Under the shade of a grand old oak tree, I panted heavily, my face flushed from the relentless sun. I had been walking for hours, my backpack slumped against my shoulders, the weight of my supplies feeling heavier with every step. The sweat on my brow trickled down to my eyes, stinging them as it mixed with the dust from the trail. With a sigh of relief, I pulled the pack off, letting it drop to the ground with a thud.
I was knackered as I surveyed my surroundings, the tree standing tall and proud amidst a field of golden wheat that swayed gently in the breeze. The heat waves danced above the crops, creating a mirage of a distant lake, a teasing illusion that promised respite from the heat but remained frustratingly out of reach. My eyes searched for any signs of civilisation, but all I could see were rolling hills and the endless sea of grain stretching to the horizon. This was my reality, and I enjoyed hiking very much, but it was bloody hot, and I needed a break and the urgent need to cool off.
With a resigned sigh, I slipped off my walking boots and unbuckled my belt and pushed down my shorts, revealing the red, sun-kissed skin of his legs as I stepped out of them, kicking them towards my backpack before lying down on the cool, soft grass. I likewise kicked my walking boots in the same direction, enjoying the contrast against my hot body was heavenly, and I felt the heat begin to dissipate almost immediately, although my feet remained hot, covered in my sweaty socks that hadn't had time to cool yet.
Wearing only my white tank top vest and Amazon Essentials white briefs, modelled on the same design as the best-selling US men’s briefs. I spread out my legs, allowing the air to circulate around my body. The fabric of my briefs clung to my body, damp from perspiration, but I was too tired to care about modesty as I slipped my fingers into my socks and peeled them off my feet.
I was in heaven as I wriggled my toes in the cooling breeze, leaning back against my backpack that provided a cushion between me and the tree trunk. I pondered why I was worried about my modesty, out here in the beautiful countryside, very much alone with nature. Shaking my thoughts to one side, I closed my eyes and listened to the breeze, hoping to hear a bird or two singing, but alas, I was very much alone and at one with my thoughts and the rustling of the leaves that provided well-deserved shade for my break.
As I dozed, the sound of distant thunder echoed across the landscape. I cracked one eye open, watching the clouds form a dark line on the horizon. The wind began to pick up, gently at first, and the wheat around me started to bow in obeisance to the coming storm. A faint smell of rain tickled my nostrils, a scent that promised relief from the oppressive heat.
I felt the first few droplets land on my legs as I lay there, cool and refreshed, as the storm approached with the inevitability of providing me with a shower. I put my shorts in the backpack and then decided to stand up and break cover, preferring to stand in the open long grass waiting for the rain to begin.
As I stood, the rain started, a gentle patter that grew louder, like the applause at the beginning of a standing ovation, until it surrounded me in a symphony of water droplets striking the dry earth and my bare skin. Slowly, it grew heavier, the droplets becoming a soothing caress that cooled my sun-soaked limbs. I raised my arms, allowing the rain to cleanse me, and felt the heat of the day dissipate beneath the downpour. My tank top clung to me like a second skin, translucent from the water, revealing my defined abs and the faint outline of my chest hair.
The sensation grew more intense as the rainwater flowed into my white briefs, soaking the thin fabric. The water began to run down my body, tracing a path that grew increasingly erotic as it made contact with my aroused member, which had begun to swell and press against the confines of the cotton. The feeling was oddly pleasant, a surprise amidst the dreariness of the moment, and I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of arousal. It was a strange sensation, my body reacting to the sudden wetness and coolness in a way that was both unexpected and intriguing.
With each droplet that hit my bare skin, my heart raced a little faster, my breathing grew a little shallower. I could feel the rainwater trickling down my chest, the coldness of it making my nipples tighten and the fabric of my vest cling to me like a second skin. The material grew heavier, plastered against my body, and the outline of my erection grew more pronounced. It was a strange sort of liberation, standing there in the open, exposed to the elements and the world, yet hidden by the veil of rain.
I closed my eyes and tilted my head back, letting the water cascade down my face like a natural shower, washing away the grime of the trail and the sweat of the day. The coolness was heavenly, a stark contrast to the heat that had been suffocating me only moments before. The droplets hit my eyelids, running down my cheeks and onto my neck, joining the rivulets that were already making their way down my chest and stomach, pooling in my navel before continuing their journey downwards.
As the rain grew more insistent, a voice broke through the white noise of the storm. "You look amazing in the rain," I heard, deep and masculine, and close enough to make me jump. I spun around, my heart racing, to find a man standing under the oak tree next to my backpack.
He was wearing a waxed coat with a leather bush hat covering his head, which he tipped slightly to reveal piercing blue eyes that gleamed with a hint of mischief. The rainwater pouring from the brim of his hat, cascading down onto the waxed fabric, repelled the water like a duck's back. His attire was peculiar but ideal for the weather, but his presence was the most unexpected element of the scene, as I guessed he was a local farmer who had obviously known it was going to rain.
"Sorry, I didn't hear what you said," I shouted back at the stranger.
"I said," he repeated with a grin, his teeth flashing white against his tanned face, "you look amazing in the rain." His eyes lingered on my wet vest, the fabric sticking to my chest and revealing the contours of my muscles. I felt a rush of embarrassment and excitement mingle together, the rain suddenly feeling less like a cooling shower and more like a spotlight shining on my exposed state.
"I needed a shower," I finally managed to shout back, trying to play off my sudden shyness with a casual laugh.
He chuckled in response, the sound rolling out over the crescendo of rain like thunder. He stepped closer, his boots squelching in the now soggy ground. "Well, you're certainly getting one now," he said, his voice carrying a hint of something else, something that sent a thrill down my spine.
"It’s not often I get to enjoy views like this," he said, staring at me in the rain, “Your wet clothes make you look fabulous and, to be honest, are leaving you with very little modesty, you know.”
The rain grew heavier, obscuring my vision and making it difficult to read his expression. His voice washed over me like the rain itself, a smooth, deep rumble that seemed to resonate within my chest. His height was indeed impressive, towering over me by several inches, and the waxed coat, while keeping him dry, hinted at a strong, broad frame beneath. His eyes, however, remained the focal point, intense and piercing, seeing right through the thin veil of rain and fabric.
"It also appears that the rain has affected you in a very positive way," he said.
I could feel the blood rushing to my cheeks as I realised the state of my attire. The rain had not only made my tank top almost see-through but had also left my briefs clinging to me, the outline of my erection clearly visible. I blushed deeper, unsure of how to react to his boldness.
"I guess you are right," I responded. "It appears my body has a mind of its own, sorry. I'm Steve, by the way."
The man's eyes never left me as he leaned against the sturdy oak tree, a cigarette appearing in his mouth as if by magic. He struck a match, the flame flickering in the rain, and brought it to the cigarette, inhaling deeply before letting out a plume of smoke that mixed with the misty air. "The name's Tom, and don’t apologise, I really like what I’m seeing", he said.
"Nice to meet you, Tom and I'm sorry you see me like this, but I was hot and bothered until it started raining and now, well, I guess you can see everything."
Tom took a drag from his cigarette, his eyes never leaving my form. "No need to apologise again, Steve. It's a beautiful sight," he said, his voice carrying a hint of something more than just admiration for the weather. The way he said my name sent a shiver down my spine. His gaze was like a caress, lingering on my wet, clinging clothes and the obvious arousal beneath. "Why don't you take them off and let me really enjoy the view?"
"What? You want me to lose the briefs?" I replied.
"Yep, I do, but it’s up to you. You never know, this might be your lucky day."
My heart was pounding in my chest as I seriously considered his proposal. I hadn’t been with a guy for quite a while, and there was something about him I found attractive, and my gaydar was working overtime by this point.
The rain was warm and refreshing, but the thought of being naked under it with him watching was exhilarating. I took a deep breath and pulled my vest over my head, throwing it to the ground. I then hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my wet briefs, slowly sliding them down my legs. The fabric clung to my skin, reluctant to part with the heat of my body, and when they dropped to the ground, I stepped out of them, feeling the cool rain hit my exposed flesh. My cock is standing proud with droplets running down its shaft.
"Like what you see, Tom?"
Tom's eyes were glued to my naked form, his smile grew wider, revealing a set of perfectly straight teeth, and he took a long drag from his cigarette before flicking it into the rain. "Very much so, Steve," he said, his voice low and smoky. "You fancy a little bit of fun in the rain?"
I swallowed hard, the rain beating down on my bare skin, making me feel both vulnerable and incredibly alive. "What did you have in mind?"
"Do you like big boys, Steve?"
I nodded and then asked, “How big are you, Tom? as he pushed himself off the tree trunk, closing the gap between us as he remained protected by the tree.
"I'm a big boy who loves cute boys like you, and I really want to join you in that shower. Can I join you in the shower, Steve?"
Tom's question hung in the air like a challenge, his eyes dark with desire, his breath warm against my ear. I could feel my heart racing faster as the rain grew more intense. My mind raced with scenarios of what could happen next. This was definitely not what I had expected from my quiet hike in the countryside. But something about the situation thrilled me beyond words. I nodded, unable to find the voice to agree verbally.
With a grin that was more predatory than playful, Tom took off his coat and hung it from a branch. Keeping his hat on, he unbuttoned his shirt, the fabric sticking to his chest like a second skin, revealing a tapestry of taut muscles and a trail of hair leading down to his belt. He pulled the shirt off and hung it over the branch next to his coat, the waxed material shaking off the rainwater. His chest was broad and strong, with just a hint of a six-pack, the kind that comes from hard work rather than a gym membership.
He unbuckled his belt with a slow deliberation that made my stomach flip. His eyes never left mine as he pulled his zipper down, revealing his own arousal, straining against the cotton of his boxer briefs as he removed his jeans.
He stepped out from under the tree, closing the gap between us. Rainwater cascaded down his bare chest, running in rivulets over his defined abs and down to the waistband of his boxer briefs. Tom stepped closer, and the rain hit him full force, plastering his hair to his forehead and running down his face. He reached out, his hand warm despite the cold rain, and touched my chest. I gasped as his thumb grazed my nipple, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to my cock. His touch was firm, but gentle, as if he were exploring every inch of me. His fingers traced the contours of my body, following the paths the rain had already made.
He leaned in, and our lips met in a fiery kiss, the rain mingling with our saliva as our tongues danced together. The thunder was now directly above us, the lightning flashing in his eyes, reflecting the passion in mine. The storm had brought us together in this moment of raw, unbridled lust, and we were both eager to explore the connection that had sparked between us.
Tom's hands roamed lower, grabbing my arse cheeks and pulling me closer to him. I could feel his cock, hard and hot, pressing against my own, separated by only a thin layer of wet fabric. His thumbs played with the waistband of his underwear, slipping underneath to tease the sensitive skin of my hips. His mouth moved to my neck, nipping and kissing, leaving a trail of fire that had my legs trembling.
I reached down to reciprocate, fumbling with his wet underwear, which I pushed down, and his cock sprang free, bobbing in the rain. It was thick and long, a testament to the kind of man he was, and I couldn’t help but admire it.
“You weren’t joking about being a big boy, were you?”
We were both naked now, our bodies entwined as we kissed and touched in the open field. The rain had turned into a torrent, the thunder now a constant roar, and the lightning a strobe light to our passionate encounter. The wheat around us was beaten down by the rain, but we stood firm, two men in the storm, lost in each other's embrace.
“Nope, I wasn’t,” Tom replied as my hand touched his cock for the first time.
Tom took my hand and led me into the field, away from the tree. The rain was like a showerhead above us, coming from every direction, and we were both getting wetter by the second. He laid me down in the grass, the cold earth a stark contrast to the heat of our bodies. He positioned himself over me, his cock nudging against my stomach, leaving a trail of heat.
Our eyes locked as he reached down and took hold of my cock, giving it a gentle squeeze before guiding it into his mouth. The sensation was overwhelming, the coolness of the rain mixing with the heat of his mouth, the wetness of his tongue against my sensitive skin. I moaned, the sound lost in the cacophony of the storm, as he began to suck me in earnest. His hands were everywhere, exploring every inch of me, while his mouth brought me to the brink of climax.
The lightning flashed again, and in that moment of stark white light, I saw the pure lust in Tom's eyes. He looked like a wild animal, claiming his territory, and I was his willing prey. The rain washed over us as he moved his mouth away from me, replacing it with the heat of his body. He positioned himself at my entrance, and with one swift motion, he pushed inside me. It hurt as he pushed in, even though I was totally relaxed and ready to receive him.
The sensation was intense and painful, but the rain acted like a natural lube in many respects, allowing him to slide in, despite my tightness. I gripped the wet grass beneath me, my nails digging in as he began to move, his hips pumping in rhythm with the pounding rain. The thunder was now a constant rumble, and each flash of lightning seemed to illuminate our bodies in the throes of passion.
We moved together on the grass and dust that had been transformed into pure mud by the torrent of water that continued to shower us, our rhythm synced to the storm, our breaths mingling with the scent of ozone and wet earth. Tom's body was a warm, heavy weight against mine, and I felt every inch of him, every muscle tensing and releasing as he pushed deeper. The rain washed away any pretence or inhibition, leaving us raw and exposed in the most primal of ways.
His hands held my hips firmly, his grip tightening as he increased his pace. The sensation was incredible, a mix of pleasure and pain that grew with every stroke. I could feel him stretching me open, filling me up in a way that was both exhilarating and overwhelming. The thunder clapped loudly above us, and it was as if the sky itself was applauding our union.
Our bodies were slick with rain, mud and sweat, moving together in a dance as old as time. His skin was hot against mine, and every touch sent sparks of pleasure through me. His mouth found mine again, and we kissed deeply, tasting each other in the rain. His teeth grazed my bottom lip, and I moaned into his mouth, the sound lost in the storm.
The rain grew colder, and the lightning flashed more frequently, but we paid it no mind. We were lost in each other, the storm outside mirroring the tempest inside us. His strokes grew more urgent, and I could feel him getting closer to the edge. His breaths were ragged in my ear, and his hips slammed into me with a force that had me gasping for air.
The thunder rolled closer, and the lightning crackled above us. In that instant, Tom stiffened, and I felt the hot spurt of his release fill me up. He groaned, his body shaking with the intensity of his orgasm, and I followed suit, my own climax crashing over me like a wave as I shot spurts of cum onto my chest, only to mix with the rainwater pouring from my torso.
We lay there, panting and trembling, the rain washing over us as we slowly came back to ourselves after what felt like an eternity. Tom pulled out, his cock glistening in the rain. He lay beside me, and we shared a lazy smile, our bodies still entwined. We were two men, two strangers brought together by the whims of the weather, and I couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of peace.
"Well, that was unexpected," I murmured, my voice hoarse from the shouting.
Tom chuckled, the sound rumbling in his chest. "It sure was," he said, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "But sometimes, the best things in life are."
We lay there for a few more moments, listening to the storm rage on. The rain had cooled my skin, but the heat between us remained, a warm ember that glowed despite the deluge. Finally, Tom sat up, the rain beading on his broad shoulders.
"I should get going," he said, his voice a little softer now as he stood up and returned to the shelter of the tree. I continued to lie in the mud and rain as I watched him, admiring his naked body, as he reached for his discarded clothes, his movements unhurried and almost lazy.
Feeling a twinge of regret that our moment was over, I stood up, looking for my muddy tank top and briefs. "Don't think I can wear those," I said as the storm seemed less intense now that our passion had been sated.
Tom looked at me as he was dressing. “Why bother? Enjoy the moment.”
I stood there naked, holding my muddy clothes, and once Tom was dressed, we shared one last look, a silent understanding passing between us. "Thank you, Steve," Tom said, his voice gruff with emotion. "It's not often I get to enjoy something like that."
"It certainly took me by surprise, Tom," I replied, feeling a warmth spread through my chest. "It was... incredible and I enjoyed it very much although my briefs are not so white anymore."
He chuckled and nodded, then turned to leave, his footsteps squelching in the mud as he disappeared into the rain. I watched him go, feeling a strange mix of sadness and contentment. The storm was passing, and the world was returning to normal, but for a brief, electrifying moment, our passion had been louder than the thunder.
The rain grew lighter as I returned to sit underneath the tree, wondering what to do with my wet tank top and briefs. My shorts were dry at least, and emotionally, I was feeling a sense of renewal. As I zipped up my backpack, hanging my wet items from a strap, I decided to continue my hike, naked, allowing my clothes time to dry as the sun reappeared, signally the end of the storm.
I couldn’t help but wonder if I would ever see Tom again. But for now, the memory of our stormy encounter was enough to keep me warm as I prepared to resume my journey, the scent of rain and sex lingering on my skin with Tom's seed continuing to leak down my leg.
With renewed vigour, I swung my backpack over my shoulder and set out into the field, my bare feet sinking into the now-muddy earth with each step. The rain had cooled my body, and the sensation of the wet grass and mud between my toes was surprisingly invigorating. The countryside was alive with the sound of the storm moving on, leaving in its wake a world refreshed and reborn.
As the sun peeked out from behind the retreating storm clouds, I felt a sense of freedom that I hadn’t experienced in a long time. The mud clung to my skin like a second layer, painting a natural camouflage that made me feel one with the earth. My cock swayed slightly as I walked, the reminder of our passionate interlude bringing a smile to my face.
My thoughts drifted to Tom, to his strong hands and his insatiable appetite. I had had a fantastic time with Tom. Rejuvenated, some might say, as I felt a sudden urge to run, letting my body feel the full force of the elements against my bare skin. And so, I did, enjoying my cock swinging and bobbing as I ran with the wind blowing through my hair. I hadn’t run naked since being a child, and I was caught by the moment, enjoying my freedom, although I couldn’t last long due to the weight of my backpack.
The sun grew stronger, evaporating the rainwater from my skin. My wet clothes hanging from my backpack were now a soggy mess, but I felt a strange liberation from their absence. The countryside was vast and untouched, and I was just a speck moving through it, uninhibited and alive.
The sun began to set, painting the sky in a palette of oranges and pinks that reflected off the puddles scattered across the landscape. It was time to find a spot to set up camp, to rest my weary muscles and reflect on the day’s events. As I approached a hill that looked like it would provide a decent view and protection from the wind, I saw a figure in the distance.
My heart raced as I squinted through the fading light. Could it be Tom, watching me from afar? I asked myself. The figure grew closer, and my heart sank as I realised it was just a fellow hiker with a pack similar in size to mine. He also looked much older than me or Tom, and then, reality hit me: I was still naked.
The revelation hit me like a bucket of cold water, every inch of me exposed to the cooling evening air, mud dried in streaks across my thighs, Tom's seed crusted where it had trickled down my leg.
I had to hide quickly, before I was seen, and so I scrambled into the tall grass, my pulse hammering against my ribs as I lay in the grass, hoping the swaying grass and bracken would conceal me.
As my heart hammered in my chest, the hiker’s voice boomed loudly, cutting through the stillness left by the storm. "I saw you, young man!" His tone held an edge of stern authority as he continued, leaving no doubt he had seen me. "Running around naked in a public place? What’s gotten into you?" The weight of his judgment was a stark contrast to Tom’s hungry gaze just hours before.
I had no choice but to stand up, the mud-caked grass releasing me with a soft squelch. My skin prickled with embarrassment as I faced him, arms instinctively crossing over my groin. "It’s not what it looks like," I stammered, my voice tight. "My clothes got soaked in the storm, and I was letting them dry."
The lie tasted bitter, but admitting the truth was impossible. The hiker’s eyes swept over me, lingering on the streaks of dried mud and grass on my thighs and chest. My buttocks were no better, but thank God my fear prevented any form of arousal.
"You do know it’s against the law," he said flatly, his voice cutting through the evening stillness. "Public indecency is a crime, and I could call the police, you know."
"Sorry mate," I said, pulling my dirty briefs from the backpack's strap. Mud flaked off the fabric as I shook it out, the once-white cotton now stained ochre and brown. "I'll get dressed right now." My fingers trembled as I stepped into them, the damp fabric clinging uncomfortably to my skin. The hiker’s gaze was a physical weight, stripping me bare all over again.
He watched me with narrowed eyes, his posture rigid. "In my previous life before I retired," he said, his voice low and dangerous, "I would have tanned a boy for such an act." The words hung in the cooling air, sharp as a switch. "Back when I taught at St. Bartholomew’s, we didn’t tolerate indecency. A bare backside and a leather strap taught respect." His knuckles whitened where he gripped his walking poles.
I froze, one leg in my muddy briefs, the fabric halfway up my thigh. The dried seed on my skin felt suddenly obscene. "I'm sorry," I repeated, the words thick with fear. "I meant no offence. It won’t happen again."
But the man was already raising his phone, the screen glowing in the twilight. "Too late for apologies," he snapped. The click of the camera shutter was unnervingly loud in the quiet field. "This is evidence for the police," as he lowered the phone, his expression grimly satisfied. "They'll want to see exactly what kind of degenerate they're dealing with."
"Please don't," I begged, my voice cracking, the mud suddenly icy against my skin. I instinctively covered myself again, the damp briefs offering no real protection with one leg in and the other out. "I'll get dressed properly right now, I swear. Just delete the picture."
The man put the phone in his pocket, his eyes narrowing to slits as he studied my trembling form. "It's been a long time since I thrashed a young man," he mused, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper that cut through the twilight. "Too long and seeing you like this... it brings back memories of the good old days," as he took a deliberate step forward, his walking poles held like weapons. "St. Bartholomew's boys learned respect with their trousers round their ankles. Perhaps you need a similar lesson, considering you are already properly attired, young man, for a jolly good thrashing."
My throat tightened as I begged him. "Please delete the photo," I choked out, backing away until my bare shoulders hit a stand of dripping bracken, "and I’ll take whatever punishment you think I deserve." The words tasted like ash, but the alternative would involve the police, exposure, and the photo circulating on the internet.
The man paused, his stern expression flickering as he studied my trembling form with an intensity that shifted from anger to something more calculating. "You’ll submit to being thrahed?" he asked, his voice losing its razor edge, becoming almost contemplative. "Here? Now?"
"Yes, Sir."
The word hung between us, heavy as the cooling air. I saw his knuckles whiten on his walking poles, but his stern expression cracked into something predatory, almost eager. Without another word, he dropped his backpack and started to unthread the thick, worn leather belt from his trousers.
"In that case, young man, lead the way," he commanded, his voice dangerously soft. "Back there was an ideal fallen tree trunk, I saw as I came towards you."
My briefs dropped to the mud once more as I turned, walking stiffly toward the gnarled oak trunk he indicated. Rainwater pooled in its hollows, the wood smooth and devoid of its normal rough bark, against the fading light. I felt the weight of his gaze tracing every step, the mud sucking at my bare feet as I stopped before the trunk, a grimly perfect bench for punishment.
"I’m so going to enjoy this, young man. A beautiful bottom, ready for me, unblemished and perfect for my belt, now, bend over," he ordered, the leather belt snapping taut in his hands.
I obeyed, folding forward until my chest pressed against the damp wood, my hips raised. The wood smooth against my stomach as I gripped the far edge, knuckles white in preparation for what I was about to receive.
Behind me, his boots squelched in the mud as he positioned himself, perfectly aligning with my unprotected bottom.
“12 strokes, young man, that’s what you deserve.”
I had never received that many strokes at school, and the mere thought left me terrified as I remembered the consequences of 6 strokes years earlier.
The first stroke of his leather belt landed with a crack that echoed the departed thunder, a searing line of fire cutting through my shock and bringing reality crashing down. This was no schoolmaster’s token punishment; the old man wielded the thick leather with the brutal efficiency of long practice, each stroke landing precisely where it would cause the most agony. The second and third lashes followed in rapid succession, biting deep into my skin, forcing choked gasps from my throat as tears blurred my vision.
By the sixth stroke, my body was a trembling wreck, the overlapping welts burning like brands. Sobs wracked me, my knuckles clawing at the rough bark, my pleas dissolving into incoherent whimpers. The belt rose and fell relentlessly, a cruel metronome marking my degradation. The tenth stroke landed with brutal force directly across the crests of my burning cheeks, and the sharp, overwhelming pain triggered a humiliating loss of control; warm urine splashed onto my thighs and the muddy ground beneath me.
The twelfth and final stroke was a masterpiece of agony, landing low and hard, tearing a raw scream from my throat that ripped through the quiet dusk for every living thing to hear.
He stepped back, breathing heavily, the leather belt dangling loosely in his hand as he surveyed the damage, my backside a livid map of raised, angry welts, my body shuddering with aftershocks of pain and shame. "Lesson learned," he stated flatly, refastening his belt with unnerving calm. “I’m quite pleased my aim hasn’t dwindled from retirement.
“I remained bent over the wet, smooth trunk, crying like a child, unable to move, my world reduced to the agonising fire in my arse and the cold mud beneath my knees. Then, the sharp, unmistakable *click* of a camera shutter sliced through the silence. I flinched violently, twisting my head to see him lowering his phone, a grim satisfaction etched on his face. "Your photograph will make a nice addition to my photo album," he said, his voice devoid of warmth.
I said nothing in response, and without another word, he turned, picked up his enormous backpack, and walked off into the gathering dusk, leaving me exposed and broken in the muddy field.
I collapsed fully onto the cold, wet earth and grass beside the trunk, curling into a ball, my sobs echoing in the stillness left by his departure. The pain was immense, radiating from my striped backside, a physical manifestation of my humiliation.
Finally, summoning every ounce of will, I pushed myself up onto trembling hands, my vision blurry with tears, the raw agony in my backside flaring sharply with the movement.
It felt like a long walk back to my possessions, but eventually I made it, finding my backpack where I left it and my muddy briefs in the long grass. Dusk was bearing down on me as I looked around for a suitable place to camp.
I decided to head for the treeline in the distance, a place that would provide shelter and privacy. I walked naked through the open field, unable to cover my arse with my briefs, each step a sharp reminder of the stripes on my backside. The welts stung with every movement, the cool evening air a harsh contrast to the burning pain that radiated from my skin.
At the edge of the woods, I found a clearing and quickly erected my small tent, my hands trembling as I drove the pegs into the soft earth. The familiar routine providing small comfort. I gathered dry twigs and leaves from under the trees, built a small fire pit, and coaxed a flame to life. The flickering light danced on my bare skin as I heated water for a simple meal of instant noodles.
Sitting cross-legged near the fire, I stirred the pot, the steam warming my face while the welts on my backside throbbed with every shift. I thought of Tom’s rough hands in the rain, the wild freedom of our coupling, and how sharply it contrasted with the old man’s cruel discipline. One encounter left me buzzing with exhilaration; the other left me raw and exposed, a lesson etched in fire across my flesh.
Feeling a little better after my meal, I extinguished the fire and crawled into my tent, zipping it closed as I lay down to sleep, wondering what the world would bring at dawn the next day.
As I lay there, I thought about the day, especially the old man taking a photograph for his album. In some respects, I hoped he enjoyed the image that had cost me so much pain, but oddly, I was content with the price I paid for meeting Tom. For the first time since meeting the old man, I found humour in my soul as I chuckled, knowing the old man was probably in his bed and breakfast, thinking of me, and I felt sure he had been looking at the image more than once, as I drifted off to sleep.
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