Witch hunter, p.2
Witch Hunter, page 2
Getting out of her room and having the run of that gorgeous wisteria-covered cottage was a treat in itself, however brief such moments were. She loved the place. One day she hoped to have enough money to buy just such a property within the village, but for now renting a room was a more than acceptable alternative, despite having to share with the spinster landlady. It meant a time-consuming drive to reach work in Oxford, but the quiet leafy lanes could make your heart soar with optimism when the early sun lit the green, flint-strewn fields and the beech woods behind, and brought the hedgerows alive. It had been a different story in her first winter, when any snowfall or thick ice rendered the roads impassable and forced her to exist for days off pub food or remnants in the freezer. She didn’t care though. Anything was worth it to live here. She had coveted a place in the village for as long as she could remember.
She had grown up in the nearby town where Dominic now lived. Her parents would bring the family out here for summer picnics in the glades or autumn walks amongst the copper-leaved trees. They provided many of her fondest childhood memories: colour-splashed meadows, swallows dipping and zipping over lush-cropped fields, dew-covered cobwebs amid frosty thickets, or pristine snow blankets and freezing breath. Sun or rain, it was always special. She tried to imbue her lethargic boyfriend with the same enthusiasm as they sauntered through those woods on the way to her Secret Location, but he had his standard couldn’t-give-a-fuck face on. He seemed so one-dimensional sometimes that it wearied her. How their short relationship had continued was a mystery.
He was tall and nicely muscular, and good-looking in a posh-student way. Plus he had the most delectable of pricks: slim but very long and silky-smooth when erect, which was often. It seemed to have a mind of its own. It certainly had more go than the rest of him. A few times when she was making advances he had seemed to be crying off, only to be outvoted by his own member. And once unleashed it could certainly hammer home with the best of them, even if its owner was more than a little unimaginative when it came to dirty business.
The staying power and speedy recovery rate of his young erection ensured she was never left disappointed. That was not something she had always been able to claim in the past, so it was worth clinging on to, even if the man himself could barely raise the passion to hold her hand, better still delight in the promise of the secret place she was taking him to. He could gather even less zeal for the smells and the promise of the day that were firing her, or for the snatched views across the landscape of her childhood haunts.
The timelessly pretty villages and hamlets here were dotted around the countryside, some more easily reached across the fields than by the narrow roads. To her they all seemed like miniature empires in sleeping valleys, all unique despite their close proximity, all holding their own wonderful secrets that were jealously guarded from outsiders. In more recent times these outsiders had come to populate the villages. The steep rise in house prices forced the locals elsewhere as wealthy Oxford and London commuters took over. Affluence was pervasive, but nowhere lost its ancient, deep-set notion of serfdom, of the poor locals giving service to their richer landowners. The old customs and folklore were maintained and even the new wealth could not diminish it. The newcomers simply had to absorb the traditions or suffer isolation.
Before Mimi had even moved into her room, some nine months ago, her gossip-happy landlady had shuffled her fat posterior from house to church to village hall telling anyone who wanted to know that a young journalist from the Echo was to be her new tenant. Fortunately, the Spinster also told everyone that she was a local girl, so Mimi found herself more immediately accepted than some of the London incomers would be, although she still noticed some reticence when being spoken to. She guessed she would have to live there a good many years before this wore off.
She also noticed that she became a hub for gossip. If certain blabbermouths wanted a scandal spread around they often ‘accidentally’ divulged their secret within her earshot, as if she had the power to splash it across the front pages. This didn’t bother her. Hopefully one day the local scandal might well prove to be the roots of the very story she was desperate to break, the one that did indeed make headlines and get her noticed.
She would be the first to admit that in nearly five years at the Echo she hadn’t made the impact she had intended. She was well-liked and appreciated but she suspected this was more for her prick-pleasing attributes than for her journalistic prowess. She had the kind of looks that many men seemingly found hard to ignore, although they tended to induce private thoughts of filthiness rather than outward declarations of love. She was blonde and by many accounts very pretty. She received plenty of compliments about her large blue eyes and her sunshine smile, but it was her body that brought out the lust in her admirers.
You could just see indications of extra weight under her chin but if she stayed hiding behind her desk you might never realise that she was quite a big girl. Her breasts were a nice handful and still perky and there was a paunch but by no means a roll. It was her bum and thighs that carried most of the excess. Her bottom stuck out from the pronounced dip at the small of her back, defining a round curve down to the heavy tuck. In loose skirts she thought she looked like she was wearing a small Victorian bustle, so she always stuck to tighter ones, even though it might look as if she was trying to show off her biggest asset.
Her thighs and calves were thick but firm and soft white under the stockings she habitually wore for work. As soon as she got home it was straight into clothes more suitable for country living, but when at the office or out seeking stories she always took to her high heels and hosiery and squeezed her fat bum into hip-hugging skirts, although her intention was always to look businesslike rather than plain sexy. She wasn’t entirely happy with her body. If the glossy mags were to be believed, her figure should have been a turn-off for most. However, for so many it seemed one to lust after, to build your dirtiest fantasies around. One former beau had told her plainly: ‘The thought of your bare arse bending over in front of him could send any sane man senseless. You are the kind of girl you want to touch, to kiss and squeeze, to bury yourself deep inside.’
She even found that drunken girls at office parties hugged her for longer than was considered appropriate, or snatched New Year kisses from her under the pretence of doing it to wind up the guys.
She was certainly no tease though. She wasn’t quite ready to settle down but within her was the feeling that she should be looking for something more meaningful than a few dates and some quick, urgent sex before an inevitable petering out. All this made her question the wisdom of her more-off-than-on relationship with Dominic, who at barely nineteen was seven years her junior.
She had met him when following up a story about lads from the area disappearing ‘without trace’. In the last few years five males from the locale in either their late teens or early twenties had abruptly departed, leaving friends and family behind without any warning. This would have been odd, were it not that such deathly quiet villages were a graveyard for youthful ambition and could not compete with the brighter lights of any town or city. As for ‘without trace’, this wasn’t quite an accurate description of their disappearance, since all of them wrote home telling loved ones that they were fine and settled. These letters had continued to arrive at fairly regular intervals. True, in these days of mobile phones and texts, it was strange that they solely communicated by letter, but if you had escaped and didn’t want to be found and dragged back home, it was the safest form of contact. All the boys shared one thing in common: they were bright, fit lads who were expected to do well in life. Maybe it was merely the weight of expectation that drove them away, and once one went others followed the example. One thing was for sure, there was certainly no front-page story in it.
Mimi now met Dominic less and less often, and not just because her work made her keep odd hours or he was busy with his college studies. Despite his obvious intelligence, the immaturity – or, to be fairer, the lack of life experience – was beginning to tell. It was nice to have an athlete in bed but Mimi was aware of his shallowness. He was also somehow detached when they had sex. He would slam into her from the back as avidly as any former lover, but she never felt his simmering lust before they got to bed or any closeness during the act.
It was hard enough finding time and privacy for them to do anything, which sometimes led to snatched shags down dark lanes, trying to get the job done before the chill air numbed the desire. Considering their lack of opportunity, he never seemed as desperate for her as an on-heat teenager should have been. He wasn’t always grasping and fondling her or pulling her in for kisses. He waited until a chance presented itself and then without much preamble gave her a breathless seeing-to.
They just didn’t quite connect. Maybe they would have done if they had ever opened up about what they each wanted. He had once crawled naked over her lap, jokily asking to be punished. She had given him a few light smacks but too light-heartedly for it to go anywhere. Inwardly she had squirmed with the embarrassment of it all. If it had been the other way round, if he had dragged her over his lap and dealt a series of stinging slaps to her big bum, she was sure, despite never having received such treatment before, that she would have simply loved it.
Once, when the Spinster had gone to her sister’s for the night, they had actually had time to watch a bit of internet porn together before climbing into bed. They had looked at a few sites, jumping around a selection of video clips, their choices acting as unspoken demonstrations of what they each found appealing. She was surprised when he chose a short clip of a naked man bound with thick ropes and bent over, yelping as a corseted Mistress forced a strap-on into his rear end. Mimi had said something about how much of a fuss the man was making and if it had been the other way around the girl would have been expected to take it all without complaint.
‘Well, having a big one up the bum can hurt, as I’m sure you know!’ he had replied.
Actually, she didn’t know. She probably wanted to find out but for some reason she never had, although everyone seemed to be doing it these days. Plenty of girls told a different story, that it was a scintillating experience not to be missed. By the way he was talking, it sounded like he hadn’t missed it either. Another time, they had been indulging in some simultaneous oral with him on top, lapping at her bud whilst pressing a slender smooth vibrator into her puss. Only later, when she recalled how he had slightly wiggled his hips above her and pushed his behind back a little more, did she realise that he might actually have wanted the toy forced inside him. Basically, if both of them were displaying signs of submissiveness then it wasn’t going to work, and if he was bi-curious or trying to figure out if indeed he was gay she did not want to be fumbled around with while he made up his mind.
Relocating the secret picnic spot proved harder than she thought and Dominic didn’t help by getting exasperated. Eventually, when they did find it, he was typically underwhelmed. He seemed more distracted than usual, not really listening to anything she said. He hardly looked at her, more often glancing at his phone as if imploring it to receive some important message that would get him out of there. As ever he stuffed his food down as if he hadn’t eaten in weeks, barely noticing the trouble she had gone to in preparing it.
She had made a point of only buttering the baguette, leaving the cut sections otherwise bare and wrapping the intended contents separately, since he was so fussy and was always changing his mind about what he did and didn’t like. She didn’t want to give him any excuse to moan. No matter how many hints she kept dropping about being alone and isolated he refused to pick up on them. When he started checking the time she knew he was planning to get out of there without giving her what she needed. As always she would be forced to initiate things, and that was irksome.
He was idly holding a piece of buttered baguette, silently aghast that there was no more ham to fill it, even though he had put half a sliced pig into his last one. She sidled over with a mischievous smile, curled her hand around the bread and ran it up and down the length in a wanking motion whilst telling him that the French stick reminded her of something. Having your penis compared to something crusty and yeasty is probably not every man’s dream but her suggestive hand action was enough to do the trick. She spotted his ever-lively prick stirring in his jeans and seized her chance before he could back out.
‘Looks like he wants some attention,’ she said.
The evidence seemed indisputable so he could do nothing except mumble something ineffectual like ‘not here’ whilst she ignored him and unzipped his jeans. She fumbled inside and gave a little gasp as his hot member was suddenly in her palm and growing against her. It was a feeling she could never tire of. She loved to clutch a stiffening prick and feel it swell in her grip. Sometimes you could even sense the pulsing rush of blood and the rise in temperature. For just a few brief moments it was to feel the essence of sexual power, of uncontrolled desire, and to know that it was aimed at you.
There was surely no greater compliment a cock could give you than to fill up in your grasp. As his had been constrained beneath tight briefs she got it in all its expanding glory. For just a few wonderful moments it seemed like it might go on growing for ever. She would have loved to feel it swell inside her, stretching her open and surging into her hole.
‘So, Dominic,’ she said, ‘what shall we do with this?’
She didn’t like calling him Dominic. She would prefer to shorten it but he simply would not allow such things. ‘Dom’ would have been less of a mouthful and it would certainly be nice to think of him as a Dom even if it was so far from his real character. He didn’t even have the gumption to tell her what he wanted done with his gripped prick. She teasingly stroked it up and down but he remained impassive, still clutching his section of buttered baguette as if eating more lunch was a far better option than doing anything sexual. Well, if he wanted some meat to fill his roll he would get it.
She prised the bread out of his hand and forced the split side of it around his shaft so that it nestled like a large sausage in a bun. He at least smiled at this. She was giggling saucily and grasping the bread, twisting it against his shaft and running it up and down, using it to gently masturbate him. She could see the smear of butter on his skin and she pictured him sliding into her tightest passage without warning, forcing her over the tree trunk and entering her and pushing relentlessly deep inside her. She could scream but no one would hear her, and he might just stuff her knickers into her mouth anyway. Even his slim cock would stretch and maybe even hurt her, but the butter would ensure his forward glide proved unstoppable …
He didn’t move. He let her continue her gentle tease but she was feeling full of lust, too much to not make this situation dirtier. She reached for the tube of mustard and squirted a thick line of it down his length to complete the hot dog. He was panting harder and his cheeks were colouring but still he kept his passion contained and didn’t force it upon her. She didn’t want a mouthful of hot mustard but she would have sucked him to his balls if he had ordered her to. With the bread disintegrating and his cock a smeared mess there was nothing else to do but give up and give herself to him.
She was desperate for him to rip off her clothes and force her over the tree trunk but he didn’t, so she had to do it herself. Her knickers came down with her pedal pushers and she kissed him breathlessly for just a few seconds before going forward over the trunk, to leave her chubby pale bottom sticking out for him. His former reluctance was gone because he was now in command. He held her hips and was inside her in no time, surprising them both with the sudden depth of his entry, helped both by the butter and her slickness.
He held her as he caught his breath and she felt an unfamiliar tingling warmth spread inside her. It gave her a rush in her belly and made her slightly panicky – just like a mouthful of hot curry can do – and then she realised it was the mustard singeing the delicate skin of her puss. She let out an ‘oh!’ at this unintentional S&M rudeness and wondered if his prick was burning too. As if in answer he gave her a sudden barrage of arse-slapping thrusts, grunting over and over as he bashed against her cheeky rump and had it dancing. He kept on going too, as if needing the rapid action to soothe his itch.
She was aware of the sun on her bare skin and the sound of birds chattering around them. She was used to outdoor sex but it still felt so rude to be doing it there in broad daylight. It seemed such a bestial act, surrounded by gentle nature. She tried to make herself squeal louder, to add to the risk of them being caught, but, even though she knew the chances were infinitesimal, she still couldn’t bring herself to increase her volume. She wanted to talk like a slut in one of those porno clips they had watched. His quick-fire, bum-splatting thrusts deserved it. Imagine having the courage to yell out like they did, to beg him to do you any way he wanted. If she could only do that she would get it in the bum for sure. She could plead for it. She could say, ‘Please stick that big cock in my ass!’ just like those horny porno girls did.
Imagine having the courage to reach back and pull your cheeks apart while you said it, to actually display your most private place to him, to cry out that you were dying to have him in your bum. She trembled at her own thoughts but he couldn’t read them. He continued to slam into her and it was just enough to take her over the edge before he juddered and came. She loved the hot hit of his ejaculation within her. She was so glad she was on the pill, even if it did compound her weight problem. The feel of him shooting inside her always heightened her own orgasm.
He slipped out and she stayed where she was, eyes closed, allowing the warmth of her climax to gently spread through her. While she was feeling so horny she didn’t mind her bare bottom being so exposed. It might even encourage him to go again and finish what he’d started. Maybe he would even try something new, like giving her a good hard spanking before he sank inside her once more.
