Creampie Dreams: Impregnation Erotica Trilogy (2 page)

In these moments she could never understand why this should be so shameful. Her body reacted to her own touch as if by design; as if this was a
good
thing, a
right
thing. It was only later that the shame came flooding in, but during these precious moments she came as close as she ever could to doubting the wisdom of God and her mother. How could the Lord bless her with a body that reacted so readily to her own hands, and then forbid her from touching herself? Why would he give her the power to see Heaven with just a touch, and then scold her for sneaking a glimpse? It didn't seem just.

Amelie's nipples were fully erect now, and her breasts were tender and deliciously sensitive to the slightest touch, the faintest hint of breeze or breath. She reached out to collect more dew from the grass, and shuddered with pleasure as the cool water ran from her fingers and into the crevice between her mounds.

Desperate to prolong this moment before she delved into herself Amelie placed two fingers deep in her mouth, coating them with saliva before returning them to her breasts. She moistened each firm nipple, and lay waiting for a breeze. When it finally came she gasped with delight. Her wet nipples sent a chill through her body, raising goosebumps on her skin and sending her arousal to dizzying heights. She felt as if the forest itself was making love to her, whispering sweet nothings on its breeze.

She raised herself from the blanket and collected yet more dew on her fingers allowing it to drip slowly onto her nipples, and watched the sweet, clear water run slowly from her breasts down to her stomach, turning this way and that as the flow met tiny unseen hairs on her skin. When the water finally reached her navel she giggled at the tickling sensation, and watched as her belly button filled like a tiny cup.

Her breath came quickly now, fluttering with arousal, and the sun warmed her bare skin. The hunger was greater than ever but she was in no mood to rush. Every moment must be savored and remembered, for who knew when she would next get the chance to come out to the clearing and commit this irresistible sin once more? Who knew how long she would have to suffer the torture of waiting, pressing herself against the base of her spinning wheel as it turned and vibrated just to relieve the maddening pressure?

Once again she idly considered simply staying out in the forest. Oh, the fun she'd have! She'd spend her days swimming naked in the streams, touching herself beneath the surface of the cool water as her juices flowed from her and away on the current. She'd climb trees, resting for hours suspended with a thick limb pressed between her thighs, the weight of her body bringing her to orgasm after shuddering orgasm in the canopy.

And, of course, she could trade her body for food and supplies with passing traders. She'd use her sole currency in bargains that would, to her, be entirely one-sided, taking her supplies as well as her satisfaction. It would be perfect to live free from the strictures of the village, to be able to sate her hunger and slake her thirst whenever the mood took her.

She called to mind her favorite fantasy once more. She would lay on her back on the grass of the clearing, dripping wet with her fingers buried deep within her tight, throbbing pussy when a young man would step from the brambles and watch her in silence. At first she would fail to notice him, so invested was she in her own body, but eventually he would move to undress and catch her attention. She would gasp as if shocked and appalled and make to run from the cleaning, but he would chase her down.

He'd be strong, far too strong to resist, and he'd pin her to the ground, tear her clothes roughly from her body and have his way with her for hours on end. He'd fill her over and over again, ignoring her hollow pleas for mercy, returning time after time to force his will upon her. She'd overflow with his seed. Her body would drip with him, hot and wet, and she would not be allowed to clean herself.

Eventually, when his appetite for her was finally satisfied, he'd toss her torn rags over her body and leave her to stumble naked back to the village. Once there she'd feign distress, but in her heart she'd know that now her innocence had been taken - without shame, and through no fault of her own - she'd no longer be confined to the life of a maiden. She'd be free.

Amelie felt that she had become deliciously, sinfully wet as she slid her hand down her smooth stomach, running a finger into the shallow pool filling her belly button, and continued on to the string knot at the front of her skirt. She fumbled with it for a moment, as she always did, before finding purchase with a fingernail and tugging it loose. The knot unraveled, and her hand eagerly slipped beneath the waist.

That first touch was beautiful. The hunger, burning for days and heightened by her darkest, most tempting fantasies, was almost a physical force. She desperately wanted to bury her fingers deep inside. She wanted to fill herself with her fingers, to quickly sate her hunger and feel that gasping, shuddering joy she dreamed of so often, but she knew she must move slowly. She knew the climax would be all the sweeter for the waiting, and she knew the sweet torture of denial would bring about an orgasm that would make her scream so loud the forest would empty of birds. She knew a slow tease towards her climax would leave a memory burning brightly enough to sustain her until the next time.

Her questing fingers slid through her fine, downy hair until they found the small, throbbing mound of her clitoris hidden beneath a fold of skin. She teased the hood aside and sent her other hand beneath her skirt to stroke it, and the moment she touched the tiny, sensitive nub her toes curled all by themselves. She felt her face flush, and the clearing was suddenly too warm despite the morning chill.

The hunger took over now, as it always did. Her intention was always to prolong this for hours, but she knew the hunger would always overrule her. Now her rational mind took a step back and the insatiable hunger stepped into the light. Her fingers moved downwards, tracing the line of the crease where her lips met. When she reached the bottom she felt her wetness and knew that her plentiful juices had already soaked through her skirt to the blanket beneath. She knew she was already dirty, dripping with her naughty, forbidden nectar, and that her skirt would be covered in it for the rest of the day as she went about her duties.

Her fingers moved of their own volition, delving into her tight, moist pussy with fervor. Her breaths came quick and shallow, catching in her throat when her fingertips found a new spot of tantalizing tenderness. Two fingers were inside her now sliding deep along the soft, wet, silken sides of her pussy, and the fingers of her other hand drew juice up from her opening to coat her lips with her sweet nectar, then reached further upwards to find the swollen, tender mound that brought such pleasure.

Amelie's skin slipped from hot to cold in an instant, clothed in both sweat and goosebumps as she gasped and panted. Her breasts heaved with every breath, and not for the first time she wished there were two of her present so as not to deny her tender, tingling nipples her touch. She wished more than anything that someone - anyone - would walk into the cleaning and sink between her legs burying a tongue deep inside her.

Her fingers moved quickly, slipping in and out of her. Every inch of her body burned with cold fire and she could feel the glorious, beautiful end approach with both excitement and regret that it would be over so soon. Oh, what she would give to prolong this moment for an hour longer! Even a minute would be a blessing. She could imagine no greater gift.

Her breath was ragged now, panting and out of control. She could think of nothing but the joy between her legs, and she knew there were only moments before it would overflow the confines of her body and spread through the forest. Her fingers moved quickly, slippery with her juices, and her hips bucked back and forth on the blanket against her control.

'Oh, Lord forgive me!' Her yell came louder than she'd intended but she had little control. Her stomach clenched and flexed as she felt her orgasm spill forth. She clasped her palm over her firm, pink clit and rubbed faster and faster, as if her hand was possessed, and the air filled with her rich, delicious scent.

Amelie whimpered and moaned as pulses of glorious, overwhelming energy overpowered her. Her back arched upwards and she reached out to grasp a corner of the blanket, pressing it firmly between her legs as if it might be possible to hold her climax inside, to send it circling back into her body to repeat over and over again. Her legs splayed outwards as she feverishly stroked every last drop of joy from herself. She brought a hand to her face, taking a deep draught of her scent, inhaling until she felt dizzy but still wanting more.

Finally the glorious waves subsided. The last of her climax poured from her body, and she was left panting on the forest floor dripping with her own juices. Already the memory of her orgasm began to fade, as if its power could not be contained within a single mind, and her bliss was replaced by sadness at its passing.

Amelie trailed her wet fingers across her stomach, leaving a glistening trail. Her hand closed around her breast and she teased the firm nipple, already thinking about playing with herself once more before heading back to the --

She froze. A twig had snapped somewhere nearby, just on the other side of the hedges. Amelie's heart suddenly fluttered with the panic of being discovered. She stood quickly, buttoning her shirt with slick, clumsy fingers in case an unseen observer was watching.

She was silent, barely daring to breathe. Around her the forest had grown eerily quiet, as if the creatures themselves had paused to watch. She felt a... a presence, but couldn't explain of what. Human? Animal? It was impossible to tell, but
something
was watching her. She could feel the eyes running over her. Could it be that her fantasy was about to play out in reality?

'Hallo?' she called, her voice startling in the silence. 'Is someone there?'

No answer. The silence deepened. A stiff breeze suddenly rustled through the clearing and the dried oak leaves danced, their crackling muted. Something about the silence made her feel afraid, suddenly exposed, and while the heat remained between her thighs there was now a sharp, uncomfortable edge to her arousal.

'I warn you, I'm armed. I won't be spied upon, so you'd do well to show yourself.' She reached into her basket and withdrew a short, stubby knitting needle carved from bone. It would never be enough for a killing blow, but anyone considering an attack might have second thoughts and move along. She turned in a slow circle, studying the hedges for a hint of movement.
Who could be spying?
she thought.
Nobody knows of this place but me.

Gradually, by increments, the sounds of the forest returned. A bird tweeted, followed by the chirrup of a grasshopper, and before long sound had flooded back into the clearing as if a bubble had burst around it. Amelie took a long, deep breath and held her hand to her chest. Her heart was racing, but slowing.

The attack came out of nowhere. A body landed heavily behind her, and before she could so much as turn a hand was clamped firmly over her mouth, and another around her waist. She struggled against her attacker but the hands held her like a vise, denying so much as an inch of movement. The hand around her waist reached up and squeezed her wrist and her fist opened against her will, dropping her needle to the grass.

'Amelie,' growled a deep male voice in her ear. 'I'm sorry, but you must come with me. It would be better not to struggle, though you should know there is no possibility of escape.'

The man lifted her from the ground as if she weighed no more than a house cat, turning her and throwing her over his shoulder. She could barely make out any detail, but she could see that he was naked from the waist up and the ankles down, wearing nothing but a pair of roughly cut brown trousers tied at the waist with a rope.

Amelie was just noticing how heavily muscled he was as she saw the ground fall away from her. The man had jumped to an impossible height to grasp a thick limb of an oak tree.
No man could make that leap,
she thought in disbelief. She felt herself swing over the thick brambles and fall back to the ground on the far side of the clearing, and she bounced o his shoulder as her attacker took off at a jog, darting through the trees at a faster pace than even the quickest runner should be capable with a heavy load on his back.

Her captor ran for at least a mile, not varying his pace by a single step, leaping over streams, boulders and fallen trees as if these obstacles were of no consequence. Amelie lost track of their bearing, and before long she had no idea which direction pointed towards home. For now it was all she could do to keep drawing air into her lungs. Each footfall made her exhale sharply, and by the time they slowed her vision filled with stars.