The Light Between The Trees Ch 11

Author's note: Traumatised by being held hostage in the cafe siege, Chloe has chosen a new direction in her life. She gives up her steady boyfriend and stable job to seek out new thrills in risky encounters. Covalent has laid out his plans to make her disappear and Chloe finds herself spiraling deeper and deeper into his fantasy of total control.

The story contains themes of female submission, edge play and autassassinophilia. Discretion is advised: please check the story tags to see whether this a series you'll enjoy.]

---

TRAINING DAY

I'm sitting cross legged in the sun on a wooden box, watching Covalent working. Ever been in that part of a relationship, the bit between telling them what they want to hear and what you really think? I'm struggling so hard, biting my tongue as I watch him. It's not because I'm forbidden to speak, though there's a distinct possibility that'll be imposed on me the moment I open my mouth. Some guys just have to do it all, as if asking for advice is somehow reducing their manhood, but I can see he's struggling mightily with the task at hand.

It turns out that the first job on his list is to try and repair the windmill. He's concerned about the water tank draining dry and wants to get the bore water pumping again. I don't ask him, but the thought crosses my mind that he's keeping me naked and unwashed not because it's degrading for me, underlining his dominance over my body, and instead maybe because he just can't spare the water. I also don't ask if he's washed himself recently either.

I can't tell anyway. He's stripped to the waist, wrestling with the fallen tower that's lying battered on its side in the long grass, sweating. I watch the muscles bunch in his back as he heaves, the way his skin glistens. I'm quite happy watching my captor straining away; I can watch his body from a distance so long as I sit quietly. It gives me a little warm feeling deep down. He raises the tower a little way up from the grass, struggling hard, but it crashes back down again. I let out a small sympathetic noise.

"Anything to add?" he asks, rounding on me, frustrated.

"Uh, maybe."

"Want to come and lend a hand?"

"I'd love to help but this looks like a work site, and I don't have enclosed footwear."

I stretch a bare leg out and wiggle my toes at him, grinning, adding to his frustration. I can't help myself; it's payback from being told that the field is now my toilet, like I'm a farmyard animal. He stands there, hand on hips, his chest rising and falling with the effort of his exertions.

"Do we need the bore?" I ask, getting up from my sitting place and padding barefoot over to him, "We got water, right?"

"Yeah, for drinking. I got that. But there's nothing for anything else. Washing, anything."

I sidle right up to him, looking up into his eyes.

"I don't mind being dirty," I murmur.

The heat, the sweat, the proximity is all conspiring to turn me on. I put a hand on his chest.

"I need to get this upright. You're not helping."

I have a quip ready to go about erections, but I stow it as I read his expression. It's something I haven't seen in him before. The cool, collected, in-control man who spirited me away from civilisation in a sack, who planned my abduction meticulously to avoid leaving any evidence behind, he's not so hot on the practical aspects. I look around and then give my opinion.

"Did you work out why it fell over in the first place?" I ask, pointing at the base of the tower, "It's blown over in the wind, yeah?"

"I guess."

"So, this wasn't anchored," I continue, walking over to the legs of the tower, "They rusted through, see?"

"Yeah."

Covalent's quiet now, conceding that he missed some basic details.

"The concrete foundations are still in the ground. We don't have any concrete to mix up do we?"

"No."

"So even if you get it to stand up again, it's just gonna topple when the next wind comes. It's done, it's just scrap now."

"We need water."

I crouch by the well head. There is a metal shaft sticking up out of the ground that used to link up to the rest of the shaft in the middle of the tower, turning when the windmill turned, drawing water out of the borehole. I point to this.

"If we can get this turning, I think we can get water up."

I look up at Covalent, seeing how he's taking my advice. I see that he's grinning at me. It's unsettling.

---

I wriggle, adjusting the ropes that criss-cross my body, running between my breasts, wrapping around my waist. I lean forwards, feeling the strain on the back of my harness as I bear the load. I put one foot in front of the other, and there's a creaking sound from the apparatus next to me. I turn to look. It's working.

Once I'd pointed out the obvious, Covalent was quick to improvise and now I'm harnessed to a crossbeam that he's secured to the shaft, walking around in a circle like a beast of burden. I stop, huffing at him, but he's still got that goddamn smug grin from ear to ear.

"You have to admit, it's a novel solution," he says.

"In what way?"

"Swapping wind power for muscle power. Step it up, let's see if we can get it pumping."

He taps me on the backside and for a moment, I glare at him, seething.

"Hey, this was your genius idea."

"And I'm the one roped in, literally."

"It'll keep you out of trouble."

"Just tell me," I snap back at him, "Is it working?"

Covalent walks over to the water tank, following a white plastic pipe from the well head. He makes a circling motion with his hand.

"Keep going, let's see."

I trudge round in a circle, feeling his eyes on me. He's enjoying this, turning me into a cog in his new machine.

"Anything?" I ask.

He checks the tank and then nods. I stop, feeling like a fool, all trussed up and harnessed. He comes over to me.

"So? How's it look?"

Covalent shakes his head. "Some teething issues. Nothing I can't fix."

I want to ask what they are, but he takes hold of my wrists, bringing them around behind my back. I feel coils of rope being looped over my skin and suddenly I can't move my arms anymore. I'm about to say something but he's already walking away. I watch him go back inside the house, leaving me standing in the middle of the field.

When he returns, he's carrying two items. The first is a drink bottle filled with water, and I look on thirstily. The second appears to be a belt.

"What's...?"

"Silence," he interrupts, and just like that my speaking privileges are revoked.

He holds the bottle up to my lips and I take a drink of water. It's chilled, from the fridge, and it's absolutely delicious. I swallow greedily, until I fill my stomach. Covalent holds the bottle patiently, a little knowing smile on his lips. When I'm done, he runs a hand over my scalp and I imagine how I look to him; no longer the girl with dark hair and jeans in the food court in the city, but now grimy, sweaty, bald and naked in a rope harness completely under his command. I suddenly need to ask him some questions, about what his intentions are, where we're going, but I can't. I'll have to wait until I'm granted the privilege to speak again.

My old self from months ago would have found all this ridiculous, that a man would have me so tightly under his control to the point that I can't even speak, that I don't wear clothes, that I sleep outside on a mat. The new me knows that I won't disobey, that for some reason, I can't. I'm bound to his will by a mechanism I'm yet to understand.

When he clips the belt around my waist and starts to attach little pads to my skin, I allow him. I know what the little wires are for, trailing up to a pouch on the belt. I know exactly what he's doing to me. When the final two pads are placed on my pussy lips, all I can do is wait.

"You took that well."

Yeah, like I had a choice. What was I going to do? Run away?

"You need me to explain?"

I shake my head. I get it. I know just how screwed I am. I know just how creative Covalent can be.

"Good girl."

He has something in his hand, a black box the size of his palm. He presses a button and my pussy explodes.

"Fuuuuck," I yell out.

Fuck the no talking rule. Then, just like that, the sensation's gone, leaving me gasping.

"I'm going to overlook that outburst, but just once."

His thumb hovers over the controls again and I jerk into motion, trudging round in my little circle. When I turn to face him, he's grinning, highly amused with himself, to the point that I'd like to slap him if I could get my hands free.

"There are two modes. You do good work, you get this."

There's a warm tingle between my legs. Unlike the overwhelming jolt that set me in motion, this feeling is pleasant and sustained.

"Not so hard is it? Carry on. I'll keep an eye on you from the verandah."

I want to swear at him. He's returning my gaze with glee.

"You're really finding this hard, aren't you?"

I nod, because that's what he's reduced me to: nodding and shaking my head. I'm following all his stupid rules.

"You'll get used to it. You'll be surprised what I can get you used to."

I'm turning away from him again, completing my circuit, but I'm fixated on his last words. What does he mean? What's he going to do? When I turn back around, he's already halfway back to the house. When I complete another circuit, he's standing there on the verandah. A few minutes later, I can see that he's pulled a table out of the house and he's sitting there at his laptop. I slow to a halt, experimentally, and suddenly my pussy is on fire again, forcing me to lurch into motion as it fades back to the background tingle. He's still watching me closely.

Out in the field, he's solved his water pumping problem, installing a new part that he controls via a little black box. It gets treated to a delicious low-level buzz for doing its job and punished severely if it stops working. I have to acknowledge the simplicity of it, training me to go round and round in circles without protesting, until I'm not really thinking about it at all. The humiliation of being turned into a mindless part of his machine is gradually replaced by the slickening between my legs.

Eventually, he comes back down to me, carrying a water bottle and the suncream. I don't know if it's been minutes since he left me, or hours. All I know is that my skin is slick with perspiration and coated with the dust that I'm raising as I trudge around in my circular track. The sun is high and I'm feeling the prickly heat. More than that, though, is the feeling in my crotch, the hum from the pads. The frustration at what he's done to me, the humiliation at being turned into a pumping device, all of this has faded. My thoughts are now only filled with an incessant desire to scratch my itch. Bound like I am, only Covalent can do that for me.

"You can stop."

I halt, my head drooping. He walks over to the water tank and peers inside.

"Progress."

He comes over to me, offering the drink bottle and I glug back the wonderful cold water.

"Do you need to pee?"

I nod.

"Okay, you can."

I frown at him, but he doesn't elaborate. Slowly, I spread my legs and drop into a crouch, as far as the harness will allow me. It's utterly degrading, but I piss into the dirt as he watches me. The only mercy is that there's not much of it.

"A little yellow. I'll fill up another bottle for you. We need to keep you hydrated."

He pops the top off the suncream and squirts a dollop onto his fingers, running it over my shorn scalp, then the back of my neck, my chin and delicately brushing over my face. He's so gentle, and I find myself luxuriating in his touch. He squeezes more suncream out, working it over my back and my arms, my chest. His thumbs slicken my nipples, although they're already fully erect from the constant stimulation I've been receiving. He takes his time with my breasts, until I close my eyes, lost in the sensation.

It's his signal to move on, rubbing more cream over my tummy, my hips, down each leg to my feet. I can feel friction in the strokes of his hand as he picks up tiny particles of grit from my sweaty body. At last, he squeezes out one last dollop and works it into my backside, taking his time, letting his fingers roam freely over my buttocks, into my cleft, and over my puckered rear entrance. He touches me just there and I shiver. I don't know why.

His hands sweep over my hips, applying the cream to my shaved crotch, smoothing over the pink, exposed skin.

"We need to get the razor again," he murmurs, "It must be getting itchy."

I just nod, lost in the sensations of his fingers massaging my crotch with the suncream. I can feel the slickness mingling with my own as his palm rubs up and down my labia. He's careful not to dislodge the pads on my crotch, but the friction of his skin on mine is doing incredible things to my needy pussy. I gasp and squirm, making it obvious what I want.

He withdraws his hand, of course, leaving me once again denied his touch. I cross my legs in sudden desperation, clamping my pussy lips together, rubbing my thighs. I just need a little more friction. I need release.

"What's on your mind?"

I glare at him. He laughs.

"If looks were bullets, eh? You want a little more?"

His finger brushes against my slit. He pauses and then penetrates between my outer lips, teasing my neglected clit. I groan in anticipation, willing his finger to slide down just a little further. I roll my hips to position his finger at my entrance and push forwards to force him inside me.

Covalent laughs again, pulling his finger away, making me follow until I can't go any further forward, straining against my harness. He holds me there like that, his fingertip brushing over my clit until I gasp.

"One thing I promise you," he murmurs, "Whatever's on your mind now, it won't be there in an hour. I'll be surprised if anything's there in an hour."

I blink at him, his words penetrating the haze of my lust. The finger disappears and the little black control is in his hand again. He doesn't need to press it. I start to walk.

I'm aware of time passing, and then eventually he's there again, next to me. I'm unhooked from the crossbeam and led back to the shade of the verandah to be fed lunch, kneeling on the rough wood with my arms still bound behind my back. I open my mouth as he spoons the food in, some kind of pasta bake he's cooked for us. I'm watered again, and he wipes me down, dipping a flannel in a little bowl and running it over my body to give me a little relief from the heat. I begin to hope that this means I've done enough for the day, but he leads me back out into the sun and hooks me back up to crossbeam. I enjoy the moment of him reapplying suncream, the way his hand lingers over my pussy, but then I'm pressed unceremoniously back into service.

The afternoon fades into a haze of lust and stimulation from the device, the heat, the oppressive prickling of moisture on my skin, punctuated by water stops, then back to the unremitting requirement to trudge in endless circles in the dirt.

When at last he unhooks me and leads me back to the house, I don't resist. The sun is slanted now, telling me he's had me in harness all day, but he's right; there's nothing in my head anymore. I obey each command he gives, dancing on the ends of his strings like a puppet. I'm dimly aware that he's told me he's going to make dinner, and that I can have time on the mattress. He unties my rope harness, freeing me. I stretch out on my mat gratefully, finding my shoulders and bottom in contact with the hard decking. He's let air out, just like he said he would, reducing again the number of comforts I'm permitted.

I don't care. The only thing that penetrates the fog in my brain is the unrequited need in my groin. I'm desperately horny, but it all slips away and I descend into dreams of being fucked from behind, strapped up in the harness, unable to escape. Once, I would have classified that as a nightmare. Now, it's a delicious dream.

There is a sound, and I stir. The light is golden as the sun sets through the trees. Covalent is calling out, holding a plate in one hand and a bowl in the other. I sit up, blinking groggily, and he sets my bowl down on the floor in front of me.

"Dinner is served. You may speak if you want."

Slowly, I haul myself onto my hands and knees and lower my face to the bowl to eat. I don't care that he's feeding me like an animal: it's delicious.

---

After dinner, he picks up my bowl and uses the little flannel to clean my face. It's delicate and I relish the intimate attention, smiling up at him. For some reason, this is more important than the fact that he made me eat dinner from a bowl on the ground. I've come to crave these little contacts with him, the closeness.

"Kneeling display position."

I comply, kneeling with my legs spread wide and my hands upturned on my knees. I straighten my spine, feeling the way it raises my breasts, making them more prominent. I lift my chin and fix my gaze on the wooden decking just in front of me. He pats me on the head.

"Good girl."

His tone is appreciative rather than patronising, and it takes the edge off the internal struggle I feel in prostrating myself before him. A real woman wouldn't ever lower herself to do this, surely? Then what was I doing now?

"I'll take care of the washing up, then I'll be back."

"Okay."

It's all I need to say, acknowledging that I will wait in the display position he's placed me into until he's finished his chores. The door slams and I'm left in silence on the verandah. The light drains from the sky, dusk turning to night as the minutes drag by. With nothing else to distract me, I find my focus shifting to my body, to the need his device has engendered in me. I begin to imagine what he's going to do when he comes back, the reward I've earned for all my efforts. I can imagine how delicious he's going to feel when he slips into me, finally giving me what I need.

I hear the door open, rousing me from my fantasy.

"Eyes up."

I look up, watching him approach. He's emptyhanded, moving quietly towards me in the gloom. He strips off, standing naked on the verandah in the dark. The air is cooling now, but there isn't a chill on my skin. My body is burning with need. He approaches me.

"You may move."

I lift my gaze, staring at his slack manhood nestled in its forest of tight black curls. I've been fantasising about it all day, imagining it inside me, how it would feel. The exercise from the constant circling in the field, going nowhere, has all combined to drum something into me: a response to seeing him present his cock to me. I reach out but before I make contact with his skin, I stop. I know what I am to him. I know how he's expecting me to behave. Like the girls in the videos, I know I need to wait for permission. After the endless hours of anticipation, waiting a few seconds is the easy part.

"You can touch me."

I take him in my hands, cupping his balls as I wrap my fingers around his shaft, feeling him firming to my touch. His body is so clean, compared to mine. I'm grimy, slick with the remnants of suncream, dust, and sweat. Between my legs, there's something else, an unyielding need. My muscles are tired from the day's labour, my feet are sore, but when I lean forwards to place a kiss on the tip of his cock, all that falls away.

"Take me in," he tells me, "All the way."

I comply, wrapping my lips around the swollen purple head and sucking him deep into my mouth. He's rigid now, pulsing as I work my tongue over his shaft. I go down on him as far as I can, until I feel his intrusion in the back of my throat and I retch slightly. I pull back, sliding him out of my mouth, popping off the end with a wet, slurping sound. I look up at him, because I want to know if he's pleased. He nods and I take him all the way in again, feeling each contour of his manhood pass my lips. I close my eyes and abandon myself to the task.