Fantasy Fairy Erotica
"The Dryad Grove," a Vanilla sex story by David W. Landrum
The Fairy, by Lorenzo Sperlonga (available at ObsessionArt.com)
Barry Phipps shuffled a stack of papers.
“I think we have a good case,” he said. “The grove is government land, purchased when the state bought that section of the old Grand Trunk Railroad line. Under state law, no old-growth stands of timber can be sold off—and the grove falls within that state’s definition of a stand of old-growth timber.”
“If that’s the case, Mr. Phipps, then what is at issue?”
“At issue is that we are up against a wealthy, rapacious development company that can hire good lawyers, and it wants that piece of land. Michigan law also states that the government may sell off any land if ‘emergency’ warrants the sale. The firm asserts that the sale will fall under the emergency clause due to the dire economic conditions that prevail in our state—and the fact that their project will bring jobs and commerce to the area, which has been particularly hard-hit by the economic downturn. To a state that is billions of dollars in debt, the sale of a property for multiple millions is attractive. And, since it’s more than a mile from the scenic trail to which the old railroad line was converted, they claim it will not diminish the natural beauty there.”
Sylvia Collins shifted nervously in her chair. She had a well-shaped face and nice smile. Her large green eyes were shot through with brown, and they were framed by long lashes. Tall and slender, she looked like a basketball player or a runner—trim, strong, alert. She wore an earth-tone blouse, a green skirt, and darker green tights. She had charmed him. He wanted to get to know her, but legal ethics prevented him from even speaking to her in a familiar way, let alone asking her out.
“Is the state persuaded?”
“The state needs money, Miss Collins. The attorney general and the governor seem taken with the idea of selling.”
“When you put it that way, it doesn’t sound particularly good for us.”
“We do have the law on our side—the argument comes down to natural resources versus economic development. The state wants economic development, but the people still value natural beauty. We need to make the issue a public issue, get it in the papers and TV so we can garner some public support.”
“I’m working on that,” she said. “I have an interview with The Press this afternoon and tomorrow I’ll be making a pitch to the local FOX station to do a report on it.”
“That will help. We will do the legal side and your organization can do its part to build popular appeal.”
“I just hope we can do it well. Our funding is limited.”
He wanted to say that her charm and beauty would go a long way toward promoting the cause; he wanted to ask her to lunch. Again, he reminded himself of the ethical implications.
They concluded their meeting. Sylvia Collins departed. He noticed she did not go to the parking lot, but exited through the front door. She turned and started down the sidewalk. It was unlikely she had parked on the street. Probably, she used public transportation or walked. The Press was four long blocks from his office.
He sat back. The case did not look as promising as he had presented it. The state needed money. The newly elected administration cozied up to business quite comfortably. They had already sold off some parcels of land up north. He hoped he could argue well enough in court to save the five-acre tract the development company wanted to turn into a shopping mall called Towering Pines.
He felt chagrin. The girl. Lovely and charming, she undoubtedly had a crowd of men in pursuit. But as long as the case continued, he would not be able to ask her out. He turned his attention to other business.
On the drive home that afternoon, he saw her walking up Michigan Hill by the Blodgett Children’s Hospital. He stopped at a light just as she halted on the sidewalk across from him. He rolled down the window on the Lexus.
“Sylvia!”
She looked over, recognized him, and smiled.
“Do you need a ride?”
Her lips parted in hesitation, and then her smile took over again.
“Sure.”
“Hop in before the light changes.”
She hurried around and slipped into the car before the light turned green.
“Where can I take you?”
“Alberta Street—close to Huff Park.”
“Were you walking there?”
“It’s not that far. I like to walk.”
Huff Park lay probably three miles from where they were. He remembered she was an ecological activist.
“I’m staying there,” she said. “Actually, I live out by Coopersville, not far from the grove.”
He remembered her resume. She had graduated from the University of Michigan with a degree in Ecological Management. She also had an MA in journalism from Grand Valley State.
“Have you lived in Michigan all your life?”
“Never left the state. You?”
“Always here.”
He turned on Fuller and took it all the way to Alberta, turning into a quiet neighborhood of middleclass homes with Dutch-style gambrel roofs.
During the course of the drive, Barry felt his attraction to her mounting. As a lawyer, he knew the dire consequences that could result from even looking at a woman too much, but he could hardly keep his eyes off her legs and face. Unnerved that he might do or say something inappropriate, astounded at how out of control he felt, he breathed a silent sigh of relief when she pointed and said, “My place is over here. You can just park on the street.”
He stopped the car beside a stand of tall birch trees.
Barry turned to see her face only inches from his. She leaned over and kissed him.
The touch of her lips burst a dam of passion in him. He wrapped his arms around her, kissing her with abandon, feeling the warmth and wet of her lips. She returned his intensity, pushing her mouth to his, touching his tongue with hers, gasping as he touched her breasts and knees.
They were in a public place, but he couldn’t stop. Whatever spell had bewitched them, both were ensorcelled by it. His hands were under her skirt. She tugged at her tights and underwear, pulling them down so he could get his fingers into her opening. As he ran his hands over the nest of hair between her legs, the velvety wetness of her pussy told him how much she desired what he intended to do. He probed her with two fingers, moving in an even rhythm as she gasped and murmured. After she stiffened, he pulled his hand back and she got to her knees on the passenger side of floorboard and bent down.
Barry felt more fear. If someone came upon them, saw and reported them for public indecency, it could mean jail and the end of his career. But she had already started and he had no choice but to surrender to the pleasure of it. She envaginated his cock, closing her mouth over it, pulling and sucking, her head moving and bobbing. Now and again she would go down on the way, holding still and silent until she gagged and backed off. She kept the rhythm until deep spasms of pleasure seized him. He shook. She sat still until he finished. He heard her swallow as she raised herself back onto the passenger side seat. She pulled her tights and underwear back in place.
“Meet me on the west side of Huff Park tomorrow at two, where the boardwalk through the wetlands meets the walking path. I need to go now. Someone is coming this way.”
He glanced out to see two boys on bicycles. Sylvia opened the door and hurried away, disappearing behind the line of white birches.
Barry sat in a daze, then got out of the car and hurried down the lightly worn path she had taken. He expected to see a house behind the row of birch trees, but stopped when he saw no house, only an open field and the path leading down into the woods of Huff Park.
He stood, looking around, wondering if he had misunderstood her. A breeze blew from the park below, carrying the smell of the wetland. He stood there several minutes and then returned to his car.
He drove away, unable to believe that he had engaged in sex in a public place with a woman he hardly knew. Regard for his career had made Barry circumspect. Yet in the car, something had driven him past his ability to contain his desires. He realized that for the first time in years, he had lost control of himself.
Confusion disorienting him to the point he feared he would blurt out the whole story of what had happened with Sylvia Collins if anyone questioned him about it, he pulled into the parking lot of a bar he did not frequent. He feared seeing a colleague or associate.
He drank, looked, and saw Kristi Deronda walking toward him.
Barry Phipps had two women in his life at present. Betsy Lane worked for the law firm. Tall, beautiful, making her name in the community as a skillful corporate attorney, she had cast her pretty eyes on him. The two of them had dated off and on for three years. Betsy was at the point where she expected them to go to the next level in relationship. However, Kristi, whom was now approaching him, represented the other side of his taste in women. She was quirky, unconventional, and expressive.
She came up, leaned down, and kissed him.
“I didn’t know you would be here. Did you come to hear us play?”
“I have to admit, I forgot you guys were on tonight. Is it your whole band?”
“All of us.”
“I have to go home, but I’ll come by later to hear you play.”
“You look like you barely missed a pile-up on the freeway.”
“Been a long day,” he said, glancing at her. Kristi had light red hair that she wore parted on one side and puffed up on the other, and sharp eyes and a face that showed her quick intelligence. Kristi taught special education at Lincoln Elementary School on Crayhen Road. She played guitar in a locally popular band.
“Can I get you a drink?” he asked.
“Sure.”
She ordered a stinger.
“What’s up at work?” she asked.
“The eco case—the old-grown wood Devon Developments want to cut down.”
“Oh yeah—the Dryad Wood, they call it. That was on FOX.”
“I see their publicity rep is doing her job.”
Kristi’s band showed up just then—two men and a woman. They did blues and pop. He enjoyed listening to them. He had another drink as the group set up. Kristi turned her guitar, did some licks on the harmonica, and talked with the other musicians. He decided to head back to his house. Before he left, Kristi caught him at the door.
“I know you’ll be back,” she said, “but I wanted to say before you take off, why don’t you come over to my place after the show? I feel like I’ve hardly even seen you the last couple of months. We need to catch up on things.”
He said it sounded like a good idea.
After he had been home only a few minutes, Barry got a text form Sylvia: 2 tmrow Huff Park wst brdwlk mn path. He tried to call her, but got no answer.
Barry sat down on his bed. He wondered if Sylvia Collins intended to use what happened in his car to blackmail him. More than that, he wondered how he had been so overwhelmed by desire. He had cast off restraint. He had forfeited self-control. It was not as if he were a new kid on the block, snagged by an aggressive lorelei. Sylvia was beautiful, but not more so than Kristi or Betsy—or any of the other women with whom he had been romantically involved. What had happened?
Eventually he got up, showered, changed, and headed back to the Viceroy Bar and Grill. By the time he got there, Kristi’s band was playing.
He ordered a drink and sat down. Kristi, who did guitar and vocals, sang with her usual aplomb energy. Her band did mostly blues, but she served up one of their crowd-pleaser covers, the old song “Fever.” Barry drank and listened to the lyrics:
You give me fever when you kiss me
Fever when you hold me tight
Fever in the morning
Fever all through the night
She sang it in a breathy, sexy, orgasmically-groaning voice. When she finished, the crowd shouted and cheered and her band went back to its usual blues repertoire. He drank and waited until they finished at eleven. Kristi came to his table.
“You guys sounded great,” he said.
“Thanks. I was beginning to wonder if you liked it. You sat here looking like you’ve been sucking on a green persimmon for a week.”
He laughed. “Sorry. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
A waiter came and took Kristi’s order. She moved her chair closer to his and leaned in. “I’m beginning to wonder if Betsy has made some successful moves on you.”
“Not lately.”
“You’re not hitting on that woman who represents the people fighting for the grove of trees Devon wants to bulldoze, are you?”
He flinched. He thought to say no but found himself answering, “She kind of flirted with me.”
“She’s pretty,” Kristi returned. “I felt a little warm toward her myself.”
“You met her?”
“She presented their case to a community group this morning. I got picked to represent our school. She’s persuasive and . . . well, I don’t know how to say it. She is pretty. She seems to send out an aura of sexiness, life, energy—it overwhelms you. I sat there and thought, Damn, I’m getting the hots for a woman. But it wasn’t that, exactly. She exudes life . . . vitality . . . I don’t know how else to say what she does.”
“I felt the same thing.”
“I’ve got enough competition with Ms. Betsy Lane. I don’t need this gal in the mix. What’s her name?”
“Sylvia Collins. She’s a client. Remember, it’s against attorney ethics to socialize with clients. I know, you’re surprised lawyers have ethics.”
Kristi laughed. They got on to other subjects. She told him her band had performed a lot lately and she was thinking of quitting her teaching job and going full-time as a musician. They drank until the bar closed, and then drove to her condo. Kristi made love with passionate gentleness. Being with her seemed to return him to certainty.
In the morning, they made love again, had breakfast, and went their ways. He reported to work resolved that he would not rendezvous with Sylvia Collins at two o’clock. Whatever had come over him yesterday, he would not allow it to conquer him again. He couldn’t risk it, and the best way to prevent it was to all together stay away from her.
The morning went well. He worked on the case, writing notes and developing his strategy of argument. The more he worked, the more he felt secure in his resolution. He had lunch with two friends from his University of Michigan Law School days. When he returned to his office, he found an email saying Betsy wanted to see him.
He went to her office, knocked, and entered.
Betsy wanted to clarify a point on a case they had worked on together last year. She sat behind her desk, stately, beautiful, impeccably dressed. He knew he would eventually have to resolve their relationship, which had gone up and down but onward for the past four years. They had been intimate—one summer they had all but lived together—and her father was a senior partner in the firm.
On either side of her desk two large queen’s umbrella plants loomed up from ceramic urns. He inwardly chuckled at “queen’s umbrella” plants shading Betsy. Fitting, he thought as he regarded her in her beige business suit, sitting at her neat, perfectly organized desk, sheltered by the bright green leaves of the two massive schefflera actinophylla.
As he stood there, he felt an urge creep over him. It rose from the bottom of his feet. He began to think of Sylvia Collins and the tsunami of passion that had engulfed them yesterday. The resolution he had so astutely built up in his mind dissolved in seconds. He hoped Betsy would finish soon so he could keep his appointment at Huff Park.
When he left Betsy’s office, he could hardly keep from running to his car.
He drove down to Huff Park and took the west branch of the main walking path to where it connected with the boardwalk that led through the wetland. Sylvia had waited for him. Barefoot, she wore tan shorts and a white tank top.
He wanted to speak, but couldn’t articulate even one word. She took his hands.
“Come on,” she said.
They walked down the boardwalk and turned onto a path. He followed her into a grassy circle surrounded by small, spindly trees. She unhooked her shorts, let them fall to the ground, and kicked them away. She pulled the tank top over her head. She had worn nothing underneath. In the bright sun he saw the muscular slenderness of her body, her conical breasts with big nipples, the slope of her flat stomach to the shaggy tuft above her cunt, her slit, her legs. Trim and fit, athletic, smooth as an ancient Greek statue, the sight of her mesmerized him.
“Someone will see us,” he managed to say.
“No one will see us.”
She lay down, legs up and apart. It seemed like the line of saplings had turned into a protective wall of thick, tall ash and birch trees so dense he could not see beyond them. She reached up to him. He took her hands and sank down as she relaxed to receive him.
He must have slept. When he opened his eyes, a circle of sunflowers ringed the bower of soft, thick grass where they lay. He reached for her. They rolled on their sides.
“Get dressed,” she told him. “I’ll answer the questions you have.”
He did as she asked. She stood up, shaking the twigs and grass from her long hair.
“In a moment, you will see me in my true form,” she said.
“This is not your true form?”
“Not my truest. Before I change into what is most true of me, know that I am carrying your child.”
They had used no protection.
“You’re pregnant? How you can you know?”
“I know. It is different for us. Come to the grove in two days. I will be there and you will see your child. Bring your colleagues with you.”
She took a few steps back, spread her arms, and stood straight. He gaped as her body elongated. The lines of her flesh smoothed out and turned white. Her arms spread, sprouting into branches, her fingers into light green leaves. A birch tree stood in place of the woman with whom he had just made love.
He stared, doubting his sanity. Her discarded clothing lay at his feet. The tree shimmered in the breeze. He walked over and touched its trunk with his fingertips. When he did so, he felt saner than he had ever felt. Warmth from the smooth bark flowed into his fingertips. Its warmth was her warmth and her life. He put his hand flat on the gently rounded trunk. After he had held it there some minutes, he returned to his office.
When he got there, he had a text: rmbr: in 2 days.
Two cars pulled up by the walking trail. The partners from his law firm piled out, looking around. Cardinals and thrushes flew across the path as they walked. Chipmunks and rabbits scurried away from the intruding human presences. Tall stands of daisies and black-eyed Susan decorated the borders of the trail. The old railroad bed the state had paved and transformed into a walking path wound through wetland, farms, and near the stand of old-growth trees for which his law firm had agreed to provide advocacy.
Most of his colleagues liked the idea of seeing the place. Betsy was skeptical, but kept her censure to herself. The group walked a quarter mile down the paved path, then took a side trail. Two hundred yards from the main path, the old-growth grove began.
Even Betsy gaped at the towering pines and oaks. It was as if they had walked back in time to a primal era when nature, not human beings, held sovereignty over the earth—and, in a sense, they had done just this.
Silence fell over them as they walked through the quiet stand of huge trees.
“I’m glad we came here,” one of the older lawyers said.
They stopped in front of a birch tree.
“I’ve never seen a birch that size,” Betsy commented.
Barry knew the tree. To one side of it he saw a sapling rising out of the ground—delicate in its beauty, beginning its growth up to the sun’s warm light.
“It would be a crime to cut this place down,” John Lane, Betsy’s father commented.
They marveled for a while longer and then followed the path back to the trail. When they came to the parking lot, Sylvia was there. She wore sunglasses and had on a white blouse, a very short print skirt, and sandals. She smiled and waved.
“Well, I see my lawyers are on the job,” she said with a smile.
Her beauty and cheerfulness charmed the whole group—even Betsy. They chatted with her. Talk turned to the case. Everyone said walking through the grove eloquently illustrated the vital importance of winning legal protection for it. Lane said he would place all his law firm’s resources into seeing the grove preserved. He added that he had some political connections in Lansing and would see what he could do to block the development. After a pleasant, animated talk, the lawyers piled back into their cars and headed for town.
When Barry got to his office, he had another text: Good You saw yr child I will come to u again Sylvia.
He closed up the phone. He would have to get some plants in his office, he mused—make it a space with greenery that reflected the beauty and power of nature.
He did not understand how he had previously got along without them.
~
Enjoy our short stories? You'll love our erotic eBooks! Support O&C by getting yours today!
OCEroticBooks.com
~
Copyright January 2012, David W. Landrum
Published with permission from author on OystersandChocolate.com. Copying or reprinting this work in part or in whole without permission is illegal.