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All you wanted was to pee. You didn’t think going ten feet off the trail would get you so lost. It’s like as soon as you turned to go back, everything looked different.
The trees that should be in front of you are behind you, the wind is blowing in a new direction. You call out, sure. Hoping that someone in your small group will come, you holler for them.
How could they not hear you?
The thrumming of your heart deafens you, sending you spiraling further into panic. Leaves blow in the wind, it’s not dark yet, but it soon will be. A bird sings in the distance. Another string of words falls from your lips, a desperate call for help.
Trying to keep your wits about you, a hand flies to your belt, feeling for a small fixed blade knife. You kept your pack with you, at least. There’s enough food for the rest of the day, nothing for tomorrow. Trying to ease your growing panic, you draw slow breaths into your lungs.
You won’t be gone that long.
The comforting words your mind attempts to feed you are in vain as hot tears begin to well up in your eyes. Your gaze darts around, determined to make some sort of plan. You’re supposed to stay put if you find yourself lost in the woods.
A cry echoes in the air as you send it out. No response. Your mind races as you try to think how far you actually went off the trail. Maybe it was more than ten feet. It doesn’t really matter now. There are mountain lions here, your group had made note of the unmistakable clawed prints in the mud a few miles back.
Picking a direction, you decide you’re bound to get somewhere if you can cover enough ground. A small voice in your head screams at you: in three directions, there's hundreds of acres of wilderness.
***
The sun is beginning to set, a treasured source of light dipping further down past the trees that overwhelm your vision. The rest of your group should have sent for help by now. You eye your surroundings with an ever rising apprehension. How long has it been?
It’s colder now without the sun’s rays. You’d been hiking all day and the stress of your situation had you ready to collapse. Your head races as you wonder why they really hadn’t come when you called, you truly couldn’t have been that far off the trail.
A sinking feeling in your stomach wonders if they left you on purpose. You didn’t know the group all that well, and they hadn’t exactly taken to you quickly, but that didn’t mean they’d leave you for dead–did it?
Whatever the reason, you were stuck out here now and you try desperately to keep your head on straight. Finding a clearing, you decide the best thing you can try to do now is sleep. You don’t have a tent, so you settle with making a shabby lean-to.
The tarp you thankfully have rolled up on your pack beside your sleeping bag gets attached to some large branches in a feeble attempt to block the cold wind.
You drop the pack off your aching shoulders, tossing it haphazardly to the ground. You sit beside it, head in your hands. The sleeping bag gets unrolled beneath your shelter and you spread it out, giving a final tense glance around you. The rations that you began with are gone now, leaving you with an almost depleted water canteen.
You lay in your sleeping bag, knowing you’ve gone too far from where you were lost for anyone to find you.
Should’ve stayed.
Laying in the bed you’ve made, your body shuts down, the last bit of energy trickling out the ear you rest on. A cacophony of crickets travels through your head, in one ear and out the other. It’s not the sort of sound you're listening for. The dark night deepens before your closed eyelids as you have no choice but to capitulate to the uncertainty of sleep.
***
Crunchy footsteps startle you awake. A cougar. You panic. A bear.
The thuds draw closer, heavy things that seem to rattle the ground that you scramble up from. Your feet resist the order to be planted firmly beneath you–you slip. Desperate attempts to rise continue to fail as you come to the realization that the heavy steps can’t be that of an animal.
Fight or flight.
There has to be a third option. Grizzly bears don’t want a corpse bloated by the hot sun. You lay your body flat, cheek pressed into the damp earth. Playing dead.
The distinctive click of a bolt-action rifle makes you jump, breathing catching in your arid throat. The steps draw closer and you strain your eyes to see what has approached you without moving your head from the ground.
What you see isn’t much like a bear, but he’s not too different either. A tall man with dark hair looms over you, something blue catching the lean-to a few feet from you first. His eyes. The things are luminescent, the sun gleaming off them like stained glass.
The man wears dirty jeans and a plaid button down that has seen better days. The red is faded, worn to a shy pink that rides up thick forearms to reveal tanned skin sheltered by a coat of dark hair. The shirt isn’t buttoned, a white wife beater peeking through as he pads around your makeshift camp.
Your eyes travel over him quickly, scanning. His face is stubbled–lined and prickly; some white scars travel like veins across his chin. Dark hair like a shadow falls slightly over his forehead, he swipes a free hand over it to smooth it back. Longer in the back, the sides are shaved to the skin, a period of growth allowing it to match his cheeks.
The large man’s gaze finally reaches your hiding frame, pupils dilating in an instant as he snaps his eyes down to you. You instinctively avert your eyes, digging your nose into the dirt. Hands shaking, you feel his eyes upon you, searching, but you never hear the rifle lower. The man speaks, something like a growl, low and dark.
“What are ye doin’ on m’property?”
You can hardly understand him, a Scottish accent thickened with something Appalachian. You don’t answer him, still shivering.
He squats down to you, pushing the barrel of his gun under the collar of your shirt. He uses it to push the fabric to the side, seeming to get a good look at your skin. The man grunts, shoving it into your exposed shoulder blade.
“Answ’r me.”
Shaking, you lift your head, arms still fixed at your sides as you lay on your belly. The metal is cold against your skin, leaving it pebbled under its rough jab. Your aggressor looks down at you harshly.
Can’t he tell I'm just lost?
“I-I got separated-” You start, voice trembling. “-from my hiking group, I’ve been lost for hours–all night.”
A fat tear threatens to fall down your cheek, just beginning to well over the brim of your eye. His gaze doesn’t soften, he strokes the barrel from your shoulder to your neck, pressing it into the soft skin there.
The metal warms as it rests against your flesh, fluttering heart pushing heated blood to the surface, surely painting you a terror-stricken shade of red.
“I just slept here.” The tear does fall, soon followed by one from the other eye, the salty heat sending wet stripes down your dirty face. “I-I can leave now.”
You give him a hopeful look, but his eyes seem to be elsewhere now. He looks around curiously as if he's waiting for someone to jump out at him. He grunts, finally removing the weapon from your neck. He trains that blue gaze on you once more, thrusting out his free hand to you cautiously. His expression is unreadable.
“Poor lass, aye?” He gives you a crooked smile now. “Out here all alone.”
You flatten your hands to the ground, pushing yourself up before tentatively grabbing the stranger’s outstretched hand. He hoists you up roughly, helping you balance on your feet. You try to straighten your shoulders, bones screaming from your tumultuous sleep on the forest floor.
“M’out hog huntin’, girl. Dinner.”
The man towers over you, his height staggering as you stand before him. His face is gnarled, scarred and rough like a tree. A sheen of sweat lays over his forehead.
You’d seen wild boar out on other hiking trips, you were always told to keep your distance. They have sharp tusks and wiry fur that didn’t make you ever feel like approaching them. This guy eats those?
He’s obviously older than you, soft lines beginning to show at the corners of his eyes, his cheeks. Tiny flecks of grey spatter his hair, barely noticeable. A permanent furrow between his eyebrows is evident.
You look up at him, he looks down at you. The air is thick and stagnant in the silence. His proximity is threatening, in a silent sort of way. He doesn’t seem to have any real solution for you, so your instinct tells you to run as fast as you can away from him.
Disregarding the weapon he has tucked under one arm, you turn on your heels and start to sprint. You don’t know where you’re going, as long as it's away from the strange man.
You make it a few hundred feet before you hear the thudding footsteps behind you. He gave you a head start, but is now nipping at your heels. He doesn’t have to tackle you when your eyes can’t help but dart behind, making you trip over clumsy feet. You can only do so much when you’re not looking where you’re going.
You trip, like a bad horror movie. The ground rushes at you, your knee catching a sharp stone, sending a blinding pain up to your gut. Your hands flail as you try to scramble away as you make contact with the rotten leaves in the dirt.
The man throws himself over you in an instant, pinning you brutally under him. He pants in your ear as you wail. You struggle beneath the sweaty wall of muscle that restrains you. Every move you make exhausts you further, and it’s all in vain. The man grunts, a rabid sound that resonates through your back as he presses his weight into you. You cry now, tears freely streaming down your dirt-caked cheeks.
“You’ll fuckin’ do, then.”
You don’t have the time to unwrap his words, all your energy focused on trying to free yourself from his grasp. You thrash, rapidly losing strength. You swear you feel something jab your lower back as he digs his hips into you, pressing you further into the dirt.
The birds still sing in the sky, leaves still rustle in the wind. The world is still and peaceful around you as he leans into your ear.
“Bet ye squeal like a pig, girl.”
***
The large man lifts you with both hands, rifle no longer in his arms. He slings you over one shoulder, tossing you up slightly to get your soft body to settle on his properly. He smells like blood and sweat, a musk that overwhelms you instantly, making you cough. He barks something indiscernible at you and you shut up. Your body gives in to being carried against your mind’s will. You’re so exhausted, what little sleep you had is fading fast. You hadn’t had food or water in over twelve hours.
You weren’t dying, but you sure as hell weren’t at your best.
He stoops to grab his rifle from the ground, supposedly having dropped it when you ran. Continuing the trek, you feel panic rise in you. The rifle clanks against the man’s belt, hitting something metal.
Your mind runs away, thinking of where he could bring you, what he could do to you. You still cry softly, squeaking in surprise when the large hand that holds you in place strokes your leg gently with a thumb. A half-hearted attempt at comfort done in vain. Your ass is level with his head as he trudges on and you feel his fingers dig into the fat of your thigh carefully.
“Almost home.”
Home?
The man slows his pace, tossing his rifle on a dilapidated table as he walks past it. You see an old truck, covered in rust and a small trail leading to what you guess is his home. He stops, hauling you off his shoulder when he steps through the front door. It swings shut haphazardly behind him. The room is dim, illuminated only by the light peeking through the few windows. He sets you on a couch, watching intently as your body slumps down in defeat. You look up at him, he finally has some sort of identifiable emotion pasted across his face: something between hunger and concern. You don’t try to pick it apart.
“Please don’t hurt me.” You manage, ashamed at your weakness in your state of collapse.
The man only snorts, looking amused. “Poor thing.”
He raises a palm to you, motioning for you to stay. He shrugs his button down off, tossing it on the other side of the couch. You nod, looking away momentarily, scanning your surroundings. The room is all wood walls and wood floor, a shabby kitchen rests in one corner. There's a large bed in another, the whole place no more than two rooms. There must be a bathroom somewhere, but you can’t see it. A hatch in the middle of the floor tells you there’s a basement of sorts beneath you.
He walks toward the kitchen, fishing for a glass in a cabinet near the sink. He plucks one from the shelf, a mason jar with the label torn off. He fills it with water from the faucet before bringing it over to you.
The man watches intently as you drink, chuffing approvingly as you swallow. You finish the glass quickly, the mineral flavor telling you there’s a well on the property. He raises an eyebrow to you, asking. You shake your head, a quiet thank you leaving your wet lips.
Your captor recedes back to the kitchen, pulling the wife beater over his head. He tosses it haphazardly onto the counter. Turning the faucet knob, he reaches in a drawer, producing a threadbare rag. He rinses it under the running water and wrings it out thoroughly. He pads back over to you, boots almost thunderous in the small room.
You watch as he approaches you, bare chested. He looks as if he has to shoulder through doorways, the broadness of him is astonishing. His chest is covered in that same dark pelt as his arms. A soft ‘v’ of muscle forms above the waistline of his jeans, the fabric hanging low around his hips. The thick hair trails down, dipping behind the jeans to the only part of him you can’t see yet. He definitely isn’t shy.
You can tell he’s strong, he did carry you after all, but there’s a layer of fat protecting his abdominal muscles. The man is somehow more intimidating approaching you half nude. You catch a glint of mirth in his blue eyes as he kneels down to you. There’s a large knife sheathed on his belt.
His voice is gravelly but gentle as he eyes you. “Y’r dirty. Hurt.”
He’s hard to understand, his words stringed together irregularly. The accent doesn’t help. You can only nod at him, figuring he means to tend to the dirt caking your face. A large hand fisting the rag wipes carefully over one cheek, then the other. He looks down at the fabric with scrutiny before swiping it over your nose, under your eyes.
He seems frustrated as he looks you up and down, suddenly rising to his feet. He leaves you wondering as he returns to the kitchen, dropping the rag in the sink. He looks over at you.
“Need a bath.”
Your stomach drops a bit at this, finally finding the courage to speak. “Uh, maybe–don’t you just–have a phone?”
He cocks his head at you, like a dog that heard a strange noise. “No power here, lass.”
No phone? The knot in your stomach tightens and you feel your breathing accelerate. The shallow breaths seem to agitate the man, a furrow of worry crossing his brow. He rushes over to you, kneeling again. You back away from him, shoving your hands out in protest.
“Why call?”
The large man’s question startles you as he leans into you, pressing his face close to yours. You stammer a response.
“They just left ye, girl. They don’ want ye no more.”
His gaze is intense, promising. He doesn’t break eye contact as he searches for your reaction to his taunts.
Wide-eyed, you stare up at him with nothing to say, bottom lip surely beginning to tremble. He straightens, reaching a hand to your face, stroking a thumb over your cheekbone.
“But me–” He muses darkly. “I saved ye. I want ye here.”
You suck in a breath, managing to nod, trying to remain as still as possible. You still feel as if you’re being watched by a predator as your captor strokes a strand of hair from your dirty face.
“Just a bath, girl. Y’ll feel bett’r.” He changes the subject, redirecting.
The large man reaches to your legs, a feigned action of comfort. He holds you down, keeping you still in your seat.
You take a few deep breaths, trying to slow your heart rate. You peer into his eyes, breathing steadily. You nod at him again, the action nothing but instinctual. He smiles then, something that more closely resembles a snarl and snakes his hands further up your thighs.
His gaze is captivating, a quiet hunger burning behind the blue. The man isn’t ugly, just grizzled and dirty. An animal, not a person.
You wish you didn’t feel a heat burning at the apex of your thighs, wish you didn’t feel a wave of slick ease its way out of you, coating your panties, but you do.
It’s the only reason you relax at his touch as he moves to undo the button on your pants. Something primal disconnects the logical part of your brain from itself, allowing you to raise your hips to let the man slide the fabric over your ass and down your legs. You’re in survival mode.
He stops to tug at your hiking boots, tossing them away. The pants slide easily over your feet now. He tosses them near his discarded button down. The beast at your feet grunts.
“Johnny.” He breathes. An introduction.
You focus your gaze on him, his eyes trained on your fabric-clad sex. “Johnny.” You repeat, voice barely a whisper.
“I’ll clean ye up, girl.”
His eyes travel over your bloody legs, wounds the work of thorns and sharp rocks.
Johnny leans over, snuffing at the scrapes against your knee. One after the other, he inspects them before letting his tongue roll out of his mouth. Unable to conceal your shock, you recoil as the brute laps at the abrasions.
Johnny doesn’t raise his eyes to you, only pressing down again on your legs, keeping you in place.
Something odd stirs in you then, watching the large man clean your damaged flesh with his tongue. He snarls, a sound emanating from deep in his chest as he grooms you.
He’s just a man. You tell yourself. –but the creature at your feet is more animal than anything. A starving beast.
You have nothing to say, looking at the stranger in horror as he pulls away, tonguing his upper lip briefly.
He stands, motioning for you to follow suit, seemingly trying to exercise some restraint. What choice do you have? You rise to your feet, following Johnny as he turns on his heels. He leads you to the bathroom, a hard water stained tub along one wall. The room is small, you’re not sure how you both fit.
The large man kneels down by what you assume to be a water heater. He turns the pilot knob, producing a lighter from his pocket, igniting the gas that pours out with a hiss. He moves to the tub, turning a knob to allow the water to rush out. He waves a hand at you. “Take yer kit off.”
The beast doesn’t speak to you as a person, but like a sickly animal he so graciously brought home, tending to its wounds, cleaning its pelt. If you had fur, it would be bristled along your spine, hackled raised and teeth bared to your captor.
A distrustful thing.
You only stare at him in shock. No privacy at all? He paws at the running water, chuffing delightedly when he feels it heating up. He turns, looming over you. He cocks an eyebrow, something frustrated flashing across his worn face. “Off, girl.”
When you stand there blankly, gaping at him, he tsks.
“Poor lass, need some help, aye?”
Before you can respond, his hands are all over you. Your bare legs tremble under you as he hooks thick fingers under the fabric of your shirt, pulling it over your head. You try to shrink away from the brute undressing you, but he wraps one hand around your shoulder, digging a thumb into a pressure point near your neck. You crumble, forced to accept what he deals you.
He reaches around to your bra, huffing disapprovingly when it gives him a bit of trouble. The brunette promptly unsheaths a knife on his belt, reaching it behind you to slip under the elastic of your bra, slicing it clean open. Satisfied, he sheaths the blade and slips the thing over your shoulders, tossing the useless garment onto the floor.
Johnny steps back from you momentarily, grip still strong and holding on your shoulder. His free hand reaches for his crotch, palming a swelling cock. The beast before you snarls, something deep in his chest rumbles and you catch his hips jerk into his touch slightly.
He fixes his gaze on your chest, eyes darting back and forth. He drinks in the sight of you slowly, creating an uncomfortable pause, the sound of the running water crashing against the porcelain of the tub dominating air in the small room.
You stand there in horrified shock with nothing to say. No words come to mind. You know you can’t outrun him. Nothing shields you from his gaze except your panties, which he will soon find slick with your unwelcome arousal. Shame floods your cheeks as the man unabashedly ruts into his flattened hand.
You begin to cross your arms over your chest, hands reaching to grip your sides, a mechanical, self-soothing act. Your keeper grunts, giving you a sharp look that forces your arms to plant themselves firmly at your sides.
The water steadily fills the tub and Johnny’s eyes never leave you. He lowers himself to his knees. You press your legs together instinctively, knees trembling.
The beast clicks his tongue sternly, reaching his hands to the waistband of your panties. He hooks a finger on either side. As he begins to tug, you squeal something incoherent, pressing two flat palms to his forehead.
The man before you doesn’t think to look shocked, only snarling viciously without moving an inch. It feels as if you’re pushing against a wall of solid concrete, every bit of effort in vain.
“Be fuckin’ still, girl.” He barks up at you, eyes wild. “–need a bath.”
You’re frozen in place with Johnny’s calloused hands scraping against your hips, blunt nails digging sharply into you. You manage to nod, planting white knuckled fists firmly at your sides once more.
He grunts approvingly, yanking the panties down with more frustration than he has before. He tears them past each of your feet and rests back on his haunches, hand still firmly grasping your soft hips.
The creature at your feet can’t seem to reach his gaze to yours quite yet, eyes fixed intently on your sex. He makes a strangled noise as he takes a sharp breath in.
“Oh– look at ‘er, lass.”
Awe plastered over his lined face, he manages to look up at you. You pant, entire body shaking as you feel his hot breath wash over your exposed sex. You can’t deny the steady heartbeat in your clit that only strengthens as this strange man inches closer to you.
You clear your throat as he opens his mouth, presumably to taste you. “Johnny–” You barely recognize your own voice. “–the, um– the water.”
The water in the tub is rising steadily, filled far enough for a decent bath now. The brunette tears his eyes from your core and snorts at the tub for interrupting him. He stands.
“Olright, in the tub now.”
You breathe out, something which you’d like to call a sigh of relief, you’ve barely escaped, but your body knows you better than that. She sings for touch as soon as Johnny’s hands leave your hips. He steps back, motioning for you to get in the water.
You comply, actually grateful for the all consuming warmth it grants. You moan contentedly as you sink down and you catch a small hitch of Johnny’s breath as you settle in.
Unable to help himself, he kneels by the tub, quickly reaching for a bar of soap in a small nook in the tile wall. Some part of you wants to shove him away, tell him to keep his filthy paws to himself, but your sex is still swollen with arousal and the prospect of the large man washing your tired body is something you couldn’t possibly deny.
He grunts again, the man seems to be made of more animal noises than words. He holds a meaty hand out and you relinquish one arm to him. The soap smells like very little, something unperfumed, solely for scrubbing the grime away.
He rubs it up the dirty extremity, following the bar with thick, calloused fingers that work it into your skin. He hums, a dark rumbling noise in his chest.
“Thas’ it, sugar.”
The brute lathers the bar, reaching one paw down to clean your sex. You gasp at the intrusion, the water sloshing against the porcelain. He shushes you, forcing his other hand over the ball of your shoulder, holding you still. He keeps you in place as he strokes soapy fingers through your folds.
To your dismay, your body betrays you. You relax at his touch, breath hitching in your throat as he rubs a purposeful circle on your clit. Your hips kick into his rough hand, but he doesn’t acknowledge your reaction.
“Hush, now.” Johnny coos, still kneading at your delicate skin.
“M’only cleanin’ ye.”
He removes his hands, leaving you heated and shaking. Deft fingers move up to stroke water through your hair before instructing you to sink further into the bath. You dip your hair into the water, letting water rush in your ears. Eyes closed, you can still feel Johnny’s gaze on your exposed flesh.
You want to recoil as he scrubs the plain bar of soap against your hair roughly, certainly clueless how to care for hair much longer than his. You let him, though. His fingers are rough as they massage your scalp and he hums to himself as he grooms you.
***
When he’s satisfied, the large man instructs you to stand. You comply, shivering in the cool air as he leans in to unplug the drain. He reaches for a towel, slinging it over his shoulder as he grabs your hand to help you out.
You’re exhausted, the warm bath only serving to remind you of how little sleep and nourishment you’ve had recently. Johnny wraps the towel around you. You’re desperate to feel shame, but completely unable as the stranger coos and dries you carefully.
“I need to sleep.” You state simply, eyelids becoming impossibly heavy over your eyes.
Johnny hums down at you, raising either of your arms, drying you with the towel. “Spread yer legs, lass.”
You absentmindedly obey, sleepily working your feet apart, eyes barely open. The brunette reaches a corner of the towel between your legs, patting your sex dry. As he parts your lips, you suck in a breath.
Your eyes shoot open as electricity flows through you. Your body hasn’t forgotten its want, its need. The brute towering over you chuffs, only patting you a few more times as you realize you’ve grabbed onto his hairy arm for balance.
Panting as he tosses the towel to the floor, you finally move to cover up your body with your hands. There’s no use, but your shame gets the better of you and you cross your arms over your chest.
Johnny scoffs, taking you by the shoulder and leading you to the main room again. He sits you on the large bed in one corner of the sparse room. He motions for you to wait and turns on his heels.
When he returns, he holds what you assume is one of his t-shirts in his hands. He immediately tucks it over your head and you slip your arms through, body still thrumming with electricity.
“Don’t have fresh meat, girl.”
He grumbles as he reaches a meaty hand out to you, grabbing your chin lightly. He turns your head, inspecting either side of your face thoughtlessly as he speaks. You shiver, hair still wet from your bath.
Your captor leaves you, padding toward the fireplace, heavy boots making a hollow sound against the wood floor. He crouches by a brick structure, reaching to grab some wood stacked beside it. He arranges it neatly amongst the ash. Newspapers lay in a pile near the wood, which he crumples and places them atop the stack.
The large man snags a matchbook from the mantle, striking a match against it. He lights the paper carefully, letting the embers reach the dry logs.
His fire burns steadily as he tends it. You watch him intently, beginning to feel the heat radiate through the room.
Johnny is still shirtless, the muscles in his back, his shoulders rippling as he moves. You can’t seem to tear your eyes away. The coat of hair along his forearms seems to slick with perspiration as the fire grows. He raises a hand to wipe his brow, finally standing.
“Come sit.” He commands.
The fire is so enticing, and the man is so intimidating, so you rise to your feet, padding over to the fire. You sit on the old wood floor before the fireplace, tucking your knees to your chin. The shirt he gave you is long, reaching past your ass even as you curl up on the floor.
Johnny looks down at you, a strange look on his face, something not totally satisfied.
“Turn ‘round.”
You glance up at him briefly before complying, turning your back to the flames. He kneels beside you, reaching one hand up to tousle your hair, allowing more of the heated air to dry it. He shakes your wet hair, letting his fingers graze along your scalp. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t enjoying yourself.
The gentle touch of the stranger is soothing, easing your mind for a moment. He coos at you, his new pet. The beast pets your head, occasionally shaking out your hair before the fire. You don’t look at him, opting to keep your eyes closed to the odd situation.
When he’s satisfied he’s done all he can to dry your hair–you’re not shivering any more after all– he stands and walks away. You pry your heavy eyelids open now to peek at him, curious.
The beast kicks off his boots, undoing the belt on his jeans. Your stomach tightens. He steps back into the kitchen, rooting around in another cabinet. He brings a small package wrapped in cloth, offering it to you. You take it tentatively, meeting his eyes before you unwrap it.
Strips of dried meat are neatly arranged atop each other. You smile at him, stomach gnawing at you. Johnny sits beside you as you turn back toward the fire, placing the meal on the floor between you.
He takes a piece of meat for himself, ripping it with his canines and chewing noisily. You follow suit, happy to be filling your belly. Your keeper leans back as he eats, drawing his eyes to you now and again to make sure you’re taking part in the meal.
When you’re satiated, you uncross your legs, thrusting them out before you. A yawn crawls out of your throat; you’re exhausted. Johnny stands, returning the remaining meat to its place in the cupboard. He turns to grunt in your direction. He eyes you up and down.
With an eyebrow raised, you wait in a thick anticipation. He walks back into the bathroom silently, only waving a hand lazily as he turns. You trail behind him, walking through the threshold as he rummages through a cupboard. The large man produces a toothbrush from a worn package.
Johnny grins when your eyes light up. You’re more than happy to be able to brush your teeth. He draws back when you move to reach for the object, again making a low huffing sound in his throat. Shaking his head, your keeper lives up to his odd nickname you’ve created for him in your head.
He motions for you to sit on the edge of the tub and you comply, confused. He clears it up for you, though, as he wets the brush and smears a paste over the bristles clumsily. The brute leans down to grasp your face in one meaty hand. He squeezes your cheeks, parting your lips.
Some part of you tries to pull away, but the man’s grip on you is tight and your body just doesn’t respond. You gaze up at him, wide eyed and wondering. He gives you nothing but a half-cocked smile and a raise of his thick eyebrow. His blue eyes sparkle.
Johnny reaches the brush into your mouth, beginning to scrub it over your dirty teeth. He tilts your head to reach your molars, drawing gentle circles over your gums. He’s thorough–seemingly enraptured by the act. Saliva bubbles in your mouth as he reaches a finger under your top lip to run over a canine once more.
When he notices you tilting your head back so as to not spill the liquid from your mouth, he removes the brush, allowing you to close your lips, cheeks full of his affection. He startles you when he fists a hand in your hair roughly, almost dragging you up to your feet. The beast pulls your face over the sink where you let the white foam spill out into the basin.
He chuckles darkly as he watches your tongue loll out, seeing an opportunity to clean the neglected muscle. Fist still firmly in your hair, he reaches the brush directly to the back of your tongue. You gag, which only causes the large man to tighten his grasp. He vibrates with need as he scrubs at you.
You gasp for air, feeling a lightness begin in your head, travelling down your face, pricking at your sprawled fingertips.
Tears begin to well up in your eyes as he continues to thrust the object to the back of your throat, almost seeming to forget his task. You give a weak thrash in his grip, coughing. He wrenches your head back, now scrubbing lightly at the muscle, watching the drool begin to fall from the edges of your mouth.
Johnny coos softly at you as he finishes, cupping water into his hand from the faucet that he allows you to drink from. You rinse your mouth with his offering as his gentle voice unrests your soul.
“Spit now, sugar.”
You rinse once more, spitting the liquid from his giving hand into the sink.
“Helluva gag ye got on ye, lass.”
He releases your hair, standing you straight and giving you a pat. You almost tremble looking up at him, the heat from his body chills you to your bone. You whine, not knowing what else to say.
He pets your head again, other hand drying your lips, your chin with a towel.
“Don’ worry yer head.”
Dazed, you let the brute lead you back into the main room of the cabin. He sits you on the bed, adjusting the pillow near the wall. New moonlight leaks in over the sheets. He waves a palm down and you obey, resting your body–your spinning head. The pillow looks hand-stitched, clumsy hems letting tufts of fur poke out.
Johnny returns to the small bathroom. You hear the water run as he brushes his own teeth. Your mind’s eye pictures him as a sort of creature, sharpened fangs gleaming in the mirror as he scrubs them. Blue eyes glowing as he admires himself–you’re sure he must.
–but when he returns he is but a man. Sickeningly large with a presence that chills your bones. You look him over as he walks–strides–like a hunter toward the bed.
The thought of sleeping pressed up against the stranger doesn’t cross your mind until Johnny drops his pants and shimmies his large body in bed next to you. In a state of sleep-deprived shock, you answer him dumbly.
You’re facing the wall the bed is pressed up on, the moonlight beaming brightly through the window. Frost begins to stick to the glass as the temperature drops with the night.
“You’re, uh–going to sleep here?” His body warms you in a way that’s undeniably pleasant.
He scoffs, snorting amusedly. “This is m’bed, lass.”
He’s right, you guess.
“I need to go home.” You stutter, words tumbling out of your mouth as the creature settles beside you. Your body doesn’t know whether you should cringe away or snuggle closer to his warmth.
“Maybe you can drive me somewhere with a phone tomorrow?” You speak without turning to look at him.
Johnny says nothing at first, grunting absentmindedly as he rolls onto his side, facing you. You feel his movements, his breath only inches from your skin. A wall of muscle, he reaches out one arm to drape over your shivering frame.
You decide–your body decides instinctively when he speaks to you.
“Let me hold ye, lass. Y’r shakin’ wi’ the cold.”
You shuffle to the center of the bed, feeling his naked body press against your back. The coat of hair on his chest is wiry, but so warm. The man radiates heat that instantly soothes you. He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply as he roots around your hair.
A massive arm pulls you closer and his hips dig into your rear. Strangely, it no longer feels like a violation. Something makes your blood run cold as ice, though– his cock is obviously swollen with blood as it rests in the cleft of your ass.
God, he’s enormous. Inhuman.
You suck in a breath, feeling his manhood harden steadily as he curls around you. Tentatively, you nestle into him further, wiggling your hips back into the beast. Johnny snarls, barely a whisper as he digs his nails almost imperceptibly into your skin.
“Careful, sugar.”
***
You wake up cold, Johnny missing from the bed. Sun rays peek through the window, casting a warm beam of light where he used to lay. You sit up, looking around the cabin. It’s empty, save for a small fire burning in the hearth.
Climbing out of the bed, you think about your question that went unanswered last night. He didn’t seem too keen on trying to get you home. You use the bathroom and go digging through the kitchen cupboards to get a glass of water.
You’re starving, but you decide against eating more of the dried meat, opting to wait for Johnny to return.
You’re glad you did, too. He walks through the front door a while later, eyes immediately searching for you when he steps past the threshold. His gaze brightens when it finds you, but widens in concern when you don’t have the same reaction.
The monstrous man is clad in only jean overalls. He wears no shirt underneath and his chest is soaked in blood. His hands are stained red with the fluid and spatters of the stuff speckle his lined face. Muddy boots make tracks on the floor as he approaches you.
You stumble backward, still half asleep and terrified. He stops, cocking his head at you before looking down at himself.
He tips his head back to laugh, a thunderous sound that rattles you to your core. The beast shakes his head, giving you a toothy grin. With his maw stretched wide, you notice now he’s missing a premolar near the back of his mouth.
“Just breakfast.” He chuckles again, scratching his ear, leaving a smudge of blood against the skin.
“Ye hungry?”
A little less so now, but you won’t turn down a meal. He turns to leave, beckoning you to follow him outside. You shake your head, gesturing down at your attire. You’re in nothing but Johnny’s old t-shirt, feet and legs bare. He chuffs in agreement.
The man shoulders past you, opening the linen closet. He produces a pair of sweatpants multiple sizes too big for you and thrusts them out. He stands back to watch you dress, wrinkling his nose at your feet. He raises a hand to you, and you wait.
The eerie hatch in the floor is pried open, the large man squeezing down a small stairwell into the basement. You peer in, but it’s too dark to see anything.
Johnny returns with a pair of boots, obviously yours. You had wondered where they’d gone. You follow him outside after he closes the hatch, nestling the metal latch back in its place.
A small hog lays sprawled out on the wood table coated in blood. Its fur is wiry and small tusks protrude from its mouth. Even dead, the thing gives you the creeps. You’ve had pork, how much different can this be?
Johnny smiles proudly, puffing out his chest as you admire his kill. He’s already begun butchering the animal, hence the layer of blood on his body. He resumes his task and you sit to watch, not sure what else to do.
The brute hacks away at its flesh with the knife he keeps on his belt. He peels the skin back, the coarse hair saturated with the creature’s lifeblood. You can’t seem to look away, he looks so comfortable butchering his next meal.
When he’s satisfied at the portions he’s made, Johnny turns to you, bloodied knife still clenched in his fist. Something terrifying radiates off him–raw animal masculinity. It seeps out of him, thickened like honey as he pads toward you.
He points past you, nodding his head at something.
“Ye start a fire?”
You see a small pit in the ground when you turn, topped with a metal grate. Of course you know how to start a fire, but you find a stab of worry in your gut that it won’t be up to his standards.
A large part of you still fears the bullish man, especially now that he’s covered in blood, wielding a knife. You shake your hair, ushering your thoughts away. You wonder if he remembered your request to take you into town.
Johnny hands you a matchbook, gesturing to the wood stacked on the side of the house. He smiles as he waves you away, seeming happy to have given you a task.
You’re pretty sure he’s not worried about getting you to a phone.
You start the fire in the pit, watching as Johnny rinses his hands with the outdoor well pump. Bloody water pools on the ground beneath it. The meat is portioned and piled in a large bowl when he brings it to you.
He lays the metal grate back on top of the flames, chuffing approvingly. You sit on a low stump as he begins to lay the meat over the fire. The air is thick with smoke, the metallic scent of blood heavy between you and your captor.
Something soothing falls over you. The wind is still cold, but the sun and fire warm your face. Johnny sits across the fire from you with his knees hiked up, pulling a fat cigar from his breast pocket. He cuts the tip off haphazardly with the same knife he used to butcher breakfast.
He turns to you, holding the thing between his teeth. Blood is still spattered on his prickly face. He holds one hand out to you. You startle slightly, realizing you still have his matchbook.
You rise to hand it to him, but he snatches his palm away before you can place it there. The man smirks, chucking to himself. He shakes his head, adjusting the cigar in his mouth.
He means for you to light it for him.
A part of you wants to be offended, but logically you realize this isn’t the time or place. The way he looks holding the cigar in his teeth, leaned over his knee as he eyes you with that cocky amusement in his gaze– it’s driving you wild. You hate to admit it, and you don’t, but the rugged beast makes your heart flutter.
You pad over to him and strike a match, lifting it tentatively to the tip of his cigar. Johnny’s cheeks hollow with each short inhale, never letting his eyes leave yours. The match burns out in the wind and you toss it away. You light another, again attempting to light the thing.
A cloud of smoke hits you in the face as he puffs, the tip glowing red. He nods to you, pulling away. The brute leans back, drawing another mouthful of smoke in, blowing it out leisurely. You can’t tear your eyes away from him.
You return to your seat, feet stretched out to the warmth of the flames.
Johnny rises, indulging in a small upwards stretch. He puffs on the cigar, gazing around the property leisurely. Fitting it back between his teeth, the brute takes only a few steps away from the fire, still purposely in your line of sight. He kicks his foot to the base of a tree momentarily before reaching to undo his belt.
He tears the zipper down on the crotch of his overalls. The brunette gives you a sideways glance, making sure you have your eyes on him. A smirk plays on his lips wrapped around the cigar when he realizes your gaze is fixed right where he wants it.
A flaccid cock lays over the zipper and thick fabric, fat and imposing. He knows it, too. He holds it with one hand, giving it a brazen stroke. Your face flushes pink, heat creeping up to your ears.
Show off.
You can’t tear your eyes away, though, as he pisses on the tree, one hand pulling the cigar from his lips to exhale a cloud of smoke. You squeeze your thighs together. Everything he does is some form of peacocking, some way to get you to bite at the inside of your cheek.
Johnny shakes himself off, fitting the cigar back between his teeth as he raises on his toes to do his zipper back up.
He saunters back to the fire, nonchalant as he puffs on his cigar. You turn away, halfway ashamed as you shift in your seat.
He leans forward to stab at the meat with his knife. He flips the pieces, turning his attention back to you. You jump slightly, feeling like you’ve been caught red handed looking the large man over. You can’t seem to forget the heat of the length he had pressed against you the night before. He speaks to you with the cigar firmly between his canines.
“See somethin’ ye like, lass?” He teases.
You must blush a deep shade of red, because he tips his head back to laugh, letting one arm fall back to support his weight. How wrong of you, to be attracted to the man who tackled you and hauled you home with him over his shoulder. Squeezing your thighs together because of the man who wouldn’t even let you bathe yourself.
Controlling. You think. The type of man to direct every conversation.
He grins wickedly, a flicker of savageness in his blue eyes. He puffs on his cigar thoughtfully for a moment more.
“Why don’ ye come give Johnny a kiss?”
Baffled at his suggestion, you stare at him with your mouth agape. It’s true, you’d like nothing more than to be pressed up against the stranger, but he’s so confident you’ll obey his commands–it should be off putting.
“Come here, girl.” His tone is darker now.
You rise, knowing this is the second time you’ve come at his call.
You’re sure it won’t be the last.
As you approach him, he looks up, somehow dominating the air between you even as he rests at your feet. The beast of a man pulls the cigar from his teeth, running his tongue along them. He still sits reclined on one hand, the other resting on his knee as his cigar burns steadily.
You begin to lean down to him, wondering exactly what he expects. Before you can get much further, Johnny stands, suddenly rising to loom over you. He looks down, taking another drag of his cigar, tobacco smoke rushing into your nose, your eyes.
You’re still–unmoving as he gazes at you. The man grabs your face with his free hand, pinching your cheeks together, dragging you impossibly close to his body. He tilts your chin up, looking you over as he takes another drag of his cigar.
Cerulean eyes travel over your skin, pausing briefly to catch your wide-eyed expression. He swallows it–stores the look on your face behind his sharpest teeth.
Smoke fills your vision, the grey cloud climbing up your nose, in your eyes. It swirls in your head. It’s dizzying, you sway on your feet, almost fighting for air. Johnny’s rough hand holds tight to your face, urging you to keep your face up.
He kisses you then, nothing but teeth and smoke.
It’s less of a kiss–more of a display of power–and it shocks you. A siren in your ear wouldn’t have been warning enough. The heat from his mouth is shattering; fracturing every last piece of yourself you clung to.
In pieces, you’re swished around your keeper’s mouth, nothing more than the smoke that still trails off the lit cigar in his hand. Like the smoke, he holds you under his tongue, behind his teeth. He doesn’t allow you to slink down his throat, into his lungs. You’re resting on his gums.
You’re putty in his hands, finding your palms sliding up the front of his overalls, drying blood catching on your fingertips.
He tastes metallic, musky and iron. The smoke on his tongue coils around your molars, clawing down your throat. The pulse in your sex grows, his touch overwhelming.
When he releases you, you stumble. The wall of muscle you’d been subconsciously clinging to backs away, casually puffing tobacco smoke into the air. You’re dazed as he gazes down at you, his eyes dark.
He turns to tend to the meat, leaving you suspended in limbo. You don’t know where to look, how to feel. The man captured you–took you home and kept you from contacting anyone.
His forced proximity has driven some sick kind of affection into you. You’re relying on him for food, for shelter. Now your cunt throbs, begging for something else from him.
The smell of the meat makes your mouth water. Johnny pads back over to you, cigar caught between his teeth as he speaks. He slides a hand around your waist, curling at your lower back, fingers hooking under the oversized shirt you wear to stroke your skin.
Goosebumps immediately rise to the surface, acknowledging his touch. You shudder, breath catching, knees threatening to fail. The taste of him lingers on your lips, you run your tongue along your molars, savoring every bit of him you can. You act without deliberation, body reduced to its basic mechanics–instinct.
The brute squeezes your hip, making you jump. You look up at him, though you could feel his gaze burn into your flesh before your eyes ever meet his.
“Almost there, lass.” He nods to the meat.
You sigh a sort of response, still dizzied from his kiss. The man chuckles, lowering his hand to pat you on the rear, directing you. Without a word, you turn on your heels to go inside.
Unsure what you’re looking for until you see it, you grab a flat slab of wood, like a cutting board. You present it to Johnny, who's waiting patiently on your return.
He grins around his cigar, slicking his hair back with one hand before taking your offering. He stabs the meat with his knife, removing it from the metal grate. He piles it atop the wood slab, shouldering past you to go inside.
A simple click of his tongue orders you to follow–and you do. He sets the plate down on a small table in what could be a dining room if there was space. Tall, with two barstools on either side. It’s perfect for you and your keeper.
You sit, watching intently as Johnny sits adjacent. He looks over the meat before taking a piece. You try to reach for your own, but the man smacks your hand away, giving you a quiet snarl. You shrink away, wondering why before straightening.
“Why can’t I eat?” You snap at him, patience waning.
He doesn’t look immediately up at you, twirling his uneaten chunk of meat in his fingers. Slowly, the beast raises his eyes to you, shaking his head.
“Haven’t I told ye t’be careful?”
His words ring hot and threatening in your ears, vision blurry with tears burning at the precipice of your lash line. He tears the meat with his fingers, reaching over the small table. He engulfs it as he does, a cloud over the sun in the middle of the day.
He has a specific way of belittling you. Doting and cruel–his attention is addictive.
He nods to you, offering you half. You still don’t understand why you can’t take your own piece, but you’re not really at liberty to question him.
Taking the food from Johnny makes him grunt, half-satisfied. You raise it to your lips, eyes ever fixed on the large man across from you. He relaxes his shoulders as you eat, finally feeding himself.
The beast continues to feed you bits of food that he tears away for you, seeming to keep the strips of fat for himself, chewing the gristle thoughtfully. He gives you warm, sweet pieces of meat and while you’re still wary, you’re grateful for the hot meal.
Askance as you stare at him across the table, he grins around the cartilage gnashed between his teeth. He stops mid-chew, suddenly looking you over with scrutiny. His eyes dart around your face, to your hands that rest on the table before you.
They land on the crown of your head, narrowing at the state of your hair. He snorts, rising without a word. Johnny leaves you with your thoughts racing. The stranger wasn’t much for explaining, and his speech was so staggered when he did, it didn’t really matter.
The large man returns with something fisted in his hand. The thing is white and malformed. A comb. He almost looks sheepish as he approaches you, thrusting the object out for you to observe. It looks like it’s made from bone, the teeth jagged and uneven.
He slips around your back, standing behind you. He doesn’t ask, only begins to finger your hair lightly. You suck in a breath, remembering his nails on your scalp the night before.
Johnny begins to comb through the ends of your hair, holding the strands in his fist as he does so as to not tug at you. He hums to himself lightly as he works, grunting as he struggles with the knots in your neglected hair.
When your ends are smoothed out, he runs the comb through the length of your hair, brushing it back from your hairline. You lean into his touch, relaxing your shoulders as the large man grooms you–preens you.
When he’s satisfied, Johnny runs his fingers through your hair, chuffing in approval. You mumble a stuttering thank you while he pets you.
Almost doting.
Your keeper leans down, pressing his nose to your head, taking a deep inhale of your scent. Your mind wants to recoil, back away from his snuffling, but your body remains still, tilting your chin up into his face, even.
He groans as he breathes in your scent. His body heat overwhelms you, washing over you in thick waves.
Suddenly, you’re glad he never tried to take you to a phone–to civilization. You’re content in this moment here in the cabin, full belly and smooth hair.
He separates the strands in his clumsy fingers. To your surprise, Johnny begins to weave them together. You relax fully into his touch as he braids your hair down your back. He finishes the end with a tie of some kind. You feel his thick fingers struggle to tie the small knot around your hair.
Johnny backs away from you and you instantly miss his touch. You turn to face him, he’s looking down at you expectantly. He seems pleased. He’s still spattered in blood from his hunt that morning, dirt and sweat thick on his tanned skin. He smells like iron and sweet tobacco, the smoke lingering in his smile. Something strange sits behind his eyes, glowing blue like he runs on natural gas.
He shifts from foot to foot, gazing at you. You smile up at him, only making his eyes glow brighter.
***
The rest of the day is filled with chores, the jobs as Johnny calls them. He has you collect small branches from around the property, always keeping a close eye on you.
You return with what feels like your hundredth bundle of sticks to find Johnny now with his overalls unbuttoned, hanging loosely around his hips. The large man is slick with sweat, tanned skin gleaming under the sun. The cool air doesn’t seem to faze him as he brings a heavy axe down again.
You stop in your tracks, watching. A short log splits under his blow, the fractured pieces falling off the stump they rested on. He kicks them to the side, reaching one arm up to briefly wipe his forehead.
He swipes his hair back, slicking the front down as the back sticks against his thick neck.
Johnny doesn’t look up at you, but he must know you’re there.
He stacks another log atop the stump. One swing makes a cracking sound as it splits the log, the second swing finishes the job, letting the two sides fall.
Without looking up, he kicks a foot up on the stump, resting his axe beside it. He calls to you.
“Make yerself useful now, girl.”
You startle at his agitated tone, he’s obviously hot and exhausted. Briskly making your way over to your stack of sticks, you drop them and turn to the panting brute. He swings the axe to rest over his shoulder before facing you.
Your eyes travel all over him, unable to fix them in any one place. A sharp click of his tongue forces your eyes up. They meet his, the blue all-consuming as he darts around your face, reading your wary expression.
He says nothing, so you decide to speak up.
“Some water–maybe?”
The sentence is broken, words shaky as they leave your mouth.
The beast laughs, chest heaving as he smiles down at you.
“Smart girl.”
A blush finds you, creeping up your chest, your neck. You give him a curt nod and attempt to turn on your heels.
Johnny grabs your shoulder, stopping you mid-spin. He strokes his thumb over your clothed collarbone.
“Need somethin’ else from ye.”
His eyes are dark, the axe looming threateningly over his shoulder as he toys with it, musing.
Still gripping you tightly, he surely doesn't expect a response. You only gaze up at him, head reeling. Your keeper eyes you up and down, quickly swiping his tongue over his bottom lip.
“Yer makin’ my boys ache, sugar.”
His words fly over your head momentarily, and he chuckles at your befuddled expression.
“Ought’a give ‘em a kiss.”
He swings the axe down, letting it land only inches from where you stand. You jump, never breaking eye contact with the imposing brute. The blade strikes the ground, sticking in the dirt. He unhands it, letting the handle rest beside you.
You cock an eyebrow at him, almost amused at his brazen request. The large man doesn’t share the sentiment.
“Tell ‘em yer sorry for bein’ such a tease.”
He doesn’t give you a chance to respond as his hand presses harder on your shoulder, making your knees buckle underneath you with ease.
A hawk cries in the distance, it rings in your ears.
Crumpling to the ground, your knees scrape lightly against the rough terrain–the axe stands imposingly to your left. You raise your eyes to meet Johnny’s.
He gives you a darkened look, his blue eyes deep pools of black. Long eyelashes flutter over them, his chest heaving steadily.
When he’s satisfied you understand him clearly, the thick hand is removed from your shoulder, coming to rest under your chin. He tilts your head up, using his free hand to stroke a few strands of hair out of your face briefly.
His expression almost softens as his eyes catch the tears welling in your own. That dark look quickly falls over his lined face again as he trails his gaze down to your lips. The bottom one trembles, but you don’t even realize you’ve parted them ever so slightly.
Your keeper sucks in a breath, sharp and jagged as his grip on your jaw tightens.
The air thick between you, you find your hands reaching up to him. You tug at the overalls draped around his hips tentatively. Johnny is stoic, watching your every move.
He doesn’t wear anything underneath the thick fabric, immediately letting his length fall free once the overalls fall to his ankles. Fuck.
Uncut and already throbbing, it’s more than intimidating. The biggest cock you’ve ever seen, you’re sure. All the moisture is drawn from your mouth as you lift your eyes tentatively to him. You aren’t even sure you can open your mouth that wide.
The hand stroking your hair stiffens, fisting around the braid at the base of your skull. The brute wrenches your face up to look at him.
He puffs his chest out as you admire his aching length. He knows he’ll ruin you with it, and he loves it.
“Got those pretty eyes on my cock when ye should be payin’ attention to my balls.”
You suck your bottom lip into your mouth, still forced to make eye contact with the large man. He releases your jaw, still keeping one hand in your hair. Grabbing his length at the base, he tugs your head to him.
An out of body experience–you feel instinct take over. A mechanical reaction, you thrust your tongue out to lap at his balls.
The scent of him is strong, overwhelming. You feel like you should be disgusted, sweat and blood laying thickly against his tanned skin–but you aren’t. It makes your mouth water so curiously as you become more and more desperate to taste him.
A sharp tug on your hair makes you cry out softly.
“A’said a kiss, lass.”
He snarls his words down at you.
What can you do? Slowly obeying, you plant a kiss on his balls. Once–then twice, his scent overwhelms you. He’s sweaty, more earthy than acrid and laced with a certain sweetness.
When he grumbles a satisfied noise and loosens his grip on your hair, you let your tongue roll past your lips and over the soft skin. His breath catches in his throat; you feel him buck his hips into your mouth.
Still holding his dick in his hand, the brute begins to stroke himself slowly as he watches you lap at his balls. He pets you again, surely pleased with your attention to him.
A bead of precome begins to form against his swollen tip. His breathing quickens, shallows as he squeezes it from the slit, suddenly jerking your head back. You’re left panting, tongue still thrust from your mouth.
Pupils blown wide, static in your ears. This is all you wanted, you realize: the gift of touching your keeper, seeing how he reacts to you. A heat grows in your core, a wetness seeps out of your cunt. Your heartbeat begins to pound in your clit and you squirm at the large man’s feet.
Without warning, Johnny smears the fluid along your waiting tongue. Before you can wrap your lips around his leaking cockhead, he slaps his length down on your face, forcing his balls back to your mouth.
You lick greedily at them, feeling your hips begin to rut into nothing, seeking friction.
His cock lays across your face, engulfing one of your eyes. The other stares up at him, almost dizzied, lost–
–but your keeper finds you in his gaze, his eyes dark and wanting as he drags the length of his cock across your face.
“Tell me how bad ye want this cock in yer pretty mouth.”
A flush creeps across your skin, warming your neck, your cheeks–
–or is it your keepers length spread hot and throbbing across your face?
Your tongue explores him, slobbering over his balls as he rumbles low moans from deep in his chest.
“Know yer dyin’ fer it, sugar.”
All you can do is mumble, slur your words around his balls pressed in your wet mouth, scraping softly against your teeth–he doesn’t seem to mind.
“Want it–ah–” You suck in a breath.
“Please, Johnny–want your cock. Want you in my mouth.”
Your words are garbled, almost nonsensical as you wrack your brain for any thought other than the stranger’s dick pressed to your face.
He smiles, an evil thing, dark and wicked, all bared fangs and glowing eyes. He shifts on his feet, a chuckle rolling off his tongue.
Then a tsk. An infuriating click of his tongue, a snap of his fingers.
“Eyes up.” A sharp sentence–demanding.
Not good enough.
“Please, what?” He drawls.
You want to bite down on him. He must know how bad you want it, need it. Your body has been reacting to him since he hauled you over his shoulder and carried you home. You haven’t been able to shake the memory of his body pressed against yours while you sleep.
He wants an honorific, something that says: I belong to you now.
–but all you do is whine. Your eyes plead with the beast glaring down as you so coldly, just a hint of mirth behind his gaze.
“Please–” You lap at him again, drool beginning to run down your chin. “Please let me taste your cock, Sir.”
He grins again, chuffing in a satisfied way. You’ve satiated the beast–for now. He nods down at you, coaxing you to rest back on your haunches.
Johnny rubs his cockhead against your lips, letting you taste his precome once more. Your tongue is still outstretched to him and you swirl it around the swollen tip, letting it circle down to the connective tissue underneath it.
He hisses through gritted teeth, slaps his length down on your tongue—once, twice.
“Atta girl.”
He slips the head of his dick past your lips, finally allowing you to wrap your mouth around him. You only give him a slight nod, a whimper, a flutter of your eyelashes as you begin to suckle him eagerly.
Thank you–thank you.
You draw more and more of him into your mouth, feeling the brute using the hand fisted in your hair to force more of his length into you. Before you know it, he’s at the back of your throat. The large man seems to relish in your unbecoming gags as you let the spit bubble around him.
He pulls you off, watching as thickened saliva connects you to him. Your vision is blurry with tears, watery eyes the product of your throat's efforts to accommodate your assailant.
He runs a thumb over your jaw, collecting liquid you let flow freely from your mouth, dripping off your tongue. Still holding you away from him, the beast thrusts out one boot, letting it rest between your knees.
“Get down lass, rut that needy pussy inta’ my boot.”
Without a thought in your head, you lower yourself, quickly obeying his command as you press your clothed sex into the leather. The immediate relief you feel at the much needed friction is cut short as Johnny shoves his cock to the back of your throat, this time forcing it to slip down, fully sheathing himself in your mouth.
You moan around his length, sending low vibrations that make the large man groan deep in his chest. He fucks in and out of your mouth, surely feeling your body’s involuntary trembling as you push yourself down on his boot.
Thoughts try desperately to make their way around your head, all in vain. Your mind is blank, body set ablaze by the stranger’s rough touch.
You suck at Johnny’s leaking cockhead, using most of your energy to grind down into his boot. Your arousal quickly soaks through your single layer of clothing and the large man grunts in approval. He shoves his boot up into you, earning him a quick gasp before he fills your mouth again, trapping the sound where it formed.
The beast fucks mercilessly into your throat, hands all over your head as he uses you to please himself. A knot forms in your belly, something white hot–quickly bubbling over.
A desperate cry sneaks out from around Johnny’s assaulting manhood. He knows, kicking his boot harshly into your sex. Your hips move on their own, willing you to take what you need.
Your keeper’s thrusts stutter–breath shakes.
“Ah–make tha’ pretty cunt come on my boot, girl.”
His words are partially slurred, accent thicker than ever as he struggles to maintain his composure. You don’t need much encouragement; pleading eyes bore into him while he keeps your face tilted up. A murmur–muffled agreement from a full mouth as you near the edge.
Hips bucking wildly, you find your hands wrapped around Johnny’s thick legs, holding yourself upright. His voice rings dully in your ears.
The world shakes around you as you come with the stranger’s cock down your throat. Gasping and choking out moans.
So unsatisfying, coming against the sun-warmed leather when you have your lips wrapped around what you really want.
Johnny knows it, too. He strokes through your hair as you reach your climax, easing you down.
“Fuck, girl.” He snarls. “G’na take me now, aye?”
You’re barely able to raise your eyes to meet his when he reaches a hand down to wrap around your neck. Bent almost in half, the brute fucks into your throat, using his hand to squeeze around his length as it assaults you.
Choking and coughing, you squirm in his grasp. Weak hands rap on solid thighs as he growls, chuffing like a wild animal as he bullies into you.
You hardly need to swallow when Johnny comes down your throat. He feeds his seed directly into you, forcing it in.
Your keeper sighs contentedly, catching his breath as he unsheaths his manhood from your abused throat. You gasp for air, all but collapsing at his feet. The axe still stands, blade buried in the dirt next to you.
Johnny does up his overalls, slinging the jean straps over his shoulders. He doesn’t help you up so much as lift you clean into the air.
You rest against his chest, sweat slicking strands of hair to your face–to his skin. Your legs circle deftly around his midsection.
The large man carries you inside.
Home.
***.
As you sit in the chair opposite your keeper, each of you sipping glasses of water, you begin to eye him.
“Think you need a bath now, Johnny.”
Oh, the reaction you draw from him in this moment–tension so thick in the air between you. His breath catches in his throat and he sucks at his teeth almost imperceptibly. You dart a hand out to the comb, slipping it from his grasp. He grunts, only nodding at first. His eyes shoot to the bathroom, then back to you.
He glances down at himself, grunting once more at the stained clothing draped over his frame. Johnny turns without another word and retreats to the bathroom. You soon hear the water running.
He soon returns, letting the tub fill. He still holds the small matchbook in one hand, beginning to meander around the house. The large man lights sconces around the main room. The tall candles flicker to life as the flame of the match sets them ablaze.
You’re nervous, more nervous than you’ve been the whole time you’ve been in his home. Your anxiety is heightened mostly because you’re becoming comfortable. The large man is intimidating, sure, but his presence is so enjoyable.
You can’t deny your sexual attraction to him, and you quickly wonder if you’re just having a sort of stockholm syndrome response. You can’t entertain this thought for long as Johnny steps out of the bathroom, completely nude.
This is the first time you’ve really got a good look at all of him –rather than just being sat beneath him, blurry-eyed with his cock in your throat. The man is enormous–shoulders that squeeze through any doorway he walks through and thighs that look as if they could crush you.
You can’t hide your shock as you eye him up and down. The thick coat of hair on his chest, his belly, leads down to the base of his manhood where it frames the biggest cock you’ve ever seen. Even flaccid, his size is staggering. It hangs heavy between his legs, twitching slightly as you drink in the sight of him.
No shyness clings to Johnny as he smirks at you knowingly. He puffs his chest out. He’s just showing off now. His teeth shine as he grins, cocksure expression plastered thickly all over his prickly face.
The beast stretches, thrusting his arms and chin up to reach for the ceiling. He catches a beam and rests his fingertips on it briefly. Dried blood sticks to the hair on his chest, his face. Impossibly tall like this, the sickening fear returns to your gut. He’s a monster before you, every part of his body impossibly large.
Mouth agape, you stutter a response to his display.
“Jesus.”
What else could you say? You squeeze your thighs together as your body reacts involuntarily. You’re inexplicably drawn to him. Your heartbeat thrums in your sex as he silently stands before you. He smiles, wickness shooting through you from across the room.
“May need help, lass.” He starts, words dripping with lust.
His cock swells with blood before your eyes, filling out and falling against one thigh. It doesn’t stand, drooping under its own weight. Your mouth waters as you dig your nails into your palms.
“–with my back maybe.”
His cadence is lazy, almost patronizing. He knows what he’s doing to you.
You stand automatically, eyes all over him. You catch his gaze for a brief moment before he turns, striding back into the small room.
The muscles in his back ripple, a sweet dip in his waist making your knees wobble as you walk. His ass is tight, adorned with two dimples in his lower back. He turns to shoulder through the doorway, and you follow mechanically.
When you pad through the threshold, the small room is full to the brim with Johnny. His heat and scent flood through your senses instantly. The tub is almost filled and he leans down to shut the water off.
He doesn’t look at you as he steps in, the water rushing around his ankles and up to his calves. He sits, moaning contentedly as he sinks down. He’s too big for the tub, almost comically so. His knees hike up and the water doesn’t reach above his chest.
He stares at you hopefully– eagerly. His lips twitch up into a half smile, a cocksure smirk. You kneel beside the bath, dipping your hand into the water.
The same bar of soap he bathed you with rests on the edge of the tub. You reach for it, wetting it under the water. Johnny watches you intently. He takes a sharp breath in when you stroke the bar through his chest hair, slicking it down. You lather it there before setting it back down in its spot and reaching both hands out to the wet beast.
You stroke all of your fingers through the soap and over his broad chest. You trail your hands up to his collarbone, his neck. You scrub at spots of blood there, watching as the water runs red under your fingertips. You scoop the suds onto your fingers, laying it over his face.
You study the large man. His stubble scrapes at your skin as you clean his jaw. Crows' feet at the corners of his eyes appear and you feel his lips pull back in a smile. He tips his head back, shut his blue eyes to let you pour water cupped in your hand over his brow, his sharp nose.
He’s really beautiful, you think. In a sort of rugged way. The muscles in his shoulder ripple under your delicate touch. Surely older than you, the shallow lines on his face tell a story of his life. You wonder again what he’s doing out here all alone.
You lather the soap again, running it over his belly, stroking through the coat of hair there, digging your nails softly into the fat shielding his abdominal muscles. Johnny’s breath hitches as your hand dips below the water.
The coarse hair at the base of his cock is wiry under your fingertips. He snarls, snapping his head forward to dart his eyes between your hand and your face. You explore your keeper earnestly, his whole body before you, on display. Your body controlling you, mind lost, your hand reaches to grab him. His manhood fills your palm as your fingers wrap deftly around the appendage.
You take your time with him, feeling slowly and carefully, memorizing the parts of him your hands want to know as well as your mouth does.
He chuckles, only giving you a quiet groan as he rolls his hips into your touch. You stroke a handful of suds up and down his length briefly before moving on to his thighs. Johnny snorts, disapproving of your fleeting affection to his cock.
He stays swollen with blood as you stroke down his furry thighs, shins. You have nothing to say as you bathe the large man. He grunts at you as you lean back, giving you a sharp look.
“Hair, lass.”
You nod, quick to place your hands back on the large man. Just slightly longer in the back, you run your fingers through the man’s dark hair. He moans in pleasure as you scrub his scalp, careful not to let the soap run into his eyes that he keeps open and keenly fixed on you.
You do just as he did for you, rinsing his hair carefully as he adjusts his large body to dip his head beneath the water.
You double–triple check his skin, making sure the blood is scrubbed off him. You let your fingers trail everywhere as only the sound of sloshing water fills the small room. There’s not much you have to say as you run your situation over in your head.
Johnny’s voice pulls you out of your trance.
“Thorough, ain’t ye, lass?” He smirks.
When Johnny steps out, he instantly looms over you, dripping wet and radiating heat. Half hard, he motions to you for a towel. You thrust one out to him, jaw surely unhinged as you watch him. Something has come over you as you stay in his home. The beast before you gives you a knowing grin.
The orgasm he dealt you earlier branded something on you, burned something into your very being. You know you’ll never be the same without it–without your keeper. The brutish man knows, too. His expression speaks volumes.
He towels his hair, looking so tall with his arms above his head. He looks promising, solid. His masculine scent isn’t lost after his bath, musk still thickly draped over his tanned body.
You back out of the bathroom, letting Johnny follow, a primal look in his eyes. He wraps the towel around his waist, running one hand over his head to slick his hair back.
“Johnny–” You start.
He looks at you through his lashes as he gazes down on you. He steps toward you, forcing you to stumble back. He eyes you in anticipation.
“Go on.”
His smile is curved, wicked and heated. When you open your mouth to speak, though, he raises a hand. His accent is thick, voice impossibly low, growling through gritted teeth.
“I know wha’ ye want, sugar.”
You’ve had just a taste of him, a small amount of what he has to deal you. Gift you, force upon you–inside of you.
He laughs then, startling you as he approaches. He leans into your frame, pressing his chest against yours. The beast breathes his hot breath on you. His hands reach around to your lower back, pulling you into him.
“Don’ worry now. Johnny’ll take care of ye.”
He coos as he noses your hair away from your neck. Your hands reach up to rest on his furry chest, stroking there. His tongue darts out, giving you a swift lick to sensitive skin. You gasp, unable to meter your reaction to him.
He chuckles, wicked and dark as he kisses you, latching his teeth to your neck as he sucks. Hands travelling over his front, your fingertips soon reach the towel around his thick waist.
Without thought, you undo the loose tuck on the fabric, letting it fall around him. You dig your nails into his hips as he kisses along your jaw. This should be wrong, to want the stranger so badly. You’re supposed to be here against your will, but the throbbing in your sex drives you to raise your arms obediently as he tugs your– his shirt up over your head.
Bare breasts exposed to the large man, he groans, cock twitching noticeably between his legs. Both meaty hands reach to grab them, squeezing lightly as he looms over you, gauging your reaction now.
With a snarl, a sharp twitch of his head, Johnny grabs you around the waist, lifting you to rest on his hips. You wrap your legs around him, whining as your swelling clit brushes against the coarse hair on his belly.
He walks with you curled around him, fighting yourself as your body tries desperately to rut against him. He drops you on the bed, knocking the wind out of you. Your pupils are already blown as you gaze up at the large man.
He’s threatening as he looks down on you, a promising glint in his blue eyes. Nude, he looks like a monster; some kind of beast before you. You’re frozen in place, simply waiting to see what happens next.
When Johnny doesn’t move, you adjust, making yourself comfortable on your back before spreading your legs pointedly for the large man. He chuffs, blowing heated breath out of his nose like a bull. He fists a hand around his swollen length, giving it a rough shake as his eyes travel over your exposed body.
You’re embarrassingly wet for him, sex glistening in the low candlelight. Your hips roll into nothing–your body begs for the strange man.
He clicks his tongue, beginning to sink down to kneel by the bed. He chuckles, a sly grin painting his face.
“Knew she needed me, lass.” He starts. “Jus didn’t know how bad.”
He leans in close to your throbbing sex and blows air on you. You gasp, the slight attention sending electricity through your body.
“Greedy fuckin’ cunt, aye?”
Johnny’s harsh words make your blood run cold. You reach for him, his face in tantalizing proximity to where you need him most. You mumble his name, something you hardly hear.
He laughs again, smacking his lips once before leaning closer. The anticipation of his touch is driving you insane; you kick your hips up involuntarily.
He licks you–slow and agonizing. Flat tongued, he drags the muscle through your slit, giving a quick suck to your clit as he does. Pleasure shoots through you, making you tighten your core, throwing your head forward.
A shock to the system, stockholm syndrome such a hilarious prospect as you whine for your keeper to touch you– touch you more.
Rough hands wrap around your thighs, holding your squirming body in place. He leans into you once more, attaching his mouth to your sensitive clit. You yowl, finally getting what you need.
You shouldn’t want this–shouldn’t buck your hips into your captors mouth, reaching blindly for his tongue with your body. Shame fails to wash over you, replacing the missing emotion is need– desperation.
Johnny pulls you to the edge of the bed by your thighs, digging blunt nails into your flesh. You legs rest over his firm shoulders, ankles instinctively wrapping around each other as you draw the brute into you.
He chuffs into you as he licks, still slowly, knowingly. He moans as he kneads your flesh into something softer, pliable for him to play with. When he wraps his mouth around the entirety of your cunt, you hear yourself call his name, so distant as it leaves your lips and dissipates into the thick air around you.
Pulling away, he coos at you– at her. He releases one of your thighs in favor of running a finger from your clit to your entrance, eyes darting up to find yours. He gives you a crooked grin, eyes dark and starved. He resembles a predator soaked with the lifeblood of its kill as your arousal coats his chin, his lips. The beast sucks at his teeth as he gauges your reaction.
Chuffing approvingly, he continues to stroke through your folds. He raises both eyebrows, a smug expression that makes the shame finally bubble up in your chest, making a small sob hitch in your throat. Your eyes water as your body reacts mechanically to your keeper pleasing you deftly.
He speaks softly to you now, never ceasing his stroking.
“Oh, th’ poor lass.” He laughs quietly, rubbing a purposeful circle over your swollen clit.
You swear you can feel every thought the man has as he searches his head. Connected to him now, bound together inexplicably.
Just let me. Let it happen. It’s okay to feel like this. It’s okay to let go. Embarrassing–letting the man who kidnapped ye touch ye like this. So dirty. Filthy girl–to let a stranger touch ye, let a stranger eat this pretty pussy, lick this pretty cunt. So wet for a strange man. Feels good to let go. Feels good to give in. Are ye still scared?
His words bounce around in your head, rattling your skull. You can’t tell if you’re hearing his voice or coming up with the remarks in your head. You’re less sure as he begins to push a thick finger inside you. Electric and sinful, he presses as deep as he can with the digit.
Pretty girl, so naive. So shameful, lass. To let a stranger feel around inside ye, no one ever taught ye any better?
Johnny curls his finger, reaching up inside you, feeling for your soft spot with every thrust of his hand. His tongue never stops, deftly lapping at your clit as his other hand holds you still. Your hands fist in the sheets beside you before ultimately finding your keeper’s damp hair. You wrap your fingers around the dark tendrils, pulling roughly as you grind your hips into his eager mouth.
He moans into your sex as he feels your walls flutter around the second finger he presses in next to the first. He scissors them in and out of you. The brute latches his mouth to suck wildly at your clit, forcing you to cry out. You say his name–repeat his words that you’re still not sure are really his. They hang in the air like smoke around you.
Stupid girl, listening to your cunt. Ye don't even try to fight back. tsk tsk. Don’t ye feel ashamed? Big man like me could kill ye, girl–and ye just tell me to lick this pussy. You’d never survive on yer own now would ye?
His eyes are wild, he keeps them on you as he fucks the fingers into you brutally. You’ll accommodate anything he deals you, your only tangible thought is the blinding desperation he’s planted in you. You never knew you could want so badly. An orgasm already threatens to rush through you, out of you like a lie held in too long.
Your knees try to close as you border on the brink of overstimulation. You wiggle in his grasp, but the single large hand holds you firmly. Johnny presses your thigh to the bed, never ceasing his sweet assault on your sex.
That’s why I had to take ye–seein’ ye lost in the woods. Pathetic thing, little doll. Don't cry now sugar, only makes me want it more. Don't cry now when your cunt’s tellin’ me ye love it. I’ll stretch ye out good, aye?
“Johnny–” Your voice is shaky–weakened. “I’m gonna–oh god, oh fuck.”
Shut up. Shut the fuck up and take what I’m givin’ ye, girl. Take it all. You deserve it. Fuckin’ take it. Take my mouth all over ye. Take my fingers stretching this poor little cunt out. Do ye feel dirty? Do ye feel like a whore as your body betrays ye?
The knot in your belly tightens. You can do nothing as you wait for it to break. Johnny’s hair is strangled in your shaking fists as he laps away at you, suckling at your clit like his life depends on it. His fingers are joined by a third, all of them reaching up to you, pushing at the spot you need them most. A stinging starts now, a slight pain of the stretch he deals you.
Cunt knows more than ye do, lass. You’ll do fine. Just fine. Wait until I split you wide fucking open. Cry out to your god because he’ll mean nothing to ye after this. Worship me. I’m everythin’ ye ever needed.
You wail aimlessly, watching your climax chase you. It will tackle you to the ground as Johnny did–press its heated body against your tender flesh. Your captor groans, grunts into you as his eyes burn into your skin. Flushed, red-faced and panting, he has you exactly where he wants you.
Hell is nothing compared to me. I’m the devil inside you. I'm telling you what you need–are ye gonna listen?
“Yes, sir. Yes, sir. Yes, sir.” A broken chant falling from your lips–an answer to a question that he asks you with his mind, feeding information to you through the burning kinetic energy.
Pretty cunt’s fuckin’ begging for me. Ye need me– ye need me.
A broken knot, the frayed edges flying in all directions as you come. Your orgasm shakes you, shameful and wrong. Deep from within your gut, you cry out as you lurch your head off the bed, digging your nails into Johnny’s scalp. He thrusts his fingers relentlessly into you as you ride out the overwhelming orgasm.
He finally releases his hold on your legs, breaks the seal of his mouth to your clit. As he draws his fingers from you, he sucks them clean. Though your head is thrown back, chest heaving, mind racing, you feel his blue eyes on you, knowing. He laps at you a few more times, surely enjoying the way you jerk and whine under his light touch.
Nothing will ever compare to this–your head races as soon as you come down, body trembling. Johnny keeps his eyes fixed on your sex, now clenching around nothing. You feel so empty, but the way the brute licks at his teeth as he begins to crawl over you tells you he seeks to fill that void.
Johnny hovers over you, forcing each leg apart with his own as he slots himself between them. You immediately feel his manhood, heavy and scorching hot on your trembling sex.
A whine escapes your lips. You’re hardly aware of the sound as it reaches the beast looming over you. A string of garbled words follow, stuttering and soft.
Johnny only chuckles, holding his length in one hand and slapping it down on your sore sex. You hardly have the energy to yelp, settling for another whimper.
The older man raises his eyes to yours now. He scans your face, searching for your expression. You muster the courage to glance down.
The size of him is staggering. Weighty and scorching hot, he begins to stroke his swollen cockhead through your folds.
You catch his gaze, pupils blown wide, mouth agape before you snap at shut, clearing your throat.
“Johnny?”
You muster a hushed question.
“Mm?”
He answers, but quickly fixes his gaze back on your drooling sex coating his length.
“I–you can’t fit. I can’t take that.”
You know that the words mean nothing as they fall over your captor’s ears. You’re proven right when the man grins wickedly. He bares his teeth to you as he slaps down on your cunt once more.
Of course you want it. The emptiness nestled deep in you is sickening, needing.
“Oh, sugar.”
Johnny drawls, using his free hand to stroke your cheek briefly before holding your chin. He rests his thumb on your lips, a hush, now lingering in the air, silent.
The digit forces its way into your mouth, hooking into one of your cheeks. You instinctively wrap your lips around the assaulting finger, earning you a sharp inhale from the beast.
“Y’ll take me good, dinnae worry.”
With no reasoning behind his statement, it doesn’t seem like he’s giving you a choice.
One large hand rests on your breastbone as he pushes you flat onto the bed. Your hands, with minds of their own, begin to reach for the tanned muscle of Johnny’s tricep.
As you stroke along his skin, you sputter out a sort of weak protest, stammering again about how he’s just too big.
Something odd, spine-chilling falls over your keeper’s face, flashes through his blue eyes. He snarls down at you, suddenly reaching both hands to your neck. His fingers wrap around effortlessly as you only manage to stare at him in horror.
Johnny leans in close to your face, letting his manhood push intimidatingly close to your entrance.
“Listen t’me, girl.” He spits, teeth gritted together.
“Y’re g’na take ev’ry fuckin’ inch o’ me, aye? Ye understand?”
He shakes you as he speaks, raising your tired body off the bed.
His speech is slurred, eyes almost delirious with need. His body shakes atop you as you nod.
He chuffs, once, twice–letting his gaze flick between your panicked eyes before releasing your throat.
The brute lines himself up, seemingly tired of waiting. He eyes you darkly, a sly grin across his face.
He must be able to feel your desire. He knows that all your protest is nothing more than your moral imperative, the innate urge to fight off an attacker.
Stronger than that, though, is the carnal urge to submit, to bear your belly to the beast. Roll over and show the softest parts of you. You’re no threat to him.
“Say it.” He commands, voice clearer as he strokes himself at the entrance to your sex.
Trembling words answer him without your consent, bubbling up and boiling over before you can stop them.
“I’ll take you. Take all of you.”
Incoherent babbling fills the air as Johnny presses his cockhead inside. You’re full in an instant, writing weakly as the large man presses one hand down on your chest. Your legs wrap around him as he begins to sink into you.
Stretched to your limit already, Johnny huffs, breath quickening as his hands travel down your body. Both rough hands plant firmly on either of your thighs, trailing to your calves and wrapping deftly around your ankles. He spreads both of your legs, allowing your body to draw him in.
You grit your teeth as you struggle to accommodate your keeper. He begins to shush you, cooing softly down at you.
“Fuck, lass.” He tosses his head back briefly before returning his piercing gaze to you.
“C’mon. Ye can take me.”
You nod feverishly, now feeling your fingertips dig into the soft flesh of his hips, drawing him into you. A strangled moan fills the air, being pulled from your lungs.
“Johnny–so deep.”
Your captor grins again, sinking further.
When he’s fully seated, manhood sheathed in what feels like your womb, Johnny lets out a contented sigh. You clench around him, unsure how he’s meant to fuck you with the overwhelming length that threatens to break you in two.
As if he can hear your thoughts, the brute begins to pump into you slowly. He drags his cock out of you before thrusting it all the way back in.
You yowl, pleasure-pain coursing through you like hot water, something molten eating away at your virtues that seem so far away now. The only thing that matters now is Johnny.
Suddenly, it’s not enough, it will never be enough. The way he sits in you drives you mad.
“Please, sir.” You begin to beg him, tears pricking at your lash line.
The man only grunts in response, eyes fixed keenly on your cunt stretched around his girth.
“Please–more– move. ”
Something no less animal than a growl is gifted to you. A darkening of blue eyes as the large man unsheaths himself from you once more. The emptiness is more than you can take, and you find your hips rising to meet his in a desperate attempt to be filled.
Without warning, Johnny slams his manhood back into you again, punching your cervix, kicking at the deepest parts of you that ache for him.
Your head falls back, mouth open in a silent wail. He begins to rut into you mercilessly, driving his experience into you with each thrust.
He releases your ankles, settling for planting his hands at either side of your head, giving him leverage to use you properly. You take the opportunity to wrap both feet around his neck, pulling him closer.
He fills you to the brim, overpowering you with ease. The stretch burns, stings in a way you never would have thought to be pleasing–before this.
No words could describe the way you feel, so you don’t search for them. You only stare at the brute bullying madly into you. Your eyes are wide as saucers as you struggle to keep them in focus.
Johnny holds your expression in his gaze, surely relishing in the open-mouthed stare you give him. He overtakes you, changes you from inside out.
He fucks into you brutally, setting a pace you're glad you don't have to match.
“Take it, sugar.”
Johnny grits his teeth as he consoles you, fingers digging into the mattress.
“Fuckin’ take it.”
With his knees hiked up to be level with your hips, he holds your legs up, bending you over on yourself.
Your keeper has you in a mating press.
You squeal, mouth still open and drooling with the mind numbing feeling the fullness gives you.
Darkened eyes loom over you. Something bubbles up in your chest, a knot in your stomach.
As Johnny draws against your sweet spot over and over, he pulls you closer to the edge.
A buzzing in your ears, a tingling in your limbs–every part of you is becoming attuned to him.
The frequency of his body courses through you, remaking you.
Gonna come inside thi’ pretty pussy, aye? Gonna make ye mine.
The voice is distant–but so near. The disembodied words could be Johnny's, panting as he drives his cock as deep as it will go; or they could be your own.
“Ah–I feel ‘er, lass.”
Your cunt throbs around his manhood, your orgasm quickly approaching.
“Johnny–”
You wail, only making your captor dig deeper into you. His hips stutter, thrusts become sloppy.
Your eyes roll back.
“Come inside.” A murmur–barely audible.
The brute howls as he claims you, not waiting a second longer to heed your wishes.
Your mind is blank, only Johnny's voice races in your head.
He fucks into you harder than ever, pushing his seed as deep as it will go. He snarls down at you as veins pulse in his forehead, slick with sweat.
“Come ‘round my fuckin’ dick. Come on, girl.”
Of course, you obey.
You dig your nails into Johnny's back as you come. His body weighs heavy on top of you.
Your keeper fills you, surely feeling your walls pulse around his cock.
A symphony of sound, bodies sticking together–you finally understand the term ‘throes of ecstasy’.
Static buzzes in your brain, your legs. Shame doesn’t come over you, even as you come down. Johnny’s breath hitches in his chest as he gasps for air.
The large man still rests atop you, manhood shoved up against your cervix, as deep as he can go. The product of his wicked affections spill out of you, dripping down the length of him as it falls.
Your fingers trace absentmindedly down your keeper’s back, over his heaving shoulders that engulf your tired body.
He sits up–looks you over. Your eyes find his, your mouth with nothing to say. Resting back on his haunches, Johnny looks down at your sex, still stretched around his softening cock.
Lips drawn into a sleepy smile, his eyes remain darkened with deviance.
“Took me so well, lass.”
His accent is thick and low as he coos down at you. A cruel pinch to your sensitive clit draws a sharp noise from your throat. You plant your hands on the brute’s chest, wiry hair under shaking fingertips.
“Johnny–please.”
Though he looks like he wants to argue–that glint in his eyes begging to further your torture–he begins to unsheath himself.
You’re empty in a matter of seconds, and you immediately regret begging him to leave. The hole he’s dug in you will never fill itself in. You can’t repair yourself, you realize, as your captor separates from you.
He rolls next to you, though, easing the sting of vacancy. His voice is distant, rumbling through your bones as he speaks.
You gather the strength to turn to face him, seeing his large frame rested on one hand, one elbow.
He smiles at you then, a knowing thing. His eyes glow in the moonlight. An overwhelming feeling of connection–something unexplainable you can’t explain washes over you.
As he drags his rough fingers over your side, letting his eyes trail over you, you know he can sense it.
The words take a minute to come, your brain takes a few seconds to string together a sentence. His eyes reach yours again before you even part your lips, expecting.
“I suppose you’re not planning on getting me to a phone anytime soon?”
Johnny laughs and you mimic him.
You’re not sure if you were joking or not, but the thought of having the brute in your head without having him inside you is much too painful so you decide it was nothing more than playful banter. You will stay here, in his cabin.
What has this man done to you, your keeper?