by Nicole Casey
“Ah.” He exhaled in relief. “That feels so much better.”
I chuckled. “You shouldn’t wear such tight pants.”
“They’re not tight,” he said. “It’s just.…” He was right; his pants weren’t exactly tight. But they were too small, too restrictive for his large cock.
I kissed him on the neck. “You poor guy. Your cock is too big for your pants.”
He laughed. “Yeah, just my luck.”
I pulled the collar of his shirt down and kissed him on the chest. “More like, just my luck.”
I ran one hand up and down the length of his shaft; my other hand ran across his rock-hard chest in like motion. My lips brushed against his chiseled pecs, touching him lightly with the tip of my tongue.
He quivered. His breathing became heavy, and his hips rocked and bucked in sync with my strokes. He grabbed my shoulder, my neck, the back of my head, clutching wildly as if he were falling and desperately trying to hold on for dear life. The wind beat loudly against our tent. It wasn’t soft or subtle; it was wild, aggressive, bordering on dangerous.
“Best do as the wind says,” I murmured.
My fingers stiffened as they explored the cuts and curves of his muscular chest, digging and clawing at him, my cadence spurred by the angry wind whipping at our tent.
He worked on my pants' buttons—too slowly for my mood—so I helped him. I pulled down my pants, though they stuck at my knees, then I pulled his down to mid-thigh.
He took me by the waist and turned me over so that my back lay against him. He kissed me on the shoulder, pressed his teeth against my skin then kissed me again. His hard cock slipped between my legs; the tip brushed against my wet pussy.
He slid his arm around me and pinned me tightly against him. His hand reached across my chest to stroke the top of my breast while his other hand explored my hips, legs, and crotch with firm strokes.
I ran my fingers up and down the length of his shaft.
He murmured and planted a kiss on the back of my head.
I guided him into me, just the tip, as he held me firmly against him in a position that wouldn’t allow for me to slide him all the way in. Still, I gyrated and shifted, trying to take in more and more of his cock. I attempted to move onto my side to give him better entry, but he resisted, and he gripped me tighter still.
I let out a plaintive whimper mimicked by the loud whistling wind outside our tent.
He let go of my shoulder and grabbed me by the waist with both hands. He lifted me. I seized the opportunity of increased mobility to pull my pants down to my ankles and then kicked them free.
I guided his cock up and down my wet pudenda, taking the tip inside me while my fingers stroked his length and his balls. As I did so, he put his hand to my back, forcing me to sit upright. He then brought me down, entering me with a thrust from his bucking pelvis.
The wind howled and smacked against the walls of our tent. I, too, let out a howl as his stiff cock smack against my inner walls.
“Oh, God,” I murmured. “It’s too big.” I fell to the side, bracing myself with outstretched hands.
But he didn’t let up. He shifted to meet me at my new position. His thrusts increased in speed; his cock penetrated me deeper and deeper still. His knee pressed against the back of my leg, pushing it up. And he shifted, straddling me, thrusting deeper into me from a new angle.
“Oh, heaven!” I cried out.
His firm hand ran from the small of my back to my neck. His greedy fingers ran from the back of my knee to my ass and squeezed. He stroked me and massaged me while gyrating and thrusting with his hips. His long, thick cock entered me and explored me, teasing an exit before plunging anew into depths I’d not thought possible.
The wind shook our tent, threatening to knock it down. But I hardly cared. My own cries of pleasure matched the crescendo of the wind beating and whipping outside.
He grabbed the back of my neck and pulled me back to him. His cock slipped out of me just as I was nearing climax.
“Oh, no,” I said.
His hand slipped around my neck to take my jaw and force me to face him. His hot breath fell against my cheek. He put his lips, then his tongue to my skin, and searched for my mouth. As he did so, he slid his hand down my wet pussy and inserted a finger in place of his dick.
He kissed me. My tongue glided across his bottom lip. His tongue slid across my top lip.
I pulled away. “I was about to come,” I said.
“I know,” he said. “But it’s too early. We’ve got all night.”
I turned over and straddled him. With one hand, I grabbed his hair and pulled him to me for an embrace. My other hand took his huge cock and guided it back into me.
He gripped the back of my legs and bucked.
The wind roared.
Best do as the wind says.
I met his bucking hips with thrusts of my own, threw my head back, and howled.
10
Ryker
After days of hiking, I was keenly aware of every muscle in my body—my legs, my back, my shoulders, even muscles I hadn’t known existed. Though they ached, my desire for Holly ached even more. And the constant whipping of the wind against the tent was like the beat of war drums, adding fuel to the adrenaline coursing through me. I thrust with my whole aching body, entering her deeper and faster with a force and a savage thirst I didn’t know myself capable of. The wind beating against our tent became a hypnotic rhythm, not unlike the frenzied percussion of a voodoo ritual that aided to possess its participants.
I, too, was possessed, possessed with a passion and a hunger encouraged by the need I saw in Holly’s eyes, her unbridled cries for more, and the animal-like vigor of her fingers clawing at my back and sides.
I pulled her legs farther apart and raised her hips. “You’re going to take it all. You’re going to take all of my cock in you.” I pumped and thrusted and gyrated, entering her from every angle, our contortions could conjure.
“Yes. Yes!” she cried out.
“No one can hear you scream.” I bent her leg so that she’d open for me farther still. “Scream louder.” I took my cock from her, left her labia spread with my fingers, and I pounded, guiding the quick entry with my hand. From completely out to full pelvis-to-pelvis depths, I entered her in short, rapid bursts until she grabbed me and forced me to stay deep inside her. Even then, I could not stop my hips from gyrating, ever searching for new angles and new depths.
Her mouth searched mine. But I had no breath for a kiss. So, I took her head in my hand and forced her mouth to my neck while I gasped for air.
I sucked in a lungful of oxygen and pulled her head back so that I could see her, see the yearning on her face, see the need in her eyes. “God, you’re fucking gorgeous.” I put my thirsty lips to her forehead then kissed her from her closed eyelids down her cheek to her chin, neck, and shoulder. “I’m so hard for you right now.”
Her wet pussy gripped and stroked my cock as I slid in and out of her with increasing speed. I sucked in a deep breath and exhaled. “I’m right on the verge, right about to come.”
I pulled out, gritted my teeth, and shut my eyes. I concentrated on one command—don’t come.
She clawed at my chest. Her legs wrapped around my waist and tried to pull me into her again.
I resisted, exhaled, then, in control again, I opened my eyes.
She took me by the jaw and pulled me to her. She kissed and nipped at my chin and around my mouth. With begging eyes, she implored me, “Please.”
I eased her leg down from around my waist to lie flat on the ground then I collapsed at her side. I wrapped an arm around her and pulled her onto me. Her leg slid between mine, my throbbing cock now pressed against her sweat-slicked thigh.
I brushed the hair from her face and kissed her calmly. With her lying against me, I felt her heartbeat resonate in my chest along with mine, rapidly thumping at first, then the two beats gradually relaxed into a steady, uniform rhythm.
; She took my cock in her hand. She stroked me slowly while her lips brushed softly against my cheek. The tip of her tongue ran against my skin, mimicking the motion of her hand up and down my shaft.
I leaned my head back. She dotted my heaving chest with kisses. “I can’t hold it back any longer,” I said.
“Then don’t.”
I put my hand behind her head and eased her tight against me. I spread my legs, and, meeting the strokes of her hand, I raised my hips and came.
Even though I hadn’t gotten much sleep the previous night, I hiked with new-found energy and enthusiasm. I was hiking with Holly from California. I was so happy and excited, I said out loud, “This is amazing.”
“Yeah, it’s gorgeous, isn’t it?” she replied.
I wasn’t talking about the landscape—though, it was quite spectacular—but I played along. I figured for a girl like Holly, a wealthy socialite known for going off on adventures and rubbing elbows with the rich and famous, that our night together was not as big a deal to her as it was for me. I didn’t want to scare her away with my enthusiasm; we’d only spent one night together, but for me, it was so intense I was already losing my head.
“We should be in Franklin in six hours,” she said. “I can’t wait to phone my family and write another report for my blog.”
“Yeah, I’m looking forward to seeing this blog you keep mentioning. I wonder if I’ll be in it.”
She nudged my shoulder with hers. “It’s not that kind of a blog,” she said with a wry smile.
“What?”
She took my hand. “I’ll need to spend a few days in Franklin. I have some clinics to visit in the area.”
I nodded. “Yeah, I’ve got some things to do in the area, too.”
“You do? Like what?”
Like, look for my birth family. I had been so eager to share my story with anyone I’d come across, but suddenly, with her, I felt embarrassed. “Um, personal stuff,” I said.
“Hmm, okay. Too personal to share?”
I shrugged. “You wouldn’t understand.”
She let go of my hand. “Oh, that’s right, because you know me.”
I know you’re a wealthy socialite from California. So, I doubt you’d really understand much about an adopted kid hiking the Appalachian Trail, looking for his roots.
I considered telling her just to see her reaction but thought better of it.
“You’ve got me all figured out, don’t you?” she said.
I picked up on the tinge of hostility in her voice. I had offended her without meaning to. You’re blowing it already!
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t mean to be presumptive.”
“But you are.”
“But I am,” I agreed.
“Fine,” she said. But it wasn’t fine.
I had upset her, and she quickened her pace to walk a few steps ahead of me.
“Look, Holly,” I caught up to her and took her hand, “I’m sorry to upset you. I am. It’s just.…”
“Just what?”
I hated myself for what I was about to say, but I said it anyway. “Look, when this hike is over, you’ll go back to California, and I’ll go back to Massachusetts. I just would rather not get to... you know what I mean.”
“I know what you mean. If you don’t want to tell me what you have to do in Franklin, that’s okay. I didn’t realize it was a big deal.”
“It’s just embarrassing, that’s all.”
We continued walking in silence. I kicked at the occasional loose twig on the ground, and inside my head, I was kicking myself. We were getting along so well. Why are you pushing her away? So, you don’t think you could ever be with a wealthy socialite but haven’t the last two days proven you wrong?
“Should we stop to eat,” she asked, “or keep on till Franklin where we can get a real meal?”
“I’m all about delayed gratification,” I said.
She looked at me out of the corners of her eye and cracked a smile. “Don’t I know it.”
We arrived in Franklin, famished. The town was much smaller than either of us expected. It was essentially a one-road town with a motel, Carolina Motel, situated near the lone stoplight, right where the Appalachian trail met the road that cut through town.
“Oh, that’s convenient,” she said, pointing to the motel. “I booked here online. Let me just check-in, then we can get lunch.”
I looked at her then at the simple, economy roadside motel. “You booked a room here?”
“Why not?”
I shrugged. “I just assumed someone like you… I mean. You know. You’d want to stay at…”
“Someone like me? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I mean successful. You know?”
“No, I don’t know.”
“I mean, if I were rich, I’d stay in one of the nice resort hotels; that’s all I meant.”
She laughed. “And what makes you think I’m rich?”
“Well, you are, aren’t you?”
She looked at me sideways, didn’t answer, but continued to the motel’s manager's office.
“Hello, I’m Holly Nestor. I have a reservation.”
“You sure do, Mrs. Nestor.” The manager, a short, thin elderly man, glanced at me then back at Holly. “Says here you reserved for one. Shall I change that to two?”
Holly glanced at me then twisted her lips into a pensive frown. “I don’t know about that yet. Can we see about that later?”
We ate at the first restaurant we came to—a small diner with greasy fried food and big portions. And it was perfect!
The waitress gave me a double glance, then raised her eyebrow suspiciously as she passed our table.
Holly leaned over to me and whispered, “Did you see that look the waitress gave you?”
“I did.” I smiled. “She’s got eyes on your man. Do you think you can take her?”
Holley settled back in her seat. This time, she was the one giving me a suspicious eye. “My man?”
I winked at her. “Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”
She smiled. “I don’t even know your name.”
“My name’s—”
“Stop!” She put her hand up, opened her palm out. “Don’t spoil it.”
Now I looked at her with a suspicious eye. What exactly would I be spoiling? And how would her knowing my name spoil this mystery thing?
Holly perused the menu. “Well, since I’m so rich”—she glanced up at me— “as you claim that I am, I will spare no expense. I believe I will have a starter and a main dish.”
I took a look at the menu. “No caviar and champaign on this menu, I’m afraid.”
She put her arm to her forehead and threw her head back. “Goodness, it’s dreadful to think I’ve had to go a week without champaign and caviar. It’s a miracle I’ve survived such a cruel fate.”
I chuckled. “I’m sorry, it’s just that we don’t have people like you—people who do what you do, I mean—in my town in Massachusetts. I’m still adjusting.”
She put the menu down and leaned over the table again. “Just who do you think I am, exactly?”
It was a legitimate question. I had been doing a poor job of hiding the discomfort I felt, every now and again, around Holly. Sleeping in a tent together, checking in at a motel, now eating at a greasy diner, all that was fine by me, but I knew a wealthy—probably married—socialite was used to a different lifestyle. I knew she was just having “an adventure,” and I was nothing more than “the local culture.” Admittedly, I was an East Coast doctor in residency, but I was born in North Carolina—or Tennessee, no more than a day’s hike from here, either way. And ever since landing in Georgia, even before setting foot on the trail, I had felt more than ever that I was coming home, home to my simple rural American roots. That feeling stayed with me in the company of this gorgeous West Coast socialite and with it, also, a sense of inferiority or, dare I say, even shame.
I opened my mouth to utter an answer to her question a
nd offer a—probably ineffectual—explanation for how I was feeling, but the waitress saved me the embarrassment and came over to us before I could speak.
“Good afternoon. Have y’all decided?” Again, she looked at me out of the corner of her eyes suspiciously.
“I’ll start with onion rings, then have the baked chicken with dumplings,” said Holly.
The waitress wrote down Holly’s order then looked back at me. “And what about you.” She wagged her pencil in the air in my direction. “I could’ve sworn you are somebody I know.”
I smiled and shook my head.
“No, you ain’t. But you sure look like him.”
“I’ll have the squash then the Carolina Chicken,” I said and handed her the menu.
“There aren’t ten of you, is there?” said the waitress.
“What?” I looked at Holly, and she was just as baffled as I was. Then I asked the waitress, “What do you mean?”
She chuckled and swatted her comment down with the menus. “We got these brothers who come round every so often. There’s nine of ‘em!” She raised her brow and looked at Holly then at me. “You look so much like them that I was wonderin’ if there weren’t ten of you. But I suppose not. Nine is enough, I’d say.”
Holly laughed. The waitress smiled and walked away.
It took me a moment to register what the waitress had said. First, I found it comical and bizarre. But then I began thinking: I was born not too far from here. If maybe I had a brother, then perhaps I had cousins or other brothers. Why not nine? And naturally, we would all look alike.
“Well, that was odd,” said Holly. She leaned across the table and whispered, “I think that’s just her way of hitting on you.” She glanced over her shoulder then back at me. “I might have to put an end to that. Hope I can take her.”
I glanced at the short, portly, middle-aged waitress then at Holly. “She’d be no match for you.”
Brothers? Nine brothers? Could they be mine?
As if reading my mind, Holly said, “Do you have family in the region? Maybe you look like a relative she knows.”
