Snow on the Hemlocks

We drove for what seemed like hours along twisty, barely-paved two-lane country roads, unfamiliar country. Last night’s drunk was starting to wear off, like a mud puddle drying out in the rising sun, and I felt brittle and cracked around the edges. I would have killed for a cigarette, but I didn’t dare ask her if I could smoke.

She drove with a grim intensity, never taking her eyes off the road. Last night’s makeup was smeared and fading, and there were little crow’s feet in the corners of her eyes that I had never noticed before.

Houses out here were few and far between; old farmsteads and mobile homes. Now and then we’d pass a redneck pickup truck parked by the side of the road: it was deer hunting season. The sun had only just come up, a pale yellow disk, but the glare off the snow made my eyeballs throb. My legs were rubbery and sore from drinking and dancing all night, and my cock, which hadn’t been soft in hours, was obnoxiously hard inside my lacy red panties. My balls ached in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

It wasn’t our kind of bar, not at all. I had felt eyes on us all night, not necessarily friendly eyes. I was wearing a black mini-skirt that barely covered my ass; fuzzy white boots that reached my mid-calf; a black halter top that was stuffed to a point just shy of ridiculous; and enough mascara and eyeliner to doll up a rhinoceros. My legs, thank God, were freshly shaved. She was wearing faded old jeans with the knees blown out that cupped her ass like a pair of hands, motorcycle boots, and a Grizzly Adams-style brown leather jacket, complete with decorative fringe up and down the sleeves. She stands a full inch taller than me, which helps with the illusion, but it was still nerve-wracking. The redneck quotient was way too high, and it felt dangerous. We drank and we danced and we drank some more until they threw us out, just before dawn.

She swung a hard left turn and pulled up a narrow and rutted dirt track. The tires spun and complained before they found traction. We drove up the steep dirt road until she found a wide place, a turn-around spot, and killed the engine.

We got out and walked, crunching through the snow in the thick woods, tripping over fallen logs and stumbling through buried brambles. I led, she followed. My boots were really not made for this, and my feet were already getting wet and cold, but I didn’t complain. I’m not sure how long we walked, straight up the mountain, but it seemed like forever. My heart was beating hard and fast, and I was sweating before we stopped.

We came to a level spot, a little grove of hemlocks where the snow wasn’t so deep. She had me stand facing the biggest tree, my nose pressed up against the rough bark, arms outstretched to hug it. She fished around in her pack and came up with a pair of handcuffs. She secured my wrists together behind the tree. The steel was cold and seemed to burn my skin.

The trunk was a little wider around than I could reach, and the metal cuffs dug painfully into my wrists. My cock was fully hard now, straining against the thin fabric of my panties and skirt, rubbing futilely against the cold rough bark of the big hemlock tree.

I heard her switchblade flick open, swish-swick, and she lifted up my skirt and slit my red panties straight down the back. Damn, and those things aren’t cheap either! A cold draft wafted across my private parts, and I shivered.

My dick was so hard it hurt, and rubbing up against the abrasive tree bark wasn’t helping matters at all. Behind me, I could hear her undressing, and stepping into her harness. Just once, I wish I could see her naked.

She was close behind me.  I could feel her breath on the back of my neck. My balls were hanging out of my ruined panties. I felt intensely vulnerable and frightened.

She poured lube, and lots of it, down the crack of my ass. It was impossibly chilly, and I squirmed as the stuff slowly trickled across my anus.

I’ve never seen the dildo, so I don’t really know how big it is. I’m sure my imagination enlarges it by an order of magnitude at least, but it felt absolutely enormous as it nudged up against my backside. She had one hand on each shoulder, and I could definitely hear her breathing now, close to my ear. I flinched as she shoved it inside me, that old familiar cocktail of desire, fear, panic, awkwardness, and forty-proof lust, with just a jigger of honest-to-god pain thrown in for spice. It felt like I was being stretched beyond my limit, being torn apart from the inside out, and I had to bite down hard on my own shoulder to keep from crying aloud.

Once she was all the way up inside me, the sensation was less disconcerting, less likely to become immediately excruciating. My body started to adjust to the invasion and enjoy it. I still clenched my jaw every time she shoved the dildo home, but the pleasurable aspect was definitely winning out over the discomfort. It was a hypnotic, comforting rhythm, like being pummeled by a prize fighter, or run over by a freight train. I think I moaned out loud. She was enjoying this at least as much as I was, fucking my ass slowly, almost tenderly at first, then harder and deeper as she got more excited, as she lost herself in the raunchy horniness of the act. I could feel her naked breasts pressing up against my back, her hands on my hips, pulling me to her. Her breath was coming in raspy, gasping pants. Suddenly, without warning, she shoved me hard against the tree, scraping and bruising my face, and froze like that, grinding her crotch hard against my butt, her dildo lodged deep in my asshole. She sucked air in through her teeth, a long low hiss, and I knew she had just orgasmed.

She pulled out, and I cringed. My poor asshole felt tender and shy, a suddenly vacated apartment. My erection was hard as carbide-steel, screaming for release. Humping up against the cold, rough bark of the hemlock tree wasn’t going to help any, but that didn’t stop me from trying.

I heard her getting dressed, and then I heard her footsteps crunching away in the snow, receding into the distance until they disappeared entirely. No birds sang. There was no traffic noise, not so much as a jetliner traversing the stratosphere. The only sound was the faint, soothing creak of living wood creaking softly in the morning air. My thwarted cock strained up and out against nothing, throbbing quixotically. Spent lube drooled down the backs of my thighs, and my anus hiccupped forlornly. My balls ached, a deep down frustrated ache, and my toes burned with the cold. My fingers were threatening to go numb.

I could feel the rays of the rising sun warming my shoulder blades. I was so wired, if someone so much as pinched my nipples, I might shoot off. Far away, a rifle shot rang out, echoing back and forth between the hills. I hoped she decided to come back and fetch me before I was found out by the local deer hunters.



  1. advizor54 said

    What a Bi***, what a wonderfully, awfully, nasty Bit**…..

    🙂 So, what if the hunters were women? Hmmm? Maybe Sarah Palin found him. Maybe that is chapter 2.

  2. erikabarcelona said

    … and the shot was? Hunters? Perhaps here committing suicide, this theme of swapping sexuality is quite exciting but again a dark ending…

    • John Cowan said

      Dark? I don’t think so. Just because he doesn’t want to be found in this condition (“Don’t wear panties with a hole in them; what if you were taken to the hospital?”), doesn’t mean he’s going to be shot.

      • elsiewrites said

        Oh, I don’t think he’ll get shot, but if he is found out it will be a sticky, awkward situation. People sometimes behave in unpredictable ways.

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