29
ONE MONTH IN THE WOODS
“I need you now, woman. It has been too long since the last time,” he said, tightening his jaw and raising an eyebrow as he looked her up and down.
“Um, you do realize we’ve made love every day since we’ve been here. I have the marks to prove it, you animal.” She raised her skirts and showed him the light blue bruises on the sides of her creamy white thighs. Bruises that were suspiciously like the outlines of the Sheikh’s palms and fingers.
Sage laughed from his perch on a high-chair that the Sheikh had fashioned for him in the workshop out back, using smooth beechwood from the ample supply in the forest that passed for a backyard. Irene held her skirts raised up high like that, teasing the Sheikh by flashing him just the edge of the dark space between her legs. There’d been enough cloth for Irene to fashion clothes for Sage and a set of skirts for herself, but women’s underwear had been in short supply. So she’d just stopped wearing any.
The Sheikh’s crotch was already bulging by the time he forced himself to look up from her mesmerizing thighs and that hint of her secret V. Irene could feel her wetness seep through her folds, and she marveled at how wild the past month had been. By now she was used to being taken by him anytime, anywhere, pushed up against a wooden wall, pushed down on a wooden table, flung head-first into an overstuffed couch, forced down on his ramrod-straight cock on the porch as the sun set, taken standing up and from behind in the kitchen as she made soup or roasted fresh game. They made love outside as freely as they did indoors. He’d lift her skirts whenever the mood struck him, and she loved the feeling of his strong hands cupping her ass, pulling her rear globes apart. Sometimes he’d spread her wide from behind and lick her crack, making her feel deliciously filthy as he fingered her from beneath, often making her come before he had a chance to stand up and push himself into her from behind.
Other times, on a sunny day, when they were outside on the edge of the woods, when he got her nice and hot kissing her lips, pinching her breasts, rubbing her mound until she was wet, he’d push her down on her knees, face forward in the grass, just out of view of Sage. He’d pull her skirts up over her head, spread her from behind, get her rear pucker wet, and slide his finger inside. He’d hold it there as he unbuckled his heavy belt, and she’d be worked up into a choking frenzy as she tried to stay quiet so Sage wouldn’t trot over to see what Daddy and Mommy were up to behind that tree. It was sick, wrong, awful. But it felt so hot, so filthy, so wild that she would stick her bum up high and spread her thighs as far as she could for him.
The feeling of his cock sliding into her cunt while his finger stayed deep in her asshole made her come instantly now, every time he did it. She knew it drove him wild too, because he’d blast his load up into her like a high-pressure jet every time they fucked like that. It was wild. Animalistic. Sinful. Wonderful.
They tried to be as discreet as possible around Sage, and the Sheikh did his best to be somewhat reserved when there was any chance Sage might see them. Irene was comfortable with a certain degree of sensuality in front of him—but there were limits.
But what are my limits, she’d wondered one night, when they’d put Sage to bed and then the Sheikh had picked her up and carried her out to the workshop. He’d already tied her wrists with heavy leather straps before asking her if she was all right with it. She’d hesitated but nodded yes, and the Sheikh had tied her down to a workbench on which he’d spread a soft blanket.
He’d tied her on her back, arms raised above her head, legs free. He’d undressed and climbed on top of the workbench, straddling her, his cock looking enormous as he inched his way forward. She’d gasped as the wetness poured from her as he rubbed his erection all over her nipples, coating her pebbled areolas with the oil beading its way out of the eye of his cock.
“Oh, God,” she’d muttered when she smelled his clean musk so close to her mouth as he slid his thick, python of a cock up and down between her glistening breasts, his heavy balls grazing their way along her stomach and chest as he slowly jerked himself off with the heft of her bosom. “You are cruel. What about my pleasure?”
“Beg me,” he’d muttered, grinning as he moved back and forth on her boobs, his cock swelling to the point where she was sure he’d explode all over her face and neck, pouring his semen onto her hot skin, coating her with his seed.
“I’m a frontier woman,” she gasped as she pulled at her bindings and moved her body in time with the back-and-forth of his cock between her boobs. “I don’t beg.”
“Then you will go without pleasure,” he’d growled, rising up and lifting his cock, quickly moving forward on his knees until he was up above her panting mouth. Then he grabbed her hair, pulled her head back, and carefully but firmly pushed his cock into her mouth.
Her eyes had gone wide as she struggled to take him. But she managed to suppress her gag, and he straddled her face and groaned to the heavens as she took him all the way past her throat. He was in so deep his balls rested on her chin, and she could tell that he was almost delirious with pleasure.
“Ya Allah, I have never felt desire like this,” he muttered as she began to suck him. “My God, I am so bloody hard. Suck me again. Like that. Oh, yes, like that, woman. By God, I am never letting you go. Never letting you out of my sight. You are mine. All mine.”
She’d sucked him like she’d never done to anyone before, and she could feel him getting harder in her mouth, bigger in her throat, and she sucked and heaved until finally he tensed up and shuddered and then roared like a lion as he erupted down her throat, his cock almost choking her as she sucked and swallowed his heat. His aroma filled her, and she was dizzy with arousal and exertion when the Sheikh finally pulled his throbbing cock out of her mouth, leaving a long trail of semen running down her chin and along her breasts as he staggered off her and collapsed on a chair by the workbench.
“Please,” she’d gasped, raising her hips and spreading her legs. She couldn’t believe she was this far gone in just a month, spending her days without underwear, sucking and swallowing with relish, allowing—nay, begging—to be taken by this man several times a day, in every position, in every place. It really felt like they’d left normal society far behind them, that they were living free and wild, like bears or wolves, their cub by their side.
“Please is not enough,” he’d said from that chair as she writhed for his touch. “That does not sound like begging to me.”
“I don’t beg,” she moaned. “I told you—I am a proud frontier woman. My ancestors ran with the wild horses on the great plains of America. I am part mustang in spirit. You don’t break a mustang.”
The Sheikh laughed pointedly, finally standing up, his naked body lean and hard from the natural diet they’d been living on. The clean food had affected Irene too, and although she hadn’t lost much of her womanly curves or cushion, she was feeling lighter inside, more vibrant. No doubt that was playing into her sex drive, she thought.
“That sounds like a challenge,” he growled as he stepped towards the workbench. “You do know that I spent my youth breaking in and riding the wildest Arabian horses.”
“Your Arabian beasts ain’t no match for an American mustang,” she whispered as he stopped by her writhing legs and grabbed her ankles tight. She giggled and kicked at him, freeing herself from his grasp as he quickly stepped back to avoid taking a shot from her bucking heels.
“Whoa there, Mustang Sally,” he said, dodging another wild kick as he tried to grab her ankles again.
But she wouldn’t hold still, and soon she was shrieking in glee as she pulled at her harness and kicked out with all her strength. The Sheikh was getting heated up again, and she could see his cock hardening as it swung side to side while he laughed and moved around her, jabbing and grabbing but unable to get a hold. Soon he was slapping the sides of her thighs, harder and harder, making her yelp as he smacked her nice and hard with the flat of his hand. Two more slaps and she could feel the sting on her bare skin, see the fire in the Sheikh’s eyes as he gritted his teeth and gave her another tight one.
“You brute,” she shouted, shrieking in pain and pleasure as he got the side of her ass and roared in laughter.
He was hard again, hot again, and Irene gasped as the Sheikh strode to where he’d tied her wrists above her head. He undid the bindings and forced her to turn onto her stomach.
“On your knees, my mustang,” he snarled. “If you want to play, let us play this right.”
She shuddered and blinked as she wondered what he meant. But she was so hot and so wet that it didn’t matter. She would do anything he wanted, she knew. And she trusted him to do anything he wanted, she knew.
He tossed the straps away and positioned her arms and knees so she was face-down and rump-up, spread just the way he liked it. Her buttocks were quivering in anticipation, and she shuddered as he stroked her hair, rubbed her bare back, slid his hand down along her rear crack, cupped her ass, one cheek at a time.
And then he raised his right hand and brought it down hard. Really hard.
Oh God, so damned hard.