The Silent Stranger
Here's a little short story brought to you by another of Chuck's guest bloggers, little miss Sparkey herself. Hope you enjoy, and I know it's long - bear with me.
The Silent Stranger
Chuck was visiting with Susan and her family in Tennessee over the Labor Day weekend. Staying with family is taxing, of course - limited privacy, familiarizing yourself with unfamiliar people and their ever more unfamiliar habits; but, on Sunday, he found himself with a solitary afternoon. Home-away-from-home alone, Susan and her mother out shopping, the father wrapped up in a church Deacon’s meeting liable to last into the night.
At his own home in Alabama, Chuck is alone much of the day working, and has become accustomed to hours-long stretches of quiet in which to reflect. Naturally, he decided to stay in and reclaim some of the privacy and solitude lost.
He sat on the front porch with a glass of coke and vodka; the air was warm, the lush scenery stunning and peaceful in its own right. Something about the color green, the scent of the pines, soothes the soul and calms the mind; everyone wonders why rural occupants are so accustomed to spending hours on their porch, in their graceful yet crudely fashioned rocking chairs and porch swings. They imagine it so quaint; in truth, they lack the knowledge, the understanding of the restful nature of such simple activity; the thrill of the occasional cool breeze, the still sounds of nature unbroken except for the occasional passing car. The automobile occupants always look up with a smile and a wave, friendly because we are all related, we all share commonalities. We all understand the simple nature and the simple pleasures, the joy of time away without thought. City people go to the Carribean for these pleasures; they go skiing in Colorado; they invest time and effort into meditation and other trendy borrowed practices; they don’t know that millions every day capture the same sensations gazing across their front lawns, rocking slowly and sipping a cool drink.
Time passes. How much, he doesn’t know, he’s not wearing his watch, and in any case, time is irrelevant. He begins to drift off slightly, lulled by the rhythmic sounds of the chirping birds and the wind through the tall grass. A breeze catches in the sweat formed at the base of his neck, chilling him fleetingly, snapping him back to full consciousness. He looks up, around, and then he sees her.
She’s walking slowly down the street, head tilted slightly downward, pausing occasionally to look out across the fields, the silhouette of the mountain shadowing the horizon. She’s beautiful; her glossy brown hair catches the brilliant afternoon sunlight, throwing off a hundred points of reflective light like a diamond. As she approaches from the distance, Chuck watchers her closely, entranced. Her innocence, her depth of spirit and lust for life is apparent in her slow gait, in her occasional pauses for reflection. Suddenly he finds her directly in front of him, still along the side of the crude, pitted, oil-topped road; how did she get there so quickly? Had he been watching, intently, so long? The stirring in his pants is insistent, he drops his hand and adjusts carefully, his own touch sending chills up his spine.
As if on cue, she glances over. Her large, brown eyes glisten in the light. She looks almost as if she has been crying, but there is no other evidence of tears. She begins to walk slowly toward him, needing no command, no call. Chuck is not surprised; her demeanor suggests such action in the face of vulnerability, such fearlessness on her part; she is enamored of the world, of existence, why shouldn’t all of mankind be enamored of her as well? She approaches with the quiet confidence of a goddess.
Sitting on the chair no longer seems appropriate. Chuck stands, placing his drink aside where it won’t be spilled, and climbs down to sit on the edge of the porch to be there, accessible, when she finishes her slow crossing of the front lawn to meet him.
Her arrival is silent. Chuck strokes her hair, smooth and light, looking deeply into her eyes. She seems shy, she is unassuming, he knows all he needs to know of her in a glance. There is no need for coyness. No need for the dance, the slow trot around the truth, the flirting intricately orchestrated to establish interest and spare hurt feelings. The armor of tradition is discarded and not missed.
Chuck thinks of Sue. Where is she? What am I doing? And then casts the guilt rimmed thoughts aside; she is not here. She is away. She will not know; this will not alter my love for her, this will not interfere. This enchantment is greater than his resistance; he is powerless, swept away in the swelling tide of his surrender to the love of all who share this life, this long and winding road. He has forgiven himself already for transgressions not yet committed.
She is there; the young stranger, she is real. She is there, silent, speaking volumes with her expressive eyes, emitting only the low sound of her steady breath. She sits on the ground and buries her head into him, sliding along his thighs. His throbbing, unprovoked erection strains at the zipper of his shorts; it can no longer be ignored.
He leans forward, into her; she smells of freshly washed hair and the waning summer road. He strokes her slowly, gently; small shudders at the thrill announce her pleasure. No words need be spoken, the body can communicate on its own, is programmed to do so. Animalistic expression takes the fore.
Unzipping his summer shorts, she tilts her head playfully to the side, almost expectantly. Her curiosity is palatable, his expectation thick. He springs free, an erect testament to the lure of all that is female, receptive and nurturing. Fleeting glances of him are captured and reflected in her eyes before she looks demurely away, and looks again.
She has been here before; oral exploration is not a new vocation, but one undertaken with much enthusiasm and long practiced in her short life. She sniffs lightly, taking in his musky scent, exploring his soul with her capable olfactory sense. She knows he is a good man, that much is apparent to any casual observer; now she senses his desire.
One long lick, suspended in time. Her tongue begins its journey at the base of him, where his scent is thick and calming, continuing upward out of the depth and onto his shaft. She pauses and looks up for encouragement, acknowledgment.
‘Good girl...’ Chuck almost purrs with excitement, with the newness and the boldness of this exploration. He strokes her hair, the side of her face, lifts her chin in his palm, and smiles. Gently, he lowers her head, until, again, she is nestled between his thighs. She knows now what he wants and proceeds to oblige him with wild abandon. Licking rapidly, shortly, hitting without fail the sweet spot along the upper underside of his penis; she could lick him anywhere and induce ecstacy, such is the degree of his arousal. Her tongue is rough, she is carefree, Chuck is moaning lightly.
She continues on, tireless and eager to please, but never takes him fully into her mouth; he can not command her. She remains silent, the only sound emitting from her being the earthy sound of her breath, announcing her vibrancy. Her heart is silently thrumming, racing. She is above command, innocent yet worldly, he must take whatever she gives willingly, without asking. That will be enough, he thinks, but his cock is crying to be surrounded by moist, pliable flesh. He wants to be enveloped by her, to feel her warmth. His approaching orgasm insists, he can feel it like a freight rolling through his body, tantalizingly approaching the point of no return before subsiding, unbidden, teasing him. He needs desperately to be inside her.
No one will know. No one will see; he is exploring her compact, agile frame alongside a near deserted country road. The nearest neighbors are a half mile south. No line of sight connects him with any outpost of humanity, no prying eyes are to be found, cars can be heard in their approach long before they enter his range of vision. He is safe.
Getting up from the porch, he discards his shorts onto the lawn without a thought. His mind is clear and focused, his purpose and desire known and destined to be fulfilled. He drops down onto his knees behind her, she shifts from her sitting position onto all fours in the grass, as if it were the most natural course of action to take. She glances briefly back at him before he enters her, forcefully and all at once, eliciting her first sound; a gentle whimper.
New ground, pliable, fertile, yet unseeded; her flesh is tight and hot around him. He pounds into her, complete, breathtaking strokes pushing him quickly over the edge along with her unfailing receptiveness and docility, her occasional glance over her shoulder, catching him with her deep, dark eyes. He cums with his face buried against her neck, his orgasm climbs through his body in waves, increasing in intensity until he forgets himself and the world, the seeming loss of sentience as one physical feeling eclipses all. For an instant. She takes his throbbing, kicking cock, takes his hot semen spilling in near rivers inside of her.
Falling onto the grass, he looks up at the clear sky. The gentle breeze blows across his bare lower half, carrying away the glistening sweat. She curls up beside him, his brown haired beauty, and begins to drift off. They lay there some time before Chuck is jostled back into complete awareness by the sound of an approaching vehicle.
He rises slowly, puts on his shorts. Looks down at his new playmate, lying still in the grass, looking up at him but not meeting his eyes. He bends, stroking her, and it is in this moment that the car arrives.
His wife, and mother in law, back from their shopping expedition, replete with plenty of spoils.
‘Hey Chuck, come help us get this stuff in the house.’ Susan calls, no hint of concern or suspicion in her voice. Chuck glances down at his girl once again, still lying in the cool grass, and moves to help his wife.
The mother in law notices, though, and walks over to where Chuck was so intimately entwined only moments before. The mother in law is annoyed; she knows the one in the grass, and calls casually over to Chuck.
‘What is the neighbor’s dog doing here? I wish they’d tie her up, always lolling about and digging in my flowers.’ She gently kicks at Chuck’s brown haired beauty with the tip of her shoe, nudging her up and sending her on her way. ‘Get! Go home!
Okay, folks, there you have it...a lazy Sunday afternoon passed by Chuck in blissful solitude. Come see me over at my place anytime, I promise I'm rarely so cruel. Thanks for reading!
The Silent Stranger
Chuck was visiting with Susan and her family in Tennessee over the Labor Day weekend. Staying with family is taxing, of course - limited privacy, familiarizing yourself with unfamiliar people and their ever more unfamiliar habits; but, on Sunday, he found himself with a solitary afternoon. Home-away-from-home alone, Susan and her mother out shopping, the father wrapped up in a church Deacon’s meeting liable to last into the night.
At his own home in Alabama, Chuck is alone much of the day working, and has become accustomed to hours-long stretches of quiet in which to reflect. Naturally, he decided to stay in and reclaim some of the privacy and solitude lost.
He sat on the front porch with a glass of coke and vodka; the air was warm, the lush scenery stunning and peaceful in its own right. Something about the color green, the scent of the pines, soothes the soul and calms the mind; everyone wonders why rural occupants are so accustomed to spending hours on their porch, in their graceful yet crudely fashioned rocking chairs and porch swings. They imagine it so quaint; in truth, they lack the knowledge, the understanding of the restful nature of such simple activity; the thrill of the occasional cool breeze, the still sounds of nature unbroken except for the occasional passing car. The automobile occupants always look up with a smile and a wave, friendly because we are all related, we all share commonalities. We all understand the simple nature and the simple pleasures, the joy of time away without thought. City people go to the Carribean for these pleasures; they go skiing in Colorado; they invest time and effort into meditation and other trendy borrowed practices; they don’t know that millions every day capture the same sensations gazing across their front lawns, rocking slowly and sipping a cool drink.
Time passes. How much, he doesn’t know, he’s not wearing his watch, and in any case, time is irrelevant. He begins to drift off slightly, lulled by the rhythmic sounds of the chirping birds and the wind through the tall grass. A breeze catches in the sweat formed at the base of his neck, chilling him fleetingly, snapping him back to full consciousness. He looks up, around, and then he sees her.
She’s walking slowly down the street, head tilted slightly downward, pausing occasionally to look out across the fields, the silhouette of the mountain shadowing the horizon. She’s beautiful; her glossy brown hair catches the brilliant afternoon sunlight, throwing off a hundred points of reflective light like a diamond. As she approaches from the distance, Chuck watchers her closely, entranced. Her innocence, her depth of spirit and lust for life is apparent in her slow gait, in her occasional pauses for reflection. Suddenly he finds her directly in front of him, still along the side of the crude, pitted, oil-topped road; how did she get there so quickly? Had he been watching, intently, so long? The stirring in his pants is insistent, he drops his hand and adjusts carefully, his own touch sending chills up his spine.
As if on cue, she glances over. Her large, brown eyes glisten in the light. She looks almost as if she has been crying, but there is no other evidence of tears. She begins to walk slowly toward him, needing no command, no call. Chuck is not surprised; her demeanor suggests such action in the face of vulnerability, such fearlessness on her part; she is enamored of the world, of existence, why shouldn’t all of mankind be enamored of her as well? She approaches with the quiet confidence of a goddess.
Sitting on the chair no longer seems appropriate. Chuck stands, placing his drink aside where it won’t be spilled, and climbs down to sit on the edge of the porch to be there, accessible, when she finishes her slow crossing of the front lawn to meet him.
Her arrival is silent. Chuck strokes her hair, smooth and light, looking deeply into her eyes. She seems shy, she is unassuming, he knows all he needs to know of her in a glance. There is no need for coyness. No need for the dance, the slow trot around the truth, the flirting intricately orchestrated to establish interest and spare hurt feelings. The armor of tradition is discarded and not missed.
Chuck thinks of Sue. Where is she? What am I doing? And then casts the guilt rimmed thoughts aside; she is not here. She is away. She will not know; this will not alter my love for her, this will not interfere. This enchantment is greater than his resistance; he is powerless, swept away in the swelling tide of his surrender to the love of all who share this life, this long and winding road. He has forgiven himself already for transgressions not yet committed.
She is there; the young stranger, she is real. She is there, silent, speaking volumes with her expressive eyes, emitting only the low sound of her steady breath. She sits on the ground and buries her head into him, sliding along his thighs. His throbbing, unprovoked erection strains at the zipper of his shorts; it can no longer be ignored.
He leans forward, into her; she smells of freshly washed hair and the waning summer road. He strokes her slowly, gently; small shudders at the thrill announce her pleasure. No words need be spoken, the body can communicate on its own, is programmed to do so. Animalistic expression takes the fore.
Unzipping his summer shorts, she tilts her head playfully to the side, almost expectantly. Her curiosity is palatable, his expectation thick. He springs free, an erect testament to the lure of all that is female, receptive and nurturing. Fleeting glances of him are captured and reflected in her eyes before she looks demurely away, and looks again.
She has been here before; oral exploration is not a new vocation, but one undertaken with much enthusiasm and long practiced in her short life. She sniffs lightly, taking in his musky scent, exploring his soul with her capable olfactory sense. She knows he is a good man, that much is apparent to any casual observer; now she senses his desire.
One long lick, suspended in time. Her tongue begins its journey at the base of him, where his scent is thick and calming, continuing upward out of the depth and onto his shaft. She pauses and looks up for encouragement, acknowledgment.
‘Good girl...’ Chuck almost purrs with excitement, with the newness and the boldness of this exploration. He strokes her hair, the side of her face, lifts her chin in his palm, and smiles. Gently, he lowers her head, until, again, she is nestled between his thighs. She knows now what he wants and proceeds to oblige him with wild abandon. Licking rapidly, shortly, hitting without fail the sweet spot along the upper underside of his penis; she could lick him anywhere and induce ecstacy, such is the degree of his arousal. Her tongue is rough, she is carefree, Chuck is moaning lightly.
She continues on, tireless and eager to please, but never takes him fully into her mouth; he can not command her. She remains silent, the only sound emitting from her being the earthy sound of her breath, announcing her vibrancy. Her heart is silently thrumming, racing. She is above command, innocent yet worldly, he must take whatever she gives willingly, without asking. That will be enough, he thinks, but his cock is crying to be surrounded by moist, pliable flesh. He wants to be enveloped by her, to feel her warmth. His approaching orgasm insists, he can feel it like a freight rolling through his body, tantalizingly approaching the point of no return before subsiding, unbidden, teasing him. He needs desperately to be inside her.
No one will know. No one will see; he is exploring her compact, agile frame alongside a near deserted country road. The nearest neighbors are a half mile south. No line of sight connects him with any outpost of humanity, no prying eyes are to be found, cars can be heard in their approach long before they enter his range of vision. He is safe.
Getting up from the porch, he discards his shorts onto the lawn without a thought. His mind is clear and focused, his purpose and desire known and destined to be fulfilled. He drops down onto his knees behind her, she shifts from her sitting position onto all fours in the grass, as if it were the most natural course of action to take. She glances briefly back at him before he enters her, forcefully and all at once, eliciting her first sound; a gentle whimper.
New ground, pliable, fertile, yet unseeded; her flesh is tight and hot around him. He pounds into her, complete, breathtaking strokes pushing him quickly over the edge along with her unfailing receptiveness and docility, her occasional glance over her shoulder, catching him with her deep, dark eyes. He cums with his face buried against her neck, his orgasm climbs through his body in waves, increasing in intensity until he forgets himself and the world, the seeming loss of sentience as one physical feeling eclipses all. For an instant. She takes his throbbing, kicking cock, takes his hot semen spilling in near rivers inside of her.
Falling onto the grass, he looks up at the clear sky. The gentle breeze blows across his bare lower half, carrying away the glistening sweat. She curls up beside him, his brown haired beauty, and begins to drift off. They lay there some time before Chuck is jostled back into complete awareness by the sound of an approaching vehicle.
He rises slowly, puts on his shorts. Looks down at his new playmate, lying still in the grass, looking up at him but not meeting his eyes. He bends, stroking her, and it is in this moment that the car arrives.
His wife, and mother in law, back from their shopping expedition, replete with plenty of spoils.
‘Hey Chuck, come help us get this stuff in the house.’ Susan calls, no hint of concern or suspicion in her voice. Chuck glances down at his girl once again, still lying in the cool grass, and moves to help his wife.
The mother in law notices, though, and walks over to where Chuck was so intimately entwined only moments before. The mother in law is annoyed; she knows the one in the grass, and calls casually over to Chuck.
‘What is the neighbor’s dog doing here? I wish they’d tie her up, always lolling about and digging in my flowers.’ She gently kicks at Chuck’s brown haired beauty with the tip of her shoe, nudging her up and sending her on her way. ‘Get! Go home!
Okay, folks, there you have it...a lazy Sunday afternoon passed by Chuck in blissful solitude. Come see me over at my place anytime, I promise I'm rarely so cruel. Thanks for reading!
<< Home