She got a little further next time the vibrator turned off, testing the straps once again. But it felt like a useless gesture. She knew escape was impossible right now. She'd felt them tighten and check the straps.
All Ana really wanted was to reassure herself that she was stuck so she could return her attention to the little consolation buzzing between her legs. It felt good to realize it. To let herself treat the devilish little horn as a treat, and the little shocker as a challenge she could overcome.
Ana got better with it as the night went on. She received a few shocks, but soon could feel the limits of her prison in her body. Her legs were shaky, but she still kept her clit from the shocker. She was too tired and disoriented to make herself come without shocking herself in the process, so she daydreamed, endlessly teasing herself as her captor had intended.
Sometimes the vibrator would stop for a while, and she'd slip off into fitful sleep. Then it would slowly rouse her, and she'd find herself grinding. The blindfold and endless repetition made it hard to discern the boundaries between sleep and wakefulness, until it all blurred together into a sexual haze.
The moments that she was most awake were the least rewarding. Then she'd remember that she was trapped. That all the pleasure and teasing was to break her, to turn her into a thing, a possession.
Ana was grateful that wakefulness didn't last long. Those thoughts would make her feel tired and resigned, and she'd drift off again to another place, where the pleasure was simply pleasure, and the torment was only there to prolong it.
And then suddenly, she was fully alert, her heart racing through the darkness with inspiration.
Ana often had these kinds of ideas. If it felt fresh and urgent enough, she wouldn't even take the time to glance at a clock. She'd just click on a lamp, trap the idea in her notebook as fast as she could, before it could fade or flee. Then she'd read it over and over, savoring the pleasure of having stolen an idea from a dream.
Often these ideas had to do with recent conversations, so she'd share them with the friend who'd helped inspire it. This was one of those. It would be perfect for the boy from yesterday, she thought to herself.
The straps creaked indifferently as Ana tried to get up. And she remembered where she was, what she'd been excited about. And she remembered just who the boy from yesterday was.
It really had been a great idea, she thought, numbly. Sir's confused little cunt would earn quite a lot of praise for it if she gave in and shared. It was the perfect tip to help him turn her into a slave.
The vibrator turned on, as if in acknowledgment. And Ana again sought her reward.
* * * * *
Dane read over the draft post one more time. He was sure about the picture, at least. Ana wasn't one to document every aspect of her life, which was one of the things that had made her a good candidate for this plan. Instead, she took a few dozen pictures at a time every so often, drizzling out the best over social media in between. She'd already taken over 40 photos from the area, capturing the forest, the grounds, and the view from the little nook in the master bedroom.
Dane's favorite picture was a selfie she'd taken on the trail, not far from the spot where he'd cleaned her up and slung her over his shoulder the first day.
She was sitting on a tree stump, with a soft, wry smile, her wavy hair ruffled by the breeze. She was dressed in a fuzzy red blouse, stretched just a touch across her chest in a way that Dane found quite appealing. The photo was slightly out of focus, and you could see little specks of foam picked off by the late afternoon light on the river in the background.
The whole thing came off as just a little flirtatious, but that wasn't what caught Dane's attention. It was how genuinely pleased she looked. Certainly she knew she looked good in the photo and was happy with the fit, her soft, pale legs crossed and exposed to the thigh by a simple skirt, highlighting her luscious curves. But more than that, she was pleased with the day, the breeze, and the way it picked up those little specks of foam on the water.
Looking at it for the first time since taking her, Dane fancied there was something a little wistful in her smile as well, like a creature who had emerged from the forest briefly to bask in the light, but knew she must return to the darkness all too soon.
He'd looked at a lots of Ana's pictures, some far sexier, but it was this one that he kept coming back to as he lay in bed, thinking about how right he'd been to take her. He'd had her already, and he'd have her again, more completely every day. But this image seemed to crystallize what he wanted with her -- not just to submit to him, or even to worship him, but to be pleased to be his. To feel that exact same warmth about her Sir.
He looked over the post one last time. It was short and simple, even by her terse posting style. But the longer he went, the more likely that some gap in his knowledge of her life, some mistake in imitating her writing style, would bring his adventure to a tragic end.
Byron was right, after all. They were already more exposed than usual with this job, and needed to be more careful. This would give him a little bit more flexibility on time, and a good reason not to respond immediately, in case anyone sent a worried message and they needed time to plan before responding.
He hit send and watched the post pop up on her channel.
Greetings from Trapper's Bend! Lots of wildlife out here, and the weather has been lovely so far: dry and mild, and just a bit chilly. Reception and Internet is pretty bad, and there's lots to do to get ready for my first country winter, so apologies if I'm not online as much as usual. Love you guys!
And above the words, a beautiful picture of Ana, looking quite safe and pleased with her surroundings.
