Simple and True

There's something about the outdoors.

I had retired to a private cabin off in the woods. After the people, the readings, the conventions, endless media interviews... I needed time and space to be alone, to write. I needed the solitude, the relaxation, the quiet.

I had found this place long ago, quiet, secluded, private, and isolated. I often went alone when I needed to detoxify myself of the marketing, the constant performance. There was always some part of a book tour that made me feel dirty. Becoming a product, passed from hand to hand, treated as a commodity. It meant I could live off of my craft, doing only what I loved, but it also meant that after distilling emotion into words, after wringing myself out into those pages, the sacrifice left me hollow. I needed to take time to myself to fill up that space again.

So that's how I found myself outside, far enough from any city that the light pollution died away, the sky's mantle pulled away, the gauziness of city lights discarded far down the highway. More stars than seemed possible lined the sky, smearing into each other the harder I squinted. I walked the paths, slowly, staring upwards. The summer's heat and humidity coaxed perfumes from the flowering trees, filling the air with intoxication. The rocky creek below gurgled through soft rapids, the breeze whispered through the trees.

I didn't hear him coming.

I don't remember what snapped me out of the reverie. I just remember the hairs on the back of my neck standing up; a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach as I realized that I wasn't alone. My ears strained for footsteps. My heart hammered louder and louder in my ears. I didn't want to look, I wanted to be wrong. It was too strong, though, this feeling. I couldn't help myself, and I turned around.

A half a second can stretch into minutes, hours. Adrenaline has a way of dilating time, of burning things into your memory. His dark, glittering eyes. The cold look on his face. And something in his hand... a knife.

I bolted.

I knew these paths; I had walked them many times. I ran, my lungs burning, my heart strangling in my chest. I had to get to the cabin, to shut the door, to lock it. Hide somewhere. I didn't know where, there was nowhere else to go. I was miles away from anyone who could come find me. But if I could get a door between me and that knife, I could buy myself some time.

I jumped down a switchback, hoping he'd lose sight of me. The path was uneven with tree roots and large rocks, and in my scramble I fell. I tore open a knee on the gravel, the palms of my hands stinging with road rash. I scrambled to my feet, ignoring the pain. The grass as I climbed toward the cabin was soft on my feet, and for a moment I thought I would make it.

He had managed to catch up to me. I felt a fraction of a second of confusion as my shirt slowed me down. He'd grabbed my shirt tails and used it to slow me down enough to grab a fistful of hair in the other hand. He twisted my hair tight, yanked me off balance, and I fell again, face first, onto the grass.

I landed with his knee in my back, the wind knocked out of me. I gasped and squirmed but he outweighed me significantly and no matter how I thrashed I couldn't reach back far enough to grab him or kick him. He yanked my hair back, nearly cutting off my airway. I struggled for breath as I felt the steel press up against my neck. I swallowed, breathing hard, and I felt it dig in. I froze, every muscle in my neck, shoulders, and back tensed.

"You're mine, now."

I cast my eyes about wildly. No light to see by, nobody for miles. He could kill me in an instant and nobody would ever know. Not for days. Nobody would come looking until after I failed to check out. I'd booked this place for a week. He was right.

"What are you going to do to me?" I hissed, gritting my teeth.

"You'll obey me, do as I say. Or you'll get cut."

He said it so coldly, so matter-of-factly. I had no doubt he wouldn't hesitate. The hollow fear in my belly rose into my throat, my insides turning to ice. My limbs tingled. I waited, catching my breath. Every muscle in my body was coiled tight. I wasn't putting any ideas in his head. Heart hammering, I stopped squirming. He had to put the knife down sometime.

He took the knife away from my throat and got off of me. There was no small amount of relief as I got one good breath without his knee in my ribcage. All I got was the one, though, because he shoved my face into the grass, kneeling on my head. His other knee jammed into my shoulder blade, I heard the sound of the knife handle between his teeth. I heard him fumbling in a pocket, tape ripping. I squirmed. He grabbed my one wrist, twisting it up behind my back in a chicken wing. The pain was excruciating. "Keep squirming and I'll dislocate your shoulder." It wouldn't have taken much.

I fought down panic. He released my shoulder and brought both hands behind me. I went flaccid as he bound my wrists with the tape.

He released me from his kneeling hold and bodily flipped me over, his knee in my chest again. Not being able to breathe was killing me. He bent my leg together, ankle to thigh, and taped it securely in the bent position. I squirmed experimentally. He stood up. I gasped. I coughed. I tried not to cry. I tried to slow my breathing down.

Seemingly confident I wasn't going to run away anymore, he strode over to the cabin and pulled a black duffel bag from under the deck. He tossed the tape inside, and pulled out a length of rope. I don't know what scared me more, the rope or the way he moved. He had a look on his face of cold determination. He moved with speed and purpose. Everything was deliberate. He knew exactly what he was doing. It was so methodical, so precise. He shucked off his vest, pocketed the knife, and approached me with the rope. I met his gaze. I would not be beaten. His lips were set in a thin line, his face just the barest hint of a scowl. He reached down, roughly, and dragged me up by the hair. I had no way of supporting my weight, and my neck jerked as he knotted the rope around my curls. He dragged me, half crawling, over to a tree branch the thickness of his bicep. Over it the rope went, and he hoisted me up to a squat, teetering on my hobbled feet, just high enough that I wasn't sure if I was being held up by my hair or by my own balance. I was helpless.

It was then that I saw him smile, a slow, cold thing creeping over his face. A smile that didn't reach his eyes. He slowly withdrew the knife from his pants pocket and flicked it open, deliberately. He didn't break my gaze even as my eyes flicked from his to the knife and back. He approached me, blade bared, and I screwed my eyes shut and waited for the piercing stab, waited to die.

I heard a tearing noise, and suddenly, cold air on my body. He cut through my shirt up the front and yanked it down behind me. He sliced my bra up the middle and shoved it off my shoulders. I opened one eye partway to catch him admiring my pale flesh in the moonlight. I quivered with adrenaline and fear, chest heaving with the thrill of my heart and my quickened breathing, nipples crinkling tighter in the cold. I opened my other eye and narrowed them at him. He was drinking my body in, with a calculated look. Some time passed. He twirled the knife in his hand as he ran his eyes over me. I couldn't take it anymore.

"What do you

want

?!"

A sly grin crept over his face. He reached forward, fingers extended, and caressed my skin. He tasted the curve of my breast with his fingertips, brushing one over my nipple. I squirmed ever so slightly. His smile deepened.

"I want you to beg me for what you need."

"I need you to

fucking let me go

!" I spat. His hand drifted up my neck to my chin, where he gazed into my eyes, almost softly. Then he slapped me.

My ears rang, my hair yanked. He backhanded me with the same hand. I flexed my jaw and clenched my eyes shut. I ran my tongue across my lip where I'd bitten it. Blood.

His hand under my chin, he brought his face up close to mine, his other hand groping my other breast, teasing the nipple, tugging on it, pinching it just enough. I squirmed. I grunted softly. My breathing skipped. His smile turned wolfish. "I can feel your need, Megan. Your squirms betray you. I want you to give in to it, to listen to your body." I narrowed my eyes, and I spit in his face.

He staggered back slightly, a bit surprised at my fierceness. He wiped his face with one hand, smearing it on his pants. The smile disappeared. My blood ran cold.

Another slap, another backhand. I saw stars. He grabbed both my nipples and twisted cruelly, past the point of pleasure, making my core melt with the pain of it. My hair, tied to the tree, yanked me up as I collapsed and doubled over in pain. He wrapped his hand around my throat and lifted me up onto my tippy toes, utterly dependent on him for my balance. He brought his face close in to mine again, as I struggled to breathe. His words came almost in a whisper: "You, my pet, will not talk back. A pet does not talk back to her master."

He released me suddenly; again I'm struggling to regain my balance, scalp stinging, gasping for breath. I'm so confused. "Just fucking rape me and get it over with," I hiss. My mind is racing. How does he know my

name

?

He laughs, loudly. A cackle, even; a sound that unnerves me because of the emotion behind it. It's a joke. He thinks this is funny. That's not what he has in mind. "You don't understand do you?" he asks, gesturing at the night sky. "You

will

submit to me. That's

my

mouth,

my

pussy. I am just waiting for you to realize it. You have all this fiery will, yet you can be worn down. When I fuck you, I won't be taking it. You'll be begging me to give it to you."

I squirmed. Something inside me is stirring. He moves toward me again, knife out, with that look on his face like he's going to eat me alive. Like a predator. Like I'm prey. I feel the stirring again. The knife again. I watch him, this time. He cuts my leggings down the front, rips them in half, and drags them down my thighs. He leaves my underwear. His face is near mine, the knife still in one hand, his other hand stroking my pussy through my underwear. It tingles to life, in spite of me. I don't know if I'm more infuriated at my pussy for betraying me or at him for refusing to take this out of my hands. He wants me to beg him, and as I feel him stoke the fires of my clit, I know he has the power to make it happen. I squirm, my breathing getting ragged. Cords of muscle in my neck jut out as I grit my teeth while guttural sounds escape my throat unbidden. Sweat runs down my back, down my forehead, down between my breasts. I struggle once against my bonds in frustration.

He leans back, knife out. Is he going to cut off my underwear this time? No. He's twirled it so the spine of the blade is towards me, and he brings it toward me, lovingly, tenderly, coming to rest behind my left earlobe. He looks in my eyes, gazes at my face. My expression is taut, my lower jaw forward, nostrils flaring in defiance, eyes fierce. I am breathing hard, high in my chest. "You know," he says, "All you have to do is surrender to me, and you'll be free."

I grit my teeth harder and narrow my eyes just a fraction more. He smiles slightly, almost wistfully, and traces the knife down my front. I know how sharp it is, and I can feel how careful he is with the angle to not cut me. He uses the dull side of the tip to gently score a mark down my neck, over my carotid artery, over my sternal notch, lingering near my trachea, circling the outside of the opposite breast. Muscles jump in my throat with every heave of my chest. He moves the knife up, rests it lovingly behind my jaw, just behind my right ear.

My eyelids are getting heavy, and I can feel my nipples aching for his fingers again. I am rigid. My pussy aches. He traces me slowly, carefully, leaving a line of red fire behind on my pale skin. No blood, just a scratch. He puts the knife down and raises a hand to my lower jaw, to my neck. He holds me up by my throat and reaches the other between my legs. I should squirm away from his fingers, but my mouth is dry and I have limited mobility. He smiles and I swallow hard, tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth. I can feel my trachea move against his hand as I swallow. My breathing is getting longer, slow, sighing breaths, filling my lungs. I can smell him, when he's this close, his musk and his breath, his hair. He smells like motor oil, like leather and dirt. My heart has stopped hammering in my chest. My blood is warming.

He knows! Oh, he knows. His wolfish grin is back and he's taunting me with his breath hot in my nose. He saw how my back arched under the knife. He saw how my lids got a bit lusty as he got closer to my nipples, the slight flash of wide eyed anger and frustration that he refused to touch them. And as he grinds his fingers into my sex, my underwear betrays me, dampened with my arousal. I don't dare squirm, not even to squirm away, less I squirm toward him instead. He knows I'm fighting my desires, and he's being torturous. Slow, soft pressure, the smallest amount of rubbing. He's playing me like an instrument. I suppress a moan. His voice is soft.

"You should see yourself right now, struggling against your desire. The heat in your pussy betrays you. Your nipples are straining towards my fingers. You know you should resist but your body is screaming at you. It needs me. I can see how much your body needs me. All you need to do is say the words."

"Fuck... you." I breathe, head swimming. He takes his hand away from my pussy and wraps it around the small of my back. He leans forward and engulfs my breast, sucking my nipple deep into the back of his throat, working his tongue and teeth against me. I am intoxicated. I nearly fall over and it is good he is holding me up. I fall into him, my clit grinding against his thigh. He releases the one breast from his lips and goes to work on the other, swallowing my nipple. His hand holding my neck drifts down and mauls my breast roughly. I am in heaven. I thrust against his thigh without thinking. I feel drunk. A low sound escapes my throat, and he releases me. I whimper softly in disappointment. That cackle again.

"Look at you, filled with need, you deny yourself with words yet I can feel it in your body," he whispers, steadying me in my squat, hands running all over my skin. The stirring has turned into a boiling, a need. He's not wrong. He knows. He's felt my pussy soak my underwear. He's seen me lose control and felt me thrust against him. My noises are betraying me, my body is betraying me, my head is swimming with arousal, and I can't deny it. Why am I fighting? I can't remember, in my haze of arousal. "You slut," he croons, kissing my throat, his stubble scratching my skin. "You rutting beast, I know what you want, why won't you give in?"

I am sighing, swooning, no longer balanced on my feet. I'm aching. The ties feel so sore, and he feels so good. He grabs the knife and cuts me down, and my scalp thanks him, tingling with relief at no longer holding me up as I lose my balance. I am quivering all over, from arousal, from adrenaline, from pain. I have never been more relaxed in my life before this. He lays me down in the grass gently, and reminds me.

"When you admit I am right about what your body needs, you will be free. I will fill you with pleasure. Your body betrays your mind. You resist, even as you want to give in. Your body wants to be owned. If you give up, and surrender to me, you won't need to worry about anything. All the pleasure in the world will be yours. Wouldn't that be the loveliest thing in the world, my pet?"

His mouth is close to mine. I want to kiss him. My pussy throbs in delight at the idea. I feel flaccid. I work my jaw. I want to make words. I'm unsure. He caresses my face with a rough hand, a wistful smile in his eyes. Oh, his eyes. When he smiles with his eyes, there's a fire in there that terrifies and exhilarates me. My legs are spread in my frogged bonds, laying on my hands bound together, my arms. I can't resist. I want him.

I swear he can read my mind. He slides himself between my legs, fitting his erection between us. His pants grind against my underwear as he makes sure I can feel his hardness. Something cascades over me, something calming and warm.

I am drunk on lust and swimming in bathwater.

It is quiet and safe and everything I want is right here. I sigh happily, unbidden. He delights in this noise, and I know it, because he thrusts again, gently, softly, with a knowing look on his face. I spread my legs for him farther without thinking. He cocks his hips so I can feel the end of his cock through his pants, pushing it against my clit. He rests his weight on me.

I am drunk on lust and sighing in pleasure. He leans in close and whispers to me, a sweet smile on his face.

"What do you need, my pet?" He nuzzles my lips.

"I need you," I breathe, eyes rolling in my head.

He smiles. "What do you need?"

"I need your cock, please," I plead, and I didn't realize I had it in me.

He thrusts against me, once more, cruelly; my pussy is alive, ablaze with arousal. He could make me cum without ever taking off his pants and I know it by the building tension in my loins. I choke on the words. "I need your cock, please," and he smiles, and thrusts again.

"Don't you dare cum," he warns me, as he rubs his hardness against my impending orgasm. Suddenly, I'm panicking. I'm breathless. I can feel my orgasm nearing with his ministrations and I can't hold back, but he shows no sign of stopping. I get more frantic.

"I need your cock, please, I need your cock, please, I need your cock, please, I need your cock, please, I need your cock, please..." I repeat, over and over again, my mantra to sanity, louder and louder and louder and louder, more breathless and more desperate, the words running into each other so they no longer make sense. I'm getting closer to cumming, and I can't stop myself, and I'm pleading, my face grimaced, almost sobbing the words. "I need your cock, please..."

Finally, after an eternity, he stops. The knife comes out and yet this time I'm not afraid. He cuts off the tape and peels it all off gently, careful with my skin. He removes my tattered clothing lovingly, and stretches my aching joints with sweetness. I'm left in a pile of lust and want and wetness, panting in the grass, as he stands up and moves away from me. I wiggle my toes and make circles with my wrists and ankles. He comes back and lifts my head up, and I sit up partway. He touches something to my lips, a bottle of water. I drink greedily, swallowing, swallowing, not having realized how thirsty I was. How long have we been out here? Minutes? Hours? He lets me drink my fill, even as I spill some down my breasts in my eagerness. I shift on the grass, unkinking my knees and shoulders. I'm sighing. My head is still swimming. I feel like I'm floating.

He pulls my face in close to his and kisses me. "Such a good girl," he croons, running his finger over my face. I close my eyes, feeling very vulnerable all of a sudden, breathing slowly, marveling at my inner calm. When I open them, I see an entirely other look on his face. I gaze up at him, wearing my relaxation and vulnerability in my expression, and he sighs, with the softest gaze I've seen yet. I'm not scared. I sigh, my face open. I have never felt this way before him. Everything I was trying to shuck off by isolating myself is somehow gone. I feel cleansed.

My chin in his hand, again, his voice clear. "Quiet your mind, listen to your body. What does it want?" I rub my cheek against his fingers.

"I want to make your cock feel good."

"Such a good girl," he breathes, elated, standing. He strips his pants and underwear off, and his hardness is beautiful in the moonlight. I can see a sparkle of precum on the tip, and lick my lips expectantly, absentmindedly. He reaches out, coming close, and I can smell his arousal. He runs his thumb along my lips, his voice so gentle. "Show me your pretty mouth," and I oblige, opening up, sticking my tongue out, ready to receive him.