression and his powerful body. His nakedness, mirrored by my own, made my womb clench in fear and anticipation. His sex stood out, proud and unyielding from his body, the flushed red of his tip making me think of the softness of his lips.

He fell upon me once more, his arms caging me on either side. I writhed like I was being electrocuted when he kissed my neck and collarbones. He took the bite-mark into his mouth and slowly sucked it, savoring it, like I was candy to him. His tongue felt rough like sandpaper and I cried out in little yips when he licked me on my nipples again.

With a frustrated grunt he suddenly left my upper-body to scoop my thighs open with his arms. He bit the right thigh and then the left, reveling in each ragged cry drawn from my lungs. He looked at me then, over the swelling of my sex and the soft curves of my body. He was a wolf in a sheep pen: Blood on his mouth from my thighs, his lips pulled back into a devastating smile. I squirmed, realizing my fate and tried to kick out with my legs. He laughed; its sound was all deep penetrating reverberations and my teeth clamored in my head. He swiftly buried his face in my center, rasping his teeth across my outer lips and running what felt like the tip of his tongue through my slit and flicking my sensitive clitoris. When I felt his fingers slip into my dripping core, I started coming. The pleasure made my spine arch and buck spastically—but he never let go. He continued sucking my clitoris harder and harder while my orgasm was still rearing within me.

Lowering my pelvis, he guided himself to my opening, rubbing his flushed head against my clitoris. I began grinding against him, unable to drag my eyes away from the contrast of my pale pink petals against his engorged red sex.

He looked at me then as if memorizing the planes of my face. I looked back at him, needy and confused, begging him to continue, to enter me. His eyes never leaving mine, he pushed into me inch by inch, torturing me with his unyielding control. I tried to slam my body onto his, but he held me firm with his arms. I tossed my head to the side, unable to take the excruciating pleasure any longer, when he stilled.

"Look at me," he said with the voice of thunder.

When our eyes connected, I noticed his were no longer mix-matched green and purple—but total darkness. No white showed in his corners and for a second I was confused. Then I saw a jagged line of white light shoot through his dark alien eyes the same moment I saw lightening strike the ground in the distance behind him. I began screaming and he smiled that wolfish smile at me.

He suddenly shoved the rest of himself in me, stopping my scream in my throat. He drew my chest flush to his with the firm embrace of his arms, thrusting upwards and ramming his pelvis against me with every push. I was lost to sensation, clinging to this God and meeting him thrust for thrust with every pulse of our rhythm.

"Mine," he said, and lightning struck near us in a blaze of heat. I didn't need to look at his eyes to know they would hold the storm.

In another crash of thunder he flipped me around and threw me face down into the sand and began taking me from behind. I knew at this moment that everything we had done so far had been a means to achieve this. He pounded me over and over again drawing jagged sobs from my throat. My orgasm came upon me with a surprise and I cried out in equal parts misery and elation. He laughed a deep laugh and reached around to my front to roll my nipples, making my orgasm a haze of pleasure and pain. A few more jagged thrusts and he erupted within me, screaming a sound that was part man and part thunder. He lay on top of me in the sand, biting me on the soft of my neck while he softened within me.

He nipped me softly for a while, tonguing my previous wound with languor. I turned to him after a few heartbeats to find his once again mix-matched purple and green eyes watching me.

Did I dream that he had a storm in

his eyes?

"You are dreaming," he said.

I woke up in the darkness of my car, my head dizzy and my back protesting from the odd position. I glanced at the clock, realizing that

I had slept for over five hours.

What the hell?

That dream had felt so real. On an impulse I pivoted in my seat and grabbed the portfolio cover with his canvas inside it. I untied the waxen cover and pulled out the canvas.

It was completely blank.

"What the fuck?!" I screamed at the sterile, white fibers. Throwing the canvas into the cargo space, I seethed in my seat, trying to understand what was wrong with me. I know I had done that pastel today. I know it was amazing. Was I going crazy?

Adjusting the rear-view mirror, I pointed it towards the soft of my neck. There, bloody and bruised, were vicious looking bite-marks where my neck met my shoulder.

I'm sure they could hear my screams from Route 66.

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