Treasure Unbound

Those that have never taken the time to get to know him, think of Griffin Connors as an eccentric old man. At fifty years old, he is still a very striking man. He is five foot ten, and weighs around one hundred eighty-five pounds. He has steel blue piercing eyes, that most fail to see are full of warmth. One only has to look beyond the full beard and moustache to see the kindness and humor that life has left etched there through the years.

He loves history, especially things dealing with the American Civil War and World War I aeroplanes. He rides his horse with a saber and gun belt on as though he were a soldier in the Civil War, which leads to some of the thoughts of his eccentricity. What most don't know is that, he does ride in Civil War reenactments and rides with those things, to keep his horse familiar with the sounds and weight of them. He has built his very own World War I Nieuport 17 Fighter, which he loves to fly.

Griffin has planned this flight for sometime. He has made all the necessary preflight checks; his gear has been loaded into the small aeroplane. He is flying over one of the most beautiful parts of the country he has ever seen. He checks the instruments; they all still looked good, oil pressure 40 lbs., oil temperature. 160 degrees and the tachometer steady at 1750 rpms. With a check of the compass heading thrown in for good measure, he feels good about all the systems that he can keep watch on.

He lets his mind drift a bit, thinking, 'How long have I waited for this moment, all the work, the planning and most of all the money! All of it brought together in this new but ancient machine that is rumbling along letting me feel the wind rush by and feel the freedom watching the myriad greens and brown of the land below slip by.'

"All of the countless hours I have spent reading the books about how these old machines behave. The mechanics of how the throttle and everything work the first time out are no surprise but the actual feel of the controls, the smell of the fuel and oil as it burns and the vibrations, there is now way any number of books could have prepared me for any of those things. The only way, is to be here in the pilots seat and experience them. How often in most peoples lives do they get to not only build but actually fly their own World War I Nieuport 17 Fighter?' He continues to think as he glides through the sky.

His is glad that he, substituted a modern radial engine in place of the original 80 hp Le Rhone rotary engine but as well as more dependable the radial engine was easier to get and maintain. All of that seems so far away now that he is flying at 2500 feet and 90 mph.

A glint off a metal roof in the distance suddenly reminds him that nightfall is not far away and a place to land and camp for the night is the next on his list of priorities. He looks at the map strapped to his leg and according to it; there should be a small private landing strip about seven miles ahead and slightly to his left. 'Good,' he says aloud, 'that should take about another eleven minutes.'

He briefly thinks, 'what if they don't want me to land there? He didn't install a radio in the WWI Nieuport Fighter replica, as they did not have radios in them during the war. Even if he had installed one, most private landing strips don't have manned radios and wouldn't answer anyway.' He soon dismisses the doubt by reasoning, 'no one has ever turned away a WWI Fighter, and the rarity of it alone makes even those who don't know anything about airplanes want to see it and get closer.'

When he first announced his intentions to make his trip with every effort to use small-unpaved strips and stay away from the bigger airports there were those who questioned such a choice by saying, "What if the strip is being used by dopers?" He pointed out, "that if a private strip is shown on an aviation map, the authorities can monitor it very easily for unlawful activities."

He is relieved to see the private strip come into view, as it should; it makes him feel good knowing that he is on course and time. He first circles the strip at 2500 feet so he can see the layout, the direction of the runway and any obstructions such as trees, hills, or creeks that may give concern on landing.

The strip appears to be a third of a mile long and run parallel to a small creek that runs along the east side. On the opposite side is a stand timber of average height and density. The approaches to north and south ends of the runway are open to good-sized hay fields and as it is late summer, he can see no obstacles as the season for hay cutting was over harvested months ago. The only building appears to be a small house about a quarter mile away through the trees with no sign of activity from it.

'I'll make a low pass and see if anyone runs out with a shotgun or anything evil like that.' He thinks, preferring to be safe and to let any below know of his presence. As he pulls back on the throttle to slow the engine for descent, the wind in the bracing wires between the wings become a distinct whistling hum that is almost musical. He can easily understand how when flying old machines like these, they can become a lover, they will kiss you with the wind, cradle you with their motion and sing to you if you treat them right.

Dipping down between the trees, he lines up on the narrow grass strip first to see and feel the whole situation out. He knows that he can always throttle up and climb back into the safety of the sky if something doesn't look right.

He doesn't notice anything that presents a major problem as he flies over, the grass, though it could stand to mowing, isn't too high. He figures when the hay fields had been cut, so had the grass. As he climbs out of the fly by to set up for landing, he passed over the house, he thinks that he sees someone come out but the trees block his view before he can be sure. 'Oh well, I am out of time.' he thinks as the sun gets closer to the horizon, 'it's now or never.'

He picks a spot on the end of the strip where he wants to touch down; he again pulls back on the throttle to slow the engine for descent. Approaching the runway from the north, he begins talking himself through the landing, "Okay, here for all the rookies, these old style flying machines demand that you pay attention to the landing. You can come in a little crooked but not much for if you do you can at the least break a wheel or flip over on your back, not good either way. Here we go! Close the throttle, watch the airspeed, don't let it get below 50 mph, otherwise, the aeroplane will stall and fall out of the sky. Crab the aeroplane over to one side a bit, so that you can where you're going and remember to straighten it up before you touch the ground. Lower, lower, okay, ease the stick back and use the rudder to straighten the machine, now you can't see anything but the engine ahead so it's all side vision, if something gets in front of you now, you will hit it. That's it, keep equal distance on either side of you and you'll stay in the middle. There!"

He feels the wheels rolling now, pulls the stick all the way into his belly to get the tail down and the speed leaves quicker. Once the aeroplane stops moving, he begins to look around for somewhere to taxi to for shut down and to camp. On the south end of the runway appears to be a wide spot next to the creek. He moves the throttle forward and the machine begins to move, slowly he taxies to the wide spot, switches the engine off, and listens to the engine clicking as it sputters to a stop.

As he pushes his goggles up onto his forehead, the noises from the engine, wind, and wires all began to fade and he begins to hear the sounds of nature all around him. The sound of the water of the creek as it meanders past with soft gurgles, as it flows over small rock shelves and around the gentle curves. The sound of the night birds as they call to their mates.

As he unbuckles the leather flying helmet and slips it from his head, he hears other sounds, crickets and cicadas serenading the dying sun, what he thinks might be a squirrel barking in the distance and the rustle of nearby brush as something moves the trees and underbrush. He turns his head to see if he can spot whatever it is, in the dying light, all he can see is the movement of the brush, and can tell that whatever it may be it is something much larger than a rabbit or squirrel, possibly a deer or large dog that he has startled. The way the brush was moving the creature was moving away from him to the south so he didn't give it further thought.

Undoing the shoulder and lap belts, he raises himself out of the aeroplane. He swings his right leg out over the side, feeling for the step in the side of the plane, then eases his left leg out and places it on the ground. 'As thrilling as it is to fly, it always feels great to have solid ground under your boots,' he thinks to himself.

He reaches in behind the seat to the small baggage area to retrieve his camping gear that he brought with him. His gear consists of a tarpaulin for lying over the wing of the plane to act as a tent or flat as a ground cloth if no rain is threatening to fall. He also had matches, a flashlight, and a knife with a six-inch blade, two cans of beans, a small container of coffee, a small coffee pot and cup and a small pot for cooking them.

He jumps across the creek to gather some fallen limbs for a campfire; he doesn't need many, just enough for a small fire to heat his beans and enough for a small fire in the morning for coffee.

The sun is barely peeking over the horizon as he feels the first rays of the campfire's heat. He settles back, leaning on his elbows to muse over the day's activities when he hears it again, a quiet rustling sound of something moving around just out of sight in the underbrush.

Thinking he hears a low menacing growl, being left-handed, he slowly reaches with his left hand for the .38 revolver that he has at his side under the flying jacket. He quickly turns towards the noise with the gun pointed and cocked ready to fire when his eyes took in the stunning sight before him...
Treasure, her real name all but forgotten, at the age of twenty-eight lives alone, her only visitors being the wild creatures that come near the small ranch house she calls home. She has lived here for the last fourteen years of her life, the last four she has been alone.

When she was only fourteen, her parents had sold her to a man as a slave. She had had no idea then what kind of slave she would eventually become. During the first four years with him, she was his maid, cook, seamstress, gardener, ranch hand, doormat and whipping post. They were self-sufficient and had no need for the outside world. They had a huge garden, which she tended, cattle and occasionally a couple of pigs for meat. Between the solar energy and generators, they had no need for and outside electric source.

The slightest mistake she made earned her a whipping. He had told her what would be expected of her when she was older, describing in detail how he would use her body and allow others the use of it as well. She had never known his name, she only knew him as Master. She spoke very little during this time and soon stopped crying during his beatings.

While she was still young, he had allowed her to wear clothing. As she grew, instead of buying her clothing she had to use his old worn clothing.

On her eighteenth birthday, he had made a big fuss over her, which surprised her. He gave her boxes of clothing that she was to wear only when he told her she could. He ordered her to strip and that unless he wanted her to cover her body; this is how she was to go about her duties.

She had knelt at his feet listening to him instruct her in her first new additional duty, which was to begin immediately. As he continued talking to her, she inexpertly sucked his cock, earning several slaps when she sucked too hard, too slow, or not hard enough. She had felt that there was no pleasing the man.

He had been a cruel Master, leaving her body marked by his fists on several occasions; put her on display for his drunken friends he flew in for the entertainment. Her wrists and ankles still bore signs of the iron shackles he would place on her after he would find her hiding in the woods after one of his training and viewing sessions. His friends paid him for the use of her body. She soon learned how to please him and his friends with her body while shutting down her mind. None of the men had cared that she moved with no feeling as long as they were able to use her how they chose.

Some of the men who had come had brought her gifts, the ones who hadn't liked to beat on her. He had caught her admiring a set of earrings late one night that one man had given her, her Master had taken the earrings, she had been beaten and the man had not been allowed back. After that, any gifts that she received, she put them away and never looked at them unless he was away.

On the night that he died, Treasure had been out walking in the woods. This was something that she enjoyed doing but rarely got the chance. The only times she was able to was when he was gone to either pick up the men who were to use her or to take them away. She had been lost in thought and had not paid any attention to the small plane landing when he had returned.

She had been sitting in an open spot next to the creek that ran through the woods and by the landing strip when he found her. A young silver wolf that had wondered to the far side of the creek and sat watching her caught her attention. Watching the wolf, she had lost all sense of time and awareness.

He had pulled her to her feet by her hair, turned her to face him and slapped her hard enough to knock her back to the ground. Startled at not hearing him come up behind her, she had let out a small scream as he hit her. Before she could regain her feet, the wolf leaped over her and attacked her Master. She sat watching in amazement as the wolf ripped at his throat.

She never cried as he laid on the ground before her bleeding and gasping for help. She never moved until the wolf came to her. Then she only moved closer to the creek to dip her hands into the cool water and gently washed her Master's blood from the wolf's face and chest. Being satisfied that she had gotten most of it off him; she stood and began to walk back towards the house with the wolf following at her side.

Her Master had died that night and she was free. She had often thought of running away and had had opportunities to do so but she had nowhere to go. She had no desire to return to a world where one's own parents would sell their only child into this type of bondage.

When she hears the plane pass over, she runs from her house to see if it is one of Master's friends returning after all this time to try to claim her body again. She doesn't bother dressing as she has gone so long not wearing any clothing unless she has to make a trip to the civilized world.

"Damn!" She screams as she runs from the house at the sound of the approaching aircraft. "I should have put something in the middle of that strip! Guardian, go and watch." she tells the big silver wolf that stands at her side. She then calls to Passion, a beautiful sorrel mare, who the Master had accepted in trade for the use of her once. She grabs a hand full of her strawberry and flaxen mane as she jumps up onto the mare's rich coppery back.

As Passion carries Treasure into the woods toward the strip and the intruder, her own copper hair, which matches that of her mount, bounces in soft waves against her bare breasts, shoulders, and down to the middle of her back. They the catch up with the wolf just as the plane rolls into the widest spot of the strip, next to the creek.

The three of them watch cautiously as a man emerges from what looks like a very old aeroplane. As the man comes across the creek to gather wood, they watch him from within the trees. As he starts a small fire, they emerge from the edge of the trees as one, not making a sound. The horse and the wolf both easily leap across the width of running water.

As the man settles back as though he has every right to be where he is, Guardian lets out a deep menacing growl. As the man turns toward them with a gun raised in his hand, Passion rears straight up onto her rear legs; her front legs flail the air in front of her. Treasure leans her body forward as the mare rears, never loosing her grip on the horse's mane, glaring at the man who has intruded into her sanctuary. Guardian growls deep in his throat, ready to pounce on the man should he make a sudden move towards his mistress.

Griffin watches in awe as the young woman stays astride the magnificent animal that would love to bash his head in. He watches as the animal slams her hoofs into the ground, her flared nostrils only a scant inch from his face. With his eyes on the most beautiful woman he has ever seen, he ignores the wolf ready to take his life.

"Why are you here?" She demands of the man, fully aware of the effect she has had on him.

Unable to say a word, his eyes roam over the naked woman. He takes in her lean legs, her full breasts and hard nipples with golden rings dangling from them. Her wind blown hair flowed over her shoulders framing her breasts. He wonders if she is wet where her body contacts the back of the horse at its closest point. His hand slowly lowers the gun as his eyes moved back up her body to lock with hers.

"Why are you here?" Pleasure demands again when she doesn't get a response.

"Good evening Ma'am, I am Griffin Connors..." He began.

"I didn't ask who you are nor do I care. I want to know why you are here!

"I am sorry for the intrusion Ma'am," He finally manages to say. "I needed a place to land for the night as the sun was setting and this was the closest place on the map. I promise that I will be gone first thing in the morning."

"See to it that you are and make sure that your fire is out before you go, stay away from my house." She says before urging the horse past him, knocking him off balance as she calls to Guardian.

As they re-enter the woods, she shifts a bit uncomfortably on Passion's back. The moisture that had begun leaking from her pussy when she first saw him had taken her by surprise. 'Surely it is from lack of sexual contact,' she thinks as she moves away. She had never gotten wet from just the sight of a man before; they had always had to use her body, making it override her mind to get her wet.

She stops Passion as she thinks about this. She turns Passion around and they head back in the direction of the man and his plane. She watches as he prepares for sleep.

Griffin closes his eyes after she is gone from his sight, recalling the wild untamed look of her sitting upon that horse and wishes it were him she was riding. His cock had grown hard while she was sitting on that horse in front of him.

He slowly opens his eyes, rubbing his cock and thinks, 'I'll eat later.' He picks up the tarp he had laid on ground beside the plane and carefully spread it over the ground. He sits on the tarp and props his head against left front wheel of the plane. He unzips his pants and raises his hips as he pushes them and his underwear past his hips to mid thigh.

Closing his eyes, he begins making long strokes over his cock as he imagines her mouth on him. His imagination has never been this good. His cock grows harder than he can remember it being in some time. The gentle breeze blowing against his bared flesh, feels as though it is her long hair lightly brushing him, the warmth of the fire could be her breath as she covers him with her pussy. His precum oozes from the slit in the tip of his cock as he imagines feeling the moistness of her mouth as she slides down his length. He hasn't noticed that his hands are no longer moving over his shaft as he feels these things.