Within the Valley 2
Here is part two. Enjoy
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WITHIN THE VALLEY part 2: The Sanctuary, written by Plexadonn
..,,;;:: /{1} ::;;,,..
The majority of the dust across the sky had settled, forming circular patterns of yellow powder across the mountains, brought from the warm winds. The clouds shined as burnt orange, the trees as mahogany, entwining the wilderness, giving a faint glow among the forest, the trees shivering in the wind and dusting it with a new kind of pattern.
Within the valley flowed the whistling: the subtle and wildly eerie melody of those trees, the sound of the wilderness chattering happily with all those around it, singing to the creatures of the planet Kologa. In the habitat of such abundant spirit, today the sun refused to burst with its shining, thus leaving the air and the terrestrial atmosphere more pleasant and temperate than usual. It filled the valleys lightly, spilling outward its heat and yellow light in such a soft degree there could be no conflagration of spirit simply from the call of the wilderness.
As this had been the case of the day previous, where the heat enveloping the planet infused all its occupants, pure or ambivalent, with wondrous delight and energy.
Now, in the afternoon, George's mind had traversed the heat and splendid recollections of both morning and the sunlight. A swarm of insects darted through the air close to their campsite, slowly bringing a different kind of music from their wings, and additional warmth and heat. The swarm, and the dusted terrain, further brought the smell of the forest and the soils filling the mountains that enclosed the two males scavenging the brush.
Neither could hear the sound of the water, the sound of its kinetic chaos and energy, but both could most certainly feel it calling to them. The stream desired to feel the two beings wash themselves in it, the water wanted to be bathed in - its current used - and to have the males enjoy its existence.
Towards the middle afternoon, downward from the sky came gentle waves of warmth, dusted beautifully and colorful with dry pollen and residue from the Ertethian scrub. It brought the color of gold: gold of the dust and bright red from the blossoms scattered around the steppe climate, reflected in the shining green chitin of the bugs in their swarm.
The heat would forever give energy, and revitalized both George and Stan after the passionate and spontaneous intimacy in their greenhouse tent.
Both of them felt polluted though, and in a very minor way the adventure was now tainted. Polluted, yes, faintly though, not unlike the air polluted with dust and bugs. Their minds were polluted with each other - or rather occupied, as the pollution did not cause 'poison' or 'illness'. Where the brunt of the excitement had originally been experiencing the Ertethian wilderness, both males now withstood a barrage of daydreams, both fantasizing about the other with endless ideas of wonder.
The males had experienced and witnessed each other, exchanged a mutual, heated exhilaration and passion of touching. But the nature of this kind of sex had been foreign to them as to only further stimulate intrigue and intensify the lust that had been latent. The environment that which housed this new adventure - adventure of the mind - gave a tremendously different and delightful perspective of the wilderness. It became, in effect, a Sanctuary.
Through the eyes of George, from the Eagle's view during his spirit flight, the forest now seemed different, changed. It reminded him of Stan, and everything was infused with his masculine essence. The appearance of the ground, the rocks and soil, the brush, trees and the yearning, wild river now meant so much more to him. It interested and invigorated him more poignantly, to an ecstatic level, for it held the soul of his uncle, the soul of his new passion and experience.
The sky, opening brightly with each hour - along with his blooming soul - gave a fire to his Heart that seemed to fuel him forever. It would seemingly never run out of steam and heat.
Something grew there, deep under the topsoil, just beyond the mountains and high, high above the wind - where George could not yet soar - and just under his skin. Something was opening, an eye of truth and unknown insight widening ever so slowly. An eye of wonder and Light, it was growing. There was something in the country that he did not wish to leave, could not leave.
Stanley did not see this in his nephew, but he most certainly did see the Eye opening in the sky, he could feel its presence and feel the influence growing in the wilderness. He would help it grow; he wanted to aid in the experience and feel it more for himself as well as for George. This passion in the man's heart was just as strong, but much quieter and less likely to burst into rage; and though he did not yet know of his nephew's increasing fever, he could see the interest growing there. It was a distraction, a newly-formed desire. Stan knew that he had initiated this growth, but was unaware of how the crop would thrive there, how immense and insane it could be. The adult did not see the omen that came with his planted seed.
George loved the act of waking to his uncle, to tasting and feeling him so warmly, and enjoyed the breakfast they shared afterwards. The boy loved the surrounding nature, the dust and sunlight showering them softly - and so there was no obvious reason to feel stress.
But oddly, neither could fully relax again; those seeds that the adult had helped sow, although small now, would now always be strong to George, and he could eternally feel them entwining his soul like an enriched vine, wrapping around his brain and adolescence. In George's mind, his uncle was forever tied to the wilderness, albeit not completely intrinsically, but very passionately.
This was not worry, but more of a feeling akin to wonderment. It was commensurate with intense desire, and complex thought process. The connection of the Wilderness and the male sex, heated romances, the land here - barely touched by living hands - and the masculinity of Stanley, the beast greatly defined by nature. Stan was a magnificent essence of a man, and George loved him for it.
..,,;;:: /{2} ::;;,,..
Whichever thought, any thought, that Stan initiated - whether it was a slick, sexual innuendo or an idea he would wish to pursue later - it never failed to break George of his reveries. During the hike towards their diminutive cavern of lime-scented, pillow-soft terrain, Stanley did this many times; he was a fantastic distraction from destroying one's spirit.
George's spirit was fully engulfed, eternally it seemed, with a plague of wild notions and fantasies that affected him - irritatingly - physically.
Those minor bursts of sound, the speech from Stan, helped the boy with his new obsession. For a while, he felt awkward and agitated by his desires for additional experience with the uncle; they did bring a warm sensation both in his groin and his soul. It burned, ever so badly, and all he could do was to stand there, in the infernal core of the vortex of thought, only begging the Universe to give him the chance again.
However, this passionate thrill of spirit was simply a single side to this adventure. Being mortal, wolfen and flawed, his corporeality burned equally as his soul.
George's body craved his uncle. He wanted the adult's enveloping soul to wrap around him - just as much as he wanted those powerful arms to do the same. The boy romanticized the concept of the man taking him again, taking him into the serene gentility of his masculine nature, and the aggression of his dominant sex.
The strength of Stan, the passionate, kinetic force therein, the gentle touch of the fur along his body, all cooling and satisfying, the deepest cravings of a learning youth; George was eager to learn more and more, and incredibly patient.
These were all concepts; the boy would not damage his soul or the adventure in attempts to play the Fates into offering him their passion again. No, of course not. The wait would be pleasant, and most certainly cleanse his soul, purify it with the heat of the day, the look on Stan's face and his laughter, and the twirling abundance of joy filling him, spreading upwards from the planet and cascading downward from the skies.
Yes, he would wait for the perfect moment for Stan to take the drink from his nephew's soul again. George anticipated it with a quivering hand, engorged genitals and a wonderment inundating every synapse within his brain.
They ventured along the tallest wall of the valley, their valley, where George's heart was born. Along the jagged surface, among the harsh tanglement of scrub and far from the river - still calling - their goal lie in wait in only a short amount of time now.
The adult, feeling revitalized from his slumber and breakfast, and amazingly energized in spirit from sharing the essence of his nephew's aura, was quite up to the challenge of traversing this place. Bringing along plenty of water in a couple of containers and some trail-mix to munch on, they both were ready to leave the quasi-comforts of the campsite for the remainder of the day.
During their trek, Stan knew he might need to halt for a moment to rest his season-tainted bones, but George was plenty full of strength and enthusiasm. Sharing in the sparkling spirit energy from his uncle, George felt he could go for miles, simply sustained on the psionic nutrition that flowed outward from the adult.
However, George could not seem to cease his fantasy. He craved for Stan to feast on him as well. The boy wanted to feel that mentality again, feel the radiant aura shining brightly against him, absorbing his being and allow himself to let go within. He wanted his climactic presence again, the orgasm of living.
This notion, all those within the boy's head, Stan was willing to do. But he was also in no hurry to play the boy as a ventriloquist, pushing his own fantasies through the youth's head - for this would destroy his soul and render him diseased and thus, his life would be sullied forever - he had desires defined simply be George's existence.
The boy was life unrefined and so utterly beautiful in his purity. George shone brilliantly to Stan, as the purest and whitest light, the highest intensity burning his eyes, in the spiritual realm.
George had spread himself open to Stanley, uplifted those marvelous wings, on which he could take to the high country, and to rocky cathedrals that reached to the sky. Having been taken on that flight, where his wings were still wet with the dew dripped from the astral planes, the adult was willing to allow the boy to take him on that journey again. As many times as the boy liked, truthfully. Stanley would take his nephew along, guide and also follow, to the limits of the mortal experience, to the last boundary of tangible perception.
In his attempts to do such a thing, Stan had brought the boy here to the spot of his choosing, so show George a place of antiquity and history. They rested in the cave of soft, sweet, downy sand, the males sweating and thirsty for water, reposing for a few minutes for clean breath to come.
Both gulped down water. The crystalline fluid of the planet healed the dry bodies well, and in many moments they were feeling stronger. Then, at the suggestion of Stan, the males began to nuzzle into the dirt, scavenging leisurely in the soil.
This was incredibly entertaining, and the substance was cool to the touch, almost as refreshing as the cold water. Into the deep soil the males submerged their hands, scooping thick fists of the white, powdered stone upwards, letting it sift through their thick, clumsy fingers. They searched for anything worth keeping, worth mentioning to the other. Stan believed this was a good place to search for folklore of the gone, native cultures, hoping to find arrowheads or trinkets of some sort. George liked the idea.
In relative silence they remained nestled in the shade, the rock face obscuring the direct rays of the sun from their bodies, ensconced in the cool and subtle scent of this part of the landscape. Hidden from the intensity of the sun, they could breathe freely again and feel their muscles rejuvenate ever so slowly.
George let his mind relax for the first time in hours, let his genitals rest and the blood flow break free of them. He let his mind wander, and he was distracted, thinking about some old memory of the sandbox back in another period of his childhood or the beach on the coast in his hometown at the shore. He let simplicity control him, focused on nothing but immaterial joy and honesty: his memory.
Next, he was pulled directly back to his fantasy, that of the powerful Stanley and his engrossing masculinity: the glorious male that he was. It was from the touch of his uncle, Stan having taken it upon himself to start rubbing at George's knee and a bit of his thigh, in an attempt to get his attention.
"How you feelin'?" He asked the boy.
George focused his eyes on Stan's hand, his thick fingers working at the boy's quadriceps now, rubbing softly and upward towards his groin.
"Ah... I'm really relaxed now. This feels really good." He referred to the situation mostly, the environment of the sweet-smelling cave and the gentle touch of the shadow and breezes. But he focused on Stan's hand the most prominently.
"The cave or what I'm doing?" Stan asked with a smile.
"Both. I really like it when you touch me." George replied, looking at Stan's toothy grin. Stanley then wriggled in the dirt and situated himself closer to his nephew, moving his other hand up to touch the boy's shoulder.
The adult watched the boy's reaction, looking to his face where he was flushed red again, as he was in the presence of the over-glowing sunlight outside of the cave, and the involuntary reaction of his genitals to the sensual caressing at his legs. Stan clearly saw the boy's reaction there within his jeans, the growing length of his phallus, so utterly inviting and appetizing, and he craved it desperately.
"You mind if I suck your dick again?" Stan asked his nephew.
"Yeah, go ahead." George said with a sigh and grin; yet he wanted to tell Stan how desperate he was, and how badly he craved the attention. He wanted to say "dear god yes, uncle, I want to make love to you right here, all day long!" This, of course, he could not judge as a proper path to take.
In his mind, the ideas that came to corporeality were best left to spontaneity and causality; he would not jump to force them into his life. If his uncle wanted to make love to him, so passionately as the boy was imagining, then perhaps they could. However, at this moment, their souls would be best left to this lighter tangibility.
"Yeah," Stan whispered as he undid the boy's jeans, "sounds good." His mouth salivated, and his hand quickly found its natural place gripped around his nephew's engorged member, stiff and hot on his fingers, the length and width of the appealing shaft calling to the very deep recesses of his sexual pleasure.
Before he went to work with his mouth, Stan spent a few moments to gauge the strength, one could say, of the boy's stiff member. He pumped at the shaft, jerking him off a bit, simply enjoying the feel of the soft flesh and hearing the soft breathy moans coming from George's mouth. "Damn, you have such a nice cock."
George felt himself submit to his uncle completely; he lie there and felt the touch bring him upwards again towards the sky on his wings, and there he could soar softly on the wind. Stan's hand wrapped around him, virtually hiding the pulsing shaft entirely. A powerful grip from a mighty fist, yet the adult was easy with the boy, and applied only the slightest effort to pleasure George, showing how docile and empathetic his love truly was, and how he controlled his wild fantasy.
Stan then descended his head down and slipped the boy into his mouth, gently sucking on his erection as he had done that morning, only now left to his own energy, where previously, the males had the energy of the heat of sunlight and humidity to help them. In their tent, they both had the kinetic pulses accumulated from sleep, the moist air wet with their sweat and pheromones to encourage their lust and actions.
Here there was nothing but clean air, the wind upon which their spirits soared unhindered by and independent of the convoluted mechanisms of their psychology. George could feel his uncle's slobbering mouth working at him veraciously, Stan being much more than eager to taste his nephew again, and the man's scent was much more subtle now.
It was as if now, when they wanted to behave as per their spirits would desire them to, the trappings of that morning were gone in order to allow them this practice much more naturally. Here they were not helped by the miasma of sex suffocating them with its wonderful effects. It was merely nothing more than the warmth of two male bodies, the aura of such a powerful and masculine adult entrapping the boy.
The smog of lust, however heavenly it really was, was gone now, and the terrestrial truth of natural beauty was all they had. Stanley was an amazing lover to the boy, and his body and soul were gorgeous to him, regardless of how much lust had been built up, how much tantric heat and sweat and passion had been there previously.
Stan fumbled with his hands as he continued to caress George's member with his lips, licking at it happily, trying to get the boy's pants down to his ankles.
It was a strange sensation, feeling the cold soil under his now bare buttocks, and how Stanley had bent the boy's legs at the knee in order to get his free hand underneath to capture those buttocks.
The adult took one side of George's rump into his wide palms and gripped, letting his thick fingers absorb the warmth and softness of the flesh, moaning with the sensation. George quivered at his uncle's touch, arching upward in order to let the adult better access to his underparts. They were then entwined; to the males, they now soared again, together, coupled in spirit on the Wind as they were here in the physical realm.
Stanley let his muzzle and throat embrace the boy's shaft, wanting the entire length inside the warmth of his maw, pushing it in as deep as his anatomy would let him, slurping heavily at it, making those erotic, wet sounds of pleasure and excitement that George loved so much.
As before, the physical attention was flattering and gratifying in and of itself; Stanley's performance showed his lack of experience. If an equation was to be made of physical pleasure: Stan was enjoying himself more than George. For while George did enjoy the act of his uncle sucking on him, it could easily have been more pragmatically effective.
Yet this trivial distraction was nothing but prejudicial and excessive objectivity on George's part. The balance of rapture came as the notion of how much Stan was loving it. That Stan was getting off simply on suckling and nibbling on his nephew's hard shaft was an enjoyment to the boy, regardless of how lack-luster the fellatio really was. The adult was having fun with his nephew, giving the boy pleasure by sucking his cock for him, and he was invigorated by the taste and smell of the boy.
George played with his uncle's head. With his fingers, he explored the texture of the adult's scalp, his fur and his cranium. All the attributes of his mortal temple were a pleasure to all of the boy's senses. Stanley felt wonderful; his muscles and warmth were powerful and comforting. Stanley smelt wonderful; his musk was stronger now, by each second, and was a raw, elderly male scent. Stanley was beautiful as well; his entire body was shaped to fit the mold of the perfect male, but was close to idea of a piece of uncarved wood.
That his uncle was wiser and older had no impact on the man's spirit. For though he was aged now and conditioned by his life and experiences, the man's essence was unaltered. Stanley was a freedom that few people could ever know about after childhood had passed along. The adult held this spiritual significance in common with the boy, both raw and unmolested by the distractions that modern life could give. Both were more akin to the Valley wherein they lie than to most other beings, either fellow canine or human.
Stanley's groping hand manipulated itself across the split of the boy's buttocks, keeping them apart enough to allow the adult to use one of his fingers to push at George's anus. Playfully, he prodded at the hidden entrance, teasing the boy until he was crooning and whimpering with pleasure. The sensation was reminiscent of being penetrated, as he often was by one of his fellow gay friends, and it was much like the sorts of things they would do to him in order to prepare him for such an adventure.
The adult giggled, the boy's soaking wet shaft still completely hard and quivering in Stan's mouth. For only a moment, the uncle removed George's phallus from his mouth and replaced it with an index finger, then replaced the boy's cock and continued to suck him.
With that newly-wet finger, Stan returned to the warm area between the boy's legs, to his anus, where he prodded again with more force to allow entrance. The act of his uncle pushing up inside of him with that thick, round digit made George whimper even louder, the boy breathing softly words of acceptance "Oh yeah..."
For several minutes, George allowed his mind to cease any thoughts save for the biological processes which gave him pleasure. He focused on nothing, but simply felt the physical sensations, and there he found himself in the lust and sex of what was happening. The utmost joy rushed into him, as if the wind on which he sailed burst upward and pushed him into Heaven.
Stanley fingered his nephew slowly, sliding his moist finger through the clenching muscle of the boy's rectum, doing this while continuing to gently suckle on him, flicking his warm tongue along George's phallus.
The adult, too, had let himself shed distracting thoughts, letting only his breath occupy his mind, the taste of George's sex in his mouth, and the warm innards of the boy. Thus, each occupied the terrain of the other, and in doing so found total harmony in life, exchanging the experience and spiritual energies. George felt pleasure from what he -received- and also how much his uncle was enjoying it. Stanley felt the same.
Suddenly the adult began to finger the boy harder, sliding that digit in fiercely, letting the member drop from his mouth to replace it with the boy's testicles, fuzz-covered and warm. He wrapped his mouth around them and attacked them with his tongue, slurping at the organs heavily, still prodding into George's backside.
"Oh fuck..." the boy breathed, "rub my prostate..."
Stanley did so, curling his finger against the firm texture of the invisible spot within the boy. He assaulted it with the tip, flicking and prodding at it ferociously, causing the boy to cry out. George cried in pleasure and agony, feeling the adult ravage such a tender area so quickly, and of course it was incredible.
They stared at each other, George's eyes on his uncle's powerful, dark-furred arms molesting him, holding him in lust and passion. Stanley watched the boy's face, and watched the wet erection quiver as the boy clenched and pushed outward with all his pelvic muscles.
Stanley then took hold of the boy's cock, gripping it with a strong hand, and began pumping at it, placing the head into his mouth in order to receive the climactic ejaculation what was inevitable. From this, George was soon to come.
Each and every sensation in the place elevated him: the feel of the sand against his hands and buttocks, the scent of his uncle sweating so close to him and of the sand upon which they reposed, the surrounding forest; he absorbed the visual pleasure of being ensconced in the cave, surrounded by the wilderness which promoted their joyful adventure in Life... and of course his beautiful uncle. The man was panting, pumping the boy's member and sucking on the head as much as he could, still pounding at George's prostate with his fingers.
The boy came, grunting and breathing heavily, cringing as he sprayed his load into Stan's mouth, the adult slurping zealously at it. The adult felt it gush along his tongue, and he swirled it into his mouth, tasting it as much as he could before it began to leak, then he gulped and consumed it.
Like before, when he had made his nephew come, the boy went limp very soon after, and he collapsed then, breathing heavily with a grin, his hands loose in the dirt, sweating and covered with spit and his own come. Stanley did the boy a favor in cleaning up the remains with his tongue, licking George's member clean, likewise his hand and lips.
Stan watched his nephew panting in the dirt, smiling and very pleased - both of them - to have shared in this romance once again. The residue of lust played heavy on their wings, and they embraced the exhaustion as a reward, alighting with each other as if tired birds resting upon the trees, landing on each other's spirits, embracing.
They did embrace, the adult bringing his arms around the boy's legs and nuzzling at his waist once, with his nose sniffing at his fur.
"Your come tastes pretty good." Stan notified him.
"I've tasted it a few times," George replied, "I kinda like it." He was still a bit breathless, not yet back into reality.
The adult smiled at him and crawled to be closer to the boy's face.
"Don't you wanna come to?" George asked.
"Nah," Stan said, "I was thinking to save it until later tonight."
Then Stanley performed the act that had not even occurred to George, something that drowned him in a strange joy. Their lips touched as the adult kissed him once, putting a bit of moisture on the boy. George went red, his ears grew hot, and he knew that such a thing was of quite a different breed of romance. It felt wonderful to know how his uncle felt about him, how the man had wished to express it.
Their faces were close, Stan's musk penetrating the boy's senses and delighting him, George wanted more of everything. He took Stan's head in his hands, feeling the warmth of his skin and the dampness of his sweaty fur, and pulled him close, kissing him in return.
He felt his uncle's tongue in his mouth, upon his own, and they kissed deeply. Their lips became wet with each other and they embraced tightly in the soil, moaning in harmony with their voices, tonguing at each other's mouths passionately.
The boy felt his uncle's powerful hands wrap around him, picking him off the soil and hugging him close, radiating with heat and the smell of sex, his masculinity. Here he could finally feel how robust the adult was, and the boy squeezed tightly as they hugged each other, George gripping at Stan's thick back muscles with both hands.
George could feel himself orgasm in his mind, his spirit in intercourse with the adult. It could have been love or lust, but truly, they were one in the same.
-To be continued...
~Apprehensively dedicated to my uncle, Steve, who may or may not tremendously hate this piece of writing, and who has no idea how I feel about him. And to all who have at any point in time, ever felt the same for someone.