Page 7 of Pounded in the Patch
"Can you imagine?" she had whispered, her fingers tracing patterns on my skin like she was writing her deepest secrets directly onto my body. "Being hunted like that? Chased through a corn field and then fucked in a pumpkin patch?"
"Caught and claimed in the middle of all those pumpkins, with the fog swirling around you and no escape, no choice but to surrender completely to someone who'll never let you go?"
My cock twitches at the memory.
I remember the exact moment her breathing changed, the way she shifted against me like the very thought was making her wet. The way she kept coming back to certain details over and over again—the Halloween setting, the genuine terror mixed with arousal, the way the female main character ultimately chose her captor over freedom.
Or was it that shefoundfreedom from withinhim?
Either way, my girl didn't just want the fantasy. Sheneededit. Craved it like an addict craves their next fix.
And I've spent fifteen months becoming the perfect dealer.
"The girl in the book fought at first," Seraphina had continued, her voice getting softer, almost confessional. "She was terrified and confused and had no idea who he was or why he'd chosen her. But by the end... by the end she didn't want to escape anymore. Shewantedto be caught. She wanted to be claimed and to belong to someone who would burn the world for her."
That conversation planted the seed. And that seed grew into so many glorious things.
Does she even remember it?
I made it happen. Because that's what I do best—I fixate. And I don’t stop until I’ve satisfied that untamed hunger.
Because that's what this is. Total consumption. Complete possession. The willingness to burn down the world and rebuild it in a way that meets all of her desires.
The first call I made was to Jensen Landscaping, and I told them I needed to purchase and clear a specific section of forest about an hour outside the city. I didn't sleep for three weeks while the land acquisition was being negotiated—I'd lie awake staring at satellite photos, measuring distances, calculating sight lines, mapping every tree that would need to be removed. The cost was more than most people's houses, but money means nothing when you're building an empire for the woman who owns your soul.
I know it will be worth every fucking penny.
The clearing and initial earth preparation took another two months of me driving out to the site multiple times a week, watching the crews work, ensuring every detail met my exact specifications. I hired four different teams to prevent any single group from understanding the full scope of my obsession. One team handled the tree removal and ground leveling—I stood there for hours, directing them which trees to spare and which to destroy based on how I imagined chasing her. Another installed the underground infrastructure—power lines, water access, and the network of pipes that would eventually feed the fog machine system. The third crew planted the pumpkin patch earlier in the year and tended to it throughout the summer and early fall. The fourth and final crew carved over a hundred pumpkins this week, equipping each one with a yellow-light candle on a timer to go off all night long.
This wasn't a matter of scattering some seeds and hoping for the best—I wanted variety, different sizes and colors and growth patterns that would create the perfect spooky setting for tonight.
Each one is a prop in the elaborate theater I've created to break her down and remake her.
Some are enormous—nearly two hundred pounds that she'll have to navigate around, creating natural obstacles. Others are small enough to trip over, perfectly placed to send her stumbling when she's running in pure terror. The variety creates chaos and confusion in the field, forcing her into panic decisions while I maintain complete control over every option available to her.
Every pathway leads exactly where I want it to go.
Every dead end was strategically placed to drive her deeper into my web.
Every route to freedom will be eliminated until surrender becomes her only choice.
The invoice for the carvers alone was more than Seraphina's annual salary, but I would have paid ten times that amount to ensure every detail was perfect. Ineedtonight to be perfect. For us.
But the most expensive part wasn't the labor or the materials—it was the technology. The fog machine system required consultation with three different special effects companies before we found one willing to tackle the scale I had in mind. We're not talking about a simple dry ice setup or a basic party fog machine. This is a professional-grade atmospheric system with programmable density controls, scent injection capabilities, and GPS-triggered activation.
Because I wanted the fog to be rolling when we arrived. I wanted the atmosphere to be perfect from the first moment she sees what I've built.
Every detail serves a larger plan.
Every element is designed to give her the ultimate high.
The sound system was another challenge entirely. How does one create ambient audio for a pumpkin patch without making it obvious where the speakers are hidden? How does one ensure consistent volume and quality throughout such a large space?
Six months of acoustic testing and equipment trials.
Hidden speakers throughout the patch, synchronized to respond to proximity sensors.
When she runs, the sound will follow her. When she stops, it willsurroundher.
