Girls That Talk Dirty Forum Will discuss over coffee...

Will discuss over coffee… It was an unusual ad for Craig’s list. “Looking for a female submissive to take on the camping trip of her life.  Will discuss over coffee.”  It was so unusual that I couldn’t get it out of my mind. I was a submissive without a master.  For months I had been licking my wounds over a recently failed marriage and had been emotionally closed up in my apartment like a hermit.  I hated the bar scene and found online dating to be so laborious. Additionally, I had the obvious burden of finding someone to be my master without going through the awful humiliation of finding a date and then playing 10 questions to see if he had the kinky bent I needed in a man. Here was an opportunity to take a break, get out of Dodge and possibly relate to someone who was into the D/s lifestyle. I e-mailed him that night and soon I had a date for coffee at Duncan Donuts. His name was Liam. I wouldn’t have called him grizzled but he wasn’t Tom Selleck either.  He was ruggedly handsome. (More rugged than handsome) Maybe 55 years old to my 43.  He had a full head of hair with slight graying around the ears and a thick, dark moustache. He wore comfortable looking jeans, hiking boots, a heavy dark green cotton shirt with button down collar and flaps over the pockets. I definitely would have pegged him as a forest ranger if I saw him walking down a street in Vermont.  As we sipped our king-sized cups of coffee, and he outlined his thoughts, I couldn’t help noticing how confident he was. There wasn’t a hint of uncertainty in anything he talked about. In fact, he might as well be describing a nature hike to a parish housewives than describing a once in a lifetime camping trip that would have made any vanilla woman run for the hills. “I own a lake up in Maine.”, he said. “It’s very private.  We’ll be canoeing out from the mainland and setting up camp on an island.  We should be there for three or four days.  I checked with the weather service and the weather should be fair and stable all next week.”  As he went on about the lake and the island and the equipment we would be bringing, there was no mention of his plans for our playtime together. “Tell me about your plans for our fun time?”, I asked.  Looking up at me, he smiled with a bright Irish grin and said ”Molly my dear, you will experience things you have never dreamed possible and remember them as long as you live.  Leave it at that and trust me. I have been dreaming about this trip for many, many years!”  His enthusiasm, smile and the gleam in his eye made me a believer in whatever god looks after poor little submissives in their time of great need. Heavens knows, this poor, little submissive is in great need indeed! As the time for our departure neared, I received daily e-mails telling me what to bring and what to wear and what might happen if I neglected to heed his advice. “Wool socks are warm when they are wet!  Black flies and mosquitoes have a hard time biting through corduroy shirts, so bring one! By a good pair of hiking boots, forget the flimsy sneakers.“  I was beginning to feel that he had no interest in my feminine appearance until I got another e-mail late one night. “Make sure you bring the following:  Tight cut-off jeans that are cut very short, a pair of black high heels, a black garter belt, a very short skirt, a choker (preferably faux pearls) and at least five pairs of stockings.” it read. Now my imagination began to work overtime. High heels and garter belt in the woods?  What the hell was he thinking?  More to the point, what the hell was I in for?  My mind was awash with the random possibilities of the looming adventure and I was beginning to worry about my sanity. The long drive to Maine in his jeep from Connecticut wasn’t any more informative.  We talked about his wife that died five years earlier. I gave up all the secrets that only my closest girlfriends knew about. I found out he was an Eagle Scout as a young boy and that the lake had been left to him by an uncle that lived in a cabin near the lake.  Everything I wanted to know was there for the taking with the exception as to what was in store for me once we arrived.  I actually ached inside thinking about it.  There were so many things I wanted to do but he wouldn’t discuss it because his plans were already made.  He was driving me crazy! Our low-key conversations did bring out something very important to me.  I enjoyed his voice and liked what he had to say.  He wasn’t boisterous or a braggart. I got the sense that he spoke from experience and reacted to things with caution.  Level-headed and purposeful in the things he did, I could see I was in for an awakening. It was almost sunset by the time we arrived at the lake.  I helped him lift the canoe off the roof of his jeep and put it in the water.  Everything we brought was stuffed into waterproof duffel bags, which were loaded into the boat along with a great cooler of food and a box of pots and pans.  As we shoved off from the shore, the sounds of early nightfall were in the air. Loons cooed in the distance. As we paddled along, the only sound we heard was the regular dipping of our canoe paddles and the early crickets on shore. As we rounded a point, the island was sitting there looking mysterious and foreboding. The island was mostly granite formations with some stands of birch and pines. There were a few other saplings of various hardwoods and softwoods and a small sandy beach on which we could land our canoe. As we landed, the only sound I could hear was the song of a distant loon and the soft scraping of the canoe on the sandy beach. No neighbors. No sign of human life.  No cell phone bars. No distant sounds of civilization. I was now alone on an island with a strange man who was planning to beat my otherwise unmarked naked white body. What was I thinking?  As the bow of the canoe lightly grounded to a halt, Liam jumped from the boat and pulled it ashore.  “We’ll be camping on top of the rock formation up there. “ he said, as he pointed to the right. “There is a very nice flat spot among the pines with a good view of the lake.  I camp here often in the fall. Tonight we will rest and tomorrow we will begin our fun.”  “Great”, I thought.  “Now he’s thinking it’s “fun” and I still have no idea what’s coming down, or off or even what’s up.”   All I kept looking at was the axe and Bowie knife he had just pulled from the canoe. My nervousness was beginning to show. Noticing my deer-in-the-headlight look, he leaned over, put his hand on my shoulder and said in a warm, assuring voice “You are safer here with me than you would be in any church in the country, I promise you!”   That made me feel a whole lot better in about 10 different ways! Our first step in setting up camp was to haul all the equipment up the rise to the flat area near the pines.  He must have camped there on a regular basis, as there was a nice stone-lined fire pit and a cleared area in which to set up the tent.  “This is the best camp spot around!” he said. “The breeze off the lake is wonderful, the drainage for rainwater is perfect and the pines provide additional protection from the elements.” As we set up the pop-up tent, I could see that he was a master at the art of camping.  As each item came out of the duffle, they were ready to go and in order.  The pop-up tent quickly snapped into place and then we rolled out our sleeping bags, blew up the double air mattress, stowed the knap sacks and put out the cooking utensils on a wood rack that he had made some time ago. “Pots go on the hooks and the frying pan goes over there.” He instructed.  “ All of the food gets stowed in the waterproof bag and I hang it from this tree high enough so any bears can’t get at it.” “Whoa” I said. “You told me nothing about bears! I don’t “do” bears. It’s not a thought I am comfortable with.”  Looking up at him from the doorway of the tent, I could see he had a huge grin on his face. “Oh” I stammered.  “I see you have a sense of humor. Great. Daniel f*****g Boone, the great “bar” hunter with his “bar” jokes! Very funny.” By now he was almost choking as he laughed out loud. “I couldn’t resist that one.” He wheezed. “Actually, we need to protect the food from smaller animals like raccoons and porcupines. Now that I am thinking about it, at night we’ll keep the canoe paddles in the tent with us.  Porcupines and beavers love to gnaw on the paddle handles because of the salt from our hands.  I have seen them gnaw canoe paddles right in half.  I do have a pistol in my knapsack just in case some larger critters come around but that is very rare. They are more afraid of us than we are of them.”   Reaching into his pack he pulled out a large pistol. Holding it up in the air he said, “This is a 44 magnum revolver. For safety, there are only 5 rounds in it. I always have the hammer down on an empty chamber to prevent it from firing accidentally. To fire it, just pull this hammer back all the way, aim and pull the trigger.  Simple as pie.”   With that he aimed the pistol at one of the larger pine trees, cocked the hammer back and pulled the trigger.  The gun blasted with a deafening roar and a microsecond later there was a new hole in the tree bark. “Here” he said.  “Hold this in your right hand and support it like this with your left.”  Taking the pistol, I held it as instructed, pulled the hammer all the way back and fired at the tree. As it roared off I felt as though my arm was going to be pulled out of its socket. “Hell of a kick, huh?” he said as he steadied me from tipping backwards.  “Just remember to c**k it first before firing.  That’s called a single action revolver.” As I finally sat down to rest after the flurry of activity involved in setting up the campsite, I couldn’t help thinking what a strange and wonderful day it has been.  I shot a pistol, got blisters from paddling a canoe, set up a tent and I am miles from nowhere with a man that will probably tie me to a tree naked and use a whip on me. There wasn’t one thing, other than setting up the tent, that I could comfortably write home to mom about. Last, but not least, I now had to ask him the “four million dollar” question. “Bathroom?” I blurted out.  Smiling broadly he said, “I’ll have the plumbing up and running very soon” Grabbing some rope, a hatchet and shovel, he strode away into the thicket past the pine trees. After a few minutes of chopping and banging, he called out for me to see what he did.  Arriving, I looked down upon a 3 foot trench that was straddled by a thick sapling branch suspended by two thick sticks standing straight up at the ends of the trench. “Just sit down here, do whatever and use the shovel to bury it.”, he said as he walked off back to the campsite.  Looking at the apparatus closer, I saw there was a large tin can upside down over a stick next to the “toilet”.  Lifting up the tin can, there was a roll of toilet paper hiding from the elements.  “What happens when the trench gets full?” I yelled as he walked away. “We dig a new trench!”, he yelled back. I was now officially “way-the-f**k-out-in-the-sticks and up the river without a paddle!”  As he hurried about making our dinner, I decided that I needed to clean up for the night. “What’s a girl to do for a shower out here?” I asked but only half serious. “Just pull your clothes off and jump in the lake.” he casually replied. “No one here to spy on you and I’ll be seeing you naked all week, so might as well let me see all those stretch marks now!” he said with a wide smile on his face. “Stretch marks!” I thought, as panic stepped in.  “How did he know?”  Looking over at his face I could see he was having fun at my expense again and enjoying every minute of it. “Who are you, Harry f*****g Houdini?” I asked.  “No”. he replied.  “I just never met a girl over 40 who didn’t have some sort of saggingness about her. Makes no matter to me, though.  Go jump in!” Taking my clothes off on the sandy area near the canoe, I dove head-first into the lake. “Jesus Christ!”, I yelled as I came up for air.  “This is freezing!”  I could hear his laughing from the campsite. What next, I thought.  Is he going to ask me to find a sky-hook in the knap sack or maybe make me find a left-handed monkey wrench? No matter. I was now at his mercy for a week’s worth of time. Having satisfied myself that I was reasonably clean, I swam to shore and immediately realized my error.  I had no change of clothes or a towel.  “Help” I yelled up to my new camp mate. “I need a towel!”Can’t help you there, mate” he yelled back. I’m busy cooking dinner.”   Picking up my clothes and holding them in front of me to hide my naked body, I tiptoed up to the tent to get my towel.  As I reached in to grab it, his hand pulled my hands away from the knapsack. ”There’s no time like the present to begin our game, Molly.” he said.  “Stand over here near the fire to get dried off.” As I moved towards the fire, he positioned my feet apart and brought my hands to the back of my neck. “Entwine your fingers and leave them there behind your neck.” He ordered.  Now standing with my legs apart and hands behind my neck, he strode over and looked over my entire body. “I like what I see!” he quipped. “You’ll do nicely.”   Picking up my towel, he began to dry my wet body. His movements with the towel were slow and deliberate. As he began to dry my legs, he hesitated ever so slightly at my wet mound and then began to gently pat the area with the towel. “Your body excites me Molly.  We’ll have a lot of fun this week!”  Once completely dried off and fully “inspected”, he told me to get dressed and get ready for dinner. “For the next week you must call me Dear or Dearest in response to anything I might say or ask. Do you understand that, Molly?”  Looking at him as I stood there naked and spread out in front of the fire, I meekly replied “Yes Dear. I understand.”  My journey had begun. Dinner was lovely. He made us a wonderful steak and rice dish with hot tea to drink.  Food always tastes so much better when it is cooked outdoors. As we ate, he told me all about the relationship he had with his wife and how lost he felt when she passed away.  Apparently, this camping trip was something they had planned to do, so I am sort of a “fill in” submissive on this trip.  We talked late into the night and I began to see the strength he had as a person.   When we finally decided to turn in, he said “Well Molly.  You can sleep in the tent.  I’m going to take advantage of this wonderful star-lit night and sleep out here next to the fire.”  I reached into the tent, pulled out my sleeping bag and laid it down next to his.  “I need the stars tonight too. I’ve never slept under them before.”   As the fire crackled and slowly burned down, the sounds of the forest overtook my thoughts and the slow movement of the stars tracked across the sky. It was a time for deep thoughts and deeper questions. I really did not know why I was a submissive but something inside of me drove my instincts to the edge of their awareness. I wasn’t a complete woman without a man dominating my heart and soul.  As my thoughts deepened, so did my tiredness. As my eyes closed to sleep, I could almost feel the weight of the starlight on my face. The sounds of morning filtered into my sleeping bag and gently pushed me awake.  Throwing back the edge of the bag, I could see I was alone in the campsite and the fire had been stoked to a high flame.  As I tumbled somewhat ungracefully out of the bag, his voice from behind the tent startled me. “Well, sleepy head.  It’s about time you woke up.  I have already made the coffee, got the fire going, took a bath in the lake and set-up my fishing pole to catch us some lunch.  Let’s get a move on, Molly.”  As I stood up, I know I said something sarcastic in my groggy state and without a moment of hesitation he rushed over, pulled my  pants and underwear down, put me roughly over his knee and spanked the hell out of me. “The proper response for this trip is a respectful “Yes Dear” “, he said. “Now get your wash kit together and I will meet you down at the sandy beach to help you wash up.  Bring a towel this time!” My a*s still smarting from his morning assault, I rummaged around in my knapsack to find my toothbrush, towel, soap, tooth paste and all the other stuff I brought, not really believing I would be washing in a cold lake. As I walked down to the sandy beach, I could see ducks and herons enjoying the morning sunshine.  “Over here” he yelled.  I could see he was standing on a flat rock jetty that went out into the water about six feet. “Come over here and get undressed!”The casual way in which he told me to get undressed momentarily caught me off guard. My nature is to be a little on the shy side but I could see that I would have to put that side of me away for the duration of this trip. Stripping down to my underwear, I looked at him in a way that suggested “what’s next?”.  ”Everything” he quietly demanded. Slipping my underpants off, I now stood naked in the warm sunshine and I was feeling more than a little exposed. “What happens if someone comes by in a boat?” I asked. “They’ll get a grand view, won’t they!” he responded.  “OK, dear Molly. Dive in.” Diving off the rock, I immediately reacted to the extreme cold of the lake.  Surfacing and treading water, he threw me a bar of soap and said “Lather up, girl”.  As I stood freezing in the shallow near the rock, I began to wash every part of my body. Removing his shoes, he stepped into the water. “Come here” he asked in a demanding way.  Walking further into the shallow, I was now standing in about 8 inches of water in from of him.  Reaching out, he began to use his hands to spread the soap on my body and scrub areas that I wasn’t accustomed to have someone else scrubbing.  Reaching deep into the crack of my a*s, his fingers probed near my anus and carefully cleaned the surrounding area.  Nothing escaped his cleansing touch. He washed between my legs, my breasts and ran his soapy hands up and down my legs.  At first, I felt like a horse someone was washing in a stream but then I began to realize that his movements were caring and concerned. I began to understand that he was caring for his “submissive” in a very special way.  All scrubbed clean, I stood upon the jetty in the warm sunlight and he used my towel to dry every part of my body. As he dried and patted me, he was softly humming an old song. He seemed relaxed and happy with what he was doing.  Spreading out the towel on the hard rock, he instructed me to kneel down and bend over. As I complied with his wishes, I could hear him unbuckling his belt. Without warning, his thick leather lashed into my a*s with a fair amount of force but not enough to bring welts.  It was just painful enough to get my submissive juices flowing.  After about ten of these lashes, he knelt down and gently kissed the area he had flailed. His kisses lingered as he massaged my clitoris. As I began to rise in sexual awareness, he suddenly stopped and said “Breakfast time!  Let’s get up the hill and have some breakfast. I am starved.” Torture, it seemed, included the sudden cut off from my sexual desires.  Reaching the campsite still buck naked, he led me to my sleeping bag and told me to kneel down. As I kneeled, he used a soft rope to tie my hands behind my back and then tie my hands to my feet. “Keep your knees spread apart and your back straight.”, he said. “I want to see your breasts extended and you are to say nothing while I am cooking breakfast.”  My response was a purposeful “Yes Dear”. As I watched him work, my arms and knees were beginning to ache somewhat.  As the ache increased, my posture relaxed and soon I was slumping down to relieve my back pain.  Realizing I no longer held the position he required, he walked over and pulled my head back by my hair.  “It’s very uncomfortable, I know, Maggie”, he said.  “I would have released you in just a few minutes more but you gave up heart too quickly. Now I have to punish you for breaking the rules.”  Reaching into the tent, he pulled out a long leather flogger and began to flail it at my breasts.  First swinging from the right and then from the left. His movements were that of a cross-stitch sewing machine. Fortunately for my breasts, the flogger was only a deer-skin whip that had soft tails instead of cutting hard leather and his swing was casual. The soft pain was controlled and appropriate. As he finished his session, he again knelt down to softly kiss both my breasts where he left the slightest of red marks. “The submissive is a special gift and should always be treated as such.” As he continued to caress my breasts, I was taken aback by his comment. It was not the usual thing a Dom would say to his submissive. Neither was the kind and caring way he caressed the very area on which he inflicted his dominance. This was a new way of experiencing a submissive routine.  Reaching down, he carefully inserted two fingers inside of me and pulled my head back with his other hand. Kissing me deeply and hard on my mouth, he looked at me and said “Today will be a good day but tomorrow will be better!”. Untying my hands and feet, he now allowed me to relax in a comfortable sitting position. Whipping up a mixture of milk, eggs and spices, he momentarily tossed in a slice of bread, pulled it out and placed it into the hot frying pan. “French toast this morning, Molly.”, he said. “You need to get some more meat on those skinny bones of yours.”  As I sat there naked and exposed, my stomach began to gurgle loudly.  I was ready for a good, hearty breakfast.  As the French toast piled up on the plate, he threw some Canadian bacon into the pan and started to cook the meat.  In a few minutes he handed me a plate loaded with French toast and strips of crispy bacon.  Sitting cross-legged on my sleeping bag, I dug into the feast and sipped my tea while the sun warmed my body. As we ate, we talked as if we were old friends on a simple fishing trip.  This is definitely strange way to meet someone. As he talked, he began to relate how his wife contracted cancer and how the last year of her life turned his world inside out. The emotional connection between them was apparent as he could only relate bits and pieces before lapsing into silent thought. At one point he told me; “She was the reason I got up in the morning and the reason I smiled all day.”  Just before she discovered her illness, the two of them had planned this journey down to the last kiss goodnight.  He didn’t expect to have someone take him up on his Craig’s List offer, as he had been totally alone for five years.  As we drank our tea, he put a large pot on the fire to boil water for the dishes. Soon the water was hot enough and he told me to scrub the pots and dishes carefully. Having cleaned all of the dishes and pots, I stumbled down to the lake to wash them off in clear water. My nakedness and bare feet gave me a new appreciation for women who lived in caves once upon a time. I wonder if any of them were submissives…or was the modern submissive simply a throwback to more ritualistic times of our past.  What were the internal mechanisms that control our yearning for dominance and the push some of us towards submissiveness?  Why is my need to feel a whip against my skin so pervasive and overpowering?  Why would I want someone I care about to spank me silly and tie me to tree?  Making matters worse, I was allowing this man to do all that and more, even though I didn’t know him? Perhaps I will find the answers in the next couple of days. As the dishes were stowed and the fire allowed to burn down, he told me it was time to put the cut-off shorts on and to put my garter belt, stockings and shoes in a bag.  We were going to paddle around to the far side of the island, and he had a special place to show me.As he threw his fishing gear, some rope and a small knapsack into the canoe, we paddled off to find his special place. Rounding the end of the island, the granite stone now jutted far out into the lake forming tiny islets.  Some had a few trees and other were just a lump of rock sticking out if the water.  The last island we were headed for was about 15 feet long and had three tall white birch trees blooming comfortably below the shade of some larger oaks on shore.  Touching ground, he hopped onto the rock and guided the canoe close to a flat spot for me to exit. “Careful” he said, as he took the small bag that I handed him. “The rock is covered with algae and it’s very slippery underwater. “ As I stepped ashore, his strong arms pulled me to a drier spot where I sat down on a large boulder. “It’s time to put on your outfit.  I’ll be back in a minute.”  That was it.  The entire conversation!  I watched from the boulder as he paddled across the lake and he began looking at the water amongst a stand of phragmite stalks. It was the first time a man had ask me to dress up and then paddle away just as the tomato was putting on her skin. Regardless, I slipped on the stockings and shoes and sat down to wait. I had only been sitting for a moment when he looked over and began paddling back to me.  His face was grinning as he came up to the rock and he threw me the bow line as he grounded. “What’s so funny?” I asked. “Nothing”, he said. “I’ll fill you in later.  For now, let’s have you stand between those two birch trees over there.”  As I stood exposed to the surrounding lake, he carefully tied both my hands and then ran the rope over higher branches on both trees.  “The knot I am using to tie your hands is kind if a double bowline.  It’s called a bowline on a bite. It can;t pull tight like a slip-knot, so there is no danger in cutting off your circulation.” As he pulled the rope tighter, my arms were now extended out from my sides and slightly higher than my head. “Spread your legs wide.” He directed. “No, wider!”   As I found a purchase for my four-inch heels on the granite ledge, my lesson of the day was about to begin. Like a hive of bees buzzing through the air, I heard the swoosh of the flogger just before it struck my back. I could tell it was a heavy flogger with long, thick lashes that thudded heavily against the skin.  Floggers seldom left bruises or lash marks. They simply left the skin red and the redness would fade quickly after the session. As he began, the rhythm was slow and methodical.  First from the right and then from the left.  The hits centered between the shoulders and my back and at times drifted down to my a*s. After so many strokes he would wind it up underhand and swing it between my legs.  As it swung into my vagina, he pulled it back slightly to cause the ends to “whip” into the soft skin of my exposed private parts. His skill with a flogger was highly controlled and his aim impeccable. As I began to react and stick my a*s back towards him in an effort to connect with his whipping, his pace and force began to steadily increase. Soon he was in full stride, crisscrossing as if he was swinging a tennis racket and hard enough to make me think there would be some tangible bruising. As his whipping continued, It was the occasional assault on my vagina that garnered most of my attention.  As it snapped in, the sudden impact made me cry out loudly.  The sound of my cries would echo across the lake and I could hear the entire scene taking place in delayed stereo.Soon I began to be aware that this was a big lake and that anyone could canoe or kayak by at any time. “What if someone comes by?” I blurted out between hits.  “It’s my lake.  I’ll just tell them to get lost!”   Somehow, the logic of the statement escaped me.  My exposure was real and graphic.  The whipping continued unabated for at least 25 minutes. My body sagged from the heavy thongs and my arms began to ache slightly. My back, my a*s and my vagina were now red and tingling.  Throwing his whip onto a towel on the ground, he approached me from the rear and began to kiss all of the places he lashed.  They were long, warm passionate kisses that reflected his admiration and gratitude. Then I heard the unzipping of his fly. As he stood close behind me, his penis penetrated the crack in my a*s. As it rubbed against the portal of my anus, he reached around and fingered me from behind. As his now lubricated hand became drenched in my excitement, he withdrew his hand and rubbed it on the head of his penis for lubrication.  Aiming the head of his penis, he entered me fully and directly. There was just enough lubrication to make the experience pleasant for both of us.  As his movement increased, I held onto the rope restraints tightly and allowed my body to sway with his. As he came, he dug his fingers deep into the flesh of my a*s and cried out in well-earned exhaustion. Both of us were now supported by the ropes as he sagged forward onto my back. As he reached around me with one hand, he held my breast like it was an object that belonged solely to him.  Pulling out of me, the semen began to run down my backside in streaming, cloudy rivulets.  Stepping to the side, he pulled my hair away from my neck and kissed it passionately as his hand still held onto my breast.  It was another magical moment to remember. As he stood back and began to run his hand up and down my stockinged leg, I could feel the cool breeze on my back and hoped that it would dissipate all of the sweat my body had just generated.  Hearing him zip up his fly, I realized he was walking off.  He stooped to wet the corner of my towel in the lake and came back to wash the grime off of my face. Kissing my cheek, he slowly cleaned me up and smiled at me. “You be staying here for a bit while I go catch that catfish in the reeds over there.  I’ll be within earshot, so just holler if you need something.  With that he wrapped a blindfold across my eyes and left me tied naked to the trees as he paddled off to catch a f*****g catfish.   The feeling of vulnerability being alone on this little island, tied and exposed, and not being able to see your master was incredibly motivating.  I was scared, terrified, turned on and aching for more punishment all at the same time.  As the wind swooped over the lake, the sway of the trees stretched my arms out tighter and then retracted them. The coolness of the breeze against my vagina and breasts felt wonderful.  As the moments ticked by, my concern for my master now amplified.  I could not see him nor hear him. I was beginning to think he paddled off to some far away fishing spot and left me here for any passing bear or kayaker to bugger. In my panic, I began to chew at the blindfold that was hanging in my face. Little, by little, I was able to pull it down away from my eyes. First one eye was free and then the entire blindfold fell down around my neck.  Scanning the lake in panic, I looked for him but saw no sign of the canoe.   Straining my head around, I was able to see towards the phragemites where he spotted the catfish. He was just in the process of reeling in a fish when I screamed at him.  As he slowly paddled over with that huge Irish grin on his face, I called him every name in my limited trailer-park vocabulary. Jumping ashore, he forced his hand into my crotch and looked sternly into my eyes. “It’s all about trust, woman.  Did you really believe I would be more than 25 feet away? Look at where the knots are tied to the trees. They are slip- knots.  All you had to do was pull hard against the sapling, bend it down and reach over and grab the tail-end of the slip knot that I left hanging down. It would have come loose in a second.” Looking to my left, I pulled hard on the rope and the sapling bent towards me with ease. He was right. I should have trusted him. Exhausted from the whipping and hanging by my arms, I must have looked haggard to him.  He untied my hands and helped me to sit down.  Resting comfortably now, he took a towel, wet it in the lake and knelt next to me while he cleaned me up.  He carefully cleaned my face and back, all the while giving me a kiss here and a kiss there. I felt like a queen that just escaped prison and was discovered by her Prince Charming in the woods. In no time at all my color was back and my strength returned. “Let’s get you back to the campsite and make you some lunch” he said.  Reaching down, he removed my shoes and then helped me off with the belt and stockings.  As I was slipping on my shorts, he draped a comfortable cotton shirt over my shoulders and helped me into the boat.  Looking up at him I said: “I’m sorry I yelled all those nasty names at you. I really thought you had left me alone and naked for anyone who came by.”  Reaching into his pack and pulling out his revolver he said: “I was 25 feet away and this thing would have taken down anything within a hundred yards of you. You were always safe.” As he slowly paddled us back to the camp, I decided I needed to put some spirit back in the camping trip.  Turning to him I said; “That was the best whipping I ever had. I loved the exposure and the feeling of things being totally out of my control.  I loved the way in which you handled your whip. Can we do that again?”  Smiling wide, he said: “No worries, lassie.  There are plenty of thrills left where that came from.”  Landing at the campsite, he helped me up the hill and to my waiting sleeping bag.  I slept soundly for an hour. Waking up from my needed afternoon nap, the smell of frying catfish invaded my nostrils and set my taste buds alive.  He was leaning over the coals with a big frying pan and cooking the freshly breaded catfish and what appeared to be home-fries. “Wow, that smells delicious!” I mumbled from beneath my sleeping bag.  “I didn’t miss lunch, did I?”  “No” he said, “Lunch is right now.  You’ve been asleep for about an hour.  You crashed like a broken Barbi Doll, so I just left you to your kinky dreams!”   “How do you know what I was dreaming about?” she asked. “All I had to do was look at that silly grin on your face as you slept. Our scene must have made your day!” he said. “No” I replied. “It made my entire month!”. As I sat and ate my wonderful lunch, I began to see him in an entirely different light.  He may have been woodsy and right out of Hickville, but he was also smart, gentle and appreciative.  It almost seemed like he was a composite of all the types of men I enjoyed all rolled up into one person.  The peacefulness of the afternoon gave me the self-assurance I needed to ask him the obvious: “Why did you stay alone for five years after your wife died?”  Looking up from his dish, he nervously pursed his lips. “Replacing her was not the easiest thing in the world to do. Few women would have been able to be the kind of woman I wanted.  If I started to date, I knew I would only end up with my heart broken at some point. I needed to make a plan to meet a new person without risking my emotions.”   “What was the plan?” I asked. “My plan was to find a woman who had the guts to come on a SM camping trip right out of the clear blue sky and would enjoy the entrapments that ensued.” He said. ‘Do you mean me? I asked.  “Yep” he said.  “No, no” I said “I need a little more than Yep. I need to know how you knew I would come along on this camping f**k-feast of yours!”   “I didn’t know” he replied.  “I just hoped you would, and I am happy you did! It is that simple.”   “You mean you just put the ad on Craigs list and hoped to find a woman crazy enough to take this trip, all the while thinking she would be “The one” you waited five years for?” “Yep” “Yep my a*s!” “…but it worked, didn’t it?” I was stunned.  He was right.  I was smitten by this man and he knew it. … and it was only the first day. The entire scenario played out like a well written drama where the damsel got rescued in the end and the price whisked her off to his castle.  He understood everything about my reactions to whatever he threw at me. He was Santa Claus AND Houdini, holding a whip in his hand and a red rose in his teeth. Everything he did from the moment we unloaded the canoe was calculated to make me wrap my heart around his personality, his prowess and his mind.  Furious, I jumped up and started yelling at him. “What the hell do you take me for?” I yelled.  How could you possibly know my reaction to all these things you did to me?” “I don’t make a difference” he said. “Look at you. You are camping naked with someone who whipped the hell out of you, bound you to a tree on an island, came in your mouth and fucked you in the a*s. All within 24 hours!”  He continued. “And after all that, you loved every minute, didn’t you?” I just stood there dumbfounded with my mouth hanging open. It was preposterous. He was preposterous! How could I possibly be in love with someone I have only been with for 24 hours, yet there it was. I WAS in love with him!  I was like a moth to a flame.  He had grabbed onto my soul as it fluttered around my restrained body. Gaining a momentary foothold on my strength, I threw back at him: “And are you trying to tell me you are in love with me?”“I thought you knew that.” He replied.  “I have been since the day we had coffee before the trip.” Not understanding what just happened and not wanting to throw up my catfish and home-fries, I ran down the path to the lake, threw off my shorts and dove headfirst into the cold water.  Surfacing a distance from the beach, I glanced back to see him holding my shorts in his hand.  He was smiling.  Turning, he slowly walked back to the campsite carrying my shorts with him.  Now I was confused, angry and naked with no way to get my clothes on before I went back to the campsite. As much as I hated to admit it, he was continually three steps ahead of me all the way.  As I schlepped to the camp dripping of cold lake water, he stood up and covered me with a towel that he had warmed by the fire.  As I stood there naked and stupid, he smiled at me ,kissed me softly on the breast and said “Did I tell you today how great you look naked and wet? That was it.  I lost it. I started laughing so hard I couldn’t stop. At one point he was hitting me on the back worried that I would choke myself to death. He was impossible, a rascal, a dominant and a sadist when it came to joking around and was the most knowledgeable and loving man I had ever met. I loved him like crazy. As I sat down on my sleeping bag, he snuggled up next to me and we just held each other until it was time to eat dinner. My hysteria had turned into tiredness and I dozed off for what I believed was another half hour. When I awoke, he was over the fire again but this time he was making a thick stew in a great cast iron pot.  Looking over in my direction he said “Stew for dinner!  Hungry?  I can’t tell you exactly what’s in it because I threw in a little of everything that was in my rucksack and to be honest, I lost track of what I actually threw in.”   “A*****e” I screamed. “Nope, didn’t have one those in the rucksack” he countered. “No, YOU are an a*****e” I returned. “You want me to get into the stew?  Then who would stir it?” With a giggle and smile, I gave up the fight. He was too quick, too prepared and too full of mischief to fight. “Yeah, I’m hungry.” I said. “What’s for dinner?” After we ate the masterfully cooked mystery stew, he brought out a bottle of wine. We sat around the fire and watched the moon slowly rise above the pines and then drop behind the mountain and disappear. We talked well into the night and discussed everything from sex to politics. As he laid comfortably on his sleeping bag gazing at the far away stars, I moved over to him, unbuttoned his pants and used my hand to arouse all that he had. Straddling him as he laid on his back, I sat down upon him and slowly gyrated in time to wind’s sound as it whispered through the pines.  Finally, he arched his back, came with great passion and pulled me down so he could kiss me.  “I love you like crazy” he said. I just looked at him, grinned and slipped his now waning penis into my mouth.  The morning sun came up amid the colors of a special rainbow.  The sky had pink, lavender, light blue and pale-yellow tints, along with the heavy orange of the rising sun.  Liam was still fast asleep, and I needed these few selfish moments alone to digest all that has happened in almost two days. I found myself overwhelmed with feelings towards him. These are feelings that impinged on my soul and were not just childish infatuation pains.  He was everything I needed. Thoughts and plans for the future were now completely changed. My mind was reeling from being overwhelmed by his personality.  Looking out on the peaceful lake, my entire body was more rested and at emotional peace than in has been for years.  I could have malingered in the sleeping bag all morning. “Time for that cute a*s to rise and shine!”, his booming voice now ringing in my ears. “Up! Bath first before breakfast!”  As he literally dragged me out of the sleeping bag in my half-dozing state, he immediately began to remove every stitch of clothing I had on. As soon as he had me completely naked, he threw me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and ran with me towards the lake. Stopping short on the sandy beach, I went tumbling out into the cold water. “Arhhhh” I screamed as I surfaced.  “It’s f*****g freezing” “Of course it’s freezing.  Why do you think I threw you in the water?  Now swim ashore so I can wash you.” The idea of a man washing my body by hand is entirely new to me. He missed nothing. His soapy fingers took their time on my breasts, between my legs and down the crack of my a*s. As his fingers scrubbed my a*s carefully, one long, soapy one slid fully into my anus and the quick movement of it was both fascinating and pleasurable. Giving in to the wonderful feeling, I blurted out “That feels so nice!”  Laughing, he pulled it out quickly and slapped my rear-end hard.  “We’ll spend more time their later, I promise” he said. “Now, dive on in!”  With great reluctance, I dove head-first again into the cold water and rinsed myself off. As I stepped onto the bank and into my flip-flops, he threw me a towel and said “Here. Dry off and I’ll meet you up at the campsite.  Throw some more wood on the fire so we have coals for breakfast.”  As I walked off drying my hair, I heard a splash behind me.  Turning around to look, he was swimming out to one of the little rock islands for his own bath.  As I neared the tent, the warmth of the fire was intoxicating.  Throwing on more wood, I just stood there and let my flesh absorb the radiant heat from the fire pit. His cooking was taking on a whole new dimension.  This morning it would be Swedish pancakes.  He said his grandmother taught him how to make them as a little boy. “First we put in 4 eggs…yoke and all.  Then I use plenty of cinnamon and sugar.  I start with three cups of milk and then I use the egg-beater to blend it all together.  The secret is sifting in a little flour at a time and beating it until it is the right consistency.  When it is poured into the big frying pan, it spreads out paper thin and cooks quickly.” As he poured the first batch in, I was surprised to see that one pancake took up the entire frying pan. “You have to make them big!” he laughed.  Soon he had a large stack of pancakes on a plate warming next to the fire. His last duty as chef was to cook a half pound of bacon and make the tea.  I was still waiting patiently, sitting naked on my sleeping bag and starving slowly to death when he announced “OK, sweet thing. Breakfast is ready!” The Swedish pancakes were paper thin, wonderfully tasty and settled in your stomach like lead fishing weights. After eating two pancakes, the average human was not able to walk or run for at least 20 minutes. The bacon was the topping on the cake. Sitting there completely full and naked, I felt like the Cheshire cat with a huge grin on my face. Taking the dishes from me, he snuggled up beside me and kissed me on the mouth. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I forgot to say good morning!”  His devilish grin was wide and inviting.  “Let’s get you into your shorts for a walk!” Still naked from the waist up and my hair in a ponytail, we began to walk back across the island.  Reaching the far shore after a brisk walk through the pines and cedars, we came upon a small clearing with some thin saplings. “Why don’t you have a seat while I fix this up a little.”, he said pointing to a wide log on the ground. As he walked up to a sapling, he grabbed it and gently bent if back as if to test it. “This will do fine” he said.  As he set to work, he whistled the Snow White song “Whistle while you work”. Pulling his Bowie Knife from its scabbard, he bent the tree towards him and began to hack off the limbs.  Soon he had a sapling that was about 14 feet high. It was now just a pole sticking out of the ground. As he finished his work, he turned and said “Off with the shorts, my dear.”  Removing my socks and shoes, I unbuckled my belt and let my shorts slide to the ground. Again, I was entirely naked for him in the woods. “Before we begin” he said, “I want you to walk over to the weeping willow with this knife and cut of three long branches that I will use on your a*s. So, choose well.”  The decision as to which branch to cut was not an easy one.  A thin branch would sting like hell. A thick branch might break the skin.  If the branch had too many growth nubs, they would definitely cut into the skin.  As I pulled and bent each branch within my reach, I finally found three that I would trust him to use on me.  Cutting them off, I handed all three branches to him. Handing them right back, he said “Now we need to strip all the bark of each branch, so we have a nice, smooth surface the entire length.”  Using his knife, I began to strip the bark off while he sat kicking his feet in the water. The whips chosen and skinned, he now turned me around and pulled my hands behind my back.  Using a long length of soft, braided 1/2 inch nylon rope, he began to bind my hands.  As he worked at the binding, he wove the rope around and in and out between my two arms.  Soon he had the effect of leather arm binders with the rope extending to my elbows and the loose end of the rope exiting at my wrists.  Guiding me over to the sapling, he bent it down and tied the loose end to the top of the 14-foot pole.  Letting the sapling rise slowly as he guided it, my hands began to be pulled upwards, making me bend sharply at the waist.  As he allowed the tree to finally pull up with full force, I was now bent over with my arms pulled up in the back. “Is it too much of a pulling strain?” he asked.  Looking up at him I said, “No, it’s fine”. “Good” he said. As he adjusted my position by spinning me around, he picked up one of the willow branches and said “It’s time.” I was virtually exposed.  With my hands tied and lifted high, I was completely at his mercy from behind.  As I waited, I heard the whoosh of the limb singing through the air. Whap.  The impact was extreme from what I was used to. Recognizing that the limb had delivered more force than he intended, he reached out to rub the area and said “ Sorry girl.  It got away from me. You OK.?”  I smiled and told him I was fine. Having the measure of the branch now, he began to deliver short, firm and carefully placed strokes across my a*s. Each time before he began, he would say “Would you enjoy more?”  Each time I answered “Yes Dear.”    The branches were very much like a rattan cane. In the wrong hands they could easily draw blood or scar the skin.  I could feel that he now had a handle on the right amount of force to use and he was delivering blows that made me come close to yelling out, but I was still in control of myself.  He always asked if I would like more, leaving the choice to continue up to me. As his blows came home, he would occasionally stop and rub out the area that looked most impacted.  Once it was rubbed out, he would lean down and kiss the area with an open mouth.  “You have an exquisite a*s, Molly girl!” he would say and ask if I was ready once more. My answer was always “Yes Dear.” As the whipping continued, the endorphins began to accumulate in my system and I gradually drifted off into subspace.  At that point I was aware of the hits but really didn’t feel them. My head was flying high as if on a drug. The endorphins continued their magic as the whipping progressed and he would stop every few minutes and ask directly if I was OK.  I always said “Yes Dear”.   After much more than an hour of whipping, he stopped and put the limb down on the ground. Soaking a towel in the cold water, he wiped my body down and rubbed out all of the whip marks with his rugged fingers.  By the time he finished, the marks were visible but I didn’t feel them.  It was almost like he had magical fingers.  I was still bent-over and hands lifted high above my back. Once he finished the rubout, I sensed he was doing something else. He was.  I heard his fly zip down and he stood behind me and entered me from the rear.  His movements were slow, methodical and deliberate. He would first slide quickly inside me.  Then, as he hit bottom, he would pull in on my hips and force it in as far as he could, putting extra pressure on my clitoris. The pull out was slow and even. He continued for a while. The fast movement going in… then hitting the bottom… the pulling in tighter and the slow, methodical withdrawal. As his movements gained speed, the increase was not affecting the shared timing of his movements. It was still faster in, a faster push to gain a deeper depth and a faster, slow withdrawal.  As his movements began to mirror the motions of a locomotive’s driving arms against the wheels, I came with a shudder.  It was only seconds before he came, forcing me to collapse onto my knees.  Swinging his arm under me, he lifted me up and quickly undid the long rope tail connecting me to the tree. I collapsed onto the pine-needle covered ground with my hands still tied behind me, I was covered in semen, dust, sweat and pine needles. I was totally delirious and wonderfully happy.Liam gently untied my hands. Lifting me up off the ground, he carried me over to the water’s edge and sat me on the bank. “Are we OK, my beautiful little s**t?” he asked with his devilish smile. “I’m like a fine Swiss watch.  I take a licking but still keep ticking.” I replied ,with the weariness showing in my eyes.  Standing me up, he carefully washed my body down with a wet towel and then dried me off.  All the time he worked, he wore a huge smile and his eyes seemed to look deep inside of me. As he finished drying me, he began to gently kiss each mark that he had left on my body. Slowly. Passionately. Every mark, no matter how small was kissed and lingered over. “What’s the fuss?”, I softly asked.  “They are only marks on the skin.”  Smiling at me with his laughing Irish eyes he said: “Each and every mark is but a sign of the love you have for me. I am just returning the love you gave me.” Hearing his words brought me deep within myself. There weren’t many who would have understood what he just said. Fewer yet would have recognized that he understood that by giving my body over to his dominance and pain, I was in fact demonstrating the love and affection I had for this man.  I don’t think I really understood that myself until coming on this trip.  I discovered there was so much more to this grey and dark world of bondage, whipping and humiliation than I ever imagined.  It is a play between two people who act out their needs and passions in a way that binds them together tightly with a bond much stronger than any vanilla bond they may have experienced growing up. Going to church with your family was more tradition and guilt driven than most care to admit. Some experience the affect with close brushes with death with a friend or the fight and heartbreak of teammates in a sport.  But here, in the confines of the partnering of each other’s trust, the binding of the spirit is more complete. More defined. More spiritual. Mid-way in our passion-play of a few moments ago, he literally became me; feeling each stroke he delivered and I him, guiding each stroke to my own flesh. As I continued these thoughts, tears began to well up in my eyes.  Looking down at him as he kissed away my marks of love, I said: “Liam, I am in desperate and total love with you”. Looking up at me with smiling eyes, he said: “I guess our journey is just beginning!” Bending down to kiss him softly on the lips, I said “Yes, it is, Liam my love. Now bring me back to the campsite and make me dinner while I get washed up and put on my stockings and shoes for you. I feel like being whipped and fucked under the stars tonight!”       Copyright©2019Jamie Boss Sr. All Rights Reserved