Beneath a willow (M/F, consensual sex)

Beneath the shade of a weeping willow, there is space enough to allow the imagination to flow faster than the lazy clouds trailing their way across the blue summer sky. There Teresa laid out a chequered table cloth just beyond the trailing fronds of the tree where the grass was less damp. It was far enough from the bank of the stream to allow the water insects to be distracted more by the lowing cattle across the water than the feast she had in prospect.

She looked so proud, after delving repeatedly into the large hamper basket, surveying the results of your endeavours, covering the cloth with assorted victuals. He watched Teresa display one delightful dish after another, unwrapping each parcel of food and setting a brace of champagne bottles at the centre of all that tasty artistry. The bottles stood proud and yet she knelt there prouder still, blushing lightly as he complimented her on the variety of dishes, as well as the forethought and planning that had gone into producing this wonderful feast.

Finally, Teresa sat back on her haunches and breathed a sigh of contentment. She closed her eyes and looked up into the sun, letting its warm rays play across her face. At that moment she was the epitome of happiness, radiating the warmth she attained from sharing her morning’s work, all provocatively unpacked and ready to be devoured.

How could he ever forget her giggle as Teresa held one of the bottles between her thighs to steady it as she tugged impatiently at the wire cage? The bottle was well shaken by their journey and it took little effort to release the cork with that gratifying pop. She cried out as the fizzy liquid bubbled up from the neck of the bottle and overflowed onto her skirt and over the arm that she then used to brush away the intoxicating liquid.

He leant forward to pull her skirt out of harms’ way and smelt the sweet liquor that dampened her clothing and her flesh. It camouflaged her excitement well for a while, until, that is, he bent down to lick the sweetness from her wrist and from each of her carefully manicured fingers, one after another. He was, however, relentless in his quest and soon uncovered another flavoursome liquor that moistened Teresa’s soon ill-concealed sex.

“No underwear?” He taunted gently.

“No, not today,” she confessed, lowering her eyelids to observe how her brightly coloured skirt was rucked up around her waist. Teresa felt his fingers playing around her midriff and held still, waiting for them to drift lower towards the apex of her now naked sex. He toyed with her, owning her pleasure, listening to the soft sighs she uttered as his fingers traced the contours of her pubic mound, alternating between her soft belly and her closed thighs.

Despite her nearly closed eyes,Teresa felt him kneel in front of her and pull her lower legs from under her, spreading her imperiously. Had his arms not been supporting her, Tessa would have fallen back among the foodstuffs, another victual to be sampled. He reached under her knees and bent low to lift her up off the ground, carrying you over to the trunk of the willow. She looked up at the green leaves forming a curtain that veiled them from the world as he pressed her back against the living wood.

“Spread yourself,” he instructed Teresa, as he fumbled with her clothing, rolling the skirt up round her belly and unbuttoning her blouse to reveal her soft bosom to the world. Obligingly, she wrapped her legs around him and drew him in, reaching forward to unzip him. Teresa cupped his desire in her hands and pulled him into her, practically yelling with delight as he made contact, embracing his sex with her spread thighs. He looked down and watched his sex disappearing within her, penetrating her moist, needy femininity.

“What can a young lady do, but obey her lover?” Teresa asked, shrugging her shoulders and waving morality au-revoir, as she wrapped her arms around his neck and reached up for a kiss.

“She can surrender to his wiles and enjoy our connection,” he replied, thrusting into her suddenly, knowing that she was wet enough only to feel pleasure as this forceful intervention. The food lay discarded on the chequered table cloth, as he pressed into her, pushing her legs apart, his groin pressed to hers, his hands reaching under her bottom to help the willow support her reclining body.

“Yes,” Teresa moaned as she felt him pushing deep into her body, feeling as enmeshed in this contact as a fly in a spider’s web. All those hours of preparation were made worthwhile by the way Teresa could surrender responsibility completely. She had unpacked her cares with that basket. Now, as he prepared to fill her with his passion, she had found renewed hope, beneath the shade of a weeping willow, where there was space enough to allow the imagination to flow faster than the lazy clouds trailing their way across the blue summer sky…