Liora's soft voice broke the forest hush as she stepped fully into the glade. "Good afternoon, Elaric," she said, her tone warm yet laced with the quiet melancholy that always seemed to linger around her. The faint floral scent of her skin—lavender and wild honeysuckle from the soaps she made—drifted toward him on the breeze.
"Good afternoon, Mistress Thorne," he replied, forcing steadiness into his voice while his pulse still hammered from what he'd witnessed moments ago. He kept his eyes on the moonleaf, plucking another stem, though every nerve in his body thrummed with awareness of her proximity.
She smiled faintly, set her own woven basket down a mere arm's length away, and crouched to gather herbs beside him. The motion caused her simple linen skirt to ride higher on her thighs, the fabric clinging slightly to her skin from the warmth of the day. As she leaned forward, reaching for a cluster of silvery leaves, the loose neckline of her bodice gaped open just enough to grant him an unobstructed view.
Her full, heavy breasts swayed gently with her movements—pale, creamy mounds barely contained by the thin fabric, the deep valley between them shadowed and inviting. The faint sheen of perspiration glistened along her collarbone, and he caught the subtle rise and fall of her chest, nipples already stiffened into dark pink peaks that pressed visibly against the linen. The sight sent a fresh surge of heat through him, his cock—still half-hard from earlier—throbbing insistently against the confines of his trousers.
Lower still, as her knees parted slightly for balance on the soft forest floor, the hem of her skirt hiked upward. There, framed by the smooth expanse of her inner thighs, was her bare pussy again—pink and swollen from her recent relief. The delicate lips remained slightly parted, glistening with a mixture of lingering urine and the first unmistakable slick of arousal. Tiny droplets clung to the fine curls above her slit, catching the dappled sunlight like dew on petals. Each time she shifted, the folds shifted with her, revealing the flushed inner pinkness and the small, engorged clit that peeked shyly from its hood.
Elaric's breath grew shallow. He could smell her now—sharp, intimate traces of her earlier stream mingling with the warmer, muskier scent of feminine excitement that thickened the air between them. His shaft swelled fully, thick and veiny, straining so hard against the rough wool of his trousers that the rigid outline was impossible to hide. A fresh bead of pre-cum welled at the tip, soaking warmly into the fabric.
Minutes passed in tense silence, broken only by the rustle of leaves and their quiet breathing. Then Liora glanced sideways—her gaze dropping instinctively—and froze. Her emerald eyes widened as they fixed on the prominent bulge tenting his trousers, tracing the long, heavy ridge that pulsed visibly with his heartbeat. A soft, involuntary gulp sounded in her throat; her lips parted as though to speak, but no words came.
In that instant, a faint tremor ran through her thighs. Elaric watched, transfixed, as a clear rivulet of arousal leaked from her slit—slow and deliberate—sliding down the plush inner lips before dripping onto the forest floor. It mixed with the remnants of her pee, creating a glistening sheen that darkened the fabric of her skirt where it bunched between her legs. The wet spot spread subtly, the linen clinging translucent to her skin, outlining the swollen contours of her pussy in exquisite detail.
She shifted again, thighs pressing together as if to hide it, but the motion only caused another slow trickle to escape, the scent of her desire growing headier. Her cheeks flushed deep rose, yet she didn't stand or cover herself—only held his gaze for a breathless moment, pupils dilated, chest rising faster.
The forest around them seemed to hold its breath, every rustle of leaf and distant birdcall fading beneath the pounding of blood in his ears and the unspoken, electric hunger hanging thick in the air between their crouched bodies
A few minutes later, their baskets brimmed with fragrant moonleaf, the silvery stems releasing a cool, minty scent that mingled with the heavier musk hanging between them. In unspoken accord, they rose together, knees brushing the soft ferns as they straightened. Liora's emerald eyes locked onto Elaric's, dark and dilated, her full lips parted as if tasting the thick air.
"Elaric," she murmured, voice low and velvet-rough, like honey poured over embers. "Sit."
The single word carried gentle command. He obeyed without thought, lowering himself beneath the broad oak at the glade's edge. The ground beneath was carpeted in thick, cool grass—blades soft as down, still damp from morning dew, yielding luxuriously under his weight. Sunlight filtered through the leaves in shifting gold, warming his skin while the ancient trunk at his back offered steady support.
Liora stepped closer, the hem of her skirt whispering against her calves. Without breaking eye contact, she reached down and tugged loose the lacing of his trousers. The fabric parted easily under her trembling fingers; his cock sprang free—heavy, thick, veins pulsing along the shaft, the broad head already slick with pre-cum that gleamed in the dappled light. Cool forest air kissed the heated skin for only a moment before her hands replaced it—warm, slightly calloused palms stroking once, reverently, drawing a sharp inhale from him.
She gathered her skirt in fistfuls, bunching the linen high around her waist, revealing the lush curve of her hips and the glistening folds of her pussy—swollen, flushed deep rose, lips parted and shining with her earlier leak and fresh arousal. A thin strand of her slick stretched briefly as she moved, snapping silently against her inner thigh.
Then she straddled him, knees sinking into the grass on either side of his hips. The heat radiating from her core bathed his cock before she even touched him. Slowly—agonizingly—she lowered herself, one hand guiding his rigid length to her entrance. The blunt head nudged her slick folds, parting them with a wet, obscene sound that seemed impossibly loud in the hushed glade. She sank down in one smooth, deliberate motion, enveloping him inch by scorching inch.
Her pussy was molten silk—tight, drenched, fluttering around him as though greeting a long-lost lover. When the final thick inch seated fully inside, the broad crown pressed flush against the mouth of her womb, a deep, intimate kiss that tore a shuddering moan from her throat. The sound vibrated through her chest, through him, raw and unrestrained. Her inner walls clenched hard, milking him involuntarily, drawing another helpless groan from his lips.
She stilled completely, fully impaled, her weight settled firmly in his lap. The soft grass cradled them both; the rough bark of the oak scraped lightly against his back through his tunic. Every tiny shift sent sparks through them—her clit grinding against the base of his shaft, his pulse throbbing deep inside her.
Liora leaned forward, breasts pressing lush and heavy against his chest, nipples hard points through the thin linen. She braced her hands on his shoulders, pinning him gently but unyieldingly—not allowing even the smallest thrust. The denial was exquisite torture; his hips twitched instinctively, but her grip tightened, holding him motionless.
Only then did she speak again, breath warm against his lips, eyes locked so intensely on his that he felt stripped bare.
Her voice was a husky whisper, trembling with need: "Look at me, Elaric… just like this."