Ivy

Woodsman?

On the beaches and lakeshores I’d been to, there was a clear delineation between land and water. Here in the forest, not so much. We were making our way through the tall plants and the soil was softer and softer and then there was standing water even before we left a print, a thin film that barely covered the dirt. And then it was more water than dirt, and then it was almost impossible to see just where I was putting my foot.

The tall plants had thinned out—they apparently liked water but not too much water—and there were some open sections of standing water with hummocks of greens and browns above it. Cattails and plenty of other plants I didn’t recognize. Ivy pulled some cattails loose, cut off the roots, and put them in my basket. She tossed the rest into the swamp where they floated away.

I wondered if humans could eat them or if that was just a minotaur thing. I wanted to ask, but I also wanted to be silent. I was deep in a world I’d only seen from the window of a car as I passed, one where I’d occasionally wondered what might live there, and now I had my chance to learn. Were there fish? Might she shoot one? Birds? Bird nests? Snakes? Were snakes edible?

Ivy surely knew the swamp. Even I could make my way through the woods by following deer trails—I couldn’t always see where they went, but I knew where they were. Especially through the thicker foliage. Deer might go through the swamp as well, I wasn’t sure how deer felt about water, but any tracks they might have left were unseeable.

As we got out of the plants growing on the water’s edge, I could see further; I could see the other side, and it was obvious that Ivy wasn’t taking a straight path. She would know where the shallower spots were and where it was deep, she would have learned from trial and error.

I hoped that the water wasn’t much deeper than my knees. I’d never liked wading in water deeper than that; to my mind that was the transition between wading and almost swimming. If it was transitional; if I was going into a lake or even a swimming pool with the intention of swimming, that was one thing.

At least I didn’t have to worry about getting my pants wet, no matter how deep it got.

She was keeping her tail up and out of the water, and then she started picking her way into deeper water and let it fall in. I wondered why she hadn’t held it—she had one hand for the gun, but could have used the other on her tail if she’d wanted it to stay dry.

Maybe it felt weird to have her tail in the water, maybe it was the same kind of feeling as my balls dipped into cold water—an experience I might be re-living soon enough. Were we going to have to swim partway across? Surely not; the gun couldn’t get wet, and there was the risk of things in the basket floating away.

My shoes and socks were already wet, and once I’d gotten used to that unpleasantness, as the water covered more of my legs it wasn’t a big deal. It wouldn’t be until it was deep enough for my dick and balls to touch the water that I’d have another moment of shock to work through. As long as I kept my eyes on her. She’d gotten her tail wet and not been bothered.

She was the kind of girl who would do what needed to be done and not complain about it, and I should too. The other side could be seen; I knew where we were going and how far away it was, and there were only some marshy wet bits between here and there. She was rising up out of the water and angling towards what might have been dry land, but was more likely just waterlogged soil that I’d be mucking my way through.

•••

Her path did avoid anything higher than my knees, or mid-thigh on her. As we neared the shore, she once again held up her hand to signal me to stop, and I did. What did she see? She hadn’t unslung her gun.

It might have been something or it might have been nothing—after a minute of standing in the water, she shook her head and started to walk again, my cue to follow.

Watching her butt and the rest of her when she turned was a nice reward for crossing the swamp, and once we got through the cluster of cattails and other plants that lived at the edge, she stopped in a small clearing and glanced around at the trees.

Any squirrels there might have been were hiding; I didn’t see anything that was a worthy target in the trees, so I looked back at her instead. More than half the fur on her legs was waterlogged, clumped and drooping down instead of being fluffy. I had enough body hair that a towel didn’t get me completely dry on its own, but I knew from past trips to the beach that I’d dry off quick enough in the sun. She wouldn’t; it would take a while for all the water to come out of her coat. An advantage on a hot day, surely, she could get her legs wet and have built-in air conditioning for a while. Not so much today in the woods; I was already feeling a slight chill from my wet legs.

I was paying too much attention to her and didn’t notice that she’d also given up at looking for squirrels and had instead turned her focus back to me until she spoke. “Looks like you made a new friend.”

“Huh?”

Ivy pointed to my leg, and I looked down.

I’d seen it out of the corner of my eye as I came up out of a deep spot and figured that it was a bit of floating debris, but when I went to brush it off, it didn’t feel woody or leafy, and it didn’t brush off, either.

“That’s a swamp leech. It’s not going to come off just by brushing at it, you need to pluck it off.”

“Just grab it and pull?” I reached down and put my fingers around its mucusy body, trying not to think about the fact that it was currently sucking out my blood.

She shook her head. “Not like that—haven’t you ever removed a leech before?”

“No.”

“Come over here, I’ll get it off.”

Just as I started walking, Ivy unslung the rifle from her shoulder, and I hesitated—was she going to shoot it off? I was sure that would be effective, but I didn’t trust her aim that much.

Instead, she set the rifle on the ground, followed by her basket.

When I was right next to her, she crouched down and leaned in to examine it. “This is going to feel a little weird, you’ve just got to trust me.”

Her head was just below crotch level, and a horn was pointing dangerously close to my balls. If she twitched at all I was going to have a very bad time. Would it be cowardly to cup them with my hand, just to make sure I stayed safe?

The answer was obviously yes, but I almost did anyway.

She pinched my leg and I braced myself for potential pain. I suppose it could have been worse; what if the leech had landed somewhere else? A good reason to not go wading nude through a swamp, they probably couldn’t bite through underwear . . . could they? I’d never gotten a leech before, and I’d never waded through a swamp nude before, so it stood to reason.

There was a brief jolt of pain as she pulled it off, and there was some blood. We hadn’t brought any water with us, and even I knew that swamp water was a bad idea for cleaning a wound. It would just have to bleed until it stopped; There wasn’t anything that could be used to cover it.

What would happen if one of us—me, most likely—got hurt out here in the woods? She’d have to go back to the cabin, leaving me behind, call for help, lead them back to me. I doubt she’d bother with bringing my pants.

Or she could just carry me back to the cabin, she was strong enough.

As we went along, I did my best to look for squirrels, but the thought kept nagging at my mind that nature was a cruel bitch and maybe we thought we were special, but we weren’t. If one of us got hurt out here, the other would have to go for help—not just to her cabin, but far enough beyond to either find a landline or cellphone reception, and I had an idea that even when called, an ambulance wouldn’t show up all that quickly. And even if we avoided all of that, there were parasites and bacteria that could invade, possibly unseen, and cause problems later.

Being out here without clothes, without most of the trappings of modernity helped drive that lesson home.

•••

Another copse of trees was prime squirrel hunting territory, although I rarely spotted them before she did. I was accustomed to the fat, oblivious city squirrels that were used to humans and few real threats, whereas the forest squirrels had plenty of predators to thin down their numbers and were far more wary.

When the birds started singing again, that was a good sign that we’d stayed still and quiet long enough to not be considered a threat any more. Or at least it seemed that way; I’d never seen a squirrel when I wasn’t also hearing birdsong.

It was interesting to just sit and look at the woods. Even if I was shit at spotting squirrels, watching the boughs of the trees dance around in the gentle breeze that never made it to the floor of the forest, or the few brave chickadees who would fly close enough to check us out before heading off to do whatever it was that they did. Every now and then I’d think I saw a flash of movement over the forest floor, which could have been anything. A gust catching some plants, a moving shadow, or maybe a small critter.

When the doe came into view, I froze completely. We must have been downwind of her, although I could see her nostrils flaring and her ears moving as she tried to figure out what was in the woods and if it was a threat to her.

Whether a gust of wind carried our scent to her, or she saw something that she didn’t like, she suddenly froze for an instant, and then bounded back the way she’d come, her white tail flashing like a flag.

I wanted to ask if Ivy’s gun could take down a deer, but now wasn’t the time. It’d be plenty of meat, way more than we needed. I was fairly sure that you couldn’t hunt them year-round, either. It wasn’t until fall, but there were a lot of hunting seasons and I never paid that much attention to them.

For better or worse, it was legal to hit them with a car year-round.

Did she hunt deer? Probably, there’d be no reason not to. I’d seen some TV shows and plenty of pictures of hunters all kitted out, wearing their camo and scent blockers and with a tree-stand. I was sure she’d climb a tree rather than use a stand, but would she wear camo? Or any clothes at all? It was cold in the fall, and even if the fur on her legs kept her warm, it wouldn’t do anything for her torso.

Maybe that was something she was used to; she had said that back home she rarely wore clothes, and they must have had seasons back home.

That was something I was curious about. Maybe she grew a whole-body coat for the wintertime.

What would that be like? Would it be thick like the fur on her legs, or would it be thinner and smoother? How different would she feel with a coat of fur? Was that something that I could find out in time? Was that something I wanted to find out?

Was this weekend just a one-time thing, a chance for her to work out whatever sexual frustrations she had? Surely she wasn’t looking for a boyfriend—I didn’t want to think that, but I had to be realistic. There was almost no shot that this could turn into a long-term relationship, although it was possible that I might get carried along for weekend adventures. I was more useful than her dildo when it came to digging and pouring cement footings.

Less useful when it came to hunting, though.

•••

When she’d bagged her fourth squirrel, she decided she had enough. Whether that was due to time pressures or four squirrels made a full meal, I didn’t know. She hadn’t fully prepared them, so I didn’t know how much good meat would come off of them and how much was waste.

I had a decent supply of plants in my baskets. Raspberries, the cattail roots, and a few others she’d picked up—nettle leaves and lamb’s quarters.

There weren’t as many raspberries as when we’d started; it turned out that those were a good snack for the hunt. Not only for the sugar, but the water as well. Ditto for the cattail roots—we’d shared one. It tasted almost like cucumber.

I wasn’t to the point where I would have been comfortable in the woods by myself, or able to forage by myself, or find my way back to her cabin by myself. I did know that this part of Michigan wasn’t as remote as some; if I got lost I could pick a compass direction and keep walking that way and eventually find a road or some sign of civilization, probably within a day. The odds of me finding my way back to her cabin were basically nil.

I did recognize as we were approaching the swamp again.

I hadn’t complained the first time we’d gone through the swamp, but this time I was going to object before I got my shoes wet again. Before I acquired another leech.

“We could go around.” I motioned to the high ground on either side. “I mean, it’s further, but my feet are just starting to get warm again.”

“That’s private land,” Ivy explained. “And . . . I’m sure they wouldn’t mind, but it’s important to keep boundaries. Like, I’m here on my own land and I do my own thing and nobody bothers me, and they can do the same.”

“Give an inch and they’ll take a mile?”

“Yeah, exactly. The rules up here are different than in the city. It’s complicated. Well, if you don’t want to wade I can carry you across.”

“What?”

“Surprised you didn’t ask last time.”

“I’m not being carried across a swamp by a girl.”

“Then don’t complain that your feet get wet.”

“Or that I get leeches.”

Ivy crossed her arms. “Everyone gets leeches, and I picked it off. Ticks, too. Surprised you haven’t picked any of them up, honestly. Must be taking the day off.”

“Ticks?” I glanced down at my legs, wondering if there might be one lurking. “They can carry diseases.”

She nodded. “Yeah, like redwater . . . if you humans have that.”

“I honestly don’t know. We’ve got Lyme disease and something that makes you allergic to meat. I think it comes from Texas, ironically enough.”

“Check that off the list of states I want to visit, then. Not worth the risk.”

I started to crouch down to untie my shoes, and then remembered that ticks could jump and the last thing I wanted was a tick grabbing onto my junk. Even if Ivy was willing to remove it—and I figured she would be—the very thought of some insect burrowing into that sensitive flesh, sinking its proboscis into my manhood. . . .

“Can I lean on you for a moment?”

Before she could answer, I braced myself on her shoulder and brought my leg up, awkwardly untying my shoe and tugging it off.

“Really, I could carry you.”

I peeled off my sock. “I’m sure you could. Probably two of me.”

She shook her head. “Two of you is pushing it. I think. I’m not great at estimating human weight, hold still for a second.”

“You—”

Ivy wrapped her arms around me, clenched around my waist, and lifted. “Weight-wise, yeah, I could do two of you. But that’s assuming you’re hanging off a bar and not moving, otherwise there’s balance issues. And walking would be a bit much. Over flat ground I can see, manageable. Through a swamp, iffy.”

“You can put me down, we don’t have to do this.”

She eyed the stretch of bogwater in front of us. “Not the best carry. Easier if you ride on my shoulders, or my back if you can manage it. You could hold on to my horns, that might help you keep your balance.”

“We’re not doing this. I won’t let you carry me.”

“Fine.” Ivy set me back down. “But you can’t say I didn’t offer.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I leaned against her for balance again and lifted my other foot. “Just a point of advice, most guys don’t like girls who are stronger than them.”

Ivy snorted. “Worked on you.”

•••

On the one hand, the first sight of her cabin was a relief. Civilization again, something human made—human adjacent made, and that was close enough. Sure it didn’t have internet or running water or electricity but it had four strong walls and a roof, and that alone was infinitely better than being naked in the woods.

And yet, I couldn’t help but feel that our hunt had ended too soon. Not because we could have or should have taken more, but because we were in the wild, and I was experiencing it in a way I never had before. Maybe if our journey had ended at a new place, I would have felt different.

It wasn’t just being there with Ivy, or I didn’t think it was. There was more to it, something it had awoken deep inside me, something I didn’t even know had been slumbering. Whenever I tried to think on it, it darted away; it was the kind of feeling I couldn’t quite put into words, but I knew it was there.

In so many ways, my view of our trip into the woods had been informed by movies and tv shows and books that generally romanticized it, showed its good side. Removing leeches and ticks didn’t come up at all, or the need for alertness and silence to have a good hunt.

It didn’t properly cover wading through a swamp, all the different feelings, how cold the water was, how uneven the bottom was, the plants that tangled around my legs and tried to trip me—it was a miracle I hadn’t gone face-first into the water. Ivy had walked slowly, and I’d followed her pace. Even when she wasn’t instructing me directly, she was teaching me.

And the wildlife was truly neutral, almost uncaring. If we were perceived as a threat, they fled. If we appeared to be a source of food, they’d approach. We only got attacked by blood-sucking parasites, but it wasn’t much of a leap to consider that a larger predator might have a go as well.

If we were seen as neither? Nature ignored us, it simply didn’t care. We were no more special than anything else in the woods, naked but for Ivy’s gun and my shoes.

My soaking wet shoes.

•••

I paused at the doorway to remove my shoes. I didn’t want to track dirt through the house. Ivy went into the kitchen to put away the fruits of our hunt, the squirrel carcasses and the plants, then she put the gun back in the safe.

Once those tasks were done, she motioned me to go back outside, onto her rudimentary front porch. “Okay, first we’ve got to check for parasites and then it’s time for a shower.”

“Yeah.”

“Better to do it out here, that way they don’t get into the house.”

“Makes sense.”

“You’re going to have to really get into my fur,” she said. “Easier for me, you haven’t got much.”

“Compared to you, but I’m hairy for a guy.”

“Some bulls, it’s up to here.” She drew a line on her chest, just under her ribs. “And the feathering on the legs, a girl could get lost. Turn around.”

I complied, presenting my backside to her inspection.

“Looks clean. Check me. Use your fingers, really get in there.”

I did. I worked my fingers through her fur, down to the flesh. I felt for any parasite who might be lurking, working from her ankles up. At first, it was a necessary chore, but as I climbed up her legs, it started to change into something else. A doctor might have been able to keep a professional dispassionate air, but I couldn’t; I caught a glimpse of her womanhood out of the corner of my eye and then I was higher and it was right in front of my nose, and I struggled to keep my attention focused on the actual task.

If I’d come up dry, I might have thought it was something she just said, a weird way to get me interested in her feminine attributes, as if she’d need an excuse.

Instead, I was almost on autopilot, when I bumped against something that didn’t belong, a stowaway. I’d already moved on, my mind set on finding nothing and appreciating the current view; I was wondering what she might look like if she shaved all her fur off. I’d explored enough of her legs so far to know that she didn’t feel quite human, but would her appearance pass?

Were I in her position, I might try. Granted, that wouldn’t negate the horns or ears . . . she could wear a toque for the former, but the latter were a more intractable problem.

That was the coward’s way out. She was who she was, and I didn’t want her to be anything else.

My mind was elsewhere as my fingers touched the invader, and I had to move back to realize for sure what I’d found: a tick, high up on her inner thigh.

“I found one,” I said proudly.

“Get him off.”

“How?” I had vague, nonspecific memories of this being mentioned in the Boy Scout handbook, and there being things that shouldn’t be done. I couldn’t remember what was the right way and what wasn’t.

“Grab him with your fingernails and pull him off.”

I looked down at my stumpy fingernails. “Really?”

“Or tweezers.” Ivy sighed. “Which I really ought to have . . . remember how out in the woods I was your support? When you took your shoes off.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s your turn.” Before I could protest, she hiked her leg up on my shoulder. “Don’t squirm around too much.”

I had no intention of squirming.

My mind sent me mixed messages; there was no question that I had a very pleasing vulva just in front of my face, and there was also no question that I was helping her perform an important task. Which was more important, which deserved more focus sent my mind spinning and grinding its gears. And for better or worse, inaction on my part was the right answer. Ivy got the tick with her fingernails, pried it out of her flesh, dropped it on the floor, and crushed it underfoot—underhoof—with extreme prejudice.

“That’s dealt with,” she said. “Now it’s time to shower.”

“Yeah.” I smelled like a yak, and my feet were cold. Hot water would take care of both of those issues. “Who goes first?”

“Really? I mean, if you’re shy now, I’ll go first.”

“We could both shower at the same time.”

Ivy nodded.

“Save water, and help each other clean.”

“Exactly.”

“People tell me that I’m a pro at shampooing.”

“Do they.”

I shrugged. “Maybe.”

“You do it right, you might get a reputation for being good with a curry comb.”

What the hell was a curry comb? “Trust me, I know.”

Ivy narrowed her eyes. “Really.”

“It’s like . . . like carts. Arranged in order, pushed back to the door.”

She snorted. “Carts. Well, I can’t argue your cart-wrangling enthusiasm, right up until the end you were sorting carts and nothing else.”

“Very true.”

“And you’d approach a new task with equal enthusiasm.”

“Of course I would.”

“Fuck it up and you’re gonna spend the night in the shed, alone with nothing but what could have been.”

I crossed my arms. “Challenge accepted.”

•••

The intellectual part of my mind reminded me that there was more to Ivy than her breasts, that I could soap and lather and wash more parts of her body and I tried to go afield, but my traitorous hands kept returning to what was comfortable.

Not that she minded; nearly half a bottle of Old Spice body wash got squirted on her boobs for me to rub around. She could have gotten a bottle of oil instead, that might have been more honest, and I certainly wouldn’t have minded spreading it around.

I couldn’t focus on her boobs forever, much as I wanted to. There was lots more of her to wash. Some of it I might leave to her, as I finally regretfully moved my hands south, I started to wonder if it was okay to get soap between her legs. Surely it was, but I wasn’t certain how sensitive her nether flesh was.

I’d made it down to the border of skin and fur, and pondered if she’d use shampoo or body wash . . . did body wash work on hair? Best to cup her breasts again, that was safe.

Ivy squirted a dollop of shampoo in her hand and rubbed it into her scalp. Somehow that was tempting, that was a new thing to focus on. I’d never really gotten my hands into a girl’s hair before, I was always afraid of messing things up or causing tangles. She didn’t really have long hair, it was more or less shoulder length and not exactly styled. Like whenever it got long enough somewhere to annoy her, she hacked it back. She wasn’t the kind of girl who took great pride in her hair.

Plus, while I was unsure how to approach some of her body when it came to washing, I did know how to shampoo. Aside from her horns and ears, her head was the same as mine.

Getting the shampoo against the scalp was the most important thing. Some people thought that it was the hair that needed washing, but it was really the scalp, and the hair was secondary.

Shampooing was a ready-made excuse to work my fingers around the base of her horns, to stroke the back of her ears, to run my hand along the ragged edge of her left ear, to feel the scar tissue there.

She rinsed out her hair and squirted on conditioner, letting me work it in, this time focusing on her hair instead of her scalp, a different, slipperier feel this time around. And then it was my turn; she turned and globbed some cold shampoo on my hair, pressing against me as she worked, her well-soaped breasts sliding against my chest. I tried to focus on her fingers as she lathered, even as my nascent erection pressed against her belly.

I didn’t rate conditioner; she stepped out of the way long enough to let me wash the shampoo out of my hair and then she was ready with the body wash, working down from my neck. My dick lamented the loss of touch, while eagerly anticipating the moment her hands got down there, soap-slick, and finally the moment of glory as she got between my legs, her hand caressing my balls and sliding across my shaft, too soon moving further down, as far as she could reach.

And then she crouched down, to better access my legs, putting her head right at crotch level. My dick brushed against her cheek as she continued working, seemingly unaware of that distraction.

I started to worry that I’d done something wrong, and started second-guessing my every action as her hands moved down my legs, soaping and scrubbing. Had I displeased her in some way? Was she a vengeful goddess, ignoring the plea of her acolyte? All she had to do was turn her head, open her mouth, and the blowjob would practically do itself. I could grab her horns, guide her head, maybe she wanted me to take the lead here.

I still hadn’t decided which was the right choice when she stood back up, and then it was too late. If there had been an opportunity, I’d missed it.

Then she handed me the soap and pointed down to her furry legs. I couldn’t reach all the way to her hooves while I was standing, so it was time to kneel down, just as she had. I had a moment of clarity, a moment of understanding at what the game was, and I washed her legs while keeping my eyes focused ahead—she didn’t have an erection to poke against my cheek and demand attention, but her arousal was no less obvious and I took my time, making sure that I got every inch of her legs, making sure that I did a thorough job, faultless, as good as she might have done if she were in the shower alone, and as the shower rinsed the last of the bubbles off, I leaned in, pressing my nose against her pubic mound, inhaling the scent of her arousal, something the scent of the soap couldn’t completely mask.

My first touch was tentative, exploratory, my lips brushing against sensitive flesh, questing for the eager nub, a promise of where I might explore with my tongue. A hidden treasure, cloaked in velvety fur, my tongue came up short but I meant for it to. She’d been teasing my since the moment we started showering, and I wanted to return the favor, wanted to explore at my pace. Hand around her ass promised commitment, and gave me a chance to feel around the root of her tail, to study how it was anchored.

In my mind, I could have teased her for hours, but I lacked the fortitude. Ivy could play the long game, could run her hand along my cock to clean it and then move on, but I couldn’t. I had a hand around the base of her tail and the other gripping her cheek; I was pressed up against her, my tongue almost but not quite on her, my nose full of the heady scent of her arousal and she—

—her lips opened, inviting, and I could not resist, I buried my face between her legs and my whole being was contained in my tongue, lapping around her periphery and then into the center of her, the faint taste of soap until I got deeper, closer to her center, closer to the metallic arousal dripping off her lips. Thrusting in, narrowing my focus; I was only vaguely aware of her pinching a nipple with one hand while the other pressed my head in, forward, demanding and eager. I slipped my tongue between her lips, questing against the walls of her vagina, then back out, dancing around her clit.

Ivy moaned, and pressed my head against her crotch, and I redoubled my efforts, trying to reconcile the tonguefeel to what I’d seen when she’d sat on the roll bar, identifying the right spots to put pressure on or to lick or to suckle. Exploring her with my tongue was different than with my eyes, and yet I thought I had a good idea from what I’d observed, thought I knew where I was visiting, even if she wasn’t quite human. I was experienced, but this was new territory, almost but not quite a human vagina. My eyes had seen and my tongue confirmed.

Even with differences, I could focus on what worked, what made her clench a fist in my hair. Her clit was sensitive, wanted attention, and I was more than willing to provide. And inside, as deep as my tongue could reach, there was another spot, one that tasted saltier, one that got her to push me further in, as far as I could reach. A bit of tender flesh, quivering beneath my tongue, likely her g-spot.

I lost myself inside her, forgetting the world around me, forgetting even myself as I hunted for what would give her the most pleasure. I felt as she tensed and came and I didn’t back off. She gripped my head tighter, but she didn’t pull my head off as I went in again, even as my tongue started to feel sluggish and numb in my mouth.

My neck was sore, my arms tense from clenching her fur and I pressed on with dogged determination, determined to get her to yield to me at whatever cost.

And yield she did, not pulling my head away, but pressing me into her crotch in a hug after what must have been an earth-shattering orgasm. I’d felt her leg muscles tense, felt her abs flex against my forehead, her fingers painfully tearing at my hair, and then she was trembling, relaxing her grip, a shaky exhale and she actually leaned on me for support.

•••

It didn’t take her long to recover—she tugged at my shoulders to get me to stand, and I complied, feeling a momentary headrush from crouching too long—not to mention that a lot of my blood must have still been throbbing in my dick.

Ivy wrapped her arms around me and pressed against me for a kiss, my erection hard between us.

There was a twinkle of mirth in her eyes as she started grinding her belly against it, masturbating me between us. Between that and her boobs, I didn’t know how long I would last.

“You keep that up and we’ll have to wash off again.”

“Mmh.” Ivy nibbled on my earlobe. “If you do go off early, I can lick you clean.”

I tensed, I was close, but I didn’t want to cum, not like this . . . or did I?

Ivy grabbed my asscheeks and pulled herself tight against my erection, holding for ten seconds before letting go and looking down. “See, not even a spot on you.” She pressed back up against me. “If I’m going to wind up licking you clean, it’ll be easier if your dick’s in my mouth, won’t it?”

Without waiting for a reply, she dropped to her knees and gripped my dick, kissing and licking around my head before taking it into her mouth, first exploring my glans before diving deeper, pressing my tip against the back of her mouth.

She pulled back, letting my cock pop out, still lightly holding it with one hand. “Been a while since I’ve done this, let’s see if I’ve still got it.”

“Got it? You do.”

“Just you wait.” She licked her lips and pushed her head up against my rod, grabbed my ass cheeks with both hands, and slammed her head all the way down, taking my whole length in one fell swoop.

“Jesus.”

I wrapped my hands in her hair and let her bob on my knob, the sensation nearly indescribable. I held her against me, giving her the opportunity to lick my balls before she moved back.

Her hair gave me a decent handhold, and her horns were better. I didn’t have to worry about getting too enthusiastic and pulling hair out.

She’d taken charge of practically everything so far, and now it was my turn. I had a good grip, and I started to exert control. At first she didn’t want to let me, pushing and pulling against me, then her hands relaxed and she let me drive.

I slid her up and down my cock, holding her when I wanted to, pressing her head against my groin and back in short, deep thrusts, urgently demanding release as pressure built, an ejaculation too long denied, one she’d tried to force but I was going to cum on my terms.

Each thrust gave more pleasure than the last one did, reaching unbelievable new heights, and as I approached closer and closer to the precipice, I started to wonder if it was actually possible to die from an orgasm. It felt like I might.

I wasn’t going to stop.

Ivy cupped my buttcheek and slid her hand into the crack, teasing against my asshole before fondling the backside of my balls, pressing them into her chin as I slammed her head down again, urgent, demanding.

Her finger pressed against my taint, and then again ran around my pucker, exciting more sensitive nerves and driving me to a new height. I was close, very close, everything was blurring into one continuous plateau, and I could see the peak but not get there.

She pressed against my butthole, momentarily drawing my focus away as she demanded entry and it was wrong but I didn’t protest, I didn’t try to push her away. I didn’t know what to make of the new sensations, I could feel each knuckle as it pressed forward, her finger questing and then she hit the magic button I didn’t know I had, and I pressed her head down against my crotch and emptied her balls deep in her throat.

I could feel her swallowing around my cock and I let go of her horns—I couldn’t concentrate on anything else, could barely remember to keep standing. She moved her head back and took control again, milking the final spurts out on her boobs.

If she didn’t have a finger up my butt, I would have just collapsed to the ground. Every bit of energy I had available had gone into that cumshot.

She wasn’t ready to let me rest; she pulled her finger back out which felt weird, grabbed a boob and licked it off while I watched in amazement.

“I said I’d lick it off.”

“I . . . oh God, I think you almost killed me.”

“Is there a better way to go?”

“No.”

“You want to lick the other one off, or should I get it?”

“Give me a minute.”

•••

There was nothing sexy about drying off. I was completely spent, and if I’d had my way, I would have just laid down on the ground and gone to sleep. She, on the other hand, seemed to be bursting with energy. I’d heard that female athletes got a performance boost by having sex and that was completely unfair.

She was practically glowing as we went back to the cabin, a cocky swish to her hips and tail. I trailed along, wondering if there was a reverse viagra that would perk the rest of me up, when I noticed that she was actually limping.

“Are you okay?” Had I been too aggressive with her head?

Ivy nodded. “Just a fading leg cramp . . . I orgasmed that last time so hard, my leg cramped.”

“Really?”

“Honest. Your tongue’s that good.”

“Well, you turned my legs into wet noodles. When I came, I feared for my life.”