Moonlit Sex

Luce D’Argento

Full moons do have a strange effect on me. I like the moon, it’s always held a fascination for me. Long time readers may have noticed. Which probably explains the dream I had…

I was in the garden naked, save for a pair of Lycra shorts. The air was warm and fragranced with summer grass. It was just after sunset, a red-orange glow still played across the clouds on the horizon to my right. The hills in the west were black silhouette’s against this fiery backdrop.

The wooden fence at the foot of the garden was gone, replaced by a wall of undergrowth about one and a half meters high. Beyond was a forest of oak, beech and lime. It was one of those dream moments where you know that you’re dreaming, but you don’t care. There is no forest at the bottom of our garden, just the tall oaks, a country lane, then arable fields.

I walked towards the vegetation and pushed my way through it. Feeling the bramble thorns pull at my skin, feeling the roots and fallen leaves beneath my feet. For a moment I felt a resistance, like I was pressing against an invisible film stretched in front of me. I pushed harder and broke through it, or rather it passed through me. As it did so it seemed to strip something away from me, it cleansed me, of what I was not sure, but it felt like a cold breeze had blown through me. Or perhaps I had taken a plunge into Lake Vostock, the dark, icy, pristine water washing the real world from my soul.

It was deepest night, the glow in the west suddenly extinguished. I was alone in the forest surrounded by the tall trees, clear white moonlight piercing the canopy here and there. I did not look back, the house would not be there, I knew that.

About one hundred meters ahead was a clearing, picked out by the moonlight on the leafy carpet. Obscured by the intervening trees it was presented to me in a series of vignettes. There was something curled up in the centre of the clearing, bathing in the luce d’argento.

Its mane was pale, its shape indistinct and as variable in form as the colour of oil on water. Looking at it too intently seemed to cause it to change as if the weight of the gaze from my eyes were imbued with mutative energy.

I was on the edge of the clearing now, blinded by the seemingly increasing brightness of the light in the clearing. Two steps in I stopped. The figure rose to its feet, white mane cascading down its back. It was a woman, some fifteen centimetres shorter than myself in a translucent white and grey dress. About my age, or so it appeared, and yet with long, straight, white hair.

Her head was slightly bowed. I moved forward, step by step, needing to see her at close quarters, my curiosity overwhelming my growing trepidation.

As I reached arms distance from her, she looked up. Her skin was pale as if bleached by the moonlight, yet it was not insipid, rather it glowed with energy. I stopped and stared into her eyes, orange-yellow corneas stared back at me. Fear froze me to the spot.

For a moment my veins ran with icy water.

Then she spoke, “Come with me, it’s almost time.” Her voice was clear and rich, not the lilting elfish trill that her appearance might have suggested. My blood thawed and flowed again. She took my hand and led me towards a path that seemed to open before us between the trees. My arteries were filled with a gushing torrent.

The rushing in my ears increased as we quickened from a walk to a slow run, then to a full pelt, hell for leather dash between the trees.

I looked across at her. Her hair was dancing behind her head, bosom bouncing as she ran. Her feet made only the lightest of contact with the ground. As were mine I realised.

I turn forward again, only to feel a stinging blue pain as a twig on a low branch grazed my cheek. I jerked my head to the side, caught my foot on a tree root and tumbled forward, rolling twice before I was off again on all fours. Running faster than ever, ears pricked and alert. Nose sniffing the wind that rushed past my muzzle.

My pads skittered across the soft moss and leaf floor of the deepest forest until we reached the lake. It was still, like a millpond. La Luna’s full face perfectly reflected from its surface.

She trotted towards me nuzzling my neck with her head, thick coat rubbing against mine. She nipped me, I snarled. We rolled on the grass at the lakeshore, mouthing but not biting, me asserting my dominance until she was cowed, prostate below me, naked now, white hair arrayed around her head, those strange eyes looking back into mine.

I was proud and erect, pinning her down with my hands and legs. Erect phallus pressed against her stomach, a hot rod of literal and figurative masculinity pulsing on her abdomen. She bared her teeth, almost a smile but transforming mid-motion into a snarl, canines slightly too long for a human mouth.

She kicked and rolled under me, I fell to one side. She crawled across the grass on all fours her pale-skinned round ass framing the moist pussy hair that was visible between her legs. I grabbed an ankle and dragged her back. She laughed as I pinned her down from behind.

She raised her buttocks, offering easier access to her needy loins. I pulled her to all fours and slide by cock between her legs. Not inside her yet but rubbing on her clitoris through the wiry meadow of her mons. Her buttocks were pressed against my waist, her legs clamped together while I slid in and out.

Then out, out, back and higher before the plunge into her. Long and slow, too long. It feels like I’m falling into her, mile after mile. No penetration has ever felt like this, inward, inward, further and deeper. Until eventually I reach the hilt and she groans.
My hands move from her waist to her shoulder. I push her deeper onto my cock, as if that were possible, and grind into her.

I lean forward and around her to rub her clitoris, gathering some of the nectar from there. Then I leant forward, and let her taste herself on my fingers. Her warm tongue savoured the delicacy, her teeth not letting my fingers go, even when they had been licked clean.

I was near now, and so was she. No multiple orgasm, marathon fuck. No positional catalogue of athletic prowess.

Doggy style, in the purest form
Snarling biting, gnashing teeth
Faster, harder fucking deep
She cums gripping joyous spasms
I cum thrusting animal, wild
Teeth draw blood from my finger
My nails bite her skin

And we howl
Our climax speeding across the water breaking the face of the moon into a thousand shards.