In the Forests of the Night

It’s cold. What the fuck am I doing? 

I’m in one of the two woods attached to my property. I’m wearing a thick, heavy coat, and panties underneath, but nothing more. I was directed into this red ocultus outfit by Miss Brain who decided that I needed more than a simple rub off before sleep. I prowled the house for a while, and waited until Miss Brain directed me to whatever place, position and action she wanted me to obey, but nothing came to mind. Instead…..I began to get frustrated. I hate it when Miss Brain steadfastly refuses to cooperate, and we have something of a cat fight. 

‘Fucking hell! What are you playing at? I want a cum!”

“Yes, I know.”

“But you aren’t helping!”

“Yes, it’s a bitch, isn’t it?”

“If  you don’t start helping soon, I’ll fucking do it myself.”

“Well you could try, but we both know that doesn’t work, don’t we?”

“I’ll do something radical!”

“What, you mean like go out in next to nothing and do something dirty outdoors?”

“Yes! Don’t think I won’t! That’s exactly…….hey…..wait a minute……” 

And so here I am in what we jokingly call not Hundred Acre Wood….more like hundred meter wood….but it serves its purpose. I stand in the middle of it with the stark bare branches above my head lit only by the ghostly light of the  moon. The bare trees look like fingers of the damned scratching at the coffin lid of the grey sky. I shiver….it’s cold, but Miss Brain gives it a tweak and now it’s a delicious shiver of fear. 

My senses are acutely attuned to the night. I smell decay all around me. Not a single leaf remains on the trees, and the heavy leaf little around my feet is decaying slowly giving that dank smell so familiar to anyone who has walked a forest in winter. The breeze makes some of the outer trees creak gently and branches rattle over my head. Oddly, where I stand now isn’t as cold as you might think. I open my coat experimentally. The air does bite at my nipples drawing them into hard cherries, but it’s not unbearable. Dare I take my coat off? 

I do. I hang it on a branch and stand naked apart from these ridiculous cotton panties. For fucks sake, what was I thinking? Of all the pairs I own, these are some of the oldest. Cotton, well worn, somewhere between bikini style and high-waisted granny panties. These erred me well at school since they were thin enough at the crotch to masturbate through with the end of a ruler in class. These have been cum in and peed through more times than I can count. 

A branch snaps. Immediately Miss Brain grabs the sound and turns it into a threat. I’m being followed! I walk deeper into the forest. I hear a snuffle and a grunt. Far off an owl screeches in frustration as it misses its kill, and seconds later, a rabbit screams as it loses its life to a fox or a badger. Night in the forest is a passion play of life and death. 

For no reason, I turn to face a tree. It has a low forked branch that angles sharply up from the main trunk. Obeying nothing but instinct, I wedge my right hand in it trapping myself. My left hand reaches round and tugs my panties down over my bum. It does so awkwardly…using one’s non-dominant hand for this makes it feel like someone else is doing it. The movements aren’t as refined and practiced. My hand reaches between my legs and a finger sinks inside me. My mouth opens “No….please…..don’t touch me there.” Why has my voice risen in pitch? Why do I sound like a scared schoolgirl? Because this is what Miss Brain had in mind all along! 

I fall in with the fantasy, but I know better than to try to take it over. Miss Brain will give me what I need to say or do. Patience, Anna. The hand finds my clit, and to my surprise, it makes me jump. “No…not there.” The finger begins a clumsy circling, quite unlike how I normally do it. The touch is rough, unrefined, almost like……Harry….the oldest of our builders. 57, with rough calloused hands, any subtlety or refinement that may once have been there ruined by years of abuse and working outdoors. He started off his working life at 15 as a stone mason. I’ve seen some of his carvings and they are exquisite. 

It is Harry’s rough finger poking at my clit, and his voice in my head when I hear him say, “I’ve wanted to finger you since the first time I saw you….when I did that work for your parents. You’d parade around wearing almost nothing…..I had many-a wank over you, my girl.” His speed increases and I start to feel the first risings of an orgasm which I desperately try to suppress. Reality flashes through me…I want something inside me, but one handed, it isn’t going to happen. Thank God for Miss Brain. She fills in the need with imagination. Although all I can do is rub my clit, I seem to actually feel pressure against my bum hole. “Better not fuck your cunt….don’t want you getting pregnant now, do I. Still, more than one way to skin a cat.” Somehow, magically, I seem to actually feel him pressing his cock up my arse. 

The orgasm grows….not ready to burst yet, but almost…..almost. I cry out….for real….and loudly. All sounds of nature around me cease as my cry echoes through the forest. My panties are mid-thigh, adding to the feeling of being trapped, and my right wrist actually hurts, wedged as it is in the fork of the branch, yet the pain only seems to help. I feel a cramp in my bum which Miss Brain utilises and transforms into the pain of being stretched open. It is sudden, savage in its onset, and I pee. Immediately I hear Harry’s voice again, “I’m gonna cum up your arse, young Miss…..see how you like that.” Despite myself, I cum with him violently, the resistance I felt now long gone, I find myself working with him and pressing back. 

Afterwards I disengage from the tree rueful that Harry hadn’t actually been there to fuck me up the bum. I know, without doubt, I would have let him. I make myself an advanced anew years resolution, in 2023, I will fuck an older man. Oddly, my panties are almost dry. God knows what position I was in when I peed, but there are only a few drips on the cotton. I take them off anyway. I walk back to my coat naked and shivering. It’s a lot colder than I first thought. Strange how the desire of sex negated the cold. I huddle into my thick coat, but all it does is stop me getting any colder. On the way back to the house I stop by the greenhouse and it’s ridiculously large max/min thermometer. The temperature is minus 2. Fuck! 

Back in the house I almost run upstairs to my bathroom and seconds later I’m in the shower. It’s only set on a low temperature, but the water stings me and feels like white hot needles. You fucking moron, Anna. You really are ruled by your cunt aren’t you. Slowly, as I warm up, I raise the temperature higher and higher until the extractor fan kicks in to deal with the steam. Finally! 

Snuggled under my duvet, and not for the first time, I consider what complex creatures we are. When the sex urge is strong, almost anything can be a stimulus. I found leaning against a flint wall and pressing as hard as I could against it helped an orgasm grow in intensity. Pleasure and pain are closer allies than we imagine. Likewise, fear and pleasure seem to live together too. 

Something I really want is to explore bondage sex more. I really want to be teased…and I don’t just mean a little….I mean seriously  teased. It was there in a previous contribution when I wrote about the mental image of being tied to a chair and watching Dani be fucked. 

But there’s something else….I’m not sure whether to write it here on in a different contribution…..I think in another one. This is already getting too long.