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What Goes Bump In the Night

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Erin places her gear on the ground and surveys the small clearing. Although she’s grown used to the monthly camping trip, she still cringes when she thinks about sleeping on the ground--even if they will be in a tent. Behind her, Holtz carries several bags and a cooler; she’d ditched her overcoat on the trail up, leaving her in a loose teal tank top. Erin nibbles on her lower lip as she now has the perfect seat at the Holtzmann Gun Show. Holtz winks at her and flexes a bit as she walks, making her cheeks flare.

“I’m going to set up the tent. You want to grab some dry brush?”

The show is over, so Erin doesn’t mind heading into the woods to find burnable materials for their campfire. The temperature drops rapidly in this area, as she found out the first time, and she doesn’t want to spend another evening shivering. When she returns a short while later, Holtz has the tent completely set up and is arranging rocks into a circle. She dumps the brush into the circle and plops onto the ground.

“I’m so glad it’s actually summer now,” she says, staring up at the bright blue sky. “Winter was awful.”

“Sweet, sweet Erin--love of my life and perpetual partner--you know you don’t have to come with.”

Erin leans up on her elbows. “No, I know that. I just… It’s better for me. Knowing if you’re okay.”

“I always am.” Holtz leaps across the firepit and falls dramatically to her knees. “But still. I’m glad you’re here with me.”

“Me, too.” She kisses Holtz’s forehead. “Who else could keep you in line.”

Holtz smiles, looking smarmy. “Maybe I like getting into trouble.”

“I think you like what comes after.”

“Maybe so.”

Erin rolls her eyes. “You know you just have to ask, right? You don’t literally have to set fires.”

“You get much more stern when it’s real,” she teases back. “I need to know your heart is in it.”

“Holtz, you know my heart is always in it when you’re involved. My point stands.”

Holtz raises her eyebrows. “Well, then, you might not want to look in the tent.”



“What did you do?”

“Well, I didn’t start a fire, so that’s a point in my favor, right?”

Erin stands, crosses to the tent, and yanks the zipper down. There, instead of Erin’s pajamas, laid out as per her expectations, is a simple pair of panties. She stares for a moment, befuddled, and then enlightenment dawns on her.

“You purposely didn’t pack my pajamas.”

“Did I do that?”

“You only brought me a pair of underwear.”

“That doesn’t sound like something I would do.”

“I gave you explicit instructions.” She turns slowly and places her hands on her hips. “You were to pack my thermal pajamas and lay them neatly on our sleeping bag.”

“I don’t remember you saying that.” Holtz smiles, and Erin knows this is just a ruse. Still, her frustration is real. Without thermals, she’ll be freezing cold--the exact state of being she had wanted to avoid.

She snaps her fingers and points to the ground right at her feet. Holtz pretends to look aghast as she prances over. The playful look grows somber as she drops to her knees obediently. Erin slips a foot between Holtz’s knees and scoots them farther apart. Holtz straights her back and keeps her eyes on the ground. The moment stretches into a few minutes, and then Erin speaks.

“Remove your shirt.”

Holtz does so, fingers as steady as if she were welding something potentially flammable. She casts the garment aside and replaces her hands on her thighs. Erin circles around her slowly, clicking her tongue. That’s the sound of displeasure, something she knows drives Holtz mad. Ever wanting to please, Holtz can barely stand letting someone close to her down, let alone the woman she loves. Erin bets her pajamas are safely stored somewhere inside. Exactly as she expects, Holtz fidgets.

“You are not allowed to speak,” she says quickly, curtailing any apologies that Holtz might attempt.

The first time they’d had an encounter like this, she’d been so soft and uncertain. She had been utterly terrified that she couldn’t inhabit the dominant role Holtz needed in a sexual partner. Meek and mousy, she’d only recently grown into her confidence, and she hadn’t the slightest clue what it meant to take complete control over someone else. When Holtz submits, however, she understands: the trust heavy in the air, the power willingly given, the knowledge that anything she says goes.

So, she may not be a typical domme, she knows that. But what she does seems to make Holtz happy, and she’s grown to truly look forward to this sort of encounter.

“I’m very disappointed in you, Jillian. You knew how important those pajamas were to me. Do you want me to freeze?”

Holtz’s eyes dart up quickly, just enough to communicate her sorrow, and then settle on the ground once more. She reaches down and unsnaps Holtz’s bra, tossing it into the tent. The air is still warm, but Holtz’s pink nipples are hard anyway. She’s always amazed at how easily Holtz accepts her role at this time of the month, desperate for someone to leash her and make sure she causes no harm.

She brushes a fingertip over Holtz’s nipple and approves of the soft intake of air the contact causes. As a young person, she’d never felt essential to anything or anyone. But here with Holtz, she knows just how important she is, and the feeling is intoxicating. She takes her time, toying with Holtz’s breasts until the slighter woman is heaving with the effort of remaining silent. Then, she steps into the tent and roots through her bag.

From within, she grabs an oversized dog collar. She returns outside and watches Holtz pant before slipping the collar around her slim neck. Nestling her mouth next to her ear, Erin whispers, “Once this is on, you’re mine.”

Holtz nods emphatically, her eyes slipping shut. Erin clicks the ends together, and the heavier portion of the collar slides naturally down. It looks comically large right now, but Erin knows this won’t always be the case. She makes Holtz stand up and strip down.

“Against the tree,” she orders, and Holtz complies, laying her palms flat on the bark and squaring her shoulders. She keeps her legs parted at the exact distance Erin had nudged her knees open to earlier. “Stay there.”

Physical punishment does nothing good, or so she’s learned. The first time she’d spanked Holtz, their safe word popped from the other woman’s lips faster than she could draw her hand back again. Instead, she’d had to get creative. Now, with limited resources, she thinks quickly. She finds her prize in the cooler, where she snags an ice cube from the bag. Using her new torture device, she draws words and pictures onto Holtz’s back, raising gooseflesh in her wake. Once her fingers are nice and chilly, she reaches around and attends to Holtz’s chest once more--and Holtz bucks back against her.

“Stay,” she hisses. Holtz stills. “We do this at my pace.”

Knowing that Holtz usually likes a quick pace, she takes her time, sliding her hands down Holtz’s sides and slowly dipping inward. She toys for just a few seconds with the small, sensitive nub at the apex of her thighs and then plunges into the slick heat just below. Holtz howls, feral and wild with her head thrown back. Erin supposes this is okay; she outlawed speaking, not making noise. She bites the juncture between neck and shoulder hard enough to bruise and pumps her fingers harder but not faster.

When Holtz is trembling on the cusp of her orgasm, Erin withdraws. “You will stand there, until I’m good and ready to finish you. Until I decide you deserve it.”

Holtz whimpers, but she walks back to the firepit, where she uses flint to spark a fire. Once she’s certain the flame will continue without her tending, she shifts to the cooler and pulls out their dinner. The small can of beans, baggy of hotdogs, and several soft drinks are a far cry from the meals she usually prefers, but Holtz insists that this is how camping is supposed to transpire. She preps the meal by guiding the pot over the flame, dumping in the beans and hotdogs, and occasionally stirring the mixture.

She glances at her watch and notes that the time is growing close to sundown. She stands and approaches her wayward girlfriend. “Have we thought about what we’ve done wrong?”

Holtz nods, her eyes tightly closed.

“Are we sorry?”

Another nod.

Erin slips beneath one of Holtz’s arms, trapping herself between her naked partner and the tree. Stealing a kiss, she thrusts her fingers back inside with more force and speed, and within a minute, Holtz squirms and comes for her. She holds Holtz close through the aftermath, and Holtz cuddles as close as possible. She remains nude for the rest of the evening, sitting at Erin’s feet during dinner and listening to Erin’s every demand.

As the moon rises, she glances into the forest. Erin kisses her again. “Please be careful.”

Finally speaking again, Holtz replies, “I promise.”

“Whose are you?”


With that, Holtz stands and disappears into the trees. Erin had asked once to watch the transformation, but Holtz had refused, citing that the process was pretty disgusting to view. That doesn’t mitigate Erin’s curiosity, but she respects that Holtzmann wants the privacy. She sits quietly and waits. After an hour, there’s a flicker of movement in the trees beyond the campsite and the jangle of the tags on Holtz’s collar.

Erin smiles and crawls into the tent. As expected, she finds her real pajamas tucked safely into another bag. Warm and safe within her sleeping bag, she falls asleep. In the morning, she’s got a small body tucked against her, as well as a few tufts of fur stuck to her lips. She spits that out, half-gagging on a strand that somehow made it down her throat.

Holtz only snuggles closer. She runs her fingers along Holtz’s body, checking for injuries. She stares with open horror at the gash on Holtz’s ankle, crusted with blood and dirt. Shaking Holtz awake, she demands an explanation.

“Apparently, hunting season started? I didn’t realize I should have been on the lookout for traps. I was fast enough not to get stuck, but it sorta nicked me.”

“I thought your fur was thick enough to stop that sort of thing.”

“Okay, so maybe I wasn’t as fast as I should have been.” Holtz flushes. “But there was this rabbit--”

“Did you kill it?”

“Um, obviously not.” She gestures to her leg. “But it would have been so tasty.”

“I’m so glad you don’t eat raw meat when you’re you.”

Holtz is quiet for a moment. “You know I’m always me, right? Even when I’m, you know.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I just…” She shakes her head and adopts a silly grin. “Breakfast?”

“Not so fast.” Erin’s fingers catch on the loose collar. “I’m going to clean your leg up, and you’re going to tell me what you mean.”

Holtz sits patiently while Erin finds the first aid kit and barely flinches when the alcohol-based cleanser hits her wound. “It’s stupid.”

“Nothing about you is stupid, Holtzmann.”

“I know I’m a giant furry monster once a month, like I get that, but I’m not actually a monster?”

“Of course not.” Erin dabs ointment once she determines that no stitches are necessary. She instead uses a few strips of medical tape to hold the sides a bit closer together.

“This is hard for me.”

Placing gauze, Erin reaches for a bandage. She looks up, however, and meets Holtz’s unsteady gaze. “What is?”

“I need… I need you to love all of me.”

Enlightenment dawns faster than the sun rises, which is to say still somewhat slowly. “Holtz, you know I do.”

“Sometimes, I don’t.”

“Well, I do, okay? Even when you get fur on the couch.”

“That was once! And only because you swore up and down it was way too cold to come out here.”

“Sub-zero temperatures are unacceptable.” Erin finishes dressing the wound and presses a kiss gently to the top. “Jillian Holtzmann, you may be a werewolf, but you’re my werewolf. At least as long as you want to be.”

Holtz lifts her foot to examine her ankle, and the odd posture makes Erin laugh. “Then fur-ever.”

“Forever it is.”