Submission in the Open Air

...and Your Mistress has kidnapped you. Well, She checked first to make sure you had no appointments, and She gave you fair warning that She was coming to get you, but it's a gorgeous fall day, and it feels like a fun kidnapping. She laughed at your suggestion that you be bound and gagged and blindfolded--accusing you of trying to organize your own play session--and tucked you into the passenger seat of Her car.

An hour and some good conversation later, the city has pretty much fallen away, and the roads have gotten smaller and smaller. You're in unfamiliar territory. You make a weak joke about the movie Deliverance, but you're a bit uncertain. She smiles at you and teases you about banjos, but you notice She doesn't really say much to make you feel any better.

It's only a few minutes later when She turns off onto a dirt road, slowing down to a crawl, and your nerves are jumping. You trust Her--of course you do--but nothing like this has happened since you'd been collared by Her. You realize you're gripping the middle console only when She pats your hand.

Finally, She pulls off into a sort of wide spot in the road and turns the car off. "Come on, pet," She says as She gets out of the car, and you notice for the first time she's wearing riding boots. She pops the trunk and you sigh as she pulls a basket from the back.

"A picnic?" You love the outdoors, and She knows it. You take the basket from Her with a little bow and heft it. "Good god, what's in here? A whole fried chicken?"

She laughs and you warm a little. You love to make Her smile. "Something like that, pet." She steps over to a cattle guard you hadn't noticed. "Let's go."

She'd driven north out of town and the trees had become more numerous with each mile. The pasture where you walk with Her now has a band of trees around it but open pasture in the middle, except for a large old oak tree, its branches spreading at least twenty feet on either side of the trunk. It's early enough in the fall for the lush grass to still be green, but it's clear there's been livestock here recently, so you walk carefully.

She strides forward as usual, maybe a pace ahead, Her destination clearly the tree in the Center. "Perfect location, Mistress. You know, we used to call this 'Indian Summer' before we figured out that was culturally insensitive--that shade is going to feel good."

An echo of Her laughter floats back and you want to laugh too. You've got the whole afternoon off, and it looks like you're about to have a picnic with your Mistress. Life is good.

Under the shade of the tree, it's still warm, but not nearly as hot as in the direct sunlight. Shafts of light pour in through gaps in the branches. She points to a spot near the tree, and you put the basket down and then look around. The ground here is soft but not wet, and you walk around, checking surreptitiously for snakes. Do they like the sun or the shade? You could imagine either one, but there don't seem to be any under this particular tree. She flips open the top of the basket to get a blanket, and you help Her spread it out before turning back to see Her taking something else out.

It's your collar, and the sight of the leather sends a spurt of warmth south. She hands it to you, and you start to put it on, but the quick shake of Her head stops you. "Only naked," She reminds you.

"Here?" You look around. Sure, the trees around the pasture seem pretty thick, but someone could probably see from that road where the car is parked.

She's looking at you with a little smile on Her face. "Yes, here, pet." She continues to look at you, and raises an eyebrow. "Are you refusing?"

You know there would be consequences for a refusal, so you hasten to reassure Her that you're not refusing to follow her direction. "But it is, you know, sort of exposed out here."

The eyebrow remains raised. "Don't you trust me, pet?"

"Of course I do, Mistress."

"Then take off your clothes and assume your 'patience' position." There's no give in Her tone, so you take off your clothes and fold them neatly, then stack everything at the edge of the blanket. She's sitting on the blanket, leaning back on Her hands, and She's watching you. You've come to be used to this, but it's still exciting: She looks at you as if She owns you, and She does. The thought intoxicates every time.

You're down to your underwear, and you slide them off and stand up. She's smiling at you, and you can't help but smile back. "It's a naked picnic, pet."

You laugh, fasten your collar around your neck, and then assume 'patience,' a position much like 'at ease' in the military. You could stand like this for hours if you had to, but She hasn't made you--yet. She leans over and fishes in the basket and then brings out the leather cuffs She's used on you before. She hands them to you, and you buckle them on, ankles first and then the wrists, your heart pounding. They're unchained, so you simply stand there, your hands by your sides, waiting for Her instructions.

She reaches into the basket again, and this time brings out an eye shade, the kind you'd wear to bed if you had to sleep during the day. She holds it out to you, and you take it automatically, but your breath is getting short. Naked out here is one thing, bound is another, but blindfolded?

She tilts Her head and watches you dealing with a miniature existential crisis in your head. Finally, She speaks. "You're thinking no, pet?"

"Mistress," you begin, the words sounding just as hesitant as you feel. "I just--I'm not sure if I can--" You break off because you're not sure what to say. You've been skinny dipping before, so you're not sure why this feels any different. But it does. You look at the eyeshade in your hands.

"You know, you can say the safe word, pet. You can stop this now and go back to your vanilla life, with your vanilla girlfriend, and your naughty fantasies about femdom porn."

You look up at Her. She looks unconcerned, leaning back on Her elbows, as if Her mild voice wasn't challenging you with exactly what you didn't want to hear. She's said this before, when you reached a sticking point in your submission, some new kink that you never expected to have. And inside your head, you hear your automatic response: Not yet, I don't want to go back yet, Mistress. You don't say it aloud, but she seems to hear it anyway, smiling a satisfied Cheshire cat smile.

"Take your time, pet. I've got all day." And She certainly looks like it: She's relaxed, one leg crossed over the other, the toe of one boot moving to music only She could hear.

The words filter in. All day. All day with Her. Playing, edging, feeling, cumming--all day. You swallow hard, and you pull the elastic band and slide the eyeshade over your eyes. And then you assume 'patience' again, feeling the breeze sliding over your skin, soft as satin.

You hear Her rise and then She comes to you. Her hands slide down your arms, then up your stomach and chest, and you're proud of the muscles you have there. Sometimes you think of Her when you're working out, think of Her looking at you, touching you as if She owns you, and you work even harder. She circles you, Her hand sliding over your shoulder and down your spine. You lean into the touch, loving the way She strokes you with her whole hand, not just her fingertips, as if She is sculpting you--molding you--just for Her own use, Her own pleasure. She cups your ass, then slides Her hand down the back of your thigh, and the fact that you can't see Her or know what She will do leaves you out there on the edge where you fly.

Is She humming something? Some song, and your brain--robbed of input from your eyes--goes off trying to figure out what it is. Something about roses? Or no--kittens? "Favorite Things," you realize, and you grin. Maybe you're one of Her favorite things.

And then She takes your hand. She turns you, steadies you, and tugs you gently until you feel the bark of the big oak tree. She lets you feel the rough bark, and then She turns you again and arranges your body so that you're backed up against it. She pushes your right leg out a few inches and attaches the ankle cuff to something, then does the same with the left ankle cuff.

Before you can think too much, She has your right wrist cuff up and to the side of your head, and then it's fastened and held there. You're breathing harder now, and the situation has finally been transmitted to your cock, which is starting to stand at attention. By the time She's fastened your left wrist cuff, your cock is hard, as it always is when She's bound you. She gives it a stroke when She's finished, and it bounces a little, and She's definitely humming that song. Your brain follows the tune, but you don't know all the words, so you're thinking about that when you hear a car door slam.

Your stomach tightens, and you instinctively jerk your hands forward a bit, but you're bound fast by the cuffs.

"Uh, Mistress?"

You hear Her step forward. "Yes, pet?"

"I think I heard a car." Your head is turned toward the direction of the sound, but it comes back to center when She caresses your cheek.

"You did, pet. You did hear a car." Then She's humming again, and the sound fades as She walks away.

She walks away.

Is She leaving you? What's happening? You want to yell for Her, ask Her to come back and not leave you here, but then you know She wouldn't leave you here. Something's happening, and you don't know what, but you know this Woman, you know She isn't cruel or sadistic or mean. And She wouldn't leave you here defenseless. So you wait.

You hear Her talking to someone, far away from your tree, and you strain to hear. They sound like they're coming closer, but the other person's voice is low and hard to hear. Is it a woman? A man? Your heart is pounding, and the blood feels like it's rushing in your ears.

She steps close to you. "How you doing, pet? Arms feeling strained?"

You shake your head and try to speak, but your mouth feels dry. Is someone there with her? Watching this? Her, you trust. Someone else? "No, Mistress. I'm fine." And you are. Maybe.

She cups your cheek with Her hand. "Good boy. Breathe."

And you try, you really do: breathing in deeply, feeling it go all the way to your toes, exhaling just as deeply. You concentrate on that, but your brain is focused on the person standing a few feet from you.

You hear your Mistress humming again, that same song, and you try again to remember the words to it, lists of things like snow or dogs and cats or stuff like that. And you can track Her movements as She humms and moves, now touching you and then moving away. You cock can't decide whether to be aroused or run and hide, so it just stays hard and hopeful.

Finally, you can stand it no longer. "Mistress?" Your voice is low, and Her response matches it.

"Yes, pet?"

How to ask without questioning Her? "Is someone else here?"

She steps close, and you can smell Her perfume. She leans close and Her voice is quiet. "Yes, pet. A friend of mine is here." Your mouth is dry, and you can feel your pulse throbbing in your neck. You swallow hard. "Do you have a problem with that, pet?"

You hesitate, and you can almost see that eyebrow again. "You know all you have to do is say the word, pet. And we stop."

Dammit, why does She say that? She always says it like that, as if She's tempting you to say your safe word, taunting you, and it makes you cranky every time. "No, Mistress. I'm fine." And you're determined to be.

"Good boy." And this time, the hand caresses your cock, a stroke to the underside, and you suck in a breath at the deliberateness of the gesture. Your cock doesn't care--it just hardens again, and She notices. "Ah, pet... you like that." It's not a question; it's a statement of fact, but you nod anyway. She takes it in Her hand again, this time circling it and squeezing slightly, and you slump forward a little, hanging from the cuffs encircling your wrists. Blood is rushing to your groin now, as She strokes with Her full hand, Her thumb brushing the top, spreading the pre-cum over the engorged head. Her other hand brushes over your nipples, flicking and tugging, then dips down to your balls to squeeze. It's a flurry of sensation, sudden and intense, and you hear yourself moan. It's the same every time She restrains you, the inability to move or respond or react leaving you no option but to live in the feeling, to concentrate on the sensation, to move inexorably toward orgasm.

And you hear Her low laugh as you react, and you know She's enjoying your response, experimenting with your body, turning you into Her object of pleasure. The desire to cum is almost overwhelming, but you know She's just getting started and your orgasm--if it's allowed--is a long time away. So you breathe like She taught you, easing back from the edge, in and out, in and out. And the urge eases.

She takes Her hands away and steps back, but you imagine Her standing there, just looking at you hanging from this tree in the autumn sunshine, and you have to keep breathing to push the orgasm back.

And then there are footsteps--several footsteps--and you tense. You know She's still there, but now Her friend is too, and you're completely in the dark--ha ha--about who it is. You shift a bit, and a thought occurs. Your eyes are covered, in fact most of the top of your face is covered, so this person doesn't really know who you are. And they're a friend of Hers, so they must know about Her and what She does. So is this something to be worried about? Your submission is a gift, She told you many times, a gift to Her. What's there to be ashamed about? You love being outside, it's a beautiful day, the sun is trickling through the leaves of this tree, and you're here, enjoying the edges of pleasure She's introduced you to--why worry? And just as you think of it, and relax, you feel a tongue touch the tip of your cock.

You tense, and then sensation swamps you as your cock is drawn in, bathed in moist warmth. All the way to the back, and then out, in and out, swirling and scraping. Your Mistress has taken you in Her mouth before, but that was before, when you were watching Her, and the sight/feel connection was different than this. This is dark, warm, velvety, and the intersected feelings of helplessness and sightlessness are intoxicating. Her tongue is stroking the underside of your cock where Her hand had stroked only a few minutes before, and then Her mouth engulfs you.

You know someone is watching, and the knowledge is heady. You hang there, your hips pulled forward by the suction of that mouth, your arms aching a bit but the pain isn't bad, and you can almost see yourself as that watcher must be seeing you: a naked young man bound by leather cuffs on his wrists and ankles, a thick leather collar around his neck with a tag that reads 'Hers,' and it's all so exciting your head swims.

You hear yourself moan loudly and even that's sexy, out here in the open air. And then the pressure of Her mouth increases and the strokes are overwhelming and you're hurtling towards the orgasm you're not supposed to have yet, and nothing--nothing--is going to stop it. Some lambent part of your brain rushes forward and you pant, "Mistress, may I please cum? Please?" And Her mouth tightens on you, Her tongue stroking underneath.

And as you hurtle toward orgasm from the sensation, She speaks from a few inches away where She's leaning against the tree: "Cum for me, pet."