A Trip to the Stream

She eased out of the back door into the breeze of the night air, carefully quiet, listening for a break in the snores. The guilt of the need less than the need itself. The porch light switch on the small cabin remained in the off position. She liked it that way. Her amber eyes were accustomed to the darkness, they disappeared into it like a safe abode. As she padded along in her bare feet, the pine needles on the forest path dug into the arch of her feet; the tiny stings a welcome feeling in what had become a life of inhibitions. The half moon smiled at her and she knew that soon her heart would calm.

She needed the water, the peace, the stars to stare into her eyes. Her pace on the path quickened as the gurgling of water became audible. The blue cotton of her night slip made her pale skin appear translucent in the moonbeams. The platinum of her collar flashing in the light, reflecting her movement up into the treetops. She felt translucent in the days but at night, alone, in the stream, she became more. She became what she once was, she became her memories, their memories.

Maneuvering up and over an outcropping of boulders, she came upon an overlook. Above, a quick rushing of water over rock; just below, a sandy bar where the water ran into a more peaceful flow; the white swirl between the two, her destination. Quietly, descending to the waters edge and stepping out of the clothes of her bondage, her lips curved softly up. Her mind, flowed easily with the water; her body, already responding to the anticipation of it's caress. The moisture in her beginning to flow, preparing her.

As she waded into the current, she felt the eyes of the animals around her. They knew her, they understood her rituals, her needs. They accepted her exactly as she was. And yet, they still could not provide for her. The small inconspicuous hairs in the arch of her spine stood on end with the bite of the cold water. The breeze combined with the water caused her nipples to harden to stiff peaks. She rubbed them in slow circles. She loved her breasts. They were full and deep with their round circles a pale, pale pink. He used to devour her breasts. She breathed deep, remembering, and then blew out.

Her ass still showed the two distinct hand prints of his swats that night. She could feel the raised indentations of both marks, each one a reminder of their past connection, a link in the chain of what once had been, what had been burned away with a bullet. The lust in his eyes had been unmistakable. A rare and almost unwelcome request, she wouldn't ever say no to him. She always wanted more; and yet, he could not meet her needs any longer. Her strong amazing Dom, the man she had knelt before and promised her submission for a lifetime, broken. Her eyes began to water and she quickly brushed them away, rubbing hard.

Before the shooting, he had made her body sing. Her pussy still longed for the days when his hands and mouth would cover it, playing it like an instrument in the symphony of sex. His ropes, holding her still while the assault of the his cane on her feet made her scream in agony. She fantasized of the Florentine floggers working her over and over until her skin thrummed with the thuds of each and every Thwack. She could still, on occasion feel them swiping across her butt cheeks or slapping her upper thighs when she meditated. She focused on that, trying to recapture the feeling.

Now his desire had faded like his hair and his mass. His strength a wisp of what it was before he went overseas. He was becoming the shadow of which she had been warned.

She no longer thought of him while at the stream, instead imagining a dark haired man she had seen in a convenience store on the way home from a doctors visit. The guilt weighed on her. The humiliation he looked at her with as he morphed before her eyes, becoming hers, as she longed for another to fulfill her.

As she arranged herself in the water, she pictured those briefly seen eyes staring into hers. The wetness of her sculpted bush grew as the water began to heighten her excitement. She spread her thighs feeling the stream glide over her shivering clit. The round bud growing, pulsing under the stars. She slid her hand between her lips allowing the water a closer brush with her sweet pink flower as her toes began to tightly curl.

She imagined the strange mans hands as he held the six pack of beer, so strong and steady. In her mind they were moving up and down inside of her as she stroked herself; those pitch black eyes piercing into her like a cock. His hands moving up and down, up and down. Faster and Faster. Already her breath was coming more quickly. She needed to release. The sand on her ass slid back and forth as though sandpaper being driven by the bucking of her hips. An audible moan escaped her lips, frightening an owl off a nearby branch.

As she envisioned her dark haired lover fucking her roughly, his hand at the scruff of her neck, she came hard and strong, her inside walls quaking with release. At the same time a shooting star slid across the sky.

Her breathing calming, she sighed. He only allowed one. Padding back to the cabin carrying her night slip, she wondered about the star. Had it been real or a figment of her fantasy? She was sure it was a figment, and yet, who's to say. It could have been real, couldn't it?