Captured Desire

My husband was the predator, and I was his prey. From the very first time he stole a kiss, something electric ignited inside of me. It was something carnal, primal, a primal scream of desire that resonated deep within my female being, and I liked it. We established boundaries during our dating and engagement period, but those flimsy walls didn’t stop us from playing. My heart would flutter, a frantic hummingbird trapped in my chest, and my pussy would drip with anticipation every time he captured me. He would spend what felt like an eternity describing all the naughty things he would do to me after we were married, painting vivid pictures in my mind that left me breathless and begging for more. By the time he’d drop me off at home, I’d be in a heated frenzy, my senses overloaded, clinging to the lingering scent of him and the memory of his touch. So heated, I feared my parents would smell my arousal as I kissed them goodnight and rushed to my room, desperate to lose myself in the intoxicating heat.

Once there, my pants would hit my knees followed by my soaked panties, pooling around my ankles like a dark, glistening invitation. Fingers, calloused and strong, would burrow themselves into my sticky cunt, exploring every curve and crevice with a slow, deliberate rhythm. It didn’t usually take long before I screamed his name into a pillow, a primal release of pent-up lust and longing. I can’t tell you how many times that scene played out until I was finally his, completely and utterly consumed by his dominance.

Our honeymoon and early years were a blur of stolen moments and escalating desires. The boundaries we’d initially set had dwindled to three, and if I was caught, he was his to devour. Our games had slowed somewhat during the kids’ time at home, but now, with them off at college, the tension had returned, amplified by years of unfulfilled needs. It was an exhilarating dance of control and submission, a constant push and pull that kept us both on the edge of our seats. I could feel his power radiating off him, a tangible force that both terrified and thrilled me. The knowledge that he could take me, possess me, made me crave him even more.

Now, with the children grown and gone, the game had taken on a new level of intensity. It felt like a desperate need, a primal hunger that couldn't be satisfied by anything else. I crept through the field of blueberries, hunched low to keep my head out of sight, acutely aware of every rustle of leaves, every chirp of a cricket, every shadow that moved in the periphery. On hyper-alert, I whirled and crouched at every sound, adrenaline coursing through my veins. The scent of ripe berries mingled with the musky aroma of damp earth and something else, something undeniably masculine, sending shivers down my spine. It was exhilarating, this feeling of being hunted, of knowing he was out there, waiting, watching. Creeping ever closer to my goal, a small, dilapidated cabin deep in the woods, I wondered if I would elude my hunter this time.

Cautiously, I stepped towards my final barrier, a crumbling stone wall overgrown with ivy, and tried to control my ragged breath as I crept over the fence. My eyes were wide as I scanned the grounds for any sign of him. Nothing. He was so good at this, so patient, so utterly devoted to the pleasure of the hunt. The moon gave just enough light for me to see my next move, and I knew he was out there, lurking in the shadows, a predator waiting for his prey. The air hung heavy with anticipation, thick with the scent of pine and damp earth. I could feel his presence, a subtle shift in the atmosphere, a tingling on my skin that spoke of his proximity.

Wet pussy or not, I genuinely tried not to get caught. It was bragging rights, a delicious little victory that added to the heat of the next time, a reminder of his power and my vulnerability. But he was good. Really good. So lithe and stealthy, I almost never saw him coming. He reveled in hunting as much as I did in being hunted, a twisted reflection of my own desires. Sometimes he would capture me quickly, a swift, brutal act that left me gasping for air, other times he would almost let me make it home, just teasing me with the promise of freedom before snatching it away at the last moment. Tonight, I was close, tantalizingly close, but the feeling of his presence was growing stronger, more insistent.

My heart beat in my ears, a frantic drum against my ribs, and sweat pooled between my breasts as I peered cautiously around the tree, straining my eyes through the branches. And there he was. Just two dozen yards from safety, the weathered wooden door of the cabin beckoning me forward. Two dozen yards from forcing my predator to go hungry for the night.

I squatted down to settle my nerves and gather my courage, my fingers tracing patterns on the damp earth. Just a quick sprint, I told myself. I can make it. I took one more deep breath, filling my lungs with the cool night air, and made one last scan. Seeing nothing, I leapt forward with a grunt, my muscles tensed, ready to flee. I’m going to make it! I thought! I’m going to make it!

The thoughts urged me on, fueled by desperation and a desperate need to feel his touch, but it wasn’t to be. Just ten short yards from my goal, a strong, chiseled arm wrapped around my waist and lifted my feet from the ground, pulling me back into his grasp. Before I could fully process what was happening, I was on my back with my arms pinned over my head, my legs dangling helplessly in the air. Breathless and too startled to speak, I stared up at him, my eyes wide with terror and anticipation. His piercing eyes, filled with a dark, possessive glee, and his bright smile were that of a victor. My hopes were dashed, shattered against the cold reality of my situation. I turned my head to look at my goal, the cabin, now just a distant glimmer in the darkness. In a mock fight, I wrestled free and tried to crawl quickly to safety, but his grip was too strong. His laughter flooded the night, a triumphant roar that echoed through the trees, and once again I was in the air, being carried away by my relentless hunter.

He placed me on my hands and knees, pulled rope from somewhere hidden in the undergrowth, and tied my wrists to a tree, securing me in place. It was done. I dropped my head and resigned myself to my fate, accepting my humiliation with a bitter resignation. Once more I had lost, and he was about to claim his prize.

I heard the snap of a blade, the unmistakable sound of steel against flesh, and my pussy clenched involuntarily, a mixture of fear and arousal. Piece by piece he cut and tore the clothes from my body, piling them each in turn so that I could see his spoils, a perverse display of dominance. I felt him kneel behind me, then his rough hands squeezed my cheeks, bruising my skin, before he landed a dozen smacks across each one. My treacherous pussy betrayed my arousal, and I heard him inhale deeply and growl, savoring my reaction.

He ran both hands up my back and grabbed my shoulders, pressing his hardness against me with brutal force. I whimpered and whined with mock pleadings, feigning submission, but he ignored me, relishing in my distress. He was enjoying this, savoring every moment of my agony, feeding on my fear. I felt his nails drag down my naked skin, leaving a trail of stinging welts, and I knew what was coming.

I felt him shift again, his hands spreading my cheeks, holding them firmly in place as he leaned in close. His warm breath tickled my lips, and my eyes rolled back when I felt his tongue, exploring every inch of my arousal with a slow, deliberate rhythm. My predator was about to feed, and I knew, with a chilling certainty, that there would be no escape. The scent of pine and damp earth mingled with the intoxicating aroma of my own arousal, creating a heady, intoxicating mix that filled my senses. I closed my eyes, surrendering to the inevitable, embracing the pleasure and pain of being his captive, his possession, his prey. It was a terrifying, exhilarating dance, a descent into the depths of desire and submission, and I knew, deep down, that this was just the beginning.

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