The Cave Ch. 01

Right away, I could tell the floor was different in here. Softer. Looser. Pratt circled around me to a spot further in the cave and I glanced back, wondering what would happen if I turned and ran. Find that fork in the cave and go down the left side instead. How far would I get? Far enough to call for help? Far enough to escape?

But Pratt was pointing to a spot on the floor and I came closer and peered down to a tidy hole, just a bit of dirt scooped out of the floor and piled neatly next to it. I wanted to look him in the face to show my confusion, but I feared reprimand like with the berries. I honestly didn't know what he wanted.

He made a chuffing sound and I had the oddest feeling he might have been laughing at me. Centering himself over the hole, he lowered down into a squatted position. We were nearly the same height that way. This time, he didn't seem to mind my eye contact and his expression was heavy and sincerely apologetic.

"Oh god," I muttered when I knew what he meant for me to do.

Amy had warned me against talking, but this must have been forgiven considering the situation. Pratt rose to his feet and took a step back, the extent of the privacy I was allowed.

The thing was, I really had to go. I had been ignoring my bladder all day, but if I had to just make water, I think I could have done it without problem. But I didn't just have to make water. And it made me want to cry. I held it back because I knew if I started that, this might never get done.

I had no trouble averting my gaze now. I counted to three and crouched down over the hole he had dug for me. At first, I kept my knees modestly together, but I knew that wasn't going to work and split them, clasping onto my knees.

I was done more quickly than I thought I would. There was something very natural about stooping like that to do my business. Of course, there were no toiletries to clean up with, but this new way of doing things was surprisingly mess free and when I had taken an extra minute to drip dry, I stood up to show I had finished.

And that's when I saw his penis, pressing through the streamers of fur on his waist. My eyes flicked up to his. They glittered at me.

I couldn't look up. I couldn't look down. I didn't know where to look. It was different with just the two of us, without the buffer of Amy to distract him. And there was something very personal about this erection, when I had assumed they had all been for Amy up until now.

Honestly, I didn't know why I cared so much.

Pratt kneeled down and began filling in the hole with the excavated dirt, patting it down with both hands and I got a very close look at his organ wavering out from behind his loincloth. Thick and twisted with streaks of veins, its triangular head glistened with discharge and a drop of it landed in the dirt like a raindrop.

He led me back to the hallway and let me go first this time and I was sure that was so he could block the way to the exit.

Amy was sitting shiftless on her bed but there was some agitation in her face when we came into view and I wondered if Pratt's excitement was still obvious behind me. It was, I discovered a moment later as Pratt clamped the cuffs on my forearms.

For a short instant after clicking the second restraint into place, he grazed the top of my arm with the knuckle of his finger. I didn't hate it. In fact, it gave me a pleasurable shiver.

But then he was gone, retreating to Amy in determination. I could tell she wasn't expecting it, as a wide-eyed expression of sheer panic came over her face. Picking her up in one swoop, he deposited her to the ledge above her where he put our meals and she immediately grabbed onto the wall in alarm. He flung Amy's legs over his shoulders and wedged his face into her hirsute crotch and began to devour her. She rolled her head back and moaned.

The whole thing happened so fast, I just stared in disbelief.

The greedy slurps, the breathy groans and the deep predatory growls made my body tingle uncontrollably. Watching, I melted against the wall and for the first time since I arrived, I wasn't thinking about covering up or keeping my body strategically turned.

Amy's orgasm came swiftly, bucking wildly against his face, thigh muscles bulging around his neck, tendons standing out in her skinny forearms as she buried both hands into the back of his tangled hair. She had barely collected her wits when Pratt took her down from the ledge and held her against his chest with one of his mighty arms. His other arm dropped down to cradle his penis in his hand and curve it upwards. Slowly, it vanished inside of her.

With boundless energy, Pratt did the work, thrusting up, black tipped fingernails puckered into the flesh of her thighs. Amy was groaning, her buttocks contracting as she acclimated to him, but I could tell she was already weary. She could hardly keep her legs folded around his narrow hips and her head swung back, lips parted, as if she were a rag.

Pratt roared his climax. Spasms rippled through his legs as he briefly stumbled, catching his breath, nostrils flaring. Finally, he dropped backwards in the pile of furs. Amy slumped against his chest. I could see her slowly rising and falling from his breathing and I heard the ticking of Pratt's claws as he lightly tickled her back.

I was still standing, propped against the cave wall, holding the chains like a swing. My inner thighs were slick as I pressed my legs together, striving for some relief, watching as Pratt's face rotated toward me, eyes darkening as he peered over the lumps of fur bedding. The side of his mouth rose up into what looked like a snarl, his teeth bared. Then I thought maybe it wasn't a snarl, but his best attempt at a smirk.

And it bothered me. I didn't want it to, but it did.

*

"What did you do to him in there?"

Amy was strapped back up in her manacles, recovering. She was positively glowing with relaxed bliss. Pratt was gone.

"Nothing," I said.

"Nothing?" she repeated in doubt. "He's never come at me like that before."

I shrugged. I didn't really want to talk about it. It was all still bugging me.

"So what happened? He brought you in...he pointed to the floor..."

I scowled. What did she want me to say? "There was a hole," I said. "And I used it." Something horrible came to mind then and I gasped at her. "Was I not supposed to?

"Yes, that's what the hole is for," she laughed. "I remember my first hole."

I smiled dryly. I wasn't sure how to take that. Was she already looking back on these three weeks as fond memories? This was all so warped.

"Of course, I didn't use my hole right away. I held mine for three days."

"Three days?" I couldn't imagine holding it for three more seconds after Pratt showed me my hole.

I wondered...if it took Amy three days to empty her bowels in front of Pratt, how long before they were screwing like bunnies? And what did it mean that I bent down to do my business the very moment I was given opportunity? I was beginning to feel ashamed about it and I couldn't really figure out why. Because I had a bowel movement? That wasn't a very good reason. Basic human needs should be fulfilled without guilt. Without shame.

Amy was giving me a careful look, appraising me. My legs were stretched out on the floor, crossed at the ankles, slightly angled on my hip to hide my pubic area from her. Not that she hadn't already seen it a hundred times as I stood and sat in my little area. I wasn't ready to be so casual with her.

"What happened after that?" she asked, firm, expecting an honest answer.

"Nothing. I...stood up, he filled in the hole and we walked out."

"Huh," she said and retreated into herself, deep in thought.

Instantly, I became self-conscious. "Is that...not normal?"

She sighed. "It's normal."

Normal. As if any of this was normal.

I closed my eyes and tried to relax, but I wasn't sleepy at all and the firelight made my eyelids seem see-through. But I found if I pretended to sleep there wasn't the awkward tension of making any more small talk. Talking to Amy was like talking to someone on Mars. I just didn't get her.

Pratt wasn't gone long and he made short work skinning and gutting the rabbit and soon he was spinning it over the fire. I think he saved the parts of the rabbit we didn't eat, the fat, the head, the skin, even the feet, but in a different part of the cave. When the rabbit was cooked, Pratt ate his portion first and divided the rest for Amy and me, placing the scraps in the alcoves above us where we could reach. I brought my plate down so I could see what I was eating and noticed there was a little more than there was yesterday. I glanced over at Pratt, who was poking the fire with a long stick, and his aureate eyes flicked up to mine, lingering a beat longer than usual. I knew he wouldn't give me Amy's share, but it didn't mean he wouldn't give me some of his own share. He was making up for this morning's debacle with the raspberries.

Before bed, Pratt put away all his little projects, extinguished the candles, removed his body furs and released Amy for her nightly grooming. I tried not to watch this time and stared at the crackling fire instead, but the wet sounds of licking and soft sighs had nearly the same effect on me as watching.

By the time she was clean, Amy was ready for him again and Pratt took her slowly from behind as they lied on their sides. I couldn't help peering at Amy's nude form in the firelight, her small breasts jostled by Pratt's gradual piston as he tweaked a dark rose nipple with large, black-tipped fingers. She raised her bent knee and then his long claws appeared between her thighs, playing with her dark wreath of pubic hair before designating a finger to trace circles over her clitoris. Pratt had enough stamina and patience to hold back until she was ready. During their combined climax, I closed my eyes, but their moans and whispers occupied the cave, echoing around me, bewildering and unending. I didn't care Amy got the good bed. I didn't care she got the better cuts of meat or the majority of the water rations, but in that muddled and confusing instant I wanted it to be me wrapped up in those furs instead of her.

The next couple days were much of the same.

Berries in the morning, rabbit or wild chicken in the evening and in the afternoon, Pratt pattered industriously around the cave, ignoring his erections, while Amy stewed in her chains. He would bring us to the other cavern after both meals and once in between so we could relieve ourselves and fed us cups of water often through the day. Amy and Pratt made love—if that's what they considered it—at least twice in a day. Both mornings I woke up to ghostly sighs and whimpers in pitch darkness, considerately subdued so as not to wake me, and of course the mandatory sex after Amy's ritualistic grooming.

Although I had gotten used to it, by no means was I desensitized of it. My body responded without my consent until it was singing in constant falsetto. I contributed it to my lapse in regular sex. Steady boyfriends were becoming few and far between lately as men my age were settling down to have their families. Apparently, their biological clocks had been set much earlier than mine.

I spent a lot of my time thinking about Amy's devotion. Pratt gave us everything we needed. Food, water...exercise, I would think with a little smirk. I had to admit being tied up to a grotto wall was more thrilling than I originally would've thought, but I didn't think I could give up everything, dedicate my life to being Pratt's...toy. Maybe I would think differently if I was allowed the same liberties Amy had. Outside this place, I had a career, a mom in Duluth and a cat. It wasn't much, but it was mine. I don't think I was ready to give that up. And yet, there was something intriguing about becoming a full-time sex thing. Amy's decision to be that fascinated me. I found it almost spiritual. To give up all the comforts of modern life, donate her body, give herself over completely...I could think of some religions that preached the same concepts.

Sometimes, during ordinary moments in the cave, when Amy was napping and Pratt was rearranging his shelves or tidying up, I would stand to stretch, facing the wall of course, and trace the layers in the wall.

Escape was on my mind most of all. Whenever Pratt took Amy into the other room (he always took Amy first), sometimes I would tug and pull on my chains to see if the one was loose or if I was just imagining it. I think I was. But it made me feel better. Like I was actually doing something to escape. Not that it really mattered if one chain was loose or not. Even if I managed to wriggle it out of the wall, I was still shackled up to the other one.

It seemed Pratt had the only key, but he didn't always keep it in the belt of his loincloth. Usually at the end of the night he'd go into his dark alcove and I'd see him put his fingers in his waistband, reach up to a high ledge and I'd hear a faint ceramic clink as he put it away. I wondered if he kept a spare there, too. I could use it to escape, if only I had the kind of freedom Amy had.

I realized the only way to get that was for Pratt to notice me more. So, I sat suggestively, ogled his erections, and didn't move away when he came close...but it only lasted about an hour. I felt ridiculous.

However, I didn't give up, not then anyway. I tried to put my hand on his penis while he was burying my waste, but I lost my nerve and touched one of the mink tails on his loincloth instead, as if I was admiring how soft it was. He looked down at my hand first, then at me. I lowered my eyes like I was supposed to. His cock was red, the veins bloated and I noticed a wrinkling of flesh just under the spear-shaped head. My heart was drumming out of control, not in arousal, but fear. I let the fur tail drop out of my hand and froze, staring at his wavering genitalia, my fingers just a few inches away. I moved closer. He made a reproving noise in his throat. I ignored it and moved closer. Then he growled and swatted my hand.

Whatever Amy had, I certainly didn't have it.

While I was finally convinced we weren't here to be horribly murdered, I was confused by my role. If he didn't want from me what he wanted from Amy, why was I here? Of all the cars speeding five miles over the limit on Highway 169, why did he run in front of mine?

On my fourth morning waking up in the cave, the profile of Pratt's silhouette was in the center of the room, nursing a small fire. He hadn't lit any candles yet and it was very dim. I could hear Amy breathing and thought she might still be sleeping.

I loved the smell of pine branches burning; it seemed strongest in the morning, before I got used to it. Pratt rose to his feet, circled the fire and moved one of the logs for better circulation. He considered the fire a moment and sat back down on the adjacent sitting log. He wasn't wearing his shoulder furs yet and I could see the muscle definition in his chest and the way the lean skin folded together at his belly as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his black tipped fingers laced loosely together. The hair grew thicker, browner, between his dark brown nipples and in the pits of his arms. His golden eyes gleamed in the fire and I wondered the sorts of things he thought about in quiet moments like this.

The side of my butt cheek had been numb for a while and I extended my legs to situate more comfortably on the hard floor. I pumped my hands a few times to get the blood flowing through my arms again. I yawned. I stretched. My chains softly clinked against the wall, but they didn't disturb Pratt from his reverie. I knew I would have to stand soon, but I was enjoying the peace of the snapping fire. I leaned my head back on the wall to contemplate it.

Then something alerted Pratt. Raising his chin, he swiveled his head towards the tunnel. I couldn't hear a thing, but I had guessed long ago his senses might be better than mine. Still I held my breath and listened, analyzing Pratt's face for a change in expression. His nostrils widened once. Twice. He turned his head the other way, slowly, sniffing, following some scent, honing in on it. His eyes shimmered wildly and my skin prickled as I wondered if a predator had gotten into the cave.

When his eyes locked on mine, I started, shackles ringing, my legs automatically pressing together. I forgot to look away but then I questioned if he could even see me so far into the shadows. He jumped up, strode around the fire and he began stooping, his digitigrade legs crouching in that primitive way of his until he was stalking on all fours. He stopped at my feet and squatted, blocking so much of the light I couldn't see his face anymore. But I could hear his quick sniffling sounds like that first night in the cave.

I glanced at Amy. She was just a hill of furs in the bed.

Leaning down on his hands, Pratt sniffed my ankle. He was careful not to touch me, although as he came closer, the soft fur of his loin cloth slipped over the top of my feet. He lingered at the seam of my inner thighs, not just sniffing anymore for the sake of detecting scent, but savoring it. I could feel his slow exhales on my legs as he inched his way closer to the black mound of curls under my belly button, and I had a feeling it had been his target this whole time.

I squirmed uncomfortably. I was embarrassed by my odor, but I could hardly help it. With their constant fucking, I was in a suspended state of arousal and my lack of toiletries only added to the problem. I could feel the squirt of fresh secretions seeping down my already soaking thighs and it mortified me that he could smell it. He was leaned in so close I could feel his breath weaving through my wiry patch of hair.

My breathing escalated into quick pants and before I could stop myself, I unlocked my knees. Deliberately, I rotated my legs out, pressing the soles of my feet together as I drew them in, opening myself up. The muscles in his back flexed as he lowered himself even further, his head bobbing eagerly with the new smells wafting up. I whimpered in my throat and desperately pushed the back of my head into the wall as I drew my hips upwards to meet his mouth. I saw his head bob up, recoiling slightly and I groaned, realizing he only meant to sniff.

Snorting cheerfully, he moved on. His head tilted, sniffing up the side of my waist, around the swell of my right breast, being very cautious not to touch me. I peered down at his desire, just now showing itself between the flaps of fur tails. I recognized the thin sleeve of skin as an uncircumcised penis, smoothing out the organ's contours, and as it grew, the wedge-shaped head glistened as it made its appearance, mere millimeters from dragging across my thigh.

His delicate nose was lingering in the crook of my armpit, another wonderful smell, I was sure. I craned my neck down to get a glance at the black stubble of armpit hair, the white crust of my solid deodorant had long worn away. Four days without a shower or even a sponge bath had left me with a film of sweat and debris. The bottoms of my feet were filthy from the dirt floor and my hands were ruddy from the rust on the chains. My hair felt greasy when it swept against my face and neck. I'm sure I possessed a whole spectrum of scents to keep him entertained.

During his inspection, Pratt touched me for the first time in two days—if the elbow bump to my nose counted as touching. With his tongue, he gave a tentative lick across the surface of my armpit, his prickly tongue making a rough, abrasive sound over my four days of hair growth. I flinched sideways from the sensitivity of it and he rumbled a warning in his throat. I took a deep breath and waited for him to take another taste and when he did it tickled and I smiled.