In a secluded area of a secluded valley, dozens of naked men and women were milling about in a spacious meadow dotted by big old trees. They were there for an al fresco orgy the social committee had organized for them. It was a beautiful sunny day in late summer, pleasantly warm to be outside, not too hot to be uncomfortable. A light breeze was wafting through the trees, rustling the leaves.

The meadow was flanked by a long, narrow lake on one side and a chain of mountains on the other. An ancient forest was growing halfway up the flanks of the mountains. Above the forest line, the mountains were mostly rock and grass with some sparse bushes growing here and there, above that, just rock.

If someone had been observing the orgy from one of the mountain tops, perhaps with strong binoculars or a telescope, they would have been able to watch an interesting pantomime, the forest swallowing up all the sounds from the meadow below.

One part of the pantomime would have been a woman lying on her side in the grass, sandwiched between two men. The man facing her had his hands on her breasts and his penis in her receptacle. The woman had her arms wrapped tightly around him. The man behind her had his arms around her waist, cupping her breasts with his hands from below, his penis in her hole. The men were pumping her in unison, banging against her body from both sides.

Had the observer been closer by, among the trees at the bottom of the forest, perhaps, he would have heard the woman scream ecstatically. Her body was trembling and shaking with delight.

“Harder, harder,” she said between screams.

The men willingly obliged, until they all reached their orgasms amid a cacophony of moans and groans and cries.

Donald Deserati heard the woman scream and cry out, heard the men grunt and pant, but he didn’t pay any attention to them. He was busy mounting a woman on her hands and knees from behind. He was holding on to her hips to steady himself and was slapping his groins against her buttocks as rapidly as he could. Now and then, he slapped her buttocks with his hands to intensify the stimulation. The woman was moaning with delight, her breasts swinging freely beneath her.

“Harder, harder,” she said between moans.

Donald banged her even harder than before, slapped her more often, until he felt her shudder and squirm as her orgasm took hold of her and she whimpered quietly to herself. Donald arched his back and squirted his load into her. Then he dismounted and let himself fall into the grass beside her. The woman dropped face first into the grass, her arms and legs spread wide, gasping her way through the aftershocks of her orgasm. Donald was gasping himself until he was able to catch his breath and relax his body from the exertion. He had been looking forward to this outing ever since the social committee made the first announcement, and so far, the day was living up to all his expectations.

He rolled over on his back and looked up at the mountains. Mountains belonged to the sky. Their silence was a constant warning for the traveler on the flat road. He rolled over on his belly, reached for his notebook and his pen, and scribbled the thought on the next empty page. He might use it for a poem later on. He closed his notebook, rolled over on his back again, and looked up at the mountains some more. He loved mountains. They reflected the essence of what one wanted to be. And stones. He loved stones as much as he loved mountains. Stones harbored secret voices in the molecules vibrating quietly among themselves.

He found sex very inspiring. He found naked women very inspiring, especially their breasts. Many of his poems originated during or shortly after sexual encounters, although not all of them were about sex.

He was beginning to get hungry. The woman was still stretched out in the grass, buzzing in the afterglow of her orgasm, her face turned towards him, her eyes blissfully closed. He hunkered down beside her and began to stroke her invitingly round buttocks, twin hills in a pink land, pink hills in a sea of green. The woman smiled as he let his hand glide over the round shapes, squeezed each of them, fondled them, felt the warmth of her flesh.

She gasped when he drew his finger into her slit and found her hole. A cave hidden in the hills. He inserted the tip of his index finger in the cave and the woman squirmed with delight.

“More,” she whispered. “More.”

He pushed his finger a bit further into the cave, then pulled it out, pushed it in, slowly, rhythmically, thoroughly enjoying himself.

The woman moaned. “Oh, yes,” she said, keeping her eyes closed, never looking at him. “Yes, yes.”

He withdrew his finger and moved his hand to her pussy. She was still moist from their previous activity. He found her clit and started to fondle it and rub it until the woman was moaning deeply from the renewed stimulation.

“Do it!” she said. “Do it now!”

He rubbed harder and harder until he felt her body convulse with the onset of her new orgasm. Then he reduced the strength of his stimulation and the woman shivered through a prolonged orgasm. He kept stroking her until the rushing waves subsided and her body went limp again.

“That was wonderful,” she whispered, without opening her eyes.

Much as he was enjoying himself, Donald felt he really needed something to eat.

“Hungry?” he asked.

The woman shook her head.

He pushed himself up out of the grass and headed towards the picnic tables lined up along the edge of the forest.

The social committee had arranged the picnic tables close to the forest so that they were in the shade rather than out in the open sun. The tables were full of plates and bowls and containers of all manner of food the participants had brought with them. Cans of soft drinks and bottles of beer and wine were stashed into coolers and buckets of ice.

A woman sat at the end of the long row of tables, facing the meadow, a plate of food and a glass of wine in front of her. He had never seen her before, so he assumed she was new to the group. He walked up to the table and filled a plate with all kinds of different delicious-looking foods. Then he took a bottle of wine from one of the coolers, poured himself a glass, and sat down across from her.

She had very nice breasts, just the right size for a pair of hands, with a sensuously round shape and pretty pink nipples. Another set of twin hills, this one with small beacons on top. A touch of sunburn from the morning, a roseate glow on white skin. Breasts as the focal points of the universe, sensuous playgrounds for thirsting hands, thirsting lips.

Donald kept staring at them over his plate. He loved breasts, even more so than mountains and stones. He never tired of looking at them, whether they were bare as they were here, or covered and partially or completely concealed. He had developed a keen sense of what concealed breasts looked like underneath their covers. Covered or not, he loved touching them and fondling them whenever he had a chance. Uncovered, of course, was best, the main reason for his joining the group.

He told the woman about his fascination with mountains and stones. He even read her one of his poems from his notebook.

“I love mountains and stones,” the woman said. “Are you a mountain climber?”

“Oh, no,” Donald said modestly. “I just go walking up small mountains that have a path to the top and don’t require any climbing.”

“That sounds wonderful,” the woman said. “Perhaps,” she continued hesitantly, “you could take me with you sometime?”

“Perhaps,” Donald said. There was more to walking up a mountain than just following a path, just as there was more to fondling a breast than just taking it into a hand. It was an intricate undertaking, even when he was alone. It was difficult to tell what the presence of a woman might do.

When they finished eating, the woman stretched out on the wooden bench, her thighs apart, her feet on the ground on either side of the bench. Donald stood up, walked around the table, and knelt down beside her. He took her breasts into his hands and delighted in the thrill of holding a new woman’s breasts for the first time. It was a wonderful feeling for him. He stroked them lightly and tenderly, brushing their nipples, tracing their lines and contours with loving attention. The woman sighed contentedly.

Donald bent over her and put his mouth on one of her breasts, eliciting more sighs of contentment, then took her nipple carefully between his teeth and started sucking her to his heart’s content. The woman shuddered and moaned. Donald didn’t want to let go of her delicious breasts, but he finally decided he should really move on.

Letting go of one of her breasts while keeping the other hand on the other, he reached down between her legs and took her moist pussy into his hand. The woman squealed, delighted with the progression. He explored her pussy with eager fingers, stroking her lips, inserting a finger into her, parting her lips to reach for the juicy insides, moving up to her clit. The woman cried out with pleasure. He stroked her clit lightly for a while, listening to her breathing getting deeper and quicker, then pressed down on it and started to rub it in earnest. The woman moaned.

“Oh, yes,” she said. “Yes, yes.”

Donald went down on her and buried his face in her pussy, inhaling the delicious aromas, licking her fragrant juices, probing between her lips with his tongue. He spent a long time tasting her and licking her, much to her obvious delight. Then he zeroed in on her clit and worried it with his tongue, took it into his mouth, and sucked at it eagerly. He soon brought her to a shuddering orgasm and she cried out again, holding on to the wooden bench with both hands.

He sat down in the grass beside her, put his hands back on her breasts, and stroked them lightly until her breathing became slower again and she stretched her body lusciously on the bench.

“That was incredible,” she sighed. “I haven’t felt this good in a long time.”

He listened to his penis, but it was barely twitching yet. He obviously wasn’t ready to do anything else for the moment, so he asked her if she would like to go for a swim in the lake.

“That would be lovely,” she said.

They cleaned up the table where they had been sitting, put their arms around each other, and made their way down to the lake. Her breasts had a nice bounce to them when she walked. Donald thoroughly enjoyed the view. He didn’t take his eyes off the bouncing globes. The woman kept glancing at him with a satisfied smile.

Halfway down to the lake, they came across two women reclining in the crooks of the lower branches of a large tree, fondling each other. Their hands were all over their bodies, squeezing each other’s breasts, rubbing each other’s pussies, pleasuring each other in different ways. Donald wished he could join them up in their tree, fondle all four breasts at once, saturate his hands with the titillating sensation the experience would provide, rub the two pussies, become part of the tableau.

He had never been part of a threesome before, even though the opportunities certainly existed in the group. He wasn’t sure why he had never found an occasion to join two women and play with them both while they pleasured him in turn. Or, better still, at the same time. Perhaps he wasn’t confident enough in himself. Perhaps some day he would be and he would find out what it was like.

For now, he had his arm around a beautiful woman with admirable breasts and he was quite content.

When they reached the lake, they waded into the shallow water, then swam across the open water side by side until they felt the lake bottom under them again and stood up. The water was chest high where they stopped. The bottom of the lake was covered with smooth stones. Donald rejoiced. A soul could find itself among the intricacies of stones worn smooth by the constant motion of a lake.

He filed the thought away in his special memory bank where he kept thoughts like that until he was able to write them down. He had long trained himself to store the thoughts that came to him in his memory and keep them there for as long as he needed to. He usually kept them in his mind until he was at home again and could keyboard everything straight into his computer. He found it easiest to work like that.

Refocusing his attention on the woman, he reached for the partially submerged breasts and fondled them under water. The woman took hold of his penis and started rubbing it, pulling his foreskin back and forth, squeezing it and kneading it until it grew big and hard again. Then she put her arms around his neck, wound her legs around his waist, hoisted herself up, and impaled herself on his throbbing shaft. He put his arms around her and took hold of her buttocks to steady her in her precarious position. She started bobbing up and down on him, sending ripples across the calm surface of the lake.

Donald was finding it difficult to keep his footing on the smooth stones, but he managed to maintain his balance by shifting his feet in unison with the shifting stones. The woman kept bobbing up and down on him and he kept holding her up, squeezing her buttocks now and then to make her moan more deeply, keeping his footing on the stones. He never took his eyes off the breasts bobbing in the water. They were, he told himself again, very beautiful breasts and he wanted to impress their beauty indelibly on his mind.

“Breasts don’t know anything about time,” he said. “They are charged moments to lose oneself, and to find oneself.”

“That’s so beautiful,” the woman moaned. “Is that from another one of your poems?”

“It will be,” Donald said.

The woman was slowing her bobbing motions to a pleasant, relaxing rhythm when another couple came swimming across the lake and stood up in the water beside them. Donald could see the new woman’s breasts halfway out of the water, halfway submerged and distorted. They were quite large, bulbous, each of them plenty enough for both of his hands.

The woman who was with Donald stopped bobbing, disengaged herself from him and walked over to the other man. She was humping him in no time. The new woman came up to Donald and did the same thing with him. Between the four of them, they managed to churn up the water into waves they could hear splashing against the shore. The stones under Donald’s feet shifted some more and he almost lost his footing. The new woman was quite a bit heavier than the previous one, but the buoyancy of the water helped in keeping her up.

In due time, all of them reached their orgasms and they all moaned and groaned and screamed and cried out while the waves lapped against their bodies. The two couples held on to each other for a few minutes until they could breathe normally again, then the two women dismounted the men. Donald and the new woman began to swim back towards the other side; the other two walked out of the lake and found themselves a comfortable spot on the grassy shore.

When Donald and the new woman reached the other shore, they stretched out beside each other in a grassy knoll underneath one of the old trees. The afternoon had become quite warm, but they were sheltered by the cool shade the big tree cast over them. Most of the other people had gathered at the picnic tables by then and it was nice and quiet where they were.

Donald turned on his side and put his hand on the woman’s breast. Their bodies were still wet from the swim, and he delighted in stroking the woman’s skin with droplets of water still clinging to it. He rubbed her breast lightly for some time, causing her to moan and press her breast against his hand, then moved down her flank until he reached her wet pussy. The woman reached down herself and took his flaccid penis into her hand, rubbing and stroking it leisurely. It was a good feeling, caressing a new woman and having a new woman play with him.

He rubbed the woman’s clit, slowly and deliberately, until she started to squirm and moan and groan and soon lost herself in the throes of another orgasm. Donald stroked her some more to help her work through her orgasm, then removed his hand and rolled over on his back. The woman was still holding his penis in her hand.

Large cumulus clouds were starting to roll up in the sky, although the sun remained warm and triumphant above the valley. Donald watched the clouds traveling overhead for a while, then focused his attention on the mountains again. He wondered if he would ever be walking up a mountain with the other woman. Perhaps he would. They would make love when they reached the top, suspended between the earth and the sky. Her nipples would be pointing up into the sky. Perhaps there would be some fluffy white clouds overhead. Perhaps some would look like breasts. White breast islands in a blue sea.

The woman let go of his penis. He rolled over on his stomach, reached for his notebook and his pen, and began to write. “At night,” he wrote, “aching breasts cry out to the sky. There are cosmic connections between yearning nipples and the stars.”

He would soon have a poem again.

“What are you doing?” the woman wanted to know.

“Just writing down an idea,” he said.

“You’re a writer?”

“A poet,” he said.

“Can I hear what you just wrote?”

“It’s not a poem yet,” Donald said. “I’ve just been jotting down some thoughts to make into a poem later, after I get back home.” But he did read his latest entry to the woman anyhow.

“I’m impressed,” the woman said.

Donald closed his notebook, put away his pen, and turned towards the woman again. He put his hand back on one of her ample breasts and began to stroke it leisurely. The vibrations from her heaving breast traveled into his hand, up his arm, into his body, making him feel fuzzy and content. The woman took his penis into her hand again and stroked it some more. Then she went down on him, took him into her mouth, and sucked at him, but he couldn’t produce another erection. The woman didn’t seem to mind.

“Would you like to play with my breasts some more?” she asked.

“I would,” Donald said.

The woman climbed on top of him, propped herself up on her elbows, and let her breasts swing above his chest. He took them into his hands, held them up, weighed them, fondled them, traced their lines and contours with his fingers. The woman moaned, smiling down at him. He found himself moaning as well as the currents of sensuous pleasure surged through his body. He lost himself in the sensation of caressing her breasts. She pushed down on him until her breasts were pressing against his chest. He could feel her vibrations rushing through him like notes emanating from a taut string. It was as if they touched the very essence of his being.

The woman inched herself further up on his body until he could reach her nipples with his mouth. She squealed with delight when he took one of them between his lips, drew her breast into his mouth, and sucked at her. She kept pressing down on him as if she couldn’t get enough, and he wasn’t planning to stop anytime soon. But they were getting rather tired from all their activities and the afternoon sun. The woman rubbed her breasts against his chest for a while, then rolled off him and, stroking his penis and squeezing it once more, brought their stimulating encounter to an enjoyable end.

She rose and turned towards the picnic tables.

“I had a really good time,” she said with a quick smile.

“So did I,” Donald replied. “So did I.”

“Are you going to get something to eat or drink?” the woman wanted to know.

“I’ll be there in a little while,” he said.

He stayed under the tree by himself, watching the clouds traversing the sky, thinking about the three women and the breasts he had been able to enjoy. He was thoroughly pleased with the day. He was sure he would be writing a poem about the breasts, after he finished writing about the mountains and the stones. Or maybe even before, while the impressions in his hands and in his mind were still vivid and fresh.

He did love breasts, he thought. He was always surprised in how many different shapes and sizes they came, how they all felt so unique in his hands, how differently the women reacted to his caresses. It was a brand new experience every time, a new wave of sensations traveling through his body, like walking up a new mountain, like standing on a new bed of time-worn stones. He would never tire of any of that.

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