Hunting Dawn

"Now." Warned my Uncle as he placed two fingers on the bridge of my nose and began clacking those pliers once more. "Will hurt." then he made as if to grip my nose between the metal jaws of the pliers and before I could squeeze my eyes shut two things happened simultaneously at either end of my body. Aunt Biruta's fist closed tightly about my cock and Uncle Stan's fingers slid firmly and solidly down the length of my nose. I felt a sharp crack of disjointed bone fall into place, and just as I lost consciousness I felt the deep abiding sensation of orgasm grip my stomach and spread, rippling, down through my groin and heavy testicles to erupt in strong gasping spurts of semen onto my belly and the hand that held my stiff cock.

* * *

I woke to the sound of the cockerel heralding the dawn with bright voice and bold temerity. The darkness of a star-speckled night plastered the glass of the bedroom window. Then I heard distant female laughter brought through the partially opened window by a soft visiting breeze. I rose from the bed and made bleary eyes focus through the moon shot shadows to bring my shin sharply and painfully against a chair leg. Hopping with comedic abandon I finally knelt on the padded seat of the chair, resting before the window, and squinted into the farmyard to see what I could see.

Swift departing, rain shredded clouds, revealed a gibbous moon to paint a forlorn and sodden, empty landscape, holding nothing but secretive shadows and gently swaying hedges. Not a hen, not a pig, neither sniffing dog nor sinuous cat made way on that scene. So who was laughing with such girlish glee?

And there, in the field, beyond the hedge: a dancing, prancing, skipping and laughing apparition of silvered skin and flowing hair. A nymph. A naked goddess. Incongruously heavily thighed and fleet footed, sowing tinkling laughter on the wind. I flirted with the idea of joining her nakedness with my own but try as I might I could not tear my eyes from the scene. So I knelt and stared as Magda stopped and knelt to pluck a flower from the ground at her knees to press it to her face and wash herself with morning dew and then deliberately and oh so very slowly laid her white body down on the wet grass and rolled once, twice and three times from back to belly from side to glistening side. Then she sat and raised her face to the sky, one leg bent at the knee and stiff arms supporting her shoulders to moon-bathe in the fleeing darkness. She was Ariadne pining for her lost home. She was the earth-mother dressed in dew. Gaia.

From the corner of my eye I thought I glimpsed another ghost but as I looked it was gone. Of course, where there is Magda there will be Hannah. When I looked back Magda was crouched low to the ground, on the balls of her feet, balancing upper body on long fingers deep in the grass. Her chest was heaving. Those small breasts with stiff teats at attention shimmering as they rose and fell from the shadow of her hair.

Like a suddenly disturbed grazing animal Magda's head was slowly turning, eyes fixed on soft movement as the muscles through her legs and arms taughtened from unspoken command to effect flight from fancied danger. She was watching something close to the intervening hedge moving from below the gap, up field but downwind. Where the hedge began to thin I could also see white skin, moving slowly, languorously, showing by its movement both guile and affected innocence, radiating through its gait: No danger. No danger.

Spellbound, I followed this silver-wrapped wraith as closely as did Magda, anticipating with held breath its appearance at the gate-gap in the leafy wall...

And there.

Hannah, glorious in mud spattered bare skin, whooshed the air from my pent lungs, pole-axing me with naked beauty. I longed to be mud. Her slow pace came to a halt as one dangling arm lifted its hand to the leaves before her, to pluck and taste and feel the dew on her bare skin. Making lazy circles about her hanging breast with the broad leaf, she let her head fall backwards as she appeared to luxuriate in the texture and wetness of its caress. I wished that my fingers were that leaf.

Flicking my eyes to the bent form of Magda, who had begun to warily lower herself to the bare earth once more, I flinched as she tensed every muscle and raised herself for a life saving sprint. Frowning, I looked again at Hannah, whose languor had altered, subtly but decisively and was, by increments, coiling muscles tightly to mirror her pray.

Pray!

She was stalking Magda. The night had transformed these two sisters into hunter and pray. Magda was the hunted and Hannah was Diana. Shorn of weapons and dressed only in moonlight (oh to be moonlight) she must rely on craft and guile to chase down her target. Breathing abated as my heart thuttered transfixed by these creatures and the promised race.

I began to sing softly:

Hannah, walking in beauty, like the night
Hannah, soft as the early morning light
Nothing I do, brings me to you
Hannah, let me love you

The words froze as Magda hurtled from the ground, crashing her feet to dig into wet greenery and drive her forward, away, muscles sliding beneath firm thighs and wide buttocks, small breasts straining against gravity and taught young skin, hair a wild streaming pennant. But before her second step had fallen Hannah was three strides into a ravenous sprint, with lithe and athletic grace consuming distance with apparent ease, her heavier breasts jouncing wildly. Before her sister had covered ten metres Hannah was literally flying through the brightening air in a running dive to smash shoulder to cheeks with her fleeing sister, bringing them laughing, snarling and shrieking into unavoidable collision with the dark ground. Now it was a battle of strength. They wrestled, naked on the floor, elbows gouging earth, toes spreading grass sods and knees pressing advantage into soft mud.

Then sudden stillness, except for heaving lungs and swelling chests, as Hannah, astride her sister-pray, staring hungrily into her eyes, claimed her prize, which Magda readily acknowledged by baring her throat. Raising pinking arms in victory to salute whatever earthly gods there were, and what they may have witnessed Hannah then bent very slowly forward to sink her teeth into that willing flesh. With dew wet, mud wet skin, Hannah began to undulate from her firm buttocks along the length of her spine to slide caressingly across her sister's body as arms and legs moved to encircle and enfold her. Flicking lank hair from her eyes, Hannah struck to impale Magda's pale lips and mouth with her tongue to which Magda responded with a passion.

"YOSSEEP?"

Aunt Biruta's voice tore through my living dream, I turned my head at the sound and after listening a short while, turned back in anticipation of the climax to that wild animal erotic drama to be played in the open field... but they were gone.

The kitchen door cast a yellow pathway into the garden as Uncle Stan emerged with a steel bucket in hand, trudging towards the yard.

"Stanislaw." I heard Aunt Biruta's voice again. "Zavtrak vee 10 minootach."

And Uncle Stan's receding voice called back "Yo, Yo, Yo. Svinee ptanya."

I fell once more to scanning the field and farmyard for any further sign of moonlit dreams when I heard a heavy tread on the stairs and Aunt Biruta's voice softly calling "Yossip? Yossip? You still sleep Yossip?" At which I flung myself under the bedclothes managing to bang my already painful shin again, this time on the steel bedframe. And for some unknown reason, (shame? fear? No one even knew I was awake, much less watching my cousins wrestling naked in the night) I closed my eyes and feigned sleep. I would definitely have to keep my vow.

Song: Hannah (Dewar/Isadore/Trower)from the Album Twice Removed From Yesterday.