The Swinging Tree

I wrote this story for the Erotic Meet competition A Pleasure Shared. The idea was to take a fantasy or pleasurable moment supplied by another member and turn it into a erotic creative piece. I chose MissPlayer’s inspiration, which was “outdoors intimacy – a little more specific, bare toes, barely touching damp soil, arms raised and restrained…” I didn’t win, but I still really love this story. What do you think?

♦ The first drop of rain hit just as the familiar shape of the swinging tree came into sight, but by the time we had reached it, we were half-soaked through. We laughed as we ran in under the branches of the tree and gasped surprised breaths into air made oppressive by the recent heatwave. The day had started out as we remembered them: baking sun, still air and a heavy feeling that, had we but realised, should have warned us of the rainstorm to come.

You hefted the rucksack from your back and I turned from your brown-eyed gaze to look at the tree before me, filled with a sense of comfort to be back under its branches. As children we had learned to jump up and grab the one branch low enough to reach, swinging from it for as long as we could manage.

Now we were older, the swinging tree’s same perfect branch was within tiptoe reach and I marvelled at how I had ever managed to jump so high so young.

You sighed and I turned to see you pulling off your sodden top. I smiled at your rain-slick torso, remembering how it felt when I first stroked the firmness of your chest. I saw flashes of skin, flusters of nervousness, our first faltering fuck. That summer had been particularly glorious.

“You’ll catch your death of cold in those clothes,” you chided, playfully.
“Yes, mother.” I replied and you swatted at my thigh.

We were sheltered from the worst of the rain and from prying eyes and I relished the thought of being naked again with you. It had been too long since my last visit. My canvas shoes were the first to go and my socks along with them. My feet felt free of burden now and I relished in feeling the damp soil between my toes and in knowing how black my soles would become. I watched you somewhat cautiously as we stripped, but your smiles and skin soon put me at ease.

The only thing not too badly drenched were my little white knickers, so that’s all I had on by the time I leant back under the limb of the swinging tree. You hadn’t changed one jot over the years and wore no underwear. That much was clear as your erection stood proud and clear in front of me.

You had a dopey sort of look on your face as you approached me, one I’ve always loved. You put an arm around my neck and pressed your hardness into my front, pushing my back against the damp bark. All I could hear was our shallow breaths and the rushing patter of droplets as the rainstorm broke around us.

Your tongue found mine as the first thunderclap rolled. The weight of the air lifted and the oppressive pressure of that stifling day broke in an instant as I opened myself to you.

“Close your eyes,” you said and I did so willingly, my pussy knotting at the memories those words evoked. I’d always trusted you a little more easily than perhaps I should, but you’d never betrayed me.

I heard the zip of the rucksack and the rustle of rummaging over the rain. When you returned I felt the tip of your cock press against me as you lifted my arms gently above my head. You pulled me up onto tiptoe and guided my hands to the branch of the swinging tree. The feel of rope pilfered from the tent slipping around my wrists was, I admit, not the biggest surprise. I remembered a whole weekend of us poring over illustrations of knots and positions and harnesses and how we had muddled our way through several silly mistakes before you perfected the art.

And perfected it you had. “You can open your eyes now,” you said and I did. I was firmly trussed, arms raised above my head and body at almost full stretch, teetering on tiptoe. That wasn’t to last.

“Let me swing your legs up,” you told me.
“Why?” I replied.
“For old time’s sake.”

I raised an eyebrow, but agreed all the same. The branch was still firm and slightly supple and wobbled a little as I swung my lower body up and into your arms. I trusted it no less than I trusted you, having seen it stand our attentions over many years.

You lifted me by the rump, taking care not to slip on my damp skin. Soon my ankles were locked around the sturdy branch and not long after you had secured those too. My knickers felt decidedly more damp then they had been a moment ago, but I was sure I hadn’t felt the splash of any of the raindrops finding their way through canopy there.

You waited by my behind, naked as a babe, goosebumps peppering your flesh even in this still-hot air, your cock now only semi-erect. I wondered what you were waiting for.

Thunder rolled through the afternoon again and only a split-second afterwards I felt the sting of your hand on the slick skin of my bottom. I yelped but did not shudder with shock, aware that my position was precarious.

Thankfully, the storm was not close enough to be in danger of a lightning strike and the only thing I had to fear was your resounding smacks, each one coming in tandem with the booms of thunder, the pauses filled with a soothing rub from your palm or a salacious tease of my pussy lips.

“We’ll get you warmed up yet,” you teased.

You kept to your word and soon my ass felt on fire from your ministrations and my knickers were soaked through with my own pleasure. The air smelt wonderfully of pussy juice and petrichor.

Each spank made my flesh sing and my cunt twitch, each one was seared into my memory. You were unforgiving and I was unending in what I could take. The branch of the swinging tree wavered and shook, but did not give. I wavered and shook, but did not give.

When you grew tired of spanking me you loosened the rope from my ankles and lowered me by the legs, leaving me once again on tiptoe. My limbs were sore from taking my weight and my bottom ached in the most welcome, wanton way.

“Thank you,” I said and you smiled. You kissed me passionately and I wished I had my hands free to hold your face.

With my body stretched like this and my toes barely touching the moist earth beneath my feet, I was at the perfect height for you to slip your once-again stiff cock past my pathetically see-through panties and into my opening. You fucked me roughly against the bark of our old childhood haunt and I gasped and giggled in the fresh, new air as the sudden rainstorm began to wane around us.

As I bounced on your cock in the security of your restraints and the shelter of our intimacy, I relished the dying sound of the rain and the crescendo of our orgasm together. We’d likely have to turn back so as not to catch cold in our wet things, but for now the sanctuary of the swinging tree was all we needed to fuck and be fucked, to love and be loved and to revel in every moment of it. ♦

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