A view for the squirrels – [MF, outdoors/camping]
Your senses are becoming borderline gluttonous; the smell of pine, the light breeze chilling your ass, the distant sound of water – maybe a creek – it’s hard to tell with the blindfold. The restraints aren’t painful, but suddenly feel worryingly secure.
How long had you been on display for the creatures of the forest? It couldn’t have been more than five minutes. Ten?
You’d heard his footsteps leave the campsite. He’d said he was going to gather some firewood and was leaving you “as a curious surprise for the squirrels.”
“Do squirrels participate in voyeurism? Would it then only be of other squirrels? Or is any vagina – just another vagina? Shoot, if so wouldn’t he prefer it with hair – more squirrel like?”
The sun on your cunt is warm, and your thoughts bounce between fantasy, primal desire and cautious apprehension.
Suddenly, the sound of sticks cracking within earshot cause you to try and jolt upright, but restraints prevent it.
You call out “Hey! You’re back! I was worried!” But there is no response.
Your mind begins to race. ‘If it’s him, why wouldn’t he have responded?’ ‘Who else could be out here?’ ‘Is anyone actually over there?’
These thoughts only intensify when the distant roar of a chainsaw shatters the silence of the forest.
After a moment you realize the saw only sounded close due to the suddenness of the machine’s engine coming to life, maybe in actuality it could be a few hundred yards away.
Still… at best, you’re tied up. Pussy in the air. Pretty, prepped and presented.
You hope whoever is operating the saw hasn’t noticed your campsite and the thickness of the forest would hide you and your vulnerable situation.
The saw continues sporadically shatter the non-silence of its own idling, a sort of oddly mesmerizing mechanical groaning alternated by bursts of pure energy and force tearing through trees in the forest… then just the sound of an idling motor.
You’ve been silent as to not draw any attention toward your campsite, and at this point your usable senses are in absolute overdrive.
“I didn’t see a chainsaw in the car! And if it’s not him, who is it!?” God-damnit where the fuck is he!?!”
Another stick cracks – this time closer – and the warm sun on your slit disappears. The shadow feels much colder than the actual temperature change.
“Is that you?” is all you manage to utter before the feeling of a hot-moist-furnace envelopes your cunt as you feel the hot breath inches away.
The warm air continues and you groans slightly “ughmmm.” The voice harmonizes with the still distant and idling chainsaw – you instinctively moan on-key – you didn’t mean to, or want to for that matter – years of karaoke must have kicked in I guess.
Little beads of sweat slowly make their way down from your armpits to your elbows moistening the dirt. The sensation is the same in your cunt – a steady flow of secretions that cause your lips to glide against each other.
“Jesus Fucking Christ!!” You think “I don’t care who you are, fucking deal with this – my juices are dripping into the dirt and you’re just fucking taking it all in.”
The fact it’s wet and soft doesn’t mitigate the immediate feeling of his tongue lightly pressing against your asshole and moving down to your clit with a ramp-up/stop/repeat rhythm that feels incredible and incredibly unsatisfying.
The motion and orientation of the tongue is confusing. ‘He’s going from my ass to clit, but with the front of his tongue.’ You try to make a mental note of this to later work out the geometry of how he’s managing to do this without anything other than his tongue touching.
You want that tongue inside you, eating you, devouring you.
Now you begin to pant and arch your back – trying to push your ass harder against his face, straining at the restraints.
“Whoever the fuck you are, fucking fuck me” you beg. “Reason is the press secretary of emotions,” would be what you’d later come to make of this tsunami of lust and carnal desire. And reason, was not an accessible emotion at that moment in time.
The man groans deeply again, and your butt jolts from a quick smack with his hand. The hard feeling of his hand spanking your ass brings you back into the woods and your eager wet pussy is met with his mouth finally engulfing your cunt.
This time his face sinks into your crotch and his lips begin humming against your clit.
You strain at the restraints, but are unable to escape – not that you want to at this point – but the feeling is ever present.
The remaining sunlight is spent on worshipping your slit. You wake from what seemed like a momentary nap to darkness so black you repeatedly try to open your already open eyes. And to the what seems like the same voice – apologizing profusely – for getting lost while gathering firewood.
Sitting by fire you shift slightly on a stump. Watching the fire your right cheek aches slightly…
watching the embers burst upwards, you agonize internally about how to ask “was that you…. or, who did all of that to me?”
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/i3p697/a_view_for_the_squirrels_mf_outdoorscamping
This is good!