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As I exited the woods, hopped over the fence onto my property, and felt my jitters recede once I was in safe territory, my mind spun with the possibilities.
Could he have been a vagabond on the run from the law? Why else would he be in the woods away from civilization? Perhaps he’s a lawman on the prowl for ne’er-do-wells. A knight in shining armor or a wolf in sheep’s clothing?
He was exceedingly tall, burly, and handsome, which made my body twist inside, a knot of something I didn’t recognize seeding deep in my belly.
The mystery, menace, and intrigue of the man made me recall the thoughts of my “womanly softness.” I found myself wanting to retreat to my room, to explore those vivacious urges I often felt alone in the quiet hours of morning or the looming hours of night.
Perhaps I can give myself some release before Uncle Gregory arrives. Even as I tried to dash the thought away, I found my desires rising. I was frustrated, pent-up, curious.
One thing was certain: The hunter had allowed me to forget my near-death experience with the boar, for a little while. Seeing the confusion on his face when he confronted my “brother” gave me a perverse sense of control and wickedness that had me feeling powerful. It wasn’t often I felt powerful.
The dynamic of my morbid curiosity, mixed with the sheer gallantry and danger the hunter represented, plus the blood-pumping experience of the boar, shot my lustful cravings to new heights.
While marching through the field, I imagined riding his face. Thighs parted, the stranger’s tongue lapping the wetness between my legs. Strong fingers embedding in my soft, pale flesh. Hurriedly yanking my pants down over the swell of my ass, taking me in a fit of uncontrollable passion below the husks of wheatgrass.
My face felt flush by the time I reached the trellis on the side of the manor. I struggled to climb it to the roof as my thoughts became more pervasive and penetrating.
Penetrating . . . I wistfully repeated the word in my head once I slipped in through the open aperture, into the confines of my bedroom.
I chewed my lip, scanning the room, unsure what I was looking for. My blood pumped ravenously in my veins. The boar and the man had misaligned my humors, I was certain.
I found myself plopping onto the edge of the bed. Blinking at my murky reflection in the bronze mirror. Tapping my boots on the floor.
Glancing over my shoulder conspiratorially, I let out a heaving sigh. Watched as my breasts rose and fell in the reflection. I imagined myself fuller in the chest, cleavage pushed together by an elegant gown—something I owned but preferred not to wear. I pictured my body filled out, my thin arms lush with color, my thighs thick.
I envisioned the hunter on his knees, behind me on the bed, staring over my shoulder at our reflection. His hand cupped the thin column of my neck, hollowing my throat as he pressed and smiled deviously in the mirror.
I’d always had a vivid imagination. It helped me in certain situations.
When I looked down from the mirror and the potent mirage on his knees behind me, my pants were to my knees. I couldn’t remember when I had pulled them down, or if I had.
My left hand cupped my breast through my tunic, pinching my hard nipple, twisting and teasing. My right hand skittered down past my soft belly. I was slick and wet and sticky with arousal. When my thumb brushed over my engorged clit, my lips folded into my mouth to hold back my moan.
I reclined on the bed, no longer needing the mirror to fuel my fantasies. Staring up at the ceiling, I rubbed the tight nerves and lightning tore through my insides. I lifted my feet from the floor, putting my boots on the bed as I bent my knees—decorum be damned. Two fingers curved inside my slick cunt and reveled in the warmth as I played with myself, while rubbing my clit in slow circles, as I’d taught myself.
The hunter peered down at me, upside down in my vision, smiling wickedly. He whispered sweet nothings into my ear, encouraging me, coaxing me. When I blinked he was at my legs, spreading them apart.
I was riding my hand now, urgent and desperate. My hips bucked as I fucked the air and imagined the tall man’s thick cock replacing my thin fingers.
Another finger slipped inside and my eyes rolled as I tried to maintain my composure. The little death was arriving like a tidal wave hellbent on breaking down the dam that protected me. My insides were the unsuspecting little hamlet and my climax the remorseless waves set to bring everything to destruction.
The man was lifting my legs now, onto his shoulders, ordering me to obey like a good girl. “Give me every inch of your cunt and I might let you go,” he told me. “I might give you the freedom you crave.”
I shook my head, whimpering behind tightly locked lips. Flaring my nostrils as another trill of desire and need sifted through me, clawing up my spine and blossoming in my belly.
My thighs shook. My legs kicked, obediently submitting to the hunter who could snap me like a twig.
I slammed my eyes shut and gave myself to the tidal wave as it crashed through every inch of my being, starting at the surface before diving deep inside me.
My lips tore open, a moan passed through them. “Oh God!” I cried. “Please let me go, sir, and I’ll let you do anything to me!”
The eruption shot light behind my lids, like a constellation of stars that quickly dimmed as I rode the orgasm to completion and felt my fluids coat my hand.
When I pulled my fingers out of my tender seam, my body trembled with aftershocks. I flopped over to my side, rolling into a fetal position as the final moments of my climax washed over. With my arousal came thoughts of death, life, and blood—the boar, killed before my eyes; the hunter, a monument of virility.
Perhaps I was damaged, thinking such awful things in such lewd ways. It wasn’t something I particularly felt like exploring at that moment—the drive to reduce myself to a beast and forgo all my earthly possessions and willpower for the sake of sheer pleasure.
To me, there was a difference between submission and acceptance. I didn’t accept the suitors my father sent my way, or men as a whole. The ones in my town were a disappointment, as far as I was concerned. Children trapped in young men’s bodies.
