Elarion trudged along the narrow dirt path toward the Whispering Woods, the late-morning sun filtering through bare branches in pale, wintry shafts. His breath puffed in soft white clouds, mingling with the crisp scent of pine resin and damp moss underfoot. The woven basket swung lightly from his elbow, already half-filled with the day's harvest: silvery moonwort, crimson bloodroot, and the tiny purple starblossoms that glowed faintly even in daylight. His boots crunched over frost-kissed leaves as he reached the forest's edge—a quiet, sheltered glade where the undergrowth was thickest and the herbs grew most abundantly.
He knelt in the soft loam, fingers brushing cool, velvety leaves as he plucked them one by one, tucking each stem gently into the basket with practiced care. The air was still, save for the distant trill of a winter thrush and the faint rustle of wind through the canopy.
Then—a sound. A soft, liquid patter, almost musical, coming from the dense cluster of elderberry bushes to his left.
Curiosity prickled along his spine like static. He set the basket down without a sound, heart suddenly thudding harder than it had any right to. Crouching low, he crept forward on silent boots, parting the branches with careful fingers until he could peer through the screen of glossy leaves.
There she was.
A woman—mid-thirties, widowed, alone—squatting in the dappled shade with her skirts hiked up around her hips. Her thighs were full and pale, dusted with the faintest freckles, muscles flexing slightly as she balanced. The dark green wool of her dress was bunched at her waist, revealing the generous curve of her backside and the shadowed cleft between. And between her parted legs, shamelessly exposed to the open air, was her pussy.
Pink. Slick. Perfectly obscene.
Her outer lips were plump and flushed, the delicate inner folds glistening in the cold sunlight—parted just enough to reveal the tiny, swollen pearl of her clit peeking from its hood like a ripe berry. A thin, clear stream of urine arced from her slit in a steady, hissing trickle, pattering onto the leaf-litter below with a soft, rhythmic splatter that seemed impossibly loud in the quiet glade. Every few seconds the stream pulsed, her inner walls visibly clenching, pushing out another warm gush that sparkled briefly in the light before soaking into the earth.
Elarion's cock surged to full, painful hardness inside his trousers in an instant. The thick shaft throbbed violently, straining against the rough wool, the sensitive head already weeping a fat bead of pre-cum that soaked through the fabric in a warm, sticky patch. His balls drew tight, aching with sudden, brutal need. He could smell it now—the faint, intimate musk of her arousal mixed with the sharp, clean tang of her piss, drifting on the breeze straight to his nostrils.
She sighed—a low, relieved sound that vibrated in her throat—then shook her hips once, twice, sending a final sprinkle of droplets scattering across the leaves. The motion made her heavy breasts sway beneath the bodice, nipples visibly stiff and pressing against the wool like twin pebbles.
She straightened, smoothing her skirts down over those lush hips with casual grace, completely unaware of the man frozen ten paces away, cock leaking and pulse hammering in his ears.
Then she turned.
Straight toward him.
Straight toward the very patch of herbs he'd been gathering.
Panic and raw lust collided in his chest. Elarion scrambled backward on silent feet, heart slamming against his ribs, and dropped to his knees beside the basket just as her footsteps grew louder—soft boots crunching leaves, the faint rustle of skirts brushing thighs.
By the time she emerged from the elderberries, he was once again the picture of innocent focus: head bent, fingers delicately lifting a sprig of starblossom, breath steady, expression calm.
But inside, his mind was screaming.
His cock still stood rigid, trapped and dripping, the wet spot on his trousers growing larger with every heartbeat.
She stopped a mere arm's length away—close enough that he could smell the warm, feminine scent of her skin and the lingering trace of her release on the air.
And she began to gather herbs too. Right beside him.
Completely oblivious to the fact that the man kneeling next to her had just watched her piss like a voyeur in heat—and was now fighting every instinct not to groan aloud as another thick pulse of pre-cum oozed down the inside of his thigh.
She glanced over as she settled beside him, basket in hand, and offered a soft, neighborly greeting.
"Good morning. Fine day for gathering, isn't it?"
Elarion managed a low, steady "Morning," his voice rougher than intended, throat tight with the effort of keeping composure.
She smiled briefly—warm, distracted—then crouched down a pace away, knees spreading naturally as she bent to the herbs. The position was innocent enough for herb-picking, but devastating for him. Her full skirt rode up the backs of her thick thighs, the hem catching on the curve of her ass and gaping open at the front like a deliberate invitation. Through the shadowed slit between fabric and skin, everything was on brazen display.
Her heavy breasts hung forward, straining the low neckline of her bodice. The thin linen shift beneath had slipped down one shoulder during her earlier squat, and now half of one lush, pale globe spilled free—creamy skin flushed pink from the cold air, the wide, dusky areola fully exposed, nipple already pebbled into a stiff, rosy peak that begged to be pinched. Every time she reached for a sprig, the breast swayed heavily, brushing against the rough wool of her dress, the motion hypnotic.
Lower still—between her parted thighs—her pussy remained shamelessly uncovered. The outer lips were plump and swollen, glistening with the remnants of her earlier release. A thin sheen of piss still clung to the tender folds, catching the dappled sunlight in tiny, sparkling droplets that slid slowly down the inner crease. Her clit peeked out, engorged and flushed a deeper pink, glistening wetly. The slit itself parted just enough to reveal the slick, darker entrance, twitching faintly with each breath she took.
Elarion's cock jerked violently in his trousers, the thick shaft already fully engorged, veins bulging along its length, the fat head leaking steadily. A fresh gush of pre-cum soaked through the wool in a hot, spreading patch, the fabric clinging obscenely to the ridged crown. He could feel every throb, every pulse as blood hammered through it, making the whole length strain upward like it wanted to tear free and bury itself between those dripping lips.
She was still focused on the herbs, humming softly under her breath—completely unaware.
Until she wasn't.
Her gaze drifted sideways, casual at first, then froze. Her eyes locked on the unmistakable bulge tenting the front of his trousers: the thick, veiny outline of his cock clearly visible beneath the stretched fabric, the head so swollen it pushed the material into a perfect, obscene dome, a dark wet spot blooming at the tip where pre-cum had soaked through in abundance.
She swallowed hard. The sound was audible—a thick, wet gulp that made her throat bob. Her cheeks flushed crimson. Between her thighs, her pussy visibly clenched; a fresh bead of clear arousal welled from her slit, mixing with the lingering traces of piss. The combined slickness gathered at her entrance, then dripped in a slow, glistening thread that stretched and finally snapped, landing on the leaf litter with a faint pat. Another pulse followed, and another—her inner walls fluttering visibly—until the wetness coated her swollen lips entirely, making them shine. A small dark patch began to bloom on the front of her skirt where the fabric pressed against her soaked cunt, the wool darkening and clinging to the puffy mound beneath.
Elarion saw it all: the way her thighs trembled, the tiny quiver of her clit as it throbbed in time with her quickening breaths, the slow spread of wetness darkening her skirt like an accusation. His own cock answered with another thick spurt of pre-cum, the wet heat sliding down his shaft and pooling against his balls.
Neither of them moved. Neither spoke. The forest held its breath around them—only the soft rustle of leaves, their ragged breathing, and the faint, unmistakable scent of aroused cunt and leaking cock mingling in the crisp winter air.