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It didn’t matter that there was no hot water, that the toilet was outdoors, or that there was no electricity for lights: it was four walls, with reasonably soft mattresses, gas for cooking food with, and a fireplace. And after a hike like we had just finished, it was all I could do not to fall to my knees and worship the blessed protection from the rain the Hut provided.
“Oh, thank you Jesus for this most wonderful wooden bench.” I said, as I sank gratefully onto the first piece of wood I’d sat on the entire day that wasn’t soaked with water.
“Amen to that.” Mikha said, as she dropped her pack on the floor and sat to start peeling off her boots and socks. We sat in silence for a few minutes, both of us marveling in the simple joy of wearing dry socks, and being able to move your feet without feeling water squish underfoot. Mikha stood and arched her back in a long overdue stretch, her spine popping multiple times. I applauded.
“Haven’t heard one that good in a while, a sure sign that this hike was shit.” I said, as Mikha sat down in front of the fire.
“Fuck, that, Kye, it was beyond shit. It was like shit raping a smaller pile of shit.” Mikha said, fury coloring her face. I laughed, deep and loud.
“One day, that mouth of yours is going to get you in some serious trouble, darling.” I replied. Mikha walked over to me pulled off her soaking shirt and wrung the water out of her shirt over my head. The cold rainwater didn’t much bother me, it had long since soaked through my clothes when we were out on the trail anyway.
“Correction: that mouth of yours is going to get me into serious trouble one day, darling.” I said, smiling as Mikah threw her damp t-shirt into my face.
“Touche.” I replied, my voice muffled by the damp cloth. I pulled the t-shirt off my face, and hung it up on the drying rack with our equally soaked socks. When I returned to the fire, Mikha had it blazing away- my god that girl was great with fire- and I gasped in spite of myself. The flames danced in Mikha’s green-blue eyes, and her short auburn hair glowed, the light made her pale white skin quiver with an inner fire, and even her plain white bra seemed to grow more lustrous.
“My goddess of fire.” I said, whispering to myself. Which wasn’t quiet enough for Mikha to not hear me.
“Your ‘goddess of fire’ is going to burn your pale-skinny ass son if you don’t find her some hot tea.” Mikha said, the flames in her eyes making them more mischievous than usual. I exaggerated a low court style bow.
“So her holiness desires, I shall give unto her.” I said, in all seriousness. Mikha rolled her eyes and smiled, then turned back to her fire. Comfortable silence settled over us again as I made tea while Mikha’s fire steadily increased the temperature of the hut. I brought Mikha her tea by the fire, and she smiled her appreciation to me. She blew on it for a moment, brought it to her lips and sipped, and sighed as deep and happy as anything I have ever heard.
“Absolutely wonderful, as always.” Mikha said, in between small sips of her tea. I slipped down next to her and she lay her head on my shoulder. We sat this way, staring into the flames of her fire for who knows how long, when I looked up and noticed the sun had left the sky and the Hut was left in dim fire shadows. The light made the Hut look ethereal, and paper thin, as if the Hut were just a thin veneer hiding the reality of the world from us. Which, I suppose it was. I shuddered briefly as I thought of being stuck all night in the cold rain that poured outside our Hut.
Mikha stood, surprising me out of my thoughts, and held her hand out to me. “Alright Kye, lose the clothes.” she said.
“Oh?” I said, excited.
“Gotta switch into dry clothes, and get these hung up.”
“Oh.” I replied, disappointed. Mikha gave me a little grin, then popped her bra off. Her pert breasts topped by her pointed pierced nipples swam into view, and I decided that I could die this very moment with absolutely no regrets. Just as quick as she took off bursa yabancı escort the bra, she had found a dry one and put it on. Followed quickly by a large frumpy sweater. I frowned.
“There’s no pleasing you, is there?” Mikha said, sighing. She put her fingers in the waistband of her pants, and slowly pulled them off her hips, the dampness making them cling to her every curve. Her thong covered ass came into view, and her fingers slid under the black band of that and pulled them down along with the pants. She shook her ass a little at me, my eyes losing focus immediately, and stepped into a dry pair of sweats.
“There. Feeling a bit better?” Mikha asked. I nodded, eager to please. She smiled, and pointed at me. “Now, there’s no need to be shy. Strip.” Mikha demanded.
“Anything for you, my goddess.” I said. Mikha rolled her eyes. But strip I did, with out nearly as much fanfare as Mikha had, but I still felt her eyes burning into my flesh as I took off my shirt and pants. I put on a new set of hiking clothes, and heard Mikha sigh at me.
“You forgot night clothes. Again.” Mikha said.
“You should just come to expect it by now, darling, I’m pretty sure I do it on purpose.” I said.
“Why would you do it on purpose? Every time we travel I have to listen to you whine about not having your precious ‘Justice League of America’ Pjs!”
“Hey, don’t mock the JLA–” I began to say.
“God, Kye, did you ever think it was obnoxious to have to deal with this every time we go anywhere?” Mikha asked, all levity gone from her demeanor.
“It’s not on purpose, Mikha, it just–”
“Stop. It’s going to be the same argument as always. And we’re both going to get mad at each other over something idiotic.” Mikha said, cutting me off again. I wanted to argue with her, make her understand it was never on purpose just me being forgetful and was totally innocent. I opened my mouth.
And nothing came out. She was right, and at least some part of my brain realized that. I went to the kitchen to start working on dinner. The light was horrible, the implements were horrible, and the burners barely light. But that wasn’t going to stop me. If I couldn’t remember a pair of Pjs, I could at least be an amazing cook. Plus, I got to work my frustration out on some tomatoes and beans: making a puree without a blender is a tiring and consuming process. During all of this, Mikha stoically ignored me.
I made my famous- well, to Mikha and I famous- black bean soup, spicy enough to make your nose run, but sweet and savory at the same time. I arranged crackers in a circle along the top, and filled in the center with some wild parsley I found on the trail. Full of confidence I went to Mikha with a bowl of soup in hand, went to one knee, and proffered it to her.
“Your dinner, my goddess.” Between my absurd posing and the delicious food before her, Mikha’s resistance broke down and she graciously accepted the offered bowl. As I remained on my knee, she took a slow and deliberate bite of the soup, holding herself as though she were the goddess I thought she were. She smiled, the soup passing her test, and looked down at me.
“You’re still an ass, and you look ridiculous. Get up and get some food.” Mikha said, stone faced. “Knave.” She said, and slapped my ass as I turned to walk away. I jumped at her slap, and smiled to myself.
“You’re too easy, darling, I just have to ply you with food and all is forgiven.” I said over my shoulder, and I felt something thump into my shoulder and clatter on the floor. I looked down and saw Mikha’s soup covered spoon laying on the floor next to me, a spot of soup staining my shoulder.
“Now you have to drink your soup, one spoon a night darling.” I said, as I ladled myself out a bowl of soup. I heard a loud slurping noise and turned to see Mikha sucking down the last of soup, then cleaning out the remains with her fingers. I laughed at this, and sat down next to Mikha, starting in on my own- decidedly less pretty- bursa sınırsız escort soup. Mikha poked me in the belly as I ate, whimpering a little.
“Nope, you had yours. You can go get more if you want it. This is mine.” I said, emphasizing the fact by drinking the rest of my soup as Mikha had done. Mikha gave an impatient sigh and flopped backward on the bench, arms splayed to the sides.
“Christ, Kye, those signs were wrong. Leaving at ten, arriving at nine is not six hours. Not at all.” Mikha said. She sighed, the sound of it filling the small Hut.
“Well, to be fair, we did lose a lot of time on that rope bridge–” Mikha began to growl, deep in her throat “–which is to say that those signs saying six hours were completely wrong because we are such obvious specimens of fitness and youthful vitality.” I finished. The growling stopped. I let out the breath I was holding.
“Oh, Kye, you’re such a damn push over,” Mikha said. “Now come over here and give me a leg rub, my thighs are killing me.” Frowning, I sat on the bench across from her and lay my hands on her thigh. I pushed down on the flesh of her thigh, and started my fingers in circles around the tight muscles. Mikha groaned, and sighed.
“God, that is wonderful. Why don’t you do that everyday?” Mikha asked, as she peered at me over her breasts.
“Oh, probably because you’d get spoiled, and lord knows we couldn’t have that happening.” I replied, smiling away my frustration. Mikha frowned a little, but put her head back down and relaxed into the massage she was receiving. My hands roamed Mikha’s thighs seeking knots and rubbing them into oblivion, her eyes closed so she could focus on the sensations of my hands. Her cheeks were growing blush, and her breathing more shallow; perhaps a trick of the light her nipples looked to be straining against the fabric of her shirt. Sensing a chance at some payback, my hands began to creep their way toward the ‘v’ of Mikha’s hips. Mikha twitched.
“Kye…” Mikha began.
“Darling, there are knots up there too.” I replied, pressing into her thigh just below the hip, eliciting a wince and groan from Mikha. I raised an eyebrow.
“Augh, fine, you can massage up there too.” Mikha said. Grinning, I moved a hand to each of her thighs and pulled them apart. My hands worked on the insides of her thighs, obliterating all stiffness, while they moved ever closer to the crotch of her pants, each inch closer saw the blush of Mikha’s cheeks grow larger and darker. Feeling bold, I moved my hands to the sides of her still hidden vagina and began to massage her thighs that way. As my fingers worked, I could feel the heat of her through her clothes.
“Kye.” Mikha said, her breath short.
“Mhm?” I replied, one hand working toward her crotch, the other going for the fly of her pants.
“We don’t have time for–” Mikha started. I pressed down on where I knew her clitoris would be. She cut off, and whimpered.
“This is me being less of a push over.” I said, and popped the button to her jeans. “Ass up.” I said. Mikha lifted her hips off the bench, and I slid her pants down to her thighs. I placed a hand over her mound, and began to massage around the flesh of her cloth clad lips. My free hand roamed over her belly, flicked her navel ring, and trailed their way toward her breasts.
“Mikha, darling, do me a favor and take off your shirt and bra. Please.” I said, my finger touching her clit through the cloth momentarily. Mikha squeaked.
“No. Way. You started this. You finish it!” Mikha said, spitting the words at me. I smiled, and shook my head.
“You always have to do it the hard way don’t you, my fire goddess?” I said. I pulled my free hand away from her breasts, and placed both and the band of her thong. With a laughable amount of force, I ripped the band in twain, pulled the cloth off her flesh, and tossed it into the fire.
“What the fuck, Kye!” Mikha yelled, as she sat up. I reached out and ran a finger along görükle escort the slit of her pussy, dipping inside her lips and caressed her clit. Her eyes rolled in her head, and I pressed her back down on the bench. Fury clouded her eyes, but no retaliation came.
Pressing my advantage, I spread her thighs further apart and pressed and spread her lips apart, fingers caressing the folds of her inner flesh. My free hand I employed in stroking and rubbing around the skin of her stomach, her thighs, down to her ankles, her ass, leaving trails of fire upon her skin.
Mikha began to growl low in her throat, though of lust and not anger. With every circle and caress of her inner lips, my finger drew closer to the hood of her clit, and her body tensed in anticipation.
“Kye, Kye, Kye!” Mikha began to chant, encouraging me to touch her most sensitive spot. Seeing Mikha come was a beautiful sight, but the devil inside yearned for more payback. My fingers slowed their approach to Mikha’s clit, and a brief look of confusion passed over her face.
“Kye?” Mikha asked. As soon as she finished, I pressed two of my fingers deep inside her, my cold fingers instantly warming inside the warm depths of her cunt. Mikha grunted in surprise, and her hips rose off the bench. Not to be stopped, I leaned down and pressed my face to her cunt, my tongue finding her clit in an instant. My fingers pressed deeper inside, until I could press no further, then I pulled them out of her wetness, their retreat matched in pace with flicks of my tongue upon her clit.
“Fucking. Kye. Fuck!” Mikha’s screams of pleasure grew more incoherent and more loud, which only egged me on further. I pressed a third finger inside her, and her legs twitched and clasped around my back. She reached down and shoved my face into her cunt, and I began to lick and suck on her clit in earnest.
“Kye, do it! Make me come, like a fucking whore!” Mikha screamed, her natural control reasserting itself. Despite my compromising position, I grinned, pressed my fingers deep inside her, sucked on her clit, then stopped. I untangled myself from her legs, removed my fingers from her, and stood. And smiled. Mikha looked lost, frustrated, and angry.
“Now then. Darling, would you mind taking off your shirt and bra for me?” I said. For a moment, I feared Mikha would turn into the goddess of fire I had so named her and burn me where I stood. The moment passed. Mikha looked down, bitter defeat blazing in her eyes, and pulled her shirt off, and unclasped her bra spilling her marvelous breasts into view.
“Please, Kye. Please?” Mikha asked, still looking down at her exposed body. I sat down next to her, and placed a hand on her thigh. She moaned. Her nerves were working overtime.
“Mikha. No. I’m going to watch you fuck yourself, and if I like it, I’ll come back and finish you. Deal?” I asked. The smile was gone from my face, only earnestness was to be found.
Then Mikha lay back down. Her hands moved down her body in a near blur, one remaining on her breasts, the other straight to her clit. She pulled at her nipples, rolled them between her fingers, and twisted the metal bars. Her fingers rubbed her clit up and down, from side to side, pushed and pulled on her clit. I watched it all.
“Kye, christ, I can’t, I need you, come here. Please, Kye.” Mikha said, somewhere between a demand and a plea. Still I watched her. Her hips began to buck, and her moans grew deeper, more out of frustration than pleasure.
“Kye! Damnit! Make me fucking come, please, I’ll do anything, I’ll let you do anything, just make me come!” Mikha pleaded with me. Her hips slapped on the table, she looked almost as if she were pulling her nipples off, her fingers were a blur on her clit.
In a single motion, I pulled her arm from her cunt, pressed my face to her clit, and pushed a finger inside her. With but one or two licks on her clit, and as many strokes of my finger, Mikha’s screams suddenly ceased and her legs wrapped around my back as she thrust her hips into my face.
“Fucking yes, goddamn you Kye, yes!” Mikha screamed as she came, as she fucked my face, as I listened to her beautiful agony.
Mikha slowly came down from her high, and sighed. I stroked her thighs as she did. “Kye, seriously, stop being so much of a push over.”
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