by Loki Renard
Sarah would have argued, but she realized there was little point. William seemed determined, and given the trauma he must have suffered seeing his home summarily vaporized, she could understand how he would prefer not to return to another city.
What he did next shocked her thoroughly. He began pulling at the straps of his armor, removing both the vest and long pants, leaving only his thick brown cotton pants and vest underneath.
“What are you doing?”
“Embracing nature.”
“But…”
“No buts,” he said firmly.
She was worried about him. She had never seen the effects of radiation, but given that the city people had blocked themselves away from it with thick walls and mega domes, she gathered it was not a pleasant fate.
“If you want to kill yourself, you should just do it,” she said abruptly.
“Excuse me?”
“You’ll die without your armor. You’ll die if you try to live wild.”
“Your parents didn’t.”
“My parents carried the mutation.”
“They carried it, but it’s recessive. It was expressed in you, but not in them. And they survived long enough to make sure you got to adulthood.”
He had a point, she supposed. But having seen the horror with which city folk and William in particular had regarded radiation exposure, she had a hard time accepting that he had genuinely simply stopped worrying about it. It was more likely that he felt lost, and being lost, figured his life did not matter as much. Grief did strange things to people, made them reckless. She would have to keep a close eye on him, lest he hurl himself into the jaws of a big cat or try to swim in rapids.
“And just so we’re clear,” he continued, “you’re still mine.”
She snorted with amusement.
“I mean it, young lady. You’ve made your choice to stay with me. The rules haven’t changed.”
“Yessir, of course, sir,” she said without really meaning it.
His brow rose at her. “You think you can get away with attitude?”
Something low in her tummy tickled with excitement. He was keen to assert his dominance, every part of his body was testament to that. He stood up, his shoulders back, his chest thrust forward, his dark eyes locked on her with the intensity of a predator.
A little giggle escaped her as he came around the fire and made a movement as if to catch her. He certainly was more agile without his armor, for although she made to scuttle away, his hand came down on the back of her neck hard and strong.
“You are a little brat,” he said, drawing her toward him. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her back against his body, the thick ridge of his cock prominent through his pants. She squirmed instinctively, feeling that hard thickness attempting to slide between her cheeks.
Growling, William pushed both their leggings down and thrust forward, ramming himself deep inside her. The intrusion was sudden, but welcome. Her body was already wet, had been since the tension in their conversation rose. William thrust deep inside her, the thick length of his cock plundering her tight channel with fast, hard thrusts that left her panting and moaning for more.
They were as two wild beasts, the female subdued and penetrated by the rampant male. William pushed her down and forward onto her hands and knees and continued thrusting, spreading the walls of her pussy stroke after stroke.
Leaning over her, William fastened his teeth on the back of her neck. Her pussy spasmed in response, his large frame completely dominating her as his cock plunged in and out of her tender cunt, spreading her juices over the length. Releasing her neck with his jaws, he put one hand on each of her shoulders and began drawing her back and forth along his dick, riding her like a filly.
His grunts and growls mingled with her feminine moans of pleasure, filling the clearing with the sounds of their lovemaking. Sarah surrendered herself entirely to the moment, giving herself to him completely. He came quickly and without regard for her orgasm. She felt her pussy quivering as he unloaded his essence inside her, filling her up, claiming her completely.
“Are we clear?”
Panting, Sarah nodded. They were very clear. Even in his relatively weakened state, William was in control. She felt a sense of calm slipping over her; even though she had been denied the orgasm, she had been shown that she was still safe, still protected. Still his.
“Good.” He slapped her bottom and squeezed, causing a little more of his semen to slip out of her well-fucked pussy. “Let’s get going.”
*
They traveled another three days north, until William was satisfied that they had cleared the fallout zone and Sarah said that the radiation was light. A more permanent camp was set up outside an empty cave. Sarah thought it would be nice to live inside the cave, but William was not satisfied with cave dwelling. He insisted on building a house.
“As our ancestors did,” he said, striking two rocks together to create a sharp edge. “A wooden cabin will provide better protection from the elements, and we can incorporate stone as a foundation and as a fireplace.”
“Or we could live in the cave,” Sarah suggested. “Because the cave is already made.”
“We will not live in a cave any longer than we have to, now do your weaving.”
Sarah had been entrusted with the task of weaving a fibrous stretch of material, which William intended to use as the base of a bed. The base was already made, fallen logs lashed together in a large rectangle, over which the weaving would be stretched.
“We could sleep on the ground,” Sarah suggested. “Save our labors for necessities.”
“A good bed is a necessity,” William replied, his bare biceps rippling as stone struck stone. “Now no more arguments from you, please, we are setting up a proper home. We will not live like savages.”
“You think me a savage?”
“I think you lazy,” he said, giving her a look that brooked no dissent. “You want to do as little as possible.”
“And you want to fill our days with back-breaking labor.” She cast the matting down and scowled at him. “There are plenty of comfortable hollows to curl up in.”
“And there are plenty of green branches I could use to whip your lazy bottom.”
“I don’t think I have to worry about that. You’d spend three days making sure it was precisely the right branch and whittling it to perfectly fit your tender hand.”
“My tender hand?” he guffawed. “You want a whipping, don’t you.”
“I want to enjoy the day. I want to have some rest. You never stop working.”
William wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “Alright,” he relented. “We’ve made some good progress. Once I get this axe made, we’ll make even faster progress. I’ll have these trees down and we’ll have a home of our own.”
“Yes, because there’s nothing city folk like more than cutting down trees.”
“You really are riding for a hiding, aren’t you, girl.” William gave her an even look, wiping his hands on his thighs.
Maybe she was. She was feeling very prickly and annoyed. It was the work. Being a hunter’s pet was one thing. It meant running about, looking for food. It was at least interesting and in between hunts one got to rest. This homesteading garbage was different, a never-ending daily grind. She was not made for domestic chores.
“What’s the problem, hmm? Is your cycle approaching?”
She lifted her lip and snarled at him. “My cycle has nothing to do with this… boring life you have us living.”
“Oh, you’re bored, are you? Maybe I can un-bore you.” He stood up and moved toward her, rubbing his palms together.
It worked. She was distinctly less bored. Diving away from him, she made for the shelter of the trees, which were only standing because his plan to clear a space in which to start a tedious garden was yet to eventuate. Clambering up into their leafy heights, she smirked down at her bulkier partner.
He returned her look, unimpressed, sunlight
falling on the tanned, scarred lines of his face to handsome effect. “You know I can climb too, right?”
“I’ve never seen any sign of that.”
She regretted her words almost immediately as William grasped one of the lower branches and hauled himself up into the tree with nearly the same nimbleness she had displayed.
“Ever been spanked in a tree before?”
“No,” she squeaked.
“Well it’s about to happen.” He ascended the branches smoothly, catching her by the lower leg. She tried to shake him off, but as usual he was stronger. He drew her back down to the lower branches and compelled her to lie across one lengthways so the thickness of the wood supported her upper body while her legs splayed around the branch, leaving her bottom completely vulnerable to the fast, hard slapping of his hand.
“Still bored?” He asked the question as his hand came sweeping down, catching just under the rise of her cheek.
“Not as bored,” she said cheekily, earning herself another hard swat to the other cheek. Most of her attention was on keeping a grip on the branch, which meant that she couldn’t squirm or dance or avoid the slaps. They rained down with impunity, her bottom growing redder than the berries on the nearby bushes.
“Oh, not as bored?” He slapped her bottom again, then yanked her pants down. It was a difficult feat to achieve in that arboreal space, but he managed to bare her bottom, and her pussy and the tight little hole between her cheeks besides. It was there she felt his fingers tickling her anal bud.
“No!” She giggled and squirmed as he once again started spanking her bottom with swats that made the whole tree shake.
“You are so naughty,” he chided, swatting her over and over until her bottom was so hot they could have used it as a campfire. “No matter how much I spank you, you still come back just as mouthy as ever. Why is that, you think?”
“I think it’s because I like it,” Sarah said gleefully. She was enjoying herself much more being spanked than she had being grumpy. A sore bottom was worth a better mood.
“Oh, you like it?” William chuckled. “Never really picked up on the diplomatic lie, did you?”
“No, and now I never will, now that we’re both wild.”
“Wild, huh?” He swatted her bottom once last time. “Get your red little butt back down on the ground before I show you wild.”
Sarah obeyed reluctantly. The fun, it seemed, was over, although watching William clamber out of the tree did provide no small amount of amusement as she pulled up her leggings. He caught her grin and shook his head, rubbing his palms together. “Something amusing you, brat?”
“You,” she said honestly, putting herself right back in trouble.
“Good,” he said. “Go be amused while you finish your weaving or I’ll fill that bottom of yours.”
“With supplies?” She was being arch and silly, but she couldn’t help it. She was excited and a little spanking wasn’t going to settle her down. She needed more. What she hadn’t bargained on was William producing a slim plastic plug from his pocket.
“Where did you get that?” She covered her bottom and backed away.
“I always carried it with me,” he said. “Just in case my pet needed a tune-up while we were out.”
“Okay,” she said, sitting down. “I’ll weave.”
“You’ll weave with a full bottom,” he said, sitting down on a log. “Come here, brat.”
Sarah really wished there was some alternative to obeying his orders, but there wasn’t. Her feet carried her into his range, and then he grabbed her, pulled her over his thighs, hauled down her leggings once more and spread her cheeks with his powerful hands.
“You’re lucky I also brought lubrication,” he said, dripping a few dots of the oily substance right onto her poor exposed bottom hole.
Sarah whimpered as he pressed the plug in slowly, seating it neatly in her backside. Once filled, there was no point in acting up. He had proved his dominance once more. And, it seemed, he intended on spanking her again to prove his point.
With her bottom full and her cheeks absorbing the hard swats of a man who did not approve of slacking or devious misbehavior, Sarah contemplated the ground in between plaintive wails. Spankings hurt more out of trees than in them, and spankings on already spanked bottoms hurt more than spankings on fresh bottoms, and spankings on already spanked, well-plugged bottoms were about the worst.
Her legs began to kick in involuntary protest at the treatment, and her hips wriggled back and forth but all any of that achieved was the increase of the strange sensation of having a full bottom. She was on the verge of tears when he finally stopped and palmed her blister-hot cheeks.
“I’ve taken your pussy and I’ve filled your bottom and I’ve spanked you,” he said grimly. “Now are you going to be a good little pet, or do I need to go cut that switch I promised?”
“I will be good,” she promised, a tear falling.
He gave her one last swat and pulled her up, looking into her face with a serious expression. “It’s more important now than it ever has been that you do as you’re told, understand me?”
Sarah nodded, sniffing her tears back. With a soft sigh, William drew her against him in a hug. “I know this is harder than you’re used to,” he said, rubbing her sore bottom. “And I know you’re used to doing things your way out here, but your way got you a good case of fever and your way got you caught. So we’re going to do things my way, understand?”
She murmured her assent into his neck as he held her close and comforted her for a few more minutes before sending her back to the labors she had so foolishly tried to avoid.
Chapter Seven
Life became mundane very quickly. It was strange how even the greatest upheavals soon gave way to the inexorable forces of normality. The cabin had been built in record time; it was but one room, but it was a cozy shelter and there was a place to sleep next to the fire, and even a table to work on. Sarah had to admit that it was much more comfortable than a cave would have been. Shuttered windows meant they could control the flow of light and air, and mud-daubed walls kept the elements out. It was simple, but it was home.
Outside, their freshly planted garden was starting to come in, little shoots poking their heads above the soil that William tended morning and evening. The hunter had become the farmer, and a very content one at that. Sarah noticed that he looked at the humble cabin with far more pride than he had ever regarded his palatial home in the old city.
There was no doubting that William was a survivor. He had even begun to make his own paper out of mashed plant fibers pressed thin then dried in sheets in the sun. Ink was made from various flowers and his quill was the feather of a bird.
This also meant that lessons had resumed, but Sarah did not mind them so much anymore. She saw that William’s strange fondness for the art of writing and reading was not some technological trick, but an archaic discipline with some actual value. He had put it to good use by labeling clay pots containing seeds with their contents, so that they would not be confused for other, similar looking clay pots. He was a one-man force for civilization. In all the years Sarah had lived alone, she had never done much more than tie her food up in trees and make beds in the boughs. She had lived without complication of any kind. William was complication, but it was a good kind of complication.
“I’m going to see if I can catch a rabbit or two,” he said, his beard prickling her cheek as he kissed her. “You hold the fort.”
They had started using all sorts of archaic expressions like that, many of them seemed to fit their situation, though admittedly there was little in the way of defenses around the cabin. Fire kept most of the beasts away.
Sarah waved goodbye to him and returned to her task of bundling roots to be dried. The sun was shining through the open door of the cabin and life was good. It seemed that William did have some natural resistance to the radiation, for he was showing no signs of illness. If anything, he was more vital than ever. He hunted dail
y, covering many miles. Usually she went with him, but with colder weather approaching, the decision had been made to put together food stores.
She was humming to herself and binding flaxen rope around root ends when she heard footsteps. “Did you forget something?” She asked the question without looking; flax rope could be difficult to wind, if you didn’t hold your fingers just right…
“Woman!”
Rough, guttural words made her drop the roots and turn. It was not William standing outside the cabin. It was a group of wild men. Their leader, presumably the one who had barked the word at her, was at the head of the group. He was filthy. His hair hung in dreads and his clothing was almost non-existent. His sinewy body was covered in paint and scars, great yellow rounds painted from belly to nipples. He wore animal skins roughly stitched together, holes gaping at the seams. His feet were unshod as hers had once been, his thick horny toenails long and yellowed, much like his body markings except they did not need paint to obtain their hue.
“Woman, where is your mate?”
Beady feral eyes fastened not on her face, but on her breasts. She was being sized up as a potential captive. Wildling tribes were not known for their kindness to women. Women did all the work in addition to bearing the young. Sarah had always given wildlings a wide berth, but apparently there were some in the region she and William had decided to make their home.
“My mate hunts,” she said. “You should leave. These are his lands. He will not be pleased to find you here.”
“Where are your young?”
“We have none.”
“If you have no young, you have no mate.” The wildling beckoned her with a jerky impatient movement of his arm. “Come with us.”
“I will not be coming with you,” Sarah said, holding her ground. She had the doorway, but that was all. The hatchets and knives William had fashioned were out of her reach and the wildlings were well armed, though their weapons were inferior bone items. However, she knew very well that it was not the weapon that mattered, but the wielder and what the wielder was prepared to do with it. Judging by the look of the little hunting party, they were prepared to do whatever was necessary. Their eyes were hungry, appreciative on a level that made her feel like prey. She was prepared to fight to the death if necessary. She would not allow herself to be taken by a pack of savages.