Firewatch Ch 10

Wilde tries in good faith to be considerate of Flores. She keeps Alison busy with plenty of kissing as she thrusts almost gingerly to minimize the squeaking of the bed and bumping of the headboard. Alison’s fingernails on her back indicate a certain urgency and dissatisfaction with this arrangement. She likes missionary, just not gentle missionary.

Wilde pulls out and seals her mouth with a kiss, using her fingers instead of her cock. This allows her to be vigorous with less noise until Alison breaks free and cries out.

“Yes! Right there!”

Wilde pulls her off the bed, and Alison takes the hint, putting her palms on the wall and bending her back to offer her hindquarters. Now there’s no squeaking or bumping, but there’s something worse. Alison is incredibly wet, and flesh smacks dramatically as Wilde fucks her from behind. Wilde could try to be gentle, but that would just annoy Alison, and Wilde doesn’t have the self-control anyway. She turns Alison around and pushes her back against the wall, lifting her leg. She’s so wet that there’s fumbling and her cock slides and glances several times before she gets it into Alison’s fleshy folds and plunges in properly.

“Oh! Fuck me!” Alison wails.

Wilde puts her hand over Alison’s mouth and does so. This is the angle; Alison’s insides lock down in a whole new way, making Wilde pant and groan as she does her part. Alison grabs Wilde’s bony frame as she cums, and Wilde feels like she can just sink into all Alison’s warm softness. She lets go and sighs into Alison’s neck as she trembles and fills up the condom.

“Ah!” Alison’s hand flies out and slaps the wall, knocking a framed print of a deer askew. Then she lets out a moan mingled with a sigh of satisfaction. “Oh, yes. Baby.” She rubs Wlide’s sweaty back.

The print tilts, then falls, hitting the dresser with a crash.

F-Files

Day brings new clouds. Barney is only marginally livelier in the daytime.

The town’s greasy breakfast place isn’t very greasy, nor is it busy, although this should be prime time for them. Wilde sips delightfully bitter black coffee and looks worriedly out the window at the iron-gray sky. It’s difficult not to be intimidated by the scale of the forest. They are a long way from anything.

Flores enters the restaurant with her laptop case, hurrying to the table. Today, she wears charcoal slacks, a black sweater, and a sensible North Face jacket. The effects of her sober dress are diminished by her size; a big man occupies a booth near the door. She looks like a toddler as she passes him.

“Figured if one of us would be running late, it’d be me,” Wilde muses, pushing a cup of coffee across the table.

“I’m not late,” Flores replies. “I was running it down. Ro Nielsen.”

“Ro?”

“I don’t know how to pronounce her name. It’s Irish. It’s Ro on socials.” Flores moves the cup and opens her laptop, showing Wilde a capture from security footage at a gas station. “2018 Rav 4, red. Registered to Ro Nielsen. This is her.” She brings up a social media profile that hasn’t been updated in months. The profile picture is clear enough: delicate, pretty, cheerful. Normal. “Day before yesterday, she was this girl, getting gas right down that street. Your tip was good, Wilde. Hailee Siegel was really here.”

[ There is a general VFU news update with this week's PDF that's free for everyone if you care about such things: https://www.patreon.com/CCLViking/posts/update-7-24-2026-164717660 ] F-Files continues on Monday!