This is my attempt at a 750-word story. It came to me in a vision. There is no more. What more could I say?
When I was in my 20s, I spent a lot of time hiking alone in the woods. I'd drive my beat-up little Nissan to a remote trailhead and spend hours rambling through the hills by myself. My favorite spot was a secluded pond nestled in the heart of a stand of old-growth pine.
It was like a cathedral--the forest utterly still, the tall trunks rising around me like marble columns. I'd walk reverently forward, pine needles crunching under my hiking boots.
Usually, I'd have lunch on the banks of the pond, but if I was feeling bold, I might go swimming. The spot was so isolated I didn't bother with a swimsuit. I'd strip completely naked, leaving my boots and clothes in a neat pile on the shore, and wade out into the cool, dark pond.
The water felt delicious on my bare skin. I was sweaty from hiking all morning, and I swam around for a while--ducking my head under, washing myself clean.
There was a little island in the center of the pond with a big flat rock, flanked by two young pines--the altar of the cathedral.
One day, on a lark, I climbed up onto it, grasping the thick roots of the trees to lever myself out of the water. I stood barefoot and dripping atop the rock, toes curling around its rough edge, water streaming from my naked body.
Looking back across the water I could see my pile of clothes and daypack on the bank.
Utterly without shame, I lay down on the sun-warmed rock and spread my legs, offering my hairy pussy to the forest.
Idly I began touching myself, trailing my fingertips lightly over my tender skin, tracing little circles around my stiffening nipples. Before long, my fingers wandered down my flat tummy to the dark thatch between my legs, down to the baroque folds of my sex.
Oh! That felt good! I was so wet, and my clit was so hard, peeking out from underneath its hood. I started masturbating openly, stretching myself out long and lean on the flat rock, arching my back as I curled my fingers deep in my hungry cunt.
My cries echoed through the still woods as I made myself come.
I heard him before I saw him, the distant crash of something large moving through the underbrush.
And then he was there--standing on the bank, a dark silhouette, unmistakably masculine, but taller than a man, with majestic antlers rising from his shaggy head.
I should have been frightened, but instead a strange sense of calm settled over me. My orgasmic cries had summoned the king of the forest. He had come for me.
