Made For Sex (43 page)

Lord, it's dark, Hank thought. With all these clouds, there's no moonlight, no nothing yet here I am, traipsing through the woods, looking for that damn dog. “Okay, okay,” he muttered, “the dog will probably find his way back to the cabin but, well, maybe he won't.”

He had been house sitting, or rather cabin sitting for an old friend for almost a week and Renfrew had, in fact, found his way out and back a few times. Why Hank was so worried about him this night in particular he didn't know but here he was, flashlight in hand, wandering deeper and deeper into the woods behind the cabin. He had walked much of this area during the previous days, but now he realized that he had gone farther than he had on any of his previous wanderings.

He sighed and aimed his light at the ground to prevent himself from falling on the tree roots and small shrubs that littered the area. What the fuck are you doing? he wondered. You're going to kill yourself. But who'd notice. Certainly not Jennifer, his ex-girlfriend. She'd left the apartment they had shared one afternoon three months earlier. One minute she'd been there and then, poof. He'd returned from walking Renfrew and she had disappeared, lock, stock and moisturizer. And he had really loved her.

“Renfrew, you lousy dog, get over here!” he yelled for the hundredth time. “It's late. Time for your biscuit.” That was the usual magic word. “Biscuit,” he called again, but when he listened, he heard nothing.

I'm not such a bad guy, he mused, Jennifer and I had it pretty good. We laughed, partied, had great sex. Well, he admitted, maybe good sex. Adequate sex? But we could have talked about it. I wanted it to be great. They had talked about it but Hank had been unable to understand what Jennifer was saying. Affection, loving, playing, experimenting. “All you want is to stick it in, wiggle it around until it comes, then sleep. Not my idea of good sex.”

I won't think about that. “Renfrew!” He stopped and listened. He heard a rustling in the leaves and headed in that direction, crashing through underbrush in the pitch darkness. God, I'm a nut case.

“Where are you?” He listened again and this time he thought he heard a low moaning, almost a chant. Get a grip, Hank, he told himself. As he walked forward more slowly, the moaning became a soft song. No words but a melody, so sweet and low that it was almost as though it came from inside his head. Shining the beam of the flashlight ahead of him, he continued through the now-thinning vegetation.

Suddenly the woods opened onto a small lake, no more than thirty feet across. And just as suddenly, the clouds parted and the moonlight spilled over the water making silver pathways across the still water. The sound still filled his head and he moved, trying to home in on its location. He turned and saw something white on the far side of the tiny lake. Shapes in pale floaty dresses slowly emerged from the darkness. Not wanting to startle whoever was there, Hank flicked off the flashlight and walked quietly around the water toward the far side. When he finally pushed some branches aside, he saw them. Four women, holding hands, formed a ring around a large, flat rock. Their humming reverberated through his entire body.

As he watched, the women slowly circled the rock, moving gracefully in something that resembled an old pagan dance. How did I know that? he wondered. A pagan dance indeed.

But there was something totally sensuous about the entire scene. The four women were dressed in flowing white gowns that brushed their limbs as they circled. Their hair was long, flowing almost to their backs, but different in color, one flaming red, one soft russet brown, one soft golden blond and one almost white. He found his eyes drawn to their bodies, outlined as the fabric of their gowns undulated. All were voluptuous, with shapely breasts, slender waists and graceful thighs.

And above those thighs? Hank, he chided himself, stop that!

“Are you ready to join us, Hank?” a voice asked.

“Are you talking to me?” he asked, totally startled to realize that they knew of his presence. “Hey, how do you know my name?”

“We know a lot about you,” the voice continued. Then the circle broke and the blonde walked toward him. He noticed that her feet were bare, but she seemed unconcerned about the leaves, branches and debris beneath them. She held out a graceful hand to him and said, “We've been waiting for you.”

He stared at the graceful fingers that beckoned him, then at the lovely face, the eyes, the soft lips, and fought the almost irresistible urge to take the hand she offered. “Just who the hell are you? And what are you up to?”

“We appear here once a month,” the blonde said. “And this time we were waiting for you.”

“That doesn't answer my question,” Hank said, stuffing his hand into his pocket to resist reaching for the woman's hand.

The blonde sighed. “I am called Summer and these are my sisters, Autumn, Spring and Winter.”

Hank almost giggled. This was too weird. Summer indeed. Probably escaped from the local looney bin. But as he gazed into her deep blue eyes, he softened. There was an honesty there, an affection for him, as if she felt a genuine pleasure at looking at him, as he felt pleasure looking at her.

“I know, it seems weird but we are what we appear to be. We didn't escape from a looney bin, as you put it.”

Had he said that out loud? Certainly not. But then how did she know?

“Take my hand,” Summer said. “We won't hurt you. Come.”

He pulled his hand out of his pocket. What did he have to lose? He would just play along. He reached out and took the hand that was offered. As he touched the incredibly soft skin a rush of warmth flowed through him, easing his mind and tightening his groin. Suddenly all he wanted was to caress her to find out whether her skin was as smooth all over, her breasts, her thighs, her belly.

“Soon enough,” she whispered. “All in good time.” She led him toward her sisters and the four women surrounded him, hands joined, bodies swaying. As they moved around him, their breasts brushed against his arms, his back, his chest. Breasts with hard, pointed nipples swayed against him, mouths brushed his neck, his cheeks, his ears.

He wanted to reach out and touch what was being so freely offered, but his hands remained at his sides. He closed his eyes and breathed in the fresh scents, listened to the women's soft keening, felt the soft flesh pressing closer and closer.

Now their hands were everywhere, stroking his shoulders, rubbing his back. Fingers ran through his hair and traced the outline of his ears. He wanted to grab, to invade, to thrust, to take, but still his hands remained immobile, as if unable or unwilling to move. His senses were filled with them but he remained still.

Hands removed his clothing until he stood naked, his cock sticking out hard and hungry from his groin. Then the women backed away, smiling and moving their bodies, allowing only their dresses to brush against his body. Enough, he told himself. Enough teasing. Time to get to it. But as he tried to turn, something held him fast. He tried to raise his arms but he was totally unable to move. Walking, kneeling, moving his hands, nothing worked. It wasn't uncomfortable actually, he realized, it just was.

“The more you relax and just accept what is given, the more you will be able to move,” Summer said. “Are you cold?”

“No,” he said, realizing that, although the night air was chilly and he had been wearing a jacket when he started into the woods, he was now warm and comfortable. Well, as comfortable as he could be with the crying need in his cock.

“Soon,” the redhead whispered. “Soon.” He watched as first one and then another removed her gown, revealing naked bodies so perfect that it made him ache. Breasts were tipped with rosy nipples, pubic hair matched the varied hues of their hair. Now their hands stroked their own bodies as he watched. Long fingers stroked their ribs, bellies, then cupped their breasts. “Would you like to touch?” the brunette asked.

“Yes,” he said. Touch. He wanted to ravish.

“Only touch. There's joy in just touching. If you move very slowly you can reach out and caress us.”

Restraining his need to grab was one of the most difficult things Hank had ever done, but, since he had no choice, he slowly raised one arm and extended his fingers. The woman with the white hair moved close. “I'm called Winter,” she said, and my skin is cold as stone yet warm to your touch.” She moved so her breast brushed his hand. Surprised, Hank found that she was right. The surface of her breast was cool yet as he pressed slightly, warmth filled him. He caressed the breast in his hand, swirling his fingers over her skin, not touching the darker center. “Yes,” she purred, allowing her head to drop back as he rubbed. Finally he touched her nipple and watched her gasp. “Lovely,” she whispered.

“I'm Autumn,” the redhead said, taking his other hand and placing it on her breast.

Hank cupped one breast in each hand, feeling the differences in texture and temperature in the two women's flesh.

“I'm Spring,” a voice said from behind him, and then nipples were rubbing sensuously against his back. Then the breasts slid down his spine and rubbed against his buttocks. His cock was so hard it hurt and his head was filled with images of driving it into a soft, warm pussy.

“You're rushing,” Summer said, her hands cupping his face. “Slowly. There's too much pleasure to rush.” She turned his face and pressed her lips against his. “Slowly,” she purred against his mouth. She licked around his mouth, dampening his lips, then blowing on the cool skin. Then she covered his mouth with hers and kissed him deeply, allowing her tongue to explore the damp cavern.

Hank was unable to sort out all the sensations. A mouth on his, kissing him more expertly than he had been kissed before, breasts in his hands and rubbing against the backs of his thighs. The smell of the women, the taste. It all filled him, tantalized him, yet satisfied him too.

Minutes later, Summer backed off. “Come,” she said, taking his hand and leading him to the large rock around which they had been dancing when he first saw them. She guided him until he lay on the rock. It should be cold against my back, he told himself, but it's warm and almost soft.

“Now,” Winter said, “would you like to touch us?”

“Oh yes,” Hank said. “Very much.”

“Then you may, but you can't do anything quickly. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” he moaned.

The blonde, Spring, crawled onto the rock and straddled his chest. “Touch me,” she said. Hank slowly explored her breasts and belly. As the other women told him what to do, he caressed her shoulders and arms, then explored her face with the tips of his fingers. “How does she feel?”

He had never really thought about how a woman felt before and he marveled at the different textures he experienced. Smooth skin, rough nipples, wet mouth, silky hair. Warm places and cool places. It was wonderful, a joy in itself without wondering when he was going to get to the “main event.”

He then used his mouth to sample all the different temperatures and textures of her body. Then, as he cupped her breasts, Winter put her nipple into his mouth. “Suckle softly, gently.” And he did, flicking his tongue over her erect bud.

Summer spoke in his ear. “Only when her nipple is hard and pointed is she really excited.”

Hank felt Winter pull back and his mouth was filled with another nipple, this one small and flat. “Feel Autumn's nipple harden between your lips. You do that to her. You have the power to please her.”

He paid attention to the reaction of Autumn's breast in his mouth and marveled at the changes as it hardened and swelled. For a long time he sucked, kissed, licked as different breasts were placed in his mouth and hands. Then his mouth and hands were empty. Spring, no longer straddling his chest, but now kneeling beside him, took his hand. “Now touch here,” she said, guiding his hand to the junction of her thighs.

“Not until a woman is very wet is she ready for your hands,” Summer whispered. “Is she ready?”

He touched and felt slick lips. “Yes,” he whispered.

“Then touch, slowly. Explore. Get to know her and what makes her shudder.”

He used only his index finger and rubbed her outer lips and the creases and folds of her outer flesh. He found her clit. “Is it swollen?” Summer asked. “if it isn't, then she needs more time.”

Her clit was hard, rising from the surrounding wet skin.

“Now this,” Autumn said. She climbed onto the rock on the side opposite Spring, took his other hand and placed it between her thighs. She was only slightly wet and her clit was difficult to find. She parted her legs to give him free access and again he explored, finding that different places excited her and made her wetter. While Spring liked his fingers to rub on either side of her clit, Autumn liked light touches on the head of the clit itself. Hank found himself wondering what the other two women would like.

“Yes,” Summer purred and she and Winter climbed onto the rock, sat beside him and he touched each in turn. And each was different, reacting to slightly different combinations of rubbing, stroking and probing. Winter even liked to have her flesh pinched. Then he pushed one finger into Autumn's channel. “More,” she said and he pressed a second and a third inside of her. Again he experienced the four women, watching in wonder as they writhed under his ministrations. He had his fingers inside of Spring's body when she reached down and touched her clit with her own fingertips. He felt the clench of her body and then the spasms of her channel.