Big Bad Kiss

With bellies full of pasta with marinara sauce and burgundy, they decided on a walk in the woods, and what could be better on a hike in muggy May than cold cherry popsicles?

"Pleasant evening," said the tall elderly man in the giftshop of the small restaurant, flipping the Closed sign on the door behind them.

She snapped the popsicle in two and gave him half. The late-afternoon was thick with humidity as they entered the nature trail, and he pulled off his shirt, slapping himself twice on the stomach.

"Mmmm," she said, sucking on her popsicle.

The lush canopy of trees filtered the light, bringing the verdant surroundings into sharp contrast. The scent of loamy vegetation flared his nostrils. Choruses of evening insects rose and fell to the rhythm of her hips swaying a few steps ahead, her buns jiggling slightly in loose white cotton shorts.

"Wh'cha looking at, pokey?" she smirked over her shoulder. "Awww!" The rapidly melting popsicle had leaked onto her fuzzy red tee-shirt.

"Hold still." He crouched and lowered his mouth onto the pebble of her nipple through the shirt. She moaned, momentarily forgetting the popsicle running in her hand. She slurped the juice and they both giggled.

"Not done yet," he said, pulling up her shirt and fastening his cool lips over her other breast. She settled into his arms as he took her popsicle away and pulled the shirt over her head.

"Hey," she protested under her breath, eyes darting to and fro.

He passed the popsicle over each ticklish nipple before replacing it in her fingers. "I like you without a bra." He dropped and kissed her stomach, lowered her waistband and kissed her bellybutton, her resistance melting like the popsicle, her fingers in his hair.

"You beast," she sighed. The shorts lowered down her legs and were pulled from her feet. His wide eyes stared at her trimmed thatch visible through the sheer material of tiny red panties. "They were supposed to be a surprise for our first night in the cabin."

His fingers traveled up her hips, but she bounded away down the path. He watched her run in her panties and sandals, then stood and gave chase.

Her cheeks were exposed beneath the scanty underwear. He fixed on their wiggling as he stalked her, calling, "You shouldn't be in the forest all by yourself, little girl." Where another trail branched off to the side she turned, both hands resting on a large tree at the corner, and stuck out her tongue. He tripped on a tree root and skidded tto his knees. She laughed at him and darted away. He grunted and ran even faster after her.

His steps grew closer.

Her hair tossed above her shoulders and the muscles of her naked back.

Panting loudly, she plunged onto a bench at the side of the path. He stopped and knelt at her feet.

"Gotcha," he wheezed. Gobbling the remnants of the popsicle, he tossed the stick.

"Right," she said, stretching her arms back above her head, "big, bad, scary wolf."

His scarlet tongue trailed higher between her thighs. She slid forward on the seat, where his nose met the soaking crook of her panties. His lips followed the contours of her pussy through the thin fabric.

He reached beneath her and she lifted her hips for him to slide them down her legs. His breath stroked her magic spot, parting her wide, one of her feet on his shoulder. He planted tiny kisses around her wet matted lips, so good.

She twinged her hips forward, waiting, urging him to give her the deep dark kiss she needed the most.

When his lips fastened on her clit, she grabbed with both hands on the top slat of the bench supporting her head.

When his cold tongue swirled about her, she threw back her head and moaned from her soul, yellow sunshine flashing inside her eyelids as her climax danced on and on.

A snapping branch jolted them from the clouds. She uncrumbled the ball of clothes on the bench beside her, tugging them on and pulling at the hems to smooth the wrinkles. Even he replaced his shirt, smoothed his hair. They remained silent for a long time, but no one was there. They chuckled, walking hand in hand.

"Your mouth looks like you got hold of Mommy's lipstick," he said. "It's kind of sexy."

Just then, a couple emerged from a bend, the old man from the giftshop holding a woman's hand. The woman wore a cardinal red shirt and stared up at him as he spoke, and as they drew closer she could tell he was reciting something.

She averted her gaze as they neared, patting her mussed hair and clothes.

"To every maiden her wedding prayer," she heard the old man say and pause to greet them in passing, then resume, "and to every man his Dulcinea."

She peeked behind at them. The man's hand covered his woman's white shorts, kneading her bottom as they disappeared into the trees.