"They're torture devices. But I'm hardly a hippie, and I was raised right. A woman needs to protect her assets."
"Unfortunately, it appears the department store wares were a little short. You'll have to make do.”
I smooth the fabric over her skin, and let my palm linger on her breasts, a reminder that going braless might not be as bad as she thinks. Her cheeks flush pink when her nipples harden against the fabric.
If she reacts to my touch, she schools it well.
"Lay back."
She obeys. I lift one leg after the other, slide them into her jeans, then pull them over her little butt. She hisses.
"You're smiling because that spanking you gave me earlier still hurts?"
"Of course. You're adorable."
"And you're a sadist."
“Thank you."
Her mouth parts. "That wasn't a compliment."
"Where I'm from, it most certainly is. It means I did my job well, and we're off to a really fucking good start. Let’s go.” I gesture for her to follow me. “I’m not going to cuff you right now. We're running out of daylight, and we have work to do. I need two sets of hands. And you don't need me to tell you what will happen if you try anything funny."
She rolls her eyes. "Nope. Hey!"
Her eye roll just earned her a good hard smack to the ass. "Roll your eyes at me again, and I’ll take you straight across my knee. Consider yourself warned."
She opens her mouth as if to protest, and then thinks better of it. She only sighs and walks beside me.
I take her hand in mine.
"Do you see that lamp over there?"
She nods.
"Bring it here."
I release her hand with reluctance, but I need to make sure she's going to obey me. This is a simple request, though. She brings me the lamp and hands it to me.
“Where did that come from? Little House on the Prairie?"
"Oil lamps are incredibly useful tools. You'll see."
"They look very flammable, too," she says apprehensively.
"We’ll be cooking with open flame, heating ourselves by a fire, and any energy source in this cabin is from propane or kerosene."
"So in other words, this entire site is explosive?”
“Exactly.”
I show her how to light the lamp, but it's self-explanatory. Flick a match, strike the wick, and off you go. We place it in the center of the round table in the kitchen area and go outside together for firewood.
Dusk has fallen over the quiet campsite. I don't miss the way she sighs. Yeah, I feel the same. All around us, tall pines rise out of the earth and kiss the sky.
The blue of dusk creates art through the dappled leaves; flickering shadows dance with light. We gather up kindling and broken bits of wood. She doesn't make a protest through any of this, and we work in near silence. The only sound is the wind rustling the branches, the crunch of leaves under our feet, the caw of birds, the nearby hum of moths and butterflies, and the scattering sound of animals rooting around in the underbrush. I expect her to react in fear, but she only stands closer to me.
"Who owns this place? The Rossis?"