Travels of the Mind Pt. 05

5 Basalt

It was such a dark night. Pitch black as the woman felt her way forward. A warm summer's night but no moon and the clouds had swept across the sky, obscuring even the faintest of starlight. A broken-down car on a country road and she had been alone. She had set out from the broken-down car, its engine so silent, by the light of a low moon, along the tarmac road hoping to find the welcoming light of village or telephone box at a crossroads, but the moon had gone and then the stars. Not a passing car for her to flag down. Nothing. She was not a little frightened, the more so when the tarmac beneath her feet seemed to give way to mere dirt. Had she wandered from the road without realising? She tried to retrace her steps but found herself losing the path and touching leaves and branches. Not good. Not good at all.

And then relief, as the clouds moved across the sky and a little light returned. She was on a narrow dirt track. There was no sign of tarmac or road. To retrace her steps or go on? More sensible to retrace but as she walked back no tarmac appeared. The moon rose -- but it had set -- that could not be.

Ahead of her, the path showed to be obstructed by a wall of stone. Not a built wall. Not a man-made wall of interlocking blocks of stone but a natural outcrop. Black in the monochrome light of the rising moon. The path disappearing into a narrow chasm in the rock face. She stood looking, perturbed; one thing to be walking alone along a path at night, a little more concerning to enter a narrow corridor of stone. She could be trapped. What if someone or some people blocked her way forward or back? Where was this? Above her the moon showed her the entrance to the chasm quite clearly.

She glanced at her watch. It was all strange, and when strange things happened to her, her acquaintance, that man, seemed to be behind them. Was this one of those happenings? She rather hoped it was. Better that than being really lost.

As she looked at the narrow entrance it came to her that the whole formation of rock, and the entrance, was very much like looking at a woman's sex. Yes! Not that she spent a great deal of time looking at women's sexual parts. The narrowing was like the narrowing of thighs, and where the path led was so like -- yes! It was as if it had been sculpted, now she looked and realised, as if it had all been roughly carved. She could just imagine some ancient people doing that. A ceremonial entrance or exit, tied up with nature rituals of birth or perhaps coming of age. Her imagination rather getting the better of her, imagining young men or girls perhaps being encouraged to enter not knowing what they might find. Despite her undoubted predicament, but a little heartened by the thought this was all Harris' doing, she imagined what the young people might think, stepping carefully into the chasm and the darkness, going down a hollow to a cavern where the sun has never shone. And what would they find there? Would there be light beyond? Might there be warmth and a fire -- might there be sex or a test of manhood or womanhood?

Two choices -- either to go back, except she rather thought she had retraced her steps already -- to no avail - or go on into the chasm. Standing there did not really seem an option. It was dark inside the chasm, her feet scrunched upon gravel for a time as she felt her way along. She was not worried, really, about a pit being open before her, it was a path after all, but it was prudent to be careful. Above her the stars seemed brighter, though it was clear the walls were shear and tall and she could only see a portion of the heavens. After a time, a ruddy glow seemed to be coming from ahead. A flickering of light. A torch held aloft as light, a brassiere, or a fire? The sound of crackling and the smell of woodsmoke confirmed what she had expected. She drew closer and was not at all surprised to find Harris seated with hands extended to the crackling fire. Around him the chasm flickered with red light.

She sat beside him, feeling safe and content. He did not look up at her appearance. The worry of the car breaking down and the walk receding.

"Why not just ask me to come here?"

"Would you come?"

"I don't know. I... I don't seem to have any choice."

"We all have choices."

She was not sure. Benjamin and she had chosen to have another child, but it was not happening. We might make choices but that did not mean the choices were necessarily ours to make. Was Harris the key to that?

"I'm meant to be home. Benjamin will be worried."

"The rock is Basalt, you know."

She did not. "It is very still here." The smoke went lazily upwards disappearing out of the top of the chasm above them. She went on, "I've not had sex outside in the dark. It must be nice to be out camping with someone, sitting around a campfire and then cuddling and engaging."

Harris said nothing and her thoughts wandered to being with Benjamin in a clearing in a forest miles and miles from anyone else. A gathered fire of dry sticks in front of their tent. Not that they went camping -- but it was a nice idea. Not quite the same when on a regulated campsite with 'facilities.'

"Are we going to have sex then? Is that why you brought me here?"

"You are."

He was being unusually taciturn. More usually enigmatic than quiet.

She left Harris there still staring into the fire and walked on further down the chasm, down the gravelled path.

Where had she come to now? She stood at the very end of the chasm looking out across a dry plain in the moonlight. It was nothing like England or the England she knew. The emptiness came to her. No lights in the distance. Not a lonely farmhouse or the sight of snaking headlights upon a road. Nothing, just stars, the plain and occasional dark trees just visible in silhouette. Monochrome in moonlight.

But was that perhaps a hint of light, a low glow someway across the plain? She turned and Harris was there behind her. She smiled. "So quiet," she said. It was quiet but there were now insects chirping out across the plain. She turned back. "What is that?"

"You wanted sex."

"I didn't say that." His hands, though, came from behind, over her breasts, moulding them, as Benjamin had done in the shower the night before. Her nipples were hard, as they had been with Benjamin. She knew Harris could feel them. Knew they betrayed her. She stood there looking outwards, feeling Harris' hands undoing her blouse at the front; exploring and then entering. They roamed freely, moulding and rubbing. Between the globes of her bottom she could feel a hardness. Not a naked hardness like with Benjamin in the shower, but undoubtedly there. Another man aroused by her body.

Harris' fingers moved to the brass button of her jeans as she knew they would. There had been young men before Benjamin who had fumbled with them, but not Harris. His fingers were delft, the button through the eye in a trice and the brass zipper lowered. With one hand still pressed to her breast she felt a finger stroke her stomach where knicker elastic met skin.

She could not really help herself pushing back against the man, feeling that hardness against her bottom. It was not frustration -- had not Benjamin done well the night before -- only, only... It was a deep desire, a desire to be with child. Her need, her need to copulate, not simply a sexual need but something deeper -- fecundity. She wanted desperately to be impregnated. Could Benjamin not do that? Had he perhaps the night before? Still she pressed back against Harris, wanting the feeling of a cock entering deep inside her and fertilising.

Her eyes went wide as Harris' fingers made their way through her pubic hair, caught between the tightness of jeans and knicker elastic. Tight even with the outward splaying of the denim at the front, now the button and zip were released. Fingers starting to worm into her cleft. Fingers wriggling over her mound and burrowing in her curls. In her mind the first sight of the basalt chasm, her thought how like the thighs and sexual opening of a woman it had all been. She had approached and entered. Harris was going to do much the same.

Not so easy for fingers to wriggle further, not within the tight denim and cotton of her knickers, even with her legs now a little splayed. The hard seam pressing upwards. Perhaps she should remove the jeans to help. Harris' fingers had turned the corner. They had been pressing downwards within her knickers, but her curls were now in his palm and he was crooking his fingers to turn under her, making that shape of hand that men -- and women -- make when first fingering a woman. His fingertip would be feeling her wetness as she could very much feel him. She could not help that. Her lubrication had come. She could feel that thickening of lips, that swelling that rather matched the male penis in the blood flowing to expand. Not anything like as much of course. Hardly! Nothing like what she could feel now pressing against and between her buttocks. Harris was not small. She was no stranger to that.

Fingers touching her own special swelling, the swollen pea of her external clitoris -- the glans, naked and throbbing, its sheath as retracted as probably Harris' cock's skin was within his trousers. Should she reach behind her, insert her hand between the two of them and hold, fondle or unzip Harris?

His fingers wriggled on, a squirming, wriggling, turning motion, seeking forward, seeking to push hand between woman, knickers and jeans. A gradual progress but the anticipation, the slow but very stimulating progress a delight to her as she stared a little slack mouthed out into the darkness. What was that faint glow?

Slow progress, but progress, nonetheless. Harris' fingers curled further as he cupped her hairy and wet sex and pushed a finger into her. The night before Benjamin had done the same, reaching around her and with soapy hand cupping her sex. So much easier in the hot shower, two naked bodies together, her legs well splayed and Benjamin's hand tight to her mound of Venus, his fingers seeking and curling and his long forefinger parting and entering her. Was it awful that she was allowing another man to do the same thing less than twenty-four hours later? But was this not just a dream?

One finger, two fingers, three fingers. All inside her body. And Harris' other hand moulded across her left breast, nipple squeezed between fingers.

"Shall I undress," her voice husky. It reminded her of just how she had asked Benjamin in the shower, 'should I kneel?'

"It would be best."

Harris had done much of the job. Her hands went straight to her jeans, tugging at them. Seeking to bring them down over her hips. Them and her knickers. With them around her knees Harris pressed firmly into her bottom crack. The tweed rather ticklish against her skin, though no mistaking the pressing hardness there. Without the compression to her thighs, the man found it easier to wriggle his hand forward into her. A wonderful feeling of fullness as he splayed his fingers within her. Did she want a cock inside her or not! The thicker the better. Thicker than Benjamin's -- a bad thought.

She broke from Harris and with jeans and knickers around her knees almost fell over. A woman hobbled and unable to escape. That strangely excited her. Benjamin and she had not been into bondage -- tying up games. Would she like that? Benjamin tying her to the bed and then having his wicked way. Impractical really. What if Maisie woke up crying. How could she go and comfort her if tied?

Harris watched her finish undressing. Tearing off brassiere and blouse, tugging and pulling jeans and knickers from her legs as she kicked off sandals to leave her stark naked in the moonlight. Harris, of course, was still fully clothed. Yet the moon shadow showed in stark monochrome the so obvious long bulge in his trousers.

"Are we?" She asked. The question would have seemed superfluous only Harris had not made any move to undress or release himself from tweed confinement. Perhaps he was waiting for her to do that. Yet there was a shaking of the head and a wave of the hand, out and towards the faint glow in the distance.

"I'm meant to...?"

Harris nodded and she found herself walking -- walking away from the chasm's exit out onto the plain, out into the night towards the glow. Her bare feet on the hard baked earth, her body unclothed. What was she walking towards; moreover, whom was she walking towards?

Out across the plain in the starlit darkness. Her feet upon the dusty ground, thighs moving, feet placing themselves one in front of the other, wet sex between her legs rubbing.

It was men, men around a campfire. Naked men squatting on their haunches, big but soft penises dangling. There were eight of them, but there was space for a ninth. They were looking at her.

She had come to the edge of a depression in the plain, a shallow enough depression and, as she came up to it, the fire and the men had come into view. Dark skinned men, their skin shining in the firelight. Men as naked as she was naked. Difficult in the darkness of the night to see much of their expression but they had all turned to look at her. They did not move, did not leap to their feet to grab weapons or anything, did not race to capture and bind her. They just stayed squatting and staring at her. Eight pairs of eyes looking at her, almost unblinking. There was no movement, none except to their penises. As one they swelled and rose; big, bulbous and shining. And, no doubt, fecund.

She knew what would happen. Knew why Harris had sent her there. No point in running. They would catch her, and, if she ran for the chasm, even if she reached it, might not Harris hold her until she was caught by the men. Handed over for their pleasure and... and hers. She knew what she wanted. The erections around the fire were strong and capable. She was already running with lubrication. She was ready.

But not one of the men made a move and gradually the penises subsided. She watched with almost disappointment as the penises collapsed. It was as it had been with Benjamin. Only he had come, had inseminated her, perhaps even fertilised. It was what men did. The rising and falling, and then the rising again of their penises. Day after day, many times in a day and night?

A slow movement of a hand, an invitation from one of the men for her to join them and take her place in the circle of men where there was a vacant space. Had she been expected?

The fire fascinating to watch. The flames moving, almost hypnotic. The red embers, the occasional crackle of the wood. She could not easily draw her eyes away. Were the men too staring at the fire or was their gaze sometimes upon her naked and feminine body, red reflections of the fire upon her pale skin.

It began slowly, an almost imperceptible sound from the men in the circle around the fire. A low murmuring that gradually became louder. She squatted there with them, one woman to eight men; one smaller, paler frame around the flames. One woman to eight men; one woman with female attributes: breasts and large nipples, the absence of hanging penis but, instead, the oval between her legs -- like the stone chasm with the way in.

The chant became clearer, she could make out the words, even if she could not understand them. Could understand nothing but it, like the fire, was hypnotic. Her mind whirled, the chanting becoming a regular pattern, strong insistent phrases - words that jangle in your head -- did not leave her alone. And, between her loins, an insistent longing, a longing for Benjamin or...

Could they see the wetness? Did her readiness for sexual intercourse show? Slowly the men rose from their haunches. Tall men, and it was not just their bodies that had become erect and standing. Around her the men had become tumescent once more. And as they began to circle around the campfire, their bodies moving in some sort of ritual dance, she could see they were not swinging, dangling penises, but hard upright phalluses. The men were circling in the firelight with penises full and standing. It was completely obvious to her what would happen. Where lust would lead. Men not hurrying to sex, letting their excitement build. Beyond the firelight, out in the darkness, was Harris watching?

She was caught up into the dance, her limbs mirroring the man in front of her, her lips seeking to take up the chant. Around and around the fire she went, first clockwise, then the men turning and she and them going anticlockwise. What fine men, what lithe bodies and, of course, what fine manhoods -- strong, upright and peeled. Harris had stood behind her at the chasm, his hardness pressed into her bottom. As she circled the fire it happened again. Only this time the hardness was not within tweed or any form of clothing. It was skin to skin, the penis was naked, pressed into as it touched her naked bottom. The dance slowed but not the chanting, slow and regular enough for the man behind her, the man whose penis had touched her bottom to come close to her, to hold her and, whilst they still moved around the fire, the circle of men and one woman still moving, he penetrated her, his erection sliding easily into her as his hands came over her breasts just as Harris had done. They had become one, as if, almost, it was eight not nine figures moving around the fire. With their steady dance, more a slow walk with a downward bend of the knee on the fourth step and then an upthrust,, the penis was anything but still within her; it was moving up and down -- so very much the movement of sexual intercourse. So stimulating -- and it was not just the penis within her but the whole dance that excited her; erotic to be dancing with so many tumescent men in the firelight; naked bodies together and moving in the warm darkness. The regular thrust of the penis, the hands manipulating her breasts, fingers tugging at her hard nipples.

And then the dancing man pushed her forward, his penis slipping from her. She knew what to do. To weave out of the line and forward one place so her bottom now faced a different man and a different penis. It was a matter of seconds before a different erection had slid easily into her and the dance carried on. Across the fire from her other men circled with their cocks up and ready; she knew one by one they would be entering her; knew that one by one she would be clasped and penetrated.

And so it was, and it came to her the trigger for her to be passed on was imminent ejaculation. The men almost coming, reaching the point and then pushing her out of the line and onto the next man. And as she passed steadily forward, from man to man, she began to see the difference between those who had fucked her and those that had not. Their penises glistened with her wetness; the firelight reflected off knobs made the shinier by her 'polish.' She herself had not way of holding back, could not escape the endless penile stimulation -- she came upon the fourth and seventh man, her clitoris so swollen and throbbing as she danced forward to receive yet another man - the eighth man. Would it be Harris to follow them all? Would she return to the chasm to find Harris waiting? Would he be standing there with his own cock exposed and ready as firm as the stick he would be leaning upon?

From the eighth man to the ninth -- no, it was the first again. She had completed the circle. And on again to the tenth or rather second man and the eruption of a third orgasm, electric and so draining. Not the man's -- his penis was not drained -- but the draining of her energy. The dancing energetic enough, but she was used to exercise, to jogging and the like. It was the orgasms, one after another she was not used to. Could it be that she was to come on each of their penises? Not them ejaculating but her coming? She had come on the second, fourth and seventh man. She was almost half-way through!