Wolf Moon

Thirteen moons, thirteen arrows, thirteen hunts.

Each arrow is carefully crafted. We go on our evening jogs on nature trails. My eye is always spying for a lovely hickory shoot. I slowly cut each shoot with a pruning knife I always carry on our jog. She knows why I collect the them. She is aware that she will see them again soon.

Carefully I split the fatwood and prepare the firewood. A few sparks later there is smoke and then a flame. I stare into the flame and remember my father speaking to me when I was a boy. “Never become too civilized.” I smoke the shoots and carefully dry them out. She smells the smoke thick on my clothes. She knows why I burned, but did not grill any meat.

A hunter green dye mixed in water, thick, and staining. An old towel cut to rags is used to apply the dye to the shaft. Rubbing slow and even, but completely covering the shaft. Till all thirteen shafts are ready for their mistress. She watches me wash the green stain from my hands. She knows the green stain.

Next is time for the arrowhead, carefully glued and wrapped to the shaft. Each arrowhead slowly made from old steel found in a scrapyard. Arrowheads shaped slowly on a ten-inch grinder. Sparks flying through the air, slightly burning my hands. She sees the sparks and hears the grinding of metal. She knows what I am doing.

Lastly comes the fletching. Five-inch long, green goose feathers split and trimmed. Three feathers per shaft glued and wrapped with string. Applied gently and with such precision, I have done this many times. She watches the cat play with some loose green feathers fallen to the floor. She knows where they are from.

Thirteen arrows are done. I find myself staring out the window more often as I feel the moon get closer. I feel the tame demeanor leaving me. My voice gets deeper in these days. My footsteps get quieter. My eyes get deeper. She knows the full moon is coming. The cuts from the last moon have almost disappeared.

I take her to the store and leave her there for three hours. She must find a lovely and beautiful dress for the Wolf Moon. She enters the truck excited with her new gray and white dress and matching shoes. She expresses how she cannot wait to show me. The seamstress nips and tucks the dress to fit her lovely curves, till the dress fits like a second skin. This will be her sheepskin, for the hunt. She dotes on the dress, but is not allowed to wear it again till the Wolf Moon. She knows this dress will be with her during the hunt. This dress will suffer with her and with compassion share her pain.

The Wolf Moon is here. The fathers named the moon such, because the wolves howled more often due to the scarce food midwinter. The howl, the cry of the wolf. It speaks to something deep inside. I have been losing sleep to sit in the evening air. The hunt is here. I give her permission to get dressed. She knows it is finally time for her to wear her lovely dress. Grapping her beautiful fox tail plug, she inserts it for the hunt. Her new dress falls easily on to her body. She brushes her hair slow and even, taking her time. She slips her small feet into her delicate shoes. That is all, her dress, her shoes, and her tail, nothing else to wear.

I load the truck with my gear. We drive together through the dark highway. Heading to the national park, the wild grasslands of Texas. We don’t speak, she lays her head on my shoulder throughout the long two-hour drive. We park and she knows.

We both take a moment, taking it all in. The darkness, allowing our eyes to adjust to the night. Deep breaths for only several minutes, but time slows. I slowly turn my head to look at her straight deep into her eyes and say, ”Run”. She knows.

Her eyes grow wide and the quickly opens the door and without taking the time to close it, runs into the woods. I slowly open my door and move to my gear. I grab my leather quiver with thirteen green arrows and tomahawk strapped to its side. I tie my throwing knife holsters to each leg. I have four knives in each holster. I reach for my ten-foot leather bullwhip and attach it to my belt. I know what comes next.

The bow, I place it around my leg and in a quick motion, I string the bow. All is ready for the hunt. I put on my hat and look at the Wolf Moon and listen to the sound of the night. Tilt my head down and focus my eyes and smell the air. I know her scent.

I move through the grass, slow but always steady. My ears can hear a million sounds that are lost to the tame. Like the silence of someone daring not to scream. As I move looking for signs of my prey. She is close, I can hear her heart screaming. I can smell her fear intoxicating. I can taste her sweat sweet. Never use soap when you shower before a hunt. My prey loves her soaps and lotions. What she loves betrays her. I know I am close.

Moving closer and closer to a large rock, she runs. She runs like a beautiful elegant deer almost leaping. I have to just admire her beauty and draw my arrow. She stops at a tree and turns back. Arrow 1 hits the same tree just a foot above where her hand held on. She runs faster and her breathing is loud. Arrow 2 hits to a tree to her right, she darts left. She trips on a small stone and looks back, arrow 3 lands just to her right. She gets up, but her energy is leaving. The small branches, like whips to her body. Her dress gets caught in a thorn bush and she desperately tears her dress free. Arrow 4 flies by her head just to the right, she pushes left. Sweat, blood and fear has clouded her eyes. She is running blind in the darkness of the woods. Helpless, defenseless, exhausted. Arrow 5 lands just in front of her and she trips and nearly falls, but she catches herself. Arrow 6 lands again in front of her legs, she trips and falls. I know she still has energy to fight.

My walk is not a run, but long strides. I reach for my bullwhip, swing back and CRACK. The echo rings through the trees. She looks and screams, she gets up and runs. The whip wraps around her legs and she falls hard in the grass. The prey is caught, but she must be bound. A lesser man would use rope, but have a far more twisted way to hold a prey. Grabbing her long hair, I drag her through the grass towards a rather large red oak tree. She curses me and the devil who bore me. One two three hard slaps to her cheek. Stunned, I grab her by the throat and lob her face to the tree. Her body helplessly facing the tree I begin the binding. Knife 1 I stick it in the tree high at an upward angle. I place her hand over the blade against the edge. Knife 2 is stuck just above her hand at a downward angle. Her hand caught between the blades of two knives. She screams, SLAM my tomahawk lands into the tree just six inches from her face, “Be quiet”. Making quick work I use two knives for each hand and the same for her feet at her ankles. “You pull, you move, the blades will cut.” I know the prey is ready.

Her new dress is in tatters. I check her tail and see it slipping out. I roughly shove it back up her ass. I must now mark my prey. I unzip my pants and step close behind her, all she dares do is whimper. Then she is feels a spray. Is it raining? It is warm, it moves back and forth over her back ass and legs. Humiliated and terrified she begs, she pleads, she cries. I know it is time for the bullwhip.

Far from city lights, noise and smells. So far the phone has no reception. No one. I speak close to her ear and in a low voice, “Do you still trust me?” Through tears she says “No”. I smile turn and take a few steps back. “How many arrows are left…seven, seven lashes.” I whirl the whip around and around and around cutting through the cold night air. Flicking at the tips of her hair. CRACK 1 across her thighs, the shock makes her gasp. CRACK 2 across her ass, she whimpers. CRACK 3 across her legs just above her knees, her lip is bleeding. CRACK 4 across her ass again, she jumps, cutting her ankles. But the knives are in too deep, she is not going anywhere. CRACK 5 across her upper thighs, she screams. CRACK 6 across her ass hitting her plug, she hangs her head. CRACK 7 across her mid thighs, she doesn’t flinch, she doesn’t scream, she doesn’t make a sound. She is in her space. I know she is where she needs to be. I am the only one who can put her there.

I remove the knives and free her limbs. I carry her to the truck. So light and helpless in my arms, I hardly feel the weight. I give her carefully some water and wrap her in a wool blanket. I grab my first aid kit and gently tend to her wounds. Cotton balls and creams. I cautiously bandage her wrists and ankles, taking the upmost care. She looks up to me and asks, “How did I do Master?” I brush the hair from her face and kiss her forehead. “You did so well. I am so proud of you little one. I am very pleased.” She smiles as I lift her up and into the truck. As I pull on to the street, she lays her head on my shoulder. I tell her, “Let’s go home.” She responds, “I love you Master.” I whisper, “I know.”

Time to Shave

Since I was about fifteen I have been shaving. I remember watching my father shave his face, slow and even. He used a straight razor. He taught me and I have never used anything else.

The dull knife cuts. I stand in the bathroom, going over my face, shaving like I do everyday. Many times she would watch me. We would be talking and she would not answer, but just watch me shave.

Now most women shave their pussy, but many do not like the shaving itself. I went to the hardware store and bought, iron hinges, hardwood boards, steel pipes, and velcro straps. I worked in the garage for a several hours. She sees the sweat on my chest and brings me a glass of iced water. While I drink, she asked what I was building. Responding with a smile, "It's a surprise for US."

I paid attention to her pussy as her hair grew. Waiting until it was just long enough, to know she was about to shave. I saw her grab the razor, I tell her to not shave yet.

She takes her long hot showers that she loves. Slipping to the bedroom I setup the chair I built for us. Wrapped in a towel she steps into the bedroom and sees the chair. I have place a towel over the boards, for her comfort. "Have a sit. Drop the towel."

Like a little girl at a carnival and a smile just as big as her heart. She jumps into the chair and allows me to strap her legs, waist, arms and neck. "What are you going to do to me Lover?" I imagine there are many things she was thinking, but none were correct. With a wicked smile and voice as deep as my love for her, I respond, "I am going to shave MY pussy with my razor."

"What?! You are crazy, get me out of this chair." Pulling, wiggling and crying, but I can build with my hands. The chair barely moves to all her effort. Running the water hot, I soak a black towel. I wring out the towel, I feel my hands burn. Steaming from the heat, I place it slowly over her pussy and ass covering her. "The heat from the towel, will open your pores and soften your hair." "Please don't do this." But I can see the heat from the towel makes her feel warm and submissive inside.

Placing a table next to the chair I place the sharpening stone. The whetstone has been soaking in water for several hours now. I place the stone to her mouth and tell her, "Spit." She spits on the stone, "More." I use the slurry stone to rub the spit into the stone to make slurry mix for the sharpening.

For several long minutes the only sound in the room is the sound of the razor grinding against the stone. The sound deafens her ears. She knows what is about to happen and most importantly she knows nothing she can say or do will stop it.

"Done" Placing one end of the old leather strop in her mouth. "Bite hard" I pull the strop tight and rub the edge of the razor back and forth over the leather. The smell of the leather fills her senses. The light from the blade flashes her eyes. "Let go"

With some water, I rub the shaving soap and build a thick lather. Then I remove the towel, her pussy is wet. In a quick move, I begin rubbing and kneading her pussy and asshole covering everything in a sea of white.

Her eyes are so wide, you might think they were going to fall out. I grab the razor and look at her straight into her eyes. "Do you trust me?" She cries and in the faintest of whimpers she responds, "no." I have the most wicked of smiles.

She doesn't move a finger. She can't see what I am doing, only feel. With tears and fear, she can do nothing but trust her Dom. Running my questions in her mind. Did she answer wrong?

"Don't move, you don't want to get cut do you?" I wait for a response. She is sweating hard and whispers, "no." I begin shaving. Pull the skin, shave, pull and shave. Inspect, adjust a shave. First the front. Then around her hood, to the sides of her perfect pink lips. With skill of hand with thirty years of experience in shaving, I shave. Nip, nip, nip around her asshole, I shave. I shave until nothing but pink is left.

"Done" I take an other hot black towel and slowly rub her clean. Taking some aftershave lotion, I rub her pussy and ass. Her most intimate parts, exposed, and helpless. Unable to do anything, but trust. Trust me completely.

Standing up, I look at her with longing. I begin removing her straps, looking at the marks she made by her strain. She does not move. She is free, but she is still in her space. She is free, but she has given everything to me. "Come lay on my chest little one."