Pulling into the parking lot, the gravel crunching under the weight of the tires. He smiles at finally arriving. It had been a long journey, well, it seemed to him as though it had been. The clock inching forward earlier when he was snared in city traffic. But, as he inched forward, slowly the snare was released and he soon cruised easily along the county road. Victory at long last, arriving at the finish line.
Looking to his right, he is warmed. She is still snoozing, a pillow propped up against the window. She is stunning, the morning sun filtered through the forest trees, a spotlight gently illuminating her countenance. He stirs in anticipation, aroused with desire. She stirs, sleepily aroused from her dreams.
He opens the thermos, fills her cup with the black elixir. Noticing the cup warming in his hand as the liquid is transfered, he gently calls her name. She likes her coffee hot, scalding hot. She sits, taking the cup, smiles warmly, and greets him.
His door swings open, the cool mountain air greets. As he steps out, he takes in a deep breath, filling his lungs. The smell of pine infuses his senses, the sounds of the forest greets him.
He opens the doors to the trailer, metallic sounds ring out as the doors swing. The trailer rocks, at the movement within, big animals, strong, anxious. He calls out their names, "Bengal", and "Windsong". Benny and Wind. One a tiger, the other a lyrical spirit. Bengal an Arabian, Windsong a Paint, both handsome, proud, majestic. The horses nod and snort their greetings at the sound of their names.
Preparing for the day, the horses are readied. Saddles snugged tightly, bags lashed down. Blankets and lunch are loaded, the horses not forgotten. Bridles secured, the smell of saddle leather mixing in the forest air. Cool, crisp, yet warm, musky, sensual.
She steps around the trailer, backlit by the morning sun. He nearly drops his coffee cup at the sight of her, he is stunned. Her hair pulled back under the brim of her white hat. Feathers in the band, colorful, playful.
Taking her hand, he helps her into her place. The saddle squeaks its greeting, Benny shuffles, standing strong. Quickly he is in his saddle, hands on the horn. With his right hand he reaches down, pats Wind on her neck as she settles under his weight. Her snort is a greeting, an anxious plea to go.
Taking the reigns, they head out, the trail before them, winding upwards through the trees. The sound of hoof falls, the birds calling out their hellos, the creek in the valley singing a constant chorus. Upwards the trail leads, through the valley carved by the rushing stream. The morning sun rising over the ridge top, stretching into the day.
The trail forks, and he leads them to the left, down through a thicket, they emerge into a lush green meadow. The grass a brillant green, daisies smiling in the breeze, waving white petals. At the edge of the meadow, along the stream, stands a cabin, constructed of rough hewn logs. A river rock chimmeny stands guard.
They dismount at the cabin, the steads allowed to graze. Taking her hand, the lunch, and a bag, he leads her into the cabin. They stand, just inside the door, the air cool and dry. Dropping the load, he takes her into his arms, hugging her warmth close, kissing her deep, lightly nipping her upper lip.
(her)
lulled into slumber by the throbbing of the engine I feel the car bouce it's heavy load. Dreams of our much deserved break and freedom from phones and reality a deep contentment swells through my veins.
The movement of the car stops, the aroma of hot coffee tickles my nostrils and aware of his warm stare I stir from my slumber. Shaking not awake everything hazy I grip the cup and sip the warm liquid feeling the heat regenerate my tired bones.
I hear the horses clumping down the trailer gate and shudder with excitement at the ride that lies ahead. Opening the door breathing in the fresh mountain air I stretch and flex smilling softly as I watch his industrious actions loading saddle bags and packing horses.
Led by his hand I mount and following in his trail I feel the beast beneath me eager to push on senseing my excitement the sounds the beauty and smells of the mountain. Acool breeze breaks the still air and with a shake of his head and a snort of the nostrils wind pulls at her reigns power and energy bursting to move on.
As we clear the thicket a lush meadow comes into sight breaking into a canter we thunder accross the grass towards a log cabin the smell of the hot leather the sweat from the horses and the feel of the saddle I sense my excitement grow
We dismount and head for the cabin stopping briefly at the door shuddering I watch as he drops the bags and then sigh as his strong arms enwrap me hugging me close his hot breath on my neck I melt in his arms. I am so intrigued by what lays within so happy to have escaped the town and sooo deeply entranced by this man that holds me.
I wait toPulling away from the kiss, he leans over, picking up the dropped load of bags. Walks over to a large, round, rough hewn table. The wood of the table dark, thick, sturdy. Supported by a massive center beam, the table is strong enough to withstand the assail of an army. Above it hangs a wrought iron candle chandelier. Long, taper candles mounted in their rests, burned half way down, long, frozen drips of wax reach downwards. Drips of wax still adorn the table top. The bags rattle and bang as he drops them on the table.
(Him)
He turns, walks across the living room, the pine floors polished and smooth. A circular rug rests in the middle, and the sound of his footsteps are muted by it as he crosses. Crossing the room, he reaches a massive fireplace crafted of large river rock. The grey stones mottled and beautiful from the pressure of their creation. The hearth is at ground level and is wide enough for a four foot log. A giant iron grate awaits its load of wood.
Turning, he takes a log from the rack places it in the fireplace. Adds another, and yet a third. Standing, he turns, sees her standing across the room, coat buttoned, hat still perched, as she watches him. He smiles, speaks, "present yourself girl!" He turns back to his chore, splitting cedar kindling with a small, sharp hatchet. The kindling placed under the logs, the match does it's deed, as the cedar pops and cracks to life. A faint, pungent aroma wafts upward from the cedar, its flame teasing the alder logs to life. As the alder catches, begins to glow, its sweet aroma mixes, then drowns out the cedar.
Dusting his hands off against each other, he stands, places the hatchet next to the pile of wood, and turns. He smiles, feeling his desire spring at the sight. She has obeyed, a delight to him. Her hat rests on the top of a chair, her coat drapped around its back. On the floor the rest of her clothing rests, and will rest for some time. Oh her knees, legs spread, arms behind back, wrists innertwined, gazing down, she presents.
He steps towards her....
(her)
As we entered the cabin still dazed from that lingering kiss my eyes squinted adjusting to the change in light. As my vision cleared I stood motionless absorbing the scene. He imeadiatley busied himself clanking bags on the table making me jump I watched as he built a fire in the harth. The cabin was clean, used but had the musty scent of being left. Candles still half burnt stood proud in the chandaliere above the table. The oak beams dominated the room I shuddered as anticipation built.
He had not spoken was as if in a dream like I was not actually there but a spectator looking in. Thenthe silence was broken "present yoourself girl" snapped back to reality kicking myself for not pre-empting I replied quietly words struggling to escape.."yes sir".
Placing my hat and jacket on the chair and table I slowly started to strip, the texture of my clothes brushing against my now hard nipples exciting me more. I continued to remove my clothes folding each item on the pile like preforming some ritual an unbaring of my soul a submission step by step. He did not turn from his task of methodicaly building the fire it was as if he could sense my every move. I searched for expression on his face but could not see him. Naked I knelt back straight legs spread arms behind my back eyes down vunerable and waiting. The smell of my perfume engulfing my nose I shivered watching the newly born flames flicker casting shadows round the dimly lit room. He turned his gaze searching my pose I felt his eyes invade every detail. I dared not raise my gaze to meet his my excitement building I felt my juices start to flow. I was his and he knew what pleasures lay ahead...........
(Him)
Seeing her, obeying, kneeling, presenting herself, brings a smile to his face. His heart warms, his mind delighted, his loins stirring at the sight of her and her submission. He stands in front of the fire, his back warmed by the growing inferno. The wood crackles and moans as the flames kiss and lick at the woody fibers. The faint smell of wood smoke, the scent of its sacrifice replaces the cool damp smell of the cabin.
He gazes upon her form, admiring, smiling as he sees her eyes steal a glance at him. Her breathing regular, but shallow and rushed, he watches her chest rise and fall. Her breasts, full, firm, round, separated by a luscious valley. Beautiful breasts, whose peaks stand alert, pointing, firm, hard. Just as the rock outcropping of a mountain top, so too her nipples jut outward.
He walks past her, his boots soft on the carpet, firm on the pine floor. He goes to the table, she is facing away, towards the fireplace. Reaching the table, he takes a large leather duffle into his hands, zipping open the top. The zipper sings its happy greeting, alerting the bags contents that their release is at his hands. His hands reach into the bag, rummaging, feeling, finding his goal, grasping, emerging from the leather bag.
He lifts the implement for a review. His eyes travel its length, insuring it is true and ready. A short handle, strong and solid, covered with a leather weave providing a sure grip. The strands of leather, intertwined, a weave of three, hug the handle, climb its length, surrounding it securely. But the woven strands of leather stretch further, extending, reaching beyond the limits of the handle. Woven together tightly, a full half meter, reaching their length in a small flourish of pointed ends. The strands separate, extending their individual freedom, just a few inches. The tease, they torment, they beg to touch the flesh of the one in the room. Together they are strong, separately they sting.
He transfers the whip to his left hand, snaring it securely; he reaches back into the bag with his right hand. Glancing to her, he smiles, she is stunning in her submission. Beautiful in her obedience as he sees her kneeling, waiting, quivering, listening, wondering, while being warmed by the fire now fully alive. He watches her round shoulders rise and fall smoothly with each breath. Back to his bag he peers, while his right hand retrieves a coil. Soft, and smooth, leather thongs, long and narrow, strong and sure.
Taking the threads of hide, he walks to a sink, and with a liquid splash, turns on the faucet. He plunges the thongs under the rushing water, soaking them thoroughly. They begin to feel slippery and silky in his hands as the water, now warm, washes over his hand and the strips of hide. Once he is convinced that they are thoroughly soaked, through and through, he turns off the water and shakes the loose droplets of liquid from the strands.
He walks back to her, carrying the whip and the thongs. He circles in front of her, notices that she is several feet from the fire. He speaks, in a quiet voice, “move closer to the fire, on your knees”. He watches her shuffle from knee to knee, tells her to “stop”, when she is about 6 feet from the hearth. He wants her warmed, but not too much, and not too fast. He lays the whip carefully on the floor, between the fire and her, where her eyes are gazing. It is laid out, stretched, its full length revealed.
He sees her quiver at the sight of the whip while he uncoils the thongs. Long, strings of wet hide are untangled. She is sneaking a look at what he is doing, as he begins to stretch the leather. He stretches it to its length, extended, and pulled to its limit. Satisfied, he walks behind her, taking a strand, he loops it under her right breast, circling its base. Pulling the circle snug, he circles it again. Crossing the ends in her cleavage, he circles her left breast, snug once, and snug twice. Then, back and forth he circles and weaves, her breasts with the slippery, silky threads. Not too tight, just snug, for now.
Tying a knot in the middle, her tits now secure, the loose ends are pulled up, one over each shoulder. He pulls upwards, watching her breasts rise, strain slightly towards her collarbone. He ties the loose threads behind her neck, noticing their slippery, stretched wetness. The fire warming her, warming the thongs, the heat seeking the moisture, striving to drive it away. The fire longing to replace the silky stretched wetness, with rough, shrunken tightness.
He steps in front of her, retrieves the whip, lifts it, the fire light causing it to glow in anticipation. It is warmed by the fire, and will soon warm the flesh, creating its own fire. The whip, as if alive, seems to smile at the anticipation. He gently and lightly traces her breasts with the tip of the whip. Around them it wanders, touching, desiring to kiss and caress them. The woven section of the whip, he places along a nipple, rubbing it up and down. She feels the roughness of the weave, he sees her quiver. He continues to draw the whip easily across her skin, touching every square inch of her. He waits, watches as the thongs begin to shorten, her breasts, begin to swell, the blood starting to pool as the thongs tighten their grip.
(her)
As I kneel naked vunerable exposed lost in the vision of the leaping flames, listening to the cracking of the heating wood and smelling the pine resin bubbling I hear him. I hear his soft footsteps I wonder if he's watching I straighten tensing the muscles kneeling to attention just in case. I hear a bag hitting the table a zip , I shudder wondering of it's conents wondering what will come first. It seems like an age straining at every sound not daring to turn attention diverted occasionaly by the screaming of escaping gases from the newly lit fire.
I hear water running, my mind wild with questions curiosity burning, and then he comes I hear him his footsteps methodical purposefull and then he speaks "move closer to the fire" I go to move "On your knees" I shuffle forward thigh muscles tight from the earlier ride I shuffle till he says "stop" ..."Sir yes Sir" I replied.
I feel the warmth of the flames my skin starting to glow in it's reflection, he lays down the whip infront of me it's full lengh and reach exposed it tenticles menacing and teasing my juics start to flow my body aches for it's touch.
My transfixion is broken by the sound of the wet thongs I glance trying to see I smell the damp leather hear him stretching it and wait shuddering quaking waiting...
The coolness of the wet leather contrasts my warming skin I jump as he binds my breasts nipples hardening as thier weight is lifted tight enough to be secure but comfortable in thier support I knew this would not last I could already feel the leather tightning as they dried my breast filling with hot blood. I try not to smile as I watch him admire his work controling my emotions knowing I have to last.
As he retrieves the whip my legs shake the fire reacting to it's draught laughs in its crackles. I feel the warm rush of air and then the soft brush over my nipples I quiver deep inside mouth watering anticipation driving me wild as he traces my breast and body . My skin taught with trapped blood every touch an electric shock there is no control over these feelings my journey has begun I close my eyes and drift in sensations I am lost in his will and slave to his touch............
(Him)
He smiles as he leans over towards her. His nostrils filled with the sensuous aromas that dance lightly in the air. The smell of a warm wood fire, the leather whip, the wet thongs as they dry, the pine wood of the floors, the lingering hints of candles from days past. His head next to hers, inches from her hair, she smells incredible. Her scent is stong, musk, silken strands of hair, leather from her ride, leather on her skin shrinking in its embrace, her perfume is warm and spicy, and her lust rises on the currents of warm air, penetrating his very soul. He longs for her, sighs and smiles at the same time, eyes closed as his mind floats in bliss.
He stands up, the floor creaks under his weight, he chuckles at the thought that invaded, no intruded into his mind. The floor longs for her too, it calls out in its faint, creaky voice. Stimulated, aroused, warmed, smiling.
He flicks his wrist, and the whip comes to life, singing quietly in the mountain air of the cabin, its tendrills landing on her now swollen and red breasts. Her nipples hard, nearly crying out. Her breasts firm, and continuing to feel the constriction of the leather as it dries. He thinks that the thongs should be beginning to dig soon, magically transforming from a caress to a torment as it digs and her breasts become taught with her blood. Again the whip falls, leaving its kiss to glow on the skin of her tits. Her nipples feel the leather of the whip as it lands, stinging. Again, and again, back and forth the whip dances, faster and faster, harder and harder. Her breasts now nearly covered with the evidence of the its intercourse.
Her breath catches with each blow, she moans, first quietly, then louder. He strikes firmly, she yelps at the blow. She quivers, she shudders as the whip makes love to her beautiful, engorged breasts.
Stopping, he smiles, admires the beauty of her in the firelight. He walks to the table, rummages in the bag again for a moment and returns, standing behind her. He kneels behind her, one knee on the floor, the other foot flat on the knotty pine. He reaches around her, beginning to fondle and caress her tits. He enjoys so much their firm feel. He can feel the skin, tight, succulent, tortured. He takes her nipples between his thumb and forfinger, squeezing tightly, rotating, twisting. He feels her jerk at his touch.
Taking his hands away, he retrieves the clamps, opening them, putting one on each erect, screaming nipple. He pulls on the clamps as he removes his hands. Running his right hand down her belly, he places two long, hot, fingers into her wet pussy. He feels he lean back against him just a little, hears her gasp and moan as he enters her. His thumb lightly stroking her clit, causing her to quiver, and breathe deeply. His left hand hangs a once once weight on each clamp, it's dense desire to pull downwards, earthward, pulling her nipples along their journey. His fingers find her g spot, his thumb continues to stroke. He leans in to her closely, and whispers in her ear, "oh little one, so beautiful, so delectable, so desired, don't cum, not until permitted, don't cum". His words taper off as he continues to tickle and tease her clit and now dripping pussy. He can feel her muscles contracting on his fingers, he smiles at the delightful feel of her clamping on him.
Taking his hands away, he stands suddenly. Walks in front of her and orders her to, "stand". "Stand now." She is sleepy, dreamy, lost, a little confused as she is jolted back to her place kneeling in front of the fire. She stumbles a little, struggling to find her balance, it seems that it is still floating in the ecstasy of his touch, the torment of the whip. She finds it, regains herself, rises to her feet. She is quivering, not from the cold, as the fire has warmed the room nicely. He reaches out and taps the weights, causing them to swing, not wildly, but smoothly, tugging and pulling as the sway. Taking out a knife, a very sharp knife, he shaves a small patch of hair off of the back of his hand. Let's her see the sharpness, the thinness of the blade. He places the blade against her skin, and slowly cuts the thongs away. The blood running for escape as the bindings are cut free. He continues his work, the blade never leaving her skin and he moves it from thong to thong.
Once free of the thongs, he takes her hand, leads her to the table. Stands her in front of the rugged and round slab. The candle wax drips still on its surface. He contemplates what lies before. Leaves her to stand there for a few minutes to do the same.
(her)
I hear the floorboards creek as he transfers his weight I wait pensive kneeling. I hear his chuckle menacing teasing. Breasts full skin taught my nipples hard I feel the leather tighten. The smell of the fire the crackle of the wood I feel the heat of the flames dancing in the draughts . Then as the the air cracks as the leather whip breaks it I feel the first strike dancing across my nipples burning into my flesh I yelp eyes shooting open in time to see the next lash land. There is no escape the sweetness of pain the sting the bite the blood trapped within my swollen breastsods . I pant trying desperately to control the sensations flinching with every strike my pussy wet with excitement, and then there is calm my breathing steadies I glaze over the pain changes each whip mark thats added sends me deeper I rock with the motion body guided by the whip, and then he stops.
I look dazed and rocking as he walks behind me shuddering and aching that internal yearning I kneel and wait. I listen to the clanking of the bag I hear him return the floor board groan as he kneels then his warm hands I melt at their touch. Ohhhh as he runs his fingers towards my nipples electricity shooting through my taught and swollen skin. Grabbing my nipples I jerk as he twist this new pain shoots through to my pussy running down my navel from my nipples and I moan. Then I feel the bite of the clamp sensation washing over me I pull back but his grip is firm he smiles as he attaches the next I feel him tug as he lets go pulling me forward with his motion. Bliss travels through me his warm strong hands caressing my body following it lines searching my pleasure I suck in my stomach guiding them willing them to find me so wet so wanting and then he does such sweet pleasure rippling through me I feel myself start to cum .
Then he speaks softly clearly I here his voice so deep in my mind I follow his instruction trying not to cum but my body so aches so needs I feel myself quiver gripping his finger not wanting them to leave. They do and he stands the shock of the movement waking me from my trance I look...confused empty yearning for more.
he orders me to stand i shake wobbling to my feet unsure of my balance I stare at the blade in his grip I watch him shave the hair on his hands and I shudder wandering what he will do as I was powerless to stop him . As he cut the tether the blood returning felt like a volcano erupting the rush and the heat the burning pain I thought I was gooing to faint as I swayed on my feet.
His hand steadied me I concentrated on that and let him lead me.
Stopping at the foot of the table I shivered the heat of the fire behind me I stood motionless outside rocking and quivering inside looking at the candles and waiting ....waiting ...waiting taking in the scene stood naked bound and wanting.
(Him)
Standing behind her, running his fingers gently through her hair, he feels the warm silkiness of it as the strands snake between the digits. His fingers grip the hair at the back of her head, pulling it back, not fast, but steady, tilting her head upwards. She can fully see the chandelier and the ceiling as she gazes upwards, the hair being pulled at the back of her head. His right hand reaches around, and removes the nipple clamps, first the right then the left. He pinches each nipple just as the blood begins to rush in.
He turns her around, releasing the grip on her hair, and then pushes her firmly onto the table. She lays on her back, the wood cool on her moist skin. She looks upwards towards the ceiling, quivering slightly as he attaches a rope to her left wrist. Pulling the rope, he secures it to a metal loop hidden under the top of the table. Her hand at the edge of the table, near her side. He repeats the same procedure for her right wrist. Her arms are securely fastened as he moves to her legs. He slides her across the smooth surface, her ass half on and half off the table. Quickly he ties each ankle to the center support post of the table. Legs spread, pulled back, she can’t move, she is fully exposed, a sacrifice prepared on the altar. He chuckles as he runs his fingers inside of her wet pussy, certainly not a virgin.
Moving to the wall, he remembers the electrician’s puzzled look when he had the cabin constructed. He recalls explaining his reasons, the feeble attempt to rationalize his kinky side. The memory still clear, the electrician’s chuckle still vivid as he went about completing the job. He is glad now for the effort, as he reaches, touches a little button that she had not seen. A small cover, perfectly camouflaged into the wall, swings open. Reaching in, he turns a small knob, and the sound of a motor is faintly heard in the background. She stares upwards as the chandelier slowly begins to descend, dropping closer and closer to her bare skin.
He stops its descent just inches above her and the motor rests again. He carefully replaces each of the candles, a full two dozen of them. They are thick, not a typical taper dinner candle. But, fully two inches in diameter and six inches in length, the candles will last. A mixture of colors is represented as he carefully seats each quiet tormentor in its holder. Red, white, blue, and purple all stand ready to spring to life. And, he does not disappoint them. Lighting each one, their life erupts in the flame. They warm, the flames reaching upwards, then settles in to its comfortable, and relentless task of warming droplets of wax, preparing them for their journey.
Stepping back to the little cover on the wall, he reaches into the opening, and flicks a tiny switch. The Chandelier moves. Not upwards, not downwards, but begins to turn slowly. Around and around. The candles burn, filling the room with their scent, their glow, and sending hot drops of pleasure towards the table. Each drop lands, no prediction where it will land or when, as the turning wheel casts its course. He smiles as the drops find their mark, landing on breasts and nipples, belly and navel, legs and pussy. He can see her begin to squirm as the wax continues its torment.
He takes a pillar candle from his bag. A full six inches in diameter it is substantial. It isn’t tall, however, only four inches. He places it on her pelvis, just up from her clit. He lights it. As it warms, a pool of wax grows. If she wiggles, it will spill onto her, cascading the wax down her pussy. He warns her. The drops continue to fall, she tries not to move, quivering.
He begins to lick her clit. Slowly and gently. Up and down, around and around. His tongue flicking back and forth as he moves it up and down the inside of the lips to her pussy. He savors the taste, inhales the aroma. Taking her throbbing clit into his mouth, he begins to suck, the fingers on his right hand finding their way inside of her. Deep they travel, curling upwards, lightly touching her g-spot. He continues to suck, and play with her clitoris as it throbs between his lips. Faster he moves, the candle on her tummy quivers and shakes as she gets close to cumming. He continues, the drops of hot joy falling, his tongue dancing. Suddenly he feels her jerk as she cums, and the hot wax cascades from the pillar, running down her clit and pussy as she convulses. He tastes her, tastes the wax, runs the melted joy around her clitoris as she spasms. Wave after wave of hot wax wash down her.
As the spasms subside, he slows, finally stopping. He stands, and returns the chandelier to its normal position and stops it revolving. He takes the candle for her tummy and releases her. Carefully, he helps her from the table. She stands for him. He takes a warm, wet clothe and bathes her, cleaning her carefully. Wrapping her in a warm robe, he seats her at the table. Removing a warm meal from the oven, he places it I front of her. He takes his meal from the oven and sets his place. Two glasses of cool wine are poured, and he sits with her, enjoys the meal, her company, and basks in the afterglow of a day of joy.
