The Cave Ch. 03

...I was...

He stroked my arm with the back of his finger until I calmed down. What was going on between us was so much more complex than a few rudimentary hand signals could fix. Although there was one in particular I wanted greatly to give him.

An awful crash from the other room forced our eyes to meet.

"Riley," I gasped.

Pratt jumped to his feet and shot down the hall. I trailed far behind, slowed by sharp little rocks in my bare feet, but I could hear a dreadful grating sound of metal on stone. Pratt was stopped at the end of the tunnel and when I joined him, my mouth popped open.

I wasn't crazy after all. One of those damned chains was loose, twisting free around new yellow straw while Riley tugged on the still attached chain. Glancing over her shoulder at us, her adamancy increased. She went wild, wrenching and swinging from the remaining shackle, grunting angrily.

Pratt grumbled low in his chest as he loped forward. It amazed me how fluidly he could go from two-legged to four. Riley was screeching at his approach, but Pratt merely picked up the end of the chain and gazed up at the ceiling with a rankled shake of his head. I didn't see what he did next, however.

Because I was running.

*

Left at the fork. Straight at the T.

After that, light got scarce in unfamiliar territory. My sprint dragged into a cautious jog, grazing my left hand on the wall to keep my perspective. The floor felt generally smooth from Pratt's everyday pace. I'm sure a dozen tiny rocks had completely embedded themselves in the soles of my feet, but I was too agitated to feel any of it.

I felt the wall become convex as the tunnel curved to the left and I followed it, feeling an instant snap of cold as the air changed, became less dank. I was getting closer to the exit, but how many more twists and turns would there be in this grid of a cave system? And how soon before I was completely lost in them?

The further I got, the more I thought I was fooling myself about Amy. She was dead. Pratt had no choice but to get rid of her—and I mean really get rid of her—to keep her from alerting the authorities. How many links were in Pratt's chain? If he had simply set those links free in the woods I had to believe at least one of them would send help. Christ, I would.

I was in pitch black now, but I could hear the faint echo of Pratt's toe nails, coming fast, a galloping rhythm of constant clicking, like throwing two handfuls of golf tees against a parking garage wall.

My belly rolled over. I hustled into a run, but the floor started to become uneven and my foot slipped sideways. It smarted and I began to limp but I pressed into the darkness. I heard his breath behind me, so ragged it was like little snarls though his teeth.

I wasn't afraid of him or any punishment he might give me for my insolence, but there came a point I knew I wasn't going to make it out. Still, I shoved on. Just a little further, I told myself, to see if there was light ahead, to get a glimpse of the exit just so I could be confident it was there. So I knew where I could find it.

Pratt snagged me out of nowhere, swooping me up over his shoulder. It was disturbing to be thrown around in the dark, tumbling in a current of black water. Two fleshy smacks on my behind resonated in the passageway, but I was so heated from my race I hardly felt them. The fur of his loincloth brushed my face. I was so winded I let my arms fall and swing with his gait. I could feel the fall chill of the outdoors and I was disappointed I didn't at least get a glimpse of the cave's mouth. I think I could even smell the pungency of decomposing leaves.

The darkness faded as we made our way back to the cavern. I could hear Riley's sobs and her chain riotously jangling against the wall. I looked over at her just as she gave up from fatigue, flopping to the floor. She gave me an apologetic look, as if to say I tried. I felt a profound connection to her, my new partner in crime with whom to gang up on Pratt.

On the other hand, Pratt didn't seem terribly angry with me. Not that it mattered. I was still cross with him, even if I was too weary to fight back. He set me down at my fetters and my legs gave out. I was panting. Pratt lifted my arm and clamped it into the manacle, but left my other arm free. I was too exhausted to wonder why.

Whimpering, Riley kicked back with her heels toward the wall as Pratt approached her with the key. He unlocked her quickly and pointed to me. Riley's eyes locked on mine as she got to her feet, rubbing her wrists. Her face was flushed and puffy.

Twice she tried to run. The first time, Pratt hooked her with an arm and set her back on course. The second time, he hauled her up off her kicking feet, propping her tiny rear on the bone of his hip. Internally, he sighed and I think I actually saw his eyes roll.

He attached Riley to my second chain and retreated.

Knees buckling, Riley hurled herself at me, concealing her face in my neck. Her nose was cold and her whole body quivered with dry heaves.

"Hey, hey," I murmured, holding her with my liberated arm.

She recoiled slightly, worriedly. Grey blue eyes and black eyelashes thick with tears implored me. She had a wide mouth with pretty lips and high cheek bones stained pink. In a crowd, I would overlook her perfect looks, but they were rescued by a slightly misshapen nose. It gave her face charm and strangely put me at ease. "W-what's he going to do to us?"

Standing in Riley's untidy pile of yellow straw, Pratt had his fist propped on his hip as he studied the ceiling. A second later he gave the shackle twisted on the floor an exasperated punt.

"Nothing," I sighed and pulled her to me, pressing my cheek into her hair to soothe her. I could still smell fragrant traces of her shampoo, honeyed apples. "Please trust me."

Back to the alcove, Pratt was rummaging through his belongings.

"I didn't mean to make him angry. I just didn't know what he was doing to you. I thought he was going to kill us one after the other."

I was touched she had responded out of concern for me and I tightened my arm around her shoulders. "He's not angry. He's just...flustered. I've never seen him like this before." I had thought him unflappable until now and I grinned to myself. "You're so feisty."

But the smile drained from my face and I felt that pin in my chest again as I realized Pratt was going to fall in love with her. He was going to fall in love with the way she challenged him.

"I hope I didn't get you in trouble."

"Nobody's in trouble," I said and for the moment I actually believed it. But I was in trouble, I just didn't know it yet, and Pratt was already thinking up my punishment.

"Did you get far?" she asked between sharp sniffling breaths.

"Farther than I've been. But I didn't find the exit. Makes me wonder how deep this cave goes."

This made her sob harder.

Pratt came back with what looked like a mini sledge hammer. Focused on his maintenance, he ignored us, draping the chain over one shoulder and hoisting up. He was a natural climber as he shimmied up the wall ledges, pulling up on the jut of rebar and disappearing behind the ceiling formations. I could tell he had done this before. I wondered if this wasn't the first time a chain had popped out of the wall.

A minute later, the thunderous strike of iron on rock made small chunks of debris trickle down the wall. Every resonant boom assaulted my brain and Riley's little jumps of alarm made me aware of our breasts, mashed together. Her pale flesh seemed as delicate as pear skin.

I stretched sideways to reach one of the fur blankets and covered us with it. The warmth was instantaneous and I hooded part of it over her head to help block the noise.

"Come here," I said and shifted, back against the wall. I cradled her to me, the top of her head snuggling up under the angle of my jaw.

On the adjacent wall, the culprit chain dropped heavily, jingling on its way down, madly swinging as it caromed off the walls. I heard three more ear-splitting bangs for good measure and then deafening silence. I could still sense Pratt tinkering around in the rafters.

As the elder woman, I felt responsible for Riley. My maternal instincts had always held firmly dormant, even in the presence of newborn babies, but I could feel them seeping out now, rocking this grown woman swaddled in animal furs. My fingers distractedly stroked the smooth skin at the curve of her shoulder. I could feel her get heavier as she relaxed against me, the weight of her cozy and comfortable as she sunk into my lap. It was all very consoling.

"Did he do this to you?" Riley asked. I realized her cool fingers were softly touching the space between my clavicles.

I lowered my chin to see the pink scar, where Amy had cut me by accident, with her ring.

"No. He didn't do that."

Her cheek flattened against the top of my right breast as she stared at the healed scab, her fingers tracing it, casually, absently. She lowered her arm and her fingers inadvertently grazed down my breastbone. My nipples shrunk.

A shower of pebbles suddenly rained down on us. Riley winced and I squinted up. Pratt had somehow traveled around the ledges in the ceiling and now he was right above us. The chains slackened and our overextended arms were abruptly released. We had only barely grasped this concept, staring at our hands like we'd never seen them before, when Pratt landed next to us in a crouch.

Riley screamed and quailed.

Pratt stood slowly like a villain, his eyes glittering down at us menacingly, but my gaze fell to his groin. He was stiff as a pole and leaking like a faucet.

I circled my arms around Riley protectively, sheltering her from that sight so soon in her capture. Pratt grabbed for her cuffed hand and Riley resisted, sobbing a terrified shriek, tucking her arm between our breasts.

"Stop it!" I hissed reproachfully at him. "You're scaring her."

I'm sure it was my stern tone that made him take a step back. He stared at me, bemused, and folded his sturdy arms together.

"I get you're mad," I muttered. "You don't have to be a brute about it."

I think I saw a brief wave of compunction pass over his eyes before they flickered down to the trembling bulk of furs in my lap. One hand came out of the pretzel of his arms. He pointed one black talon down at Riley and then jutted it over his shoulder towards the chains on the other wall.

Riley back.

I started to nod my comprehension, but he was angling his finger to point again, this time straight down at his quivering erection. Then he directed his finger at me and stabbed the air as the final punctuation to his request, and lifted his lips deliberately into a small, cruel smile. I don't think there was an exact translation available, but I got his gist. After a day and a half of bursting at the seams, it wasn't his smoothest move, but I have to admit it was working on me. I sensed our ongoing fight would be put on the back burner for now.

I raised my cuffed hand and held it out to him, palm up.

Pratt understood and reached into the belt of his loincloth for the key and deposited it into my hand.

I nestled my face into Riley's hair and spoke low and soothing. "He wants you to go back to your chains."

She whined something in disapproval. It was muffled and unintelligible.

"If you go on your own, he won't touch you. He'll only touch you a little to lock your handcuffs. I promise."

She withdrew slightly and looked far into her peripheral, knowing he was standing right behind her.

I was trying to find the best way to warn her about what was going to happen next. Her eyes were so wide and virtuous and while I was sure she had been deflowered already—by a high school sweetheart or another equally righteous virgin—I knew she was in no way ready for what she was about to witness. But I couldn't find the words. I locked onto her gaze as I twisted the key and unshelled the bracer from her wrist.

"Can I take a blanket?"

Flicking my eyes up at Pratt, he seemed surprisingly patient. I said, "I don't think he'll allow that."

I helped her up, reverently turning my face from the blonde shrub of pubic hair as she stood in front of me. I was pleased to see she had not conformed to the current waxing fad most young women were into. Besides our heads, it seemed the last acceptable place to grow hair was between our legs, up until recently. Even men were feeling the scrutiny. "Man-scaping," I think it was called. Some form of media—magazines, TV, blogs—had coined the term, although I was pretty sure it wasn't catching as quickly as women's Brazilian crotches. I wondered why that was.

Pratt held his hand out to collect the key and they returned to her chains.

I was relieved he didn't touch her, except for a quick brush as he put her arms back in her manacles, just so that my promise to her stayed true. While he was busy with Riley, I examined the new length in the chains. I was able to stand three feet from the wall and I tested them with a quick tug just to make sure they were still secure.

Pratt swung by the alcove and was carrying something on his way back. He tossed two small rabbit pelts and a ragged hank of twine onto the bed and waved me up so he could unlock me. The cuff clanked heavily on the bed.

Dropping down to his knees in front of my feet, he bowed forward and nuzzled the blade of his nose into the crevice of my cleavage. He inhaled deeply, exhaled a moan. His hands traveled my body, dragging his talons down my back like dull fish hooks. It was all familiar, the softness of his fur, the feel of his hands, his spicy smell of pine and earth. I placed my hands on the back of his sweaty neck, touching his long, bedraggled hair. I don't think it had ever seen a comb and I picked at two dead leaves, but the small twigs looked too tangled to remove.

He grabbed my hips, spun me around and sniffed the hollow of my back. I felt two light licks and then he was forcing me to sit between his knees. His excitement left drippy daubs of cold discharge on my skin and when he began snuffling a sensitive spot behind my left ear I could feel the shiver travel all the way up my scalp. I hummed in my throat and swallowed dryly. His large hand pushed so that I sat back against his erection and it settled in the furrow between my shoulder blades like a steel bar wrapped in velvet.

I felt his ribs on the back of my head, leaning forward, pushing my head down so my chin rested on my chest. All I could see were my breasts and the fold in my stomach as I bent strangely, feeling the satiny rabbit fur as it wrapped around my ankles, followed by the rusty screech of opening manacles.

I think I sensed what was happening before I could articulate it and I began to squirm in protest, but Pratt still managed to raise my left foot and clamp the cuff snugly around my ankle. He moved to my other foot and worked quickly, tucking the lining of fur inside the shackle. The next thing I knew, he was crawling up the wall in front of me.

Propped up on my hands, I glanced over my shoulder at Riley. She was kneeled at the wall, her white fists holding the chains above her, but then she started to get to her feet. For now she was ignoring her modesty as she gawked in befuddled fear.

My feet began to rise as Pratt reigned in the slack and suddenly my butt slid across the bed a few inches.

"Pratt?" I called. I think I had a better idea now what was about to happen and I swallowed again, thickly, trepidation boiling in my belly. Above me, the chains began to glance off the walls as Pratt lassoed them around those rods of rebar I had spent the last few weeks ruminating on, and then there was a quick yank on my ankles and the back of my thighs hit the cool, rough wall.

No, please, no...

And then I was heaved up in one motion. Sliding up feet first, I swallowed a scream as the abrasive wall raked against my buttocks and shoulder blades. Because of the rebar, my legs were split open as I hung there and my inner thighs strained to close; not to shut my legs, but to experiment with the hold of my tethers. My hair brushed against my dangling arms, which didn't quite reach the floor.

I felt the strain in my ankles, but it wasn't more than I could stand. The fur made a good cushion. I braced my elbows on the wall to settle my swaying body and relaxed the tendons in the back of my neck so I could see Riley across the room.

She harshly inhaled. Her hands were clamped over her mouth, her shocked, glassy eyes bulging out of their sockets, but she was eclipsed from sight as Pratt plunged into view. His mink strips were swinging against the contracting muscles of his thighs as he stepped toward me. I didn't think it was coincidence his erection was level with my gaze and it hung shining and furious through the gap in his loincloth.

"Leave her alone!" Riley's chains clanged animatedly on the grotto wall.

I couldn't see her through the thick trunks of Pratt's legs, but I was affected by her attempt to defend me. I steeled my voice. "Turn around, Riley," I called to her. It was the only thing I could think of to say. I wasn't used to being watched and the thought of her seeing this was paralyzing.

He moved closer and the fleece of his loincloth had a faintly musty smell snuggled against my face. Clutching the thick pillars of his legs, I pushed my face through the fur, breathing in the sweaty, humid air underneath, his smell irresistibly male, and desire unfurled deep in my belly. I felt the warm, wet pressure of his tongue there as he tasted me, just two tentative licks and then a deep sniff, tickling the damp hairs, treasuring my aroma.

Pratt made a low throaty sound of yearning, scrabbling to grab hold of his organ. Withdrawing slightly, he aimed the head of his penis to my lips, inserting me like a nozzle to a tank. He was a wonderful combination of silky and rigid and he pumped my mouth with hard, shallow thrusts. I flattened my tongue on the top side of his shaft and stroked it with my lips to the best of my ability while inverted. My vision was completely obscured by his large scrotum swinging heavily at me through his loincloth and I could feel his face between my thighs, sniffing and tasting at his leisure. Digging my heels into the wall, I thrust out my hips, searching for some release to end the torture.

I expected to be more distracted with Riley in the room, but I think in a way it was easier upside down, the mortification of my punishment seemed to strip me of emotional diversions. I was self-aware enough to know I didn't have the showmanship of Amy, who had given blow-jobs like there was a camera on her. Considering the amount of fluids dribbling into my eyes, the guttural, gagging sounds coming from my throat, and what felt like a constant expression of panic on my face, it was a relief to be half hidden in his loincloth.

For several minutes, all that existed was his penis crammed between my teeth and the throbbing fire between my legs. Squeezing his rigid shaft with one fist, my other hand rooted around under his loincloth to massage his balls briefly, inching my fingers upwards through the coarse hair to breach his clenched anus. It was hot inside, clammy with sweat, and I slipped in a second finger, curling them around his clinching band of muscle. I don't think he was expecting this. He adjusted his stance unsteadily, choking a sudden groan.

Growing rushed and reckless, he began driving his organ down into my throat and I heard my own vulgar gagging sounds. As my face drained fluids from every place possible, mouth, nose, eyes, I struggled to maintain composure, tamping down the rising anxiety, fighting to uphold a rhythm throughout his barbaric thrusts. The back of my jaws felt like jelly.