Mountain Man
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Mountain Return free porn video
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PART 1 of 3
Daniel Stockton pressed his foot harder against the accelerator of his mud-caked Defender 90. He had been away too long. Clouds of dust and rocks shot away from the thick tires as they ploughed through the winding mountain road. He knew this path well, but it had been nearly four months since he’d been home. And he knew she’d be waiting for him.
Squinting, he dropped his mirrored sunglasses down onto the bridge of his rugged nose. The early morning sun fired lasers through the pines that tickled his pupils and made him smile. He pictured her eyes. Two endless pools of electric blue and green that echoed the rolling sea. He remembered how those eyes would tenderly, eagerly examine the muscles in his arms, his shoulders and settle on his face. Like search lights they probed his eyes, effortlessly coaxing his body to respond. It had been too long.
He tried to fill in the rest of her face as he drove on. His hands loosely but confidently gripped the steering wheel. He jammed the wheel left, center, left again, right, in response to the road. Her olive skin. Her high cheekbones and supple lips that moved like silk over his rough skin. Hard right, back to center, downshift. Her hair fell in deep brown curls over and around her shoulders.
His beast of a truck shook and rocked back and forth, side to side, skidding along the uneven surface. He jammed the breaks, swung around to the right, shifted and hit the gas again as he followed yet another switchback up the mountain side. Only 5 more miles. He loved the mountains, but this was now a tedious distance. His heartbeat quickened.
Perhaps her hair would be up when he entered the cabin, exposing the velvet brown ropes of muscle and tendon running from ear to collarbone. He pictured the gentle wisps of hair tapering down to the nape of her neck. Her elegant shoulders. Her soft skin. He wanted her now.
Four miles. Would she be in the kitchen? Would she be on the deck, working on her paper? He saw the delicious curves of her thigh as she sat with one leg planted on the seat of the chair, the other on the floor. No, it’s still early, she would be lost in the endless down comforter on their wood-framed king, still sleeping, her chest heaving rhythmically in dreams.
Daniel pictured her body in their bed and his smile grew. He pushed his weight back into the seat and adjusted his jeans with a tug of his hand. He was eager to get home. Only three miles to go.
****
Sarah Marcus was wide awake, in spite of a poor night’s sleep. She couldn’t help herself. She knew he would be home today and she was excited.
The air in the log house still held the chill of night, even with the rays of sun streaming in the windows. She looked at the clock. It was early, not quite 8. Out of the refrigerator she took enough ingredients for a feast and made piles on the kitchen island: eggs, bacon, bread, peppers, cheese, butter, biscuits, orange juice. She would make him a little breakfast. He would eat well today. He would taste her today. She felt her face blush. What if he was delayed? With a sigh, she put everything back.
She nearly danced her way over to the den, her bare feet skipping lightly over the woven rugs and bare wood floor of the mountain cabin. Yoga? Not today. She would read.
Deep breath. She settled into the soft leather sofa and picked up one of her texts, opened it to where she left off. The book smelled like academics, like print and acrid glue. She smoothed her hand over the page. She thought about his hands, calloused and tender. She closed her eyes. She felt his palm settle on the small of her back, fingers sliding deftly under the lip of her cotton shirt, pulling her closer to him. Warm bodies pressed together.
She slapped the book shut. She would take a shower. That was what she would do. Shower.
She trotted lightly up the carved log steps of the staircase to the lofted bedroom above. She passed the unmade bed and went into the bathroom. She pulled off her shirt and pushed her soft pajama bottoms and underwear down to her ankles. With a practiced kick, she tossed them to the corner. She turned on the shower. She wanted it hot. She wanted to drown in steam.
As she waited impatiently for the water to heat up, Sarah examined herself in the mirror. She didn’t think herself unattractive, but she hungered for the way Danny looked at her. Made her feel special. They had been apart for too long. Enough waiting already!
She played with her curls, piling them up to the top of her head. She looked at her familiar eyes. Nothing new there. She pursed her lips and turned her head aside to examine her neck. That’s a fun pose. All of sudden she felt like a teenage girl. She would pose for him like a model. She would feign runway sex appeal.
She chuckled and let her eyes lower to the rest of her body. Her breasts, her waist, her curved hips, the trimmed patch of her black pubic hair. And she felt mostly pleased. She wanted to look good for him. And she was almost sure she did. She was slim, athletic, but not skinny. Living at altitude helped, but so did an active lifestyle. She looked at her breasts. Yes, they were slightly lower than they used to be, but still full and round. Ah well.
The steam interrupted her ritualistic scrutiny. She stepped behind the fogged glass of the shower stall and flinched at the hot water. She adjusted the dial. Her body tingled in waves as hot water poured over her head, through her hair and rolled pleasingly down the gentle curves of her body.
She thought for a moment about work, about her writing, about her family back east. Images of her life flashed through her mind accompanied by snippets of songs, commercials, and recent conversations with friends. She should publish. She should take another class. She should buy Crest.
Sarah breathed in the moist hot air then turned and buried her face in the vigorous spray of hot water. Eyes closed, she reached for the soap. She lathered, inhaling the lavender aroma, and caressed her body in a kind of daze. She pictured herself showering with Danny, as they had on their last anniversary after a delicious meal and a little too much wine. She pictured the water pouring over his chest, making regular patterns in the dark hair on his torso, arms and thighs. She remembered how the water diluted the taste of him when they kissed. And she smiled gently at their laughter when the spray kept getting in their eyes.
Showering together is only rarely as erotic as it is as an idea. Especially when both are drunk.
With a slight wave of vertigo, Sarah opened her eyes. Time to get out. She was flushed. She shut off the water, grabbed her towel and stepped out of the shower. She was tired. Lack of sleep was catching up to her. Perhaps it was time for a morning nap. Her eyes were heavy as she ran the towel over her limbs and rubbed her hair. She should moisturize. She liked the idea of massaging the scented cream into her skin all over, but frankly, she was just too tired. Maybe after she woke up.
Still damp, Sarah flopped into bed once again. She twisted herself under the down comforter and waited for it to warm up. As she did, she thought of Danny. How would he enter the house? Would he announce his arrival with pomp and fanfare? Or would he be stealthy and sneak upstairs, rousing her from sleep with a silent embrace from his gentle, muscular arms?
Her body responded to the latter fantasy. She felt her heartbeat in her chest and then between her legs. She couldn’t help herself. Her hands moved slowly down her stomach, now dry and soft. They slid over her coarse pubic hair and touched the soft, swelling folds of her womanhood. She smiled at her wetness. Danny would be home soon.
After a time, she drifted off to sleep.
*
PART 2 of 3
There are a great many ground squirrels in the mountains. They hide
among the rocks and twisted roots of the hearty conifers. They peek. They burrow. They scramble up the thick bark of the trees. Most of the time, they hop around from stone to stone, stuffing their mouths with seeds and nuts.
It was a sunny morning as Burt the Ground Squirrel was going about his usual business collecting breakfast. On a flat rock, he stood on his hind legs, panting quickly, heart racing as usual. He pulled a small seed out of a particularly large pine cone that had fallen and stuffed it into his mouth. He turned the pine cone over and over in his claws. His mouth was almost full. But he found another seed. That should do it. His mouth felt ready to burst.
As he was about to dig one final seed out from the cone, he froze. Something was wrong. Very wrong. The ground was shaking. An unnatural moan was growing louder and louder. It crescendoed into a roar. Some vile and hungry demon approached at great speed. Was it a bear? No, this thing was fast. Was it a coyote? No, this thing was large. It sounded like a stampeding herd of a thousand elk, bellowing and stomping their hooves in a rage.
Maybe if he stayed completely still, Burt thought, he would be safe. Then again, maybe he should hide himself as quickly as possible. In the instant before he decided to pursue the latter course, Burt caught sight of this blurred beast as it flew past: massive black wheels tearing up the dirt, a black and spotted brown frame that seemed to have been painted by the devil himself, and two shining white orbs that looked ahead with an unflinching determination.
What a monster. Burt sure felt sorry for whatever poor soul was about to meet such a creature. 1.8 seconds later he forgot all about it and continued stuffing his face.
****
Daniel Stockton stepped hard on the brakes as he pulled up next to the house. His impressively masculine truck rolled to a stop and rocked gently in place while a final cloud of fine mountain dust caught up to it. The dust paid respects to the truck’s majestic wheels and undercarriage then settled back down to the ground humbly.
Daniel felt a thousand pinpricks in his chest and the hurried thumping of his heart. He craved her. He took in a deep breath of fresh mountain air through his sturdy flaring nostrils. He was home.
He stepped out of his fittingly imposing vehicle, seizing his rugged brown backpack from the passenger seat in one motion. His worn green duffel bag still rested in the back of the truck. Screw it. He needed to feel her soft warm flesh. Now. He needed to wrap his arms around her soft warm body. He needed to kiss her soft warm lips. He needed to sink his manhood deep into her soft warm loins and feel the wet velvet of her desire surround him. Duffel be damned.
He strode up to the house and stepped inside, like a king returning home from a heroic battle in a far away land.
He listened. All was quiet.
He looked around the house, surveying his domain. Four months had passed since he last felt the welcome of its familiar confines. He observed traces of Sarah’s presence. A mug on the kitchen island. Open magazines on the kitchen table. Her text books on the leather sofa. Her fleece hanging on the hook next to the front door. He buried his nose in the soft jacket. He could smell her. She was here. She was close.
He set his backpack down and, a hunter stalking his prey, he silently ascended the stairs. The rush of adrenalized blood in his ears deafened him. Shouts of joyous greeting would have gone unheard at this point. Any moment now he would see her.
As he crested the stairs and looked into the bedroom, he saw the white clouds of comforter on the bed gently rising and falling. He froze. She was there. In the bed. Asleep. A doe waiting to be taken.
He stepped closer. Just over the top of the duvet he saw the dark tangles of her hair. Relief and warmth spread through him. She was laying on her back, her head turned towards him to the right, her left arm resting wildly over her head. Her eyes were closed. Her sensuous lips parted slightly as she breathed in and out at regular intervals. He smiled at her broadly. Her tanned skin and impossibly brown hair contrasted sharply with the light linens. She was beautiful. He could just make out the tops of her shoulders before the rest of her body disappeared seductively under the covers.
Gently Daniel settled his weight onto the edge of the bed and gazed at her deeply. She was so beautiful. Suddenly he felt very dirty and unrefined, by contrast. He had spent the past several months on a ship with a crew of filthy men, sixty tons of dead fish, two cats and one Romanian matriarch who swore like a pirate and cooked like a mason. And then he traveled for two straight days over land to return home. He needed a shower. Hell. Shower be damned. He couldn’t wait any longer. The straining bulge in his jeans couldn’t wait any longer. He wanted her. Now.
Quietly, he slipped his hand beneath the sheets.
****
Sarah Marcus dreamt about strawberries. She loved strawberries. Ripe, plump, juicy strawberries. She was chopping strawberries on a cutting board in the kitchen of her parents’ house by the lake. Sticky red strawberry juice ran over her fingers and spread across the cutting board. She rubbed it on her neck and let the juice run down between her breasts. It was cool and it tickled her like mice. She tasted it. It tasted like maple syrup and brandy.
She opened her eyes and looked out the window at the lake in front of her. The clouds above were grey and dark. There she saw Danny’s boat in the distance. She knew it was his, even though she’d never seen it. It was rocking back and forth. He was in trouble.
Then she was on the boat. She ran around the deck looking for him, but couldn’t find him. It was a big boat. Didn’t seem that big from the house. She ran into a man in a dark coat holding a fishing net. She thought it was Danny, but when she looked at his face, it wasn’t. She asked him where Danny was. The man said something in Russian she didn’t understand. She had to find him.
Then she looked up at the mast of the ship. She saw Danny looking out into the distance. He must be on watch. They always made him stand watch. Jerks. She tried to climb up to him, but couldn’t find the ladder. She circled around and around. She climbed on boxes. She looked up again but he seemed even further away and higher up the mast than before. She called out to him. He couldn’t hear her. She had to tell him something. It was vitally important.
Suddenly, Sarah was flying up backwards away from the boat. No! She had to reach him! She tried to go back, but she was being ripped away now, up through the cold grey clouds. And she realized she was no longer in the dream.
She felt her eyes move under her eyelids. She heard herself breathing. She felt her arm move underneath the comforter. She was in bed. Home. The boat was gone. Danny was gone. Yet she felt something moving. A warm hand rested on her stomach. Not her hand. And something else was moving back and forth. A thumb. There was a thumb in her bed. Also not hers. She felt a hand on her stomach and a thumb was moving back and forth over her belly button. Odd. But still, it felt nice.
She breathed in deeply and opened her eyes. Groggy. As her eyes focused, she saw a dark mass next to her. It was a man. There was a man in the house. Again, odd.
She focused. This was important.
She looked the figure over with logical eyes. He was wearing a dark jacket, plaid shirt. He had broad shoulders. Silvery glasses nested in his spiky black hair. He had dark eyebrows and a strong ridge above his eyes, his deep brown eyes. A rugged nose. Stubble, with some grey. His shiny white teeth contrasted with his tan and dirt-speckled skin. He smelled musky. He smelled fishy. She knew this man. Yet it had been a very long time since she had seen him and it took her memory a moment to adjust to this new face. But it wa
s Danny. Finally, she smiled in recognition. He smiled back.
‘Hi baby,’ his resonant baritone flowed over her like honey.
‘Danny!’ she cried.
She sat up immediately and threw her arms around his neck. The comforter fell away as she moved, and his coarse jacket felt rough on her bare breasts. But she didn’t mind… her man was home.
And she was hungry.
*
PART 3 of 3
Daniel Stockton and Sarah Marcus held each other for what seemed like an eternity. Comfort and joy filled them once again as the two experienced each other’s too-long absent physical reality. Their overlapping vocalizations of greeting and pleasure slipped like candy into their ears. Finally, Danny pulled back, one hand resting on her waist, the other caressing her cheek.
‘Let me look at you.’
After a cursory glance at the rest of her face that made Sarah blush, their eyes locked onto each other. And those eyes, burning with a yearning that no eyedrop could tame, re-opened a highway of lust between their owners.
‘Oh, Danny,’ she whispered, and their faces came together. He felt the thin layer of heat that emanated from her face just before their lips made contact. He smelled her floral scent. She inhaled his musk. They both closed their eyes.
Their lips came together and instantly recognized each other, like two predatory cats long parted but keenly aware of their last mating. First, one solid kiss. Flesh against flesh. Then their jaws relaxed and their lips parted in welcome warmth. Their mouths twisted around each other slowly while hearts raced in contrast.
Sarah and Danny tasted each other’s saliva. She felt the burn of his stubble on her chin. Their soft tongues met each other, seducing their owners into deeper and deeper contact. Their tongues probed, curled and plunged into the other’s mouth.
Danny pulled her close to him. His left hand slid up her spine to her neck while the other held the small of her back and pressed in hard. Sarah’s arms curled around his neck, her hands clawing at his shoulders.
In the gentle dance that unfolded as they kissed, Sarah removed his jacket which landed on the floor with a flop, Danny pushed the comforter further down the bed to make room, and the happy pair carefully laid themselves down on the hospitable mattress.
Ecstatic at feeling his weight upon her once more, Sarah hungered to feel his flesh directly. She unbuttoned his shirt with her practiced fingers. He happily assisted her pull the frustrating textile out of his jeans and throw it behind him on the floor. But Sarah had already moved on to unbuckling his thick leather belt and unbuttoning his fly. She pulled at the buttons on his fly vigorously and they quickly obliged. Danny smiled in their kiss, it had been a very long time since anyone had worked on his jeans but him.
Still kissing, Sarah slid her hand into his open pants and felt the throbbing hardness barely contained in his black boxer-briefs.
‘Wait,’ Danny whispered.
‘No…’ Sarah cooed in return.
‘Um, yeah,’ he said. ‘Gotta lose the boots.’
She chuckled and watched him remove his heavy footwear and wool socks. The jeans followed, and then his undershirt joined the pile on the floor. The sunglasses that had perched in his hair had long been knocked off, a casualty of the early stages of their kissing.
‘That’s better,’ he said and he returned to her.
‘Not quite.’
Now it was Danny’s turn to chuckle, Sarah pulled down his underwear.
‘Much better,’ she said and guided him over her as she lay back in the bed once more.
They both found themselves awash in relief and deep satisfaction, their bodies pressed together. Their limbs intertwined. Their warm skins touched. Their bodies became locked in an organic dance of tender caresses.
Their hands ran over each other, following their contrasting curves. Sarah’s hands seemed small as they moved across the impressive girth of his muscles. They slid through the hair on his firm chest and danced over the bumps of his ribs and back before resting on his hips.
Blaze
- 20.05.2021
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