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Authors: Janine Ashbless
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long as you’re away from other human beings.
I intended to climb the big old low-branching beech in the middle of the meadow. It wasn’t cold and the sky was clear enough to show the Milky Way like a band of gauze across the sky, something you’ll never see from a city. My heart was racing. Michael Deverick’s words, like seeds planted in my mind, had been putting out pale, irresistible shoots; I was on my own in the grounds, the whole of the estate locked down behind its high wall and its new electronic gates and, like I said, I enjoy sex in the great outdoors. Getting my kit off in the countryside gives me one hell of a buzz. I like the feel of the air on my skin and the sense of being in intimate contact with the landscape around me. I’d never tried combining it with climbing, mind you, but that idea once it had occurred to me had bitten and niggled and burnt until I had to scratch it.
This wasn’t like me. OK, it was like me to think of it, but not to act so recklessly on an impulse. I felt light-headed, almost high.
With one last look around, I pulled off my top and dropped it on the grass, relishing the whisper of the breeze across my skin. My nipples tightened as if in anticipation. I stretched my arms up and jiggled my boobs, bathing them in starlight, intoxicated with my own daring. I dropped my trousers next, leaving them where they lay, creating a trail across the lawn from my back door towards my goal. Grass stubble scratched my ankles. I shook my behind playfully at the moon. Scents of flowering woodbine and cow parsley and elderflower flowed over me, washing from an area of longer grass and shrubs beyond the tree: a perfume of early summer that I adored.
My knickers were the last item of clothing to go and then I strode forwards naked but for my shoes. I kicked even those off when I got under the canopy of the beech, feeling the husks of last year’s mast prickly beneath my bare soles. I cinched on my harness more by touch than sight and tossed the rope end over a branch. Climbing naked, I then discovered, wasn’t nearly so comfortable as in padded trousers. Luckily it was a well-furnished tree and after the first scramble I didn’t need the ropes. I kept the harness on though; I liked the feel of the tight belt about my waist and the leg straps that fitted snugly about my arse cheeks and between my thighs. The torch I had hanging from a side loop slapped against my right cheek as if in appreciation of the way the straps framed my backside.
By the time I got right into the high crown I admit I wasn’t just flushed from the exertion, I was feeling wickedly horny too, adding the thrill of vertigo to the dizzy surge of sexual arousal. Adding to the scents of the night was the perfume of my own body. I found a place where I could plant my feet wide apart on two radiating limbs and hook one arm over a branch near my head. My back was to the trunk and my legs were spread wide, beneath them nothing but a drop of fifty feet to the ground and the cool air which licked at the inside of my thighs. It was as if I were inviting the whole of the night into my open sex.
Go on, touch me.
I let my free hand drift down to my clit, stirring the wet itch there to further torment. My lips needed little coaxing to part; I was a night-flowering blossom, heavy with nectar. Shudders of pleasure mounted quickly through my body. I imagined what would happen if I should let go and slip; how they would find my body in the morning stark naked and legs spread. How shameful that would be, I told myself teasingly. Perhaps Michael Deverick would be the one to find me. I imagined his face stooping over mine, his eyes blazing with dismay and frustration. I imagined what it would be like to be working in the shrubbery alone one day, and then to turn and see him watching me with that lancing gaze. How he’d step forwards and peel the tight Lycra up my breasts and bend to bite my salty, grateful nipples. How he’d wrench my jeans
I intended to climb the big old low-branching beech in the middle of the meadow. It wasn’t cold and the sky was clear enough to show the Milky Way like a band of gauze across the sky, something you’ll never see from a city. My heart was racing. Michael Deverick’s words, like seeds planted in my mind, had been putting out pale, irresistible shoots; I was on my own in the grounds, the whole of the estate locked down behind its high wall and its new electronic gates and, like I said, I enjoy sex in the great outdoors. Getting my kit off in the countryside gives me one hell of a buzz. I like the feel of the air on my skin and the sense of being in intimate contact with the landscape around me. I’d never tried combining it with climbing, mind you, but that idea once it had occurred to me had bitten and niggled and burnt until I had to scratch it.
This wasn’t like me. OK, it was like me to think of it, but not to act so recklessly on an impulse. I felt light-headed, almost high.
With one last look around, I pulled off my top and dropped it on the grass, relishing the whisper of the breeze across my skin. My nipples tightened as if in anticipation. I stretched my arms up and jiggled my boobs, bathing them in starlight, intoxicated with my own daring. I dropped my trousers next, leaving them where they lay, creating a trail across the lawn from my back door towards my goal. Grass stubble scratched my ankles. I shook my behind playfully at the moon. Scents of flowering woodbine and cow parsley and elderflower flowed over me, washing from an area of longer grass and shrubs beyond the tree: a perfume of early summer that I adored.
My knickers were the last item of clothing to go and then I strode forwards naked but for my shoes. I kicked even those off when I got under the canopy of the beech, feeling the husks of last year’s mast prickly beneath my bare soles. I cinched on my harness more by touch than sight and tossed the rope end over a branch. Climbing naked, I then discovered, wasn’t nearly so comfortable as in padded trousers. Luckily it was a well-furnished tree and after the first scramble I didn’t need the ropes. I kept the harness on though; I liked the feel of the tight belt about my waist and the leg straps that fitted snugly about my arse cheeks and between my thighs. The torch I had hanging from a side loop slapped against my right cheek as if in appreciation of the way the straps framed my backside.
By the time I got right into the high crown I admit I wasn’t just flushed from the exertion, I was feeling wickedly horny too, adding the thrill of vertigo to the dizzy surge of sexual arousal. Adding to the scents of the night was the perfume of my own body. I found a place where I could plant my feet wide apart on two radiating limbs and hook one arm over a branch near my head. My back was to the trunk and my legs were spread wide, beneath them nothing but a drop of fifty feet to the ground and the cool air which licked at the inside of my thighs. It was as if I were inviting the whole of the night into my open sex.
Go on, touch me.
I let my free hand drift down to my clit, stirring the wet itch there to further torment. My lips needed little coaxing to part; I was a night-flowering blossom, heavy with nectar. Shudders of pleasure mounted quickly through my body. I imagined what would happen if I should let go and slip; how they would find my body in the morning stark naked and legs spread. How shameful that would be, I told myself teasingly. Perhaps Michael Deverick would be the one to find me. I imagined his face stooping over mine, his eyes blazing with dismay and frustration. I imagined what it would be like to be working in the shrubbery alone one day, and then to turn and see him watching me with that lancing gaze. How he’d step forwards and peel the tight Lycra up my breasts and bend to bite my salty, grateful nipples. How he’d wrench my jeans
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