Jim groaned deeper, fucked harder, and squeezed my tits tighter. I rubbed my clit frantically in hopes that maybe this time I could bring myself over the edge before he pumped me full. Alas, as he pushed deep inside, emptied himself in me, and rolled off, I was still only nearly there.
He grinned his foolish smile, gave my tit a gentle squeeze, and kissed me.
“You’re amazing, Sue,” he groaned.
A month removed from thirty-seven and unable to remember the last time I’d cum from anything but my own fingers, I mumbled what I always did.
“Yeah, babe. That was awesome…”
He kissed me again, and I watched him roll off the bed, get dressed, and go to the bathroom to wash my cunt off his cock.
Fifteen minutes later, I heard his car pull out of the driveway. I’m sure his life felt just as mundane as mine: the drive-thru for his morning coffee, the forty-two-minute drive, the same parking spot, the same corner office, and the same eight hours before getting to do the whole thing in reverse.
But he? He gets to cum. Like clockwork. Every Tuesday morning, every Friday night, and twice on Saturdays.
I sighed.
I didn’t bother with showering, didn’t care that I soiled my fresh panties with my own still dripping need and Jim’s too-soon release. Didn’t even bother brushing my teeth. I pulled my hoodie over my fresh-squeezed tits and tried to remember their shape from ten years ago. There are a few extra bulges where firmness used to shape my stomach.
My slacks sit a little tighter over my hips than they used to, and my ass fills the shape of them slightly wrong. My buns used to turn heads. I guess they still do, they just serve a different kink these days.
I locked the door behind me and stepped onto the slate slab marking the start of the pathway curling around our house. The roses were in full bloom, even though the peonies now stood barren with their pods hanging low to the ground. I made a mental note to deal with them later.
I remembered when the garden was something we shared, when friends would come over for our barbeques and rave about the hydrangeas, the lilacs, and the hollyhocks. I’d blush and tell them they were as much Jim’s labor of love as mine.
Jim hadn’t mowed the lawn this week, and in the still-warming morning, the dew hadn’t yet had time to lose itself to the summer heat.
I found my trail and followed it into the forest, and let the sun lick my back one final time before stepping into the still-wet shadows of the trees.
Pine, spruce, and birch stood close and hugged willows and maples. The forest floor was alive with ferns and bilberry, lingonberry shrubs, and dotted with wood anemones. I let my mind go blank and empty.
I must have taken a different route than I used to at one of the many forks in the path. The forest seemed more dense, a little foreign, and utterly beautiful.
I remembered my mother’s tales from when I was younger.
Enchanting.
She always returned to that word in her tales, as if she were dreaming up tales she wished were true. She used that word for me too, as I was drifting off to sleep to the hum of her voice.
You’re beautiful, Susanne Sylvain. Enchanting.
I came to a clearing I never knew existed. A lone willow hung her branches low, almost kissing the ground, and underneath that roof of leaves, there grew flowers in riches I had to admire.
There was a creak, with water so cool and clear I had to taste it, and once I did, I felt utterly at peace. At peace and lustfully horny.
I shook my head as I pulled my slacks down to my knees, pulled my panties to the side, and squatted. The trickle was gentle at first, but I was overwhelmed with the intensity of it, how sensual it felt to release myself to the forest.
It didn’t bother me that there was nothing to wipe with. I kicked off my shoes, removed my leggings, and then my panties. I used them to wipe myself before tossing them into the nearby bushes.
Against the willow’s trunk, I found a spot so inviting that I simply had to find rest there. I pushed a branch aside and felt a sting as a particularly stubborn and sharp twig scraped my thigh. The pain was pliant. I watched the blood trickle down my thigh as an offering, the kind my mother had read about in her stories.
I pulled off my hoodie and tossed it with my slacks. I let the small specks of sunlight shining through the branches and leaves kiss my body. They filled me with warmth as I sat and leaned against the trunk. It didn’t feel pointy and harsh, but warm and inviting. It was the kind of heat that—
I found myself spread wide, gliding two fingers through the mess of me, the mess of Jim. My clit was swollen with unreleased tension and begging with need, and if it served no other purpose, Jim’s cum smeared through all of me made me sick with lust.
The doe across the creek looked at me with her big, brown eyes.
She didn’t mind how I fucked myself. Two-fingered at first, then three, before attempting to shove my entire hand inside my fuckhole while my feet dug into the soil beneath me. I lifted myself off the ground, arched, and tensed like a bow.
The release was unrelenting.
I scraped my head against the trunk, my thighs shook violently, and my gut twisted itself inside out. My cunt begged at first, then took over everything. Everything.
I felt like my brain was sucked down through my spine, liquifying my marrow and sending it gushing through my cunt. I’ve never been a squirter, and I’m not sure I was then either. Maybe it was a scouring of everything that’d been pent up inside me for the last fifteen years of marriage.
The doe tilted her head, took a drink of water, as if bowing to me, before she turned and scuttled back into the forest.
I left my hand inside, just to feel how my cunt tried to close itself around it; how it pulsed and couldn’t rid itself of the tremors.
I must have fallen asleep like that, spent and at peace, and the sun still licking my skin. My dream was vivid. Younger men—much younger men—some that I recognized from my own neighborhood, some from Jim’s work. Some had no faces at all.
I think I must have been tied down; my legs were pulled wide and immovable. They all fucked me, one after the other, filling my cunt with their fertile seeds.
I woke up to my own moans.
The sun must have fallen low behind the trees; the day had given up brightness for twilight. I felt stretched beyond imagination, and sure enough, I had stretched myself as wide as I could possibly stretch. I tried to sit up, but found my feet trapped under tree roots I could have sworn weren’t there earlier. And the more I pulled to get free, the harder I seemed to be stuck.
Child?
The voice was deep, intensely manly, and seemed to come from inside my head.
“Who’s there?” I whispered.
Why are you resisting? Why are you scared? Isn’t this your desire?
Have you ever had your spine whispered to from inside your bones? That’s what he felt like, speaking to me.
“Desire?” I asked.
My voice tasted foreign in my mouth.
Did you not come here today, unhappy with life, and full of desire?
“Who are you?”
There was a whisper of wind ruffling through the leaves above me, and he felt annoyed inside me.
I am Earth, he declared. But who are you, Susanne?
“Earth?” I whispered back, as if tasting the madness on my tongue.
The soil in front of me began to stir.
At first, it looked like blisters rising beneath the soil, as if the moss, grass, and flowers boiled from the inside. The ground itself swelled upward, forming a living mound of dark, wet clay and tangled roots. Wood anemones and bilberry bushes still clung to its surface, their delicate petals trembling.
The mound kept rising, shaping itself, stretching until it became a monolith of earth and green. It took on the shape of the most perfect man. Naked. Strong.
Handsome like a Scandinavian summer night, and with features I’d only seen in art magazines, formed in clay or carved into stone.
Between his thighs, heavy and unashamed, hung the clear evidence of raw, earthly want.
He stood there. Ancient. Newborn. Hungry.
His dark eyes wandered across my stretched body, taking in every shape of me, stopping at my open cunt, and I felt how I leaked. I leaked. He carved a trail from my sex, up my stomach, and stopped again at my tits. He tilted his head and smiled.
Finally, his eyes found mine.
“Yes, child,” he said, stretching his muscular body toward the faint glimmer of stars appearing above us. “I am Earth. And I received your offerings.”
“Offerings?”
“You drank from my well of desire, did you not?”
“The stream?” I tugged at the roots holding me down, and I was instantly stretched wider.
“You drank from the well of desire, and abandoned your filth to me. Then, you gushed the seed of man and the want of woman over me. Finally, you offered blood. Yours. The prayer signed.”
The scratch on my thigh. My dream. Pissing into the dirt. Cumming like a little slut. Drinking from the stream.
“Oh, God,” I whispered.
He licked his lips, tilted his head like a curious dog.
“God?” he asked. “You humans…”
His features hardened. So did his cock.
“You desire to be wanted!” he hissed.
“I am!” I yelled. “I am wanted!”
He laughed.
“Indeed,” he said. “Every Tuesday. Every Friday. Oh…and twice on Saturdays?”
His eyes burrowed behind mine, and he read every thought I’d ever had. He scrolled back and found my childhood memories. And then, he started reading me.
When I fell off my bike and scraped my knees. When I spent Christmases being big-eyed and trying to catch Santa sneaking in. My first horrified period.
He flipped through me, but stopped at losing my virginity in the backseat of Rob Aarend’s car.
Sixteen? he whispered. That’s cute.
It hurt when he looked at my shame, when he relived me crying in the school washrooms at how easily Sue Sylvain had given virginity away, and at how painful it had been to be another trophy of Rob’s conquests.
You didn’t fuck again until Jim? And even then, reluctantly?
But he wasn’t done. He burrowed deeper, behind layers of forgotten memories:
Laughing in the meadow as Jim got to his knees and proposed, then fucked my lights out. He used to do that. Then.
But he dug deeper. Found the filth I’d suppressed. The need to be desired, fucked open.
Bred.
“Who are you?!” I yelled again, through tears of shame.
He stretched. Not the way you expect a man to, but his entire body stretched forward, as if he’d become fluid and spineless. His face came close to mine, and I knew he was telling the truth.
I am Earth. The most powerful entity in your universe. And I shall make you mine.
The thick roots that had been coiled tightly around my ankles surged to life. They tightened their grip and wrenched my legs violently upward, ripping my body off the forest floor, spinning me around, and flipping me upside down.
The world inverted. Blood rushed to my head, and I found myself staring at the most perfect cock I could imagine. The roots thickened and extended, and became a second pair of powerful, root-veined arms sprouting from his sides.
He pulled me apart with a force that felt like he meant to split me down the middle, and I felt my cunt spread herself wide right in front of his face.
He sniffed me.
It felt beastly at first. Animal. And he didn’t just sniff my cunt. He treated my ass with the same kind of curiosity, the same hot want.
He growled. A deep, earthly sound that started in his gut and planted itself into the ground through his feet.
Then he licked.
It was a wet, greedy drag through all of me, setting my clit on fire before sliding through my swollen folds. I thought he would carve into me and slice a furrow so deep I would forget I’d ever been with a man. He had no such intentions. Not yet.
His tongue slid flat and greedy over my begging hole, and I whimpered at the disappointment that he didn’t find my cunt worthy of his greed. He did come to rest at my butthole, though.
Jim had poked his thumb there a few times, and I never had the confidence to tell him to push inside. This creature didn’t ask permission; he read every beat of my heart, every nerve ending begging for him, and the small plea inside my head.
Please.
But he just stayed there, wet, warm, and patient, until I turned soft and pliant for him. His tongue didn’t stretch me; it felt surprisingly thin sliding inside. He burrowed deep, as if he was licking my insides clean of my former self. I gasped when I felt him curl through me, through every twist and bend of my guts. The more he filled me, the more I felt my belly stretch from the complete fullness.
I wanted more.
His cock pulsed against my cheek, hot, heavy, and hard as maple. It wasn’t flesh-like, and not entirely earthy, but pressed itself into my skin like polished heartwood. A thick bead of sap-like precum welled at the tip, and I parted my lips.
My tongue came alive with hunger at the first touch, the first taste of him. He tasted like air after rain, like sweet maple sap, and with a want I’d not felt since Ron Aarend fucked my virgin cunt and made me less than I should be, more than I knew I desired to be.
I closed my lips around the swollen head, and instantly, his cock burrowed through me as well.
He spread me wider, but it didn’t hurt. Had he torn me apart, I would happily split open for him and become part of him, but he didn’t. His tongue pushed deeper, twisting and exploring with deliberate hunger. My belly swelled visibly.
Another tongue shot out from his mouth and lapped feverishly at my clit, then another burrowing snake split my cunt open.
I thought I was full of him, but that’s before the swelling started. He filled the entirety of me, the tongue-like limb in my guts, the phallic member in my cunt. His cock down my throat.
He was feeding on me, and I was feeding on him.
He ate the first orgasm out of me. It was nothing like I’ve ever cum before. It was the exorcism of self, of thirty-seven years of inadequacy, and the obliteration of the woman I had been raised to be.
It started in my fingers, at the point where my neck became my spine, in the curl of my numb toes. He held me steady as I tried to tear myself apart from within, every worn muscle of my body trying to pull too tight around my bones, as if suffocating the marrow within them.
Everything pulsed slowly towards my center.
And then it ruined me. I became one thing only. The object he had desired me to be, something to shape into his image.
I was plugged shut, but somehow I breathed through his skin. And he was still swelling inside me, threatening to burst me open from the inside.
He came violently. Deep in my gut. He didn’t come in bursts, but a steady flow. As full as I was of him, he filled me with more, until he groaned deeply. Satisfied.
He pulled out of me. All at once. The emptiness filled me with an utter sadness, complete hopelessness, and I wished in my heart it wasn’t over.
He eased the stretch and lifted me high enough to meet his eyes.
They were green and vibrant now.
He licked my face.
“You shall be my bride,” he said.
“Yes,” I answered, void of doubt.
“I shall impregnate you with youth. You shall be the most desirable of women. You will fuck any man whom you desire, and bring me their seeds.”
“Yes,” I said again.
“You will return here on this same day, every year, to renew your vows. To be mine.”
“Yes, master,” I breathed and kissed him.
He flipped me around and impaled me on his cock. I felt youth return to me with each of his thrusts. I felt my body tighten and find the shape it had in my teens. My breasts perked against his grassy skin, and I came again. And again.
He fucked me entirely open, until I passed out and darkness took me.
When I woke, night had become dawn. I walked barefoot and naked home. Jim sat in the living room with a worried and sleep-deprived look on his face.
“Where have you been?” he asked, then stopped and stared.
I was beautiful. Desirable.
I still fuck him on Tuesdays and Fridays.
Lisa Lynn DelCiello, who lives down the street, works long shifts at the hospital on Saturdays. Her husband doesn’t. I fuck him twice and leave him ruined. Katie Wilson goes to church on Sundays. Her husband doesn’t.
I’m brimful of cum every time I enter his forest. I piss into the soil and drink from the stream. And once a year, I bleed into his soil, summoning him.
I can’t wait to become his forever wife.
