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She saw the chimney of a small cottage, little more than a large wooden shed, and watched for a moment from behind a tree.
The door suddenly flung open and out strode Bellars, a mug of hot tea in his hand.
He looked up with the fifth sense of a man of nature, almost as if he knew someone was out there. But the Countess’ clothes were dark and she was well concealed.
He walked around to the other side of the cottage and after a moment she heard the slice of an axe in wood.
She walked out from her place of safety and stepped slowly in a wide arc around the cottage. When she saw him, her breath caught in her throat: he was stripped to the waist now and wearing just the dark trousers. His upper body was tanned and thick with muscle. She salivated: her senses responding as if to the rich dark gorgeousness of a Sunday joint of beef.
The somnambulant countess now stepped forward out of the trees and crossed the grass towards the man.
The instant she left safety he saw her. His eyes flashed in her direction but seemed to show no surprise.
He swung the axe again. Each time it made her jump but she kept walking.
The grass was trodden down in the area closer to the house. When she reached this, he stopped and – without looking in her direction – picked up his shirt and put it on. His movements had all the fluidity of a big cat on the prowl.
He only fastened three buttons, leaving his chest partly-exposed.
The Countess stopped and let him study her. His look could not have been more insolent as he eyed her black riding boots, dark breeches and green jacket.
The Countess reached up and took off her riding cap.
Then, she turned and ran round the cottage. It seemed like the action of a playful child but the Countess knew exactly what she was doing and the affect it would have.
As she came around by the door, he was there, waiting.
She stopped and ran back the other way, her apron skirt swishing over her tight breeches.
They came face to face a few feet apart at the back of the cottage. She was breathing heavily, her breasts straining against her buttoned jacket. He had noticed and the rise and fall of his own chest was giving away his own desire too.
The chase had set their blood rushing through their veins, further stoking their excitement and lust.
She skipped away, felt him reach for her, but made it to the edge of the clearing before he made a real effort to catch her up.
Now she stood, her back to a tree. There was nowhere to go.
She reached down and unbuttoned the riding skirt, letting it drop to the floor.
She was staring so deeply into his eyes that she did not realise he was coming towards her.
He moved forward purposefully and pushed his mouth down on her.
Her body twisted in his arms but she was pinned to the rough bark of the tree by his body and the force of his tongue in her throat.
She pulled away with a gasp, surprised by the suddenness of the onslaught.
But as their tongues began to fight, she responded. Her breasts rose and pushed through her clothes to his hard ribcage. Her hands reached round and clung to his back.
Then he moved his face down hurriedly, into her neck and the collar of her jacket.
He fumbled at her buttons and she feared he would break them with his thick fingers.
“Let me!” she told him, her voice a croak.
She unbuttoned the jacket and blouse beneath.
He could see silk underwear and two large breasts beneath.
His hands tugged and pulled at the undergarment and suddenly his face was clamped to her right breast. “Oh! You… ruffian!” she exclaimed.
The stubble rubbed against her skin but all her senses were concentrated on his tongue and lips as they coaxed and teased her nipples.
He moved back off her and turned her round.
She felt his hands on her breeches. He ran them over her round buttocks and down her thighs, twisted between and around, and stroked her calves through the tight riding trousers.
She imagined she were an animal at a cattle market having her pedigree and health assessed.
The woodsman found the sight of the Countess’ rather gorgeous rear end, filling every inch of her tight-fitting breeches, an altogether suffocating sight. No wonder modesty dictated that she wore the apron skirt to cover this breathtaking vision.
He held her buttocks in each hand and weighed them appreciatively.
“Beautiful peaches,” he growled.
Then he put his hands in her waistband and tugged the breeches right over her rump.
The cool air of the forest rushed over the Countess’ nakedness. She pushed her arse into his face. “That’s what a lady feels like,” she barked. “Enjoy it!”
His tongue traced a line between her buttocks. Then he turned her again and plunged his face into the throbbing centre of her loins.
“Oh!” she gasped. “Oh, yes! Eat me up!”
Bellars was a creature who worked hard in the open air every day of his life so he ate like an animal to curb his immense appetites. He had a greedy mouth.
His tongue searched and lapped over her most intimate folds, sending the Countess up onto her tiptoes, her shoulders rubbing up against the bark of the tree.
“Oh! Yes! Yes! Feast on me!”
Her yelps rang through the trees. A bird’s wings flapped in the branches and broke through the air as it took to the skies.
The Countess put both her hands into the woodsman’s hair and they clung like talons, not pushing him away but forcing him further into her.
Her riding jacket flapped at her sides as her arms straightened and tensed, grinding his chin and mouth around the throbbing inverted V at the top of her thighs. She hung suspended on his tongue as it moved inside her.
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