My Woodland (Re) Treat

My Woodland (Re)Treat

Most of my stories will be about things which have actually happened, but like any good, honest pervert, I have my fantasies. Some of them are fairly standard, and have, over the years, come true - gangbangs, bukkake, naked in public and so on (I'll write about them at the proper time). Others are just plain freaky.

This one was a dream, and as with all dreams, it started with a very ordinary situation.

I was on holiday with my boyfriend at the time. We had spent the evening in the local pub, chatting with holidaymakers and locals, but not making any real connections. By that, I mean we had not met anyone to invite back to our bed.

I suppose that might be a little surprising, as I've never had a problem finding company, but sometimes it simply doesn't happen. I have few hang-ups about sex and have always been happy to fuck soon after meeting someone (or several someones) - however, it has to feel 'right,' and if it doesn't, forget it.

That doesn't mean I'm shallow enough to go on looks alone - I've turned down people who are very attractive, and gone with others who many would reject after a glance - there has to be a 'connection.' I'm not sure how that works, but I think everyone has it. Maybe it's eye-contact, or conversation; maybe it's some deeper sixth sense. Whatever, if it's not there, it won't happen.

So, on this particular night, we got home alone. He was drunk, which is never attractive (I don't drink much - never have), and despite his fumbling attempts to seduce me, I really wasn't interested. Looking back, it was a relationship that was in its death throes anyway.

I had long since learned that being drunk and sex simply don't mix - "it provokes the desire, but it takes away the performance," as Shakespeare put it. He was right - as he was about so many things (you see - I'm not just a pretty face).

It was, perhaps, the first time I had turned down this particular young stud, and he stomped off, sulking, before returning, sitting as far from me as possible and turning on the TV. Honestly - men! Why can some of them not understand that saying 'no' isn't a deep personal insult, and doesn't mean a woman hates them, it just means that we don't 'feel' it. Could be the time, the place, the circumstances, the mood - anything - but a smile and understanding is so much better than behaving like a child whose favourite toy has been taken away.

I took myself to bed alone, irritated, but unsurprised at his behaviour, and lay in bed, reading. It was a book I'd read before - 'The Day of the Triffids' - John Wyndham's dystopian classic - and I was thoroughly enjoying re-reading it.

I was, in fact, feeling quite horny (not because of the book), and considered playing with myself for a while before settling down to sleep. There was a small 'bullet' vibrator in my bag, which was quite powerful, and very capable of getting me off quickly, but the thought of going back into the living room and waking the incredible sulk who was in there deterred me.

I considered my fingers, and even glanced around for any suitable objects. My eye paused at the electric toothbrush - but no. It wouldn't have been the first time, as I had been very experimental with household objects in my youth - but not now.

In truth, I was tired after a long day walking, and knew I should sleep. Ten more minutes reading, and settle down, I decided - there would probably be an argument in the morning, and I wanted to be refreshed to deal with it - and at least keep the relationship limping on until the end of the holiday.

I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I knew, bright sunlight streamed through the window of the holiday cottage, which is always a pleasant surprise in Wales - doubly so after two rather damp days. I got out of bed, embracing the warmth on my naked body, and approached the patio doors which led to the garden.

I flung the curtains wide, not caring if someone saw me (secretly hoping they would, if I'm honest), and looked across the small, well-tended lawn and footpath leading to a gate. This opened on to a woodland path, through towering trees, arching over yellow and blue wildflowers.

The grass was glistening with dew, and silvery webs criss-crossed every section. Beyond this, a low mist was in place, hiding perhaps the bottom six inches of the ancient trees. It was the sort of scene I imagined in 'The Lord of the Rings' - a cottage in a clearing, with woods hiding wonderful secrets.

As if from nowhere, a rabbit appeared, hopping across the garden, nibbling grass before darting under the gate into the wood.

I glanced up as a shadow crossed the lawn - a single cloud drifting across the sun. It brought me back to reality. There was a cloud on my horizon too - the sleeping tantrum on the sofa - and I really did not want to deal with it just yet.

I reached a decision quickly. Before confronting harsh facts, I would enjoy this beautiful morning a little more. I wandered to the drawer, looking for comfy underwear. I was disappointed. I must have worn all my comfies earlier in the week, and all I had were my tanga knickers, which were better than a thong at least, and a translucent bra which offered little support, but was great for flashing my boobs in a low-cut top.

Whatever - not the best, but good enough.

I looked for a top, finding my baggy vest top, which was low-cut to start with, but gaped massively if I had to bend forward. Then I slipped on my tight, ripped denim shorts, cut so high that you could see the lower part of my bum cheeks.

I wouldn't usually choose these things for a casual walk - they were more appropriate for attracting every perv within five miles - but I didn't care. I was hardly likely to see anyone (which defeated the object of this outfit).

With sandals on my feet, I opened the patio doors and stepped out.

It was chilly, and my nipples instantly stood to attention, blatant points through my thin bra and top. My exposed skin tingled, and I considered putting on something a little warmer. I knew, however, that this was just an early morning coolness, and the day would soon warm up.

I strolled across the lush grass, feet and ankles soaking from the morning dew. I opened the gate and continued across the field to the wood.

There were mature trees arching broadly, branches meeting overhead. They were oaks - I recognised the leaves and developing acorns. The branches were gnarled and twisted, binding together above lower growing plants. I thought that I may not find a way in, until I spotted an opening, a pathway leading inside.

I looked up the path. It was gloomy and disappeared into blackness after a short distance, yet despite this, I didn't think twice about going in. Oddly, I had the feeling that I was heading somewhere - I just had no idea where.

After a hundred yards or so, I looked back. The entrance had disappeared in the darkness, and I could only see because my eyes had adjusted to the dappled gloom of light, filtered through the trees.

As I walked further, the path narrowed. Branches grabbed like fingers at my arms and clothing, pulling my vest, dragging it down, off my shoulders, revealing more of my cleavage as I walked. I had no desire to turn round, however, and allowed my top to become ragged, on condition that I remained unscathed.

I found myself having to turn sideways to get through, pushing past plants that seemed to grow and grasp at me, not scratching, but brushing gently across my breasts, catching my nipples, flicking them, making them erect and solid. Still, I never thought of turning back. I had an urge, no, a need to keep going onward to my destination.

As I pushed on, the harsh, rounded projections became softer - mounds of gentle moss, brushing around my thighs, caressing my backside and hips, like a tender massage, sometimes pushing firmly and insistently, others being feathery strokes across my inner thighs, making me damp and moist.

I reached a final, almost solid blockage, where I had to force myself in, feeling every part of my body tenderly manipulated, tendrils creeping inside the legs of my shorts, brushing my most intimate parts, gently flickering across my labia, and working, somehow, into the crack between my buttocks. Impossible, of course, I knew it could only be because they were pushing from outside, but it felt so much like direct contact with my skin - and I liked it and welcomed the fact that I was being gently stimulated.

I burst through the final barrier, my hands and knees landing on soft mosses and emerald grass.

I looked at myself before considering my surroundings. My body was damp all over, covered in a light sheen of dew and mist - and maybe sweat, for I had certainly become very warm as I made my way along the path. I had a greenish tinge, as if the natural dyes of the plants had tinted my skin.

I checked my clothing. My baggy vest had been stretched and ripped, so that one breast now hung over the neckline, the thin fabric of the bra torn to allow a nipple to peek through, as if it had been designed that way. My shorts were more ripped than previously. Where the legs had been tight to my skin, they had been stretched. Every item was soaked.

I checked myself briefly for any injuries but saw none. Then I looked at my surroundings.

The first thing I noticed was a gentle roar, and as I scanned the clearing, I saw a large pond, with a waterfall pouring into it. Rainbows shot above the water as the spray played, and sunlight reflected off the surface, bouncing off crystal clear waves.

Around the extensive, deep pond, was a small, sandy beach, followed by grass extending maybe twenty yards back to the forest. Dotted in the grass were flowers - pink, white, blue, yellow - and rocks, standing around the edges like some ancient stone circle, with others dotted around in groups, extending upwards by anything from a few inches to a couple of feet. All were worn and smooth.

Apart from the waterfall, I heard branches rustling softly, as if in a gentle breeze - yet there was none - and an occasional scuttling, as if there were woodland creatures nearby. Interspersed with all this, was a low hum and a gentle chattering, as if these same creatures were communicating in some language all of their own.

There was a scent of opulence - rich and fruity, along with fresh mown grass, honey, and lilies. Beneath this, however, was the hint of another odour - rotting fruit, slightly on the turn, as if it were the day after peak ripeness, and rot was beginning to set in.

I walked to the edge of the pond, enjoying the tingle of my skin from the cool moisture and the brushes of the branches - reminiscent, a little of how I felt after being spanked, but without any pain - just glowing. I touched my fingers to the water. It was cold, but not icy. I licked my fingertips and felt invigorated by just the slightest taste. I must have been thirsty, but this had never registered.

I heard a scurrying behind me and turned quickly. Some branches swayed, and slowly came to a stop. Another sound - more branches moving - then nothing. This happened a few times, before the previous stillness returned.

I gazed at the water. I could see clear to the bottom. Stones glistened iridescent blues, greens, silvers as rich water plants swayed slowly. I looked at the gentle shelf down into the pond, which sloped away for maybe ten feet, before plunging deeply into the depths carved out by the waterfall, which fell from maybe fifteen feet - enough pressure to erode the rock, but not enough to be uncomfortable or painful. Like a power-shower, I guessed.

I cupped my hands and drank a mouthful of the water. Every part of me came alive. My muscles were firm and prepared to move, my mind was alert, senses now more aware than ever. I felt more alive than I had ever been. This water was better than any energy drink - it was energy itself, as my eyes cleared, no longer just seeing the surface, but looking deeper, beyond the veil, if you like.

Another scurry, but this time as I looked, I thought I saw shadowy figures - more a ripple in the air than anything solid, but I knew I could not be alone. In the water, too, invisible shapes seemed to carouse and play, defined only by outlines. It was mesmerising, as if I had entered a different world - a secret world, beyond the veil which usually cloaked it, now exposed to me.

I needed to swim. I was vaguely aware that this was a public area, and anyone could appear at any time, but I didn't care. If someone saw me, so be it. At least I could dry my clothes.

I pulled my tattered vest over my head, noting how the high-pitched chattering sounds around me intensified. I looked down. I knew my bra was translucent, but the sheen of moisture on my skin had rendered it virtually transparent. My dark nipples stood proudly erect, the left one peeking through a hole which had been created. They were a deep, ruddy-brown, darker than normal, the areolae stippled, each tiny goose-bump evident against the diaphanous fabric, the tubular buttons in the centre long and inviting - begging to be touched, and impossibly sensitive.

I slipped off my shorts. My knickers, again, were near-transparent, clinging to my labia, my slit visible to all in a camel-toe between my thighs.

There was a frisson to every touch. My skin tingled, each brush of fabric sparking neurons and stimulating my brain to greater heights of self-awareness.

I became aware that the sounds around me had increased, like a breeze blowing across the top of bottles of varying sizes in short bursts, or a wet finger around the rim of a glass. It was building, like some natural orchestra to a crescendo as I looked round. It stopped instantly, with a small scurrying.

I was certain I was being watched, but not by human eyes. Maybe I was like Snow White, drawing in the creatures of the forest. Did Disney miss that part of the film? The part where the beautiful princess stripped naked, watched by birds, bees, foxes, badgers, fawns, and frogs. Did they admire her small, pert breasts? Were her nipples erect? Did she have a small bush of black pubic hair against her alabaster skin? Or would it be air-brushed? I can't imagine she shaved, as in the porn version of the film that I had watched, where she fucked all seven dwarves.

I unhooked my bra, eager to be rid of my clothing. If I was being watched, I didn't care. I didn't care in front of mixed company at parties, so why would I care now? I felt the consent in the air, the willingness to see me, but now there was no judgment, like a naturist resort, where nudity was just a part of everyday life.

I released my breasts, the touch of the air welcome after their confinement, and I put my head back, thrusting them forward, inviting the cool breeze to surround them and brush across the firm flesh.

Finally, I slipped off my knickers, willing the air to enter me, explore my inner passages invisibly and without stretching or invading. I knew it was unreal, but the thought of the air occupying every orifice stimulated me.

I walked into the water, the cold making goosebumps erupt and my nipples contract even further. People talk about nipples that can cut glass. Mine never could, but they could have been stoppers in narrow-necked wine bottles.

I continued walking, and small waves caressed my thighs, occasionally lapping up to my labia, gently washing them, like small fingers, before receding. I reached the drop into deeper water, lowered myself down to my shoulders and pushed off.

I swam a few strokes, before stopping and treading water. As I spread my legs, in a vertical breaststroke, I felt water push at my entrance, trying to force between my labia, working its way inside to my clitoris, surrounding it and pressing with little butterfly-soft touches. I wondered if a fish might have been attracted to me - I could see small silver sparkles darting back and forth - but when I looked there was nothing but water.

I lay back, the water supporting me with ease as I lifted my feet into a star float.

The fluttering around my clit continued, but now I felt a new pressure - two new pressures - one trying to actively enter my vagina, while another probed my back passage.

I felt no aversion, and relaxed, allowing the rich, denser liquid inside. It entered me, filling me gently, applying pressure to my vaginal walls and still fluttering, as if tiny, microscopic organisms were hammering tiny fists against my most sensitive parts.

I felt the same on my back passage. Initially, it was tight, my sphincter being closed. Then I eased, relaxed the small ring of muscle, as I would when preparing for anal sex.

The water entered. Again, it filled me, with no discomfort or stretching, and the fluttering began. I had no problem with water being there - obviously, I cleaned myself before anal sex - but this was different. Unlike the discomfort of pumping water, however, this entered gently, and, I felt, would leave just as gently.

There was no aggressive thrusting, just a gentle swelling and fluttering from both orifices - and all around my clitoris.

It was arousing, but in a way, I had never known before. Every pleasure-centre of my body was being tickled. Not the vigorous tickling of clumsy hands that makes me giggle and writhe until I want to pee, but a subtle, gentle tickle which I welcomed and made me relax, as it barely touched me.

As it happened, I felt small explosions - eruptions of waterspouts inside me, blasting every surface of my body, cleansing me more deeply and thoroughly than I ever thought possible, while, like a shower, focusing on my most intimate parts - after all, what girl hasn't pointed the gushing streams from a shower head directly at her pussy and loved the sensations.

I knew I was producing my own lubricating liquids, and these stimulated whatever was inside me to greater heights - stronger spurts, more vigorous fluttering across my G-spot, my clitoris, my labia. It was as if they took strength from my excretions - and as they took strength, so my pleasure intensified.

I began to breathe heavily, panting and gasping, aware of my muscles tensing. My head dipped back, under the water, stopping me from breathing. As I tried to resurface, gentle pressure kept me underwater. As I thought I might be about to drown, I was released, and surfaced, gasping mouthfuls of air. As soon as my lungs were full, however, I was drawn down again, depriving me of breath.

Oddly, I still felt no fear. The intention was not to drown me. This was breath play. This tactile, sensual water was trying to enhance my orgasm, but so much more gently than the men who had placed their hands on my throat, often making me more scared than erotically charged.

My muscles tensed, and I pulled my thighs up, taut, opening myself further than ever, a million tiny waterspouts exploding against every blood-suffused, hyper-sensitive part of my anatomy.

Deprived of breath, every muscle rigid, I felt my orgasm begin. My head was thrust up, gasping in air, and expelling it in a huge sigh, blended with a gentle scream. I know my pussy gushed, and I felt it convulse as the fluttering climaxed, like soft brushes across me, washed by intensive jets of liquid.

I felt contraction after contraction, as my pussy pulsed, expelling the soaking invasion from both front and back passages - not by force - the water simply left of its own accord, having cleansed me, and satisfied me with an earth-shattering, if gentle climax.

I came to my senses, still floating in the water, and stared around me. The water was now... well... just water - the most pure and clean water I had ever known, but no longer alive. Had I simply applied some weird anthropomorphic attribute, or had it actually lived?

All I knew was that I had enjoyed an unbelievably intense orgasm, and all I now wanted was to shower in the waterfall and lie back on the grass.

I spent a while loving the force of the water across my shoulders and on my head, then walked carefully round the edge of the pool to where I had left my clothes. They were spread out neatly on the ground, drying in the warm air. I didn't remember laying them out, but it made sense. Regardless, I had no desire to dress. I was comfortable naked until the time came to return to the cottage.

I lay back and relaxed, a grooved stone forming a perfect pillow as I luxuriated in the sun's rays.

I was still tingling from my orgasm, and acutely aware that I was aroused. Horny would be too crude a word. I felt sensual, erotic, wanton - free of the bonds of society.

My hand wandered down my body, pausing at my breast, teasing my already erect nipple, and making me sigh with pleasure. I squeezed, pinched, and tweaked, arching my back, grinding my bum into the ground. I needed to masturbate and release the last tension inside me. I wanted to give myself to absolute pleasure.

I drew up my feet, spread my legs wide and allowed my other hand to wander between my legs. I touched my outer lips, running a finger around them, revelling in the sensitivity, pushing gently between them to coat a finger in my juices, allowing my touches to slide, smoothly over the surfaces.

I suddenly became aware of the chattering around me - the same sound I had been hearing periodically - like water bubbling over stones, or dry leaves rustling in an Autumn breeze - or guinea pigs chirping to each other, like I had at home as a child. It was decidedly odd.

I opened my eyes, lazily, and turned my head to one side. Then I stopped my self-manipulation, propped myself up on my elbows and looked around.

I was surrounded on all sides by... well... people? While their general form was human, they looked different - peculiar. Their faces were elongated slightly, as were their bodies. They had skin of every shade, from the deepest ebony black to the palest ivory white, and every shade between. Their features were delicate - narrow, upturned noses, large, wide eyes, like anime characters, and small, pouting lips. Their ears were oddly shaped, rising to delicate points, slightly rounded at the peak.

Their hair varied in colour from platinum blonde to deepest black and was not common to any skin colour - the palest skin might have black hair, while the darkest could be purest white.

In every case, their skin glowed, as if coated in a fine gauze of sparkling mist, giving them a silvery glow. In every case, I realised they were beautiful. Stunningly beautiful.

Their size varied. Some were larger, maybe seven feet tall, while others could not have been more than two feet. Although elongated, their body shapes varied - ectomorph, mesomorph, endomorph - some were pot-bellied, like standard garden gnomes, while others were impossibly thin.

Every single one was stark naked. Again, their shapes varied. The females had breasts, ranging from tiny, pert bumps - little more than mosquito bites, with mature nipples, standing hard - to large, drooping jellies, resting on their stomachs, like overweight old women.

I focused on the men. Every penis was erect, from the smallest, thin pencil, to the twelve-inch, massive girth, which would be the envy of every porn star. Penis size did not relate to person size either. Some of the smaller men sported huge cocks, while larger ones looked desperately deprived.

Every single person was hairless, except for their head. Not shaved, I felt, but more like alopecia, smooth, without stubble or follicles. It was clearly their natural state.

A slim girl, less than five feet tall, approached me. Girl? Her age was indeterminate. Her body was that of a youth, but her eyes contained unfathomable depth, as if experience had informed her every action.

Her hair was poker straight, light blonde, and her skin was light, delicate pink, like a rose in bloom. Her eyes were blue, large, almond shaped, like a Disney princess, and her soft pink lips pouted seductively.

Her body was slim, her waist narrow, like her hips, which barely swelled from her torso. Her breasts were rounded, firm and soft, bouncing gently as she approached, her nipples, like chewed bubble gum left on the bedside table to solidify, stood proud from small areolae.

Between her thighs, a small slit was visible.

She smiled. "Welcome, Holly. May we join you?"

I nodded, and she giggled, the sound tinkling through the bushes, as a slightly confused look overcame her face.

"Or... maybe... will you join us? I don't know which is correct."

I smiled again. "Yes, to both," I agreed.

I had no idea what she meant, to be honest. Did she want to be part of my world? Did she want me to join their world? Or was it temporary? Did she just want us to participate in something together?

I felt it was the latter, as I knew that I would need to return at some point, but either way, I did not care. Any time with these people would be wonderful.

"Oh, Thank you!" She clapped her hands joyously and turned to the others. She spoke briefly in the chattering tones I had heard before, and her chatter was responded to excitedly.

The people moved closer, and I realised that there were maybe fifteen to twenty of them as they seated themselves around me. The men sat cross-legged, or on their knees, and every one took his penis in hand and started to stroke gently as he looked at me.

The women sat and leaned back, each one spreading her thighs, either drawing her feet up, or keeping her legs relaxed.

In every case, there was no embarrassment about their wanton display. Every one of them was treating their nudity as totally natural.

The women slid their hands between their legs and began to caress themselves.

It was then that I realised that I had agreed to masturbate with them. It felt such a crude term. In truth, I had been invited to share their joy and pleasure - to achieve the perfect climax with them. It was an honour they were bestowing on me. A delight to be shared.

The one who had approached me lay on her side next to me, one leg bent at the knee to allow her access to her pleasure parts and began to stroke herself.

I reached down and continued my own explorations.

I had often masturbated with others. I loved the idea of being watched and watching others. In those cases, however, it had been a blatantly slutty act, exposing myself to them while they lusted over me. In some ways, it was very overtly sexual, designed for their enjoyment more than my own. Most times they had joined in vigorously, wanking over my display. This was different. For these people, this was solely about a natural pastime, which they shared for leisure - almost social intercourse. Lust was very much a side-issue.

I kept my eyes open now, watching my fellow masturbators, as it felt like the polite thing to do.

I parted my labia with two fingers, sharing my inner parts and started to tease my clit. As I looked, most of the female sprites around me were doing the same. In these people, the clitoris seemed more developed, much larger as it hardened and exposed itself through folds of skin. It was as if they had very small penises, as if they were, in some way, intersex.

I focused on fondling my little bud, stroking, and rolling it around, feeling sharp bursts of electricity course through me, synapses firing as sheer pleasure ran through my mind and my body. My touches were lazy, gentle compared to my normal urgency. My climax would enjoy a slow build up, increasing sensations gradually as I built to my final release.

As I continued tending to my clit, now slick with juices, I saw that my companions had adopted their own favoured positions - legs flat, or bent at the knee, on their side with a knee bent up, on hands and knees, some facing me, others looking back over their shoulders, showing me their open pussies and tiny, white back passage. The men were mainly on their knees or cross-legged. Some lay on their backs or on their sides.

I reached further down, finding my inner lips, teasing them apart, wanting to reach inside myself. I often describe my inner lips (and those of others) as being like flower petals. For my new friends, this was even more accurate. Their inner lips were not fleshy, but fine and delicate, seeming to grab and pull at the fingers that teased them, drawing them in.

It was then that I noticed another odd phenomenon. Although I had abandoned my nipples, I still felt them being touched and teased by firm, yet gentle pressures. The same was true of my clit. Although I was no longer fondling it, it was being stimulated by light touches and pressures, almost as if I were using a clitoral vibrator with a soft touch.

I looked around and refocused my eyes. There was no doubt that my companions were being similarly attended to. I could see tiny movements around nipples, clitorises, cocks, balls, and anuses.

With my heightened senses, I gazed intently, and as I did, hundreds of tiny figures came into view - as if showing themselves to me, now I was aware of them.

They were tiny, human figures, but now with gossamer wings. They flitted around the most sensitive areas, applying expert touches with hands, feet, or mouths. There were hundreds of them, their tiny bodies totally smooth - no nipples, no genitals - totally androgynous and gender-free, dedicated solely to the pleasure of others - and me.

I slid my fingers inside me, loving how my free-flowing juices made access so simple, and as I did so, a group of tiny creatures dashed in, seeking my G-spot, and finding it with unerring accuracy. Once there, I could feel them inside me, flickering and fluttering, pressing, and stroking, working every internal surface.

I wondered... my hand went lower, pushing between my buttocks, slick with my juices. I allowed myself to relax, slipping a finger into my back passage. It was followed instantly by my fluttering friends, who darted into my open anus, working on both orifices now.

I returned to my clit now, rubbing it with greater pressure, focusing on it to increase my euphoria - but there was just one frustration - something missing from my usual masturbation. In the past, it had been a carrot, a cucumber, a shampoo bottle - anything to fill me and make me feel stretched. More recently, I had dildos and vibrators - a car's gear stick on a couple of occasions.

As if reading my mind, my companion handed me a stick, smooth and rounded at the head, shaped to look like a penis. It was long, maybe nine inches, and thick. It looked perfect, as if I had designed it myself. To clarify - any penis can satisfy a woman - size is not a major issue (although, as I well knew, too big could be uncomfortable and painful - and was generally used with very little skill, believing size alone was enough), what is important is What the man does with it. However, there is a size for most women which is just right - it stretches the right amount, pushes in the right areas, and fills to the correct extent. This piece of wood was perfect - even down to the curve to touch the right spots.

I accepted the gift gratefully, and placed it between my inner lips, and pushed gently, allowing it to enter slowly as my small, fluttering accomplices rushed out, allowing me to fill myself completely.

It was, as I already knew, perfect. The slight curve brought it directly into contact with the soft, spongy tissue just inside me, that my fingers barely reached, and rubbed across it, making me tingle, and sending the small beings in my back passage into a frenzy as they picked up on my heightened stimulation.

I was floating. Every erogenous zone of my body was being stroked, tapped, tickled, nibbled, massaged, and I felt a level of euphoria that I have never previously experienced. It was like a constant orgasm, but without the tensing, muscular response. A cerebral climax, maybe.

I knew there were dozens of eyes on me at that moment, sharing my pleasure and joining me in their own little bit of heaven, but, frankly, I would not have cared if I was being watched by a hundred thousand horny football fans, admiring my tits, making disparaging comments about my cunt and wanting to stick their cocks up my arse. I was, frankly, beyond caring. I was in my own world of celestial pleasure.

Once more I glanced around, noting that many of my friends had their own wooden dildo, carefully carved in different shades of wood, each personalised - a custom sex toy, made to perfection. It was not only the women either. Some of the men were penetrating themselves anally, their toys covered in a greenish substance, which I assumed to be some kind of natural lubricant.

Together, we thrust our dildos in and out, at first slowly, then building speed, desperate to destroy the heady ecstasy which had now been running for some time, and experience the explosive climax, which we all knew was going to come.

Although looking forward to it, I approached with some regret. I could happily have lived this semi-orgasmic half-life forever, lying here with these bizarre woodland folk. It was not to be though. They, like me, had lives to get on with - though they would return to theirs far more happily than I would to mine.

It was oddly like being in love. I had experienced this before, with someone with whom I was deeply in love. As they fucked me, I wanted it to last forever. I didn't care who saw, or who knew. With them deep inside me, or their head between my thighs, I rode the wave of pleasure and never wanted it to end. Perhaps these people were reminding me of that. Reminding me that fucking might be a lot of fun, but there's nothing like truly making love, with someone you love, and who loves you in equal measure.

And yes. At that moment, I loved every single one of these freakish forest folk.

I continued impaling myself on the carved surrogate cock, driving it in and out, reaching desperately for the ultimate eruption. I knew I would squirt - would they, I wondered?

I drove it in and out, withdrawing it until only the tip was inside, before burying it to its fullest extent, all nine inches disappearing in a blur, as the tiny sprites flickered across my clit and nipples, while working my back passage in a frenzy.

Around me, the men had eased off, stroking themselves slowly and gently, allowing the women to climax first - as was always polite. They watched, smiling gently and indulgently - so unlike the mutual masturbation I had experienced before, where I felt rather like a live porn show, as the observers sought their own climaxes.

I was close - so close. Every hypersensitive surface was being touched and stimulated, and my brain aligned itself to the coming event. Seconds away. The dildo seemed to arch in one last effort to ensure no sensation was lost. And then...

Not just a firework display, but a volcanic eruption. Any rational function was lost and my head blanked completely as the climax hit me. Every emotion, every sensitivity was focused on my pussy, as she squeezed, helped by my diaphragm, my thighs, my abs, my glutes - every muscle tensed and pushed. My back arched and I gave voice to an almighty cry, joined by my fellow orgasm seekers, joining to one ethereal note, informing the heavens that we had cum.

I squirted, a veritable fountain, not my usual clear squirt, but a rainbow of liquid, catching the sunlight around me. As my wide, staring eyes looked around, every one of my female companions was doing the same. We looked like a landscape of waterspouts - or a pod of whales blowing into the air - a field of glistening rainbows, refracted from the beams of the sun.

After my peak, I came down, my buttocks resting back on the soft grass, my juices still running down my thighs between my buttocks, soaking the tiny, flying imps now leaving my body.

"May I?" I was surprised to hear a voice from my neighbour and turned to her. "May I?" She asked again, looking down at my soaked thighs and pussy.

I was unsure what she meant, but nodded agreement. I knew that whatever it was, it would be good.

She smiled and turned her body, so she could dip her head between my thighs. She lapped my juices, like a kitten at a bowl of milk, her tiny tongue catching my flesh, moving ever closer to the parts which, if touched, were so sensitive that I would be likely to orgasm again in seconds.

I looked around and saw others doing the same - in fact, they had formed 69 positions and were cleaning the juices off one another.

I bent towards my smaller companion, pulling her thighs to me, and started to lick her. She pushed herself eagerly into my face as I addressed her clitoris. It was so large, I took it into my mouth, sucking it as I would an erect cock, cleaning her juices as I did so.

She tasted wonderful. Less musky than most, more fruity - like mango and strawberries, light and aromatic.

I moved down to tongue her hole, licking her intently, taking in as much as possible of her emanations, working down, between her buttocks, parting them to probe the small, dark hole, before returning to her clit.

We licked one another to gentle orgasms - no violent eruptions or flowing torrents this time, just the gentle rush of mountain streams, the feeling of being high, floating, levitating above the ground, before floating gently down.

She turned and kissed me firmly on the lips. I tasted myself - but not myself. I still recognised the underlying flavour, which I had tasted on the lips and cocks of partners, and my own fingers, but layered over this were the fruity flavours I had savoured from my lover. I wished I could always taste like that.

She pulled back, eyes gazing unblinking into my own.

"Their turn now," she intoned, in her odd, sing-song voice. She waved her arm around, indicating the male folk, and as she did, they moved forward, surrounding me. Clearly, I was to be the focus for them - maybe because I was new to them, or perhaps I was in some way special - a human amongst their woodland community.

I lay back, happy to receive their offerings, and surveyed them. Seven erect members waved in the breeze above me, with more waiting in turn behind them.

Their erections varied from tiny, barely two or three inches long, to enormous - over twelve inches, I guessed, and every size in between, mounted above testicles which looked too large for the shafts above them - in fact, I was convinced that their balls had swollen since I last looked around the group, as I had noticed nothing out of the ordinary before. Maybe this happened before they released the contents.

They all began to masturbate simultaneously, stroking rapidly, intent on spilling their seed on me. I relaxed, mouth open, and waited.

First to cum was a tiny man with a tiny cock. His semen splashed on my breast in surprising quantity. For his small stature, I had expected very little, yet he came in the same quantity I would expect from a human adult, covering my nipple and watching it run down into my cleavage. He smiled at me and bowed, before moving back for another to take his place.

Three men ejaculated simultaneously - two on to my face, the third on my stomach. One of those over my face was massively endowed, and he came in huge quantities, filling my mouth and coating my entire face, making me blink the sticky goo out of my eyes. I swallowed quickly as the next jet, from a dark-skinned, short man, whose member was almost as thick as it was long, rifled onto my tongue.

I was intrigued by the taste. I had expected the slightly slimy, salty taste of cum, but this was like honey, sweet and thick - almost a kind of 'energy-soup.' I felt myself brim with life, with a vivacity that I rarely felt. The second deposit in my mouth was equally invigorating - this time like strawberry milkshake.

After that, the conveyor belt of ejaculating cocks was rapid, each cumming copiously on my face, my breasts, my stomach, covering me completely in a layer of ejaculate, which made me look as if I had a bucket of mayonnaise poured over me.

I tasted samples from five men. Each different, each equally sweet and palatable. Like humans, the variation was probably down to diet and habit (I found smoking made quite a difference). The difference was, that while each of these was delicious, and I would happily have enjoyed as a drink - or maybe a soup - men tended to vary from being as palatable as the flavoured antibiotics prescribed for children, to being as unpleasant as adult cough medicine that had to be swallowed in one quick gulp.

I lay, dripping gently, and that was when the females moved in, surrounding me, lapping at me, drinking the coating of ejaculate, cleaning me with their tongues. As one had her fill, another took her place, licking my face, neck, breasts, and stomach until I was totally clean once more.

As they were sated, they left, withdrawing into the woods to pursue their daily lives once more, until only my beautiful, small companion remained.

She moved behind me, lifting my head, and placing it in her lap.

"Rest," she whispered, "relax and sleep."

Steadily, I closed my eyes and drifted off to the most relaxing, untroubled sleep I could remember.

It seemed like hours later when I awoke, back in my bed in the holiday cottage.

The boyfriend with whom I had come on holiday stood next to the bed, his erect cock in hand, pointed at me.

"Early morning blow job?" He asked - or demanded.

"Fuck off," I replied, turning my back on him.

He left the room, muttering that I was a 'frigid bitch' - something I had never been called before, or since (well - I've been called a bitch, but never, ever frigid!). I didn't care. As soon as we got home, he was gone anyway.

I turned on my side and stroked my skin. It was so soft and smooth - as if I had applied the most expensive moisturiser. My hand drifted between my legs, where I was wet and penetration was very, very easy.

As I recalled my woodland dream, I knew there was only one way to commemorate it appropriately. My finger slipped between my vulva and found my clit. I began to stroke, closing my eyes and returning, once more to the wonderful woodland folk. Bringing myself to a private orgasm could never be as good - but who knows, maybe it would lead on to more dreams like that in the future.