Page 49 of Lost to the Woods

Her bedroom was a shrine.My shrine.

I quickly discovered her “fun drawer,” where she kept her toys—a compact pink wand, some lube, a pair of fluffy cuffs, and a very average-sized dildo. Her scent still clung to the silicone and I imagined how my pierced cock, nearly twice as big, would split that tight pussy open.

Fuck, she got me going crazy again.

I stole a few pairs of her panties—some sexy ones, others just the softest cotton with colorful cartoon prints. And a bra that she hardly ever wore, the kind with lace along the edges and pink, satin cups. Each piece mainly smelled like fresh laundry, but just knowing she’d worn them was enough of a satisfaction for my lonely nights back home.

My cock was fully hard at that point, throbbing in my pants.

I laid on her bed, pressing my face into the stack of pillows, and inhaled—shampoo, cotton-candy perfume, her sweet pussy, and the faint musk of sleep and sweat.

I jerked off fast, pumping furiously into my fist. Then buried my cock in her sheets as I spilled violently, marking herbed like a fucking dog. I moaned her name, over and over, until my voice went hoarse.

I didn’t even clean up. I let my cum dry right into the fabric. Let her wonder what smelled different the next time she laid down. I wanted her to feel me without knowing why. To squirm in her sleep without understanding the violation. To ache between her thighs and think it was just hormones.

But it was me.

It’d always been me.

So I probably shouldn’t have been surprised when she played with her pussy that very same night, crying out my name as she made herself squirt using her wand.

The next weeks were the worst and best in my whole life.

Worst—because I could only passively watch.

Best—because that little nympho masturbated almost every night. Or morning. Sometimes during the day, too.

Usually, it was quick. Her trusty pink wand always made her come, with no foreplay needed. But other times, she got more creative… and I lived for those moments.

I think my favorite memory is of her using the gift I sent her a while before, when we’d been talking.

I sat in the dark in front of my computer, one hand around the whiskey glass on my desk, the other resting just inches from my lap, heart already kicking harder as the feed from her room flickered into sharp focus.

Bunny was backlit by the soft pink glow of LED lights, casting a halo around her like some corrupted little angel. The sound was low, but I could hear her perfectly—her tiny feet shifting on the mattress, the faint creak of her bed, the subtle drag of cotton against sheets.

Lost in whatever fantasy got her excited, she was humming softly as she slowly undressed frommy t-shirt—because of course she continued to wear it—baring her breaststo the camera like a gift. Her hands covered her tits, kneading gently, while her dainty fingers played with the taut, pink nipples. Her breath hitched as her body writhed under her touch.

Her underwear was soft cotton, pale lavender with a tiny satin bow in the front. Not lacy. Not slutty.Worse.It looked innocent. Playful. Sweet. It was almost cruel when she parted her thighs wide enough that I could see a damp spot on the thin fabric between them.

And her stockings… Fuck, those stupid little white cotton knee-highs with the delicate ruffles at the top. Like she wanted to be a show.

She’d barely even started, and she already had me dying over here with a raging hard-on.

Then she suddenly stopped and lifted her head, looking at something. She just bit her bottom lip, crawled across the bed, and straddled the oversized teddy bear I had once shipped to her.

Six feet of plush and fluff and a red bow around its neck.

She settled on top of the bear slowly, dragging her hands up her thighs, over her hips, across her ribs, all the way up to her hair. She rocked once, hips rolling in a slow grind, testing it—just to see how it felt beneath her. Her head lolled back, and she exhaled through parted lips, eyes fluttering shut.

I didn’t breathe. I couldn’t.

Her hands slid down her neck, back onto her breasts. She pulled and pinched her nipples harder. Her mouth opened in a silent moan. And then I heard it.

“Daddy…”

Barely audible. But enough to make my cock flex under the fabric of my sweats.

She said it again, breathier this time. Whispered it like she was ashamed of it. Like she couldn’t stop herself. Her handmoved lower, slipping beneath the waistband of her panties, her other bracing on the teddy’s round, plush belly as she rocked harder now—humping the thing like she needed it. Like it was a warm body between her thighs.

---