Witch Hunter (3 page)

Mimi now met Dominic less and less often, and not just because her work made her keep odd hours or he was busy with his college studies. Despite his obvious intelligence, the immaturity – or, to be fairer, the lack of life experience – was beginning to tell. It was nice to have an athlete in bed but Mimi was aware of his shallowness. He was also somehow detached when they had sex. He would slam into her from the back as avidly as any former lover, but she never felt his simmering lust before they got to bed or any closeness during the act.

It was hard enough finding time and privacy for them to do anything, which sometimes led to snatched shags down dark lanes, trying to get the job done before the chill air numbed the desire. Considering their lack of opportunity, he never seemed as desperate for her as an on-heat teenager should have been. He wasn’t always grasping and fondling her or pulling her in for kisses. He waited until a chance presented itself and then without much preamble gave her a breathless seeing-to.

They just didn’t quite connect. Maybe they would have done if they had ever opened up about what they each wanted. He had once crawled naked over her lap, jokily asking to be punished. She had given him a few light smacks but too light-heartedly for it to go anywhere. Inwardly she had squirmed with the embarrassment of it all. If it had been the other way round, if he had dragged her over his lap and dealt a series of stinging slaps to her big bum, she was sure, despite never having received such treatment before, that she would have simply loved it.

Once, when the Spinster had gone to her sister’s for the night, they had actually had time to watch a bit of internet porn together before climbing into bed. They had looked at a few sites, jumping around a selection of video clips, their choices acting as unspoken demonstrations of what they each found appealing. She was surprised when he chose a short clip of a naked man bound with thick ropes and bent over, yelping as a corseted Mistress forced a strap-on into his rear end. Mimi had said something about how much of a fuss the man was making and if it had been the other way around the girl would have been expected to take it all without complaint.

‘Well, having a big one up the bum can hurt, as I’m sure you know!’ he had replied.

Actually, she didn’t know. She probably wanted to find out but for some reason she never had, although everyone seemed to be doing it these days. Plenty of girls told a different story, that it was a scintillating experience not to be missed. By the way he was talking, it sounded like he hadn’t missed it either. Another time, they had been indulging in some simultaneous oral with him on top, lapping at her bud whilst pressing a slender smooth vibrator into her puss. Only later, when she recalled how he had slightly wiggled his hips above her and pushed his behind back a little more, did she realise that he might actually have wanted the toy forced inside him. Basically, if both of them were displaying signs of submissiveness then it wasn’t going to work, and if he was bi-curious or trying to figure out if indeed he was gay she did not want to be fumbled around with while he made up his mind.

Relocating the secret picnic spot proved harder than she thought and Dominic didn’t help by getting exasperated. Eventually, when they did find it, he was typically underwhelmed. He seemed more distracted than usual, not really listening to anything she said. He hardly looked at her, more often glancing at his phone as if imploring it to receive some important message that would get him out of there. As ever he stuffed his food down as if he hadn’t eaten in weeks, barely noticing the trouble she had gone to in preparing it.

She had made a point of only buttering the baguette, leaving the cut sections otherwise bare and wrapping the intended contents separately, since he was so fussy and was always changing his mind about what he did and didn’t like. She didn’t want to give him any excuse to moan. No matter how many hints she kept dropping about being alone and isolated he refused to pick up on them. When he started checking the time she knew he was planning to get out of there without giving her what she needed. As always she would be forced to initiate things, and that was irksome.

He was idly holding a piece of buttered baguette, silently aghast that there was no more ham to fill it, even though he had put half a sliced pig into his last one. She sidled over with a mischievous smile, curled her hand around the bread and ran it up and down the length in a wanking motion whilst telling him that the French stick reminded her of something. Having your penis compared to something crusty and yeasty is probably not every man’s dream but her suggestive hand action was enough to do the trick. She spotted his ever-lively prick stirring in his jeans and seized her chance before he could back out.

‘Looks like he wants some attention,’ she said.

The evidence seemed indisputable so he could do nothing except mumble something ineffectual like ‘not here’ whilst she ignored him and unzipped his jeans. She fumbled inside and gave a little gasp as his hot member was suddenly in her palm and growing against her. It was a feeling she could never tire of. She loved to clutch a stiffening prick and feel it swell in her grip. Sometimes you could even sense the pulsing rush of blood and the rise in temperature. For just a few brief moments it was to feel the essence of sexual power, of uncontrolled desire, and to know that it was aimed at
you
.

There was surely no greater compliment a cock could give you than to fill up in your grasp. As his had been constrained beneath tight briefs she got it in all its expanding glory. For just a few wonderful moments it seemed like it might go on growing for ever. She would have loved to feel it swell inside her, stretching her open and surging into her hole.

‘So, Dominic,’ she said, ‘what shall we do with this?’

She didn’t like calling him Dominic. She would prefer to shorten it but he simply would not allow such things. ‘Dom’ would have been less of a mouthful and it would certainly be nice to think of him as a Dom even if it was so far from his real character. He didn’t even have the gumption to tell her what he wanted done with his gripped prick. She teasingly stroked it up and down but he remained impassive, still clutching his section of buttered baguette as if eating more lunch was a far better option than doing anything sexual. Well, if he wanted some meat to fill his roll he would get it.

She prised the bread out of his hand and forced the split side of it around his shaft so that it nestled like a large sausage in a bun. He at least smiled at this. She was giggling saucily and grasping the bread, twisting it against his shaft and running it up and down, using it to gently masturbate him. She could see the smear of butter on his skin and she pictured him sliding into her tightest passage without warning, forcing her over the tree trunk and entering her and pushing relentlessly deep inside her. She could scream but no one would hear her, and he might just stuff her knickers into her mouth anyway. Even his slim cock would stretch and maybe even hurt her, but the butter would ensure his forward glide proved unstoppable …

He didn’t move. He let her continue her gentle tease but she was feeling full of lust, too much to not make this situation dirtier. She reached for the tube of mustard and squirted a thick line of it down his length to complete the hot dog. He was panting harder and his cheeks were colouring but still he kept his passion contained and didn’t force it upon her. She didn’t
want
a mouthful of hot mustard but she would have sucked him to his balls if he had ordered her to. With the bread disintegrating and his cock a smeared mess there was nothing else to do but give up and give herself to him.

She was desperate for him to rip off her clothes and force her over the tree trunk but he didn’t, so she had to do it herself. Her knickers came down with her pedal pushers and she kissed him breathlessly for just a few seconds before going forward over the trunk, to leave her chubby pale bottom sticking out for him. His former reluctance was gone because he was now in command. He held her hips and was inside her in no time, surprising them both with the sudden depth of his entry, helped both by the butter and her slickness.

He held her as he caught his breath and she felt an unfamiliar tingling warmth spread inside her. It gave her a rush in her belly and made her slightly panicky – just like a mouthful of hot curry can do – and then she realised it was the mustard singeing the delicate skin of her puss. She let out an ‘oh!’ at this unintentional S&M rudeness and wondered if his prick was burning too. As if in answer he gave her a sudden barrage of arse-slapping thrusts, grunting over and over as he bashed against her cheeky rump and had it dancing. He kept on going too, as if needing the rapid action to soothe his itch.

She was aware of the sun on her bare skin and the sound of birds chattering around them. She was used to outdoor sex but it still felt so
rude
to be doing it there in broad daylight. It seemed such a bestial act, surrounded by gentle nature. She tried to make herself squeal louder, to add to the risk of them being caught, but, even though she knew the chances were infinitesimal, she still couldn’t bring herself to increase her volume. She wanted to talk like a slut in one of those porno clips they had watched. His quick-fire, bum-splatting thrusts deserved it. Imagine having the courage to yell out like they did, to beg him to do you any way he wanted. If she could only do that she would get it in the bum for sure. She could plead for it. She could say, ‘Please stick that big cock in my ass!’ just like those horny porno girls did.

Imagine having the courage to reach back and pull your cheeks apart while you said it, to actually display your most private place to him, to cry out that you were dying to have him in your bum. She trembled at her own thoughts but he couldn’t read them. He continued to slam into her and it was just enough to take her over the edge before he juddered and came. She loved the hot hit of his ejaculation within her. She was so glad she was on the pill, even if it did compound her weight problem. The feel of him shooting inside her always heightened her own orgasm.

He slipped out and she stayed where she was, eyes closed, allowing the warmth of her climax to gently spread through her. While she was feeling so horny she didn’t mind her bare bottom being so exposed. It might even encourage him to go again and finish what he’d started. Maybe he would even try something new, like giving her a good hard spanking before he sank inside her once more.

There were rustlings from behind her and she imagined him searching the undergrowth for thin sticks to use as canes upon her defenceless rump. She had no clue how much it would hurt her but just to be used in such a fashion would surely outweigh any pain. She would take any sexual indignity from him at these moments, do anything he commanded. She didn’t care if he bit her arse, smacked her soft quim, covered her exposed skin in muck from the forest floor –
anything
to make her feel like a wanton slave.

She turned at last to see what he was doing. He was on his feet and facing her, looking at his phone. For one adrenalin-bursting moment she thought he was taking a picture of her plump bare bottom, but it transpired he was just looking for that same elusive message. His member had already been stored away and he was apparently done for the day. She felt suddenly foolish, bent over as she was, with him not even caring. She pulled her clothes back up and sat in silence while the burn in her cheek slowly subsided.

She packed up and they walked home again, with little said between them. A few days later and he was gone, off back to college. They didn’t talk much in the interim and he didn’t want to be dropped at the station, let alone to be waved goodbye. He didn’t even text to say he had made it there OK. She tried ringing him but got nothing. So that was that, she had been dumped.

Dominic remained the only hangover from the ‘Disappearing Youths’ story that never was, a reminder that everything about that so-called mystery was a damp squib. She latched onto the tale out of desperation, having had another local story crumble before she had even managed to move into the village. One of the reasons she so coveted a place there was Haydn Shady, an unlikely-named villain who had taken possession of a big property on some of the estate lands outside the village. He was a shady character indeed, suspected of extortion and fraud at the very least, plus kidnapping and murder if you believed the gossip. He seemed omnipotent although he was seldom spotted. He was large, with a completely shaved head, and he always wore sunglasses, the myth being that no one had ever seen his eyes.

The manor house he stayed in was originally leased from the aging Baron who owned nearly all the land around. Somehow, through threats it was believed, Shady had then managed to purchase the house outright, along with many acres. The original theory had been that he needed the privacy to oversee his nefarious business, and he needed the land to safely bury the bodies of his murdered enemies. Bit by bit he seemed to eat into the estate, purchasing parcels of land here and there so that many of the tenant farmers suddenly found themselves at the mercy of a new and far more ruthless landlord, one prepared to raise their rents without scruple.

All this was juicy enough gossip for any aspiring journalist, although it was a story most would fear to follow, given the reputation of the subject. The plot thickened when it transpired that a new road had been proposed, a bypass that would run through the estate lands. The old Baron would never consent to such a thing but he held only a small area that could still stop it from happening, and it seemed Mr Shady was more than happy to allow the purchase of his newly gained land for a whopping sum, far in excess of what had been paid for it.

Everyone waited with bated breath, sure that the villain would bully or threaten the poor Baron and get this remaining land. The new road would have seen the whole area ruined. Ancient woodland would be levelled. Noise and traffic pollution would increase, spoiling the general atmosphere for ever. Most of the farmers would be driven out and the village would die a slow death, peopled only by the commuters who may have silently been pleased with the faster routes onto major road networks. Mimi, following the story over the months and years as closely as she could from her flat in Oxford, decided that she couldn’t bear to see the area she so loved desecrated. This would be the cause to champion, the story that would show her mettle and talents and make her a heroine to the locals – who might reward her with a house there on the cheap.