Hailey Explores Life’s Potential (D)

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Hailey Explores Life’s Potential (D)

by BPClavel

I was just about to log off for the weekend when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mr. Weber approaching. I sucked in a deep breath, exhaling slowly. He always did this to me.

“Hailey,” he said, standing over me.

With a sinking heart, I realized that my evening plans were changing. “Yes, Mr. Weber,” I said, looking up into his emotion-free eyes.

He called me by my first name, but I wasn’t permitted to do the same. Only the other lawyers in the office were allowed to call him Todd.

Over the course of the next few minutes, he described my tasks to me. There were quite a number of emails to be sent, all of them needing attachments. Even though it was Friday and they wouldn’t be opened and read until Monday, there were deadlines that had to be met. Without saying ‘please’ or apologizing, he departed, leaving me alone in the office.

Initially, it had bothered me quite a bit to be treated the same as the custodial help. After all, I had a college degree; it just wasn’t a law degree. But even though I disliked Mr. Weber as a boss, he was rather handsome – quite distinguished looking, actually. The gray at his temples as well as his stern nature spoke to something deep within me.

I’d never admit it to anyone, but the man had even found his way into my fantasies. If I allowed myself, the manner in which he’d just spoken to me would be enough for a nice release later that evening – only I knew it wouldn’t happen. I needed it, but I’d grown to enjoy how my body responded when I was denied – for lengthy periods of time. I loved it and I hated it.

Before starting on my tasks, I picked up my phone and called my sister. I thought that she’d be angry at me for canceling on her, and maybe she was, but more than that, she sounded relieved.

“But Hailey,” she said, “This Mr. Weber … must be quite the asshole. He certainly doesn’t deserve you. And besides, you’ve been dying to go on this roller coaster for two years … ever since you first learned that it was in the works.”

It was true. I loved roller coasters. Even though I was only twenty-four, I’d ridden nearly every one worth riding in the country. Someone had to do it! “Hopefully next week,” I told her. “It’s just that, when Mr. Weber speaks, I listen. I need the paycheck.” There was a bit more to it than that, but that was all I was going to say.

In a bit of a funk, I hung up and started working through the list I’d just been given. Acro-Phobia down at Jones Landing would have to wait. But even so, I was thrilled to have a brand-new, world-class roller coaster within an hour’s drive. If it was everything I expected it to be, I’d be buying a season’s pass. I was in love with the name they had chosen. It didn’t quite rival Kingda Ka, the famous roller coaster in New Jersey, but even so, it was solidly within the top ten tallest roller coasters in the world in terms of height.

~ ~ ~

Later that evening, alone in my bed, I had my fingers twirling away down in the slippery folds of my sex. In my mind’s eye, Mr. Weber in his suit and tie was standing over me. His eyes were stern even as he nodded approvingly. I loved that he was allowing me to masturbate, even forcing me to. But a second later, glancing up, I saw that he had a video camera on a tripod. He was filming me! Oh, my God! He’d never done that before. It was beyond embarrassing. The soles of my feet were together, but my knees were wide apart. I imagined the video of me rubbing my shaved slit being seen by friends and family. Would he do that? Could I keep him from sharing it? I’d have to be a very good girl – I realized – or he would for sure.

It had already been a splendid evening of fantasy, but the addition of the video camera put it over the top. I was rocketing toward an explosive orgasm, one for the ages.

But as I approached apogee, Mr. Weber stared into my eyes and told me to stop. I couldn’t believe it. Why would he do that to me? It was almost worse than how he forced me to cancel my trip to Jones Landing earlier in the day. Not only had he kept me from a first ride on Acro-Phobia, but he wasn’t even going to let me cum!

Somehow, I managed to obey him. I always did. He was such a cruel taskmaster, especially when he was in charge of my edging.

~ ~ ~

The next morning dawned bright and sunny. I was out the door early. Cranking hard in low gear, I made my way up the trail into the hills on my mountain bike.

I was by myself. I had a boyfriend, but Markus and I had long since stopped riding together. He wasn’t as aggressive as I was. When we’d ridden together, I’d never ended up getting much of a workout. I was always having to stop and wait for him to catch up. But that wasn’t the only reason I preferred to venture out by myself.

At the top of the Nogales trail, just before the fork, I picked up my bike and carried it into the forest. I was looking for a certain tree. A minute later, I had my bike locked to it, a burly chain looping through both wheels.

From there, I headed on up the leftmost branch on foot. The first two miles were steep, especially surprising given that it was a maintained public trail. I liked to imagine that one day I’d hike it naked, and yet I knew I never would. I enjoyed being nude in the backcountry, but I was careful, so very careful. I only did it where my chances of being seen were infinitesimally small.

I zoomed around a middle-aged couple as if they were standing still. They appeared as if they’d bitten off more than they could chew, given how out of shape they looked.

A bit farther on, I encountered a man. His eyes met mine, but I looked quickly away. Even though I’d seen him on a few occasions, we’d never spoken. I imagined him a hunter, even though I’d never seen him with a weapon. Actually, picturing him as a hunter made little sense; ours wasn’t a county in which hunting was permitted. He just didn’t look at all like a recreational hiker. Unlike those who shopped at REI, he was dressed in ordinary casual clothes – well-worn and dark in color.

Over the course of the next mile, I didn’t pass anyone else. I was glad about that. Upon reaching a tree that looked as if it had been struck by lightning, an easily-recognized landmark, I again turned off the trail. It was time for the real adventure to begin. Today, I was planning to go farther than ever before.

I located the waterproof bag that I kept hidden there. A short time later, I was nude. My heart was going a mile a minute. Nothing gets the blood pumping and the adrenaline flowing like getting naked in the great outdoors – well, roller coasters and downhill skiing, but that was beside the point.

I stowed my things in the bag which I then returned to its hiding spot in the underbrush. I was feeling the urge to leave my shoes – to be completely and utterly naked – but I needed them. I was going to put some real distance between myself and my clothes. I didn’t always wear them, but I didn’t usually have my sights set on such a distant destination.

Even though it had been a couple of years since I’d raced competitively, I still had the powerful legs of a downhill skier. My boyfriend, Marcus, thought it was my ass, but in my mind, my legs were my most attractive feature. I wasn’t at all musclebound like some of the women I’d competed against. Fortunately, my skiing had never come at the expense of my feminine figure. And now, because it was summer, I had an overall tan, which seemed to make my legs look even longer.

When I was younger, I’d thought my breasts were not at all sexy, mostly because they were small and cone shaped. Now, years later, they were still rather conical in shape, only they had gotten larger. They were still not what anyone would consider big. However, I now felt that they were ‘proportional,’ whatever that meant. And in a sports bra, like I had been wearing, they looked nicely rounded – more or less like a woman’s boobs ought to – my nipples a little less prominent.

Looking around carefully, and listening for the slightest of noises, I tightened up my ponytail. I kept my chestnut locks short, barely past shoulder length, but even so, I liked having my hair back out of my face. Tentatively, I made my way out of the relative safety of the trees.

About five miles distant was a nondescript peak. There were other peaks in the area, peaks with actual names. Those were the typical destinations of those who entered through the Nogales trailhead. The one I’d chosen for the day was 6652. That wasn’t its name, simply its elevation in feet noted next to it on the map I kept at home. It was a well-worn map, but carrying it with me had become unnecessary. I’d spent so much time in the backcountry.

I was on pins and needles that next mile, constantly peering cautiously ahead. If I was going to encounter anyone, it would be there. I’d often daydream about what I’d do and say. So far, knock on wood, I’d been very lucky. Only in my fantasies did I want to be seen.

My arousal increased with the distance to my clothes. I loved the feel of the sunshine on my bare chest. I especially enjoyed how my unsupported breasts bobbed around tautly on my ribcage as I hurried up the steep trail. And then there was the invigoration caused by the breeze on my stiff nipples – keeping me always mindful of the risk I was taking. It all added up to an addictive cocktail of excitement.

If I met someone, I had only my two hands in which to dress myself. At times, I tried to think of a way to remove even that possibility, but I wasn’t going to hike in handcuffs. That too was just a fantasy – securing my wrists to each other behind my back and leaving the key with my clothes. However, I knew that would not be safe. If I slipped and fell on the rocks, I could be seriously injured.

That day, headed for 6652, I didn’t carry any snacks, just a water bottle – clear so that it didn’t feel as if I had something I’d be able to successfully hide behind.

It was a glorious hike, so warm and sunny. The last half mile, however, was especially emotionally challenging as it was entirely above the tree line. If I encountered hikers there, my options would be very limited. I’d have to run, but I’d need to be careful. The rocky surface would be very unforgiving if I were to fall. A few scrapes or bruises would be nothing, but a broken bone might be life-threatening in such a remote location – especially since I might not survive the night without food or clothing.

Up on 6652, with a 360-degree view of the region, I allowed my fingertips, cool and wet with water from my bottle, to stray into the smoothly shaven folds at the juncture of my legs. Enjoying nudity as much as I did, it had been years since I’d sported as much as a racing stripe down there. The carpet did not match my light brown drapes, but only because there was no carpet.

I slipped off my shoes, rinsed my feet in a splash of water, and lay back to indulge. Mr. Weber, as unsmiling as ever, stood over me. Without so much as a ‘please’ – because it wasn’t a request – he directed my fingers deep into my sex. At least this time he didn’t have the camera with him. That was a relief. A short time later, he had me teasing tight circles across the top of my sensitive little pearl.

I wanted to go over the top, but he was as strict as ever. I hated and loved him for that. Maybe that evening at home, outside on my balcony rather than in my bed, I’d experience the release that my body craved. But, per Mr. Weber’s wishes, I’d be hiking down with my libido still cranked way up. And then later, I’d glide down toward town, my bike seat doing a number on me, teasing my sensitive bits through my single-layer spandex bike shorts.

It was late afternoon, the sun still high but starting toward the horizon, when I finally approached the area in the forest where my clothes were hidden. It was not the most exciting part of my day, for I’d dress and then make for home.

That’s when I saw him, the hunter, the man I’d noticed on several occasions. I turned to run, but hesitated. This was where my things were hidden. If I ran off, I couldn’t very well make my way back to my apartment naked. I would be able to retrieve my bike, but even so, I wouldn’t have a stitch of clothing, just my shoes.

Glancing back, my heart pumping and my cheeks burning with embarrassment, I noticed something – my waterproof bag. He had it slung over a shoulder.

With an arm pressing my breasts back into my ribcage and my water bottle held horizontally on top of my shaved mound, I turned toward him, something like thirty or forty feet separating us. To my surprise, he smiled – a friendly, disarming smile. I was shaking. Never before had I been caught like this – naked – willingly so.

“That’s mine,” I said, trying to keep my voice from cracking. I had a feeling that I wasn’t telling him anything that he didn’t already know.

He didn’t reply.

“My clothes. They’re in that bag. Set it down … please. And then leave.” I was trying to sound confident, but I knew my voice and manner were betraying me.

No response. I was glad that I had my hands, but even though my bits were covered, I felt entirely exposed – my skin as well as my predilection for going bare. Suddenly all the risk taking had come back to bite me.

I examined him carefully. As before, he didn’t seem to be carrying a weapon of any kind. He wore a dark gray baseball cap, plain except for what appeared to be a brown leather visor. My bag looked to be all that he had with him, but then I saw that he had a small day pack of his own, low on his back.

He pointed at my chest and shook his head. He had an air of relaxed confidence about him, his movements deliberate but unhurried. I glanced down, attempting to discern his meaning.

“I don’t know what you have in mind,” I said, trying my best to control the variety of emotions I was feeling, “…but I need my clothes. Please. Drop the bag.”

With his hands at his sides, he tapped his forearms against his hips. What? He wanted me to drop my arms?

“No! Not doing that,” I informed him in no uncertain terms.

A moment later, he unslung my bag from his shoulder. I was more than a dozen steps from him – a relatively safe distance as I was quick on my feet. I felt like closing the distance and taking it from him, but that would be too risky. And I didn’t have a free hand for my bag. Only once he’d gone would I be moving my arms from where they were.

But then to my dismay, he opened my bag. He pointed at my shoes and then into the bag.

“My shoes? Certainly not!”

He repeated the gesture. He wanted my shoes? Why? Had he observed me hiking barefoot? Just how well did this man know me? I was getting quite concerned. He wasn’t an especially large man, maybe even below average for a male. But even so, he was quite a bit bigger than me. Along with all the embarrassment, my fight or flight adrenaline was bubbling in my veins. I knew my instincts would opt for ‘flight,’ but without my clothes, I’d have a big problem.

“My patience is growing thin,” I informed him. “Toss me the bag.” Even if he wouldn’t leave, I had to have my clothes. And once I had them, I’d run off and find someplace private to put them on.

He shook his head and reached up with a finger to touch his earlobe. He then tapped the corner of his mouth. A split second later, he repeated the gesture. Wait. What?

“You’re deaf?” I asked.

He nodded.

I gave him my most understanding scowl. His problems weren’t mine. I needed my clothes. Being deaf was no justification for stealing a woman’s things. I pointed at my bag, and then at the ground between us.

He smiled, but waited. He didn’t look at all stressed. I rolled my eyes and sighed, but then I noticed that I had grown moist down below. I was holding my water bottle across my pussy, but below it, my middle two fingers were long enough to reach back to my sex. Why, oh why, hadn’t I let myself cum up on 6652? I was paying a price for that as well.

I again took a moment to size him up. Even though it was warm, he was wearing long pants. He was also unshaven. Not a beard, just a week or so of growth, but his whiskers had a groomed look to them. His dark brown hair would have been long in a law office, but in the backcountry, it was neither long nor short. I attempted to guess his age. I was twenty-four. He looked to be somewhat less than twice my age – likely, late thirties.

He again pointed at my shoes. I glanced down at them. He seemed to want them. Looking back up at him, I shook my head. Did he think I was stupid? With my shoes, I could get away.

I pointed at my bag. He nodded, slipping it back on his shoulder. He then turned as if planning to leave. Was I going to let him? What had I thought he would do? I wanted to try again to reason with him, yet if he was really deaf, and he seemed to be, it wasn’t going to be much of a conversation.

After taking several steps, he turned and looked back at me. Again smiling, he motioned with his head. He expected me to follow? Heading naked to my bike seemed like the smart move, but a moment later, I was walking, probably twenty or thirty feet behind him. I wasn’t ready to give up on getting my clothes back. He was following a small trail. It looked as if it might be a game trail.

I considered making a play for my clothes. He was larger than me, but I was an athlete. I could rush him, slam into him, grabbing my bag in the process. It might work, but I was unsure, especially since the strap was around his shoulder. I continued following him at a safe distance, trying to decide if I wanted to attempt that or if I should just turn around and make my way back naked. Others would end up seeing me naked if I did. That seemed inevitable if I chose that route. And nightfall was a long ways off.

As I was unsure what the best course of action might be, I continued to walk, maintaining a safe distance. In my mind, I was keeping my options open. Since neither rushing him nor running off naked appealed to me, I was hoping that a better choice might present itself.

I wanted him to suddenly change his mind and give me my clothes, but I wasn’t pinning any hopes on that. He acted quite resolved.

Walking along, I turned my thoughts to trying to figure out what his plan might be. Where might he be leading me? And, when we got there, what would he do? At that point, he again stopped and turned to look back. We stared at each other for a couple of seconds. Again, he tapped his arms against his sides. Glancing down, I saw that I was still covering everything as completely as my two arms would allow.

I shook my head. I wanted to be more covered, not less. He nodded and smiled. For someone who was stealing a woman’s clothes, he seemed to be rather easygoing. Why did he have to smile? And his eyes. There was something about them. Why wasn’t I more scared? Why wasn’t I already miles away? I was certainly worried, that was true, but the man – he just didn’t seem all that threatening. He acted more interested in toying with me than taking advantage of me.

A minute later, we were again walking. To test him, I started talking. The next I knew, I was yelling – yelling at him to, ‘Give me my goddam clothes back!’ He just kept walking. It occurred to me that yelling might attract the attention of other hikers. That probably would be a good thing, I decided. It would be embarrassing, but I did seem to need help. I decided to keep yelling. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to keep it up for very long – and it didn’t seem to be doing any good.

‘The Hunter’ as I was still thinking of him, kept walking and walking. He seemed to trust that I was following without bothering to look back to confirm that I was there. We walked at least a half mile before he finally paused. When he glanced back, I stopped in my tracks, wanting to keep my distance.

It was in that moment that I realized that I’d dropped my guard; my hands were at my sides. I took care of that instantly, again covering myself to the best of my ability. A smile broadened across his face.

The next thing I knew, he was pulling my bag from his shoulder. He placed it on the ground next to him. Might this be my chance, now that the strap was no longer looped around his arm? I took a few steps, walking tentatively closer, trying to imagine how he’d react if I sprang into action.

Taking his eyes from me, he removed his own pack. With it also on the ground, he held up a hand in front of his chin. Acting as if he were drinking from a cup, he tilted it toward his mouth. I didn’t know if that was sign language or not, but I knew instantly what he meant. I certainly was thirsty; however, my bottle was almost empty. I had been on my way home.

The amount of water that I had left wasn’t the only issue. The hand in which I had my bottle was positioned strategically atop my pussy. I needed a drink, but I didn’t exactly have hands to spare.

Watching carefully, I saw him squat down next to his own pack. He opened it and withdrew a water bottle. Unlike mine, it was of the store-bought, disposable variety. He stood back up, unscrewed the lid and took a drink.

Deciding that staying hydrated was important, I turned sideways. He’d only see my bare hip if I was careful. Making sure that I always had my breasts covered from his angle, I managed to pop the lid and take a drink. My water wasn’t cool, but it felt wonderful on my parched throat. However, the little that I had was quickly gone. I tilted my head back, holding the bottle up high to get every drop.

Seeing that I was out, the hunter reached into his pack. He pulled out another bottle. Should I? I was thirsty, but could I trust him? I knew the answer before the question had even formed in my mind. Of course I couldn’t trust him. He was holding my clothes hostage.

He advanced slowly towards me, extending the bottle out in front of him like a peace offering. The look on his face was friendly, but suddenly, he was too close for comfort. I started backing away, my heart rate spiking.

Sensing my fright, he stopped. Taking a step back, he set the bottle down in the trail. He then retreated back to where he had been. A moment later, he was again drinking from his own bottle. He was trying to act as if he wasn’t paying much attention to me. I had a decision to make. I was thirsty, but certainly not willing to risk my personal safety. A smart woman didn’t take chances. I truly believed that, even though I’d always engaged in quite a number of fairly risky activities.

After giving it some thought, I decided to get a better look at the bottle. If it was a genuine store-bought bottle with an intact seal, then it would probably be safe to drink from, I reasoned. A minute later, after cautiously moving closer to him on the trail, I picked it up. It looked exactly as it should. It was solid, as if under pressure. I twisted the lid and heard the security ring break free from cap. Being at least ninety-nine percent sure that he hadn’t tampered with the contents, I took a sip. It tasted fine. Actually, it was good and quite a bit cooler than my water had been. In short order, I managed to consume half of it. I paused at that point to reconsider. Deciding that I didn’t feel at all like he was drugging me, I downed the rest.

Smiling, he took a step toward me, reaching out his hand for the empty bottle. Instead of letting him take it from my hand, I set it down. It ended up right next to my own empty which I’d placed there when I’d picked up the full bottle. I backed away to watch, my hands again firmly in place over my bikini areas. Thinking about that made me realize that I had probably flashed him while I was drinking. I tried to not think about that, but it was impossible not to. The ‘naked with a stranger’ situation was doing a number on my libido.

As he stooped to pick the bottles up, I imagined myself sprinting around him, grabbing my bag, and disappearing into the forest. I was actually thinking about doing it, only I didn’t. Instead, I stayed where I was, observing him closely.

I no longer had a water bottle to help conceal my pussy, but my hand covered it almost as well. Carrying the two empties, he went back to where the bags were. I watched as he placed mine in with my things and returned the disposable to his own pack.

I took a deep breath, realizing that my opportunity to make an attempt at grabbing and running off with my stuff had come and gone. A minute later, he again had both his pack and my bag on his back and we were again walking. Taking a deep breath, I dropped my hands to my sides. After all, he wasn’t looking.

Walking along, I again did some soul searching. Why in the world was I following this man? Was I really that scared to make my way home naked? Hadn’t I known all along that my nude adventures in the backcountry might result in that? Considering that, I decided that it had never occurred to me.

I had always imagined that I might run into people while naked. But as I’d pictured that, I would simply run. At the very most, there might end up being an awkward exchange of a few words – and then I’d run off. Never in my wildest dreams had I thought that someone might take my clothes. If I’d have thought of that, I could have stashed a spare outfit with my bike.

Thinking about my bike had me wondering if it was still where I’d left it. This man had known about one of my hiding places. It seemed safe to assume that he probably knew about the other as well. Just how long had he been observing me? That was seriously creepy to consider.

At the very least, once I’d extracted myself from my current predicament, I’d have to make sure that I never again behaved in such predictable patterns. I’d made it easy for him, I decided. Possibly, at some time in the past, he’d caught a glimpse of me naked, from a distance. From there, it would have been a simple matter to follow me and see the spot where I ducked into the trees to dress. And then, if he’d continued to follow me, he would have easily discovered where I hid my mountain bike.

And what made it even worse, I realized, was that my work schedule meant that I was almost always headed up the trial either Saturday or Sunday, and always in the morning. I’d taken precautions, plenty of them, but I’d certainly made mistakes. And now I was dealing with the repercussions. Fortunately, this man did not seem to have ill intent. If he’d wanted to rape or otherwise hurt me, he’d have attempted it by now, right? Or was he just biding his time?

As my throat had partially recovered, I decided to give yelling another try. I called for ‘HELP’ at the top of my lungs. The hunter didn’t break stride. Ultimately, I had to again give up, deciding to save what I still had of my voice for another attempt a bit later.

Another half mile or so farther on, we came upon a stream, a wide stream. Suddenly I knew right where we were, give or take. On my map, this stream was designated simply, South Fork. A mile or so downstream, it would join with another tributary. From that point on, it was the Hepstone River.

As I watched from a safe distance, the hunter sat down on a boulder, facing away. He removed his boots and then his socks. A moment later, he had his pant legs rolled up to just above his knees. I shook my head in exasperation, trying to decide what to do. This had gone on far too long. However, if I was going to turn back, I should have done it long ago.

A minute later, he was crossing the stream, the water high on his calves. He glanced back at me as I stood there thinking, an arm across my breasts, the other positioned down below. Why had I followed him such a great distance into the forest? The obvious answer was because he had my clothes. And yet, I doubted that a lot of other women would follow a stranger, certainly not so far, and especially not naked.

I thought of two other explanations – well, three. The first and most obvious of the three was that I was an admitted adrenaline junkie (all my friends knew – a few even teased me about it). And the conflict that was playing out between me and the hunter – well, it certainly had me jacked way up. Adrenaline? Lots of it.

The second possibility involved my nature – my urge to relinquish control and my desire to experience enforced orgasm denial (something that none of my friends could possibly know about). But it was there, hidden deep inside. I longed to have a take-charge man telling me what he expected of me, maybe even tying me up. But it was an entirely untested craving – the realm of fantasy only. The closest I’d come to revealing it to anyone had been some strong hinting to my boyfriend, Markus. The poor lad was so clueless.

Did I really need an actual Mr. Weber in my life? If the fantasies that gave me the biggest jolt were any indication, then the answer was a resounding, ‘yes.’ But if I needed that sort of a relationship with a man, as in, real life, then it needed to be with a lover – not this older man that I couldn’t even talk to. That was more than clear. He absolutely wasn’t my type.

And on a similar note, he wasn’t telling me what to do. Or was he? If he was, via how he was treating me, then his tone was much more subtle than that of anyone I’d encountered in my fantasies.

Third, I was curious – curious to figure out just exactly what was going on. Who was this man? And how well did he know me? He seemed convinced that I would simply follow. Part of me thought that he was crazy to even attempt something so ludicrous. Who would follow him? And yet, I had.

I thought of a fourth reason: my love for nudity. Did I actually want to be seen? That was something I’d never admitted to myself. But if I hadn’t wanted it to happen, why had I been messing around with naked excursions? Girls who didn’t want to be seen never left their apartments naked, right? Had I always hoped that I’d one day be caught? On some level, I was certainly getting a charge out of the game that this man and I were engaged in. It was much too real to be a game, and yet there were definitely cat and mouse aspects to how things had been progressing.

Those were the reasons that occurred to me. Maybe none of them were good, but they all seemed as if they might explain why I had been following him. Was I going to continue to do so? I looked at him again. He was nearing the far bank, the strap of my bag looped around his shoulder.

I glanced down at my shoes, all that I was wearing. What did I have to lose? A lot actually, I realized. A moment later, I took a step back. Using the toe of one of them, I popped the heel of the other free. The alarms were blaring ominously in my head, but even so, I took them both off. I then peeled my socks off, stuffing them into my shoes.

I took a step toward the river. Was I really this stupid? And yet I knew in my heart that he wasn’t going to try anything physical. I don’t know what gave me that feeling. It wasn’t exactly based on logic. Only his eyes – and the fact that he hadn’t yet made an attempt – which clearly didn’t mean that I was safe. But then again, being physically assaulted wasn’t something that I’d ever spent time worrying about. I knew that some women did. I simply wasn’t one of them.

The water was chilly, but my feet were loving it. Carrying my shoes hugged tightly to my chest, my other hand a fig leaf down low, I waded carefully across. It wasn’t at all easy going. The rocks were smooth. That was nice. But they were also slippery.

In the middle of the channel, the stream wasn’t any deeper, but the force on my legs was much greater, threatening to sweep me off my feet. I slowed down, choosing my footing with care. One thing about the rushing water was nice – it was shooting way up my legs, even to the juncture of my thighs. Not only was that refreshing, but it seemed fortunate in that it created a less embarrassing reason why I might be wet between my legs – if by chance the hunter were to get a glimpse.

When I stepped up on the far bank, he already had his boots back on. I’d been concentrating so much on not falling, that I hadn’t seen him putting them on.

Holding my bag open, he took a step toward me. I knew what he wanted. To my surprise, I was actually thinking about it this time. He had such a pleasant, relaxed expression on his face, especially considering that he was a clothing klepto. In some ways, it was the sort of expression that I always imagined on Mr. Weber’s face when he was overseeing my masturbation efforts. It was like that – self-assured – only much warmer.

I clutched my shoes to my chest, trying to decide what to do. I wanted to put them on, but I didn’t have a way to dry my feet. And, what was more important, if I sat down and started putting them on, I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands where they were. Suddenly, I felt almost as if I were outside my body, observing myself from a short distance away.

He accepted my shoes graciously, assisting me as I stowed them with my clothes inside my bag. As I returned my arm to a protective position across my chest, he cinched it closed. He then placed my bag on the ground next to his. A moment later, he pulled two additional water bottles out of his bag. He extended them both toward me, allowing me to choose. They looked the same, but even so, I reached across, taking the one opposite.

I quickly inspected the seal and heard the safety ring break free as I twisted it open. Seconds later, we were each drinking from our respective bottles. It was in that moment, the bottle pressed to my lips, that I realized that I was no longer covering myself down below – and I was facing him. Without needing to look to verify, I knew that my cleanly-shaven slit was on full display.

A shiver passed through me – a little nervous energy – as I realized that for the first time I was actually showing my privates to a stranger. He had probably caught a glimpse of things down there prior to that, but the way I was standing had to make it appear as if I was willingly displaying myself to his gaze. The realization was too much for me. Rather than act as if I had suddenly noticed, I turned ninety degrees, slowly so it wouldn’t seem especially purposeful.

I wasn’t quite as thirsty as I had been earlier, but even so, I drank about half the contents. As I put the lid back on, I realized that neither hand was hiding anything from view. Was I becoming more comfortable or more daring, I wondered. Probably just careless, I decided. Returning my left arm to breast-covering duty, I extended my bottle to him with my other hand. I was still sideways, so I was making some effort at maintaining my modesty. He accepted it. I watched as he placed it in my bag, presumably to keep it separate from his own.

As he picked up his small backpack to place his bottle inside, I caught sight of something within: a pair of binoculars. That was interesting. Was he a bird watcher? More likely he’d been using them to observe me from a distance.

Digging around in his pack, he located a couple of protein bars. They were the same, but he offered them both to me, again allowing me to choose. It seemed a very mature way for him to indicate that he was not trying to play any tricks on me, at least not tricks of that nature.

I chose one and, stepping back, tore the wrapper. I hesitated, waiting for him to start eating his. Deciding that there was no cause for concern, I took a bite. As I did so, I found myself thinking about just how difficult it was to keep my girl parts hidden while eating or drinking.

“So, you’re deaf?” I asked him again.

He stared at me, so I repeated what I had said.

He nodded, but then repeated the gesture, touching his earlobe and then the corner of his mouth.

“That means ‘deaf?’” I asked, copying the gesture.

He nodded.

“But you can read lips?”

He shrugged, but then shook his head.

I nodded. I had read somewhere that it was largely a myth that deaf people could read lips. A few developed the skill, but most had very limited ability.

Standing there eating the protein bar just ten or so feet from him, I found myself again eyeing my bag. It was just lying there. What might he do if I grabbed it and ran? Would he give chase? I was having a hard time picturing him doing that. He seemed so easygoing, and he hadn’t been behaving at all aggressively. He hadn’t actually forced me to do anything.

A minute later, I watched as he picked up my bag, again looping the strap over his shoulder. What in the world was I doing? Maybe that hadn’t been the ideal moment to make my move, but what exactly was I waiting for? I was so confused. It was almost as if this man had cast a spell on me. Was I just going to passively follow him to the ends of the earth? There was quite a discussion going on within my head, and neither side seemed to be winning.

As he started to turn, he looked at me. I was again covering up. Other than my hands, the only thing that I was wearing was my ponytail.

Almost as if mocking me, he raised his own arms, mirroring the positions mine were in. In the next instant, he allowed them to fall to his sides. His sign language was clear.

Sheepishly, my eyes glued to the ground, I allowed my arms to also slide slowly down to my sides. Glancing up, I saw his smile broaden. Why did he have to smile?

I couldn’t believe that I had just bared everything to this man. Did that mean that I was an actual exhibitionist? Someone who did want to be seen naked?

I tried to imagine what he might think of me. I also found myself considering how I looked. I knew I was an attractive, fit woman. Beyond that, it was my opinion that my pussy was awesome. It wasn’t something that I’d ever admit – certainly not out loud. It was just that my thighs and hips were sleek and my mound was smooth and tan, everything proportionally perfect. That was part of why I didn’t mind showing it off. It was pretty.

My breasts, however, were a slightly different story. There was nothing wrong with them. It was just that I was a bit self-conscious about their shape. I expected that with time they’d lose a bit of their youthful firmness and take on a more mature-looking, rounded shape. In the meantime, I imagined they looked like the just-sprouted tits of a teenager – at least, that was what I saw when I examined myself in the mirror.

Bottom line, it was thrilling to finally be embracing my nudity. That in itself was a crazy admission. I’d only been in this man’s presence for something like an hour, so maybe this was way too fast. On the other hand, it didn’t seem fast at all. I’d been venturing about naked outside for quite a few years.

We headed away from the stream, continuing in the direction we had been going. I was still walking behind him, but no longer keeping nearly as much distance between the two of us.

I had no idea what our destination might be, but I was hoping it wasn’t a lot farther. My feet were tough, but there were limits to what they could endure. In places, the ground was a bit rocky, but at least the rocks had mostly been worn smooth by time.

We eventually came to a Jeep, a very old, oxide-red Jeep. He set down my bag and unlocked the doors, opening them wide to let it air out.

Again there was my bag. Might this be my last chance? Should I grab it and run? I was no longer as uncomfortable in his presence as I had been, only I knew that I ought to be – especially that a vehicle was now in the mix.

I was still thinking of him as ‘the hunter,’ but only because I didn’t know his name. I couldn’t actually picture him killing wild animals; he seemed too laidback, too gentle. In my mind, I had him pegged as an intelligent, contemplative person. He could be anything I imagined. Never speaking allowed my thoughts to go off in any direction they desired. But a few things were certain: he had a confident, take-charge attitude – and he was intending to take me somewhere. Realizing that had me feeling anxious, but it also heightened my excitement.

Once the seats were sufficiently cool, he picked up my bag and extended it toward the vehicle. He paused, looking at me. Was he asking me something? I shrugged, and he tossed it over onto the back seat next to his. He went around and slid in behind the wheel. Looking in the open door, I saw him pat the passenger seat, inviting me to join him.

The next thing I knew, we were driving. Had I really gotten into a car with a stranger? My mother would be so disappointed.

‘But mom, I had to. He had my clothes.’ Yeah, that wouldn’t cut it with her.

It was a narrow road – just two ruts – and bumpy. The ride wasn’t at all like the smoothness of a roller coaster. One of the other things that made it different – with a roller coaster, you always knew where you were going – back to where you got on. I, of course, had no idea where we were headed. Maybe there was a one percent chance that he knew where I lived and was taking me there. That thought caused me to smile to myself, a nervous smile. There was surely a zero percent chance that my apartment was our destination.

I still couldn’t believe I’d gotten into his Jeep. It was as if the thrill of doing something risky was overpowering my better judgment. It didn’t change anything, but the door wasn’t locked. I could open it and jump – not that it was ever advisable to leap from a moving vehicle – naked or otherwise.

I glanced around, trying to see if his name appeared on anything, a registration card, an envelope, anything. Surprisingly, his Jeep was relatively clean – not at all like my car. Among other things, I always had lots of extra drive-thru items strewn about – straws, napkins, ketchup and hot sauce packets, that sort of thing. He had none of that.

We crossed a ditch and then turned onto a larger road. It was also dirt, but wide enough for a car to pass. No sooner were we there, than I saw a vehicle approaching. Instinctively, I raised my hands, covering my nipples as it passed. It sort of surprised me that I did that. I guess, because it had to mean that I was more concerned about my bare breasts being seen by those in the other car than the man sitting next to me.

After the car was out of sight, I kept my hands where they were. I saw the man glance over, but he returned his eyes to the road without visible reaction. That surprised me, but then I realized that he was simply allowing me to make my own decision. I also noticed that by covering my breasts, I’d inadvertently removed my hands from my lap. A bit farther on, I did remove my hands, shifting one back down to a position over the juncture of my thighs.

The two-lane road was a bit smoother than the narrow one we’d initially been on, but it was still uneven enough that it helped to hold on – with at least one hand. At least that was the excuse I gave myself for allowing my breasts to bob around unsupported on my chest. My cheeks were still warm from embarrassment, but it wasn’t an entirely unpleasant feeling. Something about my predicament was almost fun. In my mind, I was still drawing parallels between the extreme roller coasters that I loved and this Jeep ride – to God knows where.

The minutes piled up. Mile after mile went by. At least, I wasn’t getting farther from my clothes; they were with us. But even so, it was similarly exhilarating. I was starting to suspect that I was in deep, deep trouble – and I wasn’t resisting. I’d gone along with everything – passively maybe – but I’d never been forced. The hunter hadn’t even touched me – or threatened me. A few times he’d indicated what he wanted me to do, and I’d complied.

That’s when I realized that what was happening was better than any of my nighttime fantasies. Truth really is stranger than fiction.

A bit farther on, but after less than an hour, we turned off the main road and into what appeared to be a driveway. It was so narrow that brush rubbed both sides of the Jeep in places. But even the driveway, if that’s what it was, went on and on. One mile? Two? Three? It just kept going. But then the forest opened up and a modest cabin appeared as if out of nowhere. It was rustic, but it looked to be well-maintained and in complete harmony with the setting. One thing that struck me was that this man had no neighbors. We hadn’t passed a single turnoff all the way in – and the road ended there.

He opened his door and hopped out. Retrieving both bags from the back seat, he went inside. I sat there for a moment, worrying. Waiting and worrying. It was more than obvious what he was doing – removing my ability to get dressed. And it didn’t end there.

What in the hell had I gotten myself into? Deciding that maybe I should make a run for it, I glanced over and saw the key in the ignition. Somehow, that served to calm my fears. I wouldn’t have my clothes, but I could take the Jeep and leave. I shifted across into the driver’s seat and placed my hand on the key.

‘Gotta get outta here,’ I mumbled to myself. But then I sat there – one minute – two minutes – trying to finalize a plan. Unfortunately, I’d been a bit too distracted on our drive to pay much attention. I could certainly find my way out, but maybe not all the way home without getting help. I looked at the gas gauge. At least, fuel wouldn’t be an issue.

Finally, taking a deep breath, I opened the door and slid out. As I approached the cabin cautiously, the hunter reappeared, stepping out onto the front porch. He had a tall drink in each hand. I accepted the one closest to me, thinking that he might guess that I’d reach across for the other one as I’d done before.

Being relatively sure that he wasn’t going to drug me, I took a sip. I tasted coconut, but also lime. It was a non-alcoholic drink, very refreshing and complete with ice cubes. He smiled at me, taking a drink from his own glass.

Moments later, each of us carrying our drinks, he took me inside and led me around. He was giving me a tour. There was a living room, the walls lined with shelves full of books. There was a study – more books. We walked down a short hall and he showed me a bedroom. He went in, but I lingered in the hall. It was nicely furnished, the bed neatly made. I guessed that it was his room. A door opened into what I assumed was a bathroom.

Across the hall was a second bedroom. In comparison to his room, it was sparsely appointed. Having the non-lived-in feel of a guest room, it was less threatening. It too had a connected bathroom. I stepped inside. I smiled looking back at him, but then I closed the door. There was a lock. I twisted it. I had to pee something fierce.

After taking care of my business, I studied myself in the mirror. My chestnut locks were still up in a ponytail – the rubber band holding it and an insignificant amount of trail dust – all that I was wearing.

Exiting the bathroom, I saw that he had something in his hands. Again, he gave me that smile. I walked toward him and he offered me what he was holding. I took it from him. It was a sturdy, black leather strap with a buckle. Not knowing what to make of it, I handed it back.

Motioning with his finger, he indicated that I should turn around. The alarms were again ringing loudly, but I did as instructed. I felt his hands on my upper back and then my neck. It was the first time he’d touched me. I felt the strap around my neck and in the next instant, he was fastening it. I shivered, goosebumps spreading across my skin. Was I really going to allow this?

Once he’d gotten it buckled to his satisfaction, tight but not too tight, I walked over to the mirror in the room. I was still trembling, but I was curious to see how it looked. Only moments before, I’d studied myself in the bathroom mirror. I was still naked, my cheeks still red, but somehow I looked entirely different. Or was it that I felt different?

I noticed my bag on top of the dresser. Was this my room?

The hunter then led me back to the doorway. On a hook just outside in the hall was a key. He took it down and then indicated the deadbolt mounted in the door to the room we’d just been in. There was a keyhole on the outside as well as another on the inside – he demonstrated the function of the key in both. It was a style of deadbolt that I was familiar with from commercial settings, both sides requiring a key to lock or unlock the door.

He’d just put a collar on me, one that I knew I could remove if I wanted to, and yet he wanted me to feel safe? I could go into ‘my’ room and lock the door. Was there really only the one key? I doubted it, and yet I was beginning to feel marginally safer. At the very least, it seemed somewhat reassuring that he wanted me to feel safe.

Thinking about that, I decided I’d gone off the deep end. I was forty or fifty miles from home, naked but for a leather collar, and alone with a man I did not know. If I screamed, no one would hear.

He left me there. Or had he been expecting that I would follow only I didn’t?

Wandering back into the bedroom, I closed the door for privacy. I didn’t lock it. Maybe I was just wondering if the door being shut would bring him back.

I again went to the mirror. I removed the collar to get a better look at it and to consider why he’d put it on me. It was sturdy. Beyond that, there wasn’t much to it – no chrome studs – no adornment at all, in fact. Knowing that he intended for me to wear it, I buckled it back on.

From there, I did a little poking around. The closet as well as the dresser drawers were empty. The drawers in the bathroom, however, held a selection of toiletries, most of them in pink or light blue packaging, brands marketed to women. There was soap, shampoo, conditioner, lotions, and deodorant – toothpaste, toothbrushes, even razors – everything new and unopened.

I went looking for him. He was in the kitchen. Either he’d never noticed that I’d closed the door or it hadn’t been an issue for him.

I watched for a few minutes, our eyes occasionally meeting. He was making dinner. It looked as if we’d be having salads – elaborate salads with lots of fresh ingredients. While he was grilling some chicken that I pictured ending up on top, I wandered back to the living room to look at his books.

Reaching up and feeling the collar on my neck, I started studying the titles. There were history books, dictionaries, as well as quite a number of reference works; books on writing, travel books, nature books and numerous volumes on the geology of the region. There were also field guides to birds of various regions of the country. Did that mean that he really was a birdwatcher?

Several shelves held cookbooks. And, to my surprise there were a great many titles in other languages. The foreign books weren’t together, just shelved in among the English books on the same topic. It felt strange to be snooping around inside someone else’s home. That I was nude made it all the more unusual. And then I remembered that I’d seen my bag in the guest room. I could get dressed! If I really wanted to, I could put my clothes on and probably get away in his Jeep. I’d have to be careful how I went about it, but it seemed as if I might succeed.

Pondering that option, I continued my exploration of his living space by going into his study. I still hadn’t seen any weapons, no guns on display. But there were pictures of birds, none of people, just of birds. I saw a framed photo on a shelf lying face down. After checking to verify that he was still in the kitchen, I picked it up. It was the hunter with a woman – a professionally taken portrait. It wasn’t a wedding photo, but they had the appearance of man and wife. Judging by his age, I guessed it was at least ten years old. I returned it carefully to where I’d found it.

From there, I scanned the various items on the desk as well as a few things hanging on the wall, a couple of awards among them. A low shelf held a large number of vinyl records. That surprised me. I looked around for a turntable, but there didn’t seem to be a sound system of any kind, at least, not that I could find.

Again feeling my nudity, I walked back towards the kitchen. As I approached, our eyes again met. He pointed at a tray. Walking over, I saw that it held placemats, plates, glasses and silverware. He then took me out on the deck, the one we’d crossed over on our way inside. He pointed out a small table.

A minute later, after wiping it off, I was setting the table while he was putting the finishing touches on dinner.

He opened two bottles of wine and showed them to me. I poured myself a glass of the white. It was a Pinot Gris, chilled to an ideal temperature.

I held the bottle over his glass and paused. He pointed at the red, a Pinot Noir, so I served him from that bottle. Had he known I would want white? I decided that there was no way he might have known that. He was just being a conscientious host by offering a selection.

We took our seats, and after staring into each other’s eyes for an extended moment, we started eating. There was a light sesame dressing on the salad. That was a pleasant surprise. About once a week I would order a similar salad for lunch from a deli near the law office – always with sesame dressing.

Again I noticed just how warm my cheeks were. Glancing across the table, I studied his shirt. It was a plain brown button down shirt. Looking at it made me realize the view he had of me – my tan chest, my cone-shaped breasts, my taut nipples. I found myself trying to think of other things, but it was difficult. Not only was I alone with someone I did not know, but I was naked, butt naked. And I was eating a salad. That was an ordinary activity. Everything else about that moment in time was far from ordinary.

Trying to focus on something other than my lack of clothing, I turned my thoughts to my curiosity about my host. I wanted to know more about him. He was older than me, and seemingly a loner, an eccentric one at that. It struck me as an unusual thought to cross my mind, but I decided that I already liked him more than my boyfriend. Maybe that wasn’t all that surprising. Markus and I had been growing apart. Even from the start, it had been obvious that ours wasn’t a relationship with a future.

I knew about Stockholm Syndrome, and this didn’t seem to be that. At least, I couldn’t imagine that it was. The hunter was a man of few words. That went without saying – he never spoke. But he also seemed both intellectual and refined. I was wearing his collar, but for some reason, it was almost comforting. It certainly didn’t feel particularly threatening. In part, because the way he had presented it made me feel that if I had refused, it wouldn’t have been an issue.

Thinking about things logically, I knew that I ought to be concerned, at least more concerned than I was, but the vibes that he was throwing off were pleasant and agreeable. He was doing his best to care for my needs, physical as well as emotional. And I felt relaxed in his presence – surprisingly relaxed – especially considering that I was nude and so very far away from home.

I had reason to believe that I knew his name. At least, I’d seen a name on a number of plaques in his study – writing awards. It made complete sense to me that a deaf person might pursue a career in writing. He of course hadn’t told me his name, but that didn’t seem because he was trying to conceal his identity. I wondered if he knew my name. I considered telling him. He seemed to have some ability to read lips. It would be simple to find a piece of paper and a pen in his study and get to know one another via a written conversation.

As I sipped my wine and picked nervously at my salad, I was thinking that the status quo had a lot to be said for it. I didn’t imagine that I’d prefer a more normal relationship, not with this man. I didn’t want him to know that I knew his name – frankly, I was trying to forget that I’d seen it. And – I didn’t really want him to know mine.

I liked imagining that I was the naked girl that he’d met in the woods, nothing more – just a nameless girl without any of the trappings of society. Maybe it had something to do with how I felt as if I’d freak out if he knew who I was, where I worked, how to get in contact with my friends and family, and importantly – how to find me again after I’d gotten away. Somehow, I was holding it together. I wasn’t sure how I was managing to do that. Maybe it had something to do with how all our communication had been at the most basic level – him pointing, me nodding. He could see me, but he didn’t know who I was, not down inside – at least I wanted to believe that he didn’t.

Part of it too was his agreeable smile and his relaxed manner. Nothing about his behavior was at all malicious or intimidating. He had gentle eyes. I never would have followed him had I been concerned for my safety – at least that was what I kept telling myself.

The more I thought about it, the more I decided that I liked being a naked girl with no identity. It was almost as if I was having an out-of-body experience – as if I’d put on a Halloween costume and had adopted the personality that went with it.

After we had completed our meal, I decided to make myself useful. Making several trips, I carried everything back to the kitchen. There wasn’t a dishwasher, so I washed the dishes by hand. There weren’t many.

While I was doing that, I was able to observe the hunter through the window above the sink. There was a fire circle just past the end of the cabin. He was there, crumpling paper and splitting kindling with a small hatchet.

Quite a while later, we were both seated at a small but nicely crackling outdoor fire. I was feeling so very exposed, even more so than at dinner because there was no table between us. I was still embarrassed to be nude and on display, but it was relaxing – to the extent that a naked woman can relax in the company of a man she’s only known for a few hours.

I wasn’t covering up – my knees not quite together even though I faced him – but certainly not very far apart either. In my mind, I was following his instructions. It had been a long time since he’d ‘told’ me to keep my arms to my sides, but I hadn’t given him reason to revisit that topic.

I was grateful that the fire combined with the smoke was keeping the insects away. A short time after it had burned down enough to need another log, the hunter got up and went inside.

Suddenly alone, I reached up to again feel the collar. There was a D-ring front and center. I pictured him returning with a leash. How would I react? How should I react? Just the idea of being under his control was keeping my pussy moist. All the hints I’d given Markus – he’d never put a collar on me – he’d never even handcuffed me – and I’d given him handcuffs for Christmas. Nor had he ever tied me to the bed. All the hinting I had done had been for naught. His attempts – half-hearted at best. He wasn’t becoming the take-charge man that I’d been hoping to somehow mold him into being. And I hated myself for what I’d been attempting. It was textbook ‘topping from the bottom.’

A minute later, the man returned. I was still trying to forget that I’d seen his name, preferring to think of him as ‘the hunter.’ He came out carrying my bag. That was quite a surprise. My clothes? Why?

Standing next to where I was sitting, he opened it. A moment later, he handed me my shoes. I accepted them, having no idea what was going on. But then he pointed at the fire. What? Not my shoes! I hugged them to my chest. That was asking too much. I looked up into his eyes pleadingly.

He smiled, again reaching into the bag. When his hand came out, he was holding my water bottle. He set that aside. Next, he withdrew my top. It was a medium-purple sports bra with black side panels. There wasn’t much to it, but it was all a woman with a slender build needed for hiking or biking during the summer months.

He handed it to me, again pointing at the fire. Setting my shoes on the ground next to me, I took it from him. Was I going to burn my top? I held it to my face. He was asking a lot – an awful lot. Having no idea what to do, I started trembling. This seemed like a big step – huge actually. I needed my top. Of course I did. Without it, how might I get home? Rising unsteadily to my feet, I kissed it goodbye. Reaching out, I hesitated, but then a second later, I dropped it into the center of the fire.

We both stood there watching it burn. I wiped my eyes. It was an exceedingly emotional moment for me, and only then did it occur to me that I’d had my top in my hand. Rather than burn it, I could have put it on. Was I really that comfortable being naked?

Once my top had been completely consumed, I saw movement on my right. Glancing over, I saw that he had my shorts in his hand, extending them to me. He didn’t point at the fire, but I knew what was expected.

I didn’t really want to lose them. Not only did I never wear panties with them, but I’d gone to some effort to modify them, removing the padding so that there would be just the one thin pliable spandex layer between me and my bike seat.

Deciding that I couldn’t again disobey him, as I’d done with my shoes, I kissed them goodbye and dropped them into the flames. Once they were fully engulfed, I picked up my shoes, again squeezing them to my chest. What he didn’t realize was that there was a small runner’s wallet attached to the laces of one of them – no ID, but it held a number of twenties as well as the key to my apartment. I knew I was clinging to a thread, but I needed my shoes and the contents of the wallet. He wasn’t going to force me, was he?

He reached for the shoes. I hesitated, emotions surging within me. I allowed him to take them. To my relief, he placed them back in the bag, adding my water bottle before closing it. Giving me a supportive nod, he turned and went back inside, taking the bag with him.

Staring at the fire in his absence, I tried to imagine where this was all going. He’d allowed me to keep my shoes. With them, I might be able to make my own way back to civilization. I pictured myself running naked down the narrow dirt road we’d driven in on. Might I do that, run away wearing nothing but my shoes? Would he follow, give chase? Taking the Jeep was clearly a much better idea. If I had it, outrunning him would be easy.

Moments later, he was back. He refilled my glass and then his own. We were still both drinking from separate bottles of wine. It was an amazingly beautiful evening. The column of smoke rose vertically into the air, carrying an occasional spark with it. Glancing up through the dark trees, I studied the heavens. There wasn’t a cloud visible, the stars bright and glorious. I shook my head, smiling to myself. I’d burned my clothes.

Minutes later, looking up from the fire, I glanced across at the hunter. Noticing that he had my attention, he placed his hands on his knees, pressing them apart. I flushed, averting my eyes to the side. From where he sat, he could already see my privates. He wanted an even better view?

I took a deep breath. Reluctantly, without looking up, I allowed my legs to drift apart, quite wide actually. It was beyond embarrassing to be sitting like that. I just felt powerless to resist. I was again shaking. Hopefully it wasn’t noticeable.

A moment later, out of the corner of my eye, I saw him position his hand in front of his own crotch – not touching himself, but almost. He started moving his fingers in a circle, as if masturbating like a woman – as if masturbating exactly as I did. Had he seen me do that? His binoculars? But even as I considered that possibility, I realized that how I teased and stimulated my clit was more or less how most women probably did it.

He paused to point at my crotch, but then went right back to showing me what he expected. A moment later, he stopped and took a sip of his wine. Resting his hands on his thighs, he waited. Was I going to do this? I couldn’t believe I was even considering it, and yet, when Mr. Weber instructed me to rub myself, I didn’t hesitate. But that was fantasy. That Mr. Weber didn’t exist.

A long moment later, I had the middle finger and the ring finger of my right hand in my mouth, wetting them. As I reached down, bringing those two fingers in contact with my sex, I realized just how unnecessary the additional moisture was. My pussy was already fully lubricated, inside and out.

In a hazy state of disbelief, I started tracing gentle circles atop the delicate folds right at the cleft of my pussy. It felt good – too good. My clitoris had been longing for attention. Rubbing myself like this – it was something I’d done a lot of, just never for an audience – at least as far as I knew.

My cheeks were burning, and it wasn’t because of the campfire between us. I’d wanted to masturbate for Markus. Correction: I’d wanted Markus to make me masturbate in front of him. Sadly, he never had. I’d hinted, but he’d never clued in.

I slid my gaze up the man’s torso, intending to meet his eyes. I wanted to see how he was reacting. I didn’t manage to get past his smile. He looked so relaxed, so content.

Without wanting it to happen, I found my tempo increasing. I felt the need for something inside, something plunging into my vagina, but it wasn’t really necessary. My fingertips atop the thin layer of skin concealing my stiff little pearl was going to be enough, more than enough. It was going to be a powerful orgasm, one for the ages. I felt my heart pounding as I inhaled a deep lungful of air. Oxygen, I needed oxygen. My mouth was open, wide open. I wasn’t moaning, but that was just moments away.

And just as I was about to go over, I saw his hand waving horizontally in front of his neck. He was signaling, ‘cut.’ What? I was supposed to stop? My mind screamed, NO! There was no way I could do that. He couldn’t make me do that!

But, just as if I wasn’t in control of my faculties, my hand stopped moving. A few seconds later, I watched in awe as my arm lifted my fingers free. I had been so close, so very close. The release I desperately needed – denied – right at the last second – the very last second.

But even though I’d stopped, I needed that orgasm. I was bound and determined to have it, and later I would. Maybe I’d have to wait another hour or two, but I was going to have my orgasm – and it was going to be amazing.

I tried to catch my breath, to get my heart rate down, but it was difficult. I was so keyed up. My diamond hard nipples were straining toward the heavens and a light layer of perspiration had my skin glistening in the firelight. I had to force myself to shift my knees back together.

A minute later, the man got up and went inside. He returned with a pitcher of ice water and two tall glasses. He poured me one and then another for himself. The cold water felt so good going down. It was just what I needed. Well, almost what I needed. For a cruel, orgasm-denying man, he was amazingly thoughtful, exceptionally kind.

Some amount of time later, after the fire had burned down to the point that only coals remained, the man filled a bucket with water from a hose and doused it.

After spending a minute watching the steam rise into the air, we went inside. He directed me to my room, but it wasn’t really necessary. The guest room – he’d made it clear that that was where I’d be spending the night.

Reaching the doorway, I paused. The key was there, on the hook. Was I going to take it? Did I trust him? Not really. And yet, I wouldn’t be any more exposed or vulnerable at night than I had been during the day. I left the key where it was. If he was intending to try and sleep with me, he probably wouldn’t have provided me with a separate room.

Stepping across the threshold into ‘my’ room, I turned to face him. We exchanged smiles. I lifted a hand and gave a little wave. I was still wearing the collar, nothing more. He nodded, and I pushed the door closed.

A short time later, I was in bed, lying on top of the bedspread, completely exposed to the dark room. It was in my favorite position – for masturbating – the soles of my feet together, but my knees splayed widely apart. Unlike how I usually ‘did it,’ I had one hand up on the leather band buckled around my neck – running my fingers along it, trying to imagine what exactly it meant to be mearing the hunter’s collar.

I slid the fingers of my right hand down over my abdomen, to the juncture at the top of my inner thighs. I started teasing, lightly brushing the smooth but sensitive skin on the side of my outer labia. I was planning to draw it out, milk this orgasm for all it was worth – the first one anyway.

Occasionally, I’d reach up and allow my fingertips to brush across my clit, the core of my being – but only the two fingers of my right hand – exactly as I’d done with the hunter watching. It was tantalizing to think back to that point in time, at the fire, when I’d been masturbating for my first audience, my audience of one.

I was torn. I needed to rub one out so badly – take it all the way to completion. I’d been denying my poor little eager pussy for so long and the events of the day had been beyond stimulating. I knew that if I allowed Mr. Weber to take charge of my fantasy that he’d tell me ‘no.’ He always did, and in the past, I’d always obeyed. Tonight would be different. The Hunter would be taking his place. It would happen without any conscious choice on my part. The role went to the highest bidder. That was simply how that worked. Mr. Weber was history.

I imagined, nay, I hoped that my libido would win out when the Hunter again signaled ‘cut’ – if that was what he directed me to do. My rational self knew that he wouldn’t actually be there. That it would be just me, myself, and I alone in the room, and that I could do as I chose. And I needed my orgasm. Without it, I would be even hornier the following day. I couldn’t allow that to happen. My horniness had gotten me into trouble. It always did. Getting into the Hunter’s Jeep and then later, burning my clothes. Those were perfect examples of things that I probably would not have done had I not been denying myself for such a long stretch – more than a week.

But then, just as I was again getting close, Mr. Weber’s replacement, The Hunter waved his hand in front of his neck. I hesitated, but to my surprise, I pulled my hand free. That’s what he expected me to do. I had to obey The Hunter.

As I lay there recovering, my heart still pounding, sweat covering my body, I slid my hands under my lower back, palms down. In that position, my fingers extended on down, underneath my buttocks, raising my pelvis up into the dark room. That wasn’t the point. The point was that in that position, my fingers couldn’t easily stray back to my needy slit.

As my heart rate settled, my senses started to return. I began trying to imagine how I was going to extract myself from the hunter’s cabin. It wasn’t going to be easy, but I had twenty-four hours. It was Saturday, late in the evening. I could sleep here. That would be fine, but I needed to spend Sunday night in my own bed – in order to be at my desk come Monday morning.

It would be tricky. I was a long distance from my apartment and I had only my shoes. But, to his credit, the hunter had always allowed me to choose. All that had happened, I’d never been forced. He’d held my clothes hostage, but I hadn’t been kidnapped. I’d taken off my shoes voluntarily. I’d followed him, reluctantly but nonetheless willingly. I’d even climbed into his Jeep of my own volition. And it was me who had tossed my clothes into the fire. He’d pointed, but I had obeyed. There had been no threats, no arm twisting.

I still had my shoes because I’d asserted myself. It seemed clear that if I insisted – and I’d probably have to – that he would drive me home. There were paper and pens in his study. Sometime during the course of the next day, I would make my wishes known to him, and that would be that. I’d enjoyed my little vacation from sanity, but all things come to an end.

Lying there on my back, I started to try and picture what it would be like to drive up to my apartment in his Jeep. Would I still be naked, wearing just my shoes?

Suddenly, I heard a small noise in the hall – the distinctive sound of a key being inserted into a slot. I held my breath, listening intently. I heard the telltale sound of the key being turned, the latch engaging. What?

I sat up abruptly. Straining to hear the most minute sound, I cocked my head. The faint sound of retreating footsteps reached my ears.

I sat there dumbfounded. A minute later, I was out of bed, cautiously approaching the door. I tried the knob. It turned, but the door wouldn’t budge. He’d secured the deadbolt. I was locked in. I returned to my bed – realizing that I might not be at my desk come Monday morning.

Thanks for reading Hailey Explores Life’s Potential (aka H.E.L.P.)

Sincerely,
Blair P Clavel

Copyright © 2022 by BPClavel@gmail.com, all rights reserved. Reproduction, redistribution, or reposting of this work in whole or in part on another site, in print, or via any other means whether or not for charge or profit is forbidden without the express written consent of the author. This story is intended for personal use by ADULTS only. By accessing this story, the reader certifies that he/she is of an appropriate age to access adult material and that such material is permitted where the reader resides. The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed are fictitious. No identification with actual persons or places is intended or should be inferred (except for the Kingda Ka – that roller coaster actually exists). Characters are 18 years of age or older. No clothes were burned nor roller coasters ridden in the writing of this story.