March 27

Unfinished Novella – PG-13

What a beautiful, relaxing and self indulgent kind of day, he thought to himself.

 

He recalled feeling like a bit of a fool this morning donning boots and jeans with a practical shirt… but before he had much time to revel in apprehension, there was the gravel drive to her barn on the left.  When he thought of her he was affronted by images of lushness, the smell of vanilla and azure eyes that made his groin tighten. Turning attention to the gravel track and various a-sundry dogs that came to escort him, he glanced in the rearview to see nothing but dust in his trail.  The dust roiled up over the trees till the wind caught it and carried it away. The breeze was forgiving for a warm day on the cusp of autumn. Post and rail fences lined the drive, reminding him of the stories she told of laboring to build them. Glossy horses and one rather scruffy diminutive donkey peered curiously over (or between) the rails at him as he rolled by.  Next was a little rickety bridge covering a small creek. The bridge groaned and flexed as he slowly crossed it. Finally around the bend a barn appeared, well kept exterior and tidy yard. Her old truck was parked underneath the biggest shade tree, the bed filled to the tipping with bales of hay; he swore he could hear that old truck rusting. The underside of the truck appeared to be the ideal spot for canine and feline alike to nap in deep shade.  Everything spoke of careful repair if not funds to throw at things. He stepped from his truck and submitted to the inspection of the barn dog contingent. The sun was bright and golden like only fall gives you. The crunch of gravel under his boots, the panting of dogs and a long drawn out whinny signaled his arrival.

 As he stepped into the aperture, all went dark before his eyes could adjust and he could peel his sunglasses off.  It was like stepping into a cooler. The sweet smell of horses, liniment, hay and shavings greeted his nostrils…..and singing?  There she was, with a big grey horse in the crossties, singing to the animal as she brushed. He watched as her long gold braid swung as she moved, hair escaping its confines.  The grey bobbed his head in greeting. She wore green and black breeches tucked into tall black boots with a half unbuttoned billowy old men’s white shirt partially tucked in. Everything about her appearance said hurried, priorities elsewhere yet effortless beauty.  She turned to him with an eager expression of pink-cheeked excitement and welcoming. Her shape beckoned to him. Ample breasted, small-waisted and that lovely posterior that willingly filled out her breeches, swinging as she walked made the little voice inside order him to take her to the nearest hayloft and give her a right seeing to immediately.

He knew how important this was to her, that this was her world- the thing that fed her soul.  He just wanted to manage not to make an ass of himself today, but that was not likely. So as not to look too awkward, he set about making friends with the gallant steed in front of him.  He was constantly distracted by the gaping due to her missing buttons on the top. Each time she bent over he was treated to the swinging of a breast or a large dark nipple. He marveled at her handiness.  She cared not if she got dirty, sweaty, or banged up. She went about tacking up the big grey talking all the while, including the horse in on the entire conversation. She beckoned me to follow as she threw a halter and lead over her shoulder and headed out the other side of the barn.  She stopped at the opening, on the transition from dark to light, her hair shining like flaxen in the sunlight, her blouse transparent…a silhouette of her breast and ribcage making for a photographer’s delight. I caught up with her and scooped her up. She always yields in the softest way when I command her close.  I couldn’t help but lay little kisses all along her neck from ear to collarbone. She smelled of soap and vanilla with the odor of the great outdoors caught in her hair. I once again stifled the urge to have her right then and there. She smiled at me knowingly with that wicked grin, and walked away down the hill to the paddock below.  I marveled at how her ass swung when she walked, a true bustle. My concentration was broken by a pair of horses knickering a greeting. Next thing I know I have been handed a lead rope with a big black beast on the other end. The horse and I looked at each other for a minute and tenuously made a gentleman’s agreement not to make any sudden moves.  

She set about tacking up her steed while I looked around.  Yep, stalls, horses, horse related stuff. She was standing with my palfrey for the day flourishing the reins at me like I knew what to do.  She then added saddlebags to my horse, stuffing them with wine and a lunch of sandwiches with a sundry of goodies. She added a blanket rolled up to the back of her saddle, which gave me excellent ideas.  We mounted up and I followed her to the trail as she waxed philosophic about the spot we were headed to. She was easy in the saddle, like she was born there. Thankfully my grey gelding was happy to follow the impressive black one who enthusiastically danced underneath her with his neck arched and mouthing the bit.  What a lovely sight, fair maid on a horse, headed to a sequestered place where I could ravage her. The scenery must have been lovely, but I never took my eyes off her… She fascinated me in every way, ticked all the boxes. All I wanted to do is have her on that blanket in her lovely naked splendor discovering all her secret places, drinking her in.

The trail was wide enough for us to ride next to each other most the way.  I secretly thanked my mount for not acting like hers…Head tossing and leaping about, like a tightly coiled spring.  She paid her horse no mind, only occasionally stroking his neck as we talked. I openly stared as her breasts bounced and heaved with the moved with the dancing horse, white shirt slipping down to expose one shoulder in a tease.  I admired how nicely her ass fit in her saddle. I was assaulted by titillating images the whole ride. Her eyes were so blue, her expression so free. I was sure she as most beautiful in this moment.

Time and distance must have slipped by, because we arrived at a secluded glen facing a lovely waterfall feeding a creek.  She deftly dismounted and selected a spot under weeping willows. She dug in to one side of the saddlebags and removed the biggest pair of handcuffs I had ever seen.  She read the excitement on my face and quickly explained that they were hobbles for the horses….but could be employed in a myriad of ways at another time. She quickly untacked the horses, letting them loose to graze a distance away from us.  I began to divest the saddlebags of their contents. I laid the big blanket under the mottled light of the weeping willows. She plopped down on the blanket and pulled off her boots…I followed her lead. She reclined in my lap as we ate and drank our fill.  I slid my hand down that accommodating shirt and palmed a breast, feeling her nipples go erect and her back arch. I watched her eyes flutter as I stroked her hair and slipped it aside so I could kiss her collarbone. She sat up and turned around, helping me remove my shirt and running her hands along my chest and shoulders.  I laid back on my elbows as she hovered over me on all fours looking me in the eye, biting her lower lip. She began to unbutton her shirt, a curtain of hair falling all around her face. I caught my breath a little when she unveiled her beautiful golden breasts accented by the palest of tan lines and untucked her shirt to remove it.  What a lovely thing she was…broad shoulders, big breasts leading to an hourglass waist that gently flared to her broad hips. Her expression became more serious now, it said she wanted something, and wanted it dearly but with the petulant face of a child. I sat up and undid her leather belt, unzipped her breeches. And she rolled onto her back, lifted her hips and slipped them off all the while looking at me.  Reliably, there was no underwear, being the nonconformist she was. Nestled in between her legs, perfectly centered on her tan lines was a golden blond bush..soft and fine. By now my raging erection was popping and I was absentmindedly fumbling for my fly in an attempt to be a willing participant. She came to my rescue with one hand deftly freeing the monster and sliding her hand down my shaft to pull him from his confines.  I quickly divested myself of the remainder of my clothing and wrapped my arms around her to kiss her deeply. She had a way of playfully, teasingly nibbling at my upper and lower lips, then brushing them lightly with her tongue, it drove me wild. The when you least expected it, she would plunge her tongue in my mouth. The thought of it makes my hips jerk.  

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Posted March 27, 2020 by Charlotte Von Woffle Greer in category "Longer Tracts and Essays

About the Author

From Review: "Charlotte Von Woffle Greer is an artist in the truest sense of the word. Tormented, embattled, strong, fearless and fearful. Curious, and full of wonder yet jaded and defeated at times. An artist shares what they feel. A true and brave artist shares what they feel completely as Charlotte does, in these pages." -Erik Johnson