She stopped at the edge of the ancient oak forest at the sound of the swallows. They were swirling and swooping and dancing in the air over the marshy water in the distance. They were black and sleek and sensual in their diving grace. She stood for a very long time, lost in their beauty, her gathered pelts tied and hanging to her waist, and just watched them. Something inside her stirred with their motion and she felt every lift and fall of their flight deep within her body.
Her long hair was tangled to her waist in a hasty braid with leaves and bits of stick falling as she began to walk to the clearing of the meadow. She saw him standing there at the edge of the wood, and her heart jumped as her hand reached for the small knife she concealed. He was sleek and sensual and he walked to her with his own grace. Had she not known better, she might have thought him to be a spirit of the woods, but he looked at her intently with the markings and dress of a mystic or a priest.
He had been watching her for some time, his own heart racing and his cock growing hard. She was a huntress, to be sure; and far from her village. He knew their language to be the same. And as he quickly assessed her fear and her strength, every muscle in his body was tense with his desire for her. It was not his instinct to take her there in the meadow, forcing his cock deep inside her unprepared body. He knew that to fulfill his own desire, he must find hers first.
She stood firm her ground as he approached, her brows narrowing. She would not be taken by this man, as she had been by others. She raised her chin defiantly and waited, her mind racing with the ways in which she might fight for the protection of her body. The wind rustled into the green leafy trees all around her and they fluttered a cooling breeze across her face. The ferns on the forest floor swayed too and she suddenly relaxed.
He stopped and knelt at her feet and looked up into her eyes. They were darkest violet blue, as the evening sky. Her skin was glistening with the sweat of hard running in the heat of a late summer morning. He could smell the sweet mixture of her exhaustion and her cleansing rituals, and he was overcome. If he offered himself to her, she may allow him to give her the passion for which he knew she yearned. Or she may flee.
He was kneeling in front of her and not moving. He was offering himself to her without a word. She looked into his handsome face and wondered at his presence, and his features, and his body. She had seen his cock in his breeches, a bulging mystery, that seemed desirable to her now. She wanted to taste it, and lick it, and swallow it deep in her throat. She threw the knife to the ground and unlaced the pelts at her side. Her tunic lifted easily over her head and she was all at once naked, to herself, to him, and to the forest she worshipped.
He tensed again with restraint and watched as she walked to the nearest oak, turned, and hesitated for a moment. Then she sat with her back against the tree and he could see her breath quicken with the rise and fall of her breasts. Her body fit as though she had often rested there. It was the strong and full body of a woman who was agile. Her beauty, like the rest of the forest, was simple, and easily overlooked. But not by him. Not in this moment.
She sat with her knees bent, her legs spread wide, watching him, and waiting. He did not move and her breath quickened again. He could see the wet tangled hair between her legs, the place he desired. He looked from it to her eyes, his cock hardening quickly. He pulled his gaze away, and standing, began to unlace his breeches. He slid them down his legs and stepped out of them, rising to remove his tunic. He could hear her gasp at the site of his cock. It stood out in front of him, throbbing. He watched as she surveyed his body. A slow shy smile began to form on her own mouth and he walked to her.
She had never looked at a man so completely before. Only in wary contempt and sometimes fear. This creature who stood before her in the body of a man, exhumed a spirit of powerful and yet tender guidance, even as his own posture became that of a mere servant. His cock excited her and she wanted to reach and touch it, and feel it deep inside her.
He bent to the ground and waited for her to show a welcome invitation to him, as well as his gifts for her. She began to nod in a slow confirmation of the desire she longed to release. So he lowered himself to taste the wetness from inside her which was surrounded by her glistening and spiraling hair. It was sweet from her morning release of water and strongly scented from the thick fluid which had begun to flow with her own ascending passion. He gently licked and tasted her as he opened the soft folds of skin with his own lips and tongue.
