Title: A Winter Walk Author: Vinnie Tesla Universe: A Week of Dreams Summary: A short fantasy. Keywords: M/F rough rom bicycle-repair On Sunday, I went for a walk in the woods. The thin, crusty snow crunched under my feet as I walked, hands deep in my pockets, the icy wind making my eyes water, the young bare trees around me offering little protection. The occasional oak murmured loudly as all its dead leaves were rattled by the wind. I imagined walking with you, listening to you talk, the rapid staccato rhythm of your words. "So, yesterday I took a U-bolt, and stuck one end through the rear-brakes hole and nutted it on," you say, miming the action with your hands. "The seat tube used to sit on a bolt through the brakes hole, but now it sits over the other end of the u- bolt. I dremeled a groove in the conduit for where it sits against the bottom of the U. There was too much play in the tube, so I cut a--" I consider asking what dremeling is, but then I have a better idea. I grab your jacket and shove you hard against a treetrunk, then burrow my hand through your scarf and grip you by the hot skin of your throat and lean in close. Our eyes lock, and for a moment there's no strength in me at all. Your bow-shaped lips are parted in a gasp, your cheeks are flushed from the cold air. I want to fall to my knees and wrap my arms around your waist, hold you very tight and not let go. I push that aside and lean in close. My other hand comes up and I run my thumb lightly over the chilled skin of your cheek. Your breath shudders and you bite your lower lip bewitchingly. I grab your short hair in one hand, and jerk your head back 'till you're facing the bare branches above us. You whimper in pleasure. I frantically unwind the scarf from around your neck, and bury my face in your throat, nuzzling and licking, while our bodies twine together tightly. Now I pull you away from the tree, spin you around, and push you back. Your cheek is against the cold rough bark now, your arms around the narrow trunk I press up against your back, my cock grinding between the cheeks of your ass, your hips pushing back to meet me. I bite the rim of your ear, and groan aloud at the feeling of your wild little body beneath me. I bring you around once more, and part your lips with my fingertips. I flicker my tongue across your lips and your strain to meet me against my grip on your fine dark hair. I can't resist you long--I kiss you hard. My hands burrow through layers of winter clothes 'till I can put my hands on the hot skin of your waist, feel the lean muscles underneath. I do kneel now, and I kiss the white skin of your belly again and again, bury my tongue in your navel, run my lips along the inch or so of exposed little black hairs that run down to your cunt. While I'm kissing and licking, I unfasten your pants. I jerk them down to your knees, rapidly followed by your tights. Oh, god. The shiny black hairs of your pussy, gleaming in the winter sun, the delicate pale skin of your hips. The hint of rich burgundy at your labia. I feel dizzy. I press my cheek against your vulva, feel the heat of your skin, rub my face in the soft hair. My hands grip your taut thighs, feel the hard muscle under the soft pale skin. I urge them apart, and you crouch down a little and spread your knees. My lips find your opening, so wet already. I hear you groan, and your fingers tangle in my hair, pushing my stocking cap off my head to fall on the snow beside us. One of my hands spreads your labia open, the other braced against the tree trunk. The cold of the snow is starting to seep through my pants. I ignore it. My lips close on the tiny hood of your clit, my tongue drumming against the bottom. . I nip at it and you grunt, your hands tighten, unsure whether to pull me closer or push me away. My fingers are exploring your opening now, working their way inside, where it's slick and hot. Two go in up to the knuckle, then a third, and you groan and bite your lip. I rise to face you, drinking in the sight of your brows knitting as you writhe your hips against my hand. I take your chin in one hand, as the other jams against your pubic bone. Your eyes are becoming distant as the sensation swells inside you. "Slap me," you whisper. A light open-handed blow to one cheek brings your eyes back into focus, doesn't slow the rotation of your hips. You nod slightly--"like that." I slap your face again, a little harder, In the instant of contact, I feel the chill in the skin of your cheek. I stop the motion of my other hand. Your hips are bucking against me, making up for my lack of movement. I can't stand it any more--my arms go around you, I press you against the treetrunk again, and kiss you hard. You feel the treebark against your ass, my tongue pushing into your mouth, my hard cock pressed against your stomach through my pants. "Fuck me," you groan. You mean you want me to keep dry- humping against you, but I take you literally, turning you around, and pulling your hips back from the tree. I fumble my rigid cock out of my pants and shuffle forward, dead leaves cracking underneath me. I slide my prick against the groove of your ass, dark purple against your white skin. A little saliva against the already-drooling tip, and I press it against your labia. In a few strokes, I'm inside, soaking in the raging heat of your interior. I moan at the sensation of your gripping me--my breath forms clouds that swirl and disappear. Gripping your hips, I pump inside you until my thighs start to cramp. I pull out, and a couple tendrils of steam rise from my shining shaft. I pull off my coat and throw it down on the ground. You grin at me, and kneel on the black wool, bending down and arching your hips up at me so that your open cunt is displayed. I fall on my knees behind you, and am in you in a single stroke, making you yelp. I lean back and slap at your ass as I work my hips against you, "Harder," you demand. I don't know if you mean the spanks or the fucking. One more loud spank, making you grunt between gritted teeth, then I lean over you, take hold of one of your shoulders, and pound my hips against yours, slow and hard. My other hand slides up your stomach, your ribcage, under your bra to squeeze your soft breast. Your nipple is puckered tight. I tug at it and your growl and shove back against me. When I come, I'm pumping so wildly, like an animal, beyond all conscious control. My weight is on you as I hug you tight from behind, gnawing at the nape of your neck. In the moments afterward, you collapse to lie sprawled on my coat, the head of my prick still inside you, my heavy panting chest against your back. When I fall out of you, I clamber off and kiss one pink asscheek before helping you up and kneeling to button your pants for you. I stand and we hug tightly, tightly for a long moment. "So, there was too much play in the seat tube," you say over my shoulder, "so what I did is I cut a block of wood to fit snugly between what used to be the seatmates and the brake bar in the back, and the wheel in the front. And then I drilled a one-inch hole at an angle for the conduit to go through." Snarling, I reach down and scrape together a handful of snow to throw at you, but by the time I'm up again you're off at a run, whooping, back towards the path.