Fire in the Cave by P.W. Chance Page B

up between her legs. His hands moved quickly, tying
a knot below her naval, above her mound. She was bound, a broad
leather strap around her waist and a thick braided cord snug and
tight against her most sensitive places. She shifted slightly and
felt it moving, smooth and cool against her bottom, its width
spreading her cheeks slightly apart. It felt firm and tight in her
slit, already getting slick with her wetness. He tugged the cord,
finishing the knot, and she let out a sobbing gasp as it tightened
against her bud. It felt like the leather was tightening around the
core of heat inside her, binding it, squeezing it with no hope of
release.
    She gasped for breath, cheeks hot, looking up at him. He wasn’t
smiling, now. He was staring down at her, a hunger almost like rage
burning in his eyes.
    “I tie the knot,” he said, voice low, “With my
strong hands.” He had one hand on the knot, the other on the
leash that led out of it. He held the knot firmly, took a deep
breath, and hauled back on the leash with all his strength. She
gritted her teeth, bracing for pain, but the strap only tightened a
little. Instead, the knot shrank, pulling tight, becoming a hard nut
of twisted leather. A surge of helplessness rose in her. She
wondered if he could untie her now even if he wanted to.
    She shifted her hips, and had to bite back a moan as the cord slid
against her bud. Black-dog was standing, looking down at her,
smiling at his work.
    “I tie the knot,” he said, pacing slowly around her, the
leash in his hand, “and then I fuck you as hard as I want.”
    He was standing behind her, now, above her head as she lay on the
furs. She panted, trying to catch her breath, trying to think. It
had all gone wrong. She was bound instead of him, she could feel his
hand on the leash as if he were touching her directly, each breath
she took made the leather shift and slide in her slit. Her mind
raced helplessly. There must be some way to fix it, there must be
some way to turn it around.
    Then his hand was in her hair, pulling, and he was pulling on the
leash, too, tugging the cord into her, sweet painful pressure. He
hauled her to the edge of the pile of furs, then relaxed his grip.
Her head hung off the edge of the pile, upside down, throat bared,
breasts rising and falling as she gasped. He was tugging on the
leash in a steady rhythm now, the cord pressing and sliding in her,
building heat. She flushed pink with shame. She had expected a
struggle, but to be losing like this, to be lying helpless before him
as he made her come with a dog collar and a leash, it was too
shameful, too embarrassing. But she couldn’t make it not feel
good. Couldn’t stop the sliding pressure, and the steady,
strong tug of his hand. Her body lay limp, rocking as he pulled on
the harness, glowing inside as the cord stroked back and forth in her
tenderness.
    She looked up at him, standing above her head. His bare thighs, the
tanned muscles of his stomach, his broad chest, up to his eyes,
watching her as he played with her. His shaft was standing, hard;
the underside was inches above her face. He reached down, stroked
her neck and chin. She felt her mouth opening, moaning. He pushed
his cock-head between her open lips, hot and smooth against her
tongue, filling her mouth, blocking her breath.
    He rocked in and out, growling with satisfaction, still tugging the
leash, using her body for his pleasure. She was getting dizzy. Each
time his stroke pulled back she gasped a little air, but it wasn’t
enough, she was getting confused. He was huge and hot in her mouth,
her lips were wet and stretched around his shaft, her hips were
rising and falling as she pressed against the tight, thick cord. She
was moving with his tugging now, rocking her hips against the cord
pressing into her. He was growling like a beast, he was tugging and
thrusting faster, her head was full of clouds, her cunt was full of
heat and sliding leather. She reached up, wrapped her hands