(X-rated) April 10 2021, TN 91 to Boots Off Hostel & Campground:
Last night, I asked Pringles if she could save me an apple fritter since I had been experiencing huge cravings for them. She told me it was in the fridge waiting for me. On the box it was labeled, “This belongs to Freyja,” with several arrows pointing to the fritter. Next level of love.
Voodoo and I decided to slackpack 21 miles from TN 91 back to the hostel. It was our first time slackpacking and I could see why people took advantage of it. It felt as though we were flying through the trail, free of weight.
The last mile, Voodoo found a tucked away spot beside the lake. He wanted to go swimming, whereas I didn’t feel called in the slightest to join. In fact, I wasn’t much a fan of water and, at the time, pizza was on my mind. So, I continued on without him.
When I made it back to the hostel, first thing I did was go into the kitchen and cook a pizza to subside the perception of hunger. Voodoo showed up shortly after. I wrapped my arms around his neck, excited to see him.
I kissed his juicy lips and whispered in his ear, “You’re so sexy to me, you know that?”
Right at that moment, Pusher walked onto the property, covered in sweat—looking like he, himself, just finished a slackpack section. I quickly felt some tension arise, knowing that he just saw me making out with Voodoo. I had stayed in contact with Pusher the whole time I had been seeing Voodoo, so I felt as though I got caught.
Pusher didn’t seem as though he wanted to approach me, so I made the first move. He gave me a quick hello, grabbed himself a pop, then went to lay down on the deck to catch his breath. I followed and made myself comfortable next to him.
He sat up and asked, “When we first met, what did you first see when you looked into my eyes?”
Attraction, I thought.
“Pain,” he responded.
He asked if I ever experienced pain in my life. I mean, the whole perception of the world was based off of pain, so it was inevitable that I perceived an experience of it.
He heard through the grapevine that I had a new boy toy. I asked if he was upset with me and he said he probably would have been in his twenties, but he ceased to care now that he was nearly 40.
Despite all that, he couldn’t understand why I wanted to be with someone so immature, insinuating that a guy like Voodoo could never stimulate my mind. He felt he was way too young for me mentally, which I completely agreed on. It was nothing personal, it was just that certain things came with experience.
He asked, “Have you ever been with someone fully dominant?” His hazel eyes reached the depths of mine as he continued, “Have you ever been fully submissive with a man?”
“I mean, yes. Well, maybe 90% submissive,” I responded with an air of doubt.
In silence, he let my thoughts linger, then began to give me a list of all the ways he wanted to pleasure me.
“There’s so many things I’m going to do to you when you’re in proper submission,” he mused, “when you’re fully gagged and blindfolded. On your knees, with your arms tied behind your back and then to your ankles.”
I started panting through the patterns of my breath, feeling like he was making love with me through the poetry of his words.
My mouth watered as he continued to paint the picture, “In the middle of the woods at 2am, only being able to smell me and feel my touch as you wonder if I’ve left you there… or if I’m right beside you. I’ll run the tip of my cock across your lips so you can taste my seed as a reward for not calling out in fear… for trusting that I wouldn’t leave you there all alone. And then, seeing the smile spread across your face as you greedily tongue the tip of my cock.”
He locked eyes with me and asked, “You wet yet?”
All the while he was talking to me, Voodoo was less than 20 feet away. I knew they both didn’t like each other. He gave me insight that he was on the verge of physically fighting him, but the only thing that stopped him from doing so was me. Definitely wouldn’t have been the first fight that I apparently caused. I wasn’t a woman worth fighting for, though. In the end, I would still choose myself.
Voodoo approached me and leaned over to give me several kisses, establishing his dominance over me. Pusher let out an annoyed sigh, rolled his eyes and looked away. I became flushed as the tension grew, yet simultaneously, I couldn’t help but enjoy the uncomfortableness of it all. I fantasized about playing with my pussy right then and there as they fought over who could taste me first.
When Voodoo walked away, Pusher asked me when I would stop running so that he could take care of me. I simply wasn’t ready to make the sacrifice of changing up my lifestyle.
Later at night when I started walking back to my room, I felt so tempted to visit Pusher instead. I paused and stared at his door as I envisioned myself walking in, but in the end, I chose Voodoo.
I felt such a deep sadness as I laid in bed tonight. I felt like my needs weren’t being met. I felt there was not much receptivity of my apparent emotions. I didn’t want to think about anything anymore, so I let Voodoo have his way with me. He wrapped his fingers tightly around my neck and looked at me with the same look of all my past rapists.
Looking past my tears, he deepened his voice and hissed, “You’re a fucking cunt.”
He pinned my legs down and backhand slapped me hard in the face. I could feel the warmth and thickness of his rod enter me and slowly, I felt a twinge of warmth fill my soul.
He tried to puncture me with his words as he said, “You’re a filthy whore.”
But the words were untouchable to me when I was already in pain.
I played along as I said, “I’m so sorry, baby.”
A smirk revealed my dishonesty.
“No you’re not. You’re not sorry at all,” he said.
I told him how I wanted to be tied up in ropes and he scolded, “You ever think about shutting the fuck up? You ever think that maybe I don’t care about what you want, that I just want to do what I want?” He filled me up to the edge of my walls and snarled, “I don’t fucking care about you. Fuck. You.”
He turned me around on my stomach and slapped my ass twice—so hard I felt tears welling up in the corners of my eyes. He lifted his hand to go in for a third time, but I quickly turned around to avoid it.
He came close to my face and said, “Did I say you could turn back around? Now lay back down how you were. You gotta be a good girl for me.”
I hesitatingly laid back down.
He continued, “I’m not done with you just yet. That was only the start.”
I whimpered in pain and he growled, “Shut the fuck up.”
The rest was a blur. I felt disassociated from the experience—I think Voodoo picked up on that, himself. I felt like I was ready to receive more and my soul had known that the entire time, but it took a while for it to sink in. He laid down beside me and asked me when I would stop running so that he could love up on me.
Hm, there’s a pattern here, I thought. I’ve been told from numerous men over the years that I run a lot, or that I should stop running or to let them to run with me. I never viewed it as “running away”, but more so “following the guidance”.
He gazed into the outskirts of my soul; I could feel the desperation he felt to understand my mind.
He asked, “Can you open up to me?”
I sat there in a deafening silence as a response. I didn’t feel safe to reveal my heart. The resistance was there for a reason. I knew he wouldn’t be able to handle my emotional waves and so I did what I did best—prayed to God.
Last night, I asked Pringles if she could save me an apple fritter since I had been experiencing huge cravings for them. She told me it was in the fridge waiting for me. On the box it was labeled, “This belongs to Freyja,” with several arrows pointing to the fritter. Next level of love.
Voodoo and I decided to slackpack 21 miles from TN 91 back to the hostel. It was our first time slackpacking and I could see why people took advantage of it. It felt as though we were flying through the trail, free of weight.
The last mile, Voodoo found a tucked away spot beside the lake. He wanted to go swimming, whereas I didn’t feel called in the slightest to join. In fact, I wasn’t much a fan of water and, at the time, pizza was on my mind. So, I continued on without him.
When I made it back to the hostel, first thing I did was go into the kitchen and cook a pizza to subside the perception of hunger. Voodoo showed up shortly after. I wrapped my arms around his neck, excited to see him.
I kissed his juicy lips and whispered in his ear, “You’re so sexy to me, you know that?”
Right at that moment, Pusher walked onto the property, covered in sweat—looking like he, himself, just finished a slackpack section. I quickly felt some tension arise, knowing that he just saw me making out with Voodoo. I had stayed in contact with Pusher the whole time I had been seeing Voodoo, so I felt as though I got caught.
Pusher didn’t seem as though he wanted to approach me, so I made the first move. He gave me a quick hello, grabbed himself a pop, then went to lay down on the deck to catch his breath. I followed and made myself comfortable next to him.
He sat up and asked, “When we first met, what did you first see when you looked into my eyes?”
Attraction, I thought.
“Pain,” he responded.
He asked if I ever experienced pain in my life. I mean, the whole perception of the world was based off of pain, so it was inevitable that I perceived an experience of it.
He heard through the grapevine that I had a new boy toy. I asked if he was upset with me and he said he probably would have been in his twenties, but he ceased to care now that he was nearly 40.
Despite all that, he couldn’t understand why I wanted to be with someone so immature, insinuating that a guy like Voodoo could never stimulate my mind. He felt he was way too young for me mentally, which I completely agreed on. It was nothing personal, it was just that certain things came with experience.
He asked, “Have you ever been with someone fully dominant?” His hazel eyes reached the depths of mine as he continued, “Have you ever been fully submissive with a man?”
“I mean, yes. Well, maybe 90% submissive,” I responded with an air of doubt.
In silence, he let my thoughts linger, then began to give me a list of all the ways he wanted to pleasure me.
“There’s so many things I’m going to do to you when you’re in proper submission,” he mused, “when you’re fully gagged and blindfolded. On your knees, with your arms tied behind your back and then to your ankles.”
I started panting through the patterns of my breath, feeling like he was making love with me through the poetry of his words.
My mouth watered as he continued to paint the picture, “In the middle of the woods at 2am, only being able to smell me and feel my touch as you wonder if I’ve left you there… or if I’m right beside you. I’ll run the tip of my cock across your lips so you can taste my seed as a reward for not calling out in fear… for trusting that I wouldn’t leave you there all alone. And then, seeing the smile spread across your face as you greedily tongue the tip of my cock.”
He locked eyes with me and asked, “You wet yet?”
All the while he was talking to me, Voodoo was less than 20 feet away. I knew they both didn’t like each other. He gave me insight that he was on the verge of physically fighting him, but the only thing that stopped him from doing so was me. Definitely wouldn’t have been the first fight that I apparently caused. I wasn’t a woman worth fighting for, though. In the end, I would still choose myself.
Voodoo approached me and leaned over to give me several kisses, establishing his dominance over me. Pusher let out an annoyed sigh, rolled his eyes and looked away. I became flushed as the tension grew, yet simultaneously, I couldn’t help but enjoy the uncomfortableness of it all. I fantasized about playing with my pussy right then and there as they fought over who could taste me first.
When Voodoo walked away, Pusher asked me when I would stop running so that he could take care of me. I simply wasn’t ready to make the sacrifice of changing up my lifestyle.
Later at night when I started walking back to my room, I felt so tempted to visit Pusher instead. I paused and stared at his door as I envisioned myself walking in, but in the end, I chose Voodoo.
I felt such a deep sadness as I laid in bed tonight. I felt like my needs weren’t being met. I felt there was not much receptivity of my apparent emotions. I didn’t want to think about anything anymore, so I let Voodoo have his way with me. He wrapped his fingers tightly around my neck and looked at me with the same look of all my past rapists.
Looking past my tears, he deepened his voice and hissed, “You’re a fucking cunt.”
He pinned my legs down and backhand slapped me hard in the face. I could feel the warmth and thickness of his rod enter me and slowly, I felt a twinge of warmth fill my soul.
He tried to puncture me with his words as he said, “You’re a filthy whore.”
But the words were untouchable to me when I was already in pain.
I played along as I said, “I’m so sorry, baby.”
A smirk revealed my dishonesty.
“No you’re not. You’re not sorry at all,” he said.
I told him how I wanted to be tied up in ropes and he scolded, “You ever think about shutting the fuck up? You ever think that maybe I don’t care about what you want, that I just want to do what I want?” He filled me up to the edge of my walls and snarled, “I don’t fucking care about you. Fuck. You.”
He turned me around on my stomach and slapped my ass twice—so hard I felt tears welling up in the corners of my eyes. He lifted his hand to go in for a third time, but I quickly turned around to avoid it.
He came close to my face and said, “Did I say you could turn back around? Now lay back down how you were. You gotta be a good girl for me.”
I hesitatingly laid back down.
He continued, “I’m not done with you just yet. That was only the start.”
I whimpered in pain and he growled, “Shut the fuck up.”
The rest was a blur. I felt disassociated from the experience—I think Voodoo picked up on that, himself. I felt like I was ready to receive more and my soul had known that the entire time, but it took a while for it to sink in. He laid down beside me and asked me when I would stop running so that he could love up on me.
Hm, there’s a pattern here, I thought. I’ve been told from numerous men over the years that I run a lot, or that I should stop running or to let them to run with me. I never viewed it as “running away”, but more so “following the guidance”.
He gazed into the outskirts of my soul; I could feel the desperation he felt to understand my mind.
He asked, “Can you open up to me?”
I sat there in a deafening silence as a response. I didn’t feel safe to reveal my heart. The resistance was there for a reason. I knew he wouldn’t be able to handle my emotional waves and so I did what I did best—prayed to God.
