The Grove

Right foot, there, a little higher, but still well below the left. Kelly walked her hands forward on the overhead branch, feeling her muscles flex, lifting her pelvis just a few more inches, then forward — she groaned, rubbing her vulva over the wooden tip. Huge. Already she could feel it press slightly inward, her body's juices slicking the wood, softening the rough tip. She brought one hand back down, spreading her lips, trying to find the right angle. The upper shaft was already slicker than a cock, if she could just get things started, but she'd had sex in this position only once, early on with Stephen. Her idea, of course. Foot up high on a chair, Stephen struggling to slip inside. It'd been fun, even though he'd given up after a couple awkward thrusts. They'd laughed a bit nervously afterwards, and then he'd given her two orgasms with his tongue.

Awkward or not, this looked so fucking hot. Legs scissored, massive cock pushing against her tight body — no, almost an inch inside her now. She imagined Chris's hands under her ass, helping her with the angle, and Kelly put her hand back up, supporting herself while she struggled to raise her left foot, straightening her pelvis while Chris's hands tipped her just so —

The head pushed in, and her pussy instinctively squeezed against the massive violation. But Chris's hands held her still, his warm chest against her breasts, kissing her hair until she slowly relaxed. With a deep groan, she slid down an inch. Another inch. His cock was like a fucking baseball bat inside her, but so slick, her modest weight driving her down, down, down, as though her hips were unjointing to help, her thigh gap turning to a wide canyon, filled entirely by this wooden cock. She coughed in astonishment, squeezed the thing between her thighs, and still kept sinking, the cock pushing against parts that had never felt this pressure. Whenever she got stuck, she pressed her feet back against the trunk, pulling back slightly, spreading her lubrication. Smooth bark, steady pressure.

When she finally stopped, there was a lot less cock outside her body than she expected. She'd taken this monstrous thing inside her, so far that she could put both feet down, back in the original spot. Just like before, except now with Chris's tree dong filling her up. What the fuck would Stephen think if he saw her impaled like this? Everything was full, so full that some nerves kept insisting she needed to take a shit, something she doubted Chris would take well. Somehow that nervous impulse only heightened her excitement. Pussy and asshole, clamping desperately.

Weirdly enough, she almost wished Bree were here. The old Bree, the one who'd be shocked right out of her panties. Kelly laughed, and then she started trying to fuck the tree properly.

Slow, careful. Sure, it felt good, but it was awkward, almost hilarious. Chris seemed annoyed that she wasn't taking it more seriously, but c'mon! That dong was ludicrous, and honestly she was getting off more from her own boldness, the view of her delicious body split open by the big wooden post. With great effort she pulled herself up, up, climbing against the tree, her pussy groaning and finally letting go with a smack and a few audible pussy farts. Kelly laughed, relaxing and letting her pussy embrace the top few inches again. She switched her hands, doing a ridiculous sort of monkey bar thing, pulling her leg all the way up like a gymnast as she tried to spin and face away from the tree. Lots of grinding bumps, pretty unpleasant really, and then finally she got her feet flat against the trunk, the soles of her running shoes holding tight against the bark.

Kelly looked out across the clearing, her back arched, chest jutting away from the tree, supported less now by her overhead grip and more by her legs and the outthrust penis itself. She was fucking majestic, a ship's figurehead. She pressed with her feet, pushing out an inch, another inch, and then relaxed her legs, sliding back. Gently fucking herself on Chris's big dong. Rocking back, forward, like the gentle waves. Bree stood in front of her, tongue touching awkwardly between Kelly's legs, confused, trying to find her clit under all those folds. And then Stephen's firmer tongue, showing her how to make it work. How to make Kelly's body sing. Because whatever else, God, he could do that.

Her orgasm swept over her, and the sailors cheered, and if Chris seemed out of sorts that was only fair. He didn't really know her, after all. Kelly was just another hot chick, and he was just a nice muscled guy with a big dick. Stephen, though, Stephen was her love. She had enough imagination for both of them.

* * *

[v.]

Stupid fucking dress. Too lazy to get a new one, so everyone got to see all the extra Carol, now didn't they, the lumpy rolls that defeated the tummy control or whatever the fuck they called it these days. And sure, the ornate old Catholic school was kind of romantic, with the nice garden in the back for dancing, but the plumbing hadn't been updated since the fifties. So here she was, relieving herself out in the woods like a drunk college student, and that meant dismantling everything and trying not to lose the safety pins. At least it was a damned good piss.

Frankly the air felt good on her backside. For a minute Carol just stood there in the evening light, ass to the wind, dress hanging on a branch, and wondered what those newly married kids would think if they saw her. It was a funny thought, liberating, in truth. Carol stepped carefully out of one shoe and finished unrolling the support pantyhose, then switched to the other foot. Bare feet in shoes, pantyhose into the woods, never to be heard of again. She groaned in relief as her stomach slouched back to its natural state. The kids might as well get an honest look at their future.

A gorgeous evening. She didn't even hear the music anymore, which probably should worry her, as she'd thrashed some way off the path. But there were no bugs, the temperature was perfect, and she was horny. Hah! Wouldn't Richard be shocked. But she was going to hold onto this for herself, just for a bit. Think about that cute couple and the look in that firecracker bride's eye, the girl obviously intending to fuck the daylights out of little Stephen. Carol still remembered him coming over to play with their Alicia, the two children getting filthy building earthworks. If only her daughter had found someone like Stephen —

Well, that would take care of itself, or it wouldn't. And right now no one was going to take care of Carol except Carol. Richard would hem and haw until they got settled in the hotel and then the mood would be gone. Not really his fault. He used to be the adventurous one, until Carol wore him down. Feeling spiteful, she stepped out of what passed for her sexy panties. She could be adventurous.

There was nowhere to sit here, but she'd seen the huge old beech, with mossy roots and all that. Very romantic. She snorted, then crossed the open space. Her confidence faltered, and suddenly she worried that someone would see her, poor half naked Carol in all her sagging glory. Well, she could sit on the far side of the tree. This never took long. She had it down to a science.

There was a convenient stubby branch, and she grabbed hold, pulling herself up to the best sitting spot. Something felt odd about the branch in her hand, and she rubbed it a moment. Nice, smooth bark, still warm from the day. Alive, just like she felt. She patted the branch, then took a closer look.

Goddamn if it didn't look just like a dick. A giant cock, and she'd just pulled herself up on it. If that wasn't a sign, she didn't know what was. Carol laughed, decided maybe she'd do this standing up. She was sopping wet already, more than she was used to, but maybe it was a hormonal thing, everything starting to go haywire just when her mom said it would. Leaning forward, one hand on the branch, the other doing what she'd done so many times. But never out in the woods like this. No, never quite like this —

**

"Carol?" Richard scratched his head. She'd been gone too long, and the light was getting low. She'd been nothing but complaints all evening, and he figured maybe she'd want to go back early to the hotel. Not that she'd be any happier there, but it had a mini-jacuzzi. He'd been trying to work up the courage to suggest it. Probably not, all things considered.

He walked further down the trail, listening. No Carol. She was sensible, but she'd left her phone in his jacket, and if she'd gotten turned around, it'd just piss her off even more. He sighed. At least he could relieve himself, now that he was out here. A couple thrashing steps into the woods, and then he fished it out. He had an erection, which was kind of pathetic, but he was slightly tipsy, and the bride wasn't the only beautiful young woman there. He couldn't believe what a stunning woman Stephen's little sister was now.

Anyway, it was harmless. Hell, might as well fantasize about the bride while he was at it. Or punk little Cassie. Not so little now. From behind, that would be the way. Pull up her short dress, hold her against a tree, trace his fingers over those nipple studs or bars or whatever the hell they were. Fuck her like an experienced man, not that that seemed to count much lately. Christ he was horny. Nice to be reminded everything still worked, he supposed. With some difficulty he finished peeing, then listened again. Maybe there was a noise of sorts.

"Carol?" No reply, but definitely something. Probably she was fighting with her dress, the poor thing. She'd almost hissed when he tried to help that afternoon. He wandered toward the noise, then heard something odd. Familiar, but wrong context. He stumbled a few more steps into a clearing, then tried to make sense of what he saw. That was Carol all right, half naked, leaning against a tree, her big bottom jiggling as she rubbed herself against it. His Carol? It was some kind of primal masturbation or something, and she'd be mortified. Maybe he should walk away quickly, hope she hadn't heard.

Wait, no. She wasn't rubbing against it. She was fucking the tree. It was crazy, like one of his twisted fantasies. Not like his solid, overworked wife, the woman he played Scrabble with on date nights.

Carol heard him then, turning with her mouth in a giant O.

"Richard, oh my God," she blurted. He was already retreating.

"Sorry, sorry," he mumbled.

Carol shivered, then shook her head. "You idiot, Richard. Get the fuck over here."

He was in some kind of dream. Carol was drugged, or he was. But his dick throbbed, seeing the woman he thought he knew, in some kind of depraved communion with a tree? It was preposterous, and fantastic. Whatever she was fucking, the stubby branch, it was huge. Years ago Carol sometimes tried big toys, but this was a different league altogether. But she'd given birth, after all. She knew her body.

And suddenly he was tripping, trying to pull down his pants.

Carol shook her head. "Just get it out," she said, need filling her voice. "Just enough to fuck me. In the ass, Richard. God knows I'm wet enough. I got it partway in back there, but it feels better this way. Even better with you — in my ass, Richard."

He stumbled up, loosening his belt, unbuttoning, just enough — God, she was still moving on that tree, and his cock bumped her buttock. They hadn't done anal in years. He thought she didn't like it. On his tiptoes, and his dick found her opening. Another awkward repositioning. And then he sank halfway in, her sphincter grabbing him like nothing he'd felt in - a long time. He gasped, and she chuckled nervously.

"I know, Richard. Oh God, push it in all the way. This tree's filling me up and I still need more. Deep, Richard, and try to hold on." She grunted. "Came twice already, would you believe it, and I need more."

He speared her all the way in, feeling like a man half his age. Leaned onto her back, fondled her glorious big tits, still held in place by that remarkable bra. Her familiar body settled against him, and he kissed and nuzzled his way higher, until he could whisper.

"I love you, Carol."

"God, I love you, Richard. You ever thought about a threesome?"

His heart thudded. "What?"

"Maybe Martin. He made a pass at me, years ago. God, I need to be filled up. Maybe him on the bottom, you behind just like this, or in my mouth, Christ, maybe I should shut up. I should use a toy."

Martin, his fishing buddy, with the potbelly and the dumb trucker hats? A nice enough guy, but — oh god, he'd better roll with this. Anything to hang onto whatever had gotten into her. He rolled a nipple with two fingers, stroking her round stomach the way she always liked, when he remembered to do it.

"Sure, sweetie," he said, trying not to stammer. "Sure, I bet we can make that happen."

Carol was shaking, excitement and fear, and Richard kept pumping, her rear passage grasping him tight, vibrating along with her. He reached forward, found her hand working her clit. He scratched her wrist with his fingernails.

"And maybe there's — someone you want," she whispered. "Or more than one."

"Cassie," he blurted, and then wished he hadn't.

"Cassie," Carol muttered, coughing. "You mean, Anne and Kevin's girl? Cassie, with her purple dress and the nipple piercing you could see right through it —"

"I know, she's too young," he muttered, wishing he could take it back.

"God, little Cassie," Carol whispered nervously. "Wouldn't that be something, watching her work your cock. I'd love to know what a pierced tongue feels like on my nipples, or my clit. Maybe you could do her from behind ..."

Richard didn't hear wherever this scenario was headed, because he was too busy groaning and filling his wife's ass with cum.

Some time later, he stroked his fingers through her hair. His erection was already returning. Carol was murmuring something incoherently dirty, still moving gently on the huge tree cock.

"Party's probably finishing," he whispered, finding her asshole again. "I'm sure Kelly and Stephen are fucking the shit out of each other, but we've got it better."

"Yeah," Carol whispered.

"You know, back at the hotel room," he said, driving his cock inch by inch into his wife. "They've got a mini-jacuzzi."

Carol finally relaxed her sphincter enough for her husband bottom out inside her, and she groaned. "We're gonna need it."

* * *

[vi.]

She didn't remember entering the woods. Might be the meds, or might be the fracturing in her mind, the mixing of dream and real and in-between. Kendra didn't remember the last time she'd slept. She must have, you had to do that or you died. But she didn't remember. It was night, anyway. Inconclusive.

Shoes, socks, jeans, light jacket. She'd intended this journey, even if she didn't remember. Even if it was just a dream. Her parents had talked about wandering, reminding her always to at least remember her phone, but she didn't have it. Kendra knew why they worried, but it hardly mattered now, ever since the bad news: not just schizophrenia. Maybe she forgot the phone, or maybe she hadn't wanted to bring it. Sometimes she got calls that left no trace. From the in-between, the spaces where her mind slid between things, hiding in the shadows like she used to with her body. Sometimes those voices helped her see what she needed to see. Sometimes the message was an incomprehensible, or faintly disturbing. Sometimes the voice laid out scenarios so detailed and dirty that she was amazed her mind could construct them.

Because it was all just her mind, after all. Mostly Kendra remembered that.

Blink white, blink red, airplane or alien, birds and owls whirling their endless silent circles. The woods were different every night, every day, and still it was just her mind. Oscillating, forward, back, shocking instants when she found herself on the same angle with everyone else, grasping grasping holding falling fucking flying dying

The forest smells came all at once, as though they'd piled up waiting for her to slow down. No, this was why she came to the forest. Smell, linked closest to memory. Recognition, repetition, a faith that there was a constant world. She reached down, unzipped her jeans, desperately sliding fingers underneath. Jerked away from the cold, but it was slick down there. Usually was, when she'd gone far enough into the woods. Distant memories, fractured, unreliable. But her smell was real. Her taste was real. Comforting. This was the good part, if she was dreaming.

She'd tasted her roommate once, before she had to move home again. She was pretty sure of that. Like her own taste, but also lemons and salt and apologies. Maybe Carlo had tasted Kendra, but she couldn't remember anymore. He probably wouldn't have liked it. At least, he didn't in her dreams, but he still fucked her. He liked that, cock slipping sliding from behind or on top, warm seed dripping down her thighs like melted ice cream.

Sometimes she liked doing it, but Kendra never felt anything. Wrong angle.

There had been trees, brush, some scratches now on her hands. The moon was up and bright as glass but she was ever in shadow. She smelled moss root tree sex, just as the angle froze and everything stilled, for a minute.

Scene from a dream: air rich and still, even the silent birds gone quiet. The timeless tree rose above her, leaves sparkling silver in the moonlight. And Kendra remembered: Bree and Kelly, from high school. The ancient phallus, the fulcrum that once before had helped her steady herself, fixing her into the thin invisible layer where other people lived their lives. Not forever, but she'd balanced a while, hadn't she, until she finally tipped for good. And now it was too late.

But Kendra remembered an echo, brilliant transfixing ecstasy with a thumb in her cunt. Bree had come to visit recently, on a bad day, but they were all bad days. Heard the news, nothing to say, but nice she'd come. Maybe the visit had unlocked the dormant memory, allowed Kendra to find this place again. Bree had long fingers. Maybe Bree would've liked to taste Kendra. If it'd been Bree and her long fingers instead of Carlo's insistent penis, maybe she would've gotten the angle right. The grief and fear didn't usually catch hold. But now she'd tilted too close.

Fingers clumsy now, like they usually were. Clothes took time, on or off. Warm cleft, dripping with understanding of this place, even as her mind tilted drunkenly, voices murmuring or shouting, Carlo shaking his head sadly, Bree spreading her legs and silent birds flying out.

A fulcrum in the dark, warm smooth hard bark. Last time she'd just tasted, but there might not be another time. It was so large that Kendra knew it would hurt at first. Climbing, lighter than air, invisible in the glass moonlight, she settled her crotch onto it, sinking slightly. Not too big at all. Just right, in fact, as if she'd become a giantess, or maybe it was the tree, knowing her need. She tipped, and the angle froze again, mind and pussy and all of it this once working the way a woman was supposed to work, squeezing throbbing whimpering shuddering.

Kendra cried, and her rocking was gentle, just a woman and her tree, close enough to smell, to hear, to wrap her arms around. A tongue touched her clit, tasting her, mouth smiling. A woman at her side, Bree but not Bree at all, stroking her hair, fingers hard smooth touching her nipple, even as the cock moved inside her, big and warm, each tiny angle a different world of pleasure. Pleasure, rest, and maybe one day something new. All of them tilting, back and forth, angles crossing and recrossing, glass moon whirling to sun stars bark earth.

* * *

[vii.]

Ken'asa shifted his bundle and listened. No birdsong. Surely there had been some, these past three weeks, but all he remembered were the owls, distant hoots and silent hunting.