. 07: Watchers

Faintly, through the wood, she heard the sound of human voices.

She slipped into a patch of ferns and lay prone, looking the more urgently down slope.

The sound of a happy laugh - female - and voices, clearer. Male and female. The lilt of the Gaelic - did Andrew have the Gaelic? She didn't know for certain that he didn't. A movement between the trees. Red hair, curly. The woman's laugh, again, shocked, delighted. Two figures, at first hard to make out among the stems, climbing as she had. A patch of green - the woman's dress - yes, definitely, a woman - a young woman - with bright red hair in a simple green dress, and beside her a dark-haired, beardless man in a kilt and a soldiers shirt.

Fifty yards below her, a tree lay fallen. The soldier pinned the red haired woman against it. He kissed her. She, laughing, pretended to struggle. He pushed the yoke of her dress off her shoulders. She batted at his hands, but did not readjust her dress. They kissed. He reached his arms behind her, and she protested. He backed off, his hands on her shoulders, looking crestfallen. She laughed, and licked her lips.

He leaned in to kiss her, and she twisted away, laughing. The sleeve of her dress slipped further down her arm, and a nipple appeared.

The two by the tree looked at one another, shocked. Fiona held her breath.

The man took hold of the neckline of the green dress. The woman twisted away, turning to run, and tripped, sprawling, the dress half off. The man dropped to his knees between her legs.

Fiona bit her lip, one finger gently circling her bud.

Down slope, the man was holding the woman down with one hand on her throat, while the other worked on the buckles of his kilt. The woman was wriggling and protesting - but quietly, and still with a hint of laughter.

Two fingers now circled Fiona's bud, as she stared intently.

The kilt was gone. The man leaned forward, and his shirt blocked Fiona's view. The woman was still wriggling and protesting. Suddenly, she fell silent, her eyes locked on her partners face. Slowly her legs came up and encircled his waist. Fiona couldn't see enough, but she recognised the motion, the accelerating rhythm. She pistoned her fingers into her wetness, watching.

Below her, the strangers were silent, frantic, the man pounding, the woman clutching with hands and legs, her head turning from side to side...

And there was another movement in the wood below. Andrew, in plain sight, not much more than a hundred paces below the strangers.

Fiona broke cover and fled.

She fled not up the slope, but down and across it, angling towards the lovers. At closest she was not a dozen strides from them as they lay, frozen, caught in mid stroke, looking at her nakedness with shocked eyes. But she had only time to glance at them. Her focus was on Andrew, who, too, was running now. Did he know of the lovers? She thought not. Ahead of her was a patch of open heather, that would do.

She dare not slow, but she needed Andrew to be fast now. She did not want to get too far... a hand on her shoulder and she was twisting, tumbling. A hand firmly on her braid. She dragged herself round, directly towards the strangers, before he forced her to her knees. His knees thumped down between her parted shins. As she heard the now-familiar unbuckling of his belt, she looked up the slope towards the fallen tree. Yes, as she'd expected, two heads, one dark, one red, peering over it.

She would give them a show.

Andrew's hand, wrapped in her braid, pulled her forcefully back as his hard rod entered her. Fiona dropped her belly as far as she could, tilting her pelvis to try to show the red-headed girl - the man didn't concern her so much - trying to show the red-headed girl the place where she was penetrated. It surprised her not at all that Andrew's pace was already fast. When he released her braid to grip her pelvis, Fiona dropped her shoulders to the ground, tilting her pelvis even further; and, to her delight, felt Andrew transfer even more weight to his hands. With each stroke she could feel his knees leave the ground, as he thrust down into her.

"Oh, my master," she called, in his rhythm, on his stroke. "Oh, my corsair. Oh, my captor. Fill me! Fill me! Yes! Yes! Now!"

The rhythm broke. For a moment, she felt him hovering above her, all his weight on shuddering hands, and then he collapsed downward one last time, liquid fire blasting into her churning depths. She heard herself scream "yes!", and she collapsed, panting, under his weight.

There was silence. Silence but for pounding heartbeats, for gasping breath, for the hammering of the woodpecker below them in the wood.

"Oh, emperor of my womb," said Fiona, quietly, dazedly, "you have filled me with seed, and with ecstasy."

Andrew, above her, his weight on her, laughed, the tremor of it shuddering through her bones. "I have, my captive."

He was too heavy, now, and, her breath now steadier, she squirmed out from under him. He rolled onto his back, and quite without thinking, she leant down to clean him with her mouth, as she had before. Suddenly she remembered the red-headed girl, and she flushed hotly; and then, partly because of the red-headed girl, of her eyes on her, she stroked her mouth down onto Andrew's once more rising sex much as she had her own sex in the dawn.

It did not surprise her that his hands caught her head, and held it. It did, slightly, surprise her that his hands urged her on, faster, harder, deeper. He was quickly too big for her mouth, forcing uncomfortably into her throat, making her want to cough and gag. But Andrew wanted this, and red-headed girl was watching this, and there would be a show. Her own hands were doing nothing; she reached between her own legs, and once more began to stroke.

The combination of sensations was overwhelming. The smell and taste of Andrew in her mouth, the feel of him, the sheer size of him; his hands forcing her, controlling her, giving her no latitude; her own fingers in her own sex; and the palpable awareness of the red-headed girl's eyes drinking in the scene, as Fiona had watched her own seduction...

Suddenly Andrew shuddered, and Fiona's mouth was flooded with hot seed. She gasped a breath and gulped as much of it as she could down, and in that moment her own climax hit her.

Once again, there was silence: silence but for the pounding of hearts and the rasping of breath. Fiona, sprawled satiated across Andrew's chest, didn't see the red-headed girl and her swain silently pick their way down though the wood and out of sight.