The Cave Ch. 02

For distraction, I got back to my feet to inspect my chains, crossing the streams to face the wall. They were exactly like my old ones, maybe slightly newer, attached to the wall someplace high up in the shadows. I noticed steel poles embedded in the rock several feet over my head, identical to the ones I'd spotted above my old chains. They weren't attached to anything. I still didn't know what they were for but I felt uneasy looking at them, an augury to my future, and I felt a sharp chill down my spine.

I tested each chain with a quick yank, but they both felt solid. In my old chains, I was convinced one of them felt loose, but I never had enough time to work it free. It didn't seem Amy was too worried about escape, so I could see why these felt more secure.

But I understood my escape would not involve shedding my handcuffs like Houdini, unless I somehow got hold of the only key, which Pratt kept in only two places: his waist band or the dirty ceramic bowl on the shelf across the room. Getting it was close to impossible. Escape would have to happen while I was already free. Then it became a question of how much courage I could muster to overcome the risk.

I was still keeping optimistic for a rescue. I'd been here over a week, still not enough time for anyone to worry, although if my editor called she'd be quite irritated I hadn't gotten back to her yet. Nevertheless, I couldn't think of any reason she'd need to speak to me so urgently, unless the due date of my latest project was moved up. Unlikely, though. While it paid the bills, I doubt anyone was waiting with abated breath for the next installment of my research on small-town Minnesota life. My mom had a copy of each one on her coffee table so she had an excuse to brag about me to the neighbors when they came over to play cards, but not even she actually read any of that shit.

I don't remember falling asleep, but when I woke up some time later, my only sense of time was how far the fire had burned down. It was a heap of glowing orange coals with an occasional tongue of flame shooting up to taste the air.

Pratt had been gone at least an hour, maybe more. How long did he usually take to catch supper? I couldn't for the life of me remember. My thoughts turned morose as I imagined him bleeding to death, shot by an out-of-season hunter, or a poacher out for a thrill kill, or captured by an old bear trap or...

or...

Materializing from the shadows in the tunnel, Pratt entered the cave unceremoniously, a lifeless rabbit swinging in each fist. He threw them down next to the fire in two lumps of fur and blood and proceeded to build the fire back up.

My eyes swamped with tears, my relief overwhelming and abrupt, but Pratt took no notice of my moment of fret. He could hardly be bothered now, too focused on preparing our meal to even acknowledge my presence. I should've been used to this by now, but I found myself wishing he would merely look my way, the way he used to steal glances at Amy. Maybe it only appeared that way from my chains across the room. Maybe he only did it when she wasn't looking. Maybe the reason was simpler than that: maybe he didn't favor to look at me the way he did Amy.

Christ, I was needy. Or maybe just irrational with hunger.

*

Pratt prepared the rabbits for the spit and while he spun them over the fire, their faint sizzle was music to my stomach's ears. Salivating while he ate his portion, I realized allowing me to sit with him by the fire had been a special favor, given the circumstances. He saved little chunks for me and I was grateful he didn't take too long before bringing them. I scrambled to my feet and he put the plate in my outstretched hands.

Inhaling my dinner, I wasn't sure how much of it I tasted. I did note there were at least twice as much as usual and very few pieces with fat. Another perk of getting the good bed, I concluded.

While I ate, Pratt stopped by the dark nook at the back of the cave and I heard the ceramic clink of the key as he deposited it to the bowl where he usually kept it. Then, he left the cavern to dispose of the skins and guts. He returned well after I'd finished, carrying his shoulder furs in his arms, looking quite refreshed. His normally wild hair was limp and damp from a bathing. I hardly noticed his leave, relishing my full belly.

From the wooden bucket by the passageway, he brought me a cup of water and let me keep it to drink at my leisure while he returned to the fire pit. Using a stray bone to pick his teeth, Pratt was leaned forward on his knee, staring distractedly at the fire as he sometimes did after dinner.

My eyes were still puffy and stiff from crying, but I was feeling strangely at peace, and not only because my stomach was quietly digesting a satisfying meal of protein and fat. The routine was back on track. We were down one, but now that we were settling back to what I knew best, I could handle it. My role was changed, but I had watched Pratt with Amy enough, I think I knew what to do.

The second rabbit was still on the spit, but pulled away from the fire just enough to still keep it warm. When Pratt was ready, he tossed the bone in the fire and refilled my plate, tearing pieces of meat from the prime areas. My mouth began to automatically water with the idea of seconds. I was sure Pratt wanted to replenish the calories we had lost these last couple days.

But when the plate was heaping, he only set it aside on the floor to be dealt with later.

Fetching the key again, Pratt approached me with purpose and I suspected it was time for a break. He unlocked my cuffs and we proceeded down the tunnel to the next cavern where the bucket and newly scooped hole were waiting for me to do my business. I knew what to do. This was all typical and it ratcheted my confidence up a few ticks. However, no food and no water made for unpredictable bowels and all I was able to produce was a few ounces of urine and nothing else. It wasn't enough to warrant a special scouring on his lap.

Back in the main cave, I climbed up to what was now my bed and stood in the center of it. Usually, this time of night, Pratt would lay Amy down for a grooming and then fuck her silly before bed. But I had already been cleaned and I wasn't sure how late it was, although I could probably sleep a solid eight hours more as long as it was in this bed of straw and fur. At some point, I anticipated we would continue where we had left off earlier by the fire. So far, Pratt had attended to all my needs today, except one.

Pratt stopped by the fire to pick up the plate of shredded rabbit meat and brought it with him to the bed. I could eat again, I realized. In fact, my fullness had subsided and I wanted to.

I faced him, waiting for the plate. Instead, he pointed down to the bed. I got down and sat with my legs crossed like a pretzel in front of me. On my way, I noticed the flesh of his erection peeking through the flaps of his loincloth, but I lost sight of it as he also sat down, mirroring me, close. My knees touched the bone of his oddly shaped shins and he still towered over me by a foot.

Placing the plate of meat on the bed next to him, he selected a fat, juicy piece and held it out for me between two black talons.

Staring at it, I hesitated, suspicious. I sensed a trick, but reached for it anyway.

Pratt pulled it away.

I frowned up at him.

There was a glint in his eye as he narrowed them, shaking his head in mild scolding. Trying again, he held the scrap up to me.

I sighed through a suppressed grin, knowing where this was heading. I leaned forward and reached for the meat with my lips. Pratt let me have it and immediately caressed my hair. Chewing, I rolled my eyes, accepting my praise with modest reluctance. Yes, I understood I was his pet. Did we really have to do this charade?

I suppose I should have been more grateful. This was the only real attention he had given me all night.

He baited me with a second piece, holding it higher this time, just out of my reach. Glancing up at it in disinterest, I shot him a sly look and uncoiled my legs, folding them underneath me so I could kneel up. Pratt was shaking the meat now, urging me to move faster and I puckered my lips to take the rabbit meat.

I chewed and swallowed, but already Pratt had a third bit, holding it even higher. I started to erect myself fully on my knees, but Pratt patted the inside of one thigh. I stopped, perplexed. I could tell this amused him the way he bared his teeth and when I glanced down, his penis had risen free from his loincloth, bending ever so slightly to his right.

Persistently patting my leg, Pratt reminded me to pay attention and shook my treat in front of my eyes. Christ, Lady could do this better than I could. I moved the leg Pratt was touching and the meat was instantly pressed against my lips for consumption. This time, my heavy left breast was stroked in eager approval.

My knees were set wide apart now as I stood on them, and the warm air touched my genitals just before Pratt did. I gasped, struggling to hold my position as he pinched my nether lips together. When he removed his hand, he looked down at the wetness on his fingers as he rubbed them together, testing my substance. Apparently my potty training in the next cavern had turned me into Pavlov's dog. I anticipated an anal scrubbing every time we went in there. Now I suspected I was being introduced to a new kind of training.

Picking up another piece, Pratt dangled it above me and I had to stand as high as I could on my spread knees to reach it. When I did, he pushed his thumb into my mouth along with the meat. His claw hit my teeth like glass and I could taste the salt of my arousal on his fingers.

For some reason, his thumb in my mouth made me giggle and I pulled away, sitting back on my heels. I nearly lost my bit of meat and caught it with my hand, pushing it back between my lips.

Pratt was staring at me, expression unreadable, and I lowered my gaze in reverence, alleviating the heaviness of his look. I guess I didn't know if laughing was permissible. There had been none when Amy was here.

Suddenly, Pratt snorted. I glanced up at his softened face, nearly missing an instant of delight sparking his eyes as he grabbed another tidbit of meat.

He showed it to me and I followed it with my mouth, but he wasn't ready to give it to me yet. Slowly, deliberately, he set it between his own sharp teeth. I gave another sigh through my nose, familiar with this trick too. I was always a little put-off when owners did this with their dogs. But when he reached for both my hands and guided them to my own breasts, I sensed it might be a little different.

Spread out on my knees, cupping my own hefty breasts, I struggled with balance as I eased up to the slice of meat between his teeth. He was deliberately bobbing it in and out of my reach and I groaned in frustration. Giving up, I sat back, glaring up at his beaming face.

Finally, he took pity on me and jutted his chin downwards to offer it, but when I snatched it with my mouth, he didn't let go, engaging me in a tug of war of the mouths. While this was all very aggravating, if my nipples had anything to say about it, it was also greatly arousing. I was breathing quickly, raggedly around the morsel in my teeth and I could feel his breath, too, whistling between his pointed teeth. He let me have it after a while and I chewed it rapidly in triumph...

...and I noticed he was slowly stroking his cock in his hand.

Shocked, I nearly choked on my food. I couldn't look away and I hardly registered him tempting me with another slab of meat. I tore my gaze away and focused on my treat, stretched for it, gulped it down and I was praised with a prompt tickle of my clitoris.

I moaned and shuddered so hard I had to let go of one breast and reach for Pratt's shoulder to regain composure. But his arm had already risen to taunt me. I lunged for the meat and was awarded with another quick stroke between my legs and I realized he couldn't feed me treats fast enough. I also noticed there weren't very many pieces left.

Forgetting all sense of dignity, I snatched every cut of meat he suspended for me for a few moments of pleasure as he swirled the pad of his index finger against my pubic lips. I didn't know if I was allowed to massage my own nipples, but he never stopped me, and I found it difficult to manage my groans over rapid chewing and breathless swallows. Each interval stoked my orgasm, only to have it fade back when he reached for another nublet.

Lifting up, I snatched it and it was all he could do to keep his fingers from getting bit. He slid his finger into the crease of my sex and rubbed me in approval, but then it was over and I stretched up for another tasty morsel.

But there was none.

I blinked at Pratt.

Releasing his shaft, he showed me both empty hands. On the bed beside him, the chipped metal plate was empty but for a light sheen of rabbit grease.

I sat back on my heels, breathing fast, still clutching onto my chest and waiting for what was next.

Pratt's shoulders rose slightly as he quickly exhaled through his nose and I thought it sounded like a sigh of disappointment. I started to think maybe I was supposed to climax during that feeding frenzy, but it was all so fast, so erratic, it was impossible for me.

His knees rose and it looked like he was getting up. I scooted back a little to give his erection room, but he was just getting to his knees, mirroring my position so that my eyes were level with his nipples. He took my left hand in his right and flattened it against his chest, letting my fingers tangle with the hair growing there. The side of my palm grazed against one of his swollen nipples.

I had hardly noticed he'd taken my other hand, too, until I realized he meant to put it under his loincloth. Twice I had been curbed from touching him there, so naturally I resisted. But he held on, forcing my fingers around the hairy root of his organ, and when he began moving my hand up and down, I furiously blushed, shy of his body.

With his other hand, he pinched my chin, lifting it so that my head went back far enough to see his face. He pointed two sharp hooks at his eyes so that I would hold his gaze, which had become very intense. His insistence made my heart go faster. Eye contact had been discouraged before. Even Amy had looked slightly askance when they made love.

Dropping his arms to his sides, Pratt left me in charge of him. His organ was thick and veiny and had grown hard enough for his supple, slippery head to break free from his sheath of foreskin. He was velvet in my hand and with just enough discharge to make squirting sounds as I tentatively goaded him. Feeling it now, I could hardly imagine it was inside me once.

Deep in his throat, he gave a little growl, not in warning, but in dark yearning, and encouraged me with little licks on my cheek. His rough breathing was interrupted by occasional swallows. I felt the heat from his palm as he clutched my breast.

I scooted closer, higher, with the intension of putting him in my mouth, but then I saw his chest rising over me, predatorily slow.

I drew back, not quite cowering, but feeling very docile sinking into the fur blankets, held down only by his darkened, gimlet eyes.

Pratt grabbed my hip and yanked, tossing me all the way around on my face. Before I could even collect my wits, his arm curled around my belly and tugged up on me, elevating my hips. I scrambled to my hands and knees.

One of his great, platter hands flattened down on the bed next to my tiny, saucer hand. The knuckles of his lean, black-tipped fingers were large and knobby with 3 or 4 coarse hairs growing out of each one. His other hand was micromanaging my body. Parting my knees slightly, placing my palms further out, bending my elbows, touching the wet tip of his penis to the mouth of my nether region; it all happened in the span of ten seconds.

The fur on his chest tickled my back as he dropped his other arm down on the bed and I felt very secure there under him, like he was a rain shelter. He hopped forward a little, standing on his hocks, and his mighty knees appeared on either side of me, flexing and bending, enveloping me in warm, sweaty thighs.

Thrusting hard, he impaled me from behind. I thought I had been ready for it but a moan plunged from my lips and my whole body lurched to his pace. He pumped fast but shallow, taking consideration of my fragile womb, jostling me like I was kneeling on the spin cycle. My mouth hung open, ready to make another unbecoming sound of lust but it was all happening so quick, I couldn't find the right moment to make my distress known.

Pratt's breath roughened into snarls as he neared his climax and at the brink of it, he seized my shoulder and pushed down with all his weight until my elbows buckled. My cheek smashed into the furs, vision halved. His body went rigid, his claws tightened on my shoulder like spikes in my flesh. He grunted as he found his peak.

I was shaking from the adrenaline of his attack, frightened, but exhilarated to be handled so brutally. My own silent explosion came as a surprise to me, groaning through the corner of my mouth, struggling to wriggle under his great weight as he lazily pumped me for a few final shudders.

After, my one eye rolled to see what was happening. He eclipsed the light as he moved, and his cock left me with a jolt. I felt the heavy winds of his breath behind me. He loosened his grip on my shoulder as his tongue ran up and down the sweaty parts of my back. Then I felt him sniffling where his claws had been, followed by three soft licks, like little apologies, and I distantly wondered if I was bleeding.

Pratt urged me to roll over and I splayed across the bed, gasping for breath. I felt his face nuzzling between my thighs and his prickly tongue as he gently washed away the juices.

Later, while we were joined together as spoons do, I drifted off to sleep, and it became evident to me why Pratt preferred sex before bed. He wanted me sated and heavy-eyed to quash any intensions of escape.

*

During the night, I dreamed.

In time, the dream would become a recurring one, even after I left the cave to reenter my old life.

But for now it was just a dream and I was back in Dad's garage, the day of Lady's attack on the 12 year old hooligan down the road. Dad was still crying, having not realized I was there yet, which in actuality had only been a handful of seconds but in dreamland a few seconds was like minutes. Whatever it was that alerted him of my presence—the scuff of my shoe or the ring of my book bag zippers—happened and my dad stood up fast to leave.

"Sawdust in my eye," he muttered on his way by.

I nodded, realizing for the first time I was in my adult body, but I was still wearing my 14 year old clothes: oversized jeans cinched at the waist and my black U2 T-shirt, Actung Baby. Caution baby, I would learn eventually, since I was a good couple years from my high school German classes. But I was an adult in this dream and knew the translation.

I went inside the house through the service door, down the hall to the kitchen. By now, I think it slipped my mind what Mom had really been doing. It was too early for supper and she wasn't really the type of mom to make me afterschool snacks, so I wasn't sure what she was doing. However, for the sake of my dream, I found her arranging the hardcopies of my nonfictions that I had yet to write. Noticing this, I walked into the kitchen slowly, carefully. Caution baby.

"What's wrong with Dad?" I asked her.

"It's Lady," she sighed. "She bit you in the face today. Your father had to shoot her."

I didn't bother to question her, just turned down the hall for my room. Obviously she'd misspoken. I wasn't skipping school like the thug-kid down the road. I wasn't the one who had gotten bit.