In Nothing but my Shoes

We were in the woods like we had been so many times before. Either on quaint picknicks, heartfelt hikes, or when you took my womanhood for the first time.

This time we were by a creek, something you know that I loved, and the air was just brisk enough to be bearable by the light of the sun. We had been together for years and yet sometimes it felt as though we were still brand new to each other. It was conversations like these in the woods, where I told you how I'd like it if you hurt me. And you admitted that hurting me would excite you. We didn't know then about rules, or safewords, or dangers. We just knew we needed something the other was willing to give.

"Take off all of your clothes, except your shoes," he told me. I shivered. It was in part from the cold, and in part from excitement. Oh yes, I was excited, my chest was tight, my pussy throbbing. The road was within sight, anyone driving down could certainly see us. And yet, I stripped.

"Get in the creek," he said. Putting my feet in was the worst. Then putting my ass in was the worst. Then he pressed my chest down until I was completely submerged, and that was the worst. It felt like barely-melt snow, colder than freezing, my limbs were tight with the tension of teeth-chattering, tear-breaking, breath-stealing cold. I hate the cold, and here I was, held down in the creek by you.

You released the tension and I broke up out of the water like a breaching dolphin, flipping upward and outward. I was bursting forth, in need of some way to expend some energy, and you gave it to me with one word.

"Run."

My shoes were soaked, but I noticed this the least. The wind against my skin, the heavy thud of my breasts against my body, my thighs shifting with the impact, my arms pumping forward. I was a spirit, a nymph, a corporeal seductress. I was all of these things, as well as prey.

I heard branches snapping and I knew you were chasing me. There are few things in this world that I love more than to be chased by you. I run for the fear of getting caught because I know when I get caught, there will be pain, and yet I would not have started this game if that was not the intention I expected to receive.

You catch me easily, you are faster, stronger, and you have all your clothes on. Not for long, as you shove your pants down just enough to release your cock as you pin me to a tree. The bark is hard, and it digs into me, scratching me, I know I must be bleeding in some places, and the water has washed what lubrication I had to begin with, and you press me harder, forcing your way inside. I know you love this, the resistance of forcing your hard cock into my tight pussy. It hurts for a few painful seconds until you drag the fucked up part of me that desires this kind of insanity right out of me and your cock is lubed in the messed up layers of my desire to be fucked by you in the woods against a tree.

Every thrust is agony, so I don't understand why I'm coming, so hard, it's running down my thighs and down your balls. If it hurts why do I hug the tree harder? If it hurts why am I screaming 'yes' instead of 'stop'?

I don't have the answers yet, but when you finish you pull me from the tree and we sit in the dirt together panting, letting the sun warm my frigid flesh.

"Are you ok?" you whisper. Because that is who you are, you take care of me, even when I'm being a freak. I nod. I am ok. I am cut up, bleeding, and cold, and much better than ok. Are you ok? I've asked you to hurt me and I know I'll do it again. Will you be ok then—-the time after that? Please say you will be, that you can match my inner freak, that you can give me all the things I'm ashamed to tell you that I need.

You squeeze my hand.

"Let's go get you some clothes," you say, and you help me up like the gentleman you are.

"Yes please," I say. Because I'm freezing and nothing sounds better than being in the warm cab. I dress. You blast the heaters even though I'm sure you're not cold at all. How could you be, after chasing me through the woods, in nothing but my shoes.