I don’t want it like this. I don’t want him to see my face as he fucks me. I try to get up, but he’s in the position of power now, kneeling over...me and he pins me down, arms at my sides. I struggle, which seems to please him. As he lets out a low chuckle.“You can’t run away from it, boy.”His intimidating alpha tone undoes me. I know I’m lost, well past any point of return, my body stills and I take his prep, breathing in deeply, pursing my lips together hard, trying not to moan. I bury my face. But this all changes around Christmas. For several weeks every summer my small town explodes into a hive of tourism. The caravan park is booked out, usually many months in advance, as is the hotel as well as local football oval which becomes a makeshift, tent only, camping ground. Market stalls and a small carnival always seem to magically appear during this time. My story takes place during one such summer four years ago.I just realized I have been rather rude and not introduced myself. My. More

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