Wood mf f-solo It was an exam week, but Elaine's hadn't started yet. She was meant to be swotting, of course, but there's only so much of that you can do. All her friends really were swotting, which meant there wasn't much happening... Elaine was bored. She was sitting in the lounge, by herself, drinking gin her parents didn't know about, watching a video her parents certainly didn't know about. Well, if they would go out all evening for the third time that week, what did they expect? Her dressing gown -- all she was wearing -- was open, and when the action on the screen suggested it to her, she wanked in a desultary way. It wasn't what she wanted. She lets her mind slip back to the train... The boy... really... being there -- a stranger! Inside her! Inside her fucking virgin fucking cunt! She slides further down against the sofa, her legs opening wider, the feathery gold of her maidenhair sliding under her writhing fingers... fuck... stranger... real... stranger... fuck! Gasping, she collapses. She lies still for a long while. Gradually she realises the screen has faded to snow. The video has long finished. She sits up, pushes her hair back out of her eyes. She parts her legs still wider, and bends forward. Her eyes trace a line of numbers, still visible in faded biro, high on the inside of her thigh. Idly, her hand reaches out for the phone. "Hello? Oh, good, it is you..." She shakes her head, laughing. "No, you don't know me. We met on a train..." She nods, vigorously, smiling secrets. "Yes, I thought you'd remember. Listen..." She holds the phone to her ear for a moment, smile fading. "No, I won't. I don't know you. I don't want to. Will you listen a moment?" She pauses, and then. "OK. Well, just at this moment I've got nothing on. Nothing at all..." She smiles, fingering the dressing gown. "... but what I'm going to do now is put a dress on -- a white dress, nothing else -- OK? Now, you know that picnic place in Thorsby Wood... what? Yes, where that girl got raped last year, yeah. Well, I'm going to go down there -- should be good and dark by this time of night..." She smiles, stroking the golden curls of her groin. "Yes, I know it could, that's why I'm going..." She nods again, and giggles. "Well, if you don't get there first, I expect it will..." She listens again for a moment. The phone squawks. Her grin widens. "Well, that's your problem..." She puts the phone down. She stands, stretches, shrugs the gown off her shoulders. Naked, she walks upstairs to her parents bedroom. She poses in front of their full length mirror, turning, stretching, twisting, fingering her nipples, cupping her breasts, parting her cunt lips. She smiles, slowly, secretly. She opens her mother's wardrobe and reaches to the back. A hanger. On it, a white dress, simply cut, high of collar, long of sleeve, of delicate lace. Her mother's wedding dress. She shakes it out, letting the opaque silk petticoat fall in a heap on the floor. She doesn't want that. She pulls the dress over her head, and reaches behind her for the zip. Zip like a glove to the hip. Gosh, it is tight. Bother! She can't get it right up. In needs someone's help. Oh, well... she grins again. Someone will help her get it down... She poses for the mirror again. Good. Everything's sort of visible. Nothing's quite visible. She shivers. She isn't cold. Run downstairs to the door. No, back to the kitchen for car keys. Her mother's car. God, if she knew! Elaine flushes, laughs, shakes her head. She runs to the lounge, grabs the empty glass, flicks the tape out of the video. She runs upstairs again, grabs the petticoat and the hanger, kicks the wardrobe door shut, slips into her own room, shoves everything under the bed. The wood is dark, and quiet. The cooling engine of the Metro ticks in the silence. She walks away from it, over to one of the picnic tables close to where the path leads into the trees. She leans against the table, facing the road. An owl hoots in the distance. Elaine shivers. It's a bit cold. It will be awfully boring if he doesn't come... well... well... if nobody comes. But... but... well, stranger! Fuck! And then... well, it isn't that she doesn't want it to be a stranger. Just... Just a clean stranger, and good looking, and not... well not diseased, or, or... but stranger! Fuck! What if he didn't know she wanted it? What if he hurt her? What if he killed her? You could hardly start a conversation, 'look, I've just come down for a bit of rough, but not too rough, ok'... Stranger! Fuck! Maybe this isn't a good idea. Maybe she should go home. Maybe... Listen! There's a car coming! Will it... no, it's gone past. Elaine shivers. It isn't that cold. Maybe... She wishes she'd brought a watch. There's a clock in the car. She doesn't move. The owl hoots again. Something rustles in the wood. Another car! She hadn't been drowsing... well... The lights pin her butterfly against the table. The engine stops. A door slams. Footsteps crunch on the gravel. Dark hulk against the light. Is it? She can't see... would he look that big? Footsteps crunch. Closer. The owl hoots. Stranger! Fuck! Elaine wrenches herself off the table, and runs into the wood. God it's dark. All she can see are little purple moons, floating in her eyes where the headlights were. She blunders into a bush, pulls free, runs on. The dress is tangling round her legs. She lifts it. The steps behind crunch quicker, heavier, closer. Panicked, Elaine runs, trips, stumbles, staggers, sprawls, struggles. A hand clamps down on the back of her neck, pinning her down. Knees thump down astride her thighs. Elaine wimpers. "Let me go! Let me go! Who is it?" No answer but rustling in the wood. She strains to look round, but the hand on her neck holds her. Stranger... Fuck. A hand finds the tag of her zip, and pulls it slowly. The straining white lace peels apart, baring her spine to the teasing night wind. Her exposed skin gleams faintly green in the dim glow of leaf-filtered headlight. Fingers gently explore it, pushing the edges of the soft fabric further and further apart, feathering over shoulder-blades, tracing along ribs, knuckling round vertebrae. Elaine wimpers. The hand at her neck twists in her hair, and pulls, slowly, firmly, lifting her back. She scrabbles with her arms to support herself. The dress falls forward, slipping down to her elbows, letting the breeze in to caress her breasts... and the fingers to follow. And the fingers do follow... ohh... Fuck. He holds her hard against him. Her back feels the roughness of sweater, the hardness of buckle, the taught bulging of jeans over... A hand clamps her throat, holding her head strained back into his shoulder. The free hand disengages her cuffs, and the dress collapses into a ruff across her lap. She lets it fall. Her hands hang limp. her breasts stand free. Her head, trapped against his shoulder, makes no protest. She is quiescent, she is exposed, caught, held, trapped, submissive. She is acquiescent. Stickiness trickles down the cool skin of her thigh. The hand cups her breasts, rolls her nipples, slips down her belly, parts her maidenhair, opens her lips, traces round her clit, explores her sticky slit. She moans softly. Fuck? Quick warm breath across her cheek smells faintly of beer. As her mouth is hauled round into a kiss, she feels the rasp of ill-shaven cheek... It isn't! It's not... him! It's a... a real... Stranger! Fuck! He pushes her face down into the soft leafmould. Old beachmast prickles her tits. A fern crushes under her groin. Elaine wimpers. Her buttocks clench. Desire is gone. Courage is gone. Acquiescence is... acquiescence is defeat. She is defeated. This isn't her adventure any more. It is his. He has stolen it. He will rob her of her joy, her wanton, her freedom, her stranger fuck. He will take her, use her, leave her broken and empty, unconfident, unjoyful, unsexy. Rape is unsexy. She awaits rape. She is defeated. She weeps. Salt tears seep into the rustling beach leaves. The weight comes off her shins. The knees lift. The click of buckle, the slither of stiff fabric on flesh. Stranger! Fuck! Something breaks in her. She won't! He won't! It is her adventure! She leaps to her feet, and dashes forward deeper into the wood. Her eyes have adjusted. Faintly she can see the great, stiff, phallic, darkly silver trunks, the sinuous path. Behind her cursing, anger, struggles, footsteps. Far behind. Too far behind. Something of her joy returns, in the wind that ruffles her maidenhair, in the cold that touches her breasts. Woman! Wild! Free! Powerful! Almost she laughs. Almost she dances, woman naked among the naked trunks. The footsteps behind are... are... are getting nearer. Fuck. Fear runs in her running. Blind runs in her running. She stumbles again. Footsteps. Running. Dark. A root seems to reach out, and she trips again, and stumbles. As she recovers, a hand reaches from behind, clamps across her mouth. A hand drags her, pulls her, off the path, through a screen of branches, in close under a tree. A different hand... the footsteps are still coming... Firmly, she's pushed off her feet. She sinks down. Soft cold mud slips under her belly, oozes under her breasts, squeezes into her cleft. A weight comes on the length of her. A naked weight. A male weight. A man. A different man. Footsteps and cursing swell to a crescendo. Knees push her thighs apart. The footsteps break stride, slow, become uncertain. A cock... Oh, fuck. Oh, stranger, fuck... fuck... he will... he is... he has... got her. Done her. Opened her. Penetrated her. Possessed her. Strangerfuck... On the path a footstep comes loud. Elaine shivers, and the cock eases deeper into her. Soft mud moulds her clit. A curse, beating of undergrowth. The buttocks over hers lift and thrust, slowly, gently, silently, firmly. Very firmly. Elaine squirms, holding her breath against her gasping, her need to acknowledge with her voice the intensity of her... of her... of her what? What is this feeling, this glorious feeling..? It's a stranger! It isn't someone she's chosen! It isn't someone she loves! She should hate it, she should fight, she... squirms, and bites her lip for silence. The footsteps sound again, irresolute, uncertain, moving back, moving away, fading... And as they fade, the cock within her rises and plunges ever faster, ever harder, ever deeper, plumbing her soft velvet interior. Hips slamb into her quivering buttocks, hands press her deeper into the clinging ooze. Her cries can't be contained. They start to bubble forth, burst forth, moans, gasps, wimpering. She tilts her arse for him, lifts her arse for him, opens her arse for him. She has chosen him. He is a stranger, and she has chosen a stranger. She loves him. He is a stranger, and she loves a stranger. As the distant car door slams, as the distant motor revs, as the distant tires squeal, Elaine loses her grip on her voice, and shouts her joy into the night. Her joy, her adventure, her wanton, her freedom, her lust. Shouts it. "Oh!" The cock slams. "Ohhh!" The cock pounds. "Ooohhh!" The cock thrusts. "Aah..ahh..ooohhhh..." Elaine shouts her pent up glory into the night, and comes. And comes. And comes. Ohhh, stranger, fuck.