My mistress marked me out in the middle of the fields that afternoon

The afternoon sun fell soft over the fields, one of those late-spring days when the air smells of cut grass and earth still warm from the day. We walked slowly, with no real destination, brushing arms every few steps. Renata wore a thin cotton skirt that the wind lifted a little with every gust. I was in jeans and a T-shirt, with my underwear already tight since we’d left, and she kept glancing at me out of the corner of her eye with that smile of hers that always meant the same thing.

Suddenly she stopped. She pinned me with her gaze without saying a word. Just that, her eyes locked on mine. Then, without warning, she slid both hands under the waistband of my pants, unfastened the button with quick fingers, and yanked my jeans and boxers down to mid-thigh in one pull. The cool air hit my skin and I went hard almost instantly, more from surprise than anything else.

She crouched a little. She looked up at me, eyes shining, and, without touching me with her hands yet, brought her mouth close and let fall a long, hot spit right on the tip. The liquid slowly ran down the head, over the whole shaft, and dripped downward. I felt the heat against the cold air, the wet tickle, a shiver climbing my back to the nape of my neck.

She didn’t say a word. She just watched as her saliva spread, gleaming under the sun. Then, with the same calm with which she had stopped, she pulled my underwear back up and snugged it tight over the erection that was now impossible to hide. She yanked my jeans back up, buttoned and zipped me like she’d just tidied my clothes after a stumble.

She turned, took my hand as if nothing had happened, and kept walking.

—Shall we keep going? —she said in a calm, almost innocent voice.

I could hardly speak. It was throbbing inside the soaked fabric, rubbing against the cotton with every stride. Every movement was a delicious torture. The path stayed just as calm, the birds kept singing, the wind swayed the stalks, and I moved forward with that sticky, hot feeling between my legs, knowing that at any moment she could stop again and do it all over.

We walked a bit longer, in silence at first. The sun was lower now, stretching the shadows of the olive trees and almond trees lining the trail. Every step made the damp fabric stick and peel away again, reminding me the whole time of what had just happened. Renata squeezed my hand now and then, as if nothing, but I could tell her breathing was faster than before.

***

She stopped again, this time beside a low bush that sheltered us a little from the main path. She turned to me with that same mischievous look, though now there was something darker in her eyes, something dirtier.

—Turn around —she said quietly, almost in a whisper.

I didn’t ask questions. I turned slowly and pressed my hands against the rough trunk of an old olive tree. I felt her fingers slide into my waistband again. This time she didn’t lower everything at once: first the button, then the zipper very slowly, and then she pulled my jeans and boxers down together, just enough to leave me exposed. The cool air brushed my ass and I got goose bumps.

She spread my legs with her knee and opened my ass with both hands, without any gentleness. I felt the scrape of her nails, the heat of her palms. Then she crouched behind me. I felt her breath very close, first on my skin, then lower.

And then I felt it: a long, thick spit that landed right in the center. Hot, viscous, it slid slowly before gravity dragged it downward. The contrast was brutal, the cold air against the warm saliva that cooled too quickly. A shiver ran through me, I went even harder, and I started dripping freely against the fabric still covering me in front.

Renata didn’t touch anything else. She just watched her saliva spread, how it gleamed for a second in the light filtering through the leaves. Then, with the same fingers she had used to open me up, she pushed a little inside, just the fingertip, just enough for me to feel the pressure and the wet slide. She didn’t go all the way. She was just staking her claim.

—Good submissive —she murmured, laughing under her breath.

She pulled my underwear and jeans back up calmly, straightening everything out as if she were folding a shirt. When I finished buttoning myself up, she came to stand in front of me, looked me in the eyes, and gave me a soft kiss on the mouth.

—Now walk slowly —she told me—. I want you to feel it the whole time.

And we went on. Every step moved the saliva, spread it, let it dry a little and then wet it again. Everything down there was throbbing, clenching by itself every few meters, reminding me where her mouth and her finger had been.

The path narrowed and went between denser trees. She was in front now, deliberately swaying her hips, knowing that I was following her stiff, wet, and with my head full of what might happen if she stopped a third time.

***

The trail had become almost a corridor between brambles and twisted olive trees. The sun was now a reddish glow between the trunks, the air had cooled, but I was still burning inside. Renata walked ahead, swaying with that deliberate slowness that she knew drove me insane.

All at once she stopped dead, turned, and faced me. Her eyes had that dangerous glint, the one that appears when there’s no turning back.

—Stop —she ordered, though I had already done it on my own.

She came up close until she was pressed against me, chest to chest. I felt her heat through the thin clothes. Without saying anything, she raised one hand and grabbed my jaw hard, her fingers digging into my cheeks. She forced my mouth open slowly, like someone prying open a door that doesn’t want to give. I tried to resist for a second, out of pure instinct, but she squeezed harder and I gave in. My mouth opened all the way, my tongue half out, exposed.

Then she leaned in, brought her face to mine until I felt her breath on my lips. She opened her mouth too, and without warning let loose a hard, direct, generous spit that landed right in the center of my tongue. Wet, with that slightly salty taste that was pure her. The impact made me close my eyes for a moment; I felt it spread through my mouth, mix with my own saliva, drip a little from the corner of my lips before I could swallow it.

She still didn’t let me shut my mouth. She held my jaw open with her hand, staring at me fixedly while it slid back, toward my throat.

—Swallow it all —she whispered, her voice hoarse—. Don’t waste a single drop.

I swallowed. The taste clung to my palate, warm and commanding. A shiver ran down my spine to where the wet trail from before still remained. I was throbbing so hard it hurt against the fabric.

Only then did she let go of my face. She wiped the corner of my mouth with her thumb, as if erasing an innocent stain, and smiled with that half-smile of hers that always promised more.

—Good puppy —she said again, but lower now, more intimate.

She gave me a quick kiss, one that tasted of the two of us mixed together, and went on walking as if nothing had happened. I stood still for a second, with my mouth still marked by that strong aftertaste and my head spinning.

The path now led into a more enclosed area, where the trees formed almost a tunnel. Light came in thin shafts and the ground was covered in dry leaves crunching underfoot. She turned for a moment, looked at me over her shoulder, and said:

—Come on. No one can see us here.

And she kept walking, knowing I would follow. Knowing that what came next was going to be even dirtier.

***

The path had become almost invisible among the brush, a tunnel of branches that muffled any sound from the outside world. The sun was now only a reddish gleam between the trunks and the air smelled of damp earth. Renata stopped again, this time without saying anything at first. She turned, looked me up and down as if assessing merchandise, and held my gaze with that slowness that put me on edge.

First came the usual, but stronger. She grabbed me by the nape with one hand, forced me to lean toward her, and with the other yanked my jeans and boxers down to my knees. I came out hard, shining with earlier saliva. She crouched, opened her mouth, and spat a thick, direct glob that hit with a wet sound and quickly ran down the shaft. She didn’t settle for one; she spat twice more, forcefully, as if she wanted to mark my whole body and make it clear I was hers.

Then she turned me around without ceremony, opened my ass with both hands, and repeated the ritual from behind: a long, hot spit, followed by another that fell lower and slid slowly. I felt the saliva mix with sweat and with the trace from before, how everything turned into a sticky, hot mess between my legs.

But this time she didn’t stop there.

She straightened up, slipped her hands under her skirt, and, without taking her eyes off mine, slowly pulled her panties down. They were black cotton, already well worn; the strong, intimate smell reached me before she had even finished taking them off. She held them for a second in front of my face, finally letting me smell them properly, then brought them to my mouth as if they were a gag.

—Open —she ordered.

I opened. She pushed the fabric inside, wet and warm, clinging to my tongue, the taste filling my whole mouth. She left them there for a moment, watching me, and then took them back out. She unfolded them carefully and ran them over my tip, rubbing so it would soak in with my scent mixed into hers.

—Put them on —she said, holding them out to me.

I put them on. The tight fabric, already damp, clung to the hard skin and to the back still wet with saliva. The friction was brutal: every movement made her stain rub against my head. I pulled my jeans back up over them, but everything showed, the bulge, the smell leaking out through the half-open zipper.

***

We kept walking. We had barely taken a few steps when Renata turned again, lifted her skirt all the way up, and crouched a little, legs apart.

—Watch me.

She visibly relaxed. A hot stream started coming out of her, splashing the ground between her feet, soaking the dry earth. It was abundant, golden, with a strong smell that got into my head. It kept going until the stream became thinner and dripped, running down her thighs.

—Clean it up, dog —she ordered, nodding with her chin—. With your tongue, all of it, every last drop.

I dropped to my knees in front of her without thinking. First the front: I licked from bottom to top, gathering what was still dripping, the salty, bitter taste mixing with her fluid. I slid my tongue between the folds, cleaning them, sucking eagerly on whatever I found.

Then I moved to the back: I parted her ass cheeks and licked, still wet with drops, getting the tip of my tongue inside, tasting everything.

She was moaning softly, one hand in my hair pushing me deeper, the other holding her skirt up at her waist. I belong to her completely, I thought, and I don’t want to be anywhere else.

When she thought it was enough, she pulled back a little and looked down at me with that filthy look she saves for when she’s humiliating me.

—Now come in my panties like the horny dog you are. I want you to fill them.

I pulled my jeans down just enough and took my cock out from inside her panties, already sticky from both of us. I started jerking off in front of her, fast, furious, with the image of everything that had happened burned into my head: the spit, the hot stream, her smell in my mouth.

It didn’t take long. The orgasm hit like a whip crack, in thick, hot spurts that landed straight into the fabric I was holding, soaking the exact part that had covered her before, mingling with everything else.

I finished panting. She took the panties from my hand, folded them carefully so nothing would spill out, and put them back on. She adjusted them, rubbing a little to make sure everything settled properly.

She pulled her skirt down, gave me a tongue kiss that tasted of everything we had done, and we kept walking as if nothing had happened.

***

The sun had already disappeared completely. The way back was long. With every step I could still feel the desire to have her pounding inside me, and she could feel the hot trace cooling inside the fabric, against her skin, reminding her of the same thing it reminded me of.

I was walking with the back of me still damp and the taste of her lingering in my mouth. Both of us wanted to get home. Both of us knew what was waiting for us there.