The Cave Ch. 02

The dream was more or less over. I could tell by the shimmery fade of my surroundings, how the hallway to my bedroom was starting to look like the hallway of my present day apartment building in Duluth, but in real life dreams didn't end at the most poignant moment, not for me at least.

It seemed perfectly natural for my adolescent life and my adult life to be blending, for the door to my apartment to be halfway open like my bedroom door would be. I pushed it open, throwing my school bag down by the little apartment table where I kept my car keys and dropped my mail. I glanced at myself in the mirror above the table.

What I saw made me jerk awake.

*

It took me seconds to realize where I was. My stirring had awakened Pratt just enough to refold his arms around me and give me a couple sleepy licks on the back of my head.

Caution baby.

Laying my head down on his torso, my body still frantically pumping adrenaline to my extremities, I was haunted by my bloody reflection still lingering on the back of my eyeballs. In my dream, the left side of my face was droopy and shredded, more like a shark attack than a nip from the family dog.

I felt my face crumple and I started to quietly weep. I wasn't sure if it was the shock of the dream or the fact I was dreaming about real life, when I had spent the better part of the last 12 days thinking this was the dream.

Not a bad dream, mind you. One of those dreams you wake up from and smile drowsily, guiltily, as you remember all the kinky parts you'll never tell anyone about.

Freeing a hand, I clasped my palm over my eyes and cried a little harder when I realized Dad hadn't been trying to avoid a lawsuit when he shot Lady in the head with his hunting rifle. Sure the kid had probably taunted Lady, pulled her tail or tugged her collar, reminding our adopted dog about some part of her past that we would never know. I'd be lying if I said there wasn't a part of me that didn't think that 12 year old snot didn't deserve it and maybe Dad thought it, too. However, when Dad took out his hunting rifle with the intension he had with it, he wasn't thinking of the kid a quarter mile down the dirt road.

He was thinking of me.

Of course, I would never push Lady to the edge like the neighbor boy, but sometimes you just never know with animals.

Breathing deep, calm breaths, I understood whatever Pratt had done with Amy he'd done it for me.

By now, I had convinced myself Pratt had simply taken Amy out into the middle of the woods and let her go. Maybe he'd even pointed her in the direction of the nearest road. Something in her past had made her unpredictable to Pratt and maybe it was something simple as having an old boyfriend who cheated on her. It made me uncomfortable to think Pratt had given up on Amy so easily because of her baggage. She was still a human being. But, considering Pratt and his mystery species, his regard for humans might have been comparable to what we thought of dogs. Maybe he thought of her as a wild animal he couldn't domesticate.

If that was so, what exactly did he think of me?

That I learned the next afternoon, when Pratt taught me another game.

*

Pratt woke me early for sex. It was quick and fierce, just to satisfy that first morning erection, and afterward disappeared under the fur covers to clean me up. I was still a little sore from last night but I savored the ache.

After, it was back to the wall while he assembled breakfast. The harvest was small, I noticed, the raspberries tiny and sour. Literally slim pickings, I guessed. I wondered what he would feed me once winter came around and raspberries were no longer in season.

At the time, I actually expected to be there that long.

The morning went quickly and was generally uneventful as Pratt kept busy with some chore in the dim alcove at the back of the cavern. A few times he approached the fire and tossed unneeded items into it, stoically folding his arms as he watched them burn. His last time at the fire, he glanced up at me as if just realizing I was there and hastily retreated to the water bucket to fill me a cup.

I stayed sitting as he came over. He crouched down to tip the cool cup against my lips to let me take long sips. In between drinks, while I swallowed and caught my breath, he touched my breasts nonchalantly, almost indifferently, paying special attention to the delicate pink skin around each nipple. When I was done with the water, he passed the cup to the other hand and scooped his hand between my thighs to feel how much wetness was gathered there. I hadn't been sitting with my legs spread, but I no longer sat with them pressed tightly together anymore and I parted them a little more to give him room.

Between the streamers of fur of his loincloth, the crumpled skin of his manhood began to show itself. Pratt's hand left my private area to raise my chin. I could feel the heat in my cheeks, embarrassed to have been caught staring at him there.

I didn't understand his new preoccupation with eye contact and I felt compelled to turn my eyes away, to shy away from the intimacy of his gaze, which was now shifting gradually into a stony glower. I think my heart skipped a beat and I felt my stomach begin to wring. Now what had I done wrong?

Pratt leaped to his feet. I suppressed an exhale of relief I was no longer under his microscope of scrutiny, but a thread of tension still remained as he stalked off the bed and dropped the cup back into the water bucket. Then he vanished through the dark mouth of the tunnel.

Waiting uneasily for his return, I pulled nervously against the cuffs of my chains.

He came back several minutes later. He was carrying my dinner plate in one large hand like a maître d and he headed straight for the stone sills to retrieve the key to my manacles. He moved with purpose, as if he had a serious goal in mind and stopped by the edge of the bed to set down the plate of left over rabbit bits.

Dropping my chin, I examined my naked body. Had I lost weight? I think spending my days and nights strapped to the wall counted as a sedentary lifestyle, but without my usual diet of spicy Chinese and fried eggrolls Combo #5, I suppose I had shed a few as a result. And those three or four days of fasting probably didn't help my figure, either. In any case, setting me free in the middle of the day was highly irregular.

He pointed to a spot on the bed, near the wall a few feet away from the chains. Kneading my chaffed wrists, I shuffled the short distance on my knees.

Backing up, he stood at the edge of the bed and sat on his haunches, his dark scrotum sagging between his feet.

I kneeled up with knees set wide the way he had showed me last night and watched as he picked up a piece of juicy meat and tossed it once in his palm, as if testing it. He made a couple underhanded practice swings, more for my benefit so I knew what he planned to do. He lobbed it up into the air, lightly with a high arch so that I could see where it was going to land. I think I was meant to catch it with my mouth, but I wasn't fast enough and it hit my shoulder with a greasy splat. It was cold, I realized. He had been storing it someplace cool.

I picked it up and started to put it in my mouth.

Pratt stopped me with a sharp growl, his eyes frowning in reprimand. He held out his massive hand, curled his fingers twice to wave me over.

I knew to crawl over on all fours, but it was more like crawling on all threes while I held my slice of meat. Apparently, this was also wrong. Pratt was rumbling his displeasure instantly and jumped to meet me in the middle of the bed for correction, swiftly giving my rump a stinging swat. The robust clap of his hand on my flesh sounded very loud in the special acoustics of the room.

I blinked at him in startle.

Ripping the food from my fingers, he used his free hand to firmly cup my chin and lift it, roughly, simultaneously pursing my lips open so that he could insert the morsel, purposely slow, gentle. He did not let it go until I realized I should carry the food to him in my lips without consuming it. I should have known he would want me to do the simplest act in the most degrading way possible.

Bounding back to the edge of the furs, Pratt patted the bed to get me to come to him and I scrambled over on my hands and knees, holding part of my dinner gently between my lips, and dropped it into his outstretched hand. Instantly, he was patting my hair to praise me, nodding emphatically, allowing me to eat that piece and I did, chewing and swallowing quickly. He cupped my chin again and elevated it to a proud height, and then rubbed my right nipple in approval. I felt the warmth of my wetness as it bathed my inner thighs. Despite the strangeness of being so ardently rewarded for such demeaning chores, my heart lightly flittered at his acknowledgement.

Pointing across the bed, Pratt motioned for me to go back.

I did and he tossed another piece. I had to move fast and wasn't able to hold my spread knees position, but Pratt didn't mind. The objective was to catch the food in my mouth by any means, and I skittered sideways to line myself up with the arch of his throw, feeling the heavy swing of my breasts as they joggled with my movements. Unfortunately, my second attempt was also a failure. This time, I knew to pick it up carefully in my mouth and bring it back.

I wondered what he would do if I simply gulped it down on my way back. But I didn't dare. I could handle physical punishment—an extra slap on my behind or some new challenge in our playtime—but the fear he might end the game and make me go hungry kept me on the straight and narrow.

Dropping the morsel into his outstretched hand, I parted my lips to take it back as he aimed it at my mouth. But when it was just close enough for me to lick, he withdrew and popped it into his own mouth.

I gasped, but he only urged me to the other side of the bed. Chin jutted, I pouted on my way back. Now that I knew what was expected, it wasn't going to be so easy.

Four more throws went by and I didn't catch any of them. I watched my plate shrinking before my eyes, disappearing down Pratt's own gullet, and after the fifth missed try, I felt my eyes warming over with tears. If I had thought the task was difficult before, it was downright impossible through the blurry screen in front of my eyes.

I don't know why I was being so sensitive about it. I was still relatively full from breakfast so it wasn't about missing an opportunity for sustenance and I was sure he would still bring me dinner later when it was time. It was absolutely humiliating to blubber about something so trite but I couldn't help myself and as I felt the anger bubbling up in my chest, I found myself hating him for this.

Although I could move faster with my feet on the bed and my knees bent in duck-walk, I was too self-conscious to expose my damp pubic hair and shiny thighs. Pratt seemed to know this and started throwing the bits of meat erratically instead of straight to me. Of course, I missed the next five tosses because I couldn't move fast enough. Eventually my competitiveness, normally dormant, had me bouncing around the bed to catch my snack, but I was blinded by my tears. I think must have looked like a lumbering gorilla the way I braced my hands on the bed and kicked sideways to move around, sitting in lewd squats so that I was ready for the next throw.

By the time I was out of food, I was a complete wreck. I was breathing hard from exertion, sobbing pathetically between breaths, and my sex was drenched and itching. Pratt approached me and stroked my sweaty hair for my effort. But I recoiled from his touch, tense with a strange fury; the need to scratch was driving me mad. I reached between my legs with innocent intensions to use a fingernail on a particularly bothersome itch, but Pratt was too quick grabbing my hand.

I whined in torment, my thighs pressed together tightly for some relief. He leaned toward me and gave my behind another stinging whack in reprimand, his jaw set in a firm line, but his eyes were glinting deviously. I set my knees wide apart again, hoping he would provide my release, but he only made me join my hands together at my back and make the palm-up sign for stay. He got up and left the bed.

I squirmed fruitlessly in this position, watching as Pratt bent down to the water bucket and filled the cup. There were a few instances I thought I might be able to secretly rub my itchy places but I feared punishment if he caught me. The prospect of punishment actually seemed to make the itch worse.

He forced fed me the water and I sputtered most of it down the front of me. The strenuous activity of the game and the hot torture between my legs left me utterly exhausted.

When the cup was empty, he placed it right side up on top of the shiny, empty plate.

He turned away suddenly to cough and I blinked away tears long enough to marvel how human his cough sounded. The agitation of his cough made his erection shudder and soften slightly. He even had the decency to cover his cough with his arm like Dracula and aim it into the inside of his elbow, but my captivation was short-lived as I sniffed back tears. I continued to glare at him without pity, privately hoping he choked on the food that had been meant for me.

His eyes settled back on me and I felt his appraisal. When I couldn't stand the judgment anymore, I turned my face and scowled at nothing in particular.

Soon, I saw him in my peripheral, scooting close. He put his hands on me and gently coaxed me back into bed, arranging me on my side. I felt the warmth of a fur blanket falling over me and the nudge of his body as he eased in behind me. There was still a coil of pressure inside me thrumming to be released, but I was too angry and fatigued to pay it any attention. He made me cross my arms over my breasts like I was being fitted for a coffin and then wrapped his own arms around me to hold them there snugly. I was positive this was to keep me from touching myself.

I laid there for a long time, listening to the rhythm of his chest as it filled and emptied. Middle of the day naps were atypical. I'd never seen him lie with Amy for a nap. On the other hand, Amy had never acted like she needed one before.

Eventually the resentment drained away and I was just left with sleepiness dragging heavy on my eyelids.

*

I managed to doze a little after that and it was almost entirely dark when I woke up. Sitting up, I could feel the clammy heat of Pratt's rear pressed against my side, the tickle of his coarse hair on my leg. There were a few bright red coals still in the fire and Pratt's shape next to me was obscured by the mountain of furs covering him.

Time was always a mystery but I felt well rested and as I stretched, my bloated bladder sent me urgent messages. Seriously doubting I was allowed to go by myself, I turned on my hip and started to wake my captor. But then I stopped.

What was I doing? Normally, he was such a light sleeper, any slightest move on my part and his limbs twisted around me like a magic vine.

I squinted in the minimal light for the inky outline of the tunnel. Could I get there without him noticing? I knew enough to go left at the fork. How much farther could the exit be from there?

My muscles were paralyzed, waiting for just another ounce of courage to be set free. I gave Pratt a tentative look.

Was he breathing?

I leaned forward to see. I didn't think he was.

His name was on the tip of my tongue. I glanced up at the exit again and made my decision.

"Pratt?" I whispered. I touched the soft pelt of his shoulder. He didn't move. "Pratt?"

Sitting up higher on my knees so I could see his face, I moved the curtain of his hair from his cheek. He looked like he was sleeping. But his chest was still. I laid the back of my fingers on his temple. He was warm. I shifted my hand to his nostrils and waited.

Nothing.

"Pratt," I snapped. I tugged his arm and he was easy to flip over on his back. His arm flopped lifelessly across the bed and my skin crawled with horror. I patted his chest. "Pratt, wake up."

He was difficult to shake, but I managed a few good shoves and when that didn't work, I began lightly slapping his cheeks, his mouth slacking open. I couldn't believe this was happening and I felt like I was moving in slow motion. A peculiar numbness began rolling through my body as I thought of how bitterly I wanted him to choke on the morsels of rabbit he had taken from me. And somewhere in the middle of it all, tears pricked my eyes and my already faint vision blurred me to legally blind status.

One moment, I was desperately rousing my unresponsive abductor, the next I was frightened by a great bellow and slammed down on my back.

Before I could gather my wits, large clawed fingers tickled my ribs and I couldn't tell if I was crying or laughing. I wriggled wildly through his attack.

He didn't torment me for long before allowing me to catch my breath. While my laughter had been forced, I had to admit it felt good. The anger that followed was mostly feigned.

"Mean!" I shouted at him, smacking his chest. "Mean, mean, mean!"

Pratt responded with throaty grunts, an exceptionally evil laugh.

My rage for him had dissolved, not just for his nasty trick, but for earlier. I had taken my failure of his game quite personally. It was after all just a game and I had no reason to fear any punishments that might result from it. I think for me it was just the idea of punishment I was most afraid of.

While he sat above me on my belly—with what I was sure was a fraction of his full weight—I could feel an unexpected burden in the moment as he stared down at me. The side of his knuckle stroked upwards across my cheek, collecting some of the tears I had shed. His eyes flicked down to the wetness on his finger and then back to me.

Laughing anxiously, I dashed away my tears as if they were nothing, but I could tell he had already made the connection of what these tears meant. I was having trouble deciphering his reaction until he snorted dismissively, wiping his finger with his thumb, destroying the evidence. I don't think either of us wanted to examine how drastically I had responded to his playing dead.

Shifting slightly, Pratt released his erection. I felt the heat of it nestled between my breasts and the strain of the situation lifted at the prospect of sex.

The next time he played that trick on me, I made a mental note to check his loincloth first. Chances are it wouldn't be rigor mortis. And he wasn't the only one who could play dead, I realized, already plotting my revenge.

Reaching for him with my lips, I fixed a hasty peck on the slippery tip of his penis and then glanced up to check his reaction. His chin was touching his chest as he looked at me and I think for the first time since he dragged himself out of mourning depression, his eyes were actually sparkling. I had nothing to fear.

My hands explored his length and girth, rubbing his turgid organ against my cleavage. He lifted the head of it to my lips and I drew on it, swallowing the saltiness weeping from the tiny hole there. Pratt began to thrust, his prickly scrotum dragging heavily across my belly.

I felt his weight change and his hand brushed behind him against my inner thighs. I let them fall open naturally in expectation. One sharp claw rooted around my sex, searching for the entrance, and when he found it, carefully prodded inside, stirring up fresh juices as I stroked him with my lips. It aroused me, the danger of talons inside me, the thought he could rip me to shreds if provoked. I growled my elation.

He growled back and it was much more convincing than mine.