Page 16 of Love on the Rocks

If I were actually a mountain man, I'm not sure I would be able to afford anything quite as cozy as this. He even has a generator so there is electricity in here. I'm not sure my kind of mountain man would bother with electricity. I picture myself as a by-the-candlelight kind of mountain man. This cabin even has running water. I'm not sure if there was already a well, or if Scott had one dug, but there is water that comes through the pipes. It's possible the kid has more money than sense, but thank God, because I am too old to actually rough it.

The alarm on my phone dings letting me know it is time for me to hunt my wife. My blood sings in a way that it hasn't in a long time. I haven't been this keyed up since the early days when Bess and I were first around each other, and I was anticipating her walking through the door of the bar. We weren't even dating yet.

Actually, I'm not sure we ever dated we went from fighting to fucking in no time. I think after I abduct my wife and turn her into my sex slave, I might need to ask her on a date. That might sound really backward, but it's not like we're doing things normally anymore. I like that idea, tomorrow morning I'm asking my wife on a date. Not that I think she's going to say no, but a woman likes to be asked.

I'm quiet as I step outside the door of the cabin and try and put myself in the mind of a mountain man. Why would I be walking around at night? It's not like I'm expecting there to be a beautiful woman lost in the woods. Maybe I'm checking my traps? Yes, that makes sense. I would be checking my traps, because if I'm a mountain man I hunt for my food.

I silently walk through the forest, careful not to step on the underbrush so I don't alert the wildlife around me. I don't want to scare away my prey. I imagine that near some of the copse of trees I would have snares set up. I head toward one of the trails that is near the main road, not because I am looking for people in the woods, but because walking on the trail would muffle the sound of my steps.

Then I hear her. The engine sounds like a beast as it comes up the road. I hear it pull off to the side and stop. The door opens and closes and my curiosity is piqued. It's been a long time since I've seen another human being. I've chosen to live in the woods away from my fellow man and live off the land. I will admit, I get lonely sometimes, especially for the company of a woman.

I hear the sound of her breathing, it sounds heavy like she's exerting a lot of energy. It makes me imagine other ways she could expend that much energy. I haven't even seen her yet and still, my cock hardens in my pants. It's been far too long without a woman. I don't want to say any woman would do, but I imagine that she is lovely and would be so grateful for being saved that she would do anything to please me. It makes me hurry my steps to get to her, to save the poor little rabbit. After all, she is about to fall into my snare as well as any prey does.

She does not do as good of a job avoiding the underbrush as I did. Sticks crunch and leaves crackle underneath her footfalls, but I am still silent behind her. Years of practice in these woods have made me practically a part of them. Her eyes have not adapted to the moonlight like mine have. She tries to use the light from her cell phone, but all she can see is a small wedge in front of her, while I can see much more in the silvery light of the moon.

I can see that she is small and slim, with hair down to the middle of her back, that seems to spill from the moon itself. I thought about spending the evening with her taking comfort in each other, letting her be appreciative of the help I would give her in the morning by helping her find her way out of the woods, but now that I've seen her, I don't think I will ever be letting her go. She doesn't know it yet, but she is about to be mine.

My steps, quicken and it isn't until I'm almost upon her that she catches on that she is being hunted. By the time she is aware that I am behind her though, it's too late. She looks back, and I can see her eyes widen with fear. If I were more civilized, I might feel bad that it gives me a thrill, knowing she is scared. But there is no reason for me to feel bad about what others might think. There are no others here. The only person whose opinion matters is mine, because I am the only person I ever see. That is until now.

She starts to run and I let her for a little bit. It's more fun when they run. Makes it more sporting. Let them think they have a chance to get away. I'm almost a foot and a half taller than her so she doesn't have much of a chance to get away and there's the whole fact that I know where I am and she doesn't that really puts us at an unfair advantage. Not that I give a shit.

She trips over root and falls to her hands and knees. I can't have her damaging herself. The game won't be much fun if she can't play. I hurry to her side, lift her up, and throw her over my shoulder. She squirms, kicks, and punches her little fists against my back, but it might as well be butterfly wings for as hard as it feels. I chuckle and swat her ass. “Settle down. You're going to hurt yourself.”

“Put me down you big ape,” she demands.

It's cute that she thinks she gets to tell me what to do. “I have every intention of putting you down as soon as we get in the house. You can keep hitting me if you want, but it's not gonna do a damn bit of good. You hit like an infant.”

“What are you planning on doing with me?” She's panting heavily now, and I don't know if it's from fear or excitement. It might be a mixture of both and I'm fine with that.

I chuckle. She's very amusing. I should've gone out hunting for a woman a long time ago. If I had known they could be so entertaining I would have, but then, it wouldn't have been this woman, so it might not have been the same. “I'm going to do anything I want and you're not gonna be able to stop me, but I also don't think you want to stop me.” I give her an experimental slap on the ass and she squirms not away from me, but towards my hand, proving that she's not as opposed to being under my control as her protests seem to indicate she is.

“You can't keep me, this is kidnapping,” she sputters. Honestly, I think she just feels like she has to protest. I'm not even sure she believes what she saying.

“Don't care, Moonbeam. You don't seem to understand that this is my mountain and I can do whatever the fuck I want. The sooner you come to terms with that the better everything will be for you.”

“My name is not Moonbeam. And, and, you can't just do whatever you want. I have rights.”

“You have whatever I give you. You will do whatever I tell you to do. If I tell you that your name is Moonbeam, your name is Moonbeam. Understand?”

I don't even know where some of this shit is coming from, but deep in my head, the part of me that knows what is real and what is the game, I’m asking myself, “What the actual fuck, Donovan?” I don't have an answer. Because, there is a part of me that is a mountain man, at least right now, and Bess is my Moonbeam. This is going to be a crazy fucking night.

12

Bess

During the drive up here,I kept telling myself, “This is silly. Here I am, a grown woman, playing make-believe. I might as well whip out my Barbies.”

I pulled my car over to the side of the road, got out, and tried to get in the right headspace, but I still felt stupid stomping around in the brush waiting for my husband to hunt me down in the woods. That is until he came up behind me out of nowhere. I was a little nervous then, but in the back of my mind, I still knew it was Donovan. I was safe because it was my husband, but then he threw me over his shoulder and called me Moonbeam.

Donovan has never called me Moonbeam. I’m not even sure it is Donovan anymore. Maybe I have been abducted by a real mountain man. That would be my luck. I convince my husband to play a kinky sex game, and I end up abducted and never seen again. My friends and family will have to go on the evening news and explain how I ended up on the back of a milk carton. Do they still put people’s faces on milk cartons? Do they even have milk cartons?

Not the point. I am about to be the victim of a sex crime. And probably have to live my life feral in the woods. I cannot be feral. I need hair products.

I'm a little scared. No, I’m a lot scared. Donovan is probably somewhere else looking for me, while I am about to become the toy of an actual mountain man. I haven't seen his face, but he doesn't smell like my husband. I wish I could remember what Donovan was wearing when I dropped him off earlier. I think it was a flannel or thermal shirt. I can't remember. I buy his clothes, and I can't remember.

I might've made a ginormous mistake. Maybe we should've had like a GPS tag or a signal we could've used in the woods, like a birdcall. Yeah, we should've had a birdcall.

“What the actual fuck Donovan?” I ask him the second time he calls me Moonbeam. He doesn't respond. Now, I'm really freaking out. If this is Donovan, he would answer to his name, right?

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