Demands. Always demands. Assignments to read, reports to write, exams to take. Always demands, but never the right kind of demands. Never the kinds of demands she wanted.
O had had it. She’d had it with waiting. She had it with trying to fit into a mold that others said had been cast for her, but for which she had no interest in fitting into. Today was the day. Today was the day that freedom would win out over slavishness to routine. Courage would win out over timidity. She would choose her own destiny and stop pretending that she was less than them wild, beautiful creature that she was.
With the knowledge that every journey begins with getting one’s ass on the road, she had decided to listen to her untamed spirit, gas up the car and just drive. Determined to read and follow only internal signs, she stopped at the beckoning of a state park along the highway. She pulled out her canteen and her backpack, which contained a weather radio, a compass, a blanket, and her netbook.
O confidently made her way into the wooded area past the picnic tables and public restrooms. She obeyed a call only she could hear, a call only meant for her. Trekking onward, her fearlessness began to wane into courage and courage began to wane into doubt and doubt into fear. As the woods grew thicker and she felt like she was farther and farther from civilization, she began to think that this was a bad idea. And she began to wish she had put more thought and planning into the whole operation.
It wasn’t long before she longed for shelter and thought about turning back. She weighed how far she might be from her car against how foolish she would feel reversing course at that point. She tipped back the canteen, drinking in the lukewarm water, and continued to walk. Her fear had still not outranked the call she felt to keep marching.
Soon her fear changed to a nervous excitement as she smelled smoke from a wood fire. It felt like home, just as it felt like a change in destiny. But surely it was silly to think that a course change in life could be heralded by an aroma. She couldn’t however, shake the feeling, that she had turned some cosmic corner.
The simple, timber-built cabin which was the source of the smoke, was a welcome sight for O. It seemed well-maintained and solid somehow, for it’s small size. There was a fire pit nearby the structure, on which was situated an iron framework which supported a cast-iron pot over a low-burning fire. Underneath the smoke smell, came wafting the smell of a hearty soup from the pot. It smelled savory and comforting, as if it were designed just for that purpose. She breathed a sigh of longing and walked towards the front door of the cabin.
Next to the door, there was a small window that she peered carefully into, as she knocked on the door. She saw no one, and even after knocking for a couple of minutes, no one answered. So she walked back around to the fire pit and soup pot. She used a nearby towel to pick up and take off the hot lid. Trying carefully to set it aside, she accidentally touched part of it with the bare flesh of two of her fingers. The resulting burn caused her to drop it rapidly to the ground. It hit with a loud clang, causing the scurrying of several small animals and a few birds. O looked around to see if the noise could have possibly awakened the homeowner, whereas knocking on the door had not. No one stirred.
There was a ladle resting inside the pot, which she picked up and examined it’s contents. The soup looked as satisfying as it smelled and she blew across the top of it to cool it off enough to taste. When she was able to taste it, she was pleased to discover that it tasted as good as it looked and smelled.
It’s surprising how quickly one can begin to feel at home in an unknown environment, particularly if that environment has a home-like energy, something warm and tasty to eat, and a comfy sofa to park on for a while. Yes, just for a while, not to fall asleep in…
“Well,” he said “what have we here?”
O startled awake, never having realized that she’d fallen asleep. Trying to think quickly, she scrambled to grab her bag and stand up. But as soon as she neared full standing height, she realized that each of her arms bore cuffs attached to chains which were bolted to one side of the sofa.
“What the hell?” she asked. “What are you doing? Help!”
She yelled it, realizing as soon as it was out of her mouth that it was highly unlikely anyone would have been able to hear it. The tall, handsome man standing before her smiled almost warmly.
“You know, I had a dream about you last night.”
O jerked at the chains on the off chance that the bolts would rip from the floor. They didn’t budge.
“How could you have dreamed about me? You don’t know me? How long was I out?”
“I don’t know how long you were out, but I know you were here long enough to steal my food, do some littering, and a little breaking and entering,” he answered.
“I’m not… I didn’t…” she sputtered.
“But, not to worry,” he continued. “I haven’t called the Rangers or the Sheriff or anything.”
O’s mind was racing at this thought. At first she felt some brief sense of relief, before the reality of being trapped flooded back in. Her heart began to race and her breathing became more shallow.
“You’re gonna kill me aren’t you?” she said, timidly.
“Of course not,” he said. “The aforementioned Rangers and Sheriff are fully aware I’m out here. I imagine your car is parked a couple of miles away at the public picnic area.”
“Then what are we… What are you going to do with me?” she asked.
He crouched down in front of her, pushing her gently, but firmly, by her hips, back to a sitting position on the sofa. She swallowed hard.
“I’m here and you’re here because this is an opportunity,” he said.
O’s eyes grew wider and her breath, though still quickened, became deeper. She felt a flush of arousal at being this close to him, at feeling his touch, at being gently, but firmly, controlled.
“The opportunity is this desire you have… what you want, as well as what I want. My dream, your destiny,” he continued.
“How would you know what I want?” O asked, trying to sound skeptical and dismissive.
“Do you think I can’t feel it? I can. Just as you’re feeling it now. You want to be punished. You need it,” he said.
“I don’t…” she started, but he stopped her by putting his left hand over her mouth.
With his right hand he cupped the top of her left thigh and began tracing his way up to the waistband of her jeans. He rested his upper body against her knees, preventing her from being tempted to kick. He unbuckled her belt and stripped it out of its loops. Almost unconsciously he doubled it over and shook it to feel the weight of it. He then tossed it beside her on the sofa. Then he began unbuttoning her jeans. Using both hands he reached behind her hips and began sliding them down. When they were almost to her knees, he picked up the belt again and closed it around her lower legs, tying them together.
“Please don’t…” O said.
“Please don’t what?” he asked.
“Don’t rape me,” she said, her voice soft and emotional.
“That’s something I will never do,” he said, “When the time is right for me to enter you, we’ll both know. You’ll beg me, and if I’m so inclined, I will oblige you.”
He stood up and moved to the left side of the sofa where the chains were anchored. He began pulling each of them through eye bolts attached to the floor, decreasing the slack more and more, slowly, which caused O to have her wrists pulled toward that arm of the sofa. When he was satisfied that there was not enough slack to allow her to do anything but lie there, face down, he pulled another set of chains from underneath the other side of the couch. Those had cuffs attached as well and he buckled them around her ankles.
Satisfied that she could no longer interfere with her impending punishment, he stuffed a few pillows under her to raise her hips higher. She pouted.
He ran his hand in a line from the top of her head, down her back, tracing her spine and resting at the swell of her buttocks. Her panties were pretty but they needed to come down. He pulled them down to mid-thigh. Parting the cheeks of her bottom, he saw the glistening lips of her pussy and inhaled her musk.
The man stood up and walked over to a chest. From the top drawer he pulled out a razor strap and some baby oil.
“It’s time for you to help me oil my strap,” he said.
O forced herself to look over and up at him. He approached her and began to rub the baby oil over her bottom-cheeks. He would protect her skin, greatly increase the sting, and get his strap oiled.
He stood up and began whipping her with the strap. Each stroke landed with a hearty slapping sound, followed by a satisfying “Ow!” from O. He fell into a steady rhythm, delivering a stroke about every other second. With each blow, she felt two kinds of pain – the initial sting of the strap against her moist bottom as well as it’s heaviness, which was giving her an increasingly bruising feeling. The whipping was easy for the man. With a strap of the right weight and length, the only strength you really had to put into it was lifting it over your head. Then let it fall with accuracy on its target, and listen to the resulting squeal.
Soon O began to pound her fists and move her hips from side to side in a vain effort to avoid strokes from the strap. She was moaning now, her face flushed and wet with tears.
The man took a break from strapping and knelt beside her once more. He stroke her hair and tugged it, turning her head to face him. Her lips were parted and her watery eyes appeared dazed. He rubbed her back with his right hand, while reaching under her to unbutton her shirt. Underneath the shirt, he played with and tweaked her nipples, feeling her breathing body from both sides now.
Seeing her reddened, hot bottom, he ran his hands over both cheeks. The sheen of baby oil had been whipped away by the strap, replaced by a lighter moisture of perspiration. He reached for the baby oil again and began applying it to her bottom and upper thighs. Once again he parted her cheeks, noting that the lips of her pussy were more plump, more parted, and more moist.
He stood up again and resumed his duties with the strap.
Feeling him move to stand up, she moaned, “Nooo… please don’t spank me any more. Noooo…”
Of course he continued strapping her, this time only waiting about a second between strokes, realizing the her pain tolerance would be higher with the endorphins and arousal she was experiencing. Soon she was moaning again, this time with that wonderful combination of pain and arousal. She was falling into space now, where she desperately wanted it to stop and maddeningly wanted it to go on indefinitely. O began to understand why this felt like home. It wasn’t the place, but the space. The need for being in that space was what had driven both of them to this point.
Having covered her bottom and upper thighs with a deep red hue of interlacing stripes, he stopped strapping O. He began releasing her from her cuffs. Aware that she should feel a sense of relief, she instead felt an unexpected disappointment. Finally free, she should have felt like taking the opportunity to run from him, but instead felt driven to run into his arms. But that was crazy. She didn’t know this man. She was frozen.
He looked deep into her eyes, his arousal and feeling of connection with her evident.
He said, “Get dressed now.”
“But why? Don’t you want to…” O said, not really knowing what to say.
“Of course I do. But I need to know that you really would choose this… choose me… if given a choice. I’m letting you go, and if you return to me, we’ll both know,” he said.
Wordlessly, she began getting dressed and gathering up her things. She already knew that she would be back. And she felt he knew it too.
As she made her way to the door, she turned to him and asked, “But you never told me your name. Who are you?”
“You’ll find out when you come back. You know where to find me.”