The Hunter's Pet (13 page)

“What’s the problem, hmm? Is your cycle approaching?”

She lifted her lip and snarled at him. “My cycle has nothing to do with this… boring life you have us living.”

“Oh, you’re bored, are you? Maybe I can un-bore you.” He stood up and moved toward her, rubbing his palms together.

It worked. She was distinctly less bored. Diving away from him, she made for the shelter of the trees, which were only standing because his plan to clear a space in which to start a tedious garden was yet to eventuate. Clambering up into their leafy heights, she smirked down at her bulkier partner.

He returned her look, unimpressed, sunlight falling on the tanned, scarred lines of his face to handsome effect. “You know I can climb too, right?”

“I’ve never seen any sign of that.”

She regretted her words almost immediately as William grasped one of the lower branches and hauled himself up into the tree with nearly the same nimbleness she had displayed.

“Ever been spanked in a tree before?”

“No,” she squeaked.

“Well it’s about to happen.” He ascended the branches smoothly, catching her by the lower leg. She tried to shake him off, but as usual he was stronger. He drew her back down to the lower branches and compelled her to lie across one lengthways so the thickness of the wood supported her upper body while her legs splayed around the branch, leaving her bottom completely vulnerable to the fast, hard slapping of his hand.

“Still bored?” He asked the question as his hand came sweeping down, catching just under the rise of her cheek.

“Not as bored,” she said cheekily, earning herself another hard swat to the other cheek. Most of her attention was on keeping a grip on the branch, which meant that she couldn’t squirm or dance or avoid the slaps. They rained down with impunity, her bottom growing redder than the berries on the nearby bushes.

“Oh, not 
as 
bored?” He slapped her bottom again, then yanked her pants down. It was a difficult feat to achieve in that arboreal space, but he managed to bare her bottom, and her pussy and the tight little hole between her cheeks besides. It was there she felt his fingers tickling her anal bud.

“No!” She giggled and squirmed as he once again started spanking her bottom with swats that made the whole tree shake.

“You are so naughty,” he chided, swatting her over and over until her bottom was so hot they could have used it as a campfire. “No matter how much I spank you, you still come back just as mouthy as ever. Why is that, you think?”

“I think it’s because I like it,” Sarah said gleefully. She was enjoying herself much more being spanked than she had being grumpy. A sore bottom was worth a better mood.

“Oh, you like it?” William chuckled. “Never really picked up on the diplomatic lie, did you?”

“No, and now I never will, now that we’re both wild.”

“Wild, huh?” He swatted her bottom once last time. “Get your red little butt back down on the ground before I show you wild.”

Sarah obeyed reluctantly. The fun, it seemed, was over, although watching William clamber out of the tree did provide no small amount of amusement as she pulled up her leggings. He caught her grin and shook his head, rubbing his palms together. “Something amusing you, brat?”

“You,” she said honestly, putting herself right back in trouble.

“Good,” he said. “Go be amused while you finish your weaving or I’ll fill that bottom of yours.”

“With supplies?” She was being arch and silly, but she couldn’t help it. She was excited and a little spanking wasn’t going to settle her down. She needed more. What she hadn’t bargained on was William producing a slim plastic plug from his pocket.

“Where did you get that?” She covered her bottom and backed away.

“I always carried it with me,” he said. “Just in case my pet needed a tune-up while we were out.”

“Okay,” she said, sitting down. “I’ll weave.”

“You’ll weave with a full bottom,” he said, sitting down on a log. “Come here, brat.”

Sarah really wished there was some alternative to obeying his orders, but there wasn’t. Her feet carried her into his range, and then he grabbed her, pulled her over his thighs, hauled down her leggings once more and spread her cheeks with his powerful hands.

“You’re lucky I also brought lubrication,” he said, dripping a few dots of the oily substance right onto her poor exposed bottom hole.

Sarah whimpered as he pressed the plug in slowly, seating it neatly in her backside. Once filled, there was no point in acting up. He had proved his dominance once more. And, it seemed, he intended on spanking her again to prove his point.

With her bottom full and her cheeks absorbing the hard swats of a man who did not approve of slacking or devious misbehavior, Sarah contemplated the ground in between plaintive wails. Spankings hurt more out of trees than in them, and spankings on already spanked bottoms hurt more than spankings on fresh bottoms, and spankings on already spanked, well-plugged bottoms were about the worst.

Her legs began to kick in involuntary protest at the treatment, and her hips wriggled back and forth but all any of that achieved was the increase of the strange sensation of having a full bottom. She was on the verge of tears when he finally stopped and palmed her blister-hot cheeks.

“I’ve taken your pussy and I’ve filled your bottom and I’ve spanked you,” he said grimly. “Now are you going to be a good little pet, or do I need to go cut that switch I promised?”

“I will be good,” she promised, a tear falling.

He gave her one last swat and pulled her up, looking into her face with a serious expression. “It’s more important now than it ever has been that you do as you’re told, understand me?”

Sarah nodded, sniffing her tears back. With a soft sigh, William drew her against him in a hug. “I know this is harder than you’re used to,” he said, rubbing her sore bottom. “And I know you’re used to doing things your way out here, but your way got you a good case of fever and your way got you caught. So we’re going to do things my way, understand?”

She murmured her assent into his neck as he held her close and comforted her for a few more minutes before sending her back to the labors she had so foolishly tried to avoid.

Chapter Seven

Life became mundane very quickly. It was strange how even the greatest upheavals soon gave way to the inexorable forces of normality. The cabin had been built in record time; it was but one room, but it was a cozy shelter and there was a place to sleep next to the fire, and even a table to work on. Sarah had to admit that it was much more comfortable than a cave would have been. Shuttered windows meant they could control the flow of light and air, and mud-daubed walls kept the elements out. It was simple, but it was home.

Outside, their freshly planted garden was starting to come in, little shoots poking their heads above the soil that William tended morning and evening. The hunter had become the farmer, and a very content one at that. Sarah noticed that he looked at the humble cabin with far more pride than he had ever regarded his palatial home in the old city.

There was no doubting that William was a survivor. He had even begun to make his own paper out of mashed plant fibers pressed thin then dried in sheets in the sun. Ink was made from various flowers and his quill was the feather of a bird.

This also meant that lessons had resumed, but Sarah did not mind them so much anymore. She saw that William’s strange fondness for the art of writing and reading was not some technological trick, but an archaic discipline with some actual value. He had put it to good use by labeling clay pots containing seeds with their contents, so that they would not be confused for other, similar looking clay pots. He was a one-man force for civilization. In all the years Sarah had lived alone, she had never done much more than tie her food up in trees and make beds in the boughs. She had lived without complication of any kind. William was complication, but it was a good kind of complication.

“I’m going to see if I can catch a rabbit or two,” he said, his beard prickling her cheek as he kissed her. “You hold the fort.”

They had started using all sorts of archaic expressions like that, many of them seemed to fit their situation, though admittedly there was little in the way of defenses around the cabin. Fire kept most of the beasts away.

Sarah waved goodbye to him and returned to her task of bundling roots to be dried. The sun was shining through the open door of the cabin and life was good. It seemed that William did have some natural resistance to the radiation, for he was showing no signs of illness. If anything, he was more vital than ever. He hunted daily, covering many miles. Usually she went with him, but with colder weather approaching, the decision had been made to put together food stores.

She was humming to herself and binding flaxen rope around root ends when she heard footsteps. “Did you forget something?” She asked the question without looking; flax rope could be difficult to wind, if you didn’t hold your fingers just right…

“Woman!”

Rough, guttural words made her drop the roots and turn. It was not William standing outside the cabin. It was a group of wild men. Their leader, presumably the one who had barked the word at her, was at the head of the group. He was filthy. His hair hung in dreads and his clothing was almost non-existent. His sinewy body was covered in paint and scars, great yellow rounds painted from belly to nipples. He wore animal skins roughly stitched together, holes gaping at the seams. His feet were unshod as hers had once been, his thick horny toenails long and yellowed, much like his body markings except they did not need paint to obtain their hue.

“Woman, where is your mate?”

Beady feral eyes fastened not on her face, but on her breasts. She was being sized up as a potential captive. Wildling tribes were not known for their kindness to women. Women did all the work in addition to bearing the young. Sarah had always given wildlings a wide berth, but apparently there were some in the region she and William had decided to make their home.

“My mate hunts,” she said. “You should leave. These are his lands. He will not be pleased to find you here.”

“Where are your young?”

“We have none.”

“If you have no young, you have no mate.” The wildling beckoned her with a jerky impatient movement of his arm. “Come with us.”

“I will not be coming with you,” Sarah said, holding her ground. She had the doorway, but that was all. The hatchets and knives William had fashioned were out of her reach and the wildlings were well armed, though their weapons were inferior bone items. However, she knew very well that it was not the weapon that mattered, but the wielder and what the wielder was prepared to do with it. Judging by the look of the little hunting party, they were prepared to do whatever was necessary. Their eyes were hungry, appreciative on a level that made her feel like prey. She was prepared to fight to the death if necessary. She would not allow herself to be taken by a pack of savages.

“Leave,” she growled between clenched teeth. “Or I will make you.”

There were no more words after that point. The wild men charged toward the cabin. She managed to slam the door in their faces, but they pounded upon it and drove it backwards against its rudimentary hinges.

She grabbed for a piece of parchment and scratched on it with a quill, which mercifully still contained a few traces of wet ink.

WOLDRING

She wrote frantically, drawing the letters of the word out of her memory as best she could with the feral men bashing at the door. They had surrounded the cabin and were slamming their fists and weapons against the walls, not quite understanding the concept of doors.

The latch was giving way as she grabbed one of William’s works in progress, a sharp rock knife. The door burst open, fell off its hinges, and was trampled by the careless feet of a half dozen wild men. They rushed her with rough hands, earning themselves cuts from her knife. She was fierce, but one knife was not enough to repel them all. Inevitably, the knife was struck from her hand and she was bound like a pig, hands together, feet together.

She shouted her rage, but nobody cared. Wild men did not concern themselves with the feelings of those they hunted, animal or human. They hauled her out of the cabin between two men, laughing and comparing wounds. Far from dissuading them with her vicious defense, she had done nothing but given them something to be proud of. Her struggles were furious, but although her bonds were primitive, they were just as effective as any restraints forged in the city.

Strange how she had been put in crates, trained like a pet, and still it was less dehumanizing than the treatment these wildlings were bestowing upon her. Not one of them had made any form of connection with her, not one of them had checked if her bonds were too tight or if she could breathe comfortably. They were treating her with no more care than a sack of meat, less care really, because a sack of meat would have required more care lest it spill its load.

“William!” She cried his name at the top of her lungs. “William!”

There was no reply from the silent forest.

* * *

William knew something was wrong long before he entered the clearing. The forest was too quiet, and the closer he got to the cabin, the quieter it got. When he stepped through the trees, he saw that the earth had been disturbed around the cabin and the door was missing. Restraining the urge to run toward the house, he first made sure that there was nobody still around. An attack had clearly taken place. Sarah was nowhere to be seen, but she could have been hiding nearby.

Further investigation revealed that the house had barely been touched aside from the door being broken down. His heart sank when he saw the note. It wasn’t difficult to put the pieces together. She had been taken. The results of the struggle were obvious, including blood congealing in big hand prints on the walls.

Cursing under his breath, William looked to where the trail of heavy footprints led into the forest. Their trail was so obvious they may as well have paved a road. Grabbing a few more supplies, he followed it into the gathering dusk.