The Wall
by Lindsay David

I first saw Mark on a Saturday afternoon in late August. I had been walking along a wooded path in a state park, looking for interesting scenes to photograph. I would take these photographs, usually of flowers or plants, though sometimes a babbling brook that caught my eye, and print them on card stock, which I sold in various shops and stores around town. I didn’t make a lot of money doing it, but the sales were enough to cover my expenses plus fund a vacation once a year, so that was good. On this particular day, the main path was frequently overrun with people on mountain-style bicycles, the ones with the big knobby tires and the extra heavy suspensions. After having yet another shoot disrupted by them, I went off the path onto a smaller trail, that was likely used by deer. It was too narrow and too cluttered with fallen branches and rocks to appeal to the bikers and soon I had the peace and quiet I craved.

The photography was going well on the deer trail. The canopy of leaves from the large maples and oaks filtered the sunlight into little splashes of brightness amidst a sea of soft green light. It was fabulously beautiful. I stopped for a drink of water from the bottle in my back pack and sat on a rock with my back against a tall tree. A squirrel bounced through the brush to my right, and a jay squawked behind me. Then I heard a grunt, then another, and then a clacking sound, as if two large rocks fell together. The sound came from off the path and up a small rise. I got up from the rock and went to investigate. As I topped the rise and parted the branches, I saw a man working on repairing a stone wall. The man was tall, lean, with sinewy muscles that bulged and strained under his skin as he rolled and lifted the rocks into place. He was shirtless, wearing only khaki shorts and hiking boots, and the sheen from perspiration coupled with the shaded light, accentuated the definition of his musculature. I braced my camera against a tree and zoomed in on the man. Through the closeness of the lens, I could see his dark hair and deep blue eyes. I snapped several pictures of him as he wrestled the wall back together. I decided to get closer.

I eased down the side of the rise closest to the man, trying to move as slowly as I could. Suddenly, a rock slipped under my foot, and I lost my balance. I ended up sliding twenty feet down the rise to land near the man.

“Are you all right?” he asked, sprinting over to me.

“I think so,” I said.

I checked my camera first, but as I had clutched it to my chest as I went down, it was fine. Next, I checked out the rest of me. I had landed on my right side and there was a scrape on my right elbow which had started to trickle blood through the dirt on my arm. My right buttock hurt and I suspected there was going to be a bruise there, but otherwise I was fine.

“Yes,” I said after the aforementioned inventory, “I’m okay.”

“Can you stand?” the man asked, pulling off his leather glove and offering me his hand.

I took his hand and he lifted me to my feet like an elevator. Apparently building walls also builds muscle. I went up so fast I actually hopped a bit on the landing.

“Come on,” the man said, “I have some first aid things here. We can clean up your elbow. My name’s Mark.”

“Elizabeth,” I replied, and the hand up changed into a hand shake. Our eyes met and I about melted at the sudden connection. It was physical, it was emotional, it was artistic--my photography and his wall-building; it was a total hit. If this had been a movie, the violins would have been cued.

“What’s so funny?” Mark asked, his question breaking the spell.

“Funny?” what do you mean?”

“You suddenly smiled like someone whispered a joke in your ear.”

“Oh,” I said, feeling my cheeks start to redden. “I, uh, I just found it funny that I met you by practically falling on top of you.”

Mark smiled too and then he said, “Since you were kind enough to drop in, would you like a beer?”

“Yes,” I said. “I would.”

Mark handed me an icy cold bottle from a cooler and then angled his bottle towards me.

“To gravity,” he toasted.

“It’s the law,” I rejoined.

We each chuckled at that and then Mark pulled some things from his pack. He cleaned the dirt off my elbow with a bandana soaked in the cold water from the cooler and then followed that with some peroxide. A dab of antibiotic ointment and I bandage, and I was pronounced out of danger.

“All that’s left is awarding you your Purple Heart,” Mark said.

“More likely the purple ass,” I replied, rubbing my right hip.

“Took the brunt of the fall, did it?” Mark asked.

“Yeah,” I said.

“Better that than your head,” Mark observed.

“You got that right.”

“Oh, yuck,” I exclaimed, looking at my right hand.

My hand was covered in dirt from my hip, which the moisture in my palm from the sweating beer bottle had turned into dark mud.

“Turn around,” Mark said.

We had been sitting on some rocks our bodies angled toward each other, and as I turned to my left, Mark retrieved the damp bandana and wiped the dirt off of my thigh. He pushed the hem of my shorts up to get the rest of it and I was both embarrassed and turned on at the same time.

“Looks like you might have a bit of rock rash coming there,” he said.

“Oh, no,” I moaned.

“I can put some of this antibiotic on it and it will heal faster,” Mark suggested.

There is something about the way my skin smells in the woods that I find to be terribly erotic. I don’t know if it’s the extra oxygen, or the essential oils from the trees and plants, or what, but now, turned slightly to my left, I could smell the skin of my arms and chest and that, combined with the beautiful day, the indescribable light on the deer path, and the attraction I felt toward Mark, all those things conspired together to cause me to nod my head and respond, “Okay,” to Mark’s offer.

Mark turned me further over, and I felt him again push the leg of my shorts up, this time higher.

“These may have to come down, Elizabeth,” Mark said.

I was on my stomach now, bent over the large rock upon which I had been sitting, my hair hanging down on either side of my face blessedly hiding my blush as I nodded again.

Mark reached under me and I felt his fingers open the fly of my shorts. He worked them down over my hips. A second later I felt his fingers, slide up under the elastic band at the leg opening of my panties and begin to gently, ever so gently, rub in the antibiotic.

“It has a small pain killer in it, so the label says,” Mark said, as he applied the lotion.

“Now a gauze pad to cover it,” Mark added.

To do that, Mark had to lift my panties up away from my skin, and I gasped as the material pulled tightly over my crotch. I was really getting turned on and I wondered if Mark could tell. He positioned the gauze and set my panties back down. I felt a slight disappointment when he slid my shorts back up.

“How’re you feeling?” Mark asked as he again set me up on the rock.

“Better, I guess,” I replied. “A bit embarrassed,” I added.

“No worries there, Elizabeth,” Mark said. “I was careful not to uncover anything interesting.”

“You’re a gentleman,” I told him. “When you told me my pants had to come down, I figured everything would end up at my ankles.”

“Nah, you’re injured and shaken up,” Mark said. “It wouldn’t have been fair. Now, if you were healthy . . .”

Mark let his sentence hang unfinished, and I trembled at the thought of being bent over the rock, most likely stripped naked.

“Tell me about the wall,” I said, changing the subject.

“I only bought the house a couple of months ago,” Mark explained, "and have just now gotten down here where a tree had come down and crumpled the wall. I cut up the tree and got some books on wall construction and set to work. At first it seemed really complicated, but then I realized that there was an opening built into the wall, probably for a gate, just about where you landed. Once I figured that out, it has sort of come together as fast as I could roll the rocks into place.”

“You’re doing a good job.”

“Thanks. I hope to at least not upset the original builders--lest they come back to haunt me.”

Mark drained his beer and brought two more bottles out of the cooler, crystals of ice clinging to the green glass. He handed one to me as I finished my own.

“I’m sure they’ll be pleased,” I said.

“Time will tell,” Mark replied.

Two swallows into my beer, I had to pee.

“You’ll have to excuse me,” I said, “I have to pay the rent on the beer.”

“My house is close,” Mark said, “and I even have indoor plumbing.”

“Deal,” I said.

Mark put his shirt on, which disappointed me, but at least he left it unbuttoned. He offered me his arm and I took it and we hiked the fifty yards or so up to Mark’s house. He escorted me up the steps onto his deck and through the sliding glass door. Once inside Mark directed me to the bathroom. On my way back to the kitchen, I noticed that the walls of the living room, as well as several other walls, were covered by bookcases.

“You like to read.” I stated as I entered the kitchen.

“I do,” Mark replied.

“What’s your favorite book?” I asked.

Mark considered this for a minute, and then said, “I guess it depends. Different genres, different favorites. My favorite erotic novel is different from my favorite biography, and from my favorite history.”

“Favorite erotic novel, then,” I asked, joining Mark on a stool by the counter.

“'The Story of O', without question,” Mark said.

“I agree,” I replied. “It’s easily the class of the genre.”

“Followed, at least for me, by the “Sleeping Beauty Trilogy” and “The Image.”

“Great minds think alike,” I said smiling.

“Really?” Mark asked, smiling approvingly at me. Then he asked, “What’s your favorite scene in “O”?”

“Let’s see,” I said, carefully aligning the rings of condensation from my beer on the granite counter. “Probably the one where Rene and Sir Stephan bring O back to Sir Stephan’s apartment and she learns that Rene as given her over to Sir Stephan.”

Now it was Mark’s turn to agree, and he did, saying that it was indeed a very hot scene.

“It is indeed,” I said. “Almost perfect.”

“Almost?” Mark asked, his interest piqued. “What would make it perfect?”

“Well,” I said, gathering my thoughts. “After O had finally consented to be whipped, Sir Stephan should have done it right then and there. He should have ordered O to strip and then chained her up and given her ass a good thrashing. After that, he would bend her over the sofa and what was that line, oh, yes ‘pried open her loins and forced the buttocks porta’.”

Mark joined me in reciting the passage and we both laughed at our memory.

“Only slightly obsessed, are we?” Mark said.

“Anyway,” I went on, “when Sir Stephan did that he would find that O was already hot and wet and open for him. He would point this out to Rene as proof of O’s suitability for such treatment and O’s humiliation would be even more intense.”

“Your version is definitely better,” Mark said.

He shifted a bit on the stool and I noticed a bulge in his groin. I had turned him on. A quickening shot through my body. Mark got us some more beers.

“How about you, what scene would you change?” I asked Mark.

“The beginning, I think,” Mark said. “I would keep the part about O and Rene being picked up in the car in the park, but I would set the scene in the warm summer, not the damp autumn. The chauffeur would take them out onto the highway and after a while he would pull off into one of those primitive rest areas, the ones with just a couple of picnic tables . . .”

“And signs announcing “No facilities”,” I interjected.

“You’ve been there,” Mark grinned, touching my arm and sending sparks up to my spine.

“They would all get out,” Mark continued, “and Rene would lead them over to a picnic table. With a sudden movement, Rene would lift O up and set her on the narrow end of a picnic table. Rene would unzip O’s dress and pull it down off her shoulders. O would try to cover herself, but Rene would brush her hands down and tell her to be still. O would glance at the chauffeur, who was standing nearby and watching them, but as he was wearing dark sunglasses with mirrored lenses, she could not see his eyes.

“I like the part about Rene cutting O’s bra off with a knife, so I would keep that, only I would have Rene give O’s bra to the chauffeur, who would put it in his pocket. Next, Rene would lay O down on her back on the picnic table. The sunlight would be flickering down on her through the tree branches making O squint.”

LIght like I saw on the deer trail, I thought.

“Rene would then begin to fondle O’s breasts, making her nipples harden and evoking gasps, then moans, and finally whimpers when he pinched her. O would try to move her hands, but with her wrists still caught in the bundles of her dress, she really couldn’t. O could hear the chauffeur chuckle at her distress.

“Abruptly, Rene would lift O’s dress up to her waist and then he would yank her panties down to mid-thigh. Then he would lift O’s legs up by the ankles and fold her legs back towards her chest as he finished removing her panties. Rene would give O’s panties to the chauffeur, who put them in his jacket pocket as well. Now, with her bottom completely exposed, Rene would begin to fondle O’s sex, opening it up and inserting first one and then other fingers. Rene would probe O’s vagina with his fingers and rub his thumb over her clit until O could hear Rene’s fingers sloshing around inside her. At that point, Rene would use O’s own moisture to lubricate her anus and he would slip a finger into it as well, continuing until O had her orgasm in front of them.

“Then Rene would set O back up, rearrange her dress, and then would return to the car for the trip to the chateau. When the car was again on the highway O would see the chauffeur remover her panties from his pocket and lift them to his nose.”

“Wow,” I said softly. It was all I could say, and even that was choked off by a preorgasmic shudder.

“You certainly have a vivid imagination,” I added surreptitiously changing my position as I felt I might leak my own lubricant down my leg

“Only in the right company,” Mark replied. “It was the strength of your story that got me going.”

“You like to share?” I asked.

Mark looked at me quizzically for a moment.

“Oh, you mean the chauffeur?” he asked.

I nodded.

“He’s not there for Rene,” Mark said. “In my version, he’s there for O.”

Now it was my turn to look quizzical.

“I know that in the book, Rene takes great pleasure in passing O around among his friends, but in my version, the greatest pleasure is in providing the most intense experience for O. Rene could have done the same thing to O with just the two of them there, but he got a lot more zap, the voltage was much higher, with the chauffeur. The chauffeur wore dark glasses to emphasize his anonymity. He could be anyone. The point of his being there was to increase the humiliation, and thus the turn-on, for O.”

“Your “O” must be a very lucky woman,” I said.

“No “O”, Mark said.

“Oh, no,” I said, and we both giggled at the rhyme.

“I keep hoping that one day I’ll find her tied to a tree back down by the wall,” Mark said, “but nothing so far.”

“Tied up, naked, and waiting just for you,” I added.

“Naked is good,” Mark said, “but I see her in a tight T-shirt, cut off to show her stomach. The shirt is white and worn, the material thin enough for her skin to appear pink through it, and the color of her areolas evident. Her panties are also thin, and molded around the lips of her sex as if they were painted on her. Her mouth is gagged and her ankles tied to the trunk of the tree so she cannot close her legs.”

“You don’t want much, do you?” I smiled.

“If you’re going to dream, dream big, I always say,” Mark said.

“And I suppose she is blond, blue-eyed, with big boobs,” I chided.

“Actually, I don’t put a face or body style to her. She is whoever she is.”

He rose from the stool and stretched. The motion made his erection stand out sharply from his groin. I bit my lip and stretched as well.

“How’s your hip?” Mark asked.

“A little stiff,” I replied. “I need to walk it off.”

“That we can do,” Mark said.

We went outside and Mark took my hand as we went down the steps. He kept hold of it as we walked back down to where he had been working on the wall.

“Is this the tree in question?” I asked walking up to a stout, straight tree.

Mark smiled shyly and blushed for the first time that day, as if grounding his fantasy in reality embarrassed him. “No, that one.”

The tree Mark indicated was actually off to the side of the wall opening. It was a very large, very old, very thick oak tree, with knarly bark. I went over to it and put my back to it and reached back around the trunk with my arms. It was my turn to blush as I felt my breasts thrust outward against the confines of my bra and shirt. Several large roots sprung out from the base of the trunk and to steady myself I was forced to step over them, the action naturally spreading my legs.

“This one?” I asked.

“That’s the one,” Mark said.

He came over to me, walking very slowly. He reached out and touched my cheek, my mouth. Mark’s shirt was still open and I could smell his skin, as well as my own, and my knees weakened. I was glad to have the tree there. Mark stroked his thumb lightly over my lips and they parted. He licked his thumb and lubricated my lips in the way we both knew he would lubricate my other lips. His thumb entered my mouth and I sucked on it. Then, while still holding me by my mouth, Mark kissed me. At first it was so gentle, just a touch. Then the touch became firmer, and firmer as we ate at each other. A minute of so later we came up for air, both of us panting and gasping.

“I was serious about you being injured and vulnerable, Elizabeth,” Mark said, and I knew we were going to stop at this point.

“I’m okay,” I said.

“Probably so,” but tomorrow’s another day and I suspect you’ll wake up glad of my chivalry.”

I nodded, and bent my head down and rested my forehead on Mark’s chest.

“Can I walk you to your car?”

I nodded.

The climb up the rise was considerably more time consuming than the fall down it had been, and I was glad for Mark’s assistance. Once we were over the top, Mark lifted my pack from my shoulder. He unbuckled his belt and tugged it free of the loops in his pants. He turned me slightly away from him, pulling my left wrist behind my back. Obediently, I reached the right one back as well.

“Very good, Elizabeth,” Mark said.

I felt him loop his belt around my wrists and secure it. He reached his hand up and caressed my neck and then gathered my hair up in his hand. Holding my hair firmly, Mark pulled me against him and whispered in my ear.

“I’m saying “No” to now, not “No” to you. Understand?”

I nodded. I couldn’t speak. My bound wrists were in Mark’s groin, and I felt his erection throb at them.

“Lead on, Elizabeth,” Mark said.

We walked together along the deer trail, with Mark keeping a hand on the belt around my wrists. As we neared the main path, I heard shouting from my left and then saw first one, then two bicycles streak down the main path, the riders barely in control. They were followed by three more, whoops of glee and perhaps fear in their voices. Mark pulled me back by my wrists.

“Ah, the real world intrudes,” he said, frustration evident in his voice. I felt his fingers move on his belt and I assumed he was going to release me for the rest of the trip back to civilization. But that was not to be the case. Mark shrugged off his shirt and draped it over my shoulders like a cape and held it in place by fastening an upper button.

“I’m not quite ready to return you to the real world,” he said.

We walked down the path to the parking area side by side, with Mark’s arm over my shoulders. As we exited the path, we passed the group of thrill bikers, noisily packing up their gear and drinking some beers. It was an extraordinary feeling to have Mark lead me past them with my wrists bound behind me, though that fact was not obvious to them. My knees felt weak with the idea that perhaps one day I would be led past them, my bound wrists more than obvious as my naked body was displayed for them.

“Here we are,” I said to Mark when we got to my car.

“So we are,” Mark said.

This time Mark did release my hands and as he slipped his belt back on, he said, “Thank-you, Elizabeth, for sharing your imagination with me. I thoroughly enjoyed it.”

“Me, too,” I responded. Then I added, “Will you be working on your wall tomorrow?”

“Yes, but not until around three or so. Why?”

“I was thinking I could stop by and maybe give you a hand?”

“Looking forward to it. See you at three, Elizabeth.”

I had opened my door and had started to step in at that point, and Mark gave me a quick, firm kiss that left me breathless, and tucked me inside.

The curving roads from the park back to my house were a challenge given the several beers I had had, coupled with the intense physical and emotional experience of Mark, and after a couple of near misses, I slowed way down. Once safely home and engine off, I noticed that I was still wearing Mark’s shirt. I went inside and took of his shirt and hugged it to my face. Immediately, I was engulfed with the strong masculine aroma of Mark that had dizzied me on the tree. “On the tree?” Hmm, I thought, almost like “on the cross”. Wow, the man was definitely getting to me. I put Mark’s shirt in a plastic bag and buried it under my pillow for later.

Back in the kitchen, I made a pot of coffee. On the one hand, I wanted to buzz to linger, to hold on to the events of the afternoon. But on the other hand, I had things to do. While the coffee brewed, I jotted the events surrounding Mark down in my laptop journal, indulging myself in reliving the juicy parts as I transcribed them. On the way home, an idea had begun growing in my head and now, with coffee in hand, I started to work it out. I was going to be waiting for Mark when he arrived at the wall tomorrow afternoon. But I wasn’t going to be simply waiting. I was going to be waiting tied to his tree, wearing only a threadbare short T-shirt and painted on panties. The idea sent a quickening through me that sent my fingers jerking over the keyboard and a mishmash of letters and characters up onto the screen.

I got up and went to my bedroom to check out what I had. Buried in the bottom of a drawer was just the T-shirt I needed. It was white, or used to be, but was now worn to a light gray. I stripped off my shirt and bra and pulled on the T-shirt. Christ, I thought checking my reflection in the mirror above my vanity, it’s like wearing nothing. It was a little too long, though. Actually, it was a lot too long, the stretched out material draped down to my hips. I grabbed some scissors and cropped it off just below my sternum. I again dove into my drawers and found a thong made of ivory lace. I hurriedly kicked off my jeans and panties still damp from Mark’s arousal and stepped into the thong. I shuddered at my slutty, vulnerable appearance. I crossed my arms behind my back to accentuate the thrust of my breasts and realized that if I were a man, I would definitely fuck me.

What I definitely did not have was rope. I knew it without even having to look for it. I checked my watch. I still had time to make it to the hardware store. Reluctantly, I changed back into normal clothes and headed out. At the hardware store, I purchased twenty-five feet of half-inch braided polyethylene rope. The rope was far stronger than I needed, but it was thick and soft and when, after glancing around to make sure no other customers were around, I wrapped it around my wrist, it felt like I wanted it to feel.

I slept naked that night. Actually not naked, I slept wrapped around Mark’s shirt masturbating furiously as I envisioned Mark’s reaction when he saw me. I awoke late the following morning, after ten, and had coffee and breakfast while I read the paper. Then I took a leisurely bath and, finally, with all my senses jangling with anticipation, I dressed in my T-shirt and thong. I covered the T-shirt with an overshirt and the thong with shorts. I put my camera, water bottle, the rope, and a knife in my pack and I headed out.

After parking the car and hiking down the main path to the deer trail and then up over and down the rise, I arrived at Mark’s wall at about two-thirty. I measured the rope and cut two lengths that almost went around the tree. In each end of the ropes I tied a simple noose. I looked at the ropes laying on the ground, waiting for me. Then I took a big gulp from my water bottle and stripped down to my T-shirt and thong, putting my shoes, socks, and jeans into my pack. Remembering what Mark had said about the thong being form-fitting, I reached down and stuffed the lacy material around the lips of my sex. I lubricated almost immediately, and I felt the dampness on my fingers before I was done.

With my face hot and my knees weak, I slipped one noose over my left ankle and snugged it down. I found I had to spread my legs further than I thought to reach the other noose, but I got it on my right ankle. Mark had mentioned that he fantasized his slave being gagged, and this I accomplished by tying a good-sized knot in a length of rope. I opened my mouth wide and jammed the knot inside and tied the ends off behind my head. My wrists were more difficult, but eventually I got the rope on them as well. I adjusted my posture and quickly found out that moving one limb tightened the noose on the other one. I leaned back against the tree and caught my breath. I could feel the air on my skin, on my stomach and thighs, and I felt my breasts press out against the thin material of the shirt. My skin smelled wonderfully arousing.

At first the woods seemed to be completely silent, but as my breathing slowed, I picked up the sounds of birds and the buzz of a dragonfly. Far off, I caught the brief shouts of the bikers as they sprinted down the main trail. It was much warmer today than it had been yesterday and though the sun was partially shaded by the tree branches it was still very warm on my skin, and soon I began to sweat. On me, the perspiration started first between my breasts, then at the small of my back, followed by a line of drops at the edge of my hairline. So it did today. A brief, soft breeze brought a delicious relief, but soon I was back to baking. A drop of perspiration trickled down my stomach, tickling me, and I shifted in response. My movement did not help the water drop, and when the back strap of my thong snagged on a bit of bark, I felt the material wrap itself more tightly over my intimates. I sighed in despair at my fate.

A few minutes later I heard a creak, then another, like the squeak of a wheel or something. This was followed by a rattling clang, as if pieces of metal were bouncing against each other. I looked in the direction of the sound and through the bushes I saw Mark coming down the short incline toward the wall. He was pushing a wheelbarrow which held his tools. He was wearing denim cutoffs and a white tank top, and his deltoids bulged as he nudged the wheelbarrow along. When he reached the breach in the wall, Mark set the wheel barrow down and took out his shovel and rake, and the cooler. He set the cooler in the shade and studied the work area. Then he picked up his shovel and came forward. That was when he saw me. I had been so caught up in watching Mark as he prepared to go to work I had forgotten my situation. But when he stared at me, and the shovel dropped from his hand. I felt my cheeks redden.

“Elizabeth?” he asked coming over to me.

Mark took in the situation, my pack on the ground nearby, my neatly folded clothes sticking up out of the top of it and he figured it out.

“You did this yourself, didn’t you?” he asked.

I nodded, my blush deepening.

“For me?”

Again I nodded.

Mark smiled and held up a finger. He went to the cooler and instead of a beer, took out a sports drink. He brought it over to me, loosened my gag, and lifted it up for me to drink. “Gags tend to make one thirsty, especially on a hot day,” Mark said.

I nodded as I continued to take big swallows of the icy cold liquid. I drank it fast, not fast enough to give me a headache, one of those things we called “brainfreezes” when I was a child, but fast enough to give me a chill. I felt my nipples harden. Mark’s eyes flicked downward and I knew he noticed them and the embarrassment sent a tremor though me.

“How long have you been out here?” Mark asked.

I gave an 'I don’t know' shrug, which was true. Even without the gag in place I felt reluctant to speak, as if speaking would somehow break the spell. Mark set the bottle down and silently put the gag back in place and I knew we were off to the races.

“Such a pretty slave,” Mark said, unabashedly leering at me. Just like that his demeanor had changed from concern for my welfare to how best to take advantage of me.

“And tied out here in the sun to get all nice and wet and slick for me.”

I felt Mark’s hands on the my shoulders and he slid his hands down the sides of my chest, pressing the thin cotton to my damp skin.

“Why the blush, my slave?” Mark asked. “If you are embarrassed to been seen like this, so thoroughly dressed, so overly dressed, how will you stand it when I lead you through town stripped naked for all to see and enjoy?”

I shuddered at the image of being led back to my car naked and ravaged and possibly passed around to the thrill bikers. My moan was caught by the gag and came out as a sort of, “Uhhhh.”

Mark continued to mold my T-shirt to the sides of my chest and I felt it stick and tug on my breasts. I felt my nipples harden.

“I’m going to turn you inside out today and you’re going to let me. Do you understand me? Do you?”

I nodded, so dizzy and weak from the overwhelming sensations and humiliation that I probably would have fallen to the ground had I not been tied to the tree.

Mark’s hands closed over my breasts and I moaned again. When his fingers lightly pinched my nipples, a tremor rattled through me and I felt a sudden increase in the wetness in my thong.

“This is even better than my fantasy, Elizabeth,” Mark said, his hands working my breasts. I had never come just from having my breasts caressed, and I didn’t now, not exactly, not fully anyway, but my body seemed to stutter on the edge.

Mark lowered his hands, letting them slide down over my stomach. He got down on one knee and I felt his fingers tug gently on the thin strap of my thong and then dance lightly, excruciatingly, down the outside of my thighs and then up the inside. Mark moved slowly letting my imagination and my anticipation prepare me for the actual experience, thus making it even more acute.

Then his fingers touched my lace covered sex and my head exploded. Every muscle in my body tensed, my head snapped back, thudding against the trunk of the tree.

“Don’t come, Elizabeth, not until I give you permission,” Mark said. “Understand?”

I nodded and bit down hard on the rope gag in an attempt to control myself.

“Turn you knees out, Elizabeth,” Mark said, his voice gentle, yet firm enough to make it clear this was a command, not a request.

I turned my knees out and felt my mound thrust forward and upward, the material tightening over my swollen lips. I felt so vulnerable, so audaciously displayed and my blush deepened. I realized I was in the hands of an erotic genius.

Mark thoroughly examined my lace covered sex, starting and stopping to keep me right on the edge of release. He pushed the material of my thong deep into my slit, dragging and pulling the lace over my most sensitive areas, My breath came out in short gasping pants.

“This is what a slave is supposed to smell like,” Mark said, returning to his feet and raising his fingers to his nose and then his mouth as I cringed in embarrassment. “This is why I will almost always keep you naked. I want my house, my car, my yard, everything to smell like this.”

There was a pause, and then Mark spoke again. “Speaking of naked . . .”?

With a sudden movement, Mark’s hands tightened on my T-shirt and jerked. The worn material, further weakened by my sweat, ripped easily and I felt my breasts spring free. Mark slipped a knife out of a sheath on his belt and cut what was now a rag off of me. LIghtly, slowly, ever so lightly and slowly, Mark ran the point of the knife down my stomach as I quivered at the feeling and the thought of danger. I was so vulnerable, so available, that Mark could do anything to me, anything at all.

I felt two short, quick tugs on the straps of my thong as the knife slit them. But the thong didn’t fall. It was so wet and by now stuffed so far up inside of me that it dangled like a pendant, proof positive of my arousal. Mark smiled before yanking it down, leaving me completely naked.

Mark stepped back and studied me. My other lovers had seen me naked, but none of them had ever possessed me with their eyes the way Mark’s eyes now did. He took in all of my secrets. After a few minutes of this, Mark went over to his cooler and took out a beer. He opened it and took a long pull from the bottle. As he came back to me, Mark spoke.

“You know, Elizabeth, some women such as fashion models, are made to wear clothes, to have their forms decorated. You, on the other hand, are made to be naked.”

Mark untied my gag and tossed it on the ground. He offered the bottle to me and I took several swallows. When I was finished, Mark slid the beer bottle over my breasts, the cold condensation on the glass making me gasp as it mixed with the hot slickness of my sweat. Mark set the bottle down and took my now naked breasts in his hands and had his way with them, pulling, pushing, pinching and twisting my nipples. He would start and stop, start and stop, driving me just to the edge and then backing away as I tried to thrust my breasts out at him to increase the friction. His mouth closed over first one nipple and then the other, sucking hard. He stepped back and picked up his beer and had another drink. I saw his eyes light up as an idea occurred to him and then Mark reached forward and he slipped the narrow opening of the beer bottle into my vagina. He thrust it in and out a few times, going in deep enough that I could feel the bottle begin to stretch me out as it widened. Mark pulled the bottle out of me and took another drink. I could see my slick wetness coating the neck of the bottle. Mark noticed me looking and with a smile, he licked the bottle clean as I felt my face and body blush and heat up some more.

Mark’s hands now went down to my groin and he parted the lips of my sex and stretched me open. One, then two, and then three fingers slipped into my vagina, opening it wide. Mark again warned me not to come, but I hardly heard him. When, with his fingers deep inside of me, Mark thumbed my clit, I did come. I came in spite of Mark’s command, in spite of my precarious position (I had never come standing up before), I came with a ragged moan coming from deep in my throat, my head banging against the tree, my limbs straining against the ropes. I came into Mark’s wide, strong hand, riding his fingers like the horn or a saddle. When I had calmed, Mark released me.

“I believe I told you not to come, Elizabeth,” he said. “You will have to be punished for that. But it’s no matter as I intended to punish you anyway.”

Mark wiped my come off his hands with a bandana which he put in his hip pocket. He freed my wrists and ankles from the tree, coiling up all but one of the pieces of rope and tossing them in the wheel barrow along with the rest of his tools. He hoisted my pack up and set it in the wheel barrow, also. The remaining length of rope Mark tied around my neck, leashing me up like one would a dog. He wrapped the other end around his hand and with his other hand, he gestured toward the handles of the wheelbarrow.

“Time to get to work, slave,” he said.

I lifted up on the handles of the wheel barrow and shoved it forward. Mark and I moved along slowly, partly due to the fact that the wheel barrow did have some weight to it, what with Mark’s tools, the cooler, and my pack, partly due to the fact that we were moving up hill, and partly due to the rope around my neck. When we were about half way up to Mark’s house, he reined me to a stop with a tug on the leash.

“Set the wheel barrow down, Elizabeth,” Mark said, “but don’t let go of the handles.”

I rested the rear feet of the wheel barrow on the ground, bending over slightly as I did so.

“Now push your belly down and lift your ass up in the air,” Mark said, his hand pushing down at the small of my back.

Mark pulled my leash taut and then I felt him slap his hand sharply across my buttocks. I cried out in surprise and pain.

“Oh, you’re not hurt yet, Elizabeth,” Mark chided, “Not by a long shot.”

Mark spanked me several more times, alternating his target from one side, to the other, to the middle. When my cries became suddenly sharper, Mark stopped, sensing I had reached a limit.

“Up,” he said, and I rose with the wheel barrow.

“Very good,” Elizabeth,” Mark said, caressing my neck. “You took that very well.”

He kissed me then, hard, his lips and tongue possessing mine and sucking the very air out of my lungs. When Mark broke the kiss, I staggered and almost dropped the wheel barrow, but I managed to hold on. With a gentle slap of my leash against my shoulders, Mark indicated that I was to move on.

To the left of Mark’s house was a small shed. Mark directed me to it and I pushed the wheel barrow inside. I set the wheel barrow down and almost immediately felt Mark’s hand on the small of my back. Immediately my belly went down and my ass went up.

“Very good, Elizabeth,” Mark said, gently patting my buttocks with his hand. “You learn very quickly. Now spread your legs.”

I stepped my feet apart and Mark’s fingers opened my lips and explored my vagina. It was wet and open to him, either left over from my previous orgasm, or from the spanking, I couldn’t tell which. But then Mark pulled his fingers out of me and I felt him spread my buttocks wide. Using my own lubricant, Mark worked a finger inside my anus, as sounds that were half gasps, and half moans, rattled out of my throat.

“We’ll have to fix that, just like they did with O,” Mark said.

He removed his hands from me and pulled me up straight with the leash. My hands were pulled behind my back and bound with the free end of the leash. Mark snugged the rope down tightly and the pull on my neck was strong. The only way to ease it was to try and lift my wrists up my back as far as they could go. Of course, that served to thrust my breasts out in a most humiliating way. Mark smiled and ran his hands over my breasts, taking full advantage of the offering. Then, with a pull on the rope, he backed me out of the shed and locked the door. As Mark shoved me forward toward the main house, a sense of doom settled over me as I realized that my clothes were locked in the shed.

As we approached the steps that led up to Mark’s deck, I naturally headed towards them. But Mark tugged the rope to the left.

“No, Elizabeth, not upstairs, not until you serve your time in the dungeon.”

Under the deck a door led into Mark’s basement. I passed the washer and dryer, then the furnace, and off to my right I could see steps leading up to the first floor. Beyond the steps was another door, this one made of heavy wood and set into the stone wall. Mark unlocked the door and shoved it open with his shoulder. He reached inside, flicked a switch, and a pale yellow light from a single overhead bulb, illuminated the room. I stepped over the sill and floor changed from smooth finished concrete to slabs of flat stone. At first, I could not really see anything, but as my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I made out the glint of chains and straps of polished leather. The air was warmer than I thought a basement would be, and smelled of wood and leather.

Mark pushed me further into the room, the shadows from the overhead bulb dancing around me. I felt the Mark take the rope off of me and for a moment I was left to just stand there. Then Mark was back and I felt him buckle leather cuffs over my wrists. My wrists were lifted up over my head and attached to a chain that hung down from the ceiling. Mark stepped away, and when he returned, he buckled cuffs around my ankles. There was an iron ring bolted in the floor between my feet and Mark ran a short length of chain through the ring and attached it to my ankle cuffs. Standing up in front of me, Mark inserted a ball gag into my mouth and bucked it behind my neck. He gently patted my cheek. Next, I heard the ratcheting click of a hoist and my arms were pulled up high until my heels left the ground.

“This is a cat-o-nine tails, Elizabeth,” Mark said, showing me a a whip with nine leather straps, each about eighteen inches long, attached to a wooden handle. "I find it particularly useful for punishing disobedient slaves.”

Mark moved to my left and there was a pause, then I heard a sort of buzzing, whooshing sound and the whip slashed across my buttocks. The breath shot out from my lungs in a cry that the ball gag reduced to an “uhhhhhh.” Mark hit me again, and again, the whip setting my buttocks on fire, the blows hard enough to make me stagger and stumble. He moved the whip lower, burning my thighs as the individual straps snaked around my legs.

Mark stopped and again was in front of me. He watched as I caught my breath. I could feel the droplets of sweat trickling down my body. Mark took hold of my breasts and snapped clothes pins on them and I whimpered at the sudden pinch. He took hold of my sex and his fingers easily slipped inside.

“See, I knew you were made for this,” Mark said and I felt my cheeks redden.

Then Mark stepped back and lashed the whip at me again. My jerks and spasms and futile attempts to avoid the whip only enhanced the sensation of the clothes pins dangling off of my nipples. Mark stopped with the whip and attached more clothes pins, this time clipping them to my inner and outer labia.

“You are going to learn, Elizabeth,” Mark said, his voice calm and methodical, “that when I tell you not to come, I mean it.”

This time the whip came across the front of my thighs and I cried out so hard that saliva sprayed out around the ball gag.

“There will be time for you pleasure, and time for my pleasure, and time for our shared pleasure. Do you understand?”

Each word was punctuated with a crack of the whip as Mark moved around my body.

“Do you understand?” Mark repeated.

I nodded as sincerely as I could, and Mark smiled. I thought he was going to stop then, but instead, Mark removed the clothes pins from my nipples and then reattached them at a different angle. The pain was like a scream in my head, and I struggled against the chain.

Mark freed my ankles from the chain and clipped the ankle cuffs to a wooden bar that spread my feet wide apart. He took my wrists down from the chain and snapped the cuffs together behind my back. The chain was lowered and attached to my wrists and then tightened, pulling my arms up behind me and bending me over until I was facing the floor.

“Look at me, Elizabeth,” Mark said, pulling my head up by my hair.

I raised my eyes and saw that Mark had opened his pants and his cock, thick and rigid, was jutting out just inches from my mouth.

“I am going to fuck you now, Elizabeth,” Mark said, in the same matter-of-fact voice that he had been using all along, "and I am going to take my time doing it. You are going to take it and let me use you. You are not, under any circumstances, going to come. Do you understand?”

I nodded and tried to say yes, but all I got was a sort of half grunt, half moan. Mark moved behind me and I felt his fingers open my vagina and then he slowly eased his cock into me, seeming to savor every inch of the trip. I felt myself fill up to the maximum and then Mark began to thrust back and forth, with long slow strokes. With every thrust, the pull on my arms increased and my breasts, with the clothes pins still biting, swayed with the motion of my body. I tried to bite my tongue to keep from coming, but with the ball gag in place, I couldn’t do that. A long stream of saliva drooled out of my mouth and dripped onto the stone floor. Looking down at it, I saw further back other drops of moisture and realized that it was either sweat or lubricant from my vagina or both, staining the floor. I became dizzy with the effort to avoid my orgasm and I felt my legs begin to buckle. Mark wrapped an arm around my waist and in a series of hard, quick, deep thrusts, pumped his semen into me.

Mark lowered the chain, and me, onto the floor and removed the bar from my ankle cuffs. He removed the ball gag and then patted my cheek.

Mark pulled me to my feet by my cuffed wrists and marched me out of the smaller room. We went up stairs to his kitchen and he finally undid the cuffs. He handed me a beer and wrapped his arm around me while I drank it.

“Guess it’s time to get dressed,” I said.

“Not a chance, Elizabeth,” Mark said, pushing me out the back door and down the steps. “We, and especially you, have a lot of work left to do.”

We headed back down to the wall.

The End