Between the Trees

July, 2012

Intro: This story has a very strong "horror" element to it that some readers may not particularly enjoy. If you are one of those people, I encourage you to skip the gory parts but come back to the storyline as it's woven throughout the action. Read the story all the way to the end, then go to the beginning and read it again, this time not skipping over the gore. Hopefully you will enjoy the story in its entirety that way, once you have an understanding of the characters. If you are a person who likes a good bit of gore, then I don't need to tell you to read to the end, because you will anyway, and hopefully you'll read it more than once and find it more enjoyable each time.

Thomas

*

The man drove slowly down the long, dirt road, his car clattering over the rattling washboard undulations as a cloud of dust billowed behind him. He didn't want to be abusing his car like this, but there was only one place he wanted to go in this God-forsaken country and this road led to it.

The scenery changed from trees to open field, back to trees as the road led through a cattle-gate that had been left open, just for him. A bit farther and he was in the thickest part of the forest, where he saw the truck, a late-model pick-up with a custom plate that read "CPTLSM" that told him he was at the right spot. He pulled in behind it, parked his car, and got out.

A man with long, unkempt hair emerged from the brush. "You have money?" he asked in a heavy accent.

"Yeah, Alexi," the man replied.

"Then I have girl." The long-haired man stretched his hands out towards his customer, waiting for payment.

The driver reached into his coat and pulled out an envelope. "It's all there," he said, passing the package to the scruffy, heavy-set man.

"I like to count," came the reply as thick fingers pulled bills from the paper sheath. Holding a piece of currency up to the sun, the Alexi asked, "It is real?"

"Yeah. I'm not a counterfeiter."

"Good," the fat man confirmed, examining the note. "Good, good. Ok, you wait here."

The foreigner waddled back to the CPTLSM truck and opened the passenger-side door. He reached in and pulled out a plain cotton sack that rattled slightly as he walked back to his customer. "There are rules," he said, passing the bag to the man. "You can hit but do not break skin. No cutting. No choking. No breaking bones. No blood. Nothing on the face. You can use only the things in this bag. And, you only have until sun goes down, then she is mine again. Ok?"

"What? No blood? That wasn't the deal."

"This is new deal. My deal. I get girl for you, but it is not easy. Last time you leave marks."

That was true. He hadn't meant to, but he'd never used that whip before and it was stronger than he thought it would be. It had definitely left marks, and after the third stroke, when he saw the damage it was doing to her skin, he had backed off. By then it was too late. The marks were there.

The customer let out a sigh and accepted the bag. "Ok," he said as he opened up the sack to examine its contents.

Inside was a menagerie of different whips, floggers, and paddles. He took a quick inventory, deciding in what order he'd use them. First he'd start with a riding crop to warm her up, then progress through the longer and stiffer rods and canes. The Captain's Daughter would be worth a few swings followed by the bull whip for his grand finale.

Then he noticed the metallic shape at the bottom, oblong with a wide bulbous base and a turnscrew at the top.

The pear.

He reached in and pulled it out to examine it further, twisting the screw as the base opened up like flower petals. Each petal ended with a small tooth at the end, and he could only imagine what effect it would have when inserted into the human body.

He smiled. This would be better than he had imagined.

"Ok," he said. "Which way?"

"Down this path. She is at end. You cannot get lost."

*

The girl, stripped, was stretched out between two trees by thick coils of rope around her wrists and ankles. Dark-haired and well-toned with feminine muscle, she tugged at the bonds, her body twisting against the restraints. She was standing, her arms and legs spread wide, leaving her most sensitive regions open and exposed. Her Mound of Venus bore the smoothness of freshly-shaved skin and a thick blindfold covered her eyes.

Around her neck she wore a stiff collar with a small plastic box affixed to one side – a shock collar to guarantee obedience. A tiny light glowed green, indicating that the battery was fully charged. A number written on the side of the box said that she was number twenty-nine.

He smiled. He remembered her from the last session. He'd worked her over good, taking his time as he slowly increased the abuse of her body, pushing towards her pain threshold just to see how much she could take. She'd taken a lot. Alexi was right. Fuck yeah he'd left marks. The marks from that abuse had healed, and now, stretched out naked in the isolated clearing, she was ready to be taken to her limit again.

She heard his approaching footsteps and said something in a language he didn't understand. When he didn't respond, she repeated it, slightly louder and in a questioning tone. When she realized it was the customer, she tugged nervously at the ropes around her wrists, testing their hold on her body, knowing that she would soon suffer terribly.

The man placed the sack on the ground, and she said something to him in a flat matter-of-fact tone. A taunt? A challenge? He didn't know. He recognized the word "pain", but that was all. He ignored her. Soon she would be screaming too much to say any words at all. He wondered if she knew what would be done to her as she hung stretched out between the trees. Of course not. He didn't know himself. Yet.

He glanced towards the sun. It would set in a few hours. He had plenty of time to break her.

This was his fifth time with her. Or was it his sixth? Christ, he'd lost count. For what he was paying in rental, he should've been allowed to buy her outright. Then again, she'd be a depreciating asset. How much could she really take before it all caught up to her? He didn't know. But even if it was his sixth time with her, she still looked as fresh as the first time he'd fucked her up.

That had been an experience – the first time he'd had the courage to even try it. He'd been told about it in a hushed whisper from a friend, about a service across the old border where you could rent a girl for a couple hours of pleasure. Or pain. Or both. And with the windfall he'd gotten in an unexpected commission, he'd decided to blow it all on a few hours of fun. Why the hell not? His little contribution to the local economy. And a couple of weeks later, after the wounds had healed, she'd been just like new. Just like now. He'd made Alexi take pictures and send them to him, just to prove it to himself that she was ok, just to ease the guilt of what he'd done. After all, he wasn't completely heartless.

That first time, he'd gone too quickly. He'd been too excited to really savor the moment, switching from whip to flogger to cane without really enjoying the ride. It was like when he lost his virginity. He was so shocked to be doing it that he hadn't had the awareness to really get into the act.

Alexi had laughed when the man had come back to return the bag of instruments. He knew his customer had already blown his wad at least twice, possibly three times, and now lacked the strength to use the rest of his time. The girl had been taken down, bundled up, and sent away before the sun had even hit the horizon.

The second time was better. That wasn't free money. He'd actually saved up for that session and had taken his time. He'd worked too long and hard to earn the cash, and he was pleasantly surprised to see a new whip in the bag. The bull whip. Long and black, it looked like it could do some serious damage. He'd saved it for last, building up to it.

He'd pushed her then, watching her writhe in the open air, enjoying the way her muscles twisted with pain. Her righteously taut torso had fascinated him as her ribs squeezed the air out of her body in deep choking gasps. The sweat that had coated her skin had really highlighted her musculature nicely.

When that long, black whip hit her the first time, she'd nearly jumped out of her ropes.

The second time it had hit her, she'd grunted with exertion.

The third time, she'd screamed.

By the time he got to the twentieth stroke, she was weeping openly. That'd just made him more aroused. So, he'd given her ten more.

She surrendered after that.

Then, her spirit broken, he'd fucked her long and hard. Even in her condition, stretched out, beaten and crying, she'd waved her hips, grinding against him, just like she had been taught. Fuck. What he could do with a woman like her...

He'd rented her three more times since then, or so he estimated, and each time there'd been something new added to the bag. Something new to use on her body. And each time he'd left her hanging there, crying and spent, her body bearing the marks of her abuse.

And now he had a pear.

Fuck.

The pear wasn't like a whip. The pear could do some serious, serious damage. He could control the intensity of a whipping, pushing the girl as hard as he wanted by swinging harder or softer. But a pear... How the hell could he tell how much pain she was feeling? He couldn't. He'd have to judge how much she was suffering by how hard she would fight and scream once it was inside her.

That might be fun – imagining the metal object tucked in nice and tight against her pussy, stretching it, the little teeth tearing at the entrance to her uterus as he beat her with the whip. He'd make her crack, one way or the other. Maybe the cat-o'-nine-tails first. If that didn't work, he'd go with the bull whip.

The bull whip would definitely break her, just like it had the last time. Fuck that had been sweet. And now with the pear, too? His cock twitched eagerly against his pants just thinking about it.

Alexi had given him quite a quiver of instruments. Too many, really. He only needed three or four. He smiled as he drew the short-handled buggy whip from the sack.

Most buggy whips, those used for actual horses, had a long, stiff handle with a short length of leather for the tail. But this one had been specifically crafted for use on humans, with a shorter handle that made it easier to control where it struck its victim. Very precise. But despite the shorter handle, the effect was the same. There was no doubt about that. He'd learned that after it had left an angry red welt just below his victim's left breast, a neat little J-shaped mark that quickly turned beet-red as she screamed and pulled against her bonds.

He decided right there he would repeat that little performance on her body again.

But first he'd play with her nudity, to remind her of her helplessness.

He snapped the whip a few times in the air, judging the stiffness of the handle. The woman recognized the sound of the tail swishing through the air and tensed instantly, waiting for it to strike her body. She turned her head demurely, resting her cheek against her left shoulder, preparing herself for the pain she knew would come.

He approached her outstretched form, the leaves and twigs snapping under his boots. Facing her, he reached behind her head and grabbed a handful of her hair, twisting her head roughly to remind her of her powerlessness. Then he pulled her head back and gave her a quick, forceful kiss. More symbolic than romantic. What she wouldn't give him willingly, he'd take from her instead.

The whip tapped down the front of her body, even as he held her hair, the long, stiff handle bouncing across her puckering nipples before continuing its journey across her lean, flat tummy. Her thighs, spread wide and lashed firmly to the trees, offered her no protection from the insistent tappings of the whip.

He flicked the whip quickly back and forth between her thighs, the tip passing millimeters from the opening to her snatch. She let out a soft moan and twisted her hips, trying to avoid the small blows to her sensitive region. The man noted with satisfaction that, even now, her pussy was beginning to awaken, instinctively preparing itself for intercourse.

He had once wondered why they did it, why the women sold themselves into Alexi's stable. Alexi had responded that the reason was simple. He had money. They didn't.

But the man hadn't been satisfied with that answer. Did the women, at some level, derive some pleasure from it? There were a lot of ways to earn money in the sex trade. Selling yourself for whipping and torture took a special breed of woman. Alexi said he had dozens, even though the customer had only seen Number Twenty-nine each time he'd purchased a girl. How did he find them? It wasn't like he could simply place an ad in the newspaper or online.

Alexi had smiled. The man asked too many questions. The women were there for him to abuse. That was all he should know.

That had ended that conversation.

And now he had Number Twenty-nine strung between two trees, naked and waiting, her pussy blossoming between her wide-forked thighs.

He paused and grabbed her hair again, twisting her head forcefully, reminding her that this was for his enjoyment, not hers. She let out an acknowledging grunt. Giving her hair one last yank, he went back to business.

The whip tap, tap, tapped against her pussy, the leather tail dancing across the sensitive folds of skin, reminding her of his control over her body, warning her of the pain that was to come.

He flipped the whip just above her cleft, smacking against the crest of her mound. She gasped but did not cry out. He struck her again, the leather tip crossing over her bare-shaved pubis. He repeated the blow five more times, watching as she tried to curl her hips back and away, trying to avoid the stinging kiss of the whip.

He studied the way her body moved, how her face contorted with the first tinglings of pain. How old was she? It was hard to tell. She had the hardbody of a teenager, petite and tight, with absolutely no fat other than a pair of breasts that were high and firm with a natural softness, just as they should be.

Just the way he liked them.

Her face was mature, though, making it hard to guess as to her true age. She could be seventeen or thirty-seven. Her eyes would be the truest way to know, but they were obscured by the blindfold. Alexi had warned him against removing it, telling him that it protected the identity of both the torturer and the victim. He could pass her on the street and not even know it was her. Likewise, she wouldn't recognize him, not even in a police line-up, and there was a definite safety in that.

The man returned to the task at hand.

He tapped the whip against her pussy, then let the leather tip trace a line up her body, across the ripples of her tummy, tapping at the dimple of her bellybutton before rising up to poke an exposed breast and tap at a hardened deep-red nipple. She moaned and tried to twist away from the instrument of torture, but the leather tip simply followed its target around the curve of her body, tapping at the hard nub centered on the bulls-eye of her breast, causing the sensitive tissue to draw tighter.

Now the man leaned in, letting the shaft of the whip draw against the puckered flesh. Like a violinist, he stroked the whip against her nipple, watching as the nub bounced along the seams of the woven leather strips. She winced and tugged at the bonds holding her fast, her muscles tensing. Leaves rustled overhead, warning of a coming breeze, and then the air was wrapping itself around her body, lifting her hair as her breath escaped between her parted lips.

God, she looked so beautiful.

The man wanted to take her right there, to drive himself into her and cum inside her belly. He wanted to fuck her so bad. Right there. And nobody could stop him.

Except himself.

He'd made that mistake the first time – fucking her too early and ejaculating too soon in the session. Now he had learned some self-control. He wanted to stretch this opportunity out as long as he could.

He switched to her other nipple, running the length of the shaft along the sensitive oval, the flesh bouncing along the ridges. He drew it back, then pressed the whip forward again, sawing at the tiny protruding dot. She turned her head away and let out a soft moan, her body trembling with pain and excitement.

The man smiled. She may have sold herself for money the first time, but she had kept coming back because she liked it. Her body told him that much.

Maybe that's why Alexi didn't want him to ask too many questions. Maybe Alexi was afraid he'd lose one of his best girls to a customer forever.

The man drew the shaft across the girl's nipple again, studying her reaction. Her body confirmed it. Yes, she most definitely enjoyed it.

He slid the shaft along the length of her body, letting the stiffness glide along the curves of her torso, down along her flanks and across her hips. Her tummy expanded as she inhaled, then tightened as her ribs pushed the air out of her lungs and across her lips. A gasp escaped from her mouth as she hung, spread-eagled, in the wooded hideaway. She dropped her head back, pushing her breasts forward, offering them to the man should he choose to stroke her nipples.

There was a whoosh, then the whip cracked against the soft mounds, her teats bobbing from the impact. She gasped sharply, then let out a low moan as the pain flowed through her body.

The man reached forward with his left hand, letting his palm slide down her torso. Her pale skin felt warm and soft as his fingertips traced the natural crease of muscle dividing her tummy. A shiver ran the length of her body and tiny goosebumps appeared on her arms and the tops of her thighs. The man saw her pussy in full bloom, advertising her arousal, and slid the contoured shaft between her blood-rich petals. She shivered again and hung her head, her hair cascading across her shoulders and against her back.

The man slipped the whip back along her pussy, letting each seam tug at the sensitive tissue. Reaching the end, he tapped the leather tail against her sex, causing her to flinch and jump reflexively. Then, he slowly slid the whip along her sex again, repeating her small torture as she tugged helplessly against the ropes.

He moved the shaft to the left of her sex, pressing against her opening, teasing the blood-rich nerves hiding there, then moved to the other side, stimulating those as well. The girl twisted her hips, trying to avoid the touch of the shaft against her pussy, but the whip simply twisted with her. Letting out a frustrated whimper, the girl tilted her head against her shoulder as the man continued to play with her nakedness.

For what seemed like an eternity he did that, sliding the whip against her snatch the way a musician plays a violin. He was playing her body, watching how she writhed against the ropes, aroused and helplessly bound.

She shivered again and let out a soft moan.

The man pulled the whip away from her pussy, but only to switch ends. Now he pressed the knobbed handle against her opening, watching as her cunt separated to accept the rounded handle as if it were a cock.

His cock.

She shivered and moaned again.

The man stepped back and reached for the bag of instruments. He set the whip aside and sorted through the menagerie. It was time to play with the newest addition to his little collection.

It was time for the pear.

He lifted a small bottle, flipped open the lid, and squeezed a small amount of clear oil around the wide base, letting the liquid coat the cold metal. Satisfied with his handiwork, he approached her nude, spread body.