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From: greywolf46@juno.com (Grey Wolf)
Subject: {ASSM} The Wild Side (MF, oral) Chapter 4
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Chapter 4


	Coffee.

	Bridget couldn’t place the wonderful smell that had awakened her
at first, but that was it. Coffee.

	She opened her eyes, squinting in the morning light as it flowed
in from the window.  Slowly, she pulled the thick, soft quilt down from
her face and looked about the small room.  She saw the red marks that
still faintly marred her slender wrists and knew that the events of the
previous night had not been a nightmare. At least not in the strictest
definition of the word.

	She was in a bed. A wonderful huge bed made of peeled and sealed
pine logs. The bedroom had little other furniture besides the bed. A
night stand edged the bed on one side and against the wall a comfortable
looking rocking chair stood, another smaller quilt flowing over one arm.
On another small table beside it stood an unlit oil lamp and a book lying
open and face down. Some one had spent the night in that chair. Watching
over her as she slept.

	The door at the foot of the bed stood open, and she could see
only part of the room that lay beyond. Thick rugs covered most of the
wooden floor between her room and the great stone fireplace that covered
the far wall. A fire was blazing in the hearth, chasing the remnants of
the night chills from the cozy cabin. The clinking sound of dishes came
from out of her view, and footsteps came closer as she pulled herself up
on her elbows in the bed.

	“Well.....Good Morning,” came the soft deep voice.  

	He stood in the doorway, his large frame blocking out most of her
view of the other room. He smiled easily at her as he stood holding the
tray of food. Bridget had been right about his height. He must have stood
over 6 feet, with broad strong shoulders that threatened to jam in the
doorway opening.  Thick brown hair swept back from a strong forehead and
tied in a pony tail at the nape of his neck. Bridget tried to guess the
mans age.  His body showed no signs of the flabbiness that affected men
in there middle years, yet the hair at his temples had begun to turn a
silvery white.  His face had chiseled features that seemed carved from
stone, but his grey eyes gave a warm friendly glow that bespoke of youth
and gentleness.  She gave up trying to guess his age as the incredible
aroma of the breakfast finally reached her. 

	“I hope you rested well?” he asked, a look of concern fleeting
across his handsome face.

	“Yes, Thank you,” she answered, scolding herself for staring at
him like an idiot. 

	“Good. I didn’t know if you would be hungry, so I went ahead and
threw something together, just in case.” He walked easily across to the
bed, the sight of the eggs and bacon on the tray making Bridget’s mouth
water. 

	“Mmmmm. Looks great,” she smiled up at him. 

	Bridget pushed herself further up in the bed, the fluffy quilt
slipping down enough to reveal the black satin bra that pushed up the
round fullness of her breasts.  She quickly pulled the quilt back up to
cover her bosom, her face reddening with a blush. Her large blue eyes
darted up to the face of her rescuer to see him smiling sheepishly.

	“Your dress was in pretty bad shape,” he said, hesitating. “There
was a fair amount of ...blood ...on it.” He cast his eyes down for a
moment, the smile gone, before looking back at her. “I thought it best if
you not wake up to see that sort of thing.”

	“It’s all right,” she answered softly, reaching her hand out to
touch his cheek. “Thank you. I can’t possibly thank you enough for what
you did for me.”

	He closed his eyes for a brief second as her slender, warm
fingers caressed his face. Then smiled as he set the tray of food on her
lap.

	“You take your time eating, and let me know if you want anymore.
I tend to get carried away when I cook. There is enough for a small
army.” He turned and walked toward the door, then stopped and looked
back. “There are some towels in the bathroom, and a robe, if you feel
like freshening up later.”

	“Wait,” she said, “I don’t even know your name.”

	“Cutter McGuiness,” he answered. “My parents named me Herbert,”
he grinned, “but nobody calls me that.”

	“I’m Bridget,” she smiled. “Bridget Wentworth.”

	“Very nice to meet you, Miss Bridget Wentworth.” He smiled again
broadly, nodded his head ceremoniously and walked out of the room.

	Bridget listened as his footsteps faded across the outer room,
hearing him open the door to the outside and leave the small cabin.  She
looked back at the rocking chair where she was sure he had sat vigil over
her during the night. Then she looked down at the marvelous breakfast
that he had just prepared for her. This man. This kind, gentle, caring
man who was embarrassed over having to remove her soiled dress, was the
same man that had waded into unbelievable danger to save her. This was
the same man that had utterly destroyed the men that had brutalized her.
This was the same man that had exploded in a fury of violent destruction
that crushed anyone foolish enough to stand in his way.  Bridget had
never seen such a display of brute viciousness in her entire life. She
couldn’t even bare to watch boxing on television. Yet last night, when
her hero was crushing the life from her attackers, she had felt something
that wasn’t revulsion. Her heart had thrilled at the sight of him sending
them to hell. It had been beautiful.

	She hesitated at that word. But it was true. It had been
beautiful and graceful like a ballet. And yet this same beserker was
capable of tenderness, and caring.  She pondered the dichotomy as she
chewed on the delicious bacon, her appetite soon driving any thoughts
from her mind that didn’t involve food.  After devouring the breakfast,
Bridget slipped from beneath the covers and wrapped the quilt around her
body. She walked to the bathroom and washed her self as best she could in
the basin. Her long thick hair was a mess, wild about her head. She
brushed it into submission and slipped into the soft robe that hung on
the back of the door, cinching the belt of the too large garment around
her slim waist. 

	The larger room of the small cabin turned out to be much more
interesting than the bedroom. Shelves lined almost every wall, with rows
and rows of books of every description. A small kitchen with an antique
wood cookstove was nestled into one nook at the back of the room. On a
small table against the wall, three photographs stood in gilded frames.
In one, a woman and a baby smiled into the camera. In the other two,
Cutter joined the woman and a slightly older version of the baby. Bridget
looked closely at the photos with Cutter. He looked generally the same,
with the exception of his clothing, and his hair. In the photographs his
hair was short and lacking the grey at the temples. 

	Who were the woman the child? They must be his family, but where
are they now?

	In one corner of the room, swords and edged weapons of every sort
hung in display on the wall. From simple, to elegant and ornate, they
glinted in the light from the small windows. But what caught Bridget’s
eye most of all was what stood attached to a stand in the middle of the
display of armaments. 

	A gleaming, full sized suit of shining armor.

	It was like something right out of a medieval fairytale. She
stood in front of it, her mouth open in disbelief. She reached her hand
out to touch the cool metal, her nails clicking against the steel skin.
Bridget half expected it to disappear, to vaporize like the hallucination
that she believed it to be. But it was real.

	“Do you like it?”

	Bridget started out of her musing and turned to see Cutter
standing behind her. She hadn’t even heard him come back inside the
cabin.

	“Its....its wonderful,” she stammered, turning back to look at
the piece with awe.

	“Thank you,” he said, a hint of pride edging his voice. “It’s
what I do up here. I make all sorts of things like this.”

	“You MADE this?” she asked, a look of astonishment on her face.

	“Guilty,” he replied. “That’s where my nickname came from. I’m a
bladesmith,... among other things.”

	“They’re beautiful,” she said, looking at the artistry with even
more admiration.	

	Cutter poured them both a cup of coffee from the pot on the warm
stove, and they walked out to the porch to sit in the warm sunshine and
talk. Bridget sat on a low bench, her long legs crossed Indian style
while she sipped her warm drink, the ample folds of the robe covering her
like a tent. She reached out her hand to the head of the large black
Rottweiler that sat nearby, stroking his ears as he closed his eyes in
pleasure at the attention. They talked for hours. Bridget spoke of the
collision with the deer, and how frightened she had been during the night
of terror. She couldn’t help but notice that Cutter was listening
intently to her every word. He REALLY listened, his eyes never leaving
her as she struggled to put her feelings and thoughts into words. It was
so different being with this stranger, than with her husband. 

	Cutter told her about his life here in the mountains. How he had
come here after serving in the military, overseas. He spoke about the
Earth Arts Center that had sprung up nearby, and how the eclectic group
of artists and craftspeople had banded together to work and live, almost
like a family. Cutter preferred the solitude of his remote cabin, but was
close enough to act as a sort of guardian, or protector, or the peaceful
commune.	

	They both spoke so easily with each other that Bridget was
surprised to find herself talking about her own unhappiness with Bill.
How he had abandoned her emotionally and how she had suffered the
embarrassment and shame of his affairs. It all spilled out of her freely.
It was as if the events of the past 24 hours had pulled the stopper from
a bottle, allowing her feelings to flow out at will. Tears welled up in
her beautiful eyes as she spoke of her loneliness and dispare. Of how her
life seemed so meaningless and empty. One large tear rolled down her
smooth cheek, only to be stopped by Cutter’s gentle finger.

	“I wondered why you didn’t ask about using a phone. You know, ...
to call your husband,” he said, kneeling at the foot of the bench on
which she huddled.

	“He wouldn’t care if I disappeared forever,” she whispered, her
eyes downcast. “No one would.”

	One strong, yet gentle hand tipped her chin
upward.	Cutter’s grey eyes looked deeply into her own.

	“That’s not true,” he said softly. “You are a beautiful,
intelligent, warm woman. Any man would be crazy to turn his back on you.”

	Their eyes remained locked together. Bridget gripped his large
hand in her slender one, drawing strength from his comforting presence. 
She gazed into his grey eyes, and she felt herself falling into their
depth and mystery.  Without consciously willing it, Bridget found herself
leaning forward toward those eyes. Cutter raised his head slightly to
meet her advance, and their lips met. Softly at first, the warm moistness
of their breaths passing between them. Bridget closed her eyes as they
parted slightly, her wet lips still parted, enjoying the wonderful taste
of his lips on hers. Her breathing was shallow and her head spun from the
rush of emotion and fire. She opened her eyes to see his handsome face
again, and placed both of her delicate hands on either side of his noble
head. Her long red nails raked through his hair lightly as she drew his
lips once more to her own, this time kissing him deeply with the passion
that had been building within her for years, untapped. Their tongues
intertwined, each exploring the other as their lips pressed together in a
fierce embrace. 

	Bridget felt his hands at the belt of the robe that wrapped her
body. Easily, his hands slipped the knot holding the garment closed and
he slipped his arms inside to encircle her slender waist. Bridget could
feel her bare nipples harden as he pulled her close, pressing his broad,
hard chest against her full breasts. 

	“Oh God,” she whispered breathlessly as Cutter’s lips brushed the
soft skin of her neck. Her head tipped back as her lover’s kisses burned
like fire in a trail across her throat. Everything in the world seemed to
be in sharp detail to her heightened senses. She could even feel her own
pulse as it throbbed rapidly in her neck against Cutter’s wet lips and
tongue. Strong hands cupped her now exposed breasts, her nipples
hardening further as Cutter rimmed the dark circles with his warm tongue.
Bridget tangled her fingers in his hair as Cutter sucked lightly upon the
long, hard nipples. Her breath came in gasps as his lips pulled harder on
the sensitive skin, sending flashes of heat throughout her body. She felt
the growing wetness between her legs, and her round bottom began to slide
on the now slippery smoothness of the wooden bench as her juices flowed
freely. 

	Cutter’s kisses began to trail down beneath her breasts, and
across the firm flatness of her stomach. Bridget brought one of the
large, gentle hands to her mouth, her long lashed eyes shut tight as her
pink tongue darted out to caress one powerful finger. She took the digit
into her hot, wet mouth to the first knuckle, wrapping her full lips
around it as she slipped it in and out of the moistness. Cutter’s hot
breath tickled the lips of her pussy as he pressed his attentions ever
lower along her body. She took his finger fully in her burning mouth and
sucked hard as the warm skin slid in and out from hand to fingertip. Her
free hand clutched desperately at the long hair at the nape of Cutter’s
neck as she felt the growing climax building in burning wetness between
her legs. She couldn’t believe that she was so close to cumming, so fast.
The touch of his hands and lips upon her body were pushing her into a mad
frenzy as she sucked Cutter’s large finger faster and faster, the wet
sounds that it made fanning her passion even more.

	Low moans gave way to louder squeals as Cutter’s tongue finally
reached her mound. Softly, the burning, wet tongue traced the outline of
her pussy lips as he tasted her juices for the first time. Bridget ground
her hips against his mouth as she wrapped her long legs around his head,
pulling his face harder against her cunt. 

	“Ohhhhh....yessssss,” she hissed, continuing to suck frantically
upon Cutter’s finger. Her face flushed red and her breast jiggled and
swayed freely to the rhythmic grinding of her hips and ass. 

	“Mmmmm.....Ahhhh.....,’’ she squealed loudly Cutters tongue
wiggled against her swollen clit. The fluid gushed from her cunt as he
sucked upon the button, his thick tongue darting into her depths, pushing
at the wet walls of her cunt.

	Bridget’s head tossed from side to side as she felt the
passionate burning build to the breaking point. Her wild mane of hair
covered her face as she clutched Cutter’s head in both hands, rapidly
pumping her pussy against his mouth. Her squeals became screams as the
first jolt of climax rocked her writhing body. In the past, sex had been
quiet and reserved, but now Bridget could not control her fevered
thrashing as wave after wave of contractions raced along the walls of her
pussy. Her long legs shot out stiffly from where they rested upon
Cutter’s broad shoulders, her toes pointed in ecstasy as she came
violently. The throbbing heat went on and on, and Bridget thought that if
she continued to cum like this, she surely would pass out.

	Cutter gripped her buttocks in both hands now, and lifted her
still twitching cunt to his mouth, drinking the sweet wetness and feeling
her hot walls contract around his tongue.  Bridget managed to open her
eyes briefly, as she felt the contractions ebbing, only to feel another
wave of spasms overwhelm her. The sight of Cutter’s head between her
thighs, his tongue buried deeply within her, his eyes looking at her over
the glistening patch of hair was too much and she felt herself cumming
yet again. She clutched her breast until they hurt and bit her lower lip
as the waves of pleasure rippled through her body, each wave ebbing
slightly in intensity until she lay exhausted upon the bench. Bridget
didn’t even have the strength to lift her legs from around Cutter’s head,
where he still crouched licking the last of her juices from her firm
thighs.

	Bridget lay there, panting as she tried to regain her strength,
the robe open wide as her firm round breasts rose and fell. Her mind
raced to make sense of the miss-mash of recent events. Everything had
happened so quickly. Life had gone from lifeless and dull, to fast and
dangerous in a matter of hours.... and she LOVED it. Never before, in her
memory, had life seemed so REAL to her. She didn’t care if it made sense,
if it was proper, or if it was even sane. She just wanted it to continue.

	Gradually, Bridget realized that she no longer felt Cutter
between her legs and she sat up on the still damp bench, a look of
puzzlement crossing her face as she searched for her lover. Cutter was
nowhere to be seen, but the dog was standing at the top of the short
stairs leading down from the porch to the ground in front of the small
cabin. He stood rock still once again, his attention riveted to the
opening in the dense forest from which a small road wound up to the
house. Bridget turned her head at a sound from the nearby door of the
cabin to see Cutter emerge from the opening, a rifle in his hands and an
automatic pistol tucked into the waistband of his pants in the hollow of
his back. 

	A look of alarm crossed Bridget’s face as she saw the expression
on Cutter’s face. The look of warmth and compassion was gone from his
handsome features, and had been replaced by one as cold as steel.  She
glanced back toward the spot among the trees that had captured both man
and dog’s attention as she quickly closed the robe around her naked body
and sat fully erect on the bench. After a few seconds, Bridget could hear
the sound of rustling leaves and snapping twigs as someone made their way
toward the cabin. A low growl came from the throat of the eerily still
dog, only to stop as a man emerged from the trees, panting and wheezing
as he ran toward the house. Cutter relaxed visibly at the sight of the
man, and lowered the gun that he had held at the ready.

	“Pete.....you make more noise than 50 people crashing through the
trees,” Cutter called.

	“Cops...” the man panted, coming to a halt at the base of the
stairs, “ Cops.....came to the....center....” The skinny man bent double,
his hands on his knees as he fought to catch his breath. “They’re looking
for her,” he said nodding in Bridget’s direction. 

	“Have they found Roberts’ bunch?” answered Cutter.

	“No. But you can bet they will. They found her car in the ditch
and they’ve been looking for her all morning. Its only a matter of time
before they come here.”

	“Shit,” answered Cutter. “Can you take her back down the
mountain?”

	Bridget snapped her head in Cutter’s direction. Back down the
mountain? She wouldn’t leave. She COULDN’T leave. Not when she had so
recently found a new hold on life here with this man.

	“Yeah. I can skirt around the Cops back to the Center, they won’t
see us.”

	“Come on,” Cutter said, turning to Bridget. “We don’t have much
time. ”Bridget followed the broad shoulders into the house, a stunned
look of questioning clear on her face. 

	“Why do I have to leave?” she asked as he searched a closet for a
pair of boots that might fit her.

	“I have a .... history..... with the local police. They generally
leave well enough alone, but if they find you here, and then find what is
left of the bunch that grabbed you, it won’t take much of a detective to
figure out who did it. I would rather avoid that kind of attention.”

	“But....” she stammered, torn between wanting to protect him, and
wanting to be with him. “Do you.....do you .......WANT me to leave?”

	Cutter turned toward her, a light pair of walking boots in his
hands. The cold, hard look drained from his face as he gazed at her in
the filtered light from the cabin windows. He smoothly crossed the gap
between them to gather her in his strong arms. Bridget had to tilt her
head up to see his face as her large blue eyes locked with his. 

	“I’m not about to let you go,” he said softly. “But its not safe
for either of us for you to be found here. Go with Pete. I’ll come to you
soon.”

	“Promise?” she whispered, the tears threatening to come.

	Cutter bent his head down, touching his lips to hers, pressing
her warm body firmly against his chest.

	“I swear,” he answered. 

_____________________________________________________________________
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