Hmmmm - care to take a walk in the English countryside near Stonehenge for a change?

putting a rucksack over His shoulder and looking at the white horse in chalk - cut into the downs nearby.

i would be delighted!!.brb!!

checking the map and starting up the path towards the yew grove

Back like a wet dream...

climbing the style at the bottom of the hill hoping that you are changing into something long and flowing

skipping..light as a lark..eyes in bright glitter..kissing Your sweet cheeks..in a long,cream,very fine,raw silk dress..with very wide gold,sari trim..enchanted to be here..

waiting for you - picking an assortment of wild flowers and leaves - placing the leaves in a leather pouch and twisting the flowers into a garland for your head

skipping close again..lips in full roses..cupid's bow..bowing down my head of this bronze curls..waterfall of silken ripples..honored..blushing like the May Queen..

and running full tilt up the hill in exhilaration - knowing that the yew grove has a chill feel even when temperatures are in the 70s

looking at the bronze age burial barrow - a turtle/lump on the brow of the hill before plunging on again towards the yews about 40 yards away from the path

picking up a fist size piece of chalk..drawing my little dagger..and carving a celtic double spiral on on side..then a triple knot wrapping around the back...mmmmmmmm..joy of life..

running along aith You..laughing softly..gathered handfuls of the silk..thighs in cream flash with gazelle bounds..gambling along..

pausing before the hunreds of year old gnarled monsters that block the way into the central clearing - feeling the temperature drop even while still in the sun

taking your dagger and leaving it outside the welcoming/forbidding atmosphere - not wanting any more accidents to happen

silently pushing past the branches - like sutures in a centuries old wound - and creeping towards the place prepared for you

looking up in ernest..knowing enough not to bear steel to fae places..resheathing it and leaving it over a gnarled brach..little sacred blade of ivory and mastadon handle..feeling the chill and drawing in air sharply..my nipples hard poking through my silk....

grabbing Your arm in the tangable silence..shivering ..teal eyes wide..

wanting you to silently go through anything else that might not be done in a farie place

Placing the rucksack in the centre of the grove - taking out the leather pouch

thinking and remembering..to not take the fae invite,eat,nor drink of faerie foods nor dance..less time steal my very Soul..trembling in the thought..feeling the holy chill in my mortal marrow..

facing you for a silent kiss on those luscious lips and staring into the darkness tinged teal eyes - trying to read your mind

and the most..And no iron of any softs..

looking up at Your strong form..the heavy dampness.embracing me..creeping coolness..looking back into heavenly blues..

looking at the 4 leather thongs pegged in the ground and hoping that the use of elm pegs would be permitted in this place

looking over at leather and elm..nodding..yes..

gently placing you to lie between the 4 pegs

and attaching your feet to two pegged thongs

lying in the embracing cold..my heart racing as fox and hound..breathing in the rareness..

slowly taking the sari hem and lifting it away - up and away from the knees and past the shoulders - ready to place it back on the creamy flesh once it has been removed

my mind in the path of the hare of Meadhbh..bounding in my ears..naked under turning azure..

after covering you with the silk again - taking a single leather glove that was used to pick the flowers out from the leather pouch and placing it on My right hand

turning inside..witch thought and asking to be kissed by Bridget..fire,and hearth..to my core..She comes and blesses me..

Seeing through the creamy raw silk - watching the luscious gold curves over you - and seeing the nipples reaching out for Me

watching Your glove hand..thinking of the wildflowers in my locks..hare bells and thyme..violet and briar rose..sighing deeply..

wishing to give you the pleasure and pain - for a short while - to remove the sting of pain - fastening your wrists to the other leather thongs

my heat rising ..the spell..glamour of wee soulless ones..full darkness of eye..nipples stiff as fairy gold..

in grass and moss..leather held..leather bound...sacrifice renewed a millenia in passing..smiling again tenderly..eyes in turquoise glitter..

taking out the two forms of leaves - green and calming - one bunch with small almost white hairs covering the small bright green leaves and paler stems - small forthright leaves ready to make their presence felt - the other bunch with thick heavy almost bulbous leaves - large leaves that would cover a breast with room to spare.

wondering if the union throes of sex would count as dancing in this place

eyes wide in the sight of stinging nettles..and the other too far to see..shuddering and pressing back into the sweet,thick moss..Mercy...

taking the silk from your ankles and feet

mortals in dance..do not count..it is only peril to dance to fae tunes or to embrace in partnership..

Wondering if the trust had disappeared - a nettle rash discovery leading to irrational fears and rash judgements

smiling at You and blowing a kiss of trust...to know Your love..

wondering - Embrace in partnership? Throes of sex ? Is there a difference to fae minds?

laughing softly and seeing no fairy folk..knowing we are quite safe in all we do..

tracing the pathway in His mind - holding the first nettle - sole of foot through between the big toe and next - up the shin and small concentric circles - looking at the chalk carving - same shapes on thighs and then up away through the other foot again

knowing the feeling - the desire to sctratch - the almost insane annoyance as the small white blisters will appear - embossed on the cream skin -

feeling the fire rise..spirals and sacred patters..flinching in the decoration..like the woad i have worn..feeling the flame tatoos..the reddening lines...Oooooooooooooooooo..trying to hold still..focus..centre..

moving the cream silk back in folds up to the waist and then past the fillagreed patterned of small protruberances of the nipples to cover the face alone

seeing the flinch of the skin in the path that is only in My mind at this point.

What an imagination little one - I have not started yet

Feeling like a woman of the old stones..megaliths..she of Newgrange..of Scara Brae..Nuada of the Silver Hand upon me...trembling in the wild feelings..

Lying next to you - looking at the tangled roof of yew buttresses hiding the sky and listening to the silence as the damp/dank/centuries old smell permeates through the silk on your face

Ahh..but nettle like me so and always leave bright red lines upon me in summer pickings of columbine and raspberry..laughing to myself..

listening to Your breathing through the silk..really liking the reduced air and the ripe earthy smells..waarm air in the silk..

tracing the line up and down the sole of the right foot - nettle hairs breaking in the joy of meeting you

rose pink lips in gasp..cooing deep...breasts in rise like the tor of Arthur..

passing through the toes in a grapevine - in and out - before covering the whole arch of the foot with a stimulating caress - and then the outside and inside of the ankle - and heel - foot glowing red and white

basketweave of torment and surface pain..mind in dizzy nerve scream..light and tracing the lines Your plait..

and up the shin - flickering tongue of new nettle - second leather glove holding it - original nettle caressing the back of the calf - wherever it is not touching the cool deritrus below you

past the knee - like one leg in a shimmering bath of prickly heated water - relentlessly movong towards the groin

biting lip and silk..squirm of nettle dance..parting in the pain..shadow walking to Avalon..shuddering..inside scream...quake of flora torment...

and stopping to jump past to the right ribs and continue - only the right side - flickering towards the breast

reversing thought to cope..from..hot..to cold..ice lines..red snowflake rake...frostbite....numb traceries of Gothic and Celtic madness..begging for the first snow..blizzard on sensations...fingers in nail cutting tight little balls..daring not to tear grass or moss in plight..

now those celtic patterns appear - on the right breast and shoulder before the nettles cease their journey

deep trembles...flesh in frenzy..spasm of gardener's torment...creamy breasts in ivory cairn..Avesbury shadows...maze of wonder..Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa..

and the leather gloves disappear and the other leaves are used - crushed against the skin - rubbing deep - starting with the breast and then the shoulder

knotwork of red splender..triscils and watchspring wires..trilogy of Maid,Queen and Crone..

The old enemy of the nettle - the dock leaf - the natural antidote - often growing near - now with cool finger propulsion slowly massaging the whole of the right side - towards the foot

helpless and in the flesh...winding down the hill of Tara..to the minds of ancient Ones..razed in light of Sutton Hu..garnet and gold thought..

a cloud of softest down - of feathers - the dock doctors and calms the jangled nerves

Amaranth love..dock tender..drinking in healing..skin in hope..dance of joy..leaving only the spider lines of where the art was dreamed of..

watching fine clouds of ambrosia..in wind drift..over the seas and channels..Roman and Celt and Frank and Norman..souls of a thousand million..in ghost dance..soothing..drifting..

continuing over the whole area a second time with a new leaf

..in hot gasp..sucking in fabric then not..sharp,jags of torment..the liquid doke calm..in receding roll of thunder lines..storm on the horizon of my being..straining in the leather...moss in compress..writhing tiny lava in the darkness..

tracing the same paths with His lips - starting at the foot

Oooooooohhh...feeling hungry lips..sweet damp heat..breath of the Prince of the Grove..branch of silver branch of gold..leaves in surreal tinkle ....bells of Oberon..

and tongue between the toes

tongue checking all is neutrlaised - the damp green taste of the part woman part plant - mouth filled - chlorophylled

soft silk covered moans..haunting whimpers..in mercury slide over the enchanted grasses..licking back at Your ears..

Greenman in worship of maid of the moss..Herne in hoarfrost rise on my skin..

tongue tracing the mystic celtic breast pattern -fingers retracing and falling through hundreds of years - grabbing the nipple to steady

teeth - replace fingers - the earth mother breast of safety - holding on and sucking - teeth grating - gyrating

spirals..boar and hare and elk..rising in herds of touch..nipple rising again as Tara..Salsbury mound..

moaning in pagan splender.....arches of stone and flesh..bridges and labirynths..arching higher..wanting...

watching the yew roof mirrored by your body - putting on a leather glove once more

picking up 3 leaves - 1 for each nipple and one to place on your pouting labia

listening..wondering..feeling the cool Mother earth caress and hold me...rustliing in muffled fibers..

looking at the leaves -two large and soft - placing one on each breast - looking at the third - much smaller

thinking of millstreams and voles and hedgehogs and England..unseeing and trusting..sighing in the green o...

placing it gently in place and pushing it within the open lips with a gloved finger

manouvering to press it further in with the leather hooded manhood - fully erect

cool pliant foliage...breasts in the wood..maid marion..and Robin's hood..feeling gloved leave shove..waiting for reactions...

feeling the pressure on HIs shaft from an excited vole tunnel - watching the two mountainous molehills in dock green cover under His eyes

smiling at the reactions from docked labia - docked leaf - half a leaf - turning over a new leaf with His shaft of light - shaft of heavy shaft of lightning

tightness in pryed fire..leather Domcock...mask of pleasure...Oooooooooooooo..surrendered and bound..

and then withdrawing to unleash the ankles to allow deeper entry with the opening of violet sky below the wooden yews.

purring in heated rise...squeezing back..badger of love..to the hilt of Excaliber...Lady of the Lake in fuckthrust..

half bound - bounding

hips in tilt of entry..in clay of form..bisque of plunder...taking in and wrapping slim ankles around Trojan rabbit..

Excaliber easy to remove from the nonstoney first entry - but will be harder to dislodge this second time

whispers in silk mask..King me...septre of Man..striving for new lands..beyond the Pale..

thinking you must feel trojan horse rather than trojan rabbit between the thighs of cream - awaiting la creme de la creme in the bisque (biscuit rather than seafood today)

clenching in sweet wish to make You groan and cry ..kingdome for a whore..slave of erotic revival..

moving slowly - one cylinder engine - supported by elbows and nipple twisting fingers - plumbing depths briefly known before

smells of woman - permeated

urging pearl into line of fire..crown jewel in rider's path..bending ever higher...into the tower's savage stroke..crossing to the moat of no return..

nipples in tender briars..tryst of crinolations..over Knight's road..looking for the candle in the window of my throbbing castle..heading home..

leaving facial silk mask for another few seconds - multiple creams and gold - cream silken thighs and breasts - cream silken face - slowing to the rhythm of the yews - timeless - unmoving - clenched within - feeling the subtle gloved hand inside you manipulating with no apparent movement

tight vanillaish scented gauntlet..squeezing the sword You yield..to make You yield..Merry met..

rocking in long lullabys..a fairy tale..in a round green place..drinking in Your beauty and song..fife and haunt..pipers in slow dance..moon rising in Your wish to hold me..to take me unto You..timeless spell of yew and sallie..

using owm leather glove to come between and pluck at the crown jewel - diadem - sparking lightly - flickering lightly - ay there's the rub.

whisking cream from teal - seeking slave eyes to meet - sparkling together - moving again like a quickening pulse - beating at your moat - no motes in My eyes all seeing - all encompassed Cock of the Midlands

remembering times in a previous lifeless week - wondering whether this will end maturely - the wetlands providing a sanctuary - as mutual blending of juices from leaf King and channel/moat

Legs in tight,deep ride..over hedge and stream..cuckoo cry in clutch of bonfire on the hills of my desires..ash leaf curl...hazel and oak..to You..to You in the darkest wood..Hunter of this woman...Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

lost in time - garland on hair with whisps of cream - flower blossoming but so silent

whispers from the Highlands..in Pale sweep of heathered winds..please..please....ancient stone and path..all leading..edge of Druid majik....

Humming from within you - no bees in yew - yew - only yew - My mottled face watching yew - gnarled and timeless - waiting for yew - should yew wish to

whimpers of spell and rune..legends of time walkers..Merlin in my pussy...melting..cumming....

nodding at your please - your pleas - falling on deaf ground but not deaf ears, yew writhing around U/us.

kissing You..kissing lips and cheeks ..Midsummer's night Dream..

concentrating on yew - feeling you and losing concentration in a blur of cream and teal - time speed - body hurry - shaft centrifugally spinning head - spinning head and slippery slide shaft - falling into the point of noh return - cream Noh head - making

trees in sway of old..tristed limbs and boles..squeezing vole and more..peter rabbit down a snug warren..dragging You along in merry pleasure..

suddenly visions of bacon and cheese regurgitate from the past - hungry for you - trying to slow - bacon and cheese disappear - only cream in My head - leaving My head - searching for yew - in the yew roofed womb

filling you with warm thoughts - mid summer rain - warm - mild -

growling in rites of passage..to tomb held high by roots and weed..spice and briar...to meet You in gold and garnet and cream and teal..to knight You..Lord of the Stones....pinned under manblaze..consumed in joy..

leather fingered continuance - lips and tongue subside to fall on right nipple - dockless from the motion - other hand the left -

shaft still felt but falling - moving in quiver - after arrow swift discharge

Bacon and cheese Domlet..flipped and stuffed..served with love on a bed of moss..licking lips...slow jaunt ore the green green hills..tight grind..powered coffee earth...hot wet stone..resheathing Excaliber with ever plow stroke..making You rule the land You see and feel..Renadine..Fox and lass....wet cooing whimpers..echo of glory and trembling raptures..a bridle path of red and pink...

heraldic azure - assurance blazoned - guileless - waiting to feel tremulous woman beneath

fire rekindling - squeezed bellows - air disappearing between shaft and collarpink sheave

in fesse and per bend..in Or and Argent....creams in sable..gules of tremble ..spent fleur de lies ..

moist sheath - no steel rust but flesh tingle - feeling the rise fro the depths - unable to brainkill the cream boil this time - powerless yet all powerful

wishing that .....

biting deep into cream red nipple and arching towards the yew roof

holding in slow rock..clay and chalk..cream and dirt..Yours ...so close and tender...Mmmmmmm...meld of hearth and home..field and streams..

reverse rainbow in summer shower - sun shower - feeling the pot of gold about to fill and then spill

slave milk maid - accepting the cream of the month in mint condition - creme de menthe - green dock leaf colored -

Oooohhhh..snarl of forest cat..grinding to new querns..rock of ages...tighness increasing,cream in thickning churn..squeek close..going for a Pictish uprising..indigo woad paint..savage flowers in hotfuk bloom..steaming,screaming spores in tempest wake..hellfire in raging ripples of morse and clasp...

watching the spasms of the earth as the head jerks - which is moving - teal flashes before My eyes - unable to control - the paradox of life

subsiding and watching and unloosing the wrists - still entwined - still within - but truly still *soft smile*

life at the spring head..holy waters..Lake,river and well..pagan clooties ties to my wrists in wishes of splender..of harvest and seed..of tilled plow shares of wealth...John Barley Corn in my womb..ale and mead and Meadhbh..

reaching for the liquid in the rucksack - dribbling honey nectar mead on your lips - thinking it must taste bitter on lips so sweet

kissing in gentle sharing..licking lips of muted kindness..lily cream arms in embrace of back and arm and shoulder..charmed and enchanted..mists of Arthur and Avalon arising still..smokey teals in deep thanks..wordless praise of touch and sweet honeyed nectars..joy and honor in the knowing of You...mmmm...

testing the hypothesis with My lips -

minds so alike? honey nectar on both sets of lips at the same time?

for the second time..reading a deja vu of thought..sweet shudders of mindmeld..so far and so nicely close..mead and lips..heaven and more..embraced in soft,warm light..glowing in the dark..

laughing softly..life is so wonderful..so majikal..a sheer brillant busrt of love thought over the thousands of miles to hold You tight as skin and bone..Mmmmmmmmmmm..

rolling over on the nettles - searching for the dock leaf inside you - finally settling for the one from the right breast - still searching inside you - fingers gloveless - tracing the walls.

Third deja vu - 2 seconds apart *grin*

softly rubbong the dock leaf on Himself - wanting to remain with you for ever in this womblike yew memory of so long ago

Actually more of though on the same track..gloves and gauntlets..roofed tomb and womb of roots and yews..weird,but this is the stuff of dreams and life..*grin*..

glad to share time and comfort and creative images..leaving leaves..dock and peer into Your heart..hugging and smiling..blush of maid of the moss..

whispering
some were intentional little one - but it was still mind blowing at times

Yes...even still..as i try to tiptoe on the same walk..it is amazing..

Life is like that..and still it flows to the sea..i am called for ..a missive on arrow shaft to this heart o mine,Sir..and flee i must in cream and gold and cloak of dove grey silk..adieu,Kind One..and seek me soon..Merry Met and met again,Love..i am like this scene..History..