Encountering Nymphs in the Woods, Otherwordly Sex


It wasn’t warm, but it wasn’t cold either. Sara moved through the woods, almost floating, sunlight dappling her steps in places, her shadow a flitting shape, dappled behind her. Sounds strangely muffled, yet clear. Effortlessly she moved, she did not step on branches, she did not upset the balance, but she heard each step of her bare feet, regardless. All of her senses completely alive. Green! The very air smelt green; new leaves in spring. Her fingers trailing, exploring the bark, following the paths therein of trees she passed. A silver birch, how different it felt, she stopped, letting both hands run over its slender trunk, enjoying the texture.

She closed her eyes, breathing in, breathing out the forest, oh the scent of the trees, the earth. She let the moment expand out of her, around her, felt her connection to the earth through her bare feet, her connection to the forest through her bare body, her presence expanding with the moment, she became far greater than her physical self. The moment became timeless, and she was lost to it. She felt intoxicated, a sensory overload of utmost beauty. She became a statue in time, just a conduit through which to feel, all of nature alive around her.

She didn’t notice the voice straight away. Like water, it washed over her, caressed her skin with its delicacy, its warmth, before she became aware of it. The voice spoke to her on a level without words, a level under thought, pure feeling, emotion and intention. She began to feel warm, the warmth centering down in her core, the deepest part of her womanhood, her own self. She became aware of the voice, there were no words, just a harmonisation of thought, just a feeling of familiarity that was extremely enticing; it felt like an old friend returning. She let it build, standing very still, she acquiesced, let it into her, this voice, this presence. The warmth built, just over her pubis, down into her center.

A tinkle of a giggle in front of her, mere inches from her, provoked a complete body shudder, shocked Sara’s eyes open. The light, far brighter than she remembered, dazzled her, but even so, there was nobody there. Sara took a long deep breath, closed her eyes again, meaning not to let herself slip from her moment. She wasn’t fazed by the giggle, it felt right, had just shocked her. And, oh, how it had stirred her.

There was a snatch of a hum directly in her ear, an otherworldly, impossibly beautiful sound, it raised hairs all over her. Thrilled, her lips parted, another breath sucked in, and her equilibrium returned. She let herself smile, she let herself light up with the pure joy she was beginning to feel. Her stance became taller.

There, the implication of a word, but not a word:


Echoes of the not-word floating about her in real waves, caressing her. Her stature grew. She was now far more than herself; and with her growing sense of self, came a growing sense of joy, belonging, a growing sense of the acceptance of the otherworldliness. With every breath, Sara moved further from her perception of her own normality, yet she did not fear, she embraced it for the truth it was.

A gentle touch to her bare stomach, like the nail of a finger shocked a gasp from her, again she opened her eyes, saw a motion of silver hair, a notion of a feminine shoulder, gone in a whisper, a giggle fading after it. She smiled to herself, closed her eyes again and waited. Another brush of fingers, this time she kept her eyes closed and felt a breath on her shoulder, the lightest touch of lips, the song humming, thrumming the air around her. Another breath on her other shoulder. Sara didn’t feel the need to open her eyes. Her heat was building with the intimacy of the feathered touches.

She sensed a question, a pause. She sent out a non-verbal thought of total agreement, complete consent, felt it washing out from her, filling the new space that was her and radiating outward. The thoughts around her enriched themselves, the joy intensified, and she realised it was not just her own joy that she was feeling. She realised they had been afraid of her, but they weren’t anymore. She risked opening her eyes.

Two shapes, ethereally strange, stood before her, she had a sense of beauty, but could not make out their features, despite looking at them directly. Shifting light, their skin did not seem to be touched by it, but at the same time they glowed. Sometimes they were the epitome of femininity, other times, their treeishness was complete.

Her hands were taken, guided to stroke over them. A sense of total satisfaction, then one was moving towards her, taking her breast in its grip. It began to suckle her, the sensation escalating her even higher into her own heat. The other moved to her other breast and began to suckle. Sara closed her eyes, felt the stimulation of her nipples. They had never been touched in a way that made her so hot before, the hum of the song they nymphs were singing added a trill of vibration to their ministrations. She felt her sex pulsing with pleasure, thought she might come right then and there. But she didn’t. She was hotter than she had ever been, but she did not come.

She let her hands rove over the nymphs, found breasts herself and toyed with them. She felt the waves of absolute pleasure this gave them, and she let herself be completely free. Her hands squeezed, she tweaked and pulled, felt the heat of the nymphs building with her own. Their suckling became greedier, and oh, how good it felt.

She found herself lying down on a warm bed of leaves without having moved. She felt outward with her hands, the dry crackle of autumn leaves pleasing her ears, the smell of the earth more intense here. Her sex on fire, impossibly hot. Her legs spread out, pose relaxed. She reached down between her legs, found the head of one of the nymphs. It kissed her inner thighs, and she wove her fingers into the silver hair, felt the pleasure of the touch reciprocated. The nymph moved to her sex, extending a tendril inside of her. It grew to fill her entirely, fitting perfectly and then stretching her just a little more, she moaned out a wave of rapture. Its mouth found her clit and the nymph began to suckle again, still humming its pleasure-song. The sensation was tremendous, almost, but not quite, overwhelming her. The other nymph lowered its head, took one of her nipples into its mouth again. Sara thought she might actually faint from the intensity of the pleasure she was feeling, but she did not want it to stop. Still, she did not come.

She felt the first drops of a summer rain showering onto her body. It heightened her senses even further; she could feel every single drop, and each one brought with it a mini ripple of pleasure, sinking through her skin, filling her. She was in a fever, fire in her blood, her whole sex alight. Where the mouths of the nymphs had her, her body was singing, taut with the need to release. She felt the building of her own orgasm, she knew it was coming and she would not be able to hold it back.

It built. She felt that peculiar pleasure-pain in her core the feeling of tipping, balanced on the edge. Time stretched out, taut as a bow string, Sara felt a great surge of water breaking, flowing through her, felt a wave crash over her sex, gushing within and she released into an orgasm that blew her mind and left her senseless.

Later, she found her man by a campfire; uncertain how she had come to be there. She was dressed again, against winter’s chill.

He turned to watch her last approach. She sat next to him, and he put an arm around her.

“Touched by strangeness,” he said, his fingers on her cheek.

With her new awareness, she sensed the freed spirits of the burning deadwood escaping with the smoke of the fire.

She tried to explain it to him, what had happened, the details were fading. But she did her best and he held her to him all the while, never doubting.

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