The Scent of Magnolias

A tale of Southern charm, lust, love, sorrow, and a little bit of magic.

Chapter One: The Scent of Magnolias

It happens every Spring, or when I close my eyes and feather dust the pale yellow dry perfume oil lightly all over my body. The magnolias, sweet magnolias, are blooming…and I can scarce draw a breath with the thoughts the sweet odor evokes in my mind. What happiness…what ecstasy…what might have been…and the tears etch a glistening path down my lined and furrowed cheeks as I remember…yet again…whenever I catch the scent of magnolias…

I can remember every moment of those months, oh, so many years ago, as if it were yesterday. The memories play through my mind, and time has not diminished them. And sometimes they are more real than the world around me.

****

The porch swing sways gently. The day is giving way slowly to the night with sighs of soft crimson and mauve. In the live oaks hung with Spanish Moss, birds call softly as the flock settles in for the night. The warm breeze, heavy with the scent of magnolias, caresses all in its path. The moon, not quite full, brightens slowly just above the trees, appearing much larger than it should. The magnolia blossoms glow in a golden light.

Rising from the swing, we walk toward the garden. You are tall, over six feet, dark haired, broad shouldered, eyes soft and hungry. I feel at once both improbably delicate beside you and fiercely protected; slender but with a horsewoman's broad shoulders, dark hair falling to mid-back, just above what my mirror tells me is a shapely ass. Firm, hand-size breasts just visible beneath the white silky blouse I seem to always wear around you. My legs are long for my five foot four stature, sufficient to keep up with your stride. The entrance to the garden is guarded by two magnolias, a dwarf Southern magnolia that seems to have traded stature for the intensity of fragrance in its pure white flowers, and a Daybreak magnolia, full of huge, equally fragrant, rosy-pink blooms. Beneath them, and centered between, is a circle of stones, polished river stones perhaps, occupying a space of about 15 feet across. We make love there in the circle, enveloped in the fragrance, two souls melting into one. How to describe the scent of magnolias? Intense, rich, almost magical. Sweet, pungent, spicy, an almost citrus scent, reminiscent of lemons, but with overtones of lilies, and perhaps fresh semen. I can't quite put my finger on it - they smell like nothing else in the world - each specimen is similar, yet unique. They seem a metaphor for life. The exotic blooms pass all too quickly; if only the magnolia could bloom all year so we could enjoy its heady scent always. But that isn't to be. Nature is as life - things you treasure can't always last forever.

****

You told me that night. Our joy and passion, our plans for a future together, the new life to be…all on hold, aging like a fine Amontillado in its cask…until your return from the duty to which you had sworn allegiance. Tears etched a glistening path over my sculpted cheekbones, to collect in the corner of my mouth, lips slightly parted in shock. I knew in a moment of clarity and of horror what would be. "No, no, no, you can't go…not now…not when we have found each other!" My heart beat wildly in my alabaster breast as I clutched your arms to draw you nearer. Our bodies fit together in defiance of the conventions of the day. Our hands, our lips, our souls intertwined in a frantic desire to merge into one being.

And as the moon rose above the oaks, seemingly receding from the earth, its constant companion, so, too, did you rise from the bed of moss on which we had sunk. The hunger in your eyes was momentarily sated, but there was regret and sadness in those haunting orbs. Even the smile on your face as you watched me gather my petticoats and brush the twigs from my skirt…even that wonderful, expressive smile was tinged with sadness. A last embrace…a tender kiss, as gentle as butterfly wings…and you were gone…and I was alone…in the circle of stones.

****

Chapter Two: Equestrian Pursuits

He told me later he had seen me in the early morning, riding back toward the main house on my farm, relaxed and easy on my little grey mare. Half Connemara, he had guessed, larger than a purebred, with a distinctive elegant gait, and a long flowing mane, and tail nearly on the ground. He had found the rider equally enchanting, even from a distance – slender but with a horsewoman's broad shoulders, dark hair falling to mid-back, firm, hand-size tits just visible beneath the white silky blouse she always wore, her long legs and shapely ass encased in soft tan riding breeches. Not many women he knew rode that early, or bareback, with such confidence. Yesterday, he had decided – he had to meet that rider, convention be damned. The sight of me on the mare, slowly cantering in lazy circles, breasts bouncing, arms outstretched as I guided the mare only with my legs and seat, head thrown back in joy, ass and hips, moving with the mare in deep, slow pelvic thrusts, ass firmly planted on the mare's back – now that was a rider! The sight of me moving that way, as if fucking, fired his imagination, and made him hard. He imagined that rider riding him that way, and soon he could stand it no longer. He was glad Archibald was spending the week in town, and he was alone. He unbuttoned his breeches, freeing his throbbing cock. He stroked it slowly. He could almost feel her pussy, hot and wet, sliding down on his dick, taking him all in, deep inside, then thrusting, up and down, as his hand followed the picture his mind was painting. He could see those firm breasts, surely as soft and white as that silky blouse that blew against them in the breeze, with hard pink nipples, bouncing with each thrust of her hips. He groaned, his hand moving faster. "No," he thought, "slower, slower, match the canter, match the canter." In his mind, she now moved back and forth, back and forth, her pussy tightening and loosening, tightening and loosening, to match the rhythm of that canter, her back arched, head back in ecstasy. All too soon, the picture exploded, as he shuddered to a climax, cum spraying the wisteria and the porch railing.

****

The following day, he had his horse saddled early. As he had planned, he was riding in a side field where he could be easily seen when I went by on my way home. When I came abreast of the field, I slowed to a walk from a trot, and then stopped for a moment. He appeared to be concentrating on his riding, then noticing me, he also stopped briefly and waved. I returned the wave. He picked up a canter, again focusing on his horse, but he admitted he was watching me out of the corner of his eye. I watched for a moment, then trotted off up the lane toward home.

****

I had always loved summer on the farm – the breezes blowing lightly across the fertile fields of cotton and alfalfa, the scent of fresh cut hay and manure filling the air, bringing back memories of childhood. And I loved coming to the stables to spend time with my horse. The grey mare was beauty, and elegance, and power, and I spent every moment possible with her. Riding was my passion. I almost always rode bareback, enjoying the feeling of connection and oneness with the horse, the movement of the muscles beneath me. All sense of time disappeared when I rode - always in the present moment, focused on the horse, and the beauty around me. We were so in tune, my little grey mare and I, that often I had only to think of what I wanted, and the mare responded, changing gaits, turning one way or other. The day before yesterday, we had cantered in lazy circles, my pussy growing hotter with the slow rocking motion, as I moved in a way not unlike making love. I found myself thinking of the unicorn. "Now if I had been designing that mythical beast, I would have put a slightly smaller horn, not on its head, but on its back." I imagined riding naked, in warm rain… The heat of my mount beneath me, radiating up through my bottom, inner thighs growing warmer, encircling the barrel of the beast, and my ass moving with the rhythm of the canter. The heat reflected up into my cunt, making me hot and wet, and my clit and inner lips full and firm. I could scarcely wait to get home, where, once in the barn, I quickly slipped off my pants, continuing my fantasy. I felt the rain running over my breasts, teasing them, hitting my nipples, which grow warm and hard. Soon my hands are on my swelling tits, my fingers brushing the nipples, across the tips, back and forth, back and forth, then grasping them between thumb and forefinger. I roll each nipple between my thumb and forefinger, pressing down firmly, and arch my back, pushing breasts upward and forward to meet my hands. Soon, I am too hot to ignore the burning ache between my legs any longer. I slide my hands down, and shuddering with delight, rub them against my pussy, now dripping with juices. I play the rider, my hands becoming the back of the horse, rubbing against the swollen lips and button. I move my hips in rhythm with the imagined canter, slow and powerful. And then, once again, I feel myself on that strange unicorn. Fingers become that horn that would satisfy my desire, as first one and then two slide in. I fuck myself slowly, hips and ass thrusting in time with the canter, horn-fingers moving in and out and around, as I ride closer and closer to release. I press and rub my clit harder and faster, grinding as if on the back of a racing stud. As the intensity builds, the canter becomes faster, as my thrusts grow more frenzied. And then, my sex quivers, contracting again and again as waves of orgasms envelope me. I sink to my knees, gulping for air, then slowly pull myself up again onto the mare's neck. I hang there, spent, leaning against the mare as she quietly eats her hay.

Straightening my clothes, I reflected back on the rider I'd seen at my neighbor's. Not Archibald, I knew, perhaps a friend or a relative come to visit for the summer, escaping the heat of Charleston, and a handsome one at that. And not a bad horseman, either.

****

The following day had dawned warm, and as usual, I was looking forward to riding. This summer day, however, would turn out to be special. I felt it the moment I walked into the barn and saw him there. I recognized him as the horseman I had seen riding yesterday. My heart skipped a beat; the attraction was immediate. He looked at me and smiled, his eyes sparkling with mischief. His dark hair was damp with sweat; his face glistened. We both took a moment to look each other up and down. As his eyes caressed me, I felt that familiar heat in the pit of my belly, burning down between my legs. Oh, if I had my way, this would be an excellent day indeed!

As I took her mare out of her stall, I looked at the man from the corner of my eye. He was watching me as well. I looped the mare's lead rope through a hitch ring as he took an enormous Belgian out of a stall.

"Quite a horse," I said. "Are you planning on a ride today?"

"I am. Would you perhaps care to join me? I would enjoy the company," he replied.

"It would be a pleasure," I said with a smile.

As we curried our horses, I stole another glance at him. His back muscles rippled slightly as he brushed the massive neck and back of the Belgian. Then, he was bent over, the huge right front hoof in his hands as he cleaned the hoof with a hoof pick. His ass was toward me, and it made my blood race. Blushing at my thoughts, I turned away quickly, not wanting to be caught staring, and tried to focus on currying the mare.

As I bent to pick up and clean the mare's hooves, I felt his eyes on me. I suspected he liked the view of my ass as much as I had liked his, so I spent rather more time than necessary on the hoof cleaning.

I was surprised when he spoke. "Your lovely little mare, she's Connemara but not a purebred?"

"That's correct, and most observant, sir. She's the result of an illicit liaison between the Connemara I rode as a child, and a white stallion from a travelling circus. I was 12, and my grandparents had allowed the circus to camp in our fields, in exchange for tickets to the show. One of the acts was of course trained horses. This stallion, pure silvery white, was the star. He and the equestrian master were billed as being from Austria, so perhaps he was a Lippizan. I have never seen such riding, and such movements from a horse – he danced, trotting almost suspended in the air. He leaped in the air from a standstill, nearly head high, kicking out with both hind feet. He stood, like a statue, on his hind legs, balanced perfectly, for minutes. He reared, and then, bounced forward, on his hind legs… He was magnificent. In any event, my little mare must have thought so too, because that night, as I looked out the window, I saw her jump the fence from her paddock, and make her way to the stallion. It was almost magical, the two white horses glowing in the moonlight. I watched them mate, there in the big field across the lane. The following Spring, a little filly was born. She's been mine ever since."

By this time, I had finished brushing my mare, and had put her bridle on, and he had finished saddling his big horse. We mounted up and headed out, and soon were cantering toward the woods that stood in the distance. Sunlight penetrated the leaves of the thick trees, dappling the ground. The birds' melodies were all around, filling the air with their joyful song. About 500 yards down the trail, we entered a large meadow.

He stopped and dismounted, then quickly pulled the saddle from the Belgian. Then he walked over to me and lifted his arms up, inviting me to be lifted down. I threw my leg over and reached out to him. Our bodies touched as he allowed me to slide against him, exquisitely slowly, until my feet touched the ground. Our eyes locked. I found myself trembling and unable to move or speak. His hands cupped my face and he kissed me deeply. Our tongues touched hesitantly at first, then with urgency as passion was ignited. He gripped my hair in his fist and pulled my head back, exposing my throat. His lips were hot as flaming kisses trailed down my neck.

"Come with me," he said in a husky voice. And he took my hand and led me to his horse.

Stopping by the Belgian he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it on the ground. The flutter started anew in my breast. Then he reached for the buttons of my blouse. He exposed my breasts to his eyes, his hands, and his lips as my shirt slid down my arms. I couldn't wait to touch him. His skin was warm and smooth, and her mouth watered.

He stepped back and looked at me. "Take your jodhpurs off and do everything I say. I promise you'll be pleased with the results."

Seemingly bereft of my senses, in defiance of all that I had been taught, my hands shaking, I did as he said and slid my jodhpurs down my legs and off, removing my boots at the same time. He watched me undress, his eyes devouring me, almost like a physical touch, making my body quiver in anticipation for what might come next.

He slid his pants off as well and I caught her breath at the sight of him. His cock was hard and standing proud. Moving to him, I touched his manhood, and wrapped my fingers around his erect shaft. Raising my lips to his, I kissed him deeply, plunging my tongue into his mouth.

He moaned as I placed my fingertips on the tip of his cock and lightly spread them around the head and down the shaft. Touching him very lightly at first, I then changed directions and wrapped my fingers around him, stroking up and down, twisting my hand in a corkscrew motion.

He kissed me more deeply as his hand moved down across my taut belly and between my legs. I bent one knee to give him easier access as his fingers slipped between the major folds of my pussy, touching my clit hood. Then sliding over my wet pussy, he plunged his finger inside me, and my back arched in pleasure and desire.

Suddenly he backed away, and I whimpered at the loss of his exploring fingers.

"Come here and let me help you up," he said, indicating the big animal, which stood placidly waiting. "I want you to face the back of him." And with a boost I was up, straddling the animal backwards.

With amazing strength and agility he vaulted himself onto the horse's back and faced me.

"Put your legs over mine and around me," he said, and helped me into position as he had described. I held myself steady using arms and legs as he gathered the reins in one hand. Once we were exactly as he wanted, he kissed me again, which such passion that I almost fell off.

He wrapped his arm around me and under my butt, far enough to touch my soaking wet pussy, making me moan and whimper again. Then with a little bit of maneuvering, he thrust his hard cock inside. I gasped, eyes wide, and my breathing stopped momentarily as he thrust inside.

He clicked his tongue and the horse started to move, slowly, as I finally exhaled.

"Just hold on and let him do the work," he told me.

As the big animal moved, his natural gait caused us to rock, making his cock slide in and out of me. My clit was pressed against his shaft, grinding into him as he fucked me to the rhythm of the walk. The animal moved at such a pace, it was erotic and maddening at the same time. I didn't dare move me pelvis faster for fear I might fall. I wanted to speed up but at the same time, the slow pace felt so good and was so erotic, I couldn't bear the thought of moving at a quicker pace. Now I understood why he was riding a draft horse today, whose broad back, calm nature and slow rhythmic walk made this experience possible.

The sun was warm on bare skin. His scent filled my head, for he smelled of soap, and hay, and horses. He moaned when my nails dug into his shoulders as I rocked against him.

I cried out in pleasure with the intensity of the feeling gathering in my pussy, and clutched him tighter. I felt his hard cock throb inside me as we rocked slowly together, balanced there on that broad back, slowly circling the meadow. Finally, my pussy tightened around him as I was enveloped in wave after wave of orgasmic pleasure.

He moaned and a soft "whooaa" escaped his lips, asking the horse to stop. Then he asked me to lay back along the Belgian's back. He gripped my hips and pulled me hard against his cock, carefully, slowly at first, then slightly faster. I reached back above my head to grip the horse's mane for stability as he continued to pull me to him. His thumb moved onto my extended clit, and with one last thrust, his big cock throbbed and pumped me full of his cum. I came again, hard, as waves of pleasure washed over me.

We stayed in this position for a while, waiting for our breathing to slowly return to normal. His cock, soft now, still rested inside, and I didn't want to move or let it go. The Belgian continued to stand quietly.

His hands roamed slowly over my breasts and stomach, stroking my skin and wiping away the sweat. After a few more minutes he helped me sit up and turn around to face the front of the horse. As they slowly rode back across the meadow towards my grazing mare, his hands continued to explore my body, cupping my breasts, fondling and squeezing them gently. I wanted to tell him to squeeze harder, but my mouth wouldn't cooperate. He pinched my nipples, now no small target, as he licked and kissed my neck and shoulders.

Moving down trembling arms, his fingers played along my inner thighs and still sensitive pussy, sliding between the wet lips, and slipping inside my dripping love box. He was driving me crazy again. Soon I was writhing and panting, and I could feel him against my back, hard again.