Loretta Lariat: Alone in the Wilderness

Then again, the hassle of hauling his corpse all that distance, in this weather ... It would have been a pain in the ass, not to put too fine a point on it. Especially not knowing for certain there was a decent size bounty on the man. There probably was, if he was who she thought he was. Didn't recall his name, yet she was fairly certain she knew his face from wanted posters. But since she hadn't known an exact figure, it was money she could shrug off without too much of a qualm. And anyway she still didn't feel ready to return to civilization yet, nowhere near.

Not then and the same today.

She was right in the middle of a fucking spiritual quest. Needed another few weeks' work at the very least. It wasn't some goofy lark, after all, that made her come out here this far, all by her lonesome in the wild. She had a serious purpose. Important personal exploration. And growth, and things.

4.

Loretta fingered herself in the pool.

At first she barely realized she was doing it. When she began, she was only scratching an itch high up on her inner thigh. A tiny bugbite, perhaps, or a spot where her mud-caked leggings had been chafing in the sticky heat. But soon her fingers wandered higher, as if doing it of their own accord, and she didn't stop them. She let them wander.

She was thinking about the man from the day before while she did it. At first she was thinking about killing him and how good that had felt. To beat him. To win. To have saved herself. Quite a thrill.

Only she couldn't keep thinking about those things. Pretty soon she started imagining what would have happened if he got the knives away from her like he thought he could. If he was quicker with his hands, and stronger than he'd proved to be. If she'd lost and been captured again. Naked in the river.

Such a handsome bastard, he'd been. Those devilish eyes. That arrogant smile.

The man would have ravished her, of course. He wouldn't have wasted any time about it. He would have dragged her to the shore and pinned her down on the grass and had his way with her. And he would have kept on ravishing her over and over. He probably would still be ravishing her again right this present moment. If he'd defeated her, if she'd messed up again and let him lay claim to her. He would have bound her with ropes. He would have whipped her with his belt or with a stick. They always did, when they captured her. To make her cry and make her beg.

She knew exactly what it would feel like. All of those things. She could conjure them vividly in her mind. She'd been enslaved like that before. More than once. It could happen to her again all too easily. If she had messed up and allowed that to happen, she knew she would have given in completely, once the man laid claim to her. Once he had her helpless, naked, bound. It would not have taken long.

Instead of her slim middle finger strumming gently in and out of her gash, she would be feeling the man's cock. Much larger, pushing much deeper. And of course he'd be doing that much speedier and more forcefully ... Like this. Yes. Not that her finger felt the same. Because of its size. Not even when she made it thrust as hard and as fast as she could. Because after all it was just her own middle finger, not a cock.

She could simulate the feel of a cock with greater accuracy if she used more than one finger. If, say, she used three together. Yes. Yesss ... That was indeed much more like his cock would have felt, if he had captured her and he was ravishing her right this moment ...

She would have come for him, when he ravished her. She would come and come, every time. That didn't mean she would be happy about it, because she wouldn't be. She would hate it, she would lose her mind. It would be horrible humiliating agony. She knew she would still come and come and come ... She had weaknesses. She had dark depraved proclivities. The hate and the horror and the humiliation and the agony would make it happen to her, just as much as all the physical tactile things the handsome wicked man would have done to her body with his ropes and with his whip, and with penis and with his mouth.

Such a dreadful disgusting prospect. But Loretta couldn't stop imagining it while she fingered herself in the pool. Not until she made herself come ... "Oh. Oh shit. Oh no. Oh God. Oh. Oh. Uhhnn. OH!" And not even afterward. She kept doing it, weeping. Coming that first time had only left her wanting another one. A larger one. She moved her hand much harder this time, making big splashes in the pool. Making herself cry out again, and again, much louder now. Not like a woman no more, but like an animal.

"Unnhhhuuuhhnn! Uhhrruuhh!"

Also she knocked the brim of her hat down over her eyes, blinding herself. Her eyes were closed anyway—but she'd been seeing red instead of black, on account of the sun on her eyelids. Her hat brim blacked out the red. And then that blackness helped her see the pictures in her mind more vividly. They'd been pretty damn vivid and convincing already.

It wasn't that she wanted the man to have captured her and enslaved her. It wasn't that she regretted slaying him. She did not. It had been a glorious and liberating moment for her. Only now, she wanted to come ... she needed to ... and thinking of the man, thinking of him ravishing her and forcing her to come and come was making that happen. She was only using the idea of the man like a puppet in her mind to do it. Forcing the pleasure out of her body like he would have done.

She'd noticed a log, if only vaguely, a little distance away from her pool, propped up against the wall of the next shelf behind her. Looked like when it was tree, it had been growing on the edge up there before it toppled to this level. It wasn't a particularly thick log—it had no branches and most of its bark was gone. It was bleached yellow white like a bone.

Now it occurred to her that if the man she'd killed had still been alive, if he'd been here with her, if she was his prisoner, it was likely he would have tied her in her nakedness to that very log. Face down, probably, straddling it. The log was ideally positioned and proportioned for such a use. A perfect mounting place, for whipping a captive upon, and then ravishing her without mercy from behind ...

Loretta straightened her hat, climbed out of the pool and pranced over on her tiptoes to the log. The stone outside of the water still burned her toes—she just bit her bottom lip and put up with it. In her present state of mind, the excessive stinging heat down there had turned enjoyable, in fact. It hadn't been before but now it was. When she groaned, it was a groan of pleasure. Of keen desire.

"I'm so turned on," she mumbled, "Oh shit, I'm so turned on. This is crazy. Ahhuhh. What am I doing? What am I gonna do?"

Then she straddled the log and stretched herself across the length of it, and embraced it tight, fitting her wrists together as if her arms were tied around it. She mashed her breasts and her nipples against the dry wood—not quite as scorching hot a surface as the stone under her toes, but nearly so—and mashed her thighs upon it the same, and also, of course, her cunt ... Why did she do all this to herself? Because she needed to. Why did she need to do this? To feel it—to feel what it would be like. She'd already known—it was as if she wanted and needed to make sure she was right. And she was. It felt exactly like she'd imagined it would feel—or rather, remembered. It was a painful, straining, disgraceful pose. And it felt delightful—electrifying—intoxicating.

"Oh God," she moaned, "Oh help me ... Someone. Somebody. Please! I can't stand this! I can't! It feels ... it makes me feel so ... Oh God save me! These feelings! It's too much! I can't fight it! Please!"

There was no one to save her, nobody to stop her. Nothing to hold her back.

She was captured and utterly helpless. Again. Naked (except for the crooked black hat) and gasping and steaming, shivering on her tiptoes and clenching inside and soaking wet, dripping that moisture all over the slanted column of sun-scorched wood she'd posed herself upon, and the stepped shelves of flat white stone supporting them—dribbling dark spatters and speckles all over them both with water from the pool and with her body's oils, from within.

"I should be punished for this. I need to be punished!"

Loretta used one of her hands to spank herself. She kept her other arm around the log, holding herself in place, pretending she was bound.

"Uhh! Uhh! Fuck! Uhh! Fuck!"

And she did. She humped the log as she beat her own bottom with the palm of her hand. She moaned and screamed. "Fuck it! Fuck! Fuuuhhhaahh!" She no longer used her fingers on her cunt—that was no longer necessary, not while she was spanking herself and humping—no, fucking the log. This provided much greater and more satisfying stimulation. It felt much more like it really would if she was actually being ravished again.

She wasn't just dreaming about it now. As much as it was possible, Loretta Lariat was actually ravishing herself like the man would have done. Making the fantasy real. Or feel real. Almost. Not completely a hundred percent ... but as close as a girl could safely manage all on her own. In the proverbial pinch.

It was an ugly and awful thing to do to herself. A dangerous destructive fantasy to indulge in. It made her feel guilty and degraded and ashamed. She was weak of will and corrupt of spirit. But a nicer fantasy—something healthier, more romantic and gentle and safe—could not have made her come as strong. A gentle, safe sexual fantasy will only bring you to a gentle, safe climax. Those couldn't satisfy her. She needed stronger, harsher ones. Climaxes of wicked shattering force. Only matching fantasies of wicked shattering force could bring her those.

"Ohhuuh! Ohhaarrhh! Huuhhoohh!"

This was the woman she was, because this was the life she'd led. It could never be cured—this wickedness within her, these unanswerable needs. She had to keep carrying them with her, and accommodating them as best as she could, day by day and night by night. She had no power over these feelings, these desires, these needs. The only way to calm the urges when they kindled was to give in to them, to strip down and soothe them with her fingers ... they never went away for good, or for long. They always returned just as powerful as before.

"You slut!" she screamed at herself, "You filthy ... depraved ... desperate ... slut! This is what you want? This is what you need? This? Take it then! Fuck yourself! Fuck that hot cunt! You slut! SLUT!"

Her horse raised his head and stared at her like she was crazy. Well, fine. She was.

At least the man only got to tie her up and fuck her in her head. And he'd never know it happened, 'cause she'd killed the evil shitface in real life. He could have enslaved her—she was wanton and obsessive, and he would have dominated her absolutely if he'd won. She would have come and come for him. She would have screamed and wept and begged him for more. But he hadn't got to claim her. She hadn't let him do it, she hadn't let herself surrender. She only yielded everything up to him in her imagination, and only after he was safely dead and would never know a thing about it. So there.

It wasn't a total victory. It wasn't perfectly honorable. Better than nothing, anyhow. Better than she usually got. A girl's gotta make do. Gotta appreciate what you can get. She'd still beat the fucking guy, when it counted most. She still won. She still saved herself.

And her body and her cunt belonged to her and nobody else. She could do whatever she wanted with them. When she wanted to come, she could imagine anything she liked, to make it happen. Nobody else had the right to fucking judge. Or even if they did, it didn't matter. She was all alone out here in wild and nobody knew. No one could see what she was doing. No one was watching. (Except her stupid ornery horse and he didn't count.) She was safe (for the moment) and she was free, and so she could charge ahead and enslave and abuse herself as much as she liked, and now she about to come ... she was a crazy slut and she needed this and she was coming ... coming ... Yes! Yes! Now! Right now! She was coming! She was coming!

"I'm coming! I'm coming! Ahhuuhhaahhhuuhh! Coming! "

Fuck the rest of the world and everybody in it.