The Patience of the Huntress

The apex predator watched the warm summer sun fall towards the horizon and listened intently for a sound near the entrance to her lair.

Years of success as a consummate hunter had taught her that two months of planning was about to pay off: she knew her prey would approach before darkness fell, and there was less than one hour’s worth of daylight left.

She took a long, slow drink, licked her lips, checked that there was nothing obvious which would scare her intended victim before it was too late, and waited.

Her long, lithe limbs were perfectly formed, and her patience when carefully setting the most delicate of traps had aided the unbroken sequence of success she’d enjoyed ever since adulthood: every self-imposed famine had ended with a feast.

She’d been sat waiting for only a matter of minutes when she heard the noise she’d been expecting, stirred, and moved noiselessly towards the tentative rapping at the edge of her territory.

Gordon Lister had never felt so nervous. Part of him hoped that Claire Taylor hadn’t heard his quiet knocking on her front door, but the rest of him desperately hoped that she had. He knew she was home, because just as he had done most days that summer, he’d spent the afternoon watching her sunbathe and knew she was probably still wearing a bikini, but he was terrified by the thought of finally having to engage in some sort of conversation with a partially-clad woman that attractive who was nearly as old as his mother.

In the two months he’d been secretly watching Claire Taylor’s daily garden exercise regime, he was confident that she’d never seen him spying on her from the corner of his bedroom, and he doubted that she even knew he existed as they’d never spoken. Every day for two months he’d watched ever-more intently as she’d gone from just lying on a towel in a swimsuit for an hour, to doing yoga exercises in a series of ever-smaller bikinis, and although he didn’t know very much about women like Claire Taylor, he knew that she’d surely be as embarrassed as him to find out that he’d seen her stretching out like that.

The apex predator stood silently at the edge of her domain and took a couple of very deep breaths. Her prey was just outside and she needed to stay very calm so that nothing in her manner caused even the slightest alarm. She could hear the nervous heavy breathing of her intended victim, and knew that as soon as they could see each other, anything other than a calming welcome might cause panic and alarm.

Claire Taylor adjusted her gossamer-thin summer skirt so that her bikini bottoms were fully covered, tied her unbuttoned chiffon shirt in a knot just above the waist, clicked on a light so that she wasn’t silhouetted by the setting sun streaming in through the rear windows of her house, and slowly opened the front door.

“Hello,” she said smiling, “are you Gordon?”

Gordon Lister, unable to reply, just nodded. She looked even more magnificent than she had from a distance and he was suddenly convinced that she must be naïve to think that covering up with just a skirt and a loose-fitting top could do anything to conceal a figure like hers.

“I’m sorry about being dressed like this,” she said gesturing downwards with both hands. “I was just about to go put some more clothes on when you knocked. You must think I’m some sort of exhibitionist, especially as we’ve not met before.”

Gordon Lister stuttered an apology for disturbing her, tried as hard as he could not to look at anywhere but down at the floor, and finally held out the shopping bag his mother had asked him to take round.

“Thank you Gordon,” said Claire Taylor taking the carrier from him, “has your mother gone away for the weekend now?”

He nodded; trying very hard not to look anywhere but at Claire Taylor’s perfectly pedicured feet. “She said you asked to borrow some baking things when she was loading up the car earlier, but I’m sorry it’s taken me a while to bring them round. I wasn’t sure exactly where everything was when I got given the job.”

Claire Taylor smiled, stepped to one side and held her front door open. “Well if you’re all home alone and have no one to go back to, you might as well come in for a drink.”

Gordon Lister felt even more nervous than he had been just a few minutes earlier. Part of him wanted to turn around and run back to an empty house, but the rest of him wanted to continue admiring the most alluring woman he’d ever spoken to, even if so far it had only been a few sentences. As he stepped forward, fully expecting her to go upstairs and dress in far less revealing clothes, part of him hoped that she was too innocent to be aware of the effect she was having, while the rest of him desperately wanted her to cover up.

The door swung shut behind him as he followed Clare Taylor into her front room, and then stood motionless with his mouth open as the outline of her toned, athletic body was silhouetted against the setting sun. From where he was, looking directly towards the light, she appeared to be naked, and even though he couldn’t see her face in the shadow, he somehow knew that he was smiling.

Claire Taylor gestured towards a chair and handed him a small glass of red wine which he hadn’t seen her pour and wondered whether she’d been expecting someone. “Have a seat Gordon,” said Claire Taylor picking up another glass of wine, “We ought to get to know one another.”

He took the glass from her, and as he sat, Claire Taylor slowly lowered herself into the chair opposite him and crossed her legs causing the flimsy summer skirt to fall to one side. Gordon Lister couldn’t help but stare. He’d known that her legs were quite wonderful for nearly two months, but from this distance, not only did they attract his eyes is such a way that he knew she was bound to notice, they did something else as well: Claire Taylor’s exposed legs triggered an instant and embarrassing erection.

He tried to look away, he tried to look down, he tried to apologise, and he tried in vain to find something to cover up the rapidly growing bulge in his trousers but there was nothing to hand. No throws, no cushions, nothing. Had he been cynical, he’d have wondered whether she’d intended to embarrass him, but as his experience of women was limited to three college girls his own age, he convinced himself of her innocence, reinforced that opinion when she politely offered her shirt.

He nodded without thinking as Claire Taylor unfastened her top and handed it to him; an action which only increased his discomfort. He had no doubt that she meant well, and was only trying to protect him, but now all he could focus on were the most perfect pair of breasts any man could imagine, and the now-hidden bulge in his trousers had grown so fast and so large that the pain in his lower stomach was intense.

“Sorry Gordon,” she said smiling, “sometimes I forget that men can find me attractive. I really should have covered up before I invited you in, but I wasn’t thinking.”

He tried to speak, but couldn’t, and when Claire Taylor stood up and leant forward he was absolutely certain that had he not been sat in such an uncomfortable position he’d have instantly ejaculated.

“Do you want to have sex with me Gordon?” she said breaking the silence, “is that it?”

Gordon Lister didn’t know what to say or how to react. There wasn’t any part of him which wanted to say no, but nor was there any part of him that believed she meant it, even though he’d gone to bed for the last eight weeks dreaming of nothing else.

“I know we’ve only just met, but I can sense some sort of attraction between us, so we can if you like,” she said, her smile breaking out into a wide grin, “because I haven’t done it in a while, but we’ll need to take a few precautions.”

His mouth was dry, his tongue wouldn’t move, and all he’d thought about for weeks was this absolutely perfect physical specimen of womankind bending and stretching, so he nodded as hard and as fast as he could, and tried to stutter his agreement. “Of c,c,course,” he replied, not knowing or caring what she meant by precautions, “….. You can do whatever you want …. Anything ….I never thought that…”

She put her exquisitely manicured index finger to his lips to silence him. “Shhh. Let’s go upstairs.”

Claire Taylor led him by the hand up to the master bedroom and pushed him gently backwards onto her bed. “I hope you don’t mind Gordon, but I’ve been disappointed by a lot of men in my time as they never seem to last very long when having sex with me if you know what I mean. Something about how fantastic my body is, or some such excuse, so would you mind if I tied you to the bed? Then I’ll be able to control things ….make it last a bit longer just in case you’re not able to …. well I think it’d be better for both of us.”

Gordon Lister didn’t care what she did just as long as she didn’t changed her mind, so he vigorously nodded his agreement while Claire Taylor took off her floral-print bikini top and used it to tie his left hand to a bed post, and then almost ejaculated for the second time again as she unfastened her string bikini bottoms and used them to tie his right hand to the other side. She then pulled his trousers and boxers down his legs, pulled two silk scarves from under the bed, tied each of his legs to opposite corner posts, and then removed her flimsy summer skirt which she stuffed in his mouth and knotted securely around the back of his head.

The apex predator looked down, licked her lips and scratched five razor-sharp nails across the stomach of her helpless victim. Two whole months of self-imposed famine had come to an end, and now, spread-eagled before her, was a three-day feast.

She grinned in anticipation of the seventy two hours uninterrupted pleasure she was about to have, and savoured the certainty of knowing her training programme had been so refined over the years that her prey would keep returning to the lair and begging to be used all over again …


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