Honeysucle Wood

Honeysuckle wood

Honeysuckle wood, as we called it, was a magical place; a small dry hill - an island in a sea of open moorland, upon whose crest stood a copse of ancient gnarled and grizzled trees. It was a place to think, free from the annoying ring of telephones, a place to forget the greed and corruption of our disposable society, where one could escape this world and dream of better times. We'd found it together during one of the coldest January's on record five years ago and although easily attainable over ice and snow, in June the white causeway was transformed into an expanse of thick mud and swamp.

I stood and looked up at the distant trees. We would occasionally come here together and lie baking naked in the sun holding hands and the terrain would ensure that no unwelcome visitors disturbed our love making. But on occasion, like today while you were working, I would come alone. I took off my shoes and socks, tucking them into the pack that I'd slung over my shoulder and crossed the ford through the river rather than taking the nearby footbridge, cleansing my feet for the journey ahead.

At the foot of the hill I slipped through a rusting barbed wire fence and looked over my shoulder to the village in which we lived and I smiled, stepping out barefoot on my solo journey. The sodden land sucked and slurped noisily at my toes without reaching far past my ankles. Damsons and dragonflies chased around the thick clumps of horse grass and whirligig spiralled into the mud at the bottom of warm stagnant pools. I paused for a moment and closed my eyes, feeling the sun on my face and listening to an invisible skylark high above. Curlew cried and Lapwing bombed, the latter chasing me long after I'd harmlessly passed its concealed nest.

The ground began to rise and the earth became dry and dusty beneath my feet. Sweat glistened on my brow and between my breasts and I sat and took a bottle of water from my bag, pouring it over my feet to wash away the evidence of my passing. And though my legs were aching, I eagerly stood and continued upwards, my thighs straining against the steep incline and the hidden trees began to grow out of the hilltop as I neared its summit. At last I flopped to the ground, a short distance from the twisted giants and rested my back against a flat stone. The village seemed so small and insignificant far below, but I knew it to be brimming with the same greed and petty squabbles that blighted mankind the world over.

I closed my eyes and lost myself in the song of the lark, letting its sweet voice strip from me the burdens of my complex life. With each breath another worry fell away until at last there was just the lark and the sun on my face and I floated on the heady scent of the ancient honeysuckle that seeped like a thick fog from the copse.

As I dozed four curious eyes watched from the cover of the knotted trees and their chattering laughter, that sounded like quarrelling sparrows, failed to stir me. My eyes were heavy and a feeling of such blissful contentment covered me like the fragrant blanket of honeysuckle and I surrendered gladly, slipping gently into dreams of elves and dryads.

While the fragrance from the wood reassured my sleeping mind that all was as it should be, two tiny figures of men dressed in rags and no taller than my knee tiptoed from the undergrowth and approached silently and cautiously. They sprang onto the stone against which my back rested and examined my face studiously, searching for flaws, but finding none. One of the creatures yanked roughly at my hair and the two scurried away to cover, but I made no sound and remained deep in stupor. The figures returned, bolder and with a swagger in their tiny gait and for a spell they simply stood watching my chest rise and fall and strain against my thin cotton shirt with each breath. They conversed in trill birdsong and using my belt to leaver himself up, one of the tiny men climbed onto my flat, toned stomach. His friend slipped between me and the rock and pushed me up and forward, groaning and grimacing while the first yanked and tugged at my t-shirt, pulling it over my head and tossing it into the air so that the wind carried it a distance away. I wore nothing beneath and together they knelt upon my hips gently massaging my breasts and almost at once a white cream began to leak from my nipples. They hopped and danced excitedly upon me, each taking a nipple and suckling until they were drunk and euphoric. Becoming bolder in their intoxication, the pair unfastened my belt and unbuttoned my jeans, peeling back the heavy denim as far as they could to uncover red lace panties within. For a moment they put their heads together and secretly conspired. And, decision made, they jumped to the ground, one taking hold of the bottoms of my pants at my ankles, while the other rocked my hips side to side. Slowly the jeans began to move, revealing inch upon inch of lace and flesh, until at last my jeans slipped off altogether and the little man rolled backwards down the hill, still clutching my denims. The elves, for surely that's what they were, returned and each sat astride a thigh, sniffing at my crotch like animals and tasting a sweet damp patch that had begun to spread. One of the creatures took out a small blunt knife and began sawing at the fabric, gradually wearing his way through the elastic. He handed the blade to his accomplice who repeated the exercise on the opposite side and soon they were able to rip away the silken remnants and throw them triumphantly into the air, where the wind caught them and carried them to the woods where they caught on a branch and fluttered like a scarlet flag announcing my defeat. The elves returned briefly to my breasts to feast and revive themselves on the milk that continued to ooze from them, laughing and singing as they suckled. Hands and mouths explored me as I slept, touching and tasting, they inhaled my sweet breath and they each sat on my soft mound and conferred once more. The Elves jumped to the ground and ran to my feet. Each wrapping an arm around an ankle, they heaved and slowly my legs began to open. Wider and wider I was spread until my legs would go no further and the elves stood between my feet marvelling at the moist succulent steak that glistened in the sun. They approached and sipped and shuddered as pure ecstasy flowed through them and their legs trembled and buckled beneath them.

One of the elves pulled himself to his feet and staggered away, standing unsteadily between my widespread ankles. Recklessly, he ran towards me and at the last threw himself headlong at my dripping womanhood, diving into my waiting folds. There was a sucking and a slurping and his head vanished entirely within me. He fought for a moment and then simply hung limply. His friend quickly grabbed the elves ankles and pulled with all of his might and the little man popped like a Champaign cork, dripping in my arousal, a look of saintly divinity upon his glistening face.

Another conference...

There was a whistle and within a few minutes, a family of elves tiptoed from the wood, perhaps fifteen or twenty in total, each carrying a bottle, Jar or rusty tin can -- as large as they could manage. The elves worked together, milking my breasts and collecting ambrosia from between my thighs, gathering the juices that flowed and gushed and oozed from me and hurried with their treasure back to the wood, to return with more empty vessels. And the afternoon wore on.

I awoke in a sea of total calm. A light evening breeze had picked up and high cloud blocked out the sun from time to time, but my skin glowed and tingled from exposure over the hours. I eased myself up and something fell from between my breasts to land on the ground between my widely parted thighs. I reached forward to pick it up, my hand returning wet with my desire that had spilled to the ground, and I regarded a dark Victorian penny. A feeling of total elation consumed me and I quickly found what remained of my clothes. I dressed as best I could and rushed recklessly downhill through mud and swamp, racing through the ford into the village and to our home, bursting in to climb the stairs two at a time, to the office in which you worked. And there I stood, dripping in mud and sweat and I triumphantly held up my penny, a look of absolute elation on my face.

We grinned together and you opened a drawer on your desk, pulling out a small wooden chest. You lifted the lid and offered it to me and I dropped the coin into the box that was already brimming with old pennies.