At the Mesa

this is a little story clip from mick, sent to sfp. she  is letting me borrow some of her teasers… thank you striving for peace, and mick for setting the scene.

Mick’s set up: Cliff Dwelling at Mesa Verde after hours. shard of ancient pot. thigh. leather thongs (do you know that there are several interpretations of what a leather thong is? a strap, a shoe, and a piece of very naughty lingerie…thanks mick!)

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She hid. She freely admitted that she was breaking the rules, but really, how could she not? She had always been fascinated by the Anasazi, those ancients of long ago who’d crafted, carved and created a home out of rock, and mud and determination. Here in the arid depths of the cleft in the earth, they had lived, breathed, thrived.

And then they were gone.

And she lusted for it. Lusted to see what it was like, then. To lay in one of the little sanctuaries, a room that many had lain in long before she drew breath. Her spirit ached just a little, and she wondered if she had been of this place long ago.

As she slipped further back into the little storage room that she found in one of the most out-of-the-way pueblo’s, she felt something. She’d been sitting on her butt, and slipping backwards from the dim light in the little rounded doorway. Hoping that she could hide away here, just for tonight.

There was something scratching her thigh. She raised her little fingerlight for a moment. It was a shard, a fragment of a pot. A pot that may have once held corn harvested from the valley below. She held it in her hand a moment, musing over it. Damn! She’d managed to cut herself on the sharp edge. She rubbed at the thin line of blood on the pot. It seemed somehow disrespectful to leave her modern blood on this fragment from the past.  Flashing her little fingerlight around the small space, she smiled. This was perfect! Carefully, she placed the shard in a small niche in the wall.

She found the dimensions of the little store-room to be a perfect fit for her body, and she decided to sleep here. It was cool but not cold, the floor softly sand covered. She opened her pack, and pulled out the tightly rolled bedroll. She spread it out, rolling on top of it. Gently she eased out of her shorts, the modern fit of khaki hiking shorts  too incongruous to wear here. The leather thong she wore beneath would fit better. She slipped her shirt over her head. The ancients wore skins, so she would just wear hers. Her breasts swung free, sweaty from the confines of her bra.

She was feeling a bit horny. This would be the perfect place for lovers to meet, she mused, eyes open in the darkness. Her fingers dipped between her thighs, around the edges of the leather garment she wore. She was slick with her juices. Rubbing against her lips, she tasted  her own sexual desire.

As her fingers slipped from her mouth, her little finger light slipped off and fell beside her. Rolling over, she braced on hand on the rock wall, and felt under her blanket. It could not have fallen far, but it was small and of course it shut off the moment it fell. Damn!

She felt something brush her leg. She pulled away, wishing she’d remembered to check thoroughly for scorpions. Again something brushed her. Again she pulled away, searching for her lost light.

“Why did you summon me?” The voice was deep, strangely accented and came from down by her feet.

“eeek!!” a small scream came from her as she attempted to pull herself upright. Hands grasped her bare ankles, pulling her flat, and spreading her open. She bucked and kicked, but the calloused hands were strong, and easily subdued her.

She had no fucking idea what the hell was going on. She should have heard someone come in here. She should have been able to dislodge the hands grabbing her. She fell back against her bedroll.  And gave in.

The hands holding her legs relaxed as well. Then they traveled from ankle to calf, calf to inner thigh.

“No, wait…” she panicked, tried to pull away.

“You summoned me.”

“i did NO SUCH THING!!!” she protested. She felt knees between her sprawled legs, and those hands climbing on the outside of her legs now, exploring and fondling the curve of hip, the dip of her waist.

“You used blood of your body to summon me.”

“Huh?” not the most intelligent reply, but she was flummoxed. Wait!

The shard. The ancient pot had cut her just a little. But how could this be? He could not be real.  A pueblo Indian man? There was no such thing.  And yet. He was heavy, his weight beginning to settle upon her. He smelled… spicy. Raw. Human. Male. Something in that scent spoke to her. Not to her rational mind.

To her cunt.

She felt the flow of juices from her pussy escalate. Whatever the fuck was going on here, her body was more than content to go with the flow. His hands explored the vee of the leather thong, felt along the straps that secured that sexy triangle to the single thong that threaded between the rounded cheeks of her ass. He found the closure, and released it, his hands quickly sliding between their bodies to fondle her swollen, soaked flesh.

She moaned. Her pelvis, of its own accord, rose to the exploring hands, and she forgot. Forgot all but the hands of this stranger.

The first orgasm took her by surprise, rocking her body,  raising goose-flesh along with sweat as she flowed her honey into his hands.

They left her a moment, and she heard a sound. He was eating her juice from his hands. She shivered, and felt a hot flush of heat between her still spread legs, an answering tingle deep in her hole.

She wanted to be fucked.

Her hands reached out blindly, seeking Him. She explored his hair, longer than she expected, held back by a thin leather thong. She felt his nose, long and regal, and his mouth. He surprised her by sucking a single finger into that mouth, lipping from fingertip to the base where it joined her hand. Then he sucked. Sucked hard.

All the while, the fingers of his hands molded and stretched her tits. He sucked when those same fingers found and pulled stiffened nipples, pulled and twisted. The dual sensations of her tits, coupled with the hard suction on her finger made her moan, and writhe. She wanted more. She wanted his hard-sucking mouth on her tits, not her finger.

She needed more.

She got more.

She felt something move against her leg. It was his cock. His huge cock. There was no way, no way that thing would fit.

She wanted to protest, to whimper in fear as his hands left her tits, and grabbed her hips, boosting her up until their torso’s met. His mouth landed on her right breast, and sucked in her nipple, sucked in as much tit as he could. And still he sucked, laved, bit.  His enormous rod throbbed like a heartbeat against her belly. It was hot, so hot.

“I…i can’t…it won’t…”  she stuttered, disappointment warring with fear. His head rose from her breast.

“you can, you must…you will.”

She felt the cock slither down from her belly, find the cleft at the juncture of her thighs, and begin to slip downwards seeking entry into her cunt.

Her head thrashed, and she fought to free herself.

“NO NO NO..” but she was so fucking turned on, her protest sounded weak even to her ears.

She felt his smile against her throat as he lay fully on her for the first time. And the head of his cock popped inside of her swollen wet hole. He pushed. And pushed. And pushed. It seemed that he would never be done stuffing that big cock into her…and yet it kept filling and filling her. There was some pain, she was stretched so tight around him, and she felt the massive head hit her cervix. She was never certain how it all fit.

When he withdrew his cock, she moaned in protest, grabbing for his hips. He stroked back into her waiting hole, a dancer making a glissade across a gleaming stage, and she rose to meet him.

They fucked hard, and for a very long time. He brought her orgasm after orgasm, and flooded her pussy with his own seed.

She took him in her mouth, she swallowed his offering to her, then  begged for more, and more.

He gave, and he gave.

When she finally slept, she was bruised, soaked in briny cum, and well fucked. Her pussy throbbing softly, woke her.

She lay, fingers buried under her leather thong panties. Her other hand rested over the little flashlight, and the early dawn rays were hitting the outer room of the pueblo. A single shaft cast a golden beam into the store-room.

She had done it. Spent the night in the pueblo, hidden from all. What a strange and wonderous dream she’d had here.

Gathering her things, she carefully buried the pot shard in the soft sandy floor. It belonged here.

She dressed in the larger outer room of the pueblo. It wasn’t until she left the pueblo, climbing carefully down the high walls,   that she saw the bruises around her wrists.  Finger bruises.  Once safely down, she parted the soft flannel of her overshirt. There on her breast were more bruises. Kiss bruises. Teeth bruises.

Looking up, she shielded her gaze as she stared up at the dwellings of the ancients.

There was no one there.