"Cristiano," Angela said, a pleading note in her voice. He knew, however, that she only used his full name when she was trying to manipulate him. "Don't leave. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to call your mother a bitch." Which was a lie, of course. A mistake was made once. Angela referred to his mother as "that bitch" on a regular basis. He had put up with it for months because he had been afraid of being alone. A week before, Cris made up his mind that he was going to leave her. Then it had been a matter of building the courage to do it. The argument about his mother was the last push he needed to make it out the door.
Cris reached the end of the walk and turned down the street, Angela's cries, alternating between pleading and angry, fading behind him. As her voice was left in the distance, so was the heat of Cris' anger. Not that he would go back to Angela, but he realized that he had no place to stay. He made his way to the local park, which had camping plots open for public use. It was nice out, almost the perfect temperature, and he had slept under the stars a few times in the past.
He entered the park, passing through the parking lot. As always, a few cars containing horny couples; mostly kids who couldn't steal time away from their parents at home; were parked there. One brazen couple had their windows down as the woman, kneeling in the passenger seat and leaning over to the driver's side, went down on her boyfriend. The sight drove another spike through Cris' relationship with Angela. She had only ever given him blow jobs on his birthday, and always made a big deal about the gift.
He continued on through the park, heading toward the camp sites. He was surprised to find them mostly vacant. With the weather as nice as it was, he thought there would be more campers. Instead, only three of the twenty sites had tents. He picked a site far away from the other tents and found the softest spot on the grass. He laid down, his hands behind his head as a pillow, and stared up at the sky.
He didn't know how long he laid there, watching the stars spin overhead, before he became aware of the woman standing in his campsite, watching him intently. She was small, shorter than him by over a foot and very thin. She wore a light brown dress that barely fell to the middle of her thighs. Her chestnut hair glowed with moonlit highlights and her deep eyes glittered like the stars. He found her mesmerizing. He sat up as she backed away from him, her eyes and lips silently beckoning him to follow.
He stood as she turned and strutted toward the trees, throwing a wry glance over her shoulder. Her brilliant eyes sucked him in, and he found himself following her. She waded into the underbrush without difficulty. Cris found himself following, wondering what he was doing but unable to do anything else. Where the bushes and trees had seemed to allow the woman to pass, Cris found that they grasped at him, clawing at his legs, even through his jeans. Still he pressed on.
He soon found himself in a thick patch of thorny brush, keeping his hands close to his face to protect his eyes. Minutes later, he found himself in a clearing in the middle of a thicket of the thorny bushes. Laying in front of him, bathed in moonlight, was the woman, her skin covered with myriad scratches that reminded him of his own stinging skin. She looked up at him with doe eyes and he felt his heart crumble. Whatever could cause this beautiful creature such pain would pay for its brutishness.
He knelt down next to her, moving slowly as if she were a skittish animal. She whimpered quietly as he moved toward her, but she made no effort to move away from him. He reached out and touched her forehead, not knowing what to do but feeling the need to somehow comfort her. She sighed softly as she rubbed her forehead against his hand. She laid her own hand tenderly on the side of his face, drawing a gasp from him as she touched a scratch near his ear.
The woman traced a finger along Cris' jaw, and he felt himself leaning forward until his lips brushed against hers. With that minute contact, the seeds of passion that had drawn him to this clearing exploded into full bloom. He crushed his lips against hers as he went mad with lust. Leaning toward her, his hands roamed over her body, sliding over her silken dress, caressing the smooth, lithe body underneath. One hand crested over the firm mounds of her breasts while the other played over her thighs, slowly drawing the hem of her dress up.
At the same time, the woman ran her hands up his chest, inside his shirt. Delicate fingers examined the ridges of his muscles. Her touch left ripples of ecstasy in its wake. He groaned into her mouth as she continued to explore his body, one hand playing down his abdomen, the other sliding around his back, nails lightly scratching over his shoulder blades. When she reached his jeans, her fingers fumbled, confounded by both button and zipper.
Appetence had fully taken Cris' mind, and he rushed to unfasten his pants while keeping one hand or the other on her body at all times. Her dress had ridden up to her waist, exposing her smooth mound and glistening wet labia to the warm night air. Her nipples pressed against the thin material, standing out visibly even in the dim light of the moon.
Once he had fully unfastened his jeans, he turned his full attention back to the woman's willowy body. Her thighs parted and her mouth opened in a silent gasp as his hand slid over her mound. He took this as an invitation and crushed his mouth against hers. His free hand went from caressing her breasts to groping them. He pinched one nipple, then the other, between thumb and forefinger, tugging lightly as she freed him from his boxers and jeans, running her tiny hand up and down its length.
Cris slid his finger past her quivering lips, and gasped as her hand tightened around his already throbbing cock. He marveled at how wet she was, how easily he penetrated her, yet how tightly her body clenched his finger. Their sensations cascaded from there. He gently tweaked her nipple, and she lightly grazed his balls with her nails. She tugged on his lip with her teeth and drove his finger into her until his palm was pressed firmly against her mound.
Driven by animal instinct, she wrapped her arms around Cris' neck and her legs around his waist, forcing him to pull his arm away to avoid having his shoulder wrenched from its socket. He couldn't believe how strong she was. He doubted that he would be able to make her let go if he had wanted to. Instead, he rose to his knees, lifting her with him. Despite her strength, she was light, and he found it easy to rise to his knees, then to his feet. She let go of him long enough to rip her dress free of her body, letting the tattered remains flutter to the ground and exposing the whole of her bronzed body to the air.
He lowered his head to her breast, sucking first one nipple, then the other, into his mouth. Pressing her back against the tree in the center of the clearing, he thrust his pelvis forward and raised his hips. He was again amazed at how easily her body accepted him, yet how tightly she gripped him once he had entered her. She actually drew him further in as he thrust forward. Time froze, Cris' head thrown back in exquisite pleasure, the woman's nails scratching across his back, his own fingers pressing into her buttocks.
