Watch Point

by Cecilia Tan

  As he catches his breath, the panting sounds like pure sex to me. I swear I’d be able to pick him out of a pack of marathon runners from that sound alone. “Let me show you how to work the branches off,” I say.

  He steps close and he smells like spruce. I was going to show him how to put his foot against the trunk and break the branches with the grain, but how about later. I take his hand in mine, the one that was so cold this morning, and pull the glove off. I suck in my belly and stuff his bare hand into my pants.

  He wraps his fingers around my erection. “Now that is a fine piece of wood.”

  I unzip and let it loose into the chill air. “I like it firm on the shaft, light on the head,” I say.

  His eyebrows rise in surprise, like he wasn’t expecting this to be a lesson, too.

  “Once the pre-come starts to drip, you can circle your thumb—” My voice cuts off as I gasp, a jolt of pleasure running from my cock all the way to my toes.

  A handjob sounds so fucking simple. So routine. Kid’s stuff. But with my back against an aspen and my breath coming out in great puffs of winter steam, his hand around my dick feels anything but routine. It’s so intimate I can’t even speak for a while, as he does exactly as I said, gripping hard around the shaft but then barely grazing his thumb through the wetness on top, making my legs shake.

  “If you pull on it downward or to the side, I won’t come.” My voice is breathy and rough and I grip the tree behind me with my gloved hands, hearing the bark crackle. “Has to be—” I can’t catch my breath. “Has to be straight up, in the center.”

  “I can do that.” He isn’t pulling on me fast, just steadily, and he adjusts the angle so my cock points directly up my stomach toward my face.

  But this isn’t the place to leave a wet spot, is it? No. “Stop.”

  He drags his thumbnail across my slit as he drawls, “Are you surrrre you want me to st—”

  His teasing defiance makes me snap. “I gave you an order!” My hand swings out almost before I can think about it, intending to grab him.

  But he’s not there. He’s dodged away, eyes wide, hands shaking.

  My chest is heaving in the grip of an arousal so intense I can barely think. I repeat the words, trying to get a grip. “I. Gave. You. An order.”

  “Yes, sir,” he says, pressing his hands together now, unsure what to do with them. Unsure what to do at all.

  “Feet together, arms straight, shoulders back,” I bark. “And eyes front.”

  He knows what attention is even if I haven’t said.

  I walk around behind him and stuff myself back into my shorts. The pain of being brought so close to release but denied throbs in my crotch.

  His obedience makes the throbbing worse. My voice is calming now, but that makes it cold. “When I give an order, I expect it to be followed unless you have a very, very good reason to question it.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Tell me what you did wrong.”

  I’m expecting him to parrot back what I just said. His answer catches me by surprise. He’s not playacting at all. “I should know better than to be so casual about touching you, especially when you say stop. I know if I said the same that you’d stop immediately. I’m sorry.”

  Is that why I’m overreacting? Because I feel violated? I don’t think I do, but it’s telling that he might think I feel that way.

  Time to take things down a notch. Defuse the situation with a little humor and get back into scene. I circle him until I can see his face again. “Apology accepted. Now. What did I tell you about needing dry ground?”

  It works. He snorts with the sudden release of tension. “It’s the most important thing, sir.”

  “That’s right. So making me come all over the place here would be what?”

  He’s unsure how to answer, but he gamely tries. “A mistake, sir?”

  “That’s right. A mistake.”

  I’m a little amazed that Chase can be both bold and hesitant at the same time. He swallows, but instead of shrinking away from me, he asks, “And how . . . I mean . . . What should I do to make up for my mistake?”

  I love that spirit in him. “Learn from it,” I say. “Now you’re going to gather up dry leaves. Make a bed out of them eight or ten inches thick inside the lean-to. And when you’re done, I’m going to lie down on it, and then you’re going to crawl in and suck me off. And you’re going to swallow every drop so we don’t leave a mess. Am I clear?”

  “Loud and clear, sir!”

  Man, he’s really into this. He’s more fun than a new puppy. I give him a hard pat on the rear. “Get to it, scout.”

  And off he goes again. I swear I can feel his fingerprints on my dick, even when he’s not there.

  Time stamp: 1545 Wednesday, Ledge Island

  Chase takes the binoculars up to the promontory at sunset. He watches the water; I watch him. I see one hand trembles a little.

  “How’s your wrist?” I ask.

  He lowers the specs. “Hm? Oh, fine.” He shakes out his hand. “A little tired and crampy from holding these up for so long. No sign of the whales tonight.”

  “Following the fish,” I tell him, as if I know what I’m talking about.

  He keeps his face turned toward the open water in case he catches sight of something. “Hey, speaking of fish, I saw the tackle and stuff in the cabin.”

  “You want to try fishing?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  The only time I’ve fished from the island was in summer, but I’m not sure that makes a difference. “Maybe tomorrow.” I check my watch. “Sun’s going down.”

  He rubs his cheeks, which are pink from the wind. “So what’s the deal with tonight? The second it sets I’m your captive again?”

  “You still up for it?”

  He nods.

  “Tell me something you hate.”

  He’s not expecting that. “What?”

  “Something a trick’s done that you didn’t want to do again, for example.” I feel I’m being charitable by explaining, but I want him to know exactly what’s coming.

  “Oh, you mean like sticking a flashlight in my ass?”

  I raise an eyebrow skeptically. “You let a stranger you met through an app stick a flashlight up your ass?”

  He snorts. “I once let a guy I met through an app kidnap me to an island in the Atlantic Ocean.”

  He has a point. “Yeah, well.” Chase’s willingness to flout common sense has worked to my advantage. But that little red flag—so little it’s the size of a cocktail straw—waves from the back of my mind: it’s really up to me to keep him safe.

  That’s all right. That’s what I’m good at.

  He obviously feels the need to explain. “Some old guys can’t keep it up enough to fuck. But they can jerk off to what turns them on.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Object insertion is a pretty common fetish.”

  “But you didn’t like it.”

  The blush on his cheeks deepens. “No.”

  “Give me the binoculars, please.” I hold out my hand, and he hands them over. “If you don’t want to be sodomized tonight by the handle of my Maglite, you’ll evade me until nineteen-hundred. That’s seven p.m. Three hours from now.”

  “And if I’m successful?”

  “If I don’t catch you until after nineteen-hundred, then it’s just good ol’ garden-variety sodomy with this bad boy here,” I say, rubbing my crotch. I’m stiffening up merely imagining what might happen tonight. “I’m going into the cabin now to give you a ten-minute head start on your ‘escape.’”

  “I’m ready.” I can see him looking around, trying to decide which direction to go, but he doesn’t move. Smart. He’s obviously waiting until I’m inside the cabin and can’t see which direction he goes.

  I latch the cabin door once I get inside, and I unlock the combination box where I’ve stashed my tablet and the phones. The night-vision goggles and some other equipment are stored there as well. There are two slots for ha
ndguns, too, but they’re empty.

  I make a quick check of my messages. Nothing from Aiden. Okay, fine. Then I spend a few minutes reading up on winter ocean fishing in Maine. Huh. Mid-December is high season for harbor pollock. That was probably what I saw schooling when we Zodiacked in. I’m so sucked into reading about the damn fish that I give Chase an extra minute unintentionally.

  I put the aforementioned Maglite, night-vision goggles, an LED headlamp, rope, a handful of condoms, and some lube into a pack and sling it onto my back. My erection feels huge as I lean over to tighten the laces on my boots.

  Time to hunt.

  Everyone expects tracking skills to be mostly the ability to read marks on the ground or broken twigs. I think it’s maybe ten percent that. The other ninety percent is guessing what your quarry’s thinking.

  Cass and Ruiz hunted me once like this and DP’d me when they caught me. Before that I hadn’t known it was possible to take two dicks at once. I hadn’t watched enough porn, I guess. I was such a babe in the woods then.

  Now I’m the hunter.

  I’m horny and jaunty as I make my way down the path toward the copse where we built the lean-to. It’s a win-win situation here, really. Whether I catch Chase before or after the deadline, either way I’m expecting it to be exactly what we want. The sky is darkening fast, but I can still see with the naked eye.

  I’m guessing that he probably went this direction, where he got a good look at the terrain earlier. He wandered around quite a bit more than I did. Maybe he’ll think that gives him an advantage. Maybe he even noticed a good hiding place nearby.

  I can see freshly disturbed leaves, but they’re likely from our movements here before. A fair amount of underbrush surrounds the area where our lean-to is, difficult to move through without making a lot of noise. I check inside the lean-to just in case he’s decided to make it really easy on me—nope—and then I stand still, listening.

  The wind always kicks up around sunset, and the sound of it masks the smallest noises, but if a twig cracked, I’d hear it. There’s no animal on this island large enough to break a branch unless you count him and me. There are squirrels and birds, and Cass swore there are fishers and martens, though I haven’t seen them.

  Something rustles. I don’t move. I focus my senses in the direction of the sound. If he panics, he’ll run, and that’ll make plenty of noise. If he doesn’t panic, or doesn’t even know I’m there, then he might still give himself away. And if he’s not even there, then there’s no harm in me waiting for more input.

  Nothing. No new sound. I move quietly around the cleared area of the copse.

  If he’s here, he’s staying hidden. I decide to explore the perimeter. A smile breaks across my face as I realize his name is Chase. The longer it takes to find him, the more whetted my appetite will be.

  Two hours later the night is as dark as any I’ve ever seen, and although the wind has died down, a chill is in the air. As I breathe in, I can feel the tingle in my nose that means it’s below twenty degrees, which means it’s going to be even colder soon. I wonder if we’ll hit single digits tonight. It’s a bit early in the year for a cold snap, but not unheard of. Climate change has made both the highs and lows more extreme.

  It’s been long enough, I figure. I snap the NODs on and put them in IR mode. The landscape is dark except for a bright spot to my right: a small animal that flees as I approach, its body heat lighting up the scope. Looks like Cass was right about us having fishers on the island, or maybe it was a fat marten.

  No sign of Chase nearby. I’m maybe a hundred meters from the cabin on the landward side. I switch from IR to regular night-vision mode and everything goes green. Thanks to technology, I can now see where I’m walking, the tiniest bit of starlight amplified like a floodlight. I circle the cabin along a rocky path.

  In any hunt, there are stretches of patience punctuated by moments of anticipation. My ardor might seem to have cooled, but I’m just waiting for a sign. Meanwhile, I walk, I look, I listen. I’ve got the advantage, and I know there aren’t many men more patient than me. If he gets impatient—or cold—he’ll make himself known.

  That time with Cass and Ruiz, I’d wanted them to catch me. I’d wanted to be fucked six ways from Sunday. But I’d also wanted to keep my pride. They hadn’t given me a time limit, so I made one for myself. If they didn’t catch me by midnight, I considered myself the winner. Technically, they didn’t catch me that time. I gave myself away. In fact, I had to hunt them to make sure they’d find me.

  I switch back to IR mode and make a scan around me. The cabin shows up bright white, much warmer than everything around it.

  My blood surges, my heart pumping and my cock coming to attention with painful suddenness. It takes another moment for my conscious mind to read what I’m reacting to. There he is. His outline is barely visible, white on white, crouched against the back wall. I switch the goggles back to regular night mode. He’s under a tarp covering the stack of logs waiting to be split for the stove.

  I’m amused. He figured the safest place to hide was right under my nose. It might have even worked if I hadn’t had the goggles.

  I take the long way around to the front of the cabin, considering the next phase of the operation. I’m going to engage.

  I stow the goggles in their case and put it into the bag. The LED headlamp I strap around my forehead, but I don’t turn it on. Then I quietly set my bag down near the front door. I leave almost everything there.

  I take a hank of rope with me. I wait, eyes closed, for several minutes, making sure they’re fully adjusted to the dark. Then I feel my way around the sidewall of the cabin. There’s enough starlight in the cold, clear air to make out the edges.

  There might be a slight crunch of gravel under my boots as I approach the corner. There’s no light from inside the cabin, but I can see the regularity of the edge of the tarp. If he’s listening hard, he probably knows I’m coming.

  I am listening hard. I can hear his rapid breathing. He’s keyed up.

  I wonder how hard he’s going to fight back.

  I whip back the corner of the tarp with one hand and hit the headlamp with the other. He’s much more blinded by it than I am—it’s shining right in his eyes—and he throws up a hand to block the light. That’s all the opening I need, leaping on him and getting control of one arm immediately. I let him struggle purely to up the anticipation.

  Sweet mother, I forgot what heady foreplay a struggle can be. He twists and strains and the glorious friction sends sparks right through my groin. Every movement of his muscles is the equivalent of a cock twitching in my hand.

  I force him to his feet against the wall. His face against the wood, I make a quick tie of his forearms behind his back, each hand touching the opposite elbow, the rope wrapping around his coat sleeves. Yanking him back by the collar of his coat, I get into character. “Did you think you were going to get away from me?”

  His plea is high-pitched. “Oh fuck, don’t do this to me!”

  “Do what?” I growl, pulling him toward the cabin entrance.

  He scuffs his feet, putting up token resistance. “I know what you want. Men like you only want one thing.”

  I laugh. “Oh, you’re wrong, fuckhead. You’re wrong. I want many things.” I shoulder open the door, pull him inside, and push him down onto the bed. “Many, many things.”

  He swallows hard.

  “Your mouth, your ass, that’s two right there,” I say as I get to my feet. I quickly pull the bag inside and then latch the door. I shed my coat where I’m standing and then get my boots off while I’m talking. “Humiliation, pain, maybe a little blood, an earthshaking orgasm . . . That’s four more.”

  He rolls onto his back and tries to kick me as I reach for him. I catch his foot and force him onto his face or risk a sprained knee. Once I’m straddling his back, crushing his arms a little —enough to immobilize him, not enough to hurt him—I pull his shoes off and his pants quickly follow. There’s somet
hing undeniably arousing about seeing him half-clothed this way, his legs and ass bare just so I can fuck him.

  I smack that ass because I can, and he struggles indignantly.

  “Oh yeah, wiggle that ass.” I shove a dry fingertip into him and he goes suddenly still, whether because he’s trying to defy my words or because of the intrusion, I don’t know.

  I climb off him, sniffing my finger, intoxicated by his musk. He needs to be restrained.

  No handcuffs this time.

  More rope. It’s the good climbing rope, smooth and black woven through with colors. Part of my brain is annoyed that I don’t have two hanks that match, so one arm will have to be done with red, yellow on the other. I unzip my jeans to let my cock breathe a little while I work on him. I’m in no hurry now. His coat has to come off and it’s time to tie him in a more secure fashion. I make a gauntlet for each arm.

  This particular style of rope tying I didn’t learn in Boy Scouts, though a surprisingly large number of the knots are the same.

  Or maybe it’s not surprising.

  When he’s kneeling at the edge of the pallet, facedown with his arms spread, each tied to a corner post, I’m ready to start the real mind-fuck.

  I lick my index finger and tease at his hole, feeling it twitch and jump. He tries to clench his buttocks together, but I’m kneeling behind him and I shove my knees between his, my cock hitting the back of his thigh. “If I want you open, you’re going to be open, boy,” I say.

  “Oh, God. What are you going to do?”

  “Your daddy’s going to hate me so much.” I can’t help but feel a sick thrill at that thought. Aiden probably hates me so much right now that he’s giving himself an aneurysm over it.

  “He’ll kill you if you touch me.”

  “Oh, it’s too late, then,” I say, digging the lube out of the bag and drizzling it between his cheeks. I run my finger up and down through the wetness and then jam it into him suddenly, making him gasp. “I’ve already touched you.”

  “You know what I mean,” he says, taking on a spoiled-brat tone of voice I haven’t heard before now. But it quavers as I twitch my finger against his prostate. “If you d-don’t rape me, I’ll tell him to spare your life.”