Calista's Forbidden Forest

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An artist falls for her sexy hired hand deep in the woods.
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bebesmith
bebesmith
10 Followers

1. The Studio

Calista had waited an eternity for her new artist's studio to finally take shape. Situated deep inside the forest just outside of Selma, Alabama, the main house - or shack, to be more accurate - was her own little piece of soul heaven, an escape from real life. But Calista was tired of treading clay, paint and plaster through this rustic nirvana, regardless of the quality of the artistic treasures she was creating here. She knew she needed a separate space in which to let her imagination run wild, somewhere that invited her genius.

She had been saving all the profits from her small-town commissions to pay for the studio, which she'd decided would be built at the bottom of the garden, right where the maple trees gathered in a picturesque clump. It was her favorite spot because, when the sunlight broke through every afternoon, between one and three, the sylvan floor would be covered in a dappled tapestry of silhouetted leaves and star-like branches, and the sight never failed to inspire her.

Now, with the studio foundations laid, and the bare wooden skeleton fully in place, it was the turn of the carpenter to come and work his magic on the small veranda that Calista had drawn into the plans. The terrace had to be built into the framework, before the walls and roof could be added. At last, her vision was actually taking shape, and Calista was eager to get things moving.

Unable to find a suitable artisan in Selma, Calista had been forced to look further afield, to Montgomery, for the specific type of maplewood she wanted for her new nest. Today, she was finally going to see progress being made. She just hoped that whoever turned up, would work fast and with purpose. She would be paying by the hour, but because artists like Calista were never destined to make a whole lot of money for their art, it was vital that every second counted. She did not want a long job. She wanted economy, and speed. And she had been assured that Seth Sebold & Sons, were the perfect men for the job.

As Calista sipped lemonade from the swing on her front porch, she heard the noise of an engine chugging its way up the track that led through the trees from the main road. It was a warm day, perfect for painting, and Calista was glad that there was still enough shade around so the carpenters would not be too exposed. Even in September, the sun could be oppressive in these wooded parts of Dallas County.

She finished her drink just as the truck came into sight, a battered old red Adventurer, its wheels throwing up dust and bits of bark as it made the final climb towards the shack. Behind the wheel, Calista could see a guy in a brown Stetson, his plaid shirt open at the neck and a glint of something spearing the windscreen, probably from a ring on one of his fingers.

There's only one guy, Calista realized, disappointed. So much for a quick job.

The truck pulled in next to a centuries-old tree stump, as Calista put down her glass and skipped down the porch steps to greet the carpenter.

"Seth Sebold, I presume?" she smiled, as the driver's door opened and a large, booted foot stomped itself into the dirt beneath.

"Actually, I'm the son." came the reply, as a strapping, solid Adonis stepped out of the vehicle and drew himself to his full height.

With the full weight of the sun behind him, Calista had to shield her eyes as she struggled to see the man standing before her. He was aged around thirty five, at least six feet tall with broad shoulders, a thick, military neck, a firm chest, and legs that looked almost as sturdy as the tree trunks that surrounded them.

"Bailey," the man continued, offering his hand. "Bailey Sebold."

Calista put her tiny hand into his, and he gripped it, firmly.

She looked again into his shadowed face and, now that her eyes had adjusted, she could see that he possessed the greenest eyes she'd ever seen. A perfect forest creature.

Calista felt herself blush, slightly. She'd been expecting the master, not the apprentice, and certainly not someone who looked like he should be on the cover of GQ.

"Where do you want me?" Bailey asked, his hand still gripped tightly around hers.

Calista was thrown, momentarily, before she realized what he meant. At that precise moment, she wanted him closer to her than he was right now.

"There-" she said at last, nodding behind them to the skeleton of the studio. "The veranda."

She felt a tenseness in her belly, and a warmness flood between her legs. The hot flush of desire.

"Tell me what you need," she added, immediately aware of the ambiguity of her words.

Bailey smiled and released Calista's hand at last.

"I have everything right here." he said, stepping to the back of the truck, where the wood and all his tools lay hidden under a tarp.

Like they were mere matchsticks, Bailey lifted out the bundled wood and slung it over his shoulder.

"Come talk me through the plan, just so I'm clear." he said, as he began walking to the studio.

Calista watched, staying a few paces behind, as Bailey strode confidently over the protruding roots that covered the rough path between the shack and the end of the garden. His ass was obviously muscular, pushing forcefully against his gray jeans as he walked, and Calista couldn't help but imagine what his butt looked like in the raw.

Aside from a casual acquaintance at her sculpture class in Selma, Calista was going through a sexual lean patch, and boy did it feel that way right now. Indeed, she'd begun to think herself asexual, so low was her libido recently. Yet in the last few minutes, both her body and her mind had been ignited by the sight of a complete stranger with whom she was now alone in the woods. They were the only humans for miles around.

2. Watching, waiting

An hour after Bailey Sebold had set to work, Calista could already see the shape of her veranda coming through the trees. Since his arrival, she'd retreated to the kitchen, inexplicably self-conscious sitting outside her own home. Then, she'd begun watching this handsome guy at work, as his silhouette glided between the trees; sawing, planing, sanding and constructing. The process was fascinating to an artist like Calista. She knew how satisfying it was to see and feel her own hands creating something from nothing. Shapes, textures, colors and objects forming before her eyes, products of her own imagination. It must be the same for a carpenter, she thought. The only difference is, his materials are often baser, more organic, and the results functional, self-serving.

Calista had only worked with wood a few times, and she found the medium difficult, troublesome even. She liked ingredients she could mold in her hands, really feel with her fingers, ingredients she could get dirty with. Often, she would lie in her bath, watching as the clay and paint and varnishes would lift from her skin under the delicate touch of a moist sponge. The sides of the tub would become marbled, the surface of the water pearling against the light coming in through the window of the bathroom. It was sensuous, erotic, affirming. Somehow, she couldn't imagine how working with wood could be so satisfying. Nevertheless, Calista spent much of the afternoon simply watching Bailey Sebold work.

Although excited at watching her veranda take shape, she was also keen to watch Bailey's own shape waft and weave its way around her garden, around her secret, personal space. It was strange to watch somebody else tramping the same grass, the same leaves, the same patches of soil that she so enjoyed losing herself in every summer. Calista giggled, briefly, when she saw Bailey linger by a group of hickory trees that stood next to the west side of the new studio. It was here, a few months ago, that she'd spent one of the year's hottest days spread upon a blanket underneath the canopy of that luscious green umbrella, spoiling herself with a solo picnic of strawberries, sparkling wine and milky white chocolate dipping sauce.

Lulled by the sounds of the forest and the breeze through the branches, Calista had grown heady and hazy with the power of the wine and, to her own guilty surprise, had indulged in an hour or so of self-pleasuring, confident she was the only sinner for miles around. She'd cum and cum, under those same trees that Bailey was now working beneath, his hands, his legs and his now-sweating chest just inches from where she'd rubbed herself raw and moaned and writhed like a wild animal upon the dusty floor. She hadn't known what had overcome her at that time, just that she'd needed to see stars.

The memory made Calista horny, even now, and she couldn't help pushing her pussy up against the sink, staring out at Bailey Sebold as he stripped and varnished wood, and banged nails into cornices. So consumed was Calista with reliving those delicious few hours, that a fleeting memory quickly turned into a whole ten minutes of real time, and she did not see or hear the carpenter walk quietly back to the house and knock politely on the screen, not five feet from where she stood, grinding her cunt rhythmically against the corner of the worktop.

Bailey coughed, gently, as he watched Calista's head loll forward, her chin-length, red hair stroking her cheek as she leaned her svelte frame over the sink, her butt pushing outward, trying desperately to stifle her orgasm. The sound of another human presence rocked Calista violently back to life, and she spun around, her cotton dress falling from her hand where she'd pulled it up to get to her pussy.

"S-s-sorry..." she mumbled, unable to look the stranger in the eye.

Bailey smiled, yet betrayed no sign of what he surely must have just seen.

"Any chance of some water?" he purred, his voice deep and fluid, like the chocolate Calista had feasted on in her lustful memory. "I didn't expect it to be so...fine up here."

Calista couldn't be sure if the comment was loaded. She was embarrassed enough as it was - there was no way he couldn't have seen what she was doing.

"Water...sure, no problem." she replied.

She turned her back to him to try and save her blushes, and grabbed a glass from the side.

Fumbling for the faucet, she was surprised to feel that the warmness between her legs had not subsided. She was still on fire and, if anything, her temperature was rising.

"It's hot...out there." Bailey said, the seconds passing agonizingly slow for Calista.

"Indian summer, they call it..." was all she could think to say.

I sound like a child...!

Bailey remained by the screen, not wanting to actually enter the house until invited. Calista stepped gingerly over to him and handed him the glass, her hand trembling slightly, her fingers twitching as they brushed against Bailey's calloused, leather-hard knuckles. He was aware of her pain.

"There's not much more I can do today." he said, changing the subject, "I've shaped the wood, but I need to let it lie overnight before fixing everything in place. Tomorrow OK?"

Calista paused, not wanting to seem too keen.

"Tomorrow should be fine." she replied, eventually.

Bailey lingered by the screen, drinking his water down in one long, gulp, and Calista couldn't help but watch how his throat bulged as he swallowed the cool liquid.

Christ, even his neck is sexy...

She looked back down to the floor, as Bailey finished the drink and handed back the glass.

"Well then," he smiled, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. "Tomorrow it is. Thanks for the drink."

He tipped the Stetson which stood proudly on his head, strands of damp, sweat-laden brown hair sticking to his forehead, then he retreated back outside to his truck.

Calista moved back to the sink, ostensibly to wash the glass, but more to catch a last glimpse of Bailey Sebold as he started his engine and reversed slowly to the top of the track. To her surprise, he then leaned out of the window and waved back at her, before pulling away, the battered red Adventurer disappearing down into the trees and back to civilization. And to a gorgeous young wife, no doubt, Calista mused, as she found her fingers returning to her pussy, eager to finish what she had started.

3. Kitchen door fantasy

The next morning, Calista was awoken not by birds in the trees, as usual, but by a rapping on the door. It was still early, very early, and she had not expected Bailey Sebold to turn up at such an ungodly hour. Dragging herself out of bed, naked, she pulled on her pale blue silk kimono and did her best to smooth herself down as she slunk through the single-story shack towards the kitchen door. She half-yawned as she pulled back the screen to be greeted by a perky, smiling Bailey, his Stetson glued to his head as usual.

"Did I wake you?" he asked, genuinely apologetic.

"It's a weekend," Calista replied, still half-asleep. "I like to lie in, is all."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you. I just thought I could get a head-start."

Calista smiled, pleased the carpenter was showing such a good work ethic.

"No, no, it's fine." she said, "I do want it done as quickly as possible, so...do you think you'll be able to finish it today?"

Bailey considered for a moment.

"Perhaps." he said eventually, "The corners are tricky, there's a slight overhang on the south side that will need leveling off..."

As he talked, Calista was not hearing his words. Instead, she was feeling tiny contractions in her pussy. Bailey's voice was like a delicious treacle filtering through her ears and flooding through her body. His deep Alabama vowels tickled as they floated over her skin. She needed him to go away from her, before she made a fool of herself. She was already wet.

"Well don't let me keep you." she said, backing away into the shack. "And if you need anything, just holler."

She retreated, leaving Bailey to tip his hat and begin lifting his tools from the truck. Safely back in the shadows, Calista looked down at her kimono where the soft fabric sat trapped between her legs. Does he know I am naked beneath this? The thought was intoxicating. She wanted to just have him take her, right there, over the kitchen table, or up against the screen...

Outside, the air was still full of early morning haze. Dew glistened on the grass, the same dampness which clung to Calista's cunt.

"Oh God..." she moaned, quietly, as she watched Bailey stride down to the studio. He'd already removed his shirt, his bare back tanned and taut.

Calista stayed hidden behind the kitchen screen as Bailey got to work. Her hand rested between her legs, the silk providing little cover between her palm and her hotness. Slowly, she began rubbing her clit as Bailey took out his saw and rested a knee upon a plank of wood, preparing to cut.

Calista caught her breath as she watched his shoulder blades pump up and down with each thrust of the tool. His strength was obvious, each downward motion of the saw slicing through the timber effortlessly, straight as a die. Her clit became wetter as she stroked herself, almost in rhythm to Bailey's saw thrusts. Pushing herself into the hinge of the screen, struggling for balance, she let out a low groan as she then began grinding her pussy against the screen's edge, letting the hard, coarse door stab at her cunt. Each time she humped up against the door, her pussy responded, and she could already feel a thin line of juice running down the inside of her thigh.

Bailey finished sawing, then lifted up the pieces of timber and turned to place them on the ground. The sight of his already sweating face, and his bare, bold chest, sent a surge of desire rushing through Calista's slit. Her eyes dropped to the bulge at the front of Bailey's tight, gray jeans, and she could see that he was certainly a very big boy.

The thought of holding that cock in her hands, and then letting it fill her mouth, was almost too much for her. Grabbing into the screen to stop herself sliding down to the floor, Calista thrust her other hand inside her kimono and began frantically rubbing her wet, throbbing clit. She was hot, so hot, and now she could not stop her juices flowing out of her.

"Oh God, oh Jesus..." she panted, as she pushed a finger up inside of her, her eyes never leaving the beautiful face and chest not fifty feet in front of her.

Her cunt was on fire, and she knew her orgasm was just seconds away. It was then that Bailey suddenly stopped what he was doing and looked back to the shack, almost directly into Calista's face.

He can see me! But her fingers were unable to stop working. Oh God he can see me!

But Bailey looked away just as quickly as he'd looked up. What had caught his attention, she could not be sure. All she did know, was that nothing on earth was going to stop her cumming right now. Lost in her desire, Calista humped up against the screen and pushed her face into her shoulder, trying to stifle her moans as she teased her bud to distraction, feeling the tidal wave of her orgasm build and begin pushing outwards from her cunt, over her thighs and out to every single nerve ending in her body. Thrusting two fingers up inside her once more, she held a huge breath in her throat, as her climax engulfed her.

Her legs buckled and she thought she would fall as she pushed her heels into the floor, her knuckles white from gripping the side of the screen. She let her juice run down the inside of her legs as her pussy shivered in short, sharp quivers, squeezing the rest of her orgasm from herself. All Calista could think about was Bailey's cock in her cunt. And, as she panted and tried to steady her breathing, her orgasm subsiding, she promised herself that, before the job was completed, she would have him.

4. I came, I saw, I conquered

Calista stood under the shower for over thirty minutes. Despite the deliberate coldness of the water, her pussy remained on fire. She could not calm it down and her urges had not subsided. I am like a bitch on heat, she thought, I haven't felt like this in months.

To try and spend herself, she'd turned the shower head between her legs, making herself orgasm quickly, needing to satiate herself if she was to avoid a whole day of torture. But it was no use. No sooner had she climaxed, than she would feel her cunt responding once more at the mere thought of Bailey Sebold the carpenter. And so, with the goosebumps rising over her entire body, Calista had no choice but to get dry and changed, if she were to avoid catching a chill.

As she pulled on some blue lace panties, she caught sight of herself in the mirror and thought she could actually see her pussy pulsing through the gossamer. She had an urge to touch herself again, but stopped. She didn't have time for another shower. She wanted to go and watch Bailey at work.

Calista stepped out onto the porch with her sketchbook and pencil and settled into the swing. She'd chosen to wear her favorite tight, white shorts that she knew showed off her smooth, tanned legs, and she'd matched it with a shabby-chic tee that one of her old boyfriends had left behind. The shirt was covered in paint and charcoal stains, but it was comfortable, and always put Calista in an artistic mood. She'd let her hair dry in the fresh air because she loved how the sun felt on her head as she drew. Guys went crazy over her natural Irish red strands, and they were always amazed when they saw how her pussy was exactly the same color - red and wild, always on fire.

Calista squeezed her legs together as she tried to concentrate on the garden in front of her. She loved to draw flowers and trees, nature always provided the best inspiration. But today she would be adding a further subject to her garden tableau. She smiled as she began sketching Bailey's muscular outline, eager to portray every sinew, every tendon, every hair on his head. Would he mind that I am drawing him? Should I have asked his permission first? And should I tell him that I have been masturbating to the thought of his cock in my cunt?

bebesmith
bebesmith
10 Followers
12