The Art of Erotica

Up on the Hill

This story is not mine, but was written by my lover, Parrot. It was inspired both by fantasy and a vacation we took last April.

If you enjoy this story as much as me, please leave a comment. His work needs to be published and I think he needs to hear it from others to get the fire lit from under him.


“Pack long pants. And good shoes. ”

He wouldn’t tell her any more than that. Honestly. How could a girl pack for a weekend getaway without knowing where she was going? Bathing suit? He had said, “No.” She was secretly relieved. Even in sunny California it was not yet beach season. She resolved to go to the gym at least three times a week when she came back from this trip.

She inspected herself critically in her mirror: small breasts, but still, thankfully, firm and smooth. She closed her eyes, thinking of how his hands felt, stroking them, kissing them. He seemed in awe of her at times, like a pilgrim worshiping at some pagan shrine.

She knew she could stand to lose a few pounds—who couldn’t—but she felt beautiful under his gaze. He told her she was beautiful. No man had told her that except to advance an agenda, but he said that to her at the oddest times, just out of thin air. She had come to believe him.

Now they were going away for a long-delayed vacation. She knew they would visit Northern California’s wine country, but he stubbornly refused to reveal any details about the trip, or what he had planned.

So she packed her jeans along with one slinky dress and impossibly high heels, just in case.


He woke her with gentle kisses. She made a contented, feline sound in her throat and began to wrap herself around him. She felt his heat and longed to cling to him, but he moved away. She would have felt rejected if she hadn’t seen the secretive smile on his face.

“Time to get up, baby,” he said cheerfully. “We have places to be!”

He was already in jeans, and pulled on a sweater. God, he looked sexy!

“Can’t we just stay here? Come back to bed.”

She stretched out her arms to him, making sure the covers fell away. She knew he loved her breasts—even found them irresistible—and she hoped to lure him back to bed. She waggled her fingers at him and pouted suggestively.

He chuckled, apparently immune to her charms for the moment. He grabbed the covers and pulled them away from her.

“C’mon, baby,” he said. “We have to get on the road. If you keep looking like that, we’ll NEVER get out of here!”

He rummaged in her suitcase, found panties, bra and a tee shirt and tossed them at her. “Trust me. You’re going to like this!”

Still pouting, but inwardly excited, she got dressed. He took her hand and pulled her down the narrow, curving stairway. Breakfast would not be served for another hour, but he had somehow arranged for coffee, croissants and orange juice.

“Drink the OJ,” he ordered. “I don’t want you collapsing later.”

She drank the juice obediently. It was fresh squeezed and tasted heavenly.

He looked at his watch.

“Oh, crap,” he said. “We’re already running late.”

He gulped down a large cup of scalding coffee, stuffed a croissant in his mouth, and pulled her out the front door.


“Turn left on Fifth Street, then drive two miles,” intoned the female voice of his phone’s GPS.

He glanced at the screen and sped up.

“We have a little time to make up,” he said, “but we should be okay.”

He finally seemed to relax, so she did, too.

Soon the houses and shops of small-town Napa gave way to the verdant hills of the California Wine Country. They sped past small vineyards and roadside vegetable stands. They passed the time with conversation. She wondered if they would ever run out of things to say to each other. Probably not, she thought, and smiled.

Where were they going? She had given up trying to extract clues from him, so she sat back and enjoyed the ride and his company.

Forty-five minutes later they turned in to a gravel driveway that snaked up the hill. There were vineyards on one side, pasture on the other. A ruminating cow watched them incuriously as they drove by.

Finally they came to a level area with a small corral containing several horses. Horses? He parked, a triumphant grin lighting up his face. “Here we are!” he exclaimed. “And we are right on time.”

He took her hand and led her to a small shack under the trees. A man in boots, plaid shirt and cowboy hat lounged on a wooden chair in front.

“Help you folks?” he asked, squinting amiably.

“We have a reservation.”

“Right,” he said. “My name’s Dominic. I’ll get you folks fixed up.”

He led them to the corral, where two horses waited patiently. He took the reins of the first horse, a roan mare.

“This here’s Roamer. I think you ‘n’ her’ll get along well, sir.”

He handed over the reins. He brought the second horse, a small dappled gelding.

“This is Max,” he said, a little pride in his voice. “He’ll be a good fit for the lady. “ He handed her the reins.

This horse was huge. How could any normal person even get on one of these things? She put her left foot in the stirrup and tried to pull herself up. Max took one step forward, and she found herself off balance, hopping on her right foot, trying to retain some shred of dignity. She was sure the horse was laughing at her.

After two ungraceful attempts, she manage to mount her horse. She sat triumphant and tall in the saddle.

“Y’all have a nice time,” Dominic said as they ambled down the trail, heading toward a grove of trees. The warm breeze barely stirred the leaves and the tall grass.

The horses seemed to know exactly where they were going. The trail was wide enough to accommodate them side by side and he reached for her hand. Both horses seemed to have decided handholding was a bad idea, and moved to put more distance between them. Reluctantly she released his hand. It was safer having two hands to hold on to the saddle, she decided.

They climbed the hill, winding through vineyards growing gnarled, hundred year old Cabernet, Pinot and Chardonnay vines.


After an hour’s ride, they reached a high plateau, a grassy area shaded by ancient oak trees. They dismounted and tied their horses to a bush. The Sonoma Valley, with its lush pastures and geometric vineyards, stretched out before them. From their vantage point 1,200 feet above the valley floor, they could see San Pablo Bay to the south, Santa Rosa to the north. She felt tears spring to her eyes.

“Thank you! Thank you!” She cried, throwing her arms around his neck.

They embraced, then kissed, sheltered by the oaks, the valley arrayed before them. The horses grazed contentedly on tender leaves.

She had not noticed the saddlebags tied to Roamer’s saddle. He had packed a large blanket, a lunch of local salami, artisanal brie and a bottle of Provocative Cab. How very appropriate, she thought.

He spread the blanket on the grass, at the brow of the hill. The oaks shaded them and provided a frame for the vista before them. From that high vantage point there was no evidence of human occupation: the highway far below was hidden by the hills and there were no houses or power lines to mar this pastoral scene. She imagined that this was what the first settlers saw when they arrived over a hundred years before.

They sat close together on the blanket, neither wanting to disturb the silence. He produced a corkscrew and two wineglasses, opened the wine expertly and poured two glasses. They toasted silently and drank, looking into each other’s eyes over the rims.

The wine was poetry. They let it linger on their tongues; the riot of complex flavors enveloped their senses. It was blackberry, blueberry and clove. There was pear and Granny Smith apple, even some … what was it … potato? She could even taste the clay soil that had given birth to the grapes. She imagined she could hear the local harvesters as they picked the grapes.

It was magical.

He cut a slice of salami, then a wedge of brie. He fed it to her, his fingers lingering in her mouth.

Then he kissed her. It was a soft kiss, his lips pressed gently against hers. Her lips parted in response, and she flicked her tongue, seeking his. She felt his intake of breath as she began to melt into him. She lay back on the soft blanket, pulling him with her.

She had no idea how long the kiss went on. She felt his body molding to hers, their limbs intertwining. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly. She felt his fingers at the button of her jeans, then behind her, under her tee shirt. She felt the clasp of her bra release, then his hands—those strong, sensitive hands caressing her breasts.

She reached for his belt, struggling with the buckle for a moment. How was it that he could unhook her bra so easily, and she still had to work at mastering something as simple as a man’s belt?

Finally she succeeded, feeling his lips smiling against hers. Smartass, she thought. It’s not as if she did this all the time.

They were both panting now, filled with need for each other. He pulled away slightly and grabbed the bottom of her tee shirt. He pulled it, along with her bra, over her head and tossed it aside. He looked admiringly at her breasts, now free in the warm spring air. He always looked at her that way. He bent to her and took one breast, then the other, in his mouth. He flicked each nipple with his tongue, and each one responded instantly, becoming rock-hard and exquisitely sensitive. Each time his tongue caressed her breast, she felt her pussy clench, as though there were a direct electrical connection between the two organs. How did he do that? She felt herself go wet—sopping wet.

Suddenly his hands were on the waistband of her jeans, pulling them off. She was naked. Gloriously, exquisitely naked, here on this blanket, under ancient trees, with an entire world spread out before her. She felt tears on her face—tears that came from the ineffable beauty of this setting, this moment.

She fumbled urgently with his pants, pushing them down, seeing his cock—that beautiful cock—spring into the sunlight. It was long and hard, and she could see tiny drops of moisture at its tip. He kicked his pants aside, then pulled off his shirt and sweater. They were naked together on this hillside, an entire world spread before them as though it were their own kingdom.

She reached for him, gripping him firmly. She knew this part of him so well; in those nights alone, with him so far away, she could close her eyes and remember his shape, the feel of him in her hand, the taste of him in her mouth. But he was here now. They were together, and she had no need for her memory or her vivid imagination. She knew he was hers.

Looking into his eyes, wide and bright with desire like hers, she pulled him to her, guided him into her.

She was so wet, so hungry for him. He slid into her, slowly, savoring the sensation just as they had savored the wine minutes before. He lay on top of her for a moment, buried in her, not moving. She felt him inside her, warm and hard, reaching so deeply inside her she was sure he must be touching her very heart.

She felt the wetness on her face and knew that it was his tears, mingled with hers. She wanted to feel him inside her, this fullness, this complete possession, forever.

After a long while he began to move inside her; slowly at first, almost tentatively, as though he were afraid of hurting her. Then, as she responded and moved under him, he quickened his motion. Each time he plunged into her pussy, she raised her hips to meet him, willing him to possess her more completely, to fuck her harder.

Oh, God. Oh God. This was what heaven was like, she knew it. His mouth was all over her, kissing her mouth deeply, her eyes, her ears, the hollow of her throat. He bent to kiss and suck her breasts.

“Fuck me!” she screamed. “Fuck me harder! I’m your slut! Fuck my pussy! Fill my cunt with your hard cock! Fuck your slut! Oh God! Fuck me! Fuck me! I want you to shoot your come in me! I’m your slut! I’m just yours…just yours. Yours. YOURS!”

She whipped her head from side to side, bucking on the blanket, meeting his every thrust, begging for more, demanding more. He fucked her faster and harder, inflamed by her passion. Their bodies were slick with sweat. They were making inarticulate animal noises now.

She felt the fire rising from deep inside her, a fire that had been stoked by this man, this wonderful, sweet man who, at this moment, was hers. Only hers. She could tell from his ragged breathing, from the feel of his cock pistoning inside her, that he was very close too.

Then, for an instant, time froze. They held their breath for a moment, poised, then exploded together, screaming in their shared ecstasy. She realized they were both sobbing, tears coursing down their faces. She tasted the salt on her lips as he kissed her.

This man, so self-possessed and poised, was crying like an infant: deep, wracking sobs from somewhere deep in his psyche. Still, she thought, they weren’t coming from a place of pain and distress, but a deep relief, that he was able to experience such joy with another person.

As he slowed, then stopped, she held him tightly to her, whispering wordlessly in his ear. She stroked his hair, damp with sweat. He lay on top of her, limp and spent. She felt his cock soften inside her. She wanted to hold on to it, to keep it there, to feel that exquisite fullness, that complete possession.

At last he slipped from her, then moved to lie beside her. Their faces were inches apart, their eyes wide. They needed no words. He kissed her, a tender, lingering kiss, an expression of deep and lasting affection between two lovers who knew each other as intimately as two people could.

He never seemed to tire of being with her, not even when they were both spent and satiated, exhausted from making love. He never rolled over and went to sleep right after an orgasm the way other men always did. She felt valued and appreciated for more than this amazing physical bond they shared. She couldn’t stop the broad grin on her face, even as her tears started to flow again.

He stroked her cheek, kissed her tears. He knew what they meant.

The sun was beginning to dip below the opposite side of the valley. They felt the slight chill. Still naked, they sat tailor fashion, knees touching, and finished the wine. It was still extraordinary, and their senses had been heightened by their shared ecstasy of moments before.

Reluctantly, they dressed, looking over the green panorama before them. They stood close together, their arms around one another willing these moments to last.

The horses snorted gently, as though reminding them that it was time to go back to that other world. They seemed to appreciate the sublime experience that had taken place on that green hillside, and were reluctant to break the spell.

Soon the blanket was folded and packed into the saddlebags, along with the remains of the salami and cheese. He lifted her up onto her horse as though she weighed nothing, then mounted his horse.

As they turned their mounts to go back down the hill, she did feel light as a feather. Whatever cares might have weighed her down before, they were surely gone.

The two horses with their two riders made their way back down the hill. They walked side by side, allowing two riders to hold hands as they rode off, literally into the sunset.