Sticks and Stone (4 page)

“It wouldn’t be, now, would it?”

They reached her cottage, a traditional square stone
building with a thatched roof. The only obvious concession to the twenty-first
century was the satellite dish attached to the chimney.

She pushed open the door and led the man through the
living room and kitchen, and into the small bathroom.

“Into the shower with you,” she ordered. “That mud’s got
to come off so I can clean your cuts.”

She slid his arm from around her shoulder and stepped
back, so he could remove the remains of his shirt. It was the first time she’d
gotten a good look at his face.

Even with mud caked in his wavy dark hair and smeared
across his classically proportioned face, he was handsome.
And
vaguely familiar.
She didn’t know any Americans, which his accent
clearly proclaimed him to be. Even if he hadn’t spoken, who but an American
would be wandering around the woods in designer slacks and dress shoes?

There’d been some sort of posh wedding held at one of
the nearby estates. Helicopters and limousines had been ferrying guests from
Gatwick and Shannon for two days. He must be one of the rich and famous wedding
guests. That was why he looked familiar. She’d probably seen his picture in the
news.

He winced as his tattered shirt ripped free of the blood
congealed on his body, then kicked off his muddy shoes and socks and stepped
into the shower. Eileen turned the shower massage to a warm mist, and opened
the taps.

Dirt and blood washed down his back, pooling around his
feet. With the filth rinsed away, she could finally see the extent of his
injuries. It wasn’t as bad as she’d feared. Vicious welts crisscrossed his back
and sides, but it looked as if his shirt had protected him from the worst of
the dryad’s attack. His ass was red and starting to swell, covered in welts and
shallow cuts, but only three or four of them seemed at all deep. Some
antiseptic and bandages would take care of those. It would burn like hell, but
maybe that would teach him not to go sticking his cock into places where it
didn’t belong.

While the gentle mist of water dissolved the last of the
mud and blood sticking to his back, she distracted herself from the sight of
his naked body glistening beneath the steaming water by shaking out her cloak
and carefully hanging it over one of the pegs on the wall. It was smeared with
mud where his arm had rested across her shoulders, and where his side had
pressed against her. The sight reminded her of the strength she’d felt in his
lean muscles, even though they’d trembled with exhaustion.
Strength
enough to sire a dozen dryad saplings.

 
“Turn around,”
she snapped. “You’ll
be needing
to rinse all the blood
off before I start fixing you.”

Bracing himself against the wall with one hand, he
slowly pivoted to face the spray. Muddy blood coursed down his chest in thick
streams, dividing to flow down either side of his swollen erection, encased in
drying amber.

Eileen’s eyes widened, as she realized what this meant.
She’d freed him from the dryad’s embrace before he’d come. The good news was
,
there would be no young dryads sprouting in the spring.
The bad news was, if the dryad’s sap hardened around him, he’d be dead well
before spring.

She needed to sit him down and clean off the sap, but
where could he sit with his ass torn to ribbons? The hard wooden chairs in the
kitchen were out of the question. The ergonomic chair in her study was designed
for long hours in front of a keyboard, but would make cleaning his cock
extremely awkward. Then she remembered the boudoir chair in her bedroom, the
normally useless piece of furniture good only for collecting laundry. The soft
round seat, high cushioned back, and lack of arms made it perfect for what she
needed to do.

She picked up a washcloth and swiped it over him,
washing away the last of his grime,
then
turned off
the shower. As he stepped onto the braided rag rug, she handed him a towel.

“Follow me.”

She led him into her bedroom next door, and sat him on
the boudoir chair. He collapsed onto the cushioned pouf of rose-patterned
chintz and stared dully ahead, the towel grasped limply in one hand.

Leaving him there, Eileen gathered a fresh washcloth and
an enameled basin filled with warm water. He was sitting exactly as she’d left
him when she returned.

“Spread your legs,” she ordered. “I have to clean your
cock. The dryad’s sap is stuck to it.”

He looked down with mild interest. “Is that why it
didn’t shrink?”

 
“Yes.” Kneeling
between his spread legs, Eileen dipped the washcloth in the warm water then
stroked it over his cock.

She tried to remain impartial and professional, like a
nurse, but soon lost that battle. The man was leaning back, his eyes closed and
the back of his head cradled by the top of the chair, in a posture of complete
exhaustion. As the washcloth rubbed up and down his cock, he sighed softly. The
amber melted away. Eileen’s brisk abrasions gradually turned to gentle
fondling, stroking him from his balls to the slit head.

He had a beautiful cock. Not overly
long,
and nicely thickened, it was the perfect size and shape for sucking. As the
washcloth glided over him, she imagined it was her hot mouth cleaning him,
until she ached with frustrated desire.

She rubbed her thumb over the wet, velvety head. Was
that a trace of sticky sap she detected? There was only one way to be certain
she’d removed all of the dangerous substance.

Dropping the washcloth into the basin, she ran her
fingers up and down the length of him. The man sighed again, and his cock
twitched in response.

Eileen bent her head and opened her mouth, sliding her
lips over the head of his cock. With her tongue, she slowly circled the
delicate skin, tasting the faint sweetness of the dryad’s sap. She licked him
until all she could taste was warm male,
then
slid her
tongue into the slit, probing for any lost droplets of amber.

The man gasped and jerked awake.

“What are you doing?” he yelped.

Eileen reluctantly let his cock slide out of her mouth.
The wet head bobbed tantalizingly in front of her, and she licked her lips,
eager to take more of him into her mouth. But first, she had to explain.

“I washed off as much of the sap as I could. But the
only way I can be certain it’s completely gone is to use my tongue. Human
saliva dissolves the sap better than plain water.”

He frowned. “That doesn’t seem right. What if I didn’t
have someone to lick me clean?”

“Any human fluid will do,” she admitted. “If you’d
rather do it yourself, just make sure you spread your come evenly over your
cock.”

The man flushed and looked away, then mumbled, “You’d
better do it.”

“Do what? Make you come?”

His flush deepened, and he seemed to find the plants on
her windowsill utterly engrossing.

“Well?” she prompted.

“Use your saliva. I have…difficulty coming. It takes a
very long time.”

Eileen’s eyes widened. She’d heard of men who had
trouble getting hard. But she’d never heard of any who stayed hard yet couldn’t
come. She’d have suspected him of trying to trick her into sucking his cock,
except he was obviously extremely embarrassed about admitting to his trouble.

She’d see if she could find any references in her books
for such a problem, and if there were any spells or herbal remedies that might
fix it.
Later.
First, she had a hard, wet cock to
finish licking.

Running her tongue over her lips again, an eager wetness
blossomed between her legs. She wanted him in her mouth, but if he really did
have trouble coming, maybe he’d stay hard long enough to take her up the
vagina, too. Her
mouth watering
at the possibility,
she leaned forward, parted her lips, and let his wet cock slide inside.

She started where he’d interrupted her, pushing her
tongue into the slit in the head of his cock. The man whimpered, and his cock
twitched, thumping against the roof of her mouth.

Deciding that might be too much stimulation for him, she
slid her lips further down his shaft, and licked the soft fold below the head.
He sighed in pleasure, his skin warm and pliant beneath her tongue, over an
inner core of ironwood.

Slowly, a quarter inch at a time, she crept down his
length, pulling his cock deeper and deeper into her mouth. Each time, she
stroked her tongue over, under, and around the newly devoured skin.

He was very vocal, moaning and whimpering with each
sweep of her tongue. Her sex trembled in aching sympathy, clenching every time
he moaned, dripping hot lubricant every time he whimpered. She’d never been so
turned on by sucking a cock, and she redoubled her efforts, seeking her
satisfaction in his bursting climax.

He didn’t come. She reached the base of his cock, then
took a deep breath and relaxed her throat to let him slide all the way to the
back so that she could lick his balls. She thought she’d go insane from the
perfection of holding his entirety in her mouth, tonguing his balls in their
nest of rough hair while the tip of his cock slid up and down against the back
of her throat. The ache between her legs built to an insatiable demand that
only this perfect cock could fill.

Opening her eyes, she looked up at him. His fists
clenched the chintz cushion and his head rolled restlessly from side to side.

“Please,” he whispered. “Oh, please. I can’t take it.
Make me come.”

Eileen pulled back, letting his cock slide out of her
mouth. It glistened, red and wet and impossibly hard, bobbing and swaying
gently before her. He flexed his hips, blindly seeking the hot cave of her
mouth.

“No…” he moaned.

She stood and unzipped her jeans, then quickly stripped
them off. Her damp panties followed, as did her T-shirt and bra, until she was
as naked as he was. Reaching down, she wrapped her fingers around his cock. He
moaned again and thrust forward.

“Not here,” she cautioned. “Come to my bed.”

He opened his eyes and stared at her in glazed
confusion. “What?”

“Make love to me.”

He blinked.
“But…protection?”

She smiled and shook her head. “The only thing your seed
is good for at the moment is making saplings.”

Groaning, he staggered to his feet. Eileen kept her hand
wrapped around his hard cock as she backed toward her bed. She liked leading
him across her room this way.

With her panties no longer absorbing her lubrication,
she could feel her readiness slicking the skin of her thighs as she moved. She
could hardly wait to have him inside her, filling her the way he’d filled her
mouth moments ago.

Her legs bumped the side of her bed, and she awkwardly
clambered up, never releasing her hold on his cock. Lying on her back on top of
the rose-patterned duvet cover, she bent her knees and spread her legs, then
guided him in.

His thick cock slid smoothly through her eager opening,
until he was fully sheathed within her. They sighed in unison.

Slowly, he began pushing his cock in and out, teasing
her the way her tongue had teased him. Eileen moaned and flexed her hips,
urging him onward.

“Faster,” she begged.

He complied, increasing the speed and force of his
thrusts.

“Faster,” she insisted. “Harder.”

His cock pumped in and out of her, wet sounds of suction
accompanying his harsh grunts. Her desire rose, pulsing waves of need gripping
her until she shook and shuddered beneath him. But something was wrong. She
sensed, with the same sense that had led her into the woods that
evening, that
his pleasure was not building the way hers
was. He wasn’t going to come.

“What…is it?” she gasped.

“I can’t,” he said, his voice tight as if he was
fighting back tears. “Not like this. Please. Would you please, slap my ass?”

Surprise almost broke her out of her building passion.
Almost.
But his cock was still pumping in and out, driving
deep and hard, each stroke carrying her closer and closer to the release she
strained for.

“But…you’re hurt.”

“Not enough. Please.”

Not really sure what he was asking for, Eileen lightly
swatted his pumping ass. His cock jumped inside her, and his eyes crossed in
pleasure.

“Harder,” he grunted.

She slapped him again, hard enough to sting her palm.
His cock jumped again, and they both moaned.

Soon, she had her legs locked around his hips, holding
his cock firmly seated inside her. Slapping his ass with both hands, she rocked
his rough pubic hair against her clit and made his cock surge and thrust within
her. Her hands moved faster and faster, until they were in constant motion and
she and he jiggled and shook, gasping and moaning. She tightened around his
cock, squeezing him until he whimpered and begged, and she whimpered and begged
him to come now, please, now.