The headstrong pilgrim wife.

“My church group has some pilgrim costumes, Mr. P, I bet I could borrow a dress if I asked.” I wonder if her youth group leader could have any idea that she wanted the costume so her sixty-year-old landlord could drag her to his blankets and fuck the shit out of her until she gave in to him and let him have his wicked way with her.

“I guess I'd better see about finding some buckskins and a tomahawk.”

“And some rope too, Mr. P,” Alison smiles coyly. “You'll want to tie up your white captive so you can lead her to your village.”

With that we separated, each of us off on our own business. Luckily, because it was this close to Thanksgiving, I was able to find what I was looking for in a novelty shop in Hartford. A fake leather vest and shorts that had a flap hanging down between legs, a headband complete with a turkey feather, and a wicked looking tomahawk that thankfully was as dull as could be. When I got back Alison was nowhere to be found and I mixed up the remaining bit of red dye from my Halloween costume with some cheap liquid bronzer and gave my chest a deep coppery tan that went well with my already sun-weathered arms.

Next, I collected every blanket I could find to create the impression of a tent in my living room. I remember doing something very similar with my two boys and Fran years ago although the 'camping' party we had back then was a little different from what I had planned for tonight. There was still no sign of Alison until just as it was starting to get dark, I got a text from her telling me to come find her in my back yard.

Thankfully, my backyard is pretty well screened from the neighbors, because I had no idea how I'd explain what I was doing wearing buckskins and tying the hands of my tenant together with the coil of old rope I carried with me.

I had to walk almost all the way to big maple tree at the back of my property before I found her standing there in a black dress and white bonnet, looking very much like a early colonial settler.

“Who are you?” There was defiance in her voice that told me that she wasn't likely to come with me willingly. “Savages aren't allowed this close to Plymouth town.”

It was only when she saw my eager smile and the rope in my hand that her pride turned to fear.

“Get away from me, you brute!” Thankfully, she didn't scream like her historical counterpart likely would have done, but she did pick up her skirts and run for her life. I ended up chasing her around the maple tree two times before I was able to grab her arm and spin her around. After that it was easy to wrap her wrists with four or five loops or rope and blindfold her with an old bandana.

“You come.” I do my best Tarzan impersonation, and Alison response now has some fear mixed in with her pride.

“Let me go, you red savage! My husband is Parson Miller; if you take me, your whole village will pay.” She continues this mixture of threats and insults as I lead her back to my house. Instead of taking the direct path across the lawn, I take a far more circuitous route between the lilac bushes and along the hedge, so the twigs pull at her skirts and lace and a low hanging branch pulls at her bonnet. “Please ... let me go, I won't tell anyone you were here.” By this time, we are close to my house, and I push the helpless young woman against the wall and grope her plump breast through the black fabric of her dress.

“Good.” I grunt, “You have good milk for baby.” She may have had another round of insults for me, but we'll never know because as she opened her mouth to protest, I silenced her with a demanding kiss. With her hands tied together there wasn't much she could do but let me maul her slight body and by the time I finally lifted my lips from hers we were both panting hoarsely. The kiss seems to have taken some of the fight out of her because she lets me lead her through the kitchen and dining room and into my makeshift tent set up where the coffee table usually sits. When I take off her blindfold and she sees the interior of the makeshift tent lit only by a single candle and the pile of bedding I have prepared for her, I see her eyes widen in surprise and excitement.

“Oh God, please don't do this.”

Of course I'm going to 'do this,' the only question I have is do I want to fuck her while she's still bundled in these thick skirts or strip her naked before I spread her legs.