Ok, so I wasn’t allowed here. Technically, I’m supposed to be caged at West Chester State Penitentiary, a dozen zip codes east. But in these woods, I’m living fine and free. Momma taught me how to forage. These plants burn, those smooth, and the red berries here coat the tongue without closing my throat. Not that I mind the occasional desperate gasp for air.  

Now I’d love to tell ya I’ve been totally one with mother nature these last six weeks. But alas, this is not true. My precious van: loyal, dependable, and utterly without fuel sits rusting off the road. Took me hours to hide her, pushing past the tree line and covering the ol' gal with broken branches. But even in these final days, she’s kept me safe, free from bears with a dry gym bag. "The essentials," Pops always said. When you’re on the run, look to the Declaration of Independence. Food, drink, and clothing keep you breathing, the Colt revolver assures your freedom, and always pack a few things for joy. Pops always said that’s why we bother with the first two. Life and liberty to ensure happiness.

Gotta confesses. That’s been hard. Especially the last week. I’m a social girl. Not afraid to admit I like a little attention. Used to haunt the gym, in leggings which painted my ass and calves. I’d look for men to stare and get in their faces. Those who went meekly into the night, I mocked. Those who got in my face, I sucked off.

Ok, and a few I robbed.

The last few nights especially have been torture. I couldn’t sleep because of how empty I felt. The toys help but it’s not enough. I need to feel a body, suck in the heat, bite the salty taste of skin, and squeeze a cock dry between my thighs. Why else were we put on this earth? To sort papers. Fuck off.

An obnoxious engine cuts my thoughts short, as I hear the screeching of wheels against earthen road. Finally. There’s a lookout point I’ve been stalking. Waiting for some dumb teenagers or whoever to take in the view and volunteer a new car. By the sound of that motor, we’ve got a nepo baby.

I grip the gun and move into the bushes.

…………………………………..

His silver hair reflects the moonlight. Older fellow, probably early 50s by the look, but big. Like strong, not fat. His back and shoulders stretch against the suit, which looks expensive enough to match the sports car. He drops a bottle. Whisky. This guy drinks whisky without a doubt in my mind. Whether he likes the taste or not.

He’s stepped out past the safety barrier, and I know a sixty-foot rocky drop awaits a clumsy step. The man in the suit, Italian silk probably, keeps to the edge. He’s testing himself. Seeing if he’s finally ready to make the plunge.

“Can I have your keys?” I ask.

He turns and almost slides into the abyss through shock. But he’s quick as well as strong. His face looks like it belongs on a marble statue, the kinda guy shouting about stocks and fucking his secretary on the conference room table. “No, hold my calls, Cindy. I’ll be busy the next three hours… hell, make it four.”

Except he’s got tears streaming down his iron cheekbones. His firm, set mouth quivered.

“Rough day,” I offer, aiming my revolver.

He looks at the gun and realizes he can’t back up. Man’s truly fucked. He lifts his hands into the air slowly.

“In my pocket,” he gestures towards his right.

“Mind tossing it over? Kinda seems like you're done,” I grin, trying to get him to see the bright side. “Unless you weren’t planning on jumping?”

“Hadn’t decided.”

“Well, come on over, ya silly goose,” I laugh. “Don’t wanna go by accident. Keep hands where I can see them, though. Or I’ll go bang bang.”

He’s a big man. Six foot four, wide palms which could throw me around, no problem. I’m also noticing the tiniest hint of stubble, which, even from here, causes the inside of my legs to tickle.  

“Got laid off?” I ask, gesturing for him to stand next to the tree. “The uh… Dow Jones crash? That’s a big one, right?”

He laughs a solid baritone that vibrates through my pussy.

“Got a promotion, actually,” he raises an eyebrow. “Crazy, right? Left in the middle of the celebration. My wife’s probably worried sick.”  He took a beat and decided to go for it. “Fucking shrew.”

“Not the usual way to handle a midlife crisis,” I offer, tossing him a pair of handcuffs. “Lock them behind your back, then turn around slowly so I can make sure you did it right.” I smile in encouragement.

“What am I supposed to do?” he mutters, complying with every word. “Get more shit? I already have so much shit.” As he turns, I get a view of his ass. Pure muscle.

“Nah, that won’t do for you,” I say wisely as I lean against the hood of his European sports car. I’m dripping on his front bumper, and he has no idea. “You’ve gotta get outta your head, ya know? Relax. Now come over here and get on your knees. Nice and slow.”

He does, and as he steps away from the oak shade into the moonlight valley, I peek at his groin. Bingo. Either he’s at half-mast or so thick I’d ride him flaccid. We’re going to find out.

He lowers himself slowly. The tears have dried, but his eyes still seem puffy and red. I’d like to bite his cheeks and kiss his forehead. But first. He’s going to earn his reward. Once his full weight hits the ground, I step above him.

“How old are you?” he asks, and I detect shame.

“Old enough,” I giggle. Happy that even at 26, people aren’t sure. “Now you’re going to do everything I say, or I’m going to shoot. Understood.”

His lips part.

“Don’t speak. Nod.”

He does.

“Good.”

I throw my left leg over his shoulder, pull up my dress, and press my soaked snatch into his face. I feel his entire body expand as he takes in a quick breath. But no resistance.

“Eat until I’m finished.”

Desperate men dive into pussy like it’ll save them. No complaints here. The stubble on his chin teased my sensitive flesh precisely like I predicted. But his tongue lapped up every drop, smearing his lips. The days of waiting fed my body's response as the rhythmic pleasure picked up speed. His tongue vibrated against my grateful clit, unleashing the first wave.

“FUCK!” I scream into the abandoned woods. My muscles twist as the dopamine explodes, and I accidentally let loose a bullet.

But he’s not done. The man risks drowning to continue drinking me up. The first orgasm was a gimme. I’ll admit I was pent up. But the next three. All him. Nipping my leg, pushing his face further so I could side his nose, with both of us moaning like the woodland animals we were.

“Shit!” I fall backward, and while he might want to help, he can’t. His arms being bound. His look of worry makes me laugh.    

“Fastest case of Stockholm syndrome ever, am I right?” I steady myself before standing. “Fucking A, Bossman. Top-notch work.”

“So…” his eyes are glazed over, and his chin gleams in the moonlight. The silvered hair a mess atop his head. “What now?”

“Now? I get your car keys, and I handcuff ya to the tree.” The disappointment in his face thrills me, but he’s an obedient man. Standing slowly, he turns his back so I have access to his pocket. I press the gun against his spine and watch him shiver.

“Here we are,” I finger the fob. “Aren’t you a good boy?”

He catches himself in a nod, and I shove him toward one of the proper oaks. Big, thick, and rough. I undo a hand from the cuffs.

“Ok, Bossman. Nice and slow. Hug the tree like a dirty hippy. Lean forward.”

He could try something but doesn’t. My telling him what to do, that look of peace. I’m the best thing ever.

The metal clicks back into place as he stands, ass out, face against the bark. Completely fucking exposed.     

I begin to undo his pants.

“What…” he sounds so grateful. “What are you doing?”

“Saving you, Bossman.” I pull down the silk trousers, letting them hit mud and dirt. His underwear is red satin shorts, stretched out by an impressive erection. I step to his side. One hand grips the silver hair and pulls him down to my height; the other wraps around his balls, squeezing the crimson fabric tightly. “Think this cock will help? Hmm. Big dick of yours is nothing. Nothing.” I gently tighten, and his desperate moan hits me just right. “A man shrivels, grows soft. Not me. Do you wanna feel what real strength is like? Feel it inside?”

He nods.

“Let me hear you say it.”

“I want to feel it inside me.”

“Widen those legs.”

He does, and I slide his shorts down just above his knees. I step a few feet away, but he’s good and does not move. I get to my gym bag and pull out Excalibur.

My favorite strap-on. Dark leathery black, thirteen inches thicker than sausage, and for my pleasure, a little nub that stimulates faster the harder I fuck. I’ll admit there are times I get carried away.

The lube comes with, and I step into his sight line so he can see me prep the monster.

“You’re going to make me take that…” his eyes watch my hands, and I see his cock twitch in rhythm.

“No. I’ll walk away right now if you ask. Tying you up. That’s for your benefit. So you can say I did this with a gun to your head.” I unload the chamber in front of him, letting the bullets hit the leafy ground. “But we’ll both know you begged.”

Silence.

“I said beg.”

“Please!”

No hesitation.

“Please. Fuck me. I need it inside. Make me your bitch. I am a bitch. I want to be properly fucked. Please. God. Please.”

“Such a good boy,” I say behind him, stroking his hair. “That’s all you ever wanted to be. A sweet little man.”

My drenched fingers push in first to loosen him up. But surprise, surprise. He’s done this before. This is not a virgin asshole, but I won’t embarrass him yet.

“So tight. So strong. Relax now. I’m going to take care of you.”

He moans.

“Did we forget our manners?”

“Thank you.”

I thrust, and the sound he makes is 30 years of repression. Groaning doesn’t do it justice more like a donkey baying.  He pushes back, and Excalibur begins to buzz. My instincts take over. With each inch I thrust, he mewls.

“Yes, thank you, mistress. I’m unworthy! Uh! Yes. Yes. Yes. More!”

“Not with that tone.”

“Sorry. Please, a little more. I can take it. I need it. Thank you.”

The inhuman monster is almost halfway inside. I watch him bite into the tree, tearing off little pieces of wood like a fucking beaver. I cum again. I'd love to go all day, but I’ve got the police to flee. So, I reach under and touch his cock. That’s all it takes.

“CHRIST!” he jizzes and collapses over the bark.

It’s nice to do good in the world.

“Well, see ya.”

I pick up my bag, kiss his forehead, and turn to his car.

“Take me with you?”

He can hardly stand, but the joy and freedom plastered on his expression is marvelous. I’m not a cruel woman.

“Well, I don’t usually pick up hitchhikers, but… why not? Let’s get going. We have a whole country to see.”