𝐋𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐤 - 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫
explicit sexual content - making love in the woods with dean
𑣲 from k: bye i listened to wicked game by chris isaak on repeat for hrsss while writing thisss lmaoo. okok pls enjoyyy ilyy
The trail is quiet except for the crunch of gravel and fallen leaves under your boots. The Pacific Northwest mist hangs low between the evergreens, turning everything soft and hushed. You’ve been hiking for hours—flannel tied around your waist, your favorite sundress swaying against your thighs, those pretty lace stay-ups hidden underneath like a secret only he knows about. Dean walks beside you in his worn jeans and heavy brown boots, the gold pendant catching what little light filters through the canopy.
You stop at a bend where the path widens near an old fallen log. The air smells like damp earth, pine, and that faint leather-and-gun-oil scent that always clings to him. Dean turns to you with that crooked half-smile, green eyes softer in the filtered light.
He steps in close, brushing a stray piece of hair from your face with gentle fingers. “Been wantin’ to get my hands on you all morning, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice low and warm. “Just you and me out here… no monsters, no noise. Just us.”
“C’mere,” he adds softly, backing you gently against the wide trunk of a Douglas fir. One big hand cups the back of your neck as he leans in. The kiss is sweet—slow and lingering, full of affection, his thumb stroking your cheek. But it quickly turns heated, tongues brushing, breaths deepening.
His other hand slides down your side, fingertips tracing the curve of your waist through the thin cotton of your dress before slipping underneath the hem.
His palm is warm against your thigh, calluses catching on the delicate lace at the top of your stay-ups. He groans softly into your mouth when he feels them.
“Fuck, darlin’… you really been wearin’ these all day?” His thumb strokes the lacy edge where it meets your soft skin, then slips just underneath, teasing. “Tryin’ to kill me out here, huh?”
You laugh breathlessly, but it melts into a whimper as he presses closer, the hard line of his body pinning you sweetly to the tree. Dean’s mouth trails down your neck, stubble scraping deliciously against your skin while his hand keeps exploring higher.
He finds the edge of your panties—delicate lace that matches the stay-ups—and his fingers trace the seam slowly, teasingly. “So pretty,” he breathes against your throat. “All dressed up pretty for me… so soaked already.” His voice drops even lower, filthy and fond all at once. “This little pussy been aching for me on the trail?”
You nod, hips twitching toward his touch. Dean hums in approval and pushes the lace of your panties aside with two thick fingers, exposing you to the cool forest air. He strokes you slowly, spreading your wetness, circling your clit with the pad of his thumb while his other fingers tease at your entrance.
Then he drops to one knee right there on the forest floor, careful but eager, and hooks one of your thighs over his shoulder. Your boot rests against his back as he leans in. He presses a soft, open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh, right above the lace band, then higher—until his tongue replaces his fingers. He licks a slow, broad stripe up through your folds, savoring you with a deep groan that vibrates against your core.
“Goddamn… taste so fucking good.” He takes his time, licking and sucking gently at your clit with perfect pressure, then pushing his tongue inside you while his thumb keeps rubbing tight circles. One big hand grips your hip to hold you steady, the other still holding your panties pulled to the side. Your fingers thread through his hair, tugging as your hips rock against his mouth. The misty air, the scent of pine, and the wet sounds of his mouth on you push you closer and closer to the edge.
You’re right there—thighs trembling, breath catching, a desperate moan building—when Dean suddenly pulls back, kissing your inner thigh softly instead.
You whimper at the loss, a needy, broken little sound escaping you as your hips chase his mouth.
“Shh, I know, sweetheart,” he soothes, voice rough with arousal as he stands up, pressing a quick kiss to your lips so you can taste yourself on him. “Not yet. Want you to come on my cock instead.”
He gently turns you around to face the tree trunk.
“Hands on the tree,” he murmurs against your ear, warm and commanding. “Palms right there. That’s my good girl.”
You brace your hands against the cool, rough bark, arching your back for him as he pushes your sundress up over your hips. He keeps your panties pulled aside with one hand while the other smooths reverently over your ass, squeezing softly. You hear the sound of his belt and zipper, then feel the hot, heavy press of his cock against your soaked entrance.
“Look at you,” he groans, rubbing the thick head up and down your slick folds. “Bent over for me in the middle of the woods, pretty pink lace all messy and wet… my perfect girl.” He leans over your back, the gold pendant brushing cool against your shoulder blade as he presses a kiss to the side of your neck. “Gonna fuck you so nice and deep. Want you to feel me for the rest of this hike.”
He pushes in slowly, inch by inch, stretching you open with a low, wrecked moan. The angle is perfect—deep and intense—and once he’s buried to the hilt, he stills for a moment, one hand on your hip and the other sliding around to rub gentle circles over your clit.
“That’s it… takin’ me so well,” he praises, voice low and sweet. “So tight and warm around my cock. You were made for this, hm? Made for me.”
Then he starts moving—long, steady thrusts that rock you forward against the tree. His grip on your hip is firm but loving, keeping you exactly where he wants you while he fucks you deeper.
“God, you feel so fucking good,” he growls, picking up a little pace, the sound of skin meeting skin mixing with the distant drip of mist from the branches. “My sweet, filthy girl… letting me bend you over like this out in the open. Love how you squeeze me when I talk to you. You like when I tell you how pretty you look takin’ my cock?”
You whimper out a yes, pushing back to meet his thrusts. Dean rewards you with a particularly deep stroke and more praise, his mouth right by your ear.
“That’s it. So good for me… so fucking wet. Gonna make you come just like this, with your boots in the dirt and your hands on the tree. Need to feel you fall apart on me.”
His thrusts stay deep and rhythmic, one hand still playing with your clit while the other holds you steady. The sight of it all undid him—your soft floral dress bunched up, delicate pink lace stretched aside, his rough jeans brushing the backs of your thighs, boots planted firm in the gravel. He keeps murmuring sweet filthy things until you come hard around him, clenching and shaking. Only then does Dean let go, burying himself deep and groaning your name as he fills you up, hips stuttering against your ass.
He stays inside you for a long moment afterward, arms wrapped around your waist, pressing soft kisses along your shoulder and the back of your neck.
“I got you,” he whispers, voice soft now. “Love you so much, my sweet girl. Don’t know what I’d do without you.”
He helps you stand on shaky legs, carefully fixes your panties and dress, then pulls you into his chest for a slow, sweet kiss. Your boots are scuffed with dirt and pine needles, lace slightly askew, but you’ve never felt more cherished.
janainaart
turnnoffyourmind
gummygunk
pixelskylines
andulkaphoto
titsay
blakekathryn
prguitarman
