Chapter 11: Backpacking, Trees and Creeks
Clair wasn’t sure if it was the sunlight making the inside of her sleeping bag glow or her bladder that woke her up. She had no idea what time it was, and nothing to do about it anyway. She was still bound tightly in the sleeping bag with just a small hole above her face to breathe through. She really didn’t want to pee in a sleeping bag checked out from the University Rec Department, but the discomfort was becoming intense.
Finally, she thought she heard Fred stirring. And the bastard walked over to the latrine trench and peed. And just knowing what he was doing almost made her lose control of her bladder.
When he came back Fred taunted her, “Good morning slave girl! I think I’ll start a fire before unwrapping you, it’s cold out here. Would you like that slave girl?”
“Ummm, No sir,” Clair said hesitantly, not sure what response that answer would get her.
“Do you have to pee slave girl?”
“Yes Sir!”
“Do you have to pee bad?”
“Yes Sir!”
“Then you have permission to beg while I build a fire,” Fred said, “And your words will find favor with this hunter of Gor if you speak like a true Kajira.”
“Oh shit,” thought Clair, “He knows how desperate I am. He could whip me with that switch he cut yesterday, and I wouldn’t talk Gor speak, but now I have to get creative.”
“Oh mighty hunter, this unworthy Kajira begs to be released so her stream can water the land," she begged. Nothing.
“Oh please, master, this slave girl does most humbly beg to pee.” Nothing.
“Damnit Fred, you’re the one that checked out these sleeping bags and if you don’t let me out of here right now, you’re going to lose your deposit and it won’t be my fault!”
Fred flicked the lighter and started the fire he had laid, stood up and said, “Well, sounds like a certain slave girl will need to be punished after breakfast.” But when he opened the top of the sleeping bag, Clair noticed he had a huge grin, bastard. She also noticed that he was wearing only his cargo shorts. God her man looked good without a shirt.
Fred stood Clair up and untied the rope from the top first which let the coil drop to her feet. When he unzipped the bag, Clair didn’t wait for permission before dashing to the latrine.
The sun was shining through the trees, and it was almost 9am so the temperature was already warmer than it had been the night before. But because Clair had been so warm in the bag, the cool air felt freezing. She crouched over the trench shivering, unbelieving that her traitorous urethra wouldn’t unclamp and let her relieve the pressure on her bladder. She took several deep breaths to relax and finally got the relief she needed.
When she came back to the fire, she saw that Fred had pulled out a breakfast of Cinnamon Oatmeal and breakfast bars. He draped her sleeping bag around her shoulders and pointed at breakfast. She knew what to do and was grateful for the bag. Fred went back to his tent to finish getting dressed and straighten up the tent.
They ate breakfast as before, Fred eating most of the oatmeal then feeding Clair the rest, spoonful at a time as she sat at his feet on her sleeping bag.
“Clean up breakfast, roll your sleeping bag, roll up those ropes, then refill the water bottles.”
Clair performed her tasks quickly, wanting to impress Fred with her service. When she finished with the water bottles she came to his Hammock where he was reading and kneeled in the Nadu position. The day was still warming up, but activity had kept her warm. Now that she was kneeling, she shivered.
Fred left the hammock without speaking to her. He wandered through the woods all around the campsite looking at each tree, fallen log and rock. When he returned to Clair, he took her sleeping bag back out of its cover bag and put the bag over her head. It was much bigger than her head and loose enough that she could easily breath out the bottom, but she couldn’t see. She wasn’t bound, just kneeling in Nadu when Fred simply said, “stay.” Clair knew she would do just that.
She could hear Fred sawing with the small camp saw and wondered why he wasn’t making her gather and cut the firewood. For Clair, in her bag, kneeling, it seemed like he worked for quite a while. Finally, he came over to her, grabbed her arm and guided her to her feet. “Come” he said as he guided her to where he had been working.
When he took the bag off, Clair saw the tree, or trees. Fred had found two small trees growing out of the same stump. The larger was an oak, about 12 inches in diameter. Growing from the side of this tree was either a limb or another tree that appeared to come out of the base. This smaller tree was about 4 inches in diameter. Fred had cut this tree off at about waist height, then used his pocket-knife to remove the bark from the top eight inches, reducing its diameter to about three inches. He had, Clair noticed, also carved the top into the unmistakable shape of a dildo then covered it with a condom. Clair wasn’t sure she liked where this was going – or perhaps she did.
Next to the tree was one of their water bottles, the switch, one of the shorter pieces of rope and her small pocket vibrator. She hadn’t known Fred had brought that; amazing what he had snuck into her pack. Fred handed her the water bottle, “Drink all you want,” he told her. “Now, kneel and put your mouth on that shaft, get it wet. Trust me, you’re going to want it very wet!”
If this was going where Clair was sure it was going, she wasn’t too worried about getting the dildo wet, she was already gushing. But she did as told and started her best blow job technique on the condom covered wood, knowing the effect it would have on Fred.
She knew her man, watching Clair give that wood such loving attention made his own wood strain in his pants.
“Enough,” he said as he stood her up, spun her around and grabbed her under her armpits. Lifting her up he gave her permission to guide the shaft into her slit. She appreciated being allowed to use her hands, Fred had only been able to get the shaft partially smooth with only his pocketknife and even with the condom over it, it was rough. Pulling her labia apart helped.
Fred had not been sure just how tall his dildo needed to be, and he didn’t really have any way to measure before putting Clair on it. He had made a pile of several flat rocks on either side for her to stand on as a way to make adjustments. Once he was sure Clair was stable, he pulled her hands behind the tree and lashed them together, palms away from the tree, taking his time and being careful. He wanted to make the tie secure but not to cut off circulation.
“Bend your knees,” Fred ordered.
Clair tried. She was able to bend them a little before the top of the dildo hit her cervix, “ouch.”
Fred knelt, lifted Clair’s feet one at a time and took one of the flat rocks from each side.
Clair stood on tiptoes for a minute then slowly lowered herself to her heels.
Fred watched this process and when Clair looked at him and he raised his eyebrows.
She understood he was silently asking if it was tolerable, she nodded slightly. She wanted to tell him she could take more but she had just enough doubts to keep her mouth shut. Besides, she didn’t know how long she would be mounted on this tree.
Fred put his hands on each side of her face, as he had done when they started, and asked, “Clair, what is your safeword?”
“Red sir, but I won’t” She started.
Fred cut her off, smiling, “Yes, I know, you won’t use it.”
Then he walked back to his hammock and started reading his book.
Clair tried to stand as still as she could. She was afraid the rocks under her feet would slide out if she moved her feet too much. The oak bark against her back was rough. For that matter the rough wood inside her vagina wasn’t exactly comfortable even with the condom. And if she shifted her legs even slightly, she felt the dildo press hard against her cervix. If she tried to lift one foot to rest it, her body shifted to that side, pressing painfully against the side of her vagina. Her nose itched. “Why, oh why does your nose always itch when you can’t scratch it," she thought. Such a simple thing, that was normally so easy to scratch emphasized even more how helpless she was.
“Ok, this is very slowly getting harder and more uncomfortable,” Clair realized.
After he finished a couple of chapters, Fred decided it was time to torment Clair. On his way back to the tree he picked a fern leaf. He slowly ran that fern leaf up and down Clair’s sides, along her legs, across her breasts. She tried very hard not to react, not to give him the satisfaction but Clair was ticklish. This fern leaf was maddening. She started giggling and taking ragged breaths, which caused her to move, which hurt inside. “Damn,” she thought between fits of giggles. Fred was having a great time.
Then suddenly she realized he had dropped to his knees and was sucking her nipples. Fred thought Clair’s nipples were magnificent, huge, and puffy. He could spend hours doing this. It was also great that her nipples were apparently very sensitive, anytime Fred played with them she was obviously turned on.
When he had her breathing hard, he stood up, took the switch, and started doing the tap, tap, tap, tap again but this time on the top of her breast. Clair looked down as if she couldn’t believe the change from pleasure to pain, then she closed her eyes, steadied her breathing, and started to absorb the pain. Fred switched to the other side but kept the pace, tap, tap, tap, tap. After he had the tops of her breasts a nice shade of light pink, he grabbed her nipple and pulled up so he could continue underneath, tap, tap, tap, tap. Then the other nipple and breast, tap, tap, tap, tap.
Clair was moaning softly when he stopped and picked up the little lipstick vibrator and started teasing her labia and just above her clit with it. Slowly, too slowly for Clair, he moved in towards her clit, finally making contact. He stroked up and down her clit ever so lightly. He kept it up until Clair was starting to hump the air with her hips, accepting the pain the branch was causing inside her to increase the pleasure outside.
Fred stopped. Without a word he returned to his hammock and curled up for a nap. What Clair didn’t see, as she cussed him in her mind for leaving her with stinging breasts and a frustrated clit, was that Fred set an alarm on his phone. He was afraid he would fall asleep and Clair, in her stubbornness to please, would suffer for hours in silence.
Fred did doze but he was awake when the alarm went off a half hour later. He returned to Clair three times that morning, turning her belly, thighs and breasts pink with his switch and edging her with the vibrator each time. The last time, when he judged that he had her right on the edge of an orgasm, he lifted her off the pole, kicked the piles of flat rocks away, pulled her forward and set her on her knees in front of the dildo. Since the smaller tree/dildo held her away from the main trunk about six inches or so, her arms were pulled back and up. This position bent her shoulders and neck forward slightly, perfect for fucking her face.
As Fred pulled his penis out of his pants and presented it to Clair’s mouth, she realized that this was the first opportunity he had allowed her to please him on this trip. Her knees hurt against the hard ground, her arms and shoulders were pulled up painfully and she was thirsty. But Clair also genuinely enjoyed sucking Fred off; it was both a need to be useful and please him and it was objectifying to be helplessly face fucked while tied to a tree. She opened her mouth willingly and licked her lips while her eyes studied the massive erection before her.
Fred had found it hard to wait this long. Normally he could not reach orgasm unless Clair also used her hands while she was sucking him. It wasn’t her lack of skill, it was just not quite enough stimulation. But here, now, with Clair tied on her knees, outdoors, having edged her off and on for hours, Fred was already dripping pre-cum. Seeing how needy she was for his cock in her mouth almost pushed him to orgasm before she started.
Clair took Fred’s tip just into her mouth and ran her tongue around and around the tip tasting his pre-cum. She slowly started taking him in and out, going a little deeper each stroke until her gag reflex caused her to almost retch. She pushed his head against the top of her mouth and sucked to maximize his stimulation. She wondered again why this was called a ‘blow job’ and not a ‘suck job’.
Fred realized, after just a few minutes of this, that he was building to an orgasm. He grabbed the back of Clair’s head, gathering a handful of hair in each hand and held on tight as he exploded and just kept pumping cum deep in Clair’s mouth. Six, eight, ten times his whole loins contracted and pumped. Clair swallowed and swallowed, and it just kept coming. He relaxed and then realized Clair was desperately moving her head, trying to get his penis out enough to take a breath, trying to clear her throat of his penis AND the thick seamen so she could breathe.
Clair was coughing and swallowing and gasping all at the same time. Clair wasn’t squeamish about cum. Fred had ejaculated in her mouth before, she had even swallowed a little, but she had always been in control. She had always pulled back enough that just the head was in her mouth and there was lots of room for his ejaculate. Usually, she held the white cream in her mouth then spit most of it into a tissue. But this time, Fred had held himself almost all the way in and the semen went right into and down the back of her throat.
Finally, Clair got enough control to look up and see Fred with a huge smile on his face, and it was all worth it.
Fred was wiped out from the intensity of his orgasm. Clair just wanted an orgasm. She was also thirsty and really wanted to wash her mouth out. Fred untied her hands, helped her stand, and handed her the water bottle still next to the tree.
“You need to filter some more water and refill, then gather more firewood for tonight,” Fred said as he walked off towards his hammock.
Clair didn’t mind being given more service tasks to do but she did think, “The bastard’s not going to get me off after that mind blowing orgasm I just gave him!”
After Fred relaxed for a few minutes, he went to the creek, took his hiking boots and socks off and waded in. Clair wondered what he was doing as he started moving rocks around in the creek, clearing out an area under a large overhanging tree and piling the rocks on the downstream side. His work was creating a small pool in the creek and Clair thought he might be making it easier to get clear water into their filtration hand pump.
If Clair had known what Fred was really doing, and more important, what he was thinking, she would have been concerned. Fred was thinking, “This water is COLD, I can’t stand to stay in here for long at all. This will be perfect!”
When he judged that Clair had gathered and cut enough firewood, Fred directed her to come and kneel before him. He used one of the longer pieces of rope to bind her hands in front of her, leaving a long end. Pulling her by the rope he walked right into the creek pulling her over to the pool he had made. Clair had the same thought he did, “Damn this water is cold!”
When Fred tossed the end of the rope over the overhanging branch Clair realized what he had planned. She came very close to trying to run, beg or plead, she HATED cold. Fred pulled her wrists up above her head. He left some slack; her feet were flat on the sandy bottom of the creek and her elbows were slightly bent. He tied the rope off to the trunk of another tree at the bank and climbed out of the water.
“I know how hard walking around in the woods has been on your feet slave girl. I thought you would appreciate a nice refreshing foot bath,” Fred said with a smile.
“This isn’t ‘refreshing’,” Clair thought, this is FUCKING COLD!” but wisely, she simply glared at him. Fred gathered his boots and walked back to the fire ring to put them on and read for a time.
It was now almost 1 pm and Fred was hungry. He fished a tin of sandwich spread and some crackers out of Clair’s pack, sat in his hammock and made sure to loudly crunch the crackers.
Clair was starting to suffer on several levels. The sun was shining through the trees over the creek, and it felt great on her skin, but the water was sucking the feeling out of her feet. Soldiers know that when your feet are cold, your whole body is cold. Clair was rapidly discovering this. The half portion of breakfast oatmeal had also long worn off and just knowing Fred was eating was making her stomach growl.
Clair lifted her feet, one at a time but she would tire after several minutes and have to switch legs long before one would warm. She tried turning, putting a different part of the sun on her body and that helped make her body warmer but the cold on her feet was intense. She could feel the numbness creeping up her legs and she no longer even felt the small pebbles in the creek bed on the soles of her feet.
Fred was enjoying his lunch. Actually, he was enjoying both of their lunches since he was also eating her portion. And he was enjoying Clair’s dance in the Creek. He knew he couldn’t leave her there too long; she couldn’t walk back to the car with frostbitten feet.
Fred grabbed a squeeze bottle of biodegradable soap, a washcloth and one of the cooking pots out of Clair’s pack and walked back to the Creek. As soon as she saw what he had in his hands Clair started silently mouthing, “Oh no, no, no, no, no, no.” She HATED cold. Standing in the cold creek was torture enough. She would rather Fred take his heavy leather belt and beat her unconscious than to wash her in this creek water.
“Time for a bath slave girl,” Fred said casually. The reaction surprised him.
“Oh god, Please no Fred!” Clair begged, breaking her rule of silence.
“You know I hate cold, PLEASE don’t wash me in this creek. Please, please, please Fred! I couldn’t stand it, I’m already so Cold!”
“I’m not letting you out of the Creek until you either take your bath like a good slave girl or say a certain color word.”
Fred scooped a pot full of creek water.
Clair never took her eyes off the pot even though she was shaking her head violently and repeating “no, no, no, please no.” over and over.
Fred looked right in her eyes and waited for her to say “Red.” When she didn’t he dumped the pot over her hair.
Clair sucked in a breath, inhaled some water with it, coughed and sputtered then shouted “SHIT, you bastard!”
“Is that any way for a slave girl to address her master who is being so kind as to give her a bath? I think I’ll just keep doing this until you learn to thank me after each pot,” Fred said in complete seriousness. And he dumped another pot over her head.
Clair might be a naked pain slut, but she wasn’t stupid.
“Thank you for the bath, Sir!” Clair sputtered around the water falling over her head.
“What kind of bath Slut.” Fred asked as he dumped a third pot of water over her head.
“That you for the cold bath, sir!”
As Fred squirted some soap on her hair and started to massage it in, he had to keep shifting his bare feet in the creek. “OK, this IS cold water,” he thought.
Putting some soap on the washcloth he washed Clair from her hands to her feet, making extra sure her lovely breasts were very clean. He enjoyed the way it made her already impressive nipples stand out even more. He also enjoyed the full coat of goosebumps that adorned her body from top to bottom.
Working pretty quickly, in part because he wanted to get his feet out of the water, he poured six pots of water over Clair, rinsing the soap off.
Once she was rinsed, he untied her pretty quickly and led her out of the creek and into a grassy spot where the sun was shining through the trees. Clair could barely feel her feet.
“Clair, you have two choices. One, you can stand here quietly and wait until I tell you otherwise. Two, you can go swimming in the creek.” Fred explained.
“I’ll stand here!” Clair blurted out. “Sir,” she added when she realized her omission.
“Good choice,” Fred said, adding, “you may turn to put the sun on your back or sides if you wish but don’t leave this grassy patch.