This weekend was a weekend to conjure with. Spent largely in mediaeval England in the woods it was filled with moments of pure fantasy.
Hearing historical tales of crime and punishment and imagining tying my boy to a cart and flogging him round the site (we had cart, rope and flogger so it would have been quite feasible).
Seeing the stocks and wanting to fasten him in there, bent over and naked, as the village whore so that anyone might use him.
Looking at the moon, full and high over the field, and wishing to see him nude and glorious under it.
Watching my boy pull down an errant branch (we needed to drive under the tree) and wanting to take it and whip him with it.
Oh yes, the woods were full of fantasy this weekend. The reality was a little tamer but there were moments of real delight.
Buying rope together, looking, handling it and not entirely admitting what we wanted it for.
In a flowing dress of velvet and satin, having my peasant boy kneel at my feet in the busy tavern for a photo that means more than the drinkers around us may have guessed.
A quiet moment in our tent (it had to be) where I held the lead around his neck and fucked him with my strap-on and then watched him cum in my hand as I told him he was my bitch.
Yes, the woods were full of magic this weekend.