I'm an introvert, a photographer, and a nature lover. Put all those together and you've got someone who likes to go to lonely places shooting nature. I've even had some pictures accepted by National Geographic and that's a tough market to get into.
Oh, I have to point out that I'm not a professional photographer, just a gifted amateur. This means that my chances to go on shooting excursions are limited to holidays and weekends. Long weekends are good.
We had a long weekend recently and I was able to take off early on Friday afternoon. I'd already packed my equipment into my car and all I had to do was drive up to the mountains. I had my hike all planned out in advance.
By the time evening was approaching I was well up the trail, having arrived at the point where I'd decided to camp for the night. It was a beautiful night and I wasn't going to bother with a tent. I was just going to unroll my sleeping bag and sleep beneath the stars. (Yes, I considered the possibility of mountain lions and bears. They just weren't going to happen.)
I'd just finished my dinner and was putting out my little fire when a man came strolling up to my camp. He looked around and just grunted, watching as I put out the fire.
"What are you doing here, Despoiler of the Earth?" he asked. I could practically hear him putting capitals on those words.
"I'm just on a hike. I'm a photographer. I don't despoil the earth, as you put it. Who are you?"
"I am Running Wolf, defender of these lands."
OK. If he says so. I could see he was some type of Indian. Ah, that's Indian with feathers, rather than Indian with a dot on his forehead. Perhaps I should just say Native American.
"Um, well you don't need to defend it against me," I assured him. "I have no intention of damaging it."
"Pah. You damage it by the act of walking on it."
"Really? You think I soil the soil by my very presence?"
"All white men do. That's why I wage war against the white man and his intrusive ways."
I felt like pointing out that denim trousers and shirts weren't exactly part of native American culture. Neither were the Reeboks he was wearing.
"Yes, well, I'm not exactly a white man," I pointed out. "Why not go and find one and hassle him instead of me."
"I also wage war on white women," he pointed out. "However I am more merciful where women are concerned."
"I see. You just warn them to be careful and let them go?"
"Not quite. I warn them to be careful of the land, have sex with them to show how important this is, and then let them go."
Excuse me? Have sex with them? Thanks, but no thanks. I'll pass up that offer. Before I could say anything he held up a hand.
"No. Don't say anything. White women always feel they must say no sex. I just ignore their wishes as this is my land."
It promptly registered on me that he was a very large man. He also looked quite fit and strong. Now I was also fit and strong, but only for someone my size, and I was considered petite. Very petite. I glanced around, trying to work out which way to run but before I could decide anything he had hold of my arm.
It had been a beautiful day and all I was wearing was some hiking shorts and a t-shirt. It was quite appalling how efficiently he took them off me, along with my undies. I struggled and wriggled but he tucked me under his arm and started pulling my shorts and panties down. I was able to kick my feet up and down and hit the back of his legs with my fists, but I wasn't able to stop him undoing my shorts and pushing them down. To add injury to insult he had the gall to slap my bottom once he'd pushed my shorts and panties down far enough.
"Stop being silly," he told me. "Just relax a little."
With that he finished taking them off and switched the arm I was tucked under so that my top was in front of him. That's when he calmly pushed my t-shirt and bra up and off. Like I said, he made it look easy. He probably stripped me faster than I'd get undressed myself.
He swung me back to me feet, turning me to face him, and he was looking me up and down. Inscrutable Indian is a myth. I could see just what he was thinking and his face was saying dinner is served and I knew who dinner was.
Even though I still had my shoes on I didn't get a chance to run for it. Not that I was likely to go charging through the woods starkers, except for my shoes. The way my luck was running I'd probably meet the only grizzly bear in the state. Didn't really matter. Like I said I didn't get a chance. He grabbed my arm again and towed me over to where my sleeping bag was laid out. How nice. He was letting me have something comfortable to lie on.
He pushed me down onto the sleeping bag and stood over me while he slipped off his jeans. My jeans are so tight it takes me ten minutes to take them off. His were so loose they practically fell down when he undid them. I promptly saw why he had such loose jeans. He had a lot of equipment he had to tuck away.
"We can do this two ways," he told me. "The easy way is you relax and I make love to you." I was shaking my head most vehemently. That was not going to happen. "The hard way is where I put you over my knee and spank your bottom until you agree to do it the easy way. So, which is it to be?"
Oh, I had such a wide range of choices. Be raped or be beaten and raped. I'd just as soon bypass the beating. I gave him a nasty look and forced myself to relax.
"I thought you might see it that way," he murmured, settling down next to me.
I naturally assumed that he would now pounce. Not so. When he said he'd make love he meant just that. He started off by stroking my breasts. I'm waiting for him to jump me and all he does is start playing with my breasts. He rubbed them, teased them, teased my nipples, tasted them for god's sake. Then he started playing with my pussy, stroking and squeezing and massaging.
I was moving restlessly under his touch. The damn man was getting to me and he knew it. He left my pussy alone, his fingers trailing lightly along the insides of my thighs, moving softly up until he was ready to touch me pussy again. And he didn't. There was I expecting him to touch me again and his hand changed directions.
His fingers lightly stroked me all around my mound without quite touching it and I was starting to feel like screaming. Then I did scream as his hand suddenly closed over my mound again and squeezed it. Now he was getting more serious, touching me more urgently, waking up my desires. I was ready for him and I damn well knew that he knew it.
He changed tactics again. His goddamn mouth closed over my mound while a hand landed on my breasts. His tongue was probing me, teasing me, sending me insane, while he also caressed my breasts.
I swear, if he didn't get on with the actual rape I was going to tackle him and do some raping myself.
It was almost a surprised when he moved over me, his cock starting to press against me. I'd been almost petrified when I saw how much equipment he had, the thing rearing up out of his trousers like a small baseball bat. Not all that small a bat, either, was my first thought. Now I was looking at it and thinking I can handle that. No problems. Just fucking do it.
Ah, I'm not sure if I said that last line out loud or not. I certainly didn't mean to but from the smirk on his face I just might have. Whatever, he just did it.
No sudden thrust from this man. He just eased into position then kept on coming. And on and on. I could feel him creeping up inside me, forcing my passage to stretch to accommodate him. The way he kept on coming I was starting to have serious doubts about my ability to handle him. Forget the no problems bit. Now it was a case of, come on, you've got to be kidding me. There's more?
They say all good things must come to an end. Fortunately so do other things, like his cock. He finally settled onto me, his groin pressing heavily against me, and I had the most cock I had ever come across inside me.
For a rapist, he showed remarkable consideration. He didn't start trying to pound me into the ground. He just moved gently, sliding slowly back and forth, letting me get a proper feel for what I had to handle. It didn't take me long to adjust to what he was doing, with me moving at the same gentle pace to meet his gentle thrusts.
After a couple of minutes it dawned on me that he wasn't moving slowly out of consideration. He was moving slowly because he wanted to make this last. I'd given a couple of hints that I wouldn't complain if he put more effort into it and those hints had flown past him without stopping. Irritating, really, as it wasn't as if I was in a position to tell him to get a move on.
What he was doing was exciting (reluctantly so) but it wasn't exciting enough. I needed him to do more and he wasn't doing it.
I will say that he kept on going. And going. And going. Time was passing and he was still going on with that same gentle movement. My excitement was still building but oh, so slowly. What did the fool think he was doing?
I'll swear that it must have been close to a quarter of an hour before he decided that the time was right to step up the pace a bit. As for that swearing I just mentioned I was doing it. Swearing at him under my breath. At least now my excitement was being fanned properly. I was bouncing under him quite happily. Now.
He bounced me even harder and I was going to climax and I didn't care. If he didn't get there that was his hard luck. Um, no, I think he wouldn't care. He'd just keep going until he was ready. Now I was hoping that he would climax or I could be lying under him half the night.
He gave a few more vigorous bounces and I reached the point of no return, gasping and climaxing ecstatically, relieved to find that he was also letting rip.
He rolled off me and pulled up his jeans.
"Right, woman, you've been warned," he told me. "Don't say you haven't been."
With that he vanished into the woods.
