Feral Heart

(Author's note: This story is an official entry into the 2013 Literotica Earth Day story contest. The inspiration for this tantalizing tale came to me as I was looking for ideas, and found a picture on Google of a woman who had tied herself to a tree in protest against forest clearing. The idea blossomed from there, further inspired when I caught a few moments of one of those vampire vs. werewolf movies on TV. Be forewarned, this is a long story, and not very sex-heavy. Still, I hope you enjoy this adventurous, sometimes gory, sometimes sexy tale of what can happen when you mess with nature.)

* * * *

Three Months Ago . . . .

Writhing upon the bed, clutching handfuls of cotton sheets, she panted into the pillow. Dress pushed up past her waist, back arched and hips lifted off the mattress, she reveled in the feel of his tongue as he serviced her from behind. He licked from her swelling clit, up through swollen pink folds, to her puckered anus, then back again.

"Oh, yes, give it to me," Melissa whimpered.

Ryan's response was a knowing chuckle. He gripped handfuls of her full, pale cheeks and pushed them apart before thrusting his tongue deep within Melissa's tunnel. His lover gasped, pushed back against his talented tongue.

He straightened, positioning himself behind her. His cock was fully engorged, throbbing with anticipation. "You're going to get it, all right," he declared, before shoving inside her, almost to the hilt.

A ragged cry escaped Melissa's lips at the sudden invasion. She started to push up onto her hands, but Ryan shoved her back down, a restraining hand at the back of her neck. His thrusts became harder, rougher, making her body tremble with each pounding intrusion.

"Is this what you wanted?" he breathed in her ear as he leaned over her. He nipped at her lobe. "You wanted to get fucked?"

But she could only grunt in response, wincing repeatedly.

He took her reticence as compliance, and lifted up, gathering a handful of long, thick dark hair. She gasped again as her head was pulled back, and struggled to compensate. His loins slapped against hers loudly. The cloying aroma of sex swirled through the air.

Abruptly, Ryan pulled out, cock shiny with his lover's fluid, and rolled her onto her back. She stared up at him with a mixture of arousal and apprehension. His body was impressive, nicely muscular, bearing the scars of a hard-lived life. Melissa usually found him rakishly sexy, but there were times, such as now, that he all but frightened her.

Spreading her thighs wide with his hands, Ryan descended upon her sex, sucking a mouthful of slick, pink flesh. She gasped loudly and ground against him. But after only a few moments, he was once more spearing roughly inside her, sinking his cock all the way in before pulling it almost all the way out. Melissa panted for breath, especially given the way her legs were pushed back with her knees nearly at her shoulders.

He suddenly began driving into her faster and faster, leaning upon her body, smacking his hips against hers. She grimaced through it all, even as her body began to respond. Her vaginal muscles squeezed and clenched his cock. When she came, she could only gasp and thrash, her world spinning in random circles.

Awareness barely returned to Melissa when she realized Ryan was straddling her chest now. The fragrance of her orgasm was strong upon his offered cock. She normally did not enjoy the taste of herself, especially when it was so pungent, but she offered no protest when he took her head in his hands and slipped his cock into her mouth. Brow furrowing at the flavor that soaked into her tongue, she nonetheless suckled him, allowing him to use her mouth as he had her pussy.

A thankful sigh left her mouth when Ryan pulled back, sliding down her body to position himself between her legs once more. He entered her with ease and smothered her body with his own, rutting and rolling atop her body. Melissa clutched him with arms and legs, winced as she felt his teeth nipping her neck.

At last, he pushed himself up on his arms, looking down upon his lover with an almost wild, feral look as he savagely thrust into her again and again. She could not meet his gaze, and squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the end.

When he finally came, bellowing his release to the world, she trembled beneath him, glad that it was over.

* * * *

She was taking longer in the shower than usual, Ryan noticed. He personally preferred not to shower after sex; the lingering aromas, the stickiness of the skin, the slowly-fading taste in his mouth were all part of the experience. Melissa had commented on that a few times, but had learned to accept it during the few months they had been dating.

A frown decorated his face when she finally emerged, not only clean, but dressed as well. A sheepish expression blanketed her fresh-scrubbed face.

"I thought you were staying," he said.

She took a breath, casting her glance aside. "Ryan . . . it's too much."

"What do you mean, 'too much?'"

Melissa fidgeted in the doorway of the bathroom, fingers playing along the strap of her handbag. "It's like . . . every time we make--" she huffed, corrected herself. "Every time we have sex, it gets rougher and rougher."

He smiled roguishly. "I thought you liked it rough."

"Sometimes," she admitted. "But, babe, it's honestly starting to scare me. You leave bruises and marks on me. Some of my friends think you're hurting me."

He looked insulted, but also concerned. "Am I?" he asked, sitting up in the bed. "Am I really hurting you?"

She softened, stepped to the edge of the bed. "You don't mean to," she said in a small voice. "At least, I don't think you do."

Ryan fell quiet a moment, looking down at the rumpled sheets. "I get carried away sometimes," he said, then gave Melissa a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry, but I don't think I can help it."

She shook her head sadly. "I don't think you can, either." She leaned across the bed to place a tender kiss on his lips, then straightened and turned to the door. "Good-bye, Ryan."

He said nothing as she left. He listened to her sniffles, the click of her heels across the floor, the opening and closing of the creaking door. With a heartfelt sigh, he reached for the pack of cigarettes by the bed and lit one up.

Another one bites the dust, he mused.

Now . . . .

"Excuse me, sir, but we've got a problem."

Martin Milton looked up from his desk in the small, wood-walled trailer. He was a heavyset man, and despite his ruddy face and naturally gruff appearance, his clothes belied a life used to indulgence. "I don't like hearing things like that, Billy."

The young man in his inexpensive suit shifted uncomfortably as he stood in the doorway. "I know, sir, but the main crew just called in. They, uh --" his features twisted slightly as he tried to conceal his mirth. "They've got something in the way."

Milton sighed in annoyance. "Don't tell me some tree-hugging cunt got herself tied to a fucking tree or some shit."

Billy twitched. "Um, well, actually, sir . . . that's pretty much exactly what's happened."

"God damn it!" roared Milton, rotund frame lurching up behind the desk. "Fuck those God damned fucking hippie mother fuckers!"

Billy fidgeted, waiting for his employer's tirade to subside. He had seen enough of them over the years to know how to deal with them.

After nearly half a minute of expletive-laced ranting, Milton pinched the bridge of his nose and took several deep breaths, letting each one out slowly. Finally, his smallish eyes opened. "You didn't call Richard, did you?" he asked in a forcibly calm tone.

"No, sir," Billy answered. "This might be something you want to see for yourself."

Milton frowned, chubby face souring. "The fuck's that supposed to mean?"

Billy just waited.

Finally, Milton sighed and reached for his cowboy hat. "This better be worth the trip."

* * * *

The Jeep rumbled to a stop upon a freshly-turned dirt path more than a mile from the logging company's base camp. Bulldozers and cranes sat quiet all around, their chipped and weathered yellow paint standing out in stark contrast to the lush green of the forest. The air was a bit cooler here than in the base camp, but no less humid. With the onset of spring, the air had become thick and cloying. Milton hated it. At least in his home state of Texas, the heat was not quite as oppressive as it was in these Georgia foothills.

He followed his assistant from the Jeep, trudging up an incline just steep enough to make his feet ache in his expensive boots and the air to torture his lungs. Ahead, the assembled company of loggers were gathered at the edge of the forest, forming a semi-circle before a large, stately old pine. The tree was easily twice as broad as any around it and towered well over a hundred feet in height.

"All right, what in the fucking hell's got you all lollygagging up here?" Milton roared, gaining the attention of the crowd of men. Most gave him curious smirks and chuckles, and stepped aside as the company boss approached. "We ain't got time to mess with some tree-hugging cu--"

But Milton's caustic words slipped away as the assemblage parted, affording him the view that had captivated his men.

She stood against the rough bark of the tree, head held high in defiance despite the fact that her wrists were confined by crude-looking manacles. The chain attached to them wrapped around the impressive girth of the tree, with an obvious amount of slack that would allow her to sit if she so desired. Yet she stood, almost as if proud of her predicament.

But it was not to her apparently haughty attitude that Milton was attracted. It was her state of dress. Or rather, undress.

She was fully nude, and obviously comfortably so. Her skin was a rich bronze, contrasted by long, flowing golden hair that hung free around her head, only partially obscuring the view of perfectly-formed, full round breasts that sat high and proud on her chest. The hue of the hair on her head was perfectly matched by the golden thatch that covered her pubic mound. Even her eyebrows were of the same, sun-kissed color. She stood nearly as tall as most of the men ogling her, with obvious but not unseemly musculature just beneath the skin.

"--unt," Milton finally finished, after drinking in the sight before him. He made no effort to conceal his interest in the nude nymph. Never had he seen such a beautiful woman, not in print, not in his fantasies. Even Martin Milton, gruff as he was, found himself stunned.

To his credit, however, he made the supreme effort to regain his composure. Stepping forward from the throng of men, he approached the woman. "All right, sweetheart," he growled. "Nice twist going jaybird, but it ain't gonna help you none. We own this land, and all you're gonna do is get your pretty blonde snatch thrown in jail. Bitch and moan and tell me I'm the fucking devil for--"

Her words interrupted him. "You own nothing," she spat. "Not even your soul."

Milton chuckled, slipping off his hat to wipe his brow. "Well, ma'am, you're right about that. God owns my soul, and I been a good Christian all my life. But I ain't in the fucking mood to talk religion with you." He straightened and cast a look back over his shoulder. "Get some fucking bolt cutters over here and cut these fucking chains!"

"They have already tried," she said in an even tone. "No tool of man can cut these chains."

Milton turned back to her with a tired and annoyed look. "Hope you don't mind me proving you wrong."

One of the loggers stepped forward, not bothering to hide his admiration for the naked woman's body. "Uh, Mr. Milton, we tried cutting through them. Damn things must be titanium or something."

Milton scowled. "So get a saw!" he snapped. "Or burn it! Or cut down the fucking tree!"

Billy darted up. "Sir, they've already tried everything," he said. "And they can't cut down the tree when she's chained to it."

Milton snarled. "It's just fucking chain!" he cried. "Cut it off! I'm not gonna get behind schedule because some pot-smoking hippie fucking bitch wants to save the God damned planet!"

"Not that easy," said another man, coming forward with a jig saw in hand. He was older, seasoned. "I got the strongest fucking blade on this thing, and it didn't do beans to that damn chain. Just made a shitload of sparks."

Milton regarded the deformed blade on the jigsaw, then convulsed in anger. "Fuck!" He lurched toward the naked woman, slapping his hands to either side of her head upon the tree. Surprisingly, she did not flinch, staring back undaunted.

"Okay, playtime's over, bitch," Milton hissed. "You got yourself in these chains, you can get out. Pull the key outta your cooch or ass or wherever the fuck it is, but get it out. If you can't reach it, tell me where it is and I'll get it."

She remained impressively calm. "I did not place these chains upon myself, and there is no key. I desire freedom as much as you wish me gone, but there is only one way to release these bonds. Although, given your intentions here . . . I cannot say I am all too willing to be freed just yet."

Milton hung his head, allowing himself a choice view of the woman's perfect body. Her skin was absolutely flawless, he noticed; not a mark, blemish or birthmark to be seen.

"You know, honey," he said at last, lifting his head to meet her gaze. "You really should have thought this whole chaining-yourself-naked-to-a-tree plan out. I've got a dozen men and more right behind me that probably haven't seen pussy like yours in a really long time, so unless you want to have a really bad day . . . ."

But even in the face of the threat of rape, the blonde woman only smiled. It was a cold, wicked expression. "Any man who attempts to touch me without my consent will wish for an eternity in Hell before I am through with him," she hissed.

Milton chuckled darkly. "Just empty words, darlin'," he said.

She glared back. "Try it," she said harshly. "I have enough of my powers left to make good on my threat."

The pudgy man's brow furrowed in confused irritation. "'Powers?'" he asked. "What the fuck you talking about?"

She avoided his question. "It is not me you should be concerning yourself with," she said. "It is the one named Steven."

"Oh, I get it," chuckled the rotund man. "Got yourself a partner, huh? I'm guessing he's out there spiking marked trees, maybe gonna do a Rambo run on our equipment in the middle of the night? Not gonna happen, babe, 'cause we--"

"No," she said, cutting him off. "He will kill you. All of you."

Milton cocked his head, glaring. "Now you're crossing the line, girlie," he growled. "I don't take lightly to threats."

"It is not my threat, but his," she responded. "He has taken some of my power, and it has corrupted him. I know not how long it will take before he finishes the transformation, but I do know that he despises you even more than I do, and that hatred will make him come after you and your men. The only way to stop him, and free me, is to slay him." She let her words sink in, then glanced around at the other men. A cruel smile stretched across the woman's lips as her eyes returned to Milton's. "And I see none among you, especially yourself, capable of such an act."

Milton's face twisted in anger. He bushed himself back and once more pinched the bridge of his nose. "I got no time for this shit," he remarked at last. He turned away and shouted. "Billy! Get Richard on the horn! We gotta get someone out here and fast!"

* * * *

Heavy hands dragged down his face as Ryan Welch sat on the edge of his bed. He could still feel the effects of the previous night's alcohol that yet lingered in his body. He licked sticky, yet dry lips and looked around the bedroom of the small trailer which he called 'home.' A fan warbled in an open window; the cheap version of air conditioning. A musty aroma lingered in the air.

He reached a tired hand to the stack of unpacked cardboard boxes beside the bed which served as a nightstand, took up a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. The metal cap of the Zippo rang open before he flicked a flame to life. He sucked in nicotine, snapped the lighter closed, and fell back on the bed.

Gotta stop killing yourself, Ry, he told himself. Melissa's not coming back. None of them ever do.

The phone beside the cigarettes chirped.

Ryan groaned and made the effort to sit up once more. He reached for the offensive device. What now? he thought.

A message awaited him. He tapped the screen to call it up, held the phone to his ear.

"Ryan, it's Brett. We need to pull you from your normal rotation. Looks like there's a situation we need you to check out. Look in your email. Call me if you have any questions."

He slapped the phone to his thigh, noting the time. It was almost noon. Figures, he mused. I get a few days off, and they want to call me back in. They're almost as bad as the Army.

With a grunt, he pushed up from the bed and headed to the desk, the only other piece of furniture he owned other than the cheap wooden stand upon which sat the TV. He tapped the fingerpad on his laptop, making the screen flash alive. A few clicks and he was in his government email account. He stooped to read what had been sent him, eyes darkening before an amused smirk stretched his lips.

A naked woman tied to a tree, he thought. What is this? 1968?

The address given him was around eighty miles away.

He headed to the bathroom for a shower and shave, then dressed in his Fish and Wildlife Service uniform. Given the humidity of Georgia, he chose the shorts and short-sleeved shirt as opposed to the more formal uniform. Lastly, he clipped the badge and his pistol in a simple leather holster to his belt. Taking up his Mountie-esque hat, he headed to the door.

* * * *

It was after two in the afternoon when Ryan's government-issued truck arrived at the logging company base camp. A large wooden sign, the size of a small house, proclaimed "Milton Logging and Land Clearing," in massive red letters against a yellow backdrop. Beneath that, it read, "Professionalism and Efficiency Since 1994."

The base camp consisted of a series of rather simple-looking trailers. Numerous vehicles -- mostly trucks and Jeeps -- sat parked around the trailers. There were large flatbed trucks, tractor rigs, and other pieces of heavy machinery sitting around. More than a dozen men were collected beneath a pair of large tents with the sides removed. They watched as Ryan's government truck rolled in. Some of them were already grinning in anticipation.

Finding the office for the site was simple enough; it was the largest trailer and had the word "OFFICE" painted in red letters on the side. After parking, Ryan headed up to the steps and rapped on the door.

A slender man in a white polo answered the door and instantly smiled in relief. "Oh, good," he said, stepping back.

Ryan chuckled. "Nice to meet you, too."

The man blushed and held out his hand. "My apologies," he said. "It's been a long day already. I'm William Kitchen, assistant to Mr. Milton. Call me Billy."

"Ryan Welch," answered Ryan, shaking Billy's hand.

"That better be that God damned Fish and Wildlife guy!" roared a voice from beyond an open door.

Ryan cocked an eyebrow and glanced to Billy. "Mr. Milton?"

Billy nodded. "He's, uh, a little obnoxious. He's from Texas."

Ryan frowned. "So am I."

The slender man awkwardly glanced away.

"Well, God damn am I glad they sent someone out here today," grumbled Milton as he wobbled into the room. Ryan couldn't help but be amused by the man's obvious Texas swagger. He even wore a bolo tie. "I'm Martin Milton. This is my operation."

Ryan nodded. "I gathered that. Nice big sign you've got out there."