Picnic

This story is set before the storm that was Hurricane Kitty hit in the episode "The Way It Is," and is intended for mature readers. Many thanks to Jane & Flarnchef for ideas and inspiration, and to Lady G for beverage suggestions and encouragement... You ladies are the best. 

Deliciously sweet, tantalizing springtime on the burgeoning Kansas prairie…  The interminable winter’s longing gradually gives way to a welcome respite --delightful, heady scents of moist, fertile earth and green growing things.  Insects buzz softly on a warm breeze, intoxicatingly fragrant with yellow buttercups and white primroses growing wild.  Sleepy, stilted senses awaken amid such natural splendor, and the resultant stirrings can be exceedingly difficult to tame.

Two companions share a simple repast in just such an idealistic sylvan setting, vigorously serenaded by a nearby mockingbird.  Protected from prying eyes by a cottonwood grove, they slowly savor juicy fried chicken, fluffy buttermilk biscuits and fresh, cold water from the nearby stream as they sit on a well-worn quilt carefully spread over a soft cushion of deer-tongue grass. 

“Bite?”  He offers her a large forkful of Ma Smalley’s delicious homemade pie.  “Ma said she made this from one of her last jars of summer peaches.” 

She grins playfully and manages the whole man-size mouthful, not without some difficulty.  Chuckling, he removes his Stetson and sets it aside so that he can gently kiss away a dollop of sweet syrup that clings tantalizingly to her bottom lip.  He admires the way the dappled sunlight peeks through the leaves of the gnarled cottonwood they sit beneath to shine on her hair and set it ablaze with flaming color.  She wears it down the way he likes it best, pulled away from her face with a yellow satin ribbon, a few soft tresses falling on her forehead, the rest spilling like liquid copper down her back.

“Mmmm…” she responds.

Tenderly he wipes a crumb of crust from the soft skin of her chin with his thumb and intimates in a low voice, “Was that reaction for the pie or my kiss?”

“Both,” she answers thickly, swallowing the overlarge bite of juicy peaches and buttery crust, then licking her sticky lips in satisfaction.

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Yesterday afternoon, Ma had cornered Matt in Mr. Jonas’s general store over by the turnip display.

  

“Why, Marshall Dillon, what a surprise!” she cooed.  “I thought you were going to Hays City today!”

Surprise that she was aware of his plans was evident in Matt’s face. 

Ma flapped a dismissive hand at him.  “Oh, Marshall, don’t look so taken aback.  I talked to Kitty yesterday and she said she was expecting you to be gone today and tomorrow, that’s all…”

“She told you that, huh?” he squinted questioningly at her.

“Well, I just asked her if you two were coming to the spring barn dance Friday night and she said she wasn’t sure since you had to go out of town.”

“She’s right, Ma.  With my job, I just never know.”

Ma’s mouth turned down at the corners.  “Yes, Kitty was mighty disappointed that you missed Lily Parker’s wedding, too.  She had that beautiful green dress special made…”

“She did?”

“Why, didn’t she tell you?”  Ma’s eyes widened and she leaned conspiratorially closer.  She whispered behind her hand, “She said you like her best in green, and that’s why she chose that color.  I saw her trying it on at the dressmaker’s…”  Ma held her hand to her heart.  “Oh my, she looked simply exquisite--why, she’d just take your breath away, Marshal.  Have you seen it yet?”

Matt cleared his throat self-consciously.  “No, ma’am.  I haven’t.” 

“Oh, that’s too bad.  She was just a vision of loveliness in that dress, I tell you.”  Ma eyed him.  “Well, Marshal, I suppose you’ll be able to make it up to her tomorrow night at the barn dance.  Maybe she can wear that green dress for you!”

“Well, Ma, I hate to tell ya’, but I’ve still got to go to Hays City.  My trip has just been delayed for a day.  I still have to leave tomorrow.  So I’m afraid I won’t be able to make that barn dance after all.”

Ma Smalley’s face fell. 

He hurried to add, “But there will be other dances, Ma.”

“Yes, I’m sure there will be, but it’s awful disappointing to a beautiful, spirited girl like Miss Kitty.  I’m sure you understand how she must feel.”

Matt’s face turned pink.  “Yes, ma’am.  I do feel pretty bad.” 

Blinia Williams, browsing through the tatting and laces, seemed intent on trying to overhear their conversation.   Ma smiled widely at her and knowingly commented, “Why, Blinia, is that a new hat you’ve got on there?  I declare, it sure does look becoming on you.”

Blinia pursed her thin lips at being caught listening in and replied curtly, “Why, thank you, Ma,” and hurried off to pay Mr. Jonas for her purchases. 

Ma grabbed Matt by the arm and pulled him further away, back by the spring radishes.  She lowered her voice even more.  “Seems like with your job, Miss Kitty gets more than her share of disappointments, don’t you think, Marshal?”

“Well, I…”

“Just like last fall, you had to miss Bessie Larcher’s chivaree?  Remember that?”  Ma tut-tutted and shook her head sympathetically.

“Yes, ma’am.”  Matt swiped a hand over his face and stifled a grimace.

“Kitty tried to act like she wasn’t upset, but I could tell…”

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, the marshal industriously examined the toes of his big boots.

Ma’s face brightened and she got an inspired look in her eye.  “Say, I just…”

“Now, Ma, I know what you’re gonna’ say…”

Ma frowned at him.  “Why, Marshal, how on earth could you know what I was about to…”

He rushed to explain in a low voice, “I know that I’ve disappointed Kitty, time and again, but it’s not my intention…”

“Why, of course, it’s not your intention!”  Her face softened as she whispered, “You’re an honorable man.  You would never intentionally disappoint a lady.”

Matt’s ears turned pinker.

“But, Marshal, you have to admit you are a lucky man.”  Ma cocked an eyebrow at him.  “There are a lot of men in this town who would give their eye teeth to be escorting Miss Kitty Russell to the dance, you know.”

“Yes, Ma’am, I do realize that,” Matt answered sheepishly, shuffling his feet self-consciously.

Smiling indulgently, she hurriedly explained to put him out of his obvious misery, “I had only wished to offer a suggestion to you, Marshal.  It just so happens I made a lovely peach pie this morning from one of the very last jars of my peaches left over from last summer’s canning…”  She paused for effect, then added, “My recipe won first prize at the Ford County Fair.”

“Is that so, ma’am?”  His expression turned somewhat less bleak.

“Marshal, why don’t you take that pie…”  She placed an index finger on her lips and looked heavenward.  “…and maybe get a nice lunch from Delmonico’s…”

“But…Ma, I can’t…”

“…and surprise Miss Kitty with a little picnic in the country?”

“But…Ma, I’ve got a trial to get ready for…”

She ignored his protests, finishing triumphantly with a finger in the air, “I bet that would go a long way toward salving a poor girl’s wounded heart for missing the barn dance tomorrow night!”

Matt ran a hand through his thick, dark curls and cleared his throat.  “Ma…” he began, then finally looked her in the eye, sighed loudly and drawled, “Ma, I think that’s a fine idea.”

Ma looked altogether surprised and pleased.  She whispered, “Don’t tell her I told you to, Marshal.  You just act like it was all your idea, all right?”  She winked at him.  “Kitty’s an awful nice girl, and I think she’d be thrilled to pieces if you surprised her with a sweet little picnic in the beautiful countryside.”

Shaking his head in surrender, Matt chuckled ruefully, “Yes, Ma’am…”

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Carefully, he picks up in his long fingers the last stray slice of sweet peach from his plate and offers it to her with a smile and a questioning eyebrow. 

“Is that an invitation, Marshal Dillon?”  Her sapphire eyes sparkle and she leans in to take the fruit with her warm mouth.  Her tongue slides over his sensitive fingers slickly, making him hum in pleasure. 

“Was that an invitation, Miss Russell?”  He places a finger under her chin and gently draws her face toward his. 

“Cowboy, you know you’ve always got an open invitation where I’m concerned…” she breathlessly teases, nipping playfully at his full bottom lip.

He responds by sliding his hot tongue into her mouth, still tasting of fruit and sugar and a touch of cinnamon.  Cradling his hand in the small of her back, he eases her down on the soft quilt, where their lips and tongues tangle warmly.  Their kisses are slow and easy in anticipation of a full afternoon of privacy and seclusion, courtesy of the tall reeds and Indian grass that grow round about them.

   

He reaches a hand down to unfasten the buttons on the front of her yellow dress and she gasps suddenly, “Mmmf…”

"What?” he groans.

“The champagne…”

He continues to unfasten more tiny yellow buttons, kissing her throat.  “Can’t it wait?”

Petulantly, she explains, “But I want to put it in the water to cool.”

He manages a few more.  By golly, how many buttons does a dress really need? 

“I was saving it for the barn dance...”  She drops her arms listlessly over her head, continuing, “…but now you can’t go.”

He nibbles delicately at her earlobe, all the while working tirelessly on the tedious buttons.

“So I would really love to have it on our picnic today…”  She sighs heavily.

After much intensive labor, he is rewarded by the sight of her ivory bosom rising over her lacy corset, his view visibly enhanced by the dramatic sighing display.

She continues, “And you can’t drink champagne unless it’s chilled…”

He hungrily plants a kiss on the swell of one generous breast when she rolls unceremoniously away. 

Grunting at the sudden loss, he protests, “Where are you going?”

Placing her hands firmly on her hips, she retorts, “To put the champagne in the stream to cool.”

Smiling up at her, he adds a placating, “I’d much rather taste you, honey, than cold champagne anytime…”

She smothers a grin, hikes up her skirt past her knees, and plops down on a distant corner of the quilt, far from any distraction the lawman might provide.  Unlacing both black leather boots, she shoots him a devilish look over one shoulder, then pulls her yellow skirts halfway up her creamy thighs.  He props himself on an elbow to watch. 

He can’t see what she is doing next, but suddenly a small, black lacy garment flies airily over her shoulder and lands on top of his head, draping rakishly over one eye.  He reaches up to find her garter, and he grins, holding it to his nose to inhale her distinctive scent appreciatively. 

Eyes twinkling, he shifts his position to better observe her actions with decided interest.  Another black garter and two silk stockings soon join the first garment in sailing through the air to land on top of him.  Giving a mischievous, throaty laugh, she blows him a playful kiss over her shoulder.  Grabbing her skirts and the bottle of champagne from the picnic basket, she heads barefooted for the edge of the water, her red hair blowing in the breeze as she calls out, “I’ll be back, Cowboy.  Don’t do anything without me…”

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Pillowing his head comfortably on one arm, he chortles as she wades into the crystal stream, yelping and uttering a few choice words at the shock of the cold water.   He enjoys the unaccustomed sight of her long, bare legs alluringly exposed to his gaze in the bright sunlight as she carefully fords the stream to wedge the champagne bottle between two rocks in deeper water.  His eyes appreciatively take in the rise and fall of her full bosom over the delicate, lacey underwear he’d exposed, unbuttoning the soft material of her bodice earlier.  He chuckles as she slips a bit before quickly catching her balance, giving a small girlish squeal that he wishes he had a chance to hear more often. 

Lying in the warm, dappled sunshine, contentedly watching her for as long as his full stomach and heavy eyelids will allow, a mourning dove’s haunting yet soothing, rhythmic coo lulls him sweetly.  Rubbing the silk fabric of one of her stockings comfortingly between his thumb and forefinger, his eyes drift shut as he watches her roaming the stream bank in her bare feet, bending gracefully to pick a bouquet of wildflowers, the enticing view of her sweet, soft breasts spilling over her corset his last conscious memory as he surrenders to gentle, peaceful sleep …

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“Shhhh…”

“Mmm?”

“Nothing, go back to sleep…” she whispers soothingly in his ear, nestling the generous curves of her body, warm from the spring sunshine and fragrant with the scent of small, wild purple violets, into his.  He obligingly shifts his weight as she slides one of her knees between his muscular thighs and wraps her arm under his own and behind his back to caress it soothingly. 

“Shhhh…” she repeats as he buries his nose in her silken hair and drifts contentedly back to sleep with his one true love beneath an ancient cottonwood tree on the wide Kansas prairie.

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A warm breeze caresses his face and makes his eyelids flutter.  Her slender arms no longer hold him.  Where is she?  His eyes open wide.  She is still there beside him, head propped on an elbow, watching him quietly.  Enigmatically, she smiles and wordlessly sprinkles a handful of small, delicate wildflowers on his chest and face: violets and primroses, bluebells and buttercups. 

Stretching sleepily, he yawns and deeply inhales their sweetness, then kisses her ear, whispering, “Woman, what’s got into you…”

A secret smile curves the corners of her mouth, and she reaches a hand for the top button of his pants.  His pretend sternness melts from his face as she determinedly and soundlessly continues to unbutton his pants, her hand snaking inside his underwear to wrap firmly around his manhood.  He cannot breathe. 

She speaks in a husky voice at last, “I thought I told you not to do anything without me.”  She gives his partially-engorged, silky shaft a firm stroke.   “But it feels like you got started without me already.”  She whispers breathily in his ear, still holding him in her warm palm, “Did you dream about me, Cowboy?”

She loosens his pants as he obligingly lifts his hips, and he groans as she freely caresses his sex with nimble hands.  “I think…” he says through gritted teeth.  “…I may be dreaming… now, honey.”  Threading his trembling fingers through her thick, titian hair, he tugs the yellow satin ribbon free, watching the fiery strands tumble seductively into her hooded sapphire eyes.

His molten gaze follows her as she moves to take him into the same soft, yielding mouth that had taken peaches from his own hand only hours before.  Her full lips part and she looks up into his eyes with a sultry expression that makes him tremble with yearning.  Taking him into her mouth, she worships him with her swollen, pouty lips and laving, swirling, hot tongue as his desperate fingers tangle urgently in her hair.  Her gently nipping teeth and feathery, stroking, massaging fingers finally force him to beg her for release.

Rising quickly, she lifts her skirts and unties silken underwear, slipping them over full hips and down shapely bare legs, allowing him a titillating view of damp red curls and swollen, glistening feminine flesh before she straddles him in a voluminous cloud of billowing yellow fabric.  He thinks he will die when she settles her velvety softness around his pulsing, throbbing need.  Moaning low in her throat, she takes his impressive hardness inside her aching center as slowly as possible.  He hungrily watches through slitted eyes as her head rolls back, her face a mask of untamed arousal, her shining copper hair spilling down her back as she takes relaxing breaths, willing her body to take in his impressive rigid length. 

A passionate groan escapes his lips as she begins to glide over him, agonizingly slowly.  His hands wander to trace the soft, alluring swell of her breasts over lace and silk bindings.  He drinks in the sight of his lady’s erotically wanton expression, making sweet love to him in the cool shade of the cottonwood grove.   He hums in contentment as she drowsily rides him, and he takes one delicate hand gently in his own and damply kisses her palm, her wrist, and the tender flesh inside her elbow. 

Sighing, her glance meets his and she grasps each of his strong hands for support.  She begins to grind against him, slowly at first, her wistful eyes never wavering from his own scorching gaze.  In a hoarse, ardent whisper, all that he can manage from the depths of his passionate haze, he offers, “I love you, sweetheart,” and squeezes her hands more tightly.

“Mmmm…”  Her breathing is ragged with desire, and she releases his hands to reach beneath voluminous skirts to touch herself as her body continues to move rhythmically against him.  He is vaguely aware of the primal scream of a red-tailed hawk soaring overhead as his scorching gaze hungrily beholds his ardent lover pleasuring herself over him, moist lips parted, eyes half-closed but still linked with his. 

All too soon, her thigh muscles begin to tremble with her efforts.  When he realizes she is exhausted, he clutches her small waist and gently lays her back upon the blanket.  When he bends one of her knees to her chest in a flurry of white petticoats and yellow skirts to expose her sex to him fully, she gasps at the sensation of cool air on her naked, burning flesh.  He begins slowly and gently, rocking her body with his rhythmic thrusts.  When her small panting breaths become whimpers of need, he fervently pounds into her aching center until he can no longer hold back.  His seed erupts hotly inside her, but she greedily clutches him, holding him inside her warmth, refusing to let him part from her just yet. 

He continues to gently grind against her sensitive mound, planting small kisses across her cheeks and eyes, nibbling at her lips lightly with his teeth until her own traitorous muscles begin contracting and push him out.  She gives a bereft moan at the loss of his comforting presence inside her, but he silences her with a hot, deep, open-mouthed kiss, his tongue sweeping insistently against her own.

Leaning heavily on one arm, he grasps her hand and guides it down to her swollen nub.  Together their combined fingers caress her secretly until she closes her eyes, throws her head back and shudders in complete abandon.  He slips a finger inside of her to experience her passion, reveling in the satiny tight contractions inside her body, and caresses an intimate spot that makes her cry out his name again and again.  She breathes deeply and lies unmoving until he kisses her parted lips gently.

“Sweetheart, would you rather we were going to that barn dance instead of being here?”  He puffs out an exhausted breath, collapsing on the quilt facing her and picking a wilted violet from her tousled tresses.

She sighs heavily and pushes her hair out of her eyes.  “Well, not if you’d planned on doing this at the dance,” she answers breathlessly, turning to mold her body to his and wriggle her skirts down to cover her nakedness.  “We might get arrested, Marshal Dillon.”

“For public indecency?”

“Something like that…”

“Miss Russell, I’d can’t think of anyone I’d rather see behaving indecently more than you.”  He smooths a damp lock of hair out of her face and caresses her flushed cheek with his thumb.

“Very funny, Cowboy.”

“I wasn’t kidding.”

“Think we can go on another picnic when you get back from Hays City?”  She playfully bites at an enticing spot on the soft, musky-scented skin of his neck.

“Ow!  You wildcat…”  He chuckles and nibbles at her ear for good measure.  “I’ll sure try, honey.  I’ll sure try.”

She licks her lips and asks innocently, “Champagne, anyone?”

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