(X-rated) March 29 2023, Laughing Heart Hostel to Spring Mountain Shelter:
I went to a convenient store in town and asked the worker if he had any rope available since the hardware store was closed. He asked what it was for. I blushed and said it was for personal usage. Right at that moment, Voodoo barged in through the doors, walked directly to me, kissed me on the lips and told the worker he wanted to buy 20 feet of rope.
I whispered, “25.”
“Alright, 25,” he corrected.
We went to the coffee shop—I bought a blueberry muffin while Voodoo got himself a six shot espresso. We talked to some former thru-hikers and lounged around before the upcoming climb out of Hot Springs. Voodoo told the hikers he had been taking a lot of zeroes because he was crushing on me and I was distracting him from pushing on. I blushed when he stood up and leaned forward to kiss me.
He went outside to smoke a cigarette. He watched me watching him through the window. His eyes seductive as he slowly placed the cigarette between his lips—might as well have been my pussy. The way he held the cigarette between his fingers so nonchalantly… the way he released the smoke from his lips as he looked at me with those sultry eyes of his—well aware of how much it turned me on. Every time he had a cigarette break, I had to stop myself from pouncing on him right then and there.
We felt inspired to get going so we could catch that trail magic. We walked across the bridge and alongside the raging river. Voodoo played 70s hits music the whole climb up and we would dance to the beat of the songs, talking about how that was the “real music” back in the day.
He would grab hold of the trees for balance as he walked by and I would watch the way his hand wrapped around the bark, unaffected by its roughness as it slipped through his fingers. His veins popped out as his body swelled from the heat. Unaware of the power he held, my pussy throbbed for him.
We ran into the trail magic, hosted by Monarch and her husband. We got offered cinnamon rolls, candy, chips and soda. For a main entrée, they made us cheeseburgers and hot dogs. We each had a minimum of three rounds!
Continuing our way up the climb, Voodoo and I took a side venture to Rich Mountain Camp to take a breather. We sat on the bench and Voodoo pulled out the green rope. I asked, “Do you want to tie my wrists up?” He revealed his answer through a smirk.
He took my hands and placed my wrists together in front of his bulge. We were right beside the trail—both of us getting off as a few people walked by and snuck a glance. Tying me up tight, he told me I had to be a good girl and let him know if I was losing circulation at any point. Within a minute, I told him my arms were going numb. He released me.
I smiled and asked him in an angelic voice, “Baby, can I please taste your lips?”
He goes, “Oh, you think you’re cute? You think you can just get anything you want? You think you can sweet talk me with that innocent little voice of yours? I don’t think so. Now, put your hands behind your back.”
I smiled mischievously and ignored his command.
He choked me, “Put your hands behind your back.”
I continued to misbehave, tempted to see how far I could push him.
He grew stern, “Did you not hear me? I said… Put. Your. Fucking. Hands. Behind. Your. Back.”
I could tell by the way he looked at me that I was about to get it, so I reluctantly submitted. I clasped my hands behind my back as he said, “You better quit acting up with me. You’re making me really fucking mad.”
His movements grew hostile as he brought the rope underneath my armpits and behind my back. He tied it tight around my torso while he secured my forearms and wrists together behind me. I told him my arms were going numb and in a disregarding tone he said, “Huh. Good to know.” He grabbed the loop between my wrists, jerking my body towards his and said, “I can throw you around whichever way I want and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
I tried pulling my wrists out from the constraint, squirming in fear, but he was right—there was nothing I could do. He walked around the bench to make sure I wasn’t lying to my Master, double checking every knot and any possible vantage point I had to escape.
When he saw I was truly unable to move, he sat down on the bench—face to face with me. With sociopathic eyes he informed, “There’s no where you can run.” He pointed behind me, “I’m going to take you behind that tree over there and do what I want with you. You’re gonna die. No one’s going to find you.” He gave me a hard slap across my cheek to whip the smile off my face, but still, I was unable to hide my rising arousal.
He stood up, whipped out his cock and stuck it down my throat—only a tease for what was to come. He grabbed the burned end of the rope and whipped my outer thigh with its edge, stinging me sharply. My eyes grew with irritation.
He made me bend over as he slapped my ass and outer thighs over and over again, each slap more severe than the last. My skin beet red—with teary eyes, I whimpered and pleaded for him to stop. Without speaking a word, he would kiss and caress the areas in which he inflicted pain, and I became more and more entranced by him.
He released me from his trap and we continued on with our trek, now wet with cum. We made it to Spring Mountain Shelter, Voodoo danced on the picnic table to psychedelic trance music while simultaneously smoking a cigarette. His childlike freedom of expression warmed my heart. I watched with gratitude for all the ways he brought so much light into my experience.
We made dinner and this was the moment I realized I could no longer eat Mountain House meals as I just started gagging from the taste. Their mac and cheese felt like I was eating mushy/grainy chowder, so I ate a variety of snacks, instead.
Voodoo and I were getting ready to lay our things in the shelter when approximately 10 people walked by and warned us not to sleep in the shelter because there was a giant hornet’s nest. We saw one hornet for a few seconds the entire time we were there, so we trusted our own judgement that it would be fine.
We laid beside each other and the same need arose in Voodoo—he said he wanted to get to know me at a deeper level… to talk about “real” stuff. So, I asked him about his upbringing.
He came from a troubled background which I already knew just by the way he presented himself. He told me of his addiction to drugs and alcohol, sharing various stories of all the different times he went to jail. He was constantly on the watch by authority—numerous warrants after him.
I said, “Wow. You were really crazy back then.”
“Nope,” he corrected, “I just didn’t care about myself.”
He felt his family didn’t really want him and that they perceived him as a “fuck up.” But even so, I could sense he didn’t feel victimized about his situation, he just accepted it as part of his perception.
After he shared all of this, he asked me about my own childhood and it felt as if I experienced a wake-up call. I recognized that I had a great childhood. I grew up in a family that showed me they loved me the best way they knew how. I had toys, a playground, food and a cozy shelter. How innocent and silly of me it was to have complained so much when I was a teenager when I had a family that so desperately loved me. When I put things in perspective, it made me realize how good I really had it.
Voodoo went on, “I didn’t know how bad I had it because I had nothing to compare it to.”
I told him how much I loved his story and how attractive it was that he was no longer interested in using drugs or alcohol as a crutch for his apparent feelings.
“It’s hard to relate to people,” he said, “because I feel like a lot of people don’t understand what I went through and the hardships I experienced. But, I don’t judge anyone. I know that pain is relative to what they went through and what they experienced.”
I went to a convenient store in town and asked the worker if he had any rope available since the hardware store was closed. He asked what it was for. I blushed and said it was for personal usage. Right at that moment, Voodoo barged in through the doors, walked directly to me, kissed me on the lips and told the worker he wanted to buy 20 feet of rope.
I whispered, “25.”
“Alright, 25,” he corrected.
We went to the coffee shop—I bought a blueberry muffin while Voodoo got himself a six shot espresso. We talked to some former thru-hikers and lounged around before the upcoming climb out of Hot Springs. Voodoo told the hikers he had been taking a lot of zeroes because he was crushing on me and I was distracting him from pushing on. I blushed when he stood up and leaned forward to kiss me.
He went outside to smoke a cigarette. He watched me watching him through the window. His eyes seductive as he slowly placed the cigarette between his lips—might as well have been my pussy. The way he held the cigarette between his fingers so nonchalantly… the way he released the smoke from his lips as he looked at me with those sultry eyes of his—well aware of how much it turned me on. Every time he had a cigarette break, I had to stop myself from pouncing on him right then and there.
We felt inspired to get going so we could catch that trail magic. We walked across the bridge and alongside the raging river. Voodoo played 70s hits music the whole climb up and we would dance to the beat of the songs, talking about how that was the “real music” back in the day.
He would grab hold of the trees for balance as he walked by and I would watch the way his hand wrapped around the bark, unaffected by its roughness as it slipped through his fingers. His veins popped out as his body swelled from the heat. Unaware of the power he held, my pussy throbbed for him.
We ran into the trail magic, hosted by Monarch and her husband. We got offered cinnamon rolls, candy, chips and soda. For a main entrée, they made us cheeseburgers and hot dogs. We each had a minimum of three rounds!
Continuing our way up the climb, Voodoo and I took a side venture to Rich Mountain Camp to take a breather. We sat on the bench and Voodoo pulled out the green rope. I asked, “Do you want to tie my wrists up?” He revealed his answer through a smirk.
He took my hands and placed my wrists together in front of his bulge. We were right beside the trail—both of us getting off as a few people walked by and snuck a glance. Tying me up tight, he told me I had to be a good girl and let him know if I was losing circulation at any point. Within a minute, I told him my arms were going numb. He released me.
I smiled and asked him in an angelic voice, “Baby, can I please taste your lips?”
He goes, “Oh, you think you’re cute? You think you can just get anything you want? You think you can sweet talk me with that innocent little voice of yours? I don’t think so. Now, put your hands behind your back.”
I smiled mischievously and ignored his command.
He choked me, “Put your hands behind your back.”
I continued to misbehave, tempted to see how far I could push him.
He grew stern, “Did you not hear me? I said… Put. Your. Fucking. Hands. Behind. Your. Back.”
I could tell by the way he looked at me that I was about to get it, so I reluctantly submitted. I clasped my hands behind my back as he said, “You better quit acting up with me. You’re making me really fucking mad.”
His movements grew hostile as he brought the rope underneath my armpits and behind my back. He tied it tight around my torso while he secured my forearms and wrists together behind me. I told him my arms were going numb and in a disregarding tone he said, “Huh. Good to know.” He grabbed the loop between my wrists, jerking my body towards his and said, “I can throw you around whichever way I want and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
I tried pulling my wrists out from the constraint, squirming in fear, but he was right—there was nothing I could do. He walked around the bench to make sure I wasn’t lying to my Master, double checking every knot and any possible vantage point I had to escape.
When he saw I was truly unable to move, he sat down on the bench—face to face with me. With sociopathic eyes he informed, “There’s no where you can run.” He pointed behind me, “I’m going to take you behind that tree over there and do what I want with you. You’re gonna die. No one’s going to find you.” He gave me a hard slap across my cheek to whip the smile off my face, but still, I was unable to hide my rising arousal.
He stood up, whipped out his cock and stuck it down my throat—only a tease for what was to come. He grabbed the burned end of the rope and whipped my outer thigh with its edge, stinging me sharply. My eyes grew with irritation.
He made me bend over as he slapped my ass and outer thighs over and over again, each slap more severe than the last. My skin beet red—with teary eyes, I whimpered and pleaded for him to stop. Without speaking a word, he would kiss and caress the areas in which he inflicted pain, and I became more and more entranced by him.
He released me from his trap and we continued on with our trek, now wet with cum. We made it to Spring Mountain Shelter, Voodoo danced on the picnic table to psychedelic trance music while simultaneously smoking a cigarette. His childlike freedom of expression warmed my heart. I watched with gratitude for all the ways he brought so much light into my experience.
We made dinner and this was the moment I realized I could no longer eat Mountain House meals as I just started gagging from the taste. Their mac and cheese felt like I was eating mushy/grainy chowder, so I ate a variety of snacks, instead.
Voodoo and I were getting ready to lay our things in the shelter when approximately 10 people walked by and warned us not to sleep in the shelter because there was a giant hornet’s nest. We saw one hornet for a few seconds the entire time we were there, so we trusted our own judgement that it would be fine.
We laid beside each other and the same need arose in Voodoo—he said he wanted to get to know me at a deeper level… to talk about “real” stuff. So, I asked him about his upbringing.
He came from a troubled background which I already knew just by the way he presented himself. He told me of his addiction to drugs and alcohol, sharing various stories of all the different times he went to jail. He was constantly on the watch by authority—numerous warrants after him.
I said, “Wow. You were really crazy back then.”
“Nope,” he corrected, “I just didn’t care about myself.”
He felt his family didn’t really want him and that they perceived him as a “fuck up.” But even so, I could sense he didn’t feel victimized about his situation, he just accepted it as part of his perception.
After he shared all of this, he asked me about my own childhood and it felt as if I experienced a wake-up call. I recognized that I had a great childhood. I grew up in a family that showed me they loved me the best way they knew how. I had toys, a playground, food and a cozy shelter. How innocent and silly of me it was to have complained so much when I was a teenager when I had a family that so desperately loved me. When I put things in perspective, it made me realize how good I really had it.
Voodoo went on, “I didn’t know how bad I had it because I had nothing to compare it to.”
I told him how much I loved his story and how attractive it was that he was no longer interested in using drugs or alcohol as a crutch for his apparent feelings.
“It’s hard to relate to people,” he said, “because I feel like a lot of people don’t understand what I went through and the hardships I experienced. But, I don’t judge anyone. I know that pain is relative to what they went through and what they experienced.”
