In the Beginning

The Bavarian Hunter, a gast haus owned by friends, is as easily familiar to all of us as our own homes. Veronica glances around at the nine of them, sitting on the huge open deck next to a blazing fire. Surrounded by the glow of good friends, good wine and wonderful conversation, she basks in contentment, sprawled lazily, belly down, on a long wooden bench, happy that all is well with the world.

It is sheer irony that her world is poised on a cusp, completely unknown to her.

She turns her face away from the heat of the fire, glancing out at the horses. Indigo’s white blaze glows eerily from the middle of the grassy field, the rest of his black body disappearing into the shadows, liquid eyes reflecting golden in the shimmering firelight. Watching him approach as if sensing her thoughts he ducks his big head low to the bars, back and forth, a low, quiet rumble, one of greeting that issues quietly through the crisp night air.

Startled, she realizes she’s had far more wine than is normally her habit, her senses taking several moments to focus on the dark form sitting on the bottom rail of the fence. She can see the ghostly pale of a palm, reaching out to stroke the sleek black nose lightly, and in a momentary flare of the fire she can see the other hand wrapped around something round. Something sweet and edible to judge from Indy’s greedy acceptance and soft, grumbled whicker.

He blends with the shadows nearly as well as the horse, his black jeans and dark blue shirt making him almost invisible, the only thing giving him away is the white band of beads around the tops of his moccasins. Veronica admits she’s been admiring the moccasins all evening; long, knee high and obviously hand beaded with traditional Sioux patterns in greens, blues and blacks.

They’d gone to college together, just like everyone here tonight, but had always shared ties that brought them closer, intimately closer and, sadly, had separated them from each other in the end. One was an interest in Native American traditions and culture, the other a heartfelt compassion for the plight of the North American timber wolf.

They’d wound up pursuing their interests in different directions, Stosh heading out to the Nez Perce country (Idaho) to rejuvenate the dying wolf population on tribal lands. She’d chosen to pursue the Universities study program in the Boundary Waters, studying breeding habits, habitat and population of the magnificent beast in northern Minnesota.

*****

She’d been late, as usual; or more accurately, later than usual, riding in an hour after the party started, but still in plenty of time for cocktails. She’d freed Indigo from his gear and into the paddock, piling everything on the hitching post and leaned up against the fence for a moment, enjoying Indigo’s playful abandon with LeeAnne’s mare Beauty, when muscular arms slipped around her waist squeezing lightly, strong hands pinning her smaller hands to the fence on each side of their bodies. She’d cried out, softly, startled, Indigo’s head turning in their direction, ears going flat to his head as he barreled past Beauty in her direction. She’d felt warm lips nuzzle the tender skin of her neck and arched backwards, turning her head toward the figure behind her.

“Stand still.” The quiet decisive command issued between them in tones as familiar as her own and her body recognized them too. She also registered intriguing differences in bulk and mass, relaxing into his grip as Indigo pulled to an outraged halt in front of them. With both hands pinned to the rail her resources were limited to a soft, soothing voice and the gentle blow of her breath against flaring equine nostrils, her eyes staring intently into the distrustfully rolling black eyes in front of her.

“What a beautiful animal,” she was amused to hear his tone, but not surprised. Indy was a stud with a rare blend of temperament and striking good looks, just like the man behind her.

“Well, thank you Sir,” Veronica’s playful voice teased with a faux southern drawl, turning his statement into a double entendre as she twisted in his grip toward him, her back against the rough wood of the corral. There was, for just a moment, a gleam she didn’t understand deep in his eyes, and then it disappeared.

“You never could follow directions and I was talking about the horse behind you,” his voice, amused and confident, was deeper than she remembered, and held an inflection she didn’t quite know how to take. His grip opened to accommodate her new position before tightening around her wrists briefly before he dropped them altogether. A small part of her shivered and regretted the loss of his touch.

Indigo’s heavy breathing blew her long blonde hair into disarray while he settled his jaw lightly against her head, turning those huge malevolent eyes on Stosh with open hostility. “Compliments will get you nowhere with this beast,” she laughed, turning to the right and kissing Indy’s velvet muzzle. “I think he’s jealous.”

“He’s yours?” His eyes never left the horse’s, his stare just as intent as Indigo’s while he raised a hand slowly toward his nose. Her own rose with his in concern before his stiffened posture made her retract it. Surprisingly, Indy allowed his touch, once, before he shook him off and headed back toward Beauty.

“Well, I guess I’m kind of his, really.” Another chuckle and she watched in fascination as Stosh’s eyes turned to hers, intently, searching, before his mouth turned up at the corners, laughter lighting those deep black eyes; his smile, the white teeth gleaming against copper skin, perfect and stunning.

“You were always so independent, I can’t believe I’m hearing that from you.” Somehow, the amusement in those eyes contained the hint of something…a shadow unknown and unrecognized and it brought a thrill of excitement coursing through her senses.

“Well, he’s bigger than I am.” She shrugged, brushing away the twinge of unease, unsettled.

“Is that what it takes?” Now, definitely, there was meaning between the lines as his eyes searched hers deeply for a moment, finally pulling back and away with a sigh. “Come on, you’re late as usual,” his tone was neutral, one hand grabbed hers pulling her toward the deck, two strides to his one. Rounding the upper landing, his body swung into hers, lithesome and graceful like a predator, his face descending in a brief, hungry kiss. “I’ve missed you, Kashna.” The old endearment brings a lump to her throat - Lakhota for beloved – and then the group welcomed them.

*****

Gazing quietly up into the night sky from her sprawl she reflects sadly how little they’d said to each other since then. Reaching for her wineglass she picks it up foolishly by the rim, staring into space, and of course it breaks, a shard cutting deeply into the soft flesh of her thumb. Jerking her hand away with a startled gasp of dismay, she drops the remaining pieces. As they fall, Stosh’s tall, masculine form appears like a ghost at her side, one powerful hand grabbing her wrist. Her senses flood with confusion, realizing he’d climbed the decking in front of her to appear so suddenly…and that he’d been watching her from the shadow.

“Let me see.” His voice is tight with concern as he kneels beside her, strong fingers stroking her wrist soothingly as he uncurls her fingers from their protective wrap around the damaged digit.

Veronica looks at him, surprise and a shy happy glow lighting her features. God she misses his touch. His fingers are delicate, opening her clenched hand gently, eyes focusing on the half inch slice across the tip of her thumb, a splinter of glass shining from within the cut. She eyes the shard with concern, pulling back against his grip and he tightens his fingers, staying her hand. “Hold still girl. It’s not deep, but there’s glass inside it yet. Stay put.”

Rising in an easy, fluid movement he disappears inside returning quickly with a band-aid and a bottle of peroxide. “Trust me?” His voice holds that amused note again, but his eyes are intent.

“As always…do your worst.” She closes her eyes thinking he has always known what to say and how, to get the reaction he’s looking for...she just wishes she knew what it was he was looking for, in her, tonight.

The whole process was quick, almost painless, the peroxide cold and soothing, his fingers wrapping the band-aid around it before she even opens her eyes.

Rolling on her side on the bench, his face now only inches from hers she watches his smile as he hears her breath audibly catch while he lowers his face to hers. She parts her lips slowly, hoping to prolong the kiss, his teeth lightly biting her full bottom lip before his tongue brushes hers. Stosh’s hands on her shoulders are hot, easing her onto her back as the kiss deepens, soft moans spilling from her mouth to his. His fingers, warm and rough with calluses, grip the curves of her shoulders before traveling over the soft skin of her throat, circling it with both hands, then dropping firmly to each breast, squeezing lightly. She trembles beneath an onslaught of old feelings and new ones, her mouth eager on his, his lips sending shudders of aching need shimmering through her belly.

“Hah! I told you so!” LeeAnne’s voice, clear and amused, echoes across the deck from the other side of the fireplace.

“What took you so long, you old coyote?” The voice of the young man who arrived later, one of Stosh’s friends, drifts up softly, a little closer to them.

Breaking the kiss, his eyes mirror her desire and reflect his reluctance to do so above a wry smile of chagrin. Stosh’s warm hand grabs hers, pulling her up to a sitting position, squeezing her uninjured hand, a promise of more to come, his other hand splayed across her lower belly as if sensing the heat pooling there. His thumb, lost in the dark shadows of the night, presses lightly against the apex of her thighs, finding with old, familiar skill, the sensual button at the crown of her sex and turning it on in one small stroke. Her eyes widen, pinned to his, the soft twinge of pain from her bandaged thumb radiating upwards, mingling with a pleasure so sudden and so intense that her eyes widen in helpless response, kiss swollen lips parting in a low moan. He watches intently as each emotion plays over her face, the chemistry apparent to all, and again, something unspoken but vibrant with promise, a gleam that beckons from his narrowed eyes.

“Alright, you two….get a room!” Rick’s baritone boomed from beside his wife.

“Maybe you’re the one that needs to get a room, and perhaps I won’t let you out until you look at me like that!” LeeAnne’s sweet laughter teases Rick, easing the tension on deck.

A rueful grin wreaths Stosh’s face as his eyes drop to his rampant condition, pulling her own glance in the same direction, her lips curving gently into a teasing smile, feeling the wetness that dampens her own jeans. He lifts her up in a smooth movement, setting her on his lap to hide the evidence, fueling their frustration only further before lifting her to her feet before him. “Let’s move closer to the fire…You first, “ his whisper flows into the chaos of tangles that is her hair, strong fingers firm at the belt loops at her waist, following closely behind.

“Is it time to sing?” her voice, husky with desire, asks above Seuss’s burst of laughter at our predicament. Brandon’s groan and the sounds of a gentle slap from his wife and the buckles of a guitar case opening follow. Veronica grabs a horse blanket from the railing, noticing for the first time that the temperature has fallen and they settle into an empty spot around the fireplace.

The wine flows freely and favorite songs come back to life, with them old stories reappear, exaggerated with yet another telling, warm laughter spilling over everyone. They’d settled, sitting on the deck, Stosh’s long legs on either side of her own, his arms circling her waist, his seductive baritone and warm breath teasing the delicate flesh on the nape of her neck, the blanket covering them both as she wiggled her way closer to the enticing bulge pressed firmly against her round bottom.

“Witch,” the soft hiss and not so gentle nip of his teeth at her neck makes her ache.

She raises her knees, one hand disappearing beneath the blanket, settling over one strong hand, guiding his fingers as he unbuttons her jeans before she places his palm on her bared belly.

His fingertips caress her lightly once, and stop. She glances back at him, his eyes glowing, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Ask me” he mouths soundlessly.

She runs her other hand between their bodies, taunting the masculine thrust behind her, an impish grin lighting her eyes as she mouths back “why?”. With a frown marring his brow, he grabs her hand, leading it back toward the other guiding her hand down her own belly.

“Touch yourself,” he whispers, his hand like steel on top of hers.

Hesitant and slightly cowed by the tone of voice and the pressure of his fingers she slid her palm lower, the hard grip of his fingers over hers guiding her impatiently. With three strong masculine fingers holding her own together she is helpless to do much more than slide them lightly over her clit, the moisture beading them bringing a soft blush to her cheeks and a gleam of satisfaction to his eyes.

Slowly, with daunting pressure, he pushes her fingers lower until they slide over the slick wet folds of her labia. She shivers beneath his touch, her sex aching, her clit swollen and begging. She whimpers, softly, so softly, her eyes finding his, pleading and watching his silent words “ask me”.

Shaking her head, she drops her eyes, blushing and his lips descend to her ear, his legs widening their stance, her own widening with them. With a slow, rhythmic pressure his palm compels hers, its surface riding over the hungry swell of her clit, taunting the fire in her belly to fierce arousal but satisfying little.

“More?” the tension in his voice isn’t lost to her or the press of his rampant masculinity thrusting at her from behind and she nods, wordless, pleading with him.

Suddenly his fingers, long, strong and thick, press between hers, his palm pressing cruelly against hers. The slide of those digits against the wet folds of her labia, slipping further, pressing more intimately to rest tauntingly against the entrance to her sex as he strokes that sweet, wet opening is nearly too much.

She gasps, but his own inhalation as his fingers slide through her heat and he recognizes the level of her arousal is gratifying to an unbelievable degree, making her grin.

“Still want me to ask?” very very quietly she whispers the words, yelping softly at their effect.

“Before we are finished, you will plead, Veri.” His teeth nip her ear roughly, the clench of his jaw apparent as it rests against her temple. Her eyes meet his and she feels her breath stop, lost in a pool of hunger and some elemental force she is unable to interpret.

A blush stains her cheeks, his words, forceful and determined, stroke a part of her that had lain dormant deep inside. “Let’s go home,” she whispers urgently, her mind and body a blazing flame of arousal.

“We need to talk, Veronica….we are not the same people we were four years ago…” His hands zip and button her jeans as he speaks.

“You’re not married, are you?” A groan, half frustration and half crushing disappointment, escapes her.

“I’m not married. Come, we’ll go talk. You can take me for a ride on that beautiful animal of yours.” He raises his eyes to the group, smiling his stunning smile and standing sensuously, pulling her up in front of him. Their goodnights are met with winks, happy smiles and ribald jokes that have her blushing, the firm thrust of him at her backside doing nothing to lessen the heat within.

They saddle Indigo in silence, Stosh swinging her up, following in a ripple of lithe muscle to sit behind her.

“Nice gear, “ his long fingers caressing the stiff leather of the reins, “I don’t remember you preferring the western style.” He holds the seven-foot leads easily in one big hand, resting it on her right thigh, his other hand tucked between her legs, the horse’s rhythm rocking it against her clit, his teeth nibbling an earlobe.

“Mmmmmm, that’s nice.” she whispers, distracted by the cool evening air chilling the damp fabric beneath his fingers, the hot and cold a definite contrast.

“I meant what I said earlier….I will have you, begging and pleading…or not at all.” His growl next to her ear makes her melt a little more.

“Tell me how things are different?”

“I live a D/s lifestyle now, Veri…”

“You mean, like, whips and chains and things?” She turns her limpid eyes to him, wide in disbelief, staring in bewilderment.

“Like…pleasure and pain, yes.” As he says the word pleasure, his thumb strokes her clit through the damp fabric of her jeans, hard, making her gasp and as he says pain, his other hand, reins and all, gently squeezes her sore thumb, harder.

The surge of pain from his grip flooded her senses, his other hand continuing to stroke her clit, the two sensations merging in a pool of hunger deep in her belly. His quiet yes in her ear rang of satisfaction.

“I’ve always been a very dominant personality, you can’t argue that, Veri…this is just an extension of who I am. And the whips and chains, they’re just tools, Veronica…it’s so much more, a discipline, if you will, that encompasses the mental and the spiritual as well as the physical”

The bewilderment in her voice didn’t hide her interest nor the gasp as his fingers brought about that surge of pain/pleasure combination that steals her breath away.

“Why are you telling me this?” It’s all she can think to even ask.

“I’ve missed you Kashna. You’ve rarely been far from my mind in the last four years, but you have always been such an independent….tonight I’ve seen a side of you that’s… not so much. I’ve watched your reactions to my commands, your willingness to give in, the curiosity deep in your eyes at what you sense but don’t quite understand…. I’d like to train you, little one…to show you levels of pleasure and passion beyond even your wildest dreams.” His hands stroke her, his breath sending shivers through her.

“I’ve just moved into a house not very far from where I’ve been told yours is…I have another slave, back in Idaho, she is Sioux and her name is Kiana.” He hugs her close as he tells her this.

She ponders the words for a minute, analyzing the hug. “That doesn’t bother me, Stosh…you know as well as I do how much I enjoy other women. I’m naturally curious... Did she do the bead work on those boots?” She nuzzles his jaw line as they ride slowly through the night.

“Yes, she did. And yes, I do.” His laughter underscores his words until she sits upright with a sudden gesture.

“House? Here? You live here now?” In her excitement she barely realizes she is repeating his words.

“I do Veri and I’d like to take you in it.” Catching the double entendre, her smile reaches from ear to ear.

They ride in quiet contentment for a good thirty minutes, her mind playing over their discussion, his words creating an ache, a curiosity to know more, stroking the hedonist inside her. Her smile is playful as Stosh leads Indigo off the path and they come around the front of a log cabin home.

Swinging down nimbly, hands on her hips helping her off he points to the porch. “Go sit, I’ll be back in a moment. Any preferences or regimen?”

“He’ll eat just about anything, unfortunately, given a go at it. All he really needs is hay tonight.” She heads toward the porch.

With Indy settled in, Stosh leads her to the front door, with a gleam in his eyes as he sweeps her up and over the threshold. In one endless moment she relives all the flamboyant, crazy things that depicted his style in college, just one of the qualities that drew them together, memories that tug at her heartstrings.