The storm rages outside the small cave we’ve seen fit to take shelter in. The trip out to the beach, “frolicking in the woods” as you so lovingly put it, ended rather wetly with the sudden storm. Apparently Mother Nature didn’t think too much of us playing in the woods.
Everyone’s a critic...
Everything’s been soaked, the blankets caught in the early winds, ripped from our grasp, flying off into the trees. We’d barely had time to get dressed before the rain hit, lashing at us, blinding, the rain falling so hard that it was more like we were swimming in the storm rather than running.
But we had found the cave, and it was still dry, though at the rate the rain was coming down we could be in for a very wet time. Not that we’re not soaked already...
The remains of my shirt still hang on by my deltoids, that tree I had hit early in our run had done a number on me. But at least the cuts had stopped bleeding. You’re not in much better shape, your soft silk shirt and nice mesh shorts torn and ripped by thorns and bramble, leaving you standing in the remains of almost nothing, shivering in the dank air of the cave. I pull you to me, hold you close, the warmth still radiating off my body from our fun and from our flight warming you, like I’ve always been able to do. Our eyes turn to the opening of the cave, watching the upset waves crash onto the wind swept beach.
“Looks like we’re not going anywhere for awhile. But look at the bright side, we got away from everybody,” I remark in a dry voice and thunder peals outside and lightning rends the sky asunder. Your hands run up and down my arms, nails tracing designs on my forearms. You can feel my pounding heart on your back and the stubble of my chin on your scalp when my head is resting.
“Yep, looks like it,” you remark, a twinkle I can’t see coming to your eye. Perhaps if I’d seen that twinkle I could have had control of the situation, but I missed it...
Everyone makes mistakes...
You free yourself of my arms, sauntering over to your pack, the one thing we were able to salvage from our spot. You wouldn’t let me see what was inside earlier, intend on surprising me when the time was right. You return to where I’m standing, my back to you and my eyes on the raging storm. I feel you come up behind me and relish in you wrapping your body around mine, your hands finding mine. I enjoy those last seconds of your face pressed against my back, a sudden dread that I’m very much in trouble rising to the surface as your hands caress mine.
Click.
Such a simple sound, the sound of cold metal locking into cold metal. My eyes race down to see just what you’ve attached to me. I was expecting a simple pair of handcuffs; you do love them so much after all. What I found were more akin to a pair of shackles, encasing my arms from wrist to near elbow, the chain connecting the manacles something I would test in lab, and definitely not something I can break. Not like the handcuffs from last week...
You push me up against the rough stone wall, nails running across my chest.
“Arms up.”
I glance up to see what could make you issue that command, after all, there can’t be anything for you to shackle me to. But oh was I wrong. Above me is a rock outcropping, just high enough that I have to jump a little to get the chain of the manacles across it. You make me jump for it anyway. Your feet running across the sand beneath mine, digging a pit with your toes. Soon the only thing that keeps me upright is the chain and the only thing that keeps me from spinning is the tips of my feet in contact with the shifting sand.
“I would have you take your shirt off, but then I’d have to let you loose,” your breath is a mere whisper in my ear, felt more than heard. Your hands grasp the remaining threads of my shirt and rip them free, the sound echoing in the confined space. You return to your pack of surprises, digging for a second, returning with a band of cloth about two inches thick. You bind it securely across my eyes, blocking out the little light that the storm offers. I wait in anticipation of your next move. You couldn’t break me earlier, and you seem intent on trying again. You nails caress my chest, running over my abs down they wander, and up again. When you bring them down they cut into my flesh, cutting in places, leaving beautiful red welts in others. You withdraw you hands, running a piece of braided leather across my cheek.
A very familiar feeling piece of braided leather...
My belt...
“Didn’t you just use this against me last week?” your tone is accusatory, promising retribution and punishment. Apparently you still haven’t forgotten about that little welt I left at the small of your back with it. I didn’t mean to, really, but things just happen. I open my mouth to defend myself only to have you take my chin in a very firm grasp.
“I don’t recall giving you permission to speak. One more time and I’ll have to punish you. After all I can’t have my slave embarrassing me in public later on, now can I?”
You step back; at least, I think you step back.
Crack!
The belt cuts across my chest, leaving a mark over my heart. Yep, you stepped back.
Crack!
A mark finds its way across my abs, nice and long. I can’t help this one. I cry out, more in surprise than in pain.
“Now what did I tell you?” I hear you wander off again. The storm rages again, thunder erasing any sounds that I might have picked up after that. So when you fingers find my jaw again it’s a surprise. I open it like you want, not realizing until it’s too late that you were intent on silencing me. By the time this realization enters my confused brain the ball gag is in and secured. I hear you step back again.
“There, now don’t you look pretty.” I struggle a bit, more for your entertainment than any real want to get free. I want to see where you’re going to take this.
Crack!
The whip cracks one more time, leaving a trail down the center of my chest. I drop of something burns into the welt, but whether blood or sweat I don’t know. You drape the belt around my neck, the cold metal clasp resting at the bottom of that last gorgeous mark.
“You know, I’ve always had a great appreciation for the human body, especially one in torment. And with this storm in the background I think I’ve created a masterpiece, but it needs something...”
Your hand finds the clasp of my jeans, undoing it without you having to look; you’ve had a lot of practice lately. You tug them off, throwing them back into the dark depths of the cave. I can hear you stepping back, admiring me in the burst of lightning that light the cave, I can hear you little appreciative noises as you look on. You step forward again and I feel you naked body press against mine.
“You’re mine, I can do whatever I want to you right now, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
I can feel your teeth on my shoulders, across my neck, around my sternum, which you’ve taken such an interest in. You bites are not little, nor playful, but serious and powerful. Your hands find my rock hard cock. Grasping, pulling, caressing, teasing. Tormenting. Torturing. You grind yourself up against me, I feel my cock slide across your swollen clit, slip across wet pussy lips, penetrating just a little, just enough to spread you open, to let you know I’m there. I thrust forward. You back away.
