It’s a short drive to the cabin in the woods. I know you were here yesterday, readying the cabin, stocking it with food and drinks for our time here.
Looking around, I quickly take in the table and chairs, wood burning stove, the bedroom through the doors. It’s going to be even more private in the winter.
You watch as I set our bags down. I can sense your nervousness, even though you know what’s going to happen.
A drink, a kiss. Your hair tangled in my hand, your head pulled back, you feel control leaving you, flowing into me, mine. My teeth on your neck, your skirt pulled up by my hand, the smooth skin of your thighs against my fingertips as they stroke upwards, finding your knickers. Wet. Soft inside. Yielding to my pressure, my fingers moving on you, pressing the material against you, into you.
Taking the strength from you, taking what’s left of your control, taking your orgasm from you as I hold your body up against me.
Your breathing slows, becomes more regular as I hold you safe, but as it does and before you can quite gather yourself, you’re turned away from me, bent at the waist, pushed forward until your shoulders rest on the bed. You feel my firm hand on your back, there’s no fight in it, just command. As the pressure leaves your back, the idea of moving doesn’t even enter your mind.
You hear my footsteps on the wooden floor as I move to my box. A smile forms on your beautiful lips as you listen for the sound of me opening it, knowing what I’m taking out. Footsteps on floorboards again, my hands on you back, something hard, slender in one of them as you feel them stroke over your body, lower, reaching your bottom. The hard slender knife, you knew it was a knife, resolves to a point between the cheeks of your bottom, pressing inward, cutting a hole in the back of your dress. A hole large enough for my fingers to push inside and tear your dress open.
You feel the thin line of your knickers moved aside, and cold steel against your bottom. Blunt, this time. Blunt and cold, wet from my mouth to lubricate it slightly, pushing slowly at you before you yield and allow the plug to open you, enter you for the first time, before you close around it, holding it in place.
The long fake fur tail adding some weight, tickling you, rests over your thighs.
“Thank you, Mister,”
You know later you’ll have my cock where the plug is, feel it’s warmth instead, feel it pulsing when I come inside you, but you know what we’ve come to the woods for. You know I’m going to hunt you, catch you, take possession of you. But as I stand you up and turn you toward me, holding the knife in one hand, duct-tape in the other, a long belt over my shoulders as well as the one around my waist, you know too, there’s something you’ll have to do if I’m to hunt and catch you.
You know what’ll happen when I catch you.
So when you see the glint in my eye, and you hear my instruction, you don’t hesitate.
© Charles Rochester 2016