@ 2018 Asmodeus

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The Glen

“The Glen.” Well, to be precise, “Letham Glen.” A sort of institution in my life. I think I told you about the place with the Llamas and wallabies (Strange combination, I know.) and goats, deer, rabbits, ducks and donkeys.

Which reminds me, did I ever tell you about the time I was mugged by one of the donkeys up there? Stop me if you’ve heard it, but…

Sorry if I rattled on there.

The Glen. After the small farmy part, it breaks out into three walkways that lets civilisation dissolve away for a bit. Each one is no more than half a mile in distance, but it’s one of those places you can be a thousand years away in. The highest of the walks is a little too near to a caravan park for our purposes, but I’ve led us down the most easterly one. It eventually loops back on the central pathway, making for a mile long circle, but we won’t be making that journey just yet.

I grasp your hand and lead you off the trail.

Our boots crunch in the leaves. Thick, crisp leaves, frozen and dried by winter’s harsh hand. Compared to the silence of midnight, we must sound like a train colliding with a skyscraper but we’re the only living souls left on the planet as far as we’re concerned.

It’s cold. Vaporised breaths and laughter singing through the night air as we make our way, sometimes stumbling, always talking, up the side of the hill. Just before we reach the brow, I stop our ascent. Any higher, and we’ll broach the summit, and then the lights from town will encroach into our universe.

So I pick a little ledge about thirty feet or so from the top. Nothing spectacular, even if we could see it properly, but we sit down anyway, still chattering. For the first time, with the concern of stumbling removed, we take in the view.

Our conversation stills, and like the ripples on a velvet pond, the world around us settles back into stasis. For a moment, we no longer need voices to speak. The starfields envelope and digest us. We’ve been out of white light long enough now for the shimmering blur of the Milky Way to be clearly visible, and the majesty of our own particular arm of the galaxy to sparkle with the clarity of diamond.

Orion looks down at us, a warmth in his eyes as Betelgeuse winks at us from five hundred years gone by.

Moving behind you, I cradle you between my legs and wrap my arms around you. I feel you shift, melding with me as we fit into each others space effortlessly. The bundle of your coat hides your lines, but I can sense them there, without the need for touch. I can feel your nipples stiffen, your stomach tighten ever so slightly and, of course, my own body is reacting in its own way too. Neither of us rampant – yet – but the stirrings have begun, and we know we will be end this night joined.

My hands slip inside your jacket, running slowly up the inside, finding your breasts, gently massaging them and running my fingers round your aureole. I feel you rise back on me, rubbing your ass easily against my groin, teasing my cock into a fuller erection. The gentle rhythm of you rising me above the thoughts of the cold, and I sit back, and pull you onto me. Still clothed, we lie, you on top of me, both of us looking up at the cosmos. Slowly, I unzip your jeans and ease them far enough off your pantieless ass (The concession of jeans was enough, panties would NOT be allowed too.). Almost simultaneously, I feel your hands around my own jeans, unzipping and freeing my cock. Blindly freeing me as your eyes stayed fixed on the stars above.

It seemed so effortless. The way we united. Your already slick cunt and my hardened cock joining into one complete sexual organ.

Placing my hand on your forehead while my other arm cradled you on top of me, I held you steadily onto me. And so we sat – lay – fucked – under the stars. Back to back so that we could both wonder at the celestial above as we luxuriated in the carnal below. It was a difficult position that didn’t allow for gymnastics, nor any depth of penetration, but it was all that we needed at that time. Your cunt milking me, my cock slowly and rhythmically slipping in and out, pushing past the resistance of your entrance, burying the glans and then back out into the cold winters air. Hips grinding in opposition to maximise what penetration we could get.

And the stars slowly twinkled…