The Wolf And The Woodsman

"You've been a bad girl," Eli said, ominously.

"But Sir," I said, plaintively, "I didn't do anything." He had a death grip on my left wrist as he dragged me toward the 59th Street entrance of Central Park.

"Shut up, you whore," he said, dragging me through the entrance, past the man made lake, deeper into the dark, desolate park.

"But I didn't do anything."

"I step away for TWO FUCKING MINUTES," he bellowed, his eyes glimmering in the moonlight, "to freshen my drink, and I come back to find you'd given yourself to another."

"I DID NOT GIVE MYSELF! I am yours and yours alone."

"You lying whore." With that, he let go my wrist, roughly grabbed my shoulders, turned me so I was facing him, and slapped me full across the face. "Then tell me WHY I found you chatting up that man?"

"He thought to leap into your seat, Sir, it's true. But he's not half the Dominant you are, which is why I told him to leave."

"Told him to leave!" He slapped me again.

"For fuck's sake," I muttered, tears rolling down my face, " that hurts, Sir."

"It's meant to hurt. You're being punished. I don't believe you told him to leave. If you had told him to leave, I wouldn't have found him still there." He gave me a pointed look. "What do you have to say about that?"

"I need you," I said, "I need you to protect me from the advances of other men."

"No," he shook his head, "no, I think you're a whore who ENJOYS the attentions of other men, And you enjoy making me look the fool in public. I need to teach you a lesson."

"No, Sir, please-" he slapped me a third time.

"The next one will be a closed fist," he warned, "so think carefully before you interrupt while I'm speaking. Understand?" I nodded. "Now strip."

Crying, I stripped...out of my fur wrap, my dress, stockings, the La Perla bra. I wore no panties,

"Jewelry too," he said. I took off my earrings, the tennis bracelet he'd given me at Christmas. "The COLLAR," he said, "everything." My show collar, the one I always wore to formal events, was a ruby choker, really very beautiful. Shocked, I took it off. "Now sit down," he commanded, "back straight against that tree behind you, arms raised, hands clasped behind the tree trunk." He produced a length of rope from his left breast pocket and made quick work of binding me tightly to the tree trunk.

"There," he said, with a wolfish grin, "all done." He collected my clothes, jewelry, and show collar, & started to stroll away.

"Sir," I called, "Sir, where are you going?"

"Home, of course," he laughed, "it's nearly two in the morning. And it's freezing out here."

"But...but"

"But what?" He asked, pretending to look amused. "But what about you?" He shrugged. "If you want to entice other men at parties, then I'll go you one better and leave you exposed, a sort of gift for them."

"But without my collar on, they won't know I'm owned."

"That sounds like not my problem."

"Sir," I called again.

"What now? You really are making a nuisance of yourself."

"Don't do this."

He laughed. "Look at yourself. Do you REALLY believe you're in any position to tell me what I ought not to do?"

"If you do this, Eli, we're through."

"If you're still here come brunch time, we'll see what you say then."

And then continued to stroll away.

I of course wept. Since the night I had met Eli, I had belonged to him. Oh sure, we were together six months before he actually collared me, but in my heart and soul, I was HIS from the moment he laid eyes upon me. And I had been wearing his collar for nearly two years now. Sharing his bed, living under his protection, entrusting that he would always do right by me. Now the collar was off & his footsteps were growing further and further away. I may as well have been dead. There was no fate worse than this, to be abandoned so.

"Hey! You there!" A male voice somewhere behind me interrupted my thoughts. "You in the black topcoat! What the hell did you just dump there? The park's not for...HOLY FUCK!" A man in jeans, plaid shirt, knitted zip up hoodie, and Timbaland boots suddenly came into view. And he was looking at me. I realized he was shouting at Eli. "Jesus Christ," he said, squatting to get a good look at me, "are you...can you hear me?" I nodded. I heard him just fine. I also heard Eli's footsteps growing even further away.

"Go your way," I said, "and forget you saw me."

"The hell I will." He stood up, reached in his back pocket. I saw a flash of something steel. He was armed. I didn't see him go behind the tree, didn't realize until I felt the rope around my wrists slack & my arms fall to my sides that the stranger had actually cut me loose. With my hands at my sides, I continued to sit there, not knowing what to do, or if I should do anything. "Here," he had taken off his hoodie and was wrapping it around me. "Can you stand?"

"Yes," I let him help me stand.

"Who was that guy?"

"He's my Sir," I said, "we've been together nearly two and a half years now." Suddenly aware of how naked I was, I pulled his hoodie tighter around me.

"He leaves you naked and bound to a tree and you still call him Sir. If you don't mind my saying, the man's a coward of the first magnitude."

I let that go and instead asked, "And who are you, Sir?"

"I'm no Sir, I'm just a woodsman."

"A woodsman in the middle of Manhattan," I said, "you're a little out of your element."

"Is this not a wooded area?" He gestured at the trees around us. "Anyway, you can call me Sylvain."

"Well then, Sylvain," I said, "I thank you for untying me, and now, if you don't mind, I've got to be getting home. If you'll give me your contact information, I'll have your hoodie dry cleaned and send if to you."

"Home to what?" He asked.

"My apartment, of course," I said.

"You're barefoot," he said calmly, "you have no cab fare, and you are not safe by yourself. I will see that you get home safely."

I was barefoot & without cab fare. That much was true. So I agreed to let Sylvain see me home. He picked me up, threw me over his shoulder, & proceeded to carry me out of the park.

"We'll never get a cab at this hour," I said, "you might as well put me down."

"I will not," he said, carrying me towards 57th Street, "and who says we need a cab, anyway?" With that, he put me down beside an old, but very clean pickup truck. "Who needs a cab when you have a car of your own?" He opened the passenger door and helped me into the cab. Climbing in behind the wheel, he asked, "Now, where are we going?"

"Seventy-third and Second Avenue," I said, thankful for the ride. I would never have made it walking in bare feet.

He pulled out into traffic, and I started to worry what would happen when I arrived at home. Eli would be there, probably drunk, DEFINITELY still mad.

"Shit," I said.

"What?" Sylvain asked, a look of concern on his face.

"He'll be there," I started to cry for the second time that night,

"Don't," he put one arm around me while he steered one-handed, "it's ok. In fact, it's better this way. I'd like to have a word with your so-called Sir myself, so I don't mind walking you in."

We pulled up to my building and Sylvain helped me out of the truck. The night doorman recognized me, but looked startled. "Miss," he said, "I was told you wouldn't be back till tomorrow."

"Change of plans, Sid," I told him, "has Eli come in for the night yet?"

"Yes, Miss."

"Good."

"Should I call up and tell him you're coming up?"

"No thanks, Sid. I wanna surprise him."

And with that, Sylvain and I went into the building. We got on the elevator and I pushed P for Penthouse.

It was a long ride up, but the elevator doors finally opened onto the living room. Our living room. I stepped into the living room and Sylvain followed me. Eli was nowhere in sight. Maybe he'd gone to bed already.

"Call for him," Sylvain said.

Sir!" I shouted. "Sir, I'm home!" I heard a rustling noise and then the bedroom door swung open and Eli appeared, clad in only a pair of silk pajama bottoms.

"Well, well," he said, "what have we here?"

"Exactly what I said, Sir, I'm home."

"And who's your friend?"

"Why did you not answer me when I addressed you in the park?" Sylvain asked Eli.

"Ohhhh, so that was you," Eli said, "and I didn't answer you because I had nothing to say to you. I have nothing to say to you now, so if you'll show yourself out."

"I will not," Sylvain said, "I have much to say to you, and I'm not leaving until I say it."

"Then speak your piece, man," Eli said, sitting down on the couch.

"You left this woman, naked and bound to a tree, for anyone to abuse."

"I slapped her around before I bound her to the tree," Eli said, "what of it?"

"A real man doesn't abandon a woman, that's what of it."

At that, Eli stood up. "Do you impugn my manhood? Because I'll tell you right now, you know nothing of the situation. All you know is you came upon her bound to the tree, and me leaving, and I looked the bad guy in that moment. But if you knew the events that caused me to bind her to the tree like that, you'd see it a lot differently."

I stood there, in Eli's apartment, wearing Sylvain's hoodie, not knowing what would happen next.

"I don't impugn your manhood," Sylvain said, "for that, you'd have to have some manhood. And I don't care what she did, your behavior is an atrocity."

"Is that all?" Eli asked, looking amused.

"I challenge you," Sylvain said.

"Challenge me to what, exactly?" Eli laughed. "A fistfight behind the school? We're not twelve, you know."

"No mere fistfight," Sylvain told him, "I challenge you to a bare-knuckle boxing match. Just the two of us. You win and you never see me again. But if I win, you release your submissive."

Fine," Eli said, "bare-knuckle boxing it is, and when I win, we never see you again. Where and when?"

"Tomorrow, noon, by the tree where she was bound." And with that, Sylvain left.

"Take off that raggedy thing," Eli commanded.

Half-dazed, I realized I still wore Sylvain's hoodie. Without a word, I unzipped it, took it off, and dropped it at Eli's feet. "I'm going to have a shower and sleep in the cage tonight. See you in the morning." I walked towards the bathroom. I showered, washing my hair, and headed for the cage. The cage was just that, a low to the ground contraption with bars...there was enough room inside so I could lay down comfortably, and that's about it. When I displeased Eli, my punishment was that I had to sleep in the cage, that I was not allowed to lay beside him. I had never before sentenced myself to a night in the cage. I crawled in, unable to decide whether or not I wanted morning to come.

"What are you doing, Eli?" I asked in astonishment the next morning, as I watched him casually slide a Derringer into the pocket of his track pants.

"Dressing," he said cheerily, "I'm to bare-knuckle box your Mr. Sylvain at noon, remember?" He sat down on the bed and tied his trainers.

"I remember all right," I said, "I just didn't realize bare knuckle boxing had firearms."

"It's just a precaution," he smiled, "I don't even know the man. Who's to say he won't pull a gun on me?"

"You're right," I said, "you don't know the man. For all you know he could've raped me at knife point last night before returning me here."

"Don't be melodramatic," he laughed, "and hand me my track jacket,will you." Without a word, I handed him his track jacket.

I was dressed in black leather pants, purple cashmere sweater, and matching high heels. I wore a black leather collar. It was funny how last night when Eli had removed my collar, I had felt naked, abandoned, and now this morning when he put a collar on me for our outing, I felt like I was being choked to death. Anyway, I had no idea if my outfit was appropriate for a bare knuckle boxing match and/or shooting in Central Park, but it would have to do. As we left the building & got a cab, we looked like any other couple going for brunch.

Sylvain was by the tree already when we got to the park. He also wore track pants & trainers, but he stood bare chested, waiting.

"There you are," he said when he saw us, "I almost didn't think you'd show up."

"Enough small talk," Eli said, "let's just do what we came here to do."

"Fine by me," Sylvain said, "if the lady would take your wardrobe."

"My what?"

"Your track jacket and shirt," Sylvain said, "take them off and hand them to her, you won't need them."

"Good," Eli pulled off his track jacket and shirt and threw them at me, with a wolfish grin, "we'll box like men."

With that the two of them squared off. I knew Eli worked out with a trainer three times a week...and I knew he had a gun. I'd also seen him cheat before, at cards, at golf, at anything he could cheat at. I didn't know if Sylvain had ever boxed before, or if he suspected Eli was the sort of ruthless bastard who would cheat every which way. Sylvain landed the first punch, a hard right to Eli's jaw. I thought for sure Eli would go for the gun right then & there, but no, he went for Sylvain's kidneys instead. Typical Eli.

Ten minutes into the fight, Eli was sweating like anything as he head-butted Sylvain in the chest. By now each man had landed a punch squarely on the other, and it was clear this wasn't amateur hour. Sylvain wouldn't go down, though, when Eli head-butted him. He put his hands on Eli's shoulders, pushed, and used Eli's own momentum to knock him down. Once he had Eli flat on his back, Sylvain planted his right trainer on Eli's chest.

"Do you concede?" He asked Eli.

"Concede," Eli grunted, "what, you think I'm finished." He attempted to sit up, but Sylvain pushed down harder on his chest.

"I knocked you down," Sylvain said, "you'd do well to concede."

"A bare-knuckle boxing match is won by *knockout*," Eli insisted, breathing heavy, "not knockdown." With that, he grabbed Sylvain's calf with both hands, and in one maneuver, lifted it off his chest and sat up. That knocked Sylvain off balance, and in the time it took me to blink, Eli was standing and Sylvain was flat on his back.

"I don't concede," Eli said, "I never concede. People like me don't lose," he said, "isn't that right." He planted his right trainer on Sylvain's throat and pushed down hard.

"Enough, Eli," I said, "you made your point."

"Have I?" He asked, not moving his foot from Sylvain's throat. "Come stand beside me, I want you to see this."

I went and stood beside Eli, careful to stay on his right side. If he was surprised when he reached for the gun and found *my* hot little hand had gotten to his pocket a split second before his own, he didn't jump out of his skin like I thought he would.

"No, it's all right," he said, wrapping his right hand around my left, which was already wrapped around the Derringer in his right pocket, "you don't have to get it for me, let go, that's machinery, you don't know how to operate that. You'll hurt yourself."

"No," I said, half-surprised to hear myself speak that word to Eli, unable to remember an instance when I'd refused him anything before. "In the time we've been together, Eli, I've let you do a lot. I let you beat me, I let you share me with your friends. Remember the time you lost at poker and gave me to that guy to hold *like a marker*, that was a fun weekend. Could've given him that gold plated ring you claim is from Israel, but no, you gave him me." The whole time I was talking, Eli still had his trainer on Sylvain's throat. "Sylvain," I said, "Eli brought a gun here today. His intention was to shoot you if you beat him in a fair fight, or at least I thought it was. Apparently, he means to shoot you either way. Eli, I won't let you shoot anybody. Not today, not any other day."

"A gun," Sylvain grunted from under Eli's trainer, "you chickenshit. I knew you were a coward."

Eli hadn't loosened his grip on my left hand, and now he pulled his right hand, along with my left hand & the Derringer, out of his track pants pocket. "Yes, a gun," he said calmly, while I prayed somebody would come wandering by and see us and FUCKING DO SOMETHING BEFORE THIS ENDED IN GUNFIRE. "You," he said, as he forced both his hand and mine to point the gun at Sylvain, "you disrupt my plan to punish my submissive, you impugn my manhood, and you demand I release my submissive to you. Who in the blue fuck do you think you are?" But he didn't wait for an answer. He put his finger on the trigger...I saw this and tried to let go of the gun, but he was stronger than I was and...if only Eli pulled the trigger, but both our hands were on the handle of the gun, can it be said that we *both* fired three rounds into Sylvain's forehead?

I don't remember ripping off the black leather collar Eli had put on me that morning. I don't remember where I threw it. I don't remember kicking off my shoes and walking barefoot through the park. I only know I made it as far as the boathouse, before the police found me, barefoot and with blood spattered on my sweater. They wanted to question me about the shooting deaths of two men by a big oak tree.