Dirt. It was funny how it got everywhere. It had been so dry recently, and so warm. The air was filled with the scent of long sweet grasses, and Emily could not help but stop and admire the way they bent in the passing breeze. The dried husks of their seeding flapped about like flags, whispering and rustling in her ears. It filled the silent spaces between Meaghan's gasps, though those were coming faster now.

She didn't like it, though, the dirt. It crept up between her toes, and not for the first time she bemoaned letting the other woman convince her into stripping entirely. The ground was dry and gritty, and little clods of tightly packed earth dug at the sensitive curve of her ass as she writhed, ground themselves to dust along the outward winging of her shoulder blades. The dust that laid itself along the inside of her nostrils made them tickle and twitch, and she had felt, as Meaghan bound her wrists to a felled tree with a length of stirrup leather, that she might burst into a fit of sneezing and never stop again. The sensation of teeth edging down on the soft swell of her nipple had called that notion to a halt.

Now, though, it wasn't so bad. The soft whuffling of the nearby horses mixed in with the occasional whimpers that unfurled themselves to the air. They were high pitched and fluttery, dancing amongst the sweet dry grasses and fading past the sprawling limbs of the nearby trees. Emily recognized, in a distant fashion, that these were her whimpers. She knew as well that it was her body that was hot and tingling, alive with aching. Aching. She knew that those were her arms tugging against the binding of the stirrup leather, and that the little trickles of sweat sliding between the folds of knees and along the undersides of breasts were as much her own sweat as they were Meaghan's.

It was strange, though, how she noticed other things as well. There was a squirrel in the tree just past the graceful arch of her lover's shoulder. It was gray, and its tail moved in waves as it ran. Every now and again a fly would land on the rich auburn fall of Meaghan's hair, only to zip off again as the woman tossed her head. Meaghan was prone to blinking. She did it a lot, her green eyes glazed and unfocused, seemingly aimed in a different direction every time. Emily noticed this.

Emily noticed the way that Meaghan's delicate pink lips slid back along her teeth, contorting in ways that were fascinating to behold. She neither smiled nor grimaced, though her brow was pinched and furrowed in a determined sort of way. She noticed that she placed her weight mostly into her right hip as she rocked, grinding the hard jutting of their pubic bones together. She noticed the way her lover's fingers clenched against her arms and relaxed at seemingly random intervals, but how these little spasms of grip accompanied subtle changes in her expression. Tension here, relaxing there.

Then, of course, there was the not noticing. Funny how everything else seemed to shut off at the bite of nails into Emily's skin. There were long pink ribbons all along her straining body, furrows dug in a fanciful pattern at the curve of her ribs, in random, carnal crossings between the swaying swells of her breasts. Her vision seemed to black out every time that Meaghan rocked just so, just right to offer her purchase. A slippery little grind of her clit against a passing body part. The hot little nub ached slick and pulsing, and every brush of contact made her whimpers a little louder. The horses grazed on, unconcerned.

Meaghan's gasping was faster, faster. Timed with the rocking, the grinding of the slick fleshy press of pussy against the smooth swell of Emily's mound. The whole of Meaghan's body seemed to tremble and shake as she worked her clit against the nestling of curly blonde hairs, ground painfully down against the bone. It only made her all the wetter. It only made the noticing grow more indistinct. The passing of a hawk against the brilliant blue sky made Emily realize how long the black had lasted, but she ignored it for the time being.

Emily ignored a great many things over the course of the following minutes. She ignored the whisper of the breeze through the trees. She ignored the way the dust settled on the generous swell of her lover's hip. She ignored the crunching and grinding of her body against the earth, and the way that Meaghan's hair fell in waves that looped so painfully perfect about the pink splotches of her swollen nipples. She ignored the gasping sounds of her own panting.

Emily noticed instead the black. It was cool and clean one instant, and then hot and slick the next. She noticed the hard grind of Meaghan's fingers between thick, slick folds of flesh. She noticed electric bursts of heat that rode along her skin in waves and jarred themselves into her bones. She noticed how the unsteady jabs of awareness turned into a long, relentless hum. The whole of her body grew tense with it, and she felt she might explode. She didn't notice herself coming, though, as she arched her body up into the press of Meaghan's hand and met the hard downward grind of her lover's pelvis. She simply became the release, an explosion of heat and orange, of brilliant yellows and a long, high-pitched cry that rattled through the sweet summer grasses. At the end of it, as her noticing returned, she noticed that the echo of her orgasm came back with the sound of Meaghan's voice painted along the hillside.

An uncanny sort of silence followed the inward turning of her attentions. It was illustrated by the frantic hammering of her heartbeat and the tiny, shallow puffs of air that fell hot from Meaghan's lips onto the shell of Emily's ear. The world faded back slowly. There was hair soft along the fluttering of her throat. Her lips were dry, and her sinuses were raw. The sky was blue, and the light was specular along the delicate, relaxed features of her lover's face. The tingling of her fingers and the bending of her arms told her that Meaghan, despite her opiate-induced flop into the grass, was working the strap free of the tree. There was a hawk in the sky. Her heel slid in the dirt as she shifted her weight, one muscled thigh rolling out and her breath leaving her in a sigh. They were covered in dust, and bits of the earth clung to their skin. Tilting her head, Emily admired the patterns of touch that glimmered pristine amongst a canvas of skin and glimmering brown earth. Dirt. Funny how it got everywhere. It wasn't so bad. Not really. And then she sneezed.

All stories are Copyright to Marcus Avenier. 2008-2010