Authors Note: A brief note about this story. A few paragraphs in, you're going to come across a few asterisks, like this: ****. At that point, the story splits into four different paths. You can either read them sequentially, or in whatever order you like. Each section is marked off by the **** mark, though. Enjoy!
****
I stood at the cliff's edge, surveying the majestic scene before me. The sun was just starting to rise over some snow-tipped mountains in the distance, sunlight scintillating off icicles in the pines' branches. In the gorge in front of me was a wild river, rushing down the mountain. In the middle were Arcadian hills, punctuated with wildflowers emerging from their hibernation. It was beautiful.
I sat down, took out my canvas and my paints, and began to capture the beauty of nature before me. I had come out for a weekend camping trip. I had planned to invite my girlfriend, but just before I was going to ask her, she had broken up with me, complaining that I focused too much on painting and nature and not enough on her. I was still devastated and was pouring myself into my work in an attempt to soothe my troubled soul.
Still, I thought, lightly dabbing a green-covered brush against the canvas, bringing trees into existence, she wasn't entirely wrong. Even from my childhood, I had always loved to capture the world. I had started with crayons and moved to pencils and photography before discovering that painting was my true passion. It let me capture so much more than just the physical beauty of what lay before me, but its inner beauty as well. The beauty of a contented landscape, a part of the Earth that was entirely perfect as it was. The world in its own beauty, free of mankind's designs upon it, free of the chains he laid down. What human woman could compare to the beauty of the mountains and springs, of the forests and fields, of the seasons?
A sudden breeze erupted behind me, blowing my canvas out of my hands and down into the gorge below. I peered over the edge, watching its flight until it splashed into the gray waters below.
"I got his attention for you, sister. Now what?" said a bored, monotone voice in the wind.
"My thanks to you," replied a voice full of sincere affection. "What is your name, young artist?"
"Me?" I looked around, trying to find the source of the voices, but I was only surrounded by trees and rocks. "My name is Matthew. Who are you?"
What
are you, I wondered to myself...
A deep, languid voice answered, "We'll get around to that, Matthew, but first my sisters and I have a question for you."
"Yes? What is it?" I asked cautiously. Whoever these women were, or at least, they sounded like women, I would only learn more by playing their games for now.
A girl giggled. "We all just adore your love of nature, and we can see how hurt your poor heart is, so we were thinking we should help you and we thought
you
should get to choose so we came to ask you, what's your favorite season, Matthew? Make sure you answer truthfully..."
"Well," I began, thinking hard. This question seemed to carry a bit more weight than when people usually asked me which season I preferred. It was hard to decide. I loved the purity and freshness of winter, I enjoyed the heat and freedom of summer, I admired the colors and the providence of autumn, and I adored the vitality and life of spring. But, I supposed, if I absolutely
had
to choose, "I think my favorite is...
****
...spring."
"
Everyone
picks spring," said that bored voice sardonically.
"Well that's because it's so welcoming and inviting and warm and fertile!" bubbled the talkative voice. "Can you really blame everyone?"
"Yes, I can," she replied with a hmph.
"Well, let's get started!" cheered the bubbly voice, her sentence punctuated by a sudden wind. Green leaves stirred up, flying through the air, whirling around me. I felt like I was at the center of a tornado. They blocked the sky and the sun itself, cloaking me in shadow. The wind picked up and the leaves battered my face, forcing me to protect my face with my arm. I clenched my eyes tightly, and suddenly the wind dissipated. I lowered my arm hesitantly and looked around.
The gorge was gone. I didn't know where I was now. I was surrounded by bucolic hills, smooth, rolling mounds, covered in lush, verdant grass. The sky was blue with a few clouds in the sky. Every so often a fresh breeze, almost a cool kiss, blew against me. The trees were dotted with trees bursting with warm colors, their flowers in full bloom.
"Isn't it just beautiful?" said a voice by my ear. I whirled around surprised to face this new girl.
Her hair was auburn and sleek, flowing down past her shoulders, cascading like a waterfall down to her full, ample breasts. Her eyes were brilliant emeralds, shining green in the sunlight. Her skin wasn't dark, but had a healthy tinge of color. Her smile was broad and bold, her teeth shining white. Her dimples were adorable, giving her an air of innocence.
But I found it hard to focus on her face once I saw her body. She was entirely nude, her only modesty provided by her red hair covering her massive, heavy, firm breasts. She also wore a necklace of dandelions, but they covered nothing. Her breasts were huge, the size of her head, but still proud and high. Her nipples, poking between her auburn hair, were a light pink, soft and delicate.
Her waist was narrow and her hips were wide; she looked like a fertility goddess. I could easily imagine primitive cultures worshipping a body like hers. Her thighs were thick and strong. Between her legs was a wispy red patch of hair, barely hiding her tight, soft, delicate pussy.
"Who are you?" I asked, startled but pleasant surprised by this nude visitor. I could already feel my boxers tightening against my roused manhood.
"I'm Primavera!" she announced, enveloping me in a hug, her massive breasts crushing me in a marshmallow heaven. She looked up at me and asked, "And you're Matthew, right?"
"Uh, ya," I said, a bit flattered that this gorgeous young woman knew who I was. "Aren't you cold in your, um, outfit?"
"But it's so
warm