All characters depicted are 18+ years old at the beginning of the story.
2-1
The cave was quiet except for the wind howling somewhere far away. Nightfall always brought droughts, then storms, and later, a drizzle that would go on until the clouds turned black and thunderous again. There was no escape from gray and foggy days as the shadow of dusk arrived earlier and earlier. Such was winter around those parts.
The captive wife opened her eyes in the deep dark. The oven fire had died down and she was left alone in her home, hidden away from the world. She was warm beneath the blanket, but outside was so cold she felt her face pricked by the chill air. The room where she lived was too close to the surface to be isolated from the winter outside. The air stung.
She didn't want to move but was too uneasy to stay quiet in bed. Her master wasn't back yet.
As she had no way of knowing how much she had slept and the hour of dawn, she could only ponder possibilities. If she had slept little and it was still early, there was no reason to worry, and in no time her master would walk in. But if she had slept a lot and he was late, maybe something had happened to keep him. The weather was treacherous that time of year. The thought rocked her awake in a rush of panic. However, Ulf was strong. Ulf was skilled. There was no way he wouldn't find his way back. She assured herself and moved to the oven, shivering violently as her naked skin was pierced by the temperature.
Until the flames were licking the fresh wood blocks, she stood there hugging a blanket, holding back the urgent need to cough. It had been a few days now that she felt that uncomfortable itch in her throat and the roughness of liquid in her breath. She couldn't help but relieve through the flames the memories of her family's fireplace constantly burning. Her mother always told the story of how cold the house had been when Ivy was small, and how she had almost died of a cough. From there on, the home was kept extra warm and Ivy was always bundled up in beautiful woven coats that both of them worked on together on the loom. Dyed lines of wool going up and down, around and over. The patterns of embroidery were memorized by her very soul. She had always hated the winter as a season, the damp and dark months, but loved it as a time of reclusion and homely work. Her family together every day working with carding and spinning wool, then weaving, crocheting, and sewing. The vivid remembrance overwhelmed her. She felt her chest ache and tears come forth. She had been a child so little ago, then a woman in no time, and then, nothing at all. A burden. Her mother should have let her die from the cough as a baby.
The water pot left out gentle puffs of vapor. Ivy sat on Ulf's larger bench, brewed tea on his large wooden cup, and took the first sips glad that it warmed her heart and made the discomfort in her throat subside. She missed sugar so much. She missed the sweet brews that mixed leaves and fruits.
Ivy finished her cup and kept staring at the flames long before she heard the steps. The shadows took the shape of an impossibly large man dressed in a leather cape.
"Couldn't sleep, Ulfin?" He asked, and Ivy felt her skin come alive in tingles.
"I slept for a while" she answered and got up. She walked to the edge of the light, and his dark form bent down to nuzzle the top of her head with his nose.
Ulf removed his boots, his cloak, then his gloves. There were hooks on the rock to hang them. His face was scary in the low light, more animal than men, but there was the gentleness of exhaustion in his eyes. He washed his hands with water from the canteen and only then did he touch her, kneeling on the floor so that his face could fit between her arms, against her breasts, nuzzled beneath her neck.
"You are so warm..." he said, content.
"And you are stone cold!" The rain and his sweat had run frigid. Ivy trembled as she squeezed him closer, her fingers brushing his braid. "Take your clothes off and cuddle in bed with me."
"I wish for nothing else." He chuckled, moving away just enough so he could look her eye to eye. His face was so much larger than hers, his eyes so big, and his nose and his mouth. But when he was that close, as their foreheads touched, Ivy forgot that they weren't even the same kind of creature.
"You are very good to me, Ivy."
She felt like crying. No one ever said she was anything but a problem.
"Come, Ulf, have a warm drink."
He was glad to find the fire already ablaze and sat with his back to the flames to dry his hair. Ivy sat on the bench again, close by so Ulf could rest his head on her thighs. He drank tea tasting her lips on his cup. In the winter before, he had been alone on those mountains, enduring the rainy days with only the solace of his leatherwork. He took a moment to appreciate the contrast between then and now, as he hugged the leg of his precious little captive. The joy he found in feeling her skin was blissful, and it made everything else pale in comparison.
"Were you missing me, Ivy?" He asked, hungry for her affection.
They had been together for a few months now. She answered him like a servant would, attentive to his needs and his whims, but when Ulf pressed for more, she didn't know what to say. The struggle between truth and duty was clear in her expressions, and though tormenting her was his new favorite thing to do, Ulf realized then, as she looked down, unable to find words, that he wanted her joy as much as her care. Ivy, however, was not one who felt much joy at anything.
Ulf cut her silence with his mouth, pulling her to him, rising to meet her indecisive mouth. It fit between his tusks and he loved the feeling of her puckering her lips to meet his in a sweet kiss. His tongue caressed hers, and she whimpered. He tasted like exercise, salt, and thirst. His chilly fingers squeezed her breast, one in each hand. She was moaning in the kiss soon after as his thumbs caressed her nipples.
"I know very well why my slut couldn't stay asleep."
"It's not like that..." Ivy felt the blush of shame burning in her cheeks.
"No? Aren't you wet already, missing my cock?"
When Ulf talked like that, Ivy felt her mind go murky and hazy. Her eyesight lost focus as her master held her hips. He forced her to stand, her feet by the side of his knees, then took the opportune position to push his index finger deep inside her cunt. She was indeed wet and it went without effort or resistance. Her body trembled in excitement, the poor thing.
"I'll warm my fingers inside you," he said with a grin.
"If that's what you want, Ulf." She answered in a whisper. She kept her hands on the bench, and opened her legs even wider, stepping on only her toes. Looking down at his hand cupping her groin, moving in and out of her, Ivy felt the cave spin around. Ulf bent forward and kissed her thigh, caressing her skin with his tongue. It was a reverence she didn't expect.
"I'm so glad to come home to you, sweet Ivy."
She was used to his teasing and his mockery, but he always broke her when he was sweet. There was a dam inside her heart strong enough to withhold the tempestuous waters of her sadness, but Ulf had begun to pierce it from the moment he had thrown her over his shoulder. Ivy was so afraid of letting go, of facing that despair and grief. She didn't want to follow the feelings that bloomed in her loneliness. She wanted silence.
"Ulf, please take me. I need you."
He looked up and his eyes glowed with malice. He got to his feet and let Ivy experience how his full height towered above her, his strength, his hold on her. He grabbed her neck, forcing the woman up just enough that she had to stand straight. The spark of fear in the blue eyes was his reward. Moaning, whimpering, she grabbed his wrist with both hands to alleviate the pressure, but he only squeezed more, just a little more, enough that she felt in her very soul that there was no way out, no chance to fight. Ulf got the rush of power like a shot of a very strong liqueur, going down his throat and making his chest run hot with very unwise bravery.
He caressed her cheek, her lips, forced her to open her mouth and pinched her tongue, then spread her saliva around. She would take anything he did. Anything.
Ulf dragged her to the table and made her bend down until her face touched the wood. Ivy held onto the edges, and braced herself for pain, for sex. Anything Ulf desired, she would take. It was what she deserved.
He took her hands though, crossed them behind her back, and held her wrists in the rope he had in his belt. It went around her waist and down the table, back up in knots that kept her from moving. Ivy expected him to be done and happy by then, but Ulf had other plans. He took his time grabbing more rope, tying her ankles wide open against the wood. As a master, he loved when she squirmed and cried every time the binds squeezed.
It was a kind of bondage they hadn't done together. She was used to being hogtied, but not against the furniture, kept in an uncomfortable pose. Ulf considered going easy on her but gave up without much consideration. He was too hungry, too enraptured in her pain. He passed rope between her lips and tied it at her nape. When that knot was closed, Ivy fought, biting the rope, and pulling her wrists, but couldn't achieve much beyond rocking her body from side to side. She felt the cold oil running down her holes, each drop a cruel hit. Her moan echoed, and Ulf couldn't hold back his laugh. Ivy felt as if he discarded the bottle of oil at her side, and his shirt, musky and wet over her back, like she was just another part of the clutter. Another tool.
The edge of his belt touched her ass as the tip of his cock pushed her pussy lips. The punch of ecstasy started on her stomach and grew, spreading through her spine, but was cut short by the strike of leather in her skin.
Ivy cried. Her body pushed the binds. Ulf gave her no time to breathe, just kept striking in fast slashes that turned her skin bright red. He had the pleasure of getting his cock hard on her pussy jumping and squeezing with each slap. The pain was a bright intense red covering her sight. It was electrifying shocks overwhelming her touch. It was a high-pitched banshee scream in her ears. But when it dwindled, the space it left behind was filled with warmth and desire. She was so sensitive and so awake to the touch of her tormentor. Ulf hit her until she crossed the threshold, and stopped fighting, resigned to the waves of mixed pleasure and pain. She couldn't hold her head up anymore. Ulf grabbed her hair and twisted it in his hand. Ivy closed her eyes with the tingles on her scalp.
The monster pushed his hips, feeling the moisture run down his cock as the body of his
vaimo
changed to take him in. The sigh of her pussy lips stretching to his girth made his heart skip a beat.
"There it is, my slut... Always so hungry for my cock."
He bent forward over her, holding his weight on his elbows, pulling on her hair and on the table to move in and out. He felt her coming around his cock, and paid attention to her cries of ecstasy. But didn't stop moving until he found his release inside.
Ulf sat down to smoke and drink tea while Ivy was still bound, admiring the work he did on her. The bruised skin, the drops of his jizz running down, dripping on the floor. She was so strong, how she endured like that, patiently waiting for his mercy. He cleaned her with water, later, caressing her mistreated pussy, let her piss in one of their buckets, and threw it out of the cave door into the rain. Only then he took the ropes away.
Ivy found herself wrapped and carried, almost dozing off, as Ulf took her to bed. His kisses on her cheeks made her blush. She found that she wanted to hug him again, so she did. He hugged her back, squeezing her tight in his lap. Only then, as he scrubbed her above the blanket, Ivy realized she was wrapped in soft wool, not furs. She held the material, and admired it, taking the rich red color with surprise. It was something a human had made, not different at all from the ones she had at home.
"Where... Where did you get this?"
"You needed warm clothes. I went down to the farms and traded for them."
Ivy felt her stomach sink with cold fear. The blanket was too close to her heart - the smell, the texture - it cut through the spell of the cave. His spell.
