Descent Ascent
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The Scent Of Soil Ch. 02 free porn video
Chapter 2 – The Touch of Rain
Scarlet lifted the spoon to her mouth, chewed on the cereal, and listened to her heartbeat in her head. The dawn had broken to no great effect, the light outside had gone merely from non-existent to a hard grey. Scarlet had awoken, to her dismay and surprise, as horny as the night before, despite having slept in a bed thoroughly wet with the juices from from her plethora of masturbation during the night.
Now she was restless, trying to calm herself down with normal activities and deep breathing. Attempts to get into carving had simply led to her thinking how phallic the big handled hammer looked. Every time she went to breathe deeply, her massive breasts would rock up and down, and she would simply end up imagining a cock between them. It was a totally ridiculous situation, Scarlet had never felt anywhere near this aroused. She was simply sitting still and trying to eat, hoping to calm herself. She cursed the semi-darkness, and as if on cue, she heard a soft hum as the power clicked back into life, and the lights blinked on around her.
She heaved out a long sigh. The light seemed to bring some sense of normality back to her, and as the gloom dispersed, she felt her sex somewhat calm. Her breasts, only a moment ago having seemed lusciously enormous, seemed their normal size again. Scarlet shook her head and reached for the remote and flicked the TV back on.
The weather channel flashed onto the screen. Scarlet didn’t know whether to be happy or aggrieved, as the screen showed an announcer pointing gravely to thunderclouds and warning signs across the map. The storm looked like a real rarity, and the weatherman gravely predicted that the storm was set to last, on and off, for a week. There were some flood warnings, but a respite from the rain. If not, the wind was predicted sometime tomorrow. Face passive, the mare looked at the glass, as the water swirled and danced, the storm pressed at the walls of her house, like a living presence. The surface of the horse’s mind was turbulent, and disturbed.
She stood up and carried her bowl to the sink, steeling her emotions as she moved, keeping her motions smooth and neat. She washed the dishes, losing herself in the repetition of scrubbing and rinsing. Her thoughts wandered oddly to the farmer, who certainly wouldn’t be getting the slates for his Granary today. His barn would be awash already with last nights rain. She stacked the last bowl on the draining board and turned to lean back against the sink and wish hard that there could be some activity to take her mind off things. The phone lines were, unlike the power were still down. It had been a falling telegraph pole landing on the substation at the end of the island’s bridge that had killed the power in the first place. John had headed out early to take a look, and evidently had manged to get it going again.
As she thought of John again, Scarlet chewed her lip in consternation. He’d be back before long but she was surprised he hadn’t already arrived. Unless he had some other thing to fix. She stepped forward, dismissing the thought with a frown. Now, she felt yet again, drawn by the power of the weather.
Water drew shifting spirals across the glass, but she could barely see. She pulled back the glass, and stepped out. Water poured down on her, and the wind was a welcome slap in the face after the tensions of the kitchen. She looked towards the bridge, and saw John, setting up some sort of rigging to pull the telegraph pole off of the substation with the Shogun. She stared for a moment, the water drawing false tears down her cheeks as she stepped down to the stone way and walked out into the cover of the Arboretum.
She wandered into the recesses of the lake-side garden, as the weather roared at her, and tugging at her shirt. She looked down, and her eyes widened as she realised she was totally soaked. The white shirt did nothing to hide her hard nipples, the lounge pants clung to her, see-through. She hastily looked about, eager to remain unseen, but there was no way John would spot her from here, and anyway, he would be busy with the pole.
Walking through the willows and oaks, she ran her hand across their slick, yet rough, trunks, and marvelled at the lack of cover they offered against rainfall this immense. Soaked through, she reached the centre of the Arboretum, which consisted of a small circle of grass, surrounded by a low wall. Scarlet walked in through the picket gate. The grass was slick beneath her nude feet, and she sat on the low wall, watching the rain that slashed the sky around her. The Arboretum waved in the wind. ‘What am I doing out here… This is insane. I’m sitting outside, in a gale, dressed like a whore.’ She was wet, but not cold, the air of the storm was warm, and she could feel her passions rising. She imagined John’s tool and dropped to her knees from the wall to the ground, lying back in the grass.
Lying there, she ripped away her shirt, hair across her breast slick with rain. She then pulled off her loungers to lay completely naked in the storm, writhing in the grass and digging channels of mud. The sensation was so free, so liberating. She thrust her fingers into her throbbing sex, and massaged her clit and walls. She brayed out loud, roaring her pleasure to the winds, and arched her back as she thrust more fingers inside herself. Mud slopped round her round arse and back, as she revelled in the sheer carnal pleasure of the storm, filling her brain with filth, wishing for a mate.
She pulled one hand from herself, jerking in joy, and switched to the other, stuffing the first, honey-laden fist into her mouth and licking it clean, tongue flicking across her digits. She thrust her new hand into her cunt, deeper, bunching it inside, her body squirming like a snake, in pure ecstasy. Her mind raced with images of cock, and as she pictured being filled, she came, spraying her dew across the grass. With eyes wild, she jumped to the pool and licked the grass clean, licking her hands and swallowing her honey. Done, she laid back. She couldn’t believe the ferocity her sexuality had shown, and her body was already tired. Grinning widely, her eyes closed.
Above in the clouds, the presence moved again, feeling the mind below. It descended, riding on the rain that soaked the creature’s body, and like a finger tracing the curves of a lover, it caressed her brain, feeding her mind.
She stood on an island, looking down. Far away, so far, the green hills played out, masked by the eternally falling rain. The surface upon which she stood was of cloud, and ice. Gently, a lattice of frozen liquid was tracing it’s way up her hooves, but she felt no cold. Her vision seemed odd, as if she were looking through a hundred pairs of eyes, and she could feel the squall and pull of the storm. She stepped forward off of her clouded throne, and fell through the air, like hail, the rain touching her skin as she dropped. Above the stone bridge, awash with rain, she halted her descent. It seemed to take no effort, as the wind buoyed her up, holding her in a loving embrace against the storm’s immense power. The surface of the air was like some giant’s hand, and all about her she felt the immensity of the storm, soaking through her pores like liquid flame, lighting her mind even as it drenched her short hair.
With eyes gazing, she looked out through the sweeping curtains of rain, at the bull labouring on the stone ramp, pulling at ropes and hooks, struggling to encircle the windswept frame of the shattered tree, he took no notice of the airborne horse. With outstretched hand, the horse whinnied softly, and a blast of wind buffeted the bull, nearly knocking him down. She hovered, considering blowing him off his feet, yet suddenly a thunderclap sounded behind her, and the wind turned her about, facing across the lake.
‘Is it not… wonderful?’ The voice was sonorous, like rolling thunder, or the rippling wind. Scarlet’s mind observed the turbulent surface of
the lake, roiling in the wind. ‘Will you hold me, little one? I am becoming weary of my rage. You shall be my settling and my refuge. My embrace is the call of the storm. Do with that as you will, little one.’ The horse nodded, slowly, as the voice faded into the wash of the falling rain, leaving her with a profound sense of loss, coupled with an exhilarating feeling of the wind’s call. She descended, and her storm-borne form faded into so much mist.
A gasp, and the rush of light into eyes. It is like the breaking of dawn over mist, hard and cold. The sensation of rain against flesh, and mud on hair. Cold air, and soft earth. The horse struggles to her feet, like a swimmer breaking the surface. All around the storm is heaving, the trees sway like a chorus of hands, crying for water. The mare sways, and walks along the path of soaked stone, her frame is claggy with mud, and the clothes she has donned run with the storm’s rain. As she walks silently, hurriedly, her head is down, but she does not shiver. After some time, passing through the tiny forest, the horse pulls open a door of swimming glass, and leaves the attentions of the howling wind for the protection of stone and slate.
John braced himself against the watery swirl, with gritted jaw. He tugged at a flapping rope, and finally managed to bring the ends of the cord together, yanking them back toward the truck. Grunting, the bull heaved a final time, and the fallen log was secured tight to the Shogun’s towbar. The mud under his hooves had been churned by his efforts, and he rested on his haunches, chest rising and falling heavily as the rain and wind continued to batter the ramp, and the bull frowned at the substation’s bent frame.
Turning off the transformers power supply and connecting to the reserve had been a fiddly task thanks to the cables being slick with rain, but he’d managed, and if he could get the tree off of the power enclosure, they might manage to hold onto the electricity through the storm. As it was, it was seriously at risk of blowing off the transformer and crushing the cabling, and the bull didn’t fancy having to come out into the storm again any time soon to repair the line. He snorted, steam rising from his nostrils, and walked to the truck, pulling open the door.
‘Damnit this is heavy. I’ll have to clean out the damn car.’ The bull sighed, and clambered in anyway, soaking the leather seat, and shifting uncomfortably. He started the 4×4, and gently began to push, feeling the weight of the tree. The trunk groaned, moving, and with a soft thud came free of the transformer, as the Shogun tugged the small beech free of the crushed fence.
He pulled it to the verge, and shifted the tow-lever, releasing the tree. He looked back at the trail of branches, mud and broken fencing with a sigh, wiping water from his eyes. The truck rolled forward with a rush of muddy wheels, wipers brushing, futile against the torrential rain. Tired and soaked through, John turned the truck around and headed back for the comfort of the house, glancing uneasily at the fury of the leaden sky, as thunder rolled about the valley.
Scarlet sat in her bathroom, wrapped in towels and slowly feeling the warmth come back into her limbs. She tried to organise her thoughts, grasping her skull, grinding her teeth. But her normally so precise mind was cluttered and confused. For a fair time she simply rested, considering what had happened while she had writhed in the madness of the rain. The bathroom was tiled all around, soft yellow-white light bathing the form of the restless equine as she sat in thought, hooves occasionally tapping softly against the wall.
After some time, she stood, placing a hand gently on the sink, and breathed out, shaking her mane gently. Walking into her bedroom, she dressed slowly, drawing jeans and a shirt over herself, stretching her muscles and pulling a wide leather belt about her, buckling it. With a glance in the mirror, she felt she freshened and her mind seemed to have cooled with her brief rest. The shaking of the storm-winds in her ears had faded, even while the winds themselves still strained at the walls of the house that perched on the watery island.
The bull looked up at the house. It was half obscured by the driving weather, yet it’s frame stood out, imposing, almost Gothic in the mist of spray. He rushed from the truck, scrambling into the house through the soaked portal, and closed the door heavily behind him.
The rain rolled off him, soaking the stone flags beneath his feet, and he grabbed a towel from an ornate cabinet by the door, which he had left earlier, expecting a soaking. The bull looked about the open plan room as he dried his hair, peeling off his shirt and shivering somewhat. The lights lit up the central table, the seating area with it’s soft armchairs, the kitchen and stove, and the heavy oak staircase that ran up on the right hand side of the hall. The room was quiet save for the wind, and seemed calm and safe, warm after the buffeting weather. John wrapped the towel about his naked form and walked toward the stairs, eager to rest after his exertions.
‘Oh, hello John.’ He stopped suddenly, and turned.
Scarlet stepped out of the workshop, lightly sprinkled in wood shavings. She held a chisel in one hand and a mug in the other, wearing her carpenter’s apron. She looked up and spoke again, ‘Heard you come in, thanks for going out there. Do you want some tea?’ The bull smiled at the mare and shook his still-damp head, holding onto his towel with one hand, and gesturing with the other to show that he was fine.
‘It’s alright miss. I think I’ll go and get some sleep if you don’t need any more help?’ Scarlet nodded back, returning the smile.
‘Of course, John. You must be exhausted! Go, rest and I’ll see you later, then.’ The bull gave a small wave and headed on up, his heavy form causing the solid stairs to creak slightly. He was tired to the bone, and went straight to his room. Without even bothering to wash or dress as he had planned. He dried himself a little more, and climbed onto his bed, lying on top of the covers in the warm room. He closed his eyes with a deep yawn, and fell into a heavy sleep within minutes.
The door creaked slightly, and she froze. Letting out a soft breath, the golden mare slipped into the room, crouching, and looked at the bed in the centre of the room, tongue slightly out and head cocked. Her heart was fluttering and she took light breaths, preserving her silence as she stole across the floor toward the sleeping bull, coming to a stop at the foot of his resting place.
She began to stand up, carefully. The idea had come to her as soon as John had mentioned that he was going to bed, and she thought that with his being a heavy sleeper, as well as his current exhaustion, she might go unnoticed. As her nervousness threatened to overflow, the mare leaned forward with utmost care, and placed a knee, followed by a hand on the double bed. Her eyes sparkled with lust as she crept forth, eyes locked on the sleeping face of the bull. Sweat beaded her brow, and with the slightest tremor her hand stretched out, reaching delicately, like the lightest touch of a butterfly landing, for his bare crotch.
John stirred, ever so softly. His thoughts were groggy with sleep and he shifted slowly, stretching somewhat. Suddenly he felt the brush of a hand, and heard the intake of breath, and his thoughts raced into action, as the bull quickly feigned sleep, keeping his eyes closed, straining his ears. His mind woke instantly, and he was alert in a moment.
‘What the hell?’ Thought the bull, and he waited, breathing level, still listening intently. ‘There’s no way… It can’t be her!’ But after several agonizing minutes, the disbelieving bovine felt that hand brush again, and the touch of fingers, stealing like wind across his member. As they touched him, the bull barely restrained a deep blush, feeling the heat pushing toward his cheeks, and his member stirred rapidly, beginning to harden. He he
ld on, heart thumping like a frightened child’s. The touch increased, seemed eagerly to greet his rising manhood, and gently the strokes began as the bull’s penis gorged on blood and rose to it’s full height, held high by the tender hand, and beginning to throb.
Scarlet licked her lips, in anticipation as well as her own disquietude. She kept her strokes gentle and steady, eyes playing over the surface of the large member as it bucked slightly beneath her hand. She gulped back her tribulations and kept moving her hand softly, shifting her own position somewhat. She was tempted to bring her mouth to bear, but was sure it would wake him, despite his heavy sleep. Biting her lip, she knelt up, and put a hand to his large balls, tenderly fondling them as carefully as she could. She smelt the bull’s musk rising, and her nostrils flared as she shuddered at the perfect scent. She stroked slightly faster, feeling the balls tighten beneath her gentle grip, and grinned to herself, brow still sweaty, as she felt the bull’s reaction.
John felt his body twitch at the relentless attentions of the mare, and he desperately tried to conceal the clenching of his teeth. If he let his jaw hang loose, his moans would surely spill out, and the ruse would be up. The bull gripped the sheets tight with a hand, hidden under his pillow, in an attempt to vent his passions. He couldn’t believe what was happening, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to complain. If miss thought he was sleeping, he would damn well make sure things stayed that way. He was sure she would hear the roar of his heart, or even, as he felt pre spill from his tip, see the intense flush of his cheeks.
The mare lost her abandon as she saw the jewel of pre, and began to jack the cock hard, with long, fast, two-handed strokes up and down it’s entire length. She saw the bull’s legs twitch, and froze for just a second, watching his face, then satisfied turned her gaze back to the cock and kept milking it. As she felt it move and strain, she bent her long neck down, opened her maw, hungrily sliding her mouth onto the cock-tip, and gave it a final stroke. She heard a grunt, and a thick jet of hot cum burst between her lips, which she swallowed eagerly. Another spurt flew, and another, filling her mouth, and as she swallowed again and again, seed dribbled out in glistening strands, crawling down his bucking penis.
Finally the flow of milk ended, and the mare gave a single, rapid bob of her head, cleaning the shaft of cum as she took it into her throat. She came up with a quiet gasp, licking her lips free of his spooge. She panted, chest heaving, and looked intently at the bull. Now that the deed was over, it seemed infinitely foolish, and she was sure he must have awoken. But yet he seemed to rest still… The mare ran a finger across her chin, swallowed the last gathered mouthful of cream, and fled the room on tiptoes.
On the bed the bull moaned, and stroked his still-hard tool.
In her room, exhausted by the thrill, Scarlet dozed.
Once again, an island of cloud, rain and lightning sleeting about her. But this time the sonorous voice came quickly, and with it a presence more powerful than before. She could see nothing but carpets of cloud, and walls of wind.
‘There is little time now. You will hold me, little mammal. You will feel my full passions. I must release myself, or else this storm will not end. Find a release of your own, and the storm will, in time, pass. But things may yet become fiercer. Do not underestimate these winds. Your body will, I am sure, guide you. Animals seem to take their own steps. Fare careful, little one.’ With a roar of thunder, and a burst of light like a thousand suns, the eyes of the mare snapped open. For a mere moment, their sockets glowed.
Virginia
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