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The rain came down in torrents. I had to duck my head, staring grimly at my feet as I trudged up the rugged slope to my cabin just below the crest of the continental divide. It was hard to tell if the swirling wind, or rain mixed with biting sleet was colder. All I knew was I couldn’t wait to get inside the snug confines of my dry retreat from this miserable weather. I turned the handle pushing the door open with my shoulder
I stamped my wet boots, shaking the wet hair from my eyes. “Shit, it’s cold out there.” I muttered to myself as I threw my over-sized pack on the floor.
The windows were shuttered tight, against a long winter’s snow-pack, now melting under the deluge of spring rain outside. Approaching dusk, what little light there was barely filtered across the room. I almost didn’t see you there. Huddled on the floor, hands trembling as you tried to light the pile of paper and twigs you’d laid on the hearth of the rough stone fire-place.
“Who are you… And what the hell, are you doing in MY cabin?” I demanded.
You ignore my impatient inquiry, trying to stay focused on lighting a fire. I realize that I cannot tell if you are trembling more from cold or from fear.
It should not have surprised me that you are here. For several years now I have left my cabin unlocked all winter, finding that it was easier to replace the few things a lost and weary traveler might need than continually to be installing new hinges and locks on the door. I shouldn’t have been so angry either… for now I begin to examine your appearance.
Your clothes are soaked to the point of being worthless for keeping you warm. You hair is matted down like that of an animal in need of grooming. Your hands are white from cold and trembling so much that you cannot accomplish the simplest of tasks that might give you comfort.
“Here,” I say, “Let me do that for you.”
I take the book of matches, striking one against the rough little strip on the back cover, lighting the whole lot of them from the first, and lay the bright blazing phosphorus flare under the edge of the crumpled paper you found somewhere in my tiny hut, to try to start this fire.
A line of flame creeps along the edge of the paper, soon engulfing the little twigs laid across the top. I open the wood-box to the right of the hearth, withdrawing a half-dozen strips of kindling, and a couple of medium-sized aspen logs. I build a little cabin with the kindling, surrounding the joyous looking flames, and lay the two logs over it.
“How long were you trying to get that fire lit?” I ask.
“I…. I… I don’t know.” You stammer. “I just was afraid I… I…. I’d never get it lit.”
The blaze begins to illuminate the walls of the room, the one room that comprises the whole cabin. I built it about ten years ago. It sits on an old mining claim, patented before anyone heard of the idea of national forests. So here it sits… twenty-three acres… one cabin… but none of the gold that so inspired the first seekers who came to this high mountain region.
The lake you will see, when I unboard the window in the morning, is too small to be of much interest to tourists. The little tract of land I own has no access, so everything is hauled in on my back, in a pack. The logs I hewed by hand, without aid of power tools and, I must confess, it shows.
But I love the isolation, the rugged beauty of the land, the absence of roads or trails for miles around. An intruder… even one in such dire need, was not what I anticipated as I set out to visit my little hide-away this afternoon.
I cross the room, reaching to get a small kerosene lantern from the shelf above the mantel. Deciding there is enough of the dyed-red fuel to last for a while, I light it, trim the wick, and set it on the table canlı bahis against the far wall.
My eyes return to you. You are still scared. I can see it in your posture, in the impossibility of meeting your gaze, in your hesitancy to speak.
“Where’s your pack… your camp? How did you end up here?” I wonder aloud.
But there still is no answer.
I open the rough-hewn cedar chest at the foot of my bed, retrieving a couple of dry towels and the sheepskin bedspread I keep packed in there when I am not using the cabin. I sit on the floor behind you. Your hands struggle to maintain the balance between soothing warmth and getting burned in the bright blaze before us.
I lay one towel over your shoulders, as I begin to dry your hair with the other.
I feel your stiff neck and shoulders begin to relax just a bit.
“You really should get out of those clothes, unless of course you want to die of hypothermia.”
You continue to stare at the fire as I open my pack and pull out an old, but clean pair of sweat pants, and a warm fleece pull-over.
“Put these on!” I say a bit more firmly. “And I’m gonna get changed out of this stuff.”
I pack all of the things in my cabin in plastic bags inside metal army surplus boxes. Otherwise there is no keeping the rodents out. For such a small place, 16×20 feet, it really contains quite a lot: photography equipment, my favorite writing, eating, meditating, beer-drinking table, a simple but complete kitchen, fishing gear, climbing equipment, all the clothes I might need for any conditions at 10,500′ in the Montana wilderness.
I find myself another old pair of sweats, wipe my own hands off on a towel, and dry my hair.
“Go ahead… you can change… I’m not the Unabomber or anything.”
Finally… I detect the hint of a smile.
As I busy myself changing, unpacking, rearranging my things, you manage to get into some dry clothes. I’m still irritated enough at having my perfect evening… my time to busy myself with meaningless chores, to reacquaint myself with these old surroundings, to perhaps finally get some real writing done… that I am less than a perfect host.
I grab a couple more logs from the wood-box, lay them on the fire, and spread the sheepskin across the edge of the hearth.
“Listen. YOU are in MY cabin. Don’t you think I deserve the courtesy of a response?”
“I’m sorry.” you finally reply. “It’s just so much. I was so cold… so scared… even in here I don’t know what I’d have done if you didn’t come along.”
“You’d have been okay.” I gently touch the back of your hand. “Most people are tougher than they realize. But I’m still puzzled. How did you end up here?”
“I feel so stupid. We were camped at Blue Lake… just a family outing, us and our kids, and some friends. I wanted to hike up the ridge the pick wildflowers. It was such a beautiful day.
“I wandered too far from camp, I guess. And then the rain set in. It wasn’t the rain that was so bad really… at first. It was the fog. I couldn’t tell where I was… where our camp was… or where I was going. I must have wandered for hours. I was almost ready to give up. I wanted to just lay down and die.
“But then I saw your cabin… “
“I always leave it unlocked. You never really know when someone might need something. Most of the time, if someone takes something from here, I figure they really needed it worse than I do.”
I reach up and wipe the tears from your cheek. “What about your family?” I ask. “We’re more than seven miles from Blue Lake. We can’t go back there until morning.”
“Is there anything else we can do?” you implore.
“I don’t know… It’s nearly ten miles down to the road from here. By the time we got to my jeep we could be at your camp in the bahis siteleri morning. With this storm we’re sure as hell not going anywhere tonight. We’ll just have to get some rest, get out of here before sunrise, and we can be to your camp in not more than three hours. 9:00 A.M. at the latest”
You don’t seem too satisfied with my answer, but resigned to the reality of the situation.
I brush the deep brown hair back from your eyes. “You’re eyes are too pretty to hide behind tears and that pitiful hair of yours. Who’s your hair-dresser anyway?”
Things are looking better. At last something resembling a laugh.
“We’re gonna have to make the best of it.” I say. “I’m not going to get anything done. And you’re not going to see your family until tomorrow.”
As I look back at you, I notice that your hands are still trembling.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “I’ve only been thinking of myself. You’re still cold, aren’t you?”
You nod your head almost imperceptibly.
“Would you like something to eat?”
Your face brightens a bit… “I … I… think so.. I mean y.. yes I really would.”
“By the way… as long as we’re gonna be here together… My name’s Jack.”
“You can call me Kris.”
I light both burners of the propane stove, and fill two pots of water from the fifty gallon tank I keep in the corner of the cabin. “There’s not much in here… but it will do ’til I can refill it tomorrow.” I say, trying to ease the nervous tension.
“You really could have died out there you know. It has happened to friends of mine before.”
“But none of them were as cute as you…” I add, almost as an afterthought.
“Here, have some cocoa. I don’t care whether you like it. The warmth, the sugar and chocolate will make you feel better… in a few minutes at least.”
You take a little sip… trying not to burn your lips, but savoring the warmth of the mug and it contents. “Mmmm thanks.”
I come and sit behind you… in front of the fireplace… and begin to gently massage your shoulders. Your joints and muscles… so stiff just a few minutes ago, begin to relax under my touch. “That feels nice.” You murmur, half under your breath.
“It helps the circulation, and I think it has a pretty good psychological effect too.”
You turn towards me, finally looking directly into my eyes for the first time.
“I want to thank you for what you’ve done for me.”
I’m almost surprised you have a voice, everything you’ve said so far has been so meek.
“What I’ve done?? I haven’t done anything, unless you consider being irritated at finding someone in my cabin, when I was looking for a little solitude, almost rude to you, condescending at best, doing something. I owe you an apology. You are lucky to be alive, and here I get annoyed like a petulant little kid. Kris, I’m sorry… sorry that you got lost. I know how terrible that feeling is. I’m sorry you were so chilled, there’s very little so frightening. But most of all, I’m sorry for how I’ve behaved. Will you forgive me?”
Without a word, you lean towards me, kissing me on the cheek, then joining your sweet lips to mine, pushing me onto my back, on the thick, warm sheepskin blanket.
I return your kiss. Out tongues entwine, like our minds trying to explore the recesses of one another.
You sit up, legs spread on either side of my mid-section. “Let’s see if we can add a little heat to that fire.” your smile transformed into a sly little grin. “We’re here for the night. We might as well make the best of it.” In one swift, smooth motion you pull the fleece top over your head. “You know, Jack, you didn’t do a very good job of pretending you weren’t looking at me… interested in me.
“Do you like what you see?”
It was my turn to bahis şirketleri be the silent one. I sit up between your legs, place my hands behind your back, and pull your chest to my mouth. I kiss first one breast, then the other. I run my tongue in little circles around each now-erect nipple. I push you down on your back, and lay myself beside you on the blanket.
I look deeply into your eyes, reaching up and running my fingers through your hair.
Outside the winds have not subsided. The rain now is mostly sleet, pelting the metal roof, but never penetrating the warmth of the cabin or of our rising passion.
I run my fingers over your stomach, lingering at the waist of the baggy sweats I gave you. You arch your back under my touch, inviting me to go further. I sit up, turning around, pulling your pants down a few inches, burying my face between your warm moist thighs. I slowly part your lips with my tongue, probing gently into your wetness.
The longer and deeper I penetrate into you, the wetter you become.
You reach up and begin to stroke me through the soft fabric of my sweats. I turn back to you, laying back down beside you.
“Make love to me Kris.” I plead, in a voice so quiet, it barely rises above the storm outside.
“Everything I am is yours.” You reply.
Not waiting for my response, you strip me naked before the fire. “Lie back down.” You gently insist, running your hands all over my body. Now I’m the one trembling, filled with passion, longing to love every inch of your body, but reveling in the tenderness you lavish on me.
You take me slowly into your mouth, licking up one side, then down the other, finally engulfing me with your lips.
“Yesssss Kris. You feel so good.”
You release me from your mouth, kissing a path across my stomach, playing for a moment with each of my nipples, and kissing me full on the mouth once more. Rising up on your knees, you reach down, between your legs, and guide me into your soft, warm wet hole. Slowly and gently you ease yourself down on me, taking every inch of me deep inside.
You pause for a moment, squeezing me, contracting the walls of your vagina, holding me deep within you.
“God you feel so good, Kris. I could stay in you forever.”
But you won’t let me. After what seems an eternity in heaven, and just a moment, you raise yourself up, exposing me again to the cool air of the cabin, teasing me for just a second. “Take me, Kris. Take me back in.” I beg.
And you lower yourself onto me again, harder, deeper, longer this time.
Our bodies begin to rock in rhythm with each other. I push up with my hips as you grind yourself down on me. I want this moment to last forever. I want to fill you with as much pleasure as you have given me. I want us both to come in unbridled ecstasy.
“Kris,” I whisper. “I can’t last much longer.”
“I’m ready for you Jack… Come inside me. Love me baby. You feel soooooo goood!”
Between the two of us you are filled with so much wetness, it pours down the sides of your legs, over me, and onto the sheepskin. We collapse in each other’s arms, lying on the blanket in front of the subsiding fire.
Through the night we stir… each other’s heart, each other’s passion. I add a log from time to time. I get one more blanket from the box at the foot of my bed. But we spend the whole night on the floor, basking in the glow of the coals from the fire, and heat of our passion. We kiss and cuddle, hug and giggle, and make passionate love more times than I can tell.
I arise once more, an hour before sunrise, stirring the still-warm coals, adding some kindling and a couple of good logs. I put the water on for coffee, and lay back down beside you.
“Kris” I whisper. “We need to get up. It’s almost sunrise. We have to get going soon.”
You turn towards me, greeting me with a long and loving kiss.
“Let’s not go just yet… they can wait ’til 10:00.” I’ll never forget that grin Kris, for as long as I live.
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