The Cave Ch. 03

I could sense his release brewing, his already tense scrotum shriveling, his wrinkled anus sealing around my fingers, his heavy pants subsiding. I felt the irrigation of ejaculate as it rushed through his manhood under my tight fist and then Pratt wailed something I'd never heard before, sounding like the two-toned honk of an injured goose.

The first spray jetted into my throat, a sour, bitter squirt, before my lips broke free from his bloated cock head and a gush of heat splashed my breastbone. Pratt's depleted organ was still enormous and shining as it hung down, slightly away from his body, slowly retreating into the sheath of foreskin. A rope of saliva glinted in the light, connecting my lips to his genitals until it snapped and flicked into my eye. While I rubbed it with the heel of my hand, sputtering to catch my breath, I remembered my own passion still coursing through my veins, but by then Pratt had already staggered back from the wall.

I groaned when I realized he didn't mean to finish me and my orgasm crept back into the gloom like an elusive black fog. Every nerve in my body was still thrumming on high, but that was my punishment for trying to escape, and perhaps a warning to Riley, too, for her own defiance.

Her sobs reached my ears and I gazed over at her reversed body as she weakly struggled against her cuffs. It occurred to me my tears were scaring her and I quickly wiped them away to dignify myself. I wasn't crying, but tears still emerged, running up my temples and pooling in my ears. Sniffing, I swallowed down the last few traces of ejaculate tang and winced. It was hard to close my teeth together and I rubbed my stiff mandible, moving it side to side while I searched for my correct bite.

It was then I noticed Pratt was straightening the coiled twine he brought over. I had forgotten all about the twine. Immediately he began wrapping my wrists with it.

When he was done, he pulled back the furs from the wall, revealing a tarnished metal ring embedded in the rock wall by the floor, about four feet away on my right. I looked to my left and saw another one there, too. He looped both sections of twine through them and the brutal rope cut into my wrists for a moment as he tightened them. With my arms and legs spread out, I felt like the upside-down, female version of Da Vinci's Vitruvian Man.

How long was I going to hang like this? Already, the blood was thumping between my ears and I was feeling a dizzying upturned vertigo that made my belly weak. Above me, my lacquered breasts seemed both heavy and weightless upside down and the milky substance that appeared to be leaking from my severely constricted nipples was disconcerting. The black fur at the apex of my spread thighs was matted down with sweat, saliva and my own desire and my pubic lips itched madly. He was probably right to keep my hands bound and out of trouble.

Despite his recent gratification, Pratt stepped back and gave me a ravenous, once-over look and I squirmed as far as the restraints allowed. Pressing close, he dipped his face between my legs and I thought he might take pity on me. But he used the tip of his tongue where there weren't any barbs to find my clitoris and wiggled it much too briefly over the swell of it. Both my passion and the terrible itch flared with torturous heat, and as he retreated my hips shamelessly pumped for more.

As he drifted towards the fire, the quick, low grunts coming from the pit of his chest sounded suspiciously like a wicked laugh.

*

"He lets you command him." It was a statement, not a question, and Pratt had only been gone 15 seconds before Riley announced it.

I had been resting my eyes, but now I opened them and everything was still inverted. Scoffing, I struggled, the twine biting my wrists relentlessly. Pratt knew what he was doing; I was not the first woman to hang from this spot. "You think I commanded him to do this?"

She was sitting piously, her legs out and crossed at the ankles, her hair demurely covering her breasts, and a frown perplexing her face. I think she was actually considering I had.

And maybe I did. Partly. I ran knowing punishment was more likely than escape. Maybe I sought reprimand. Maybe I wanted to give myself a reason to hate Pratt. But all I did was appear foolish in front of Riley. Strung up with chains and twine, miserable with longing—what a terrible first impression. My first night in the cave, Amy and Pratt had given me a show, but it was nothing as humiliating as this.

"He gave you the key," she reasoned. "He listens to you."

"Sometimes," I admitted. After everything he'd put me through tonight, he still craved my forgiveness.

"Are you okay?" she asked, and her sincere expression was a like a hug to my heart.

I sighed deeply, but it made me lightheaded hanging upside down. "I'm fine. Really. It looks worse than it is."

That was the truth; I wasn't trying to spare her. This was by far the most drastic thing he'd ever done to me, but I wasn't in pain and I was starting to get used to the pounding in my head. The clamps on my ankles made me feel quite secure.

"How long have you been here?"

Automatically, I lifted my head to the shelf above my feet, where I had been making notches to count the days. I couldn't see them, but it didn't matter, I had the make-shift calendar memorized. "Twenty-three days."

"Oh my—" She looked fearful just then.

"Give or take a day," I added lamely.

"And he's done this to you before?"

"No, first time."

"Oh." Riley seemed confused. "You just...look like you know what you're doing up there. If he ever did that to me, I think I might...absolutely...die. Do you think he will?"

I hesitated, wondering how much I should tell her. Amy never warned me about any of this and I had always thought it was out of bitter reproach, but now I realized it was all too complex to explain. Should I tell Riley how up until a day ago I wanted to spend the rest of my life in the cave? Should I tell her all the new, appalling things I've learned about myself? The shock alone would undoubtedly throw my mother into a sudden vegetative state or render my great aunt Vi a mute for the rest of her life. Or maybe I should tell her how I was dying inside knowing Pratt was going to fall in love with her and eventually cast me aside so they could be together?

Anything I said to Riley, she wasn't going to get it. Not yet.

"I'm not sure what he's going to do," I finally said after my reverie. But I felt like I should tell her more, while we had a moment to do so. "Tomorrow, he's going to unlock you and bring you into another part of the cave."

Her eyes protruded.

"But it's not what you think," I said quickly. "It's just so you can relieve yourself. You know. Use the bathroom? Do you have to go yet?"

I saw her gulp and shake her head no.

"If you have to go before then, just get my attention, okay? I'll make him take you."

She nodded and at that moment, Pratt returned, carrying a beat up stock pot by the handle. It was heavy and water slopped from the sides. When he was busy at the fire, using the spit to hold the pot above the flames, Riley and I met eyes cautiously.

He had to know we conversed while he was gone, but I think it only mattered we didn't do so in his presence. It was okay for me to talk to him when it was just the two of us, even if he didn't understand what I was saying, but I guess it would become quite annoying even for me, listening in on a conversation I couldn't understand. Like having lunch with two people who would rather talk to each other in a language I didn't know. His demand was not unreasonable.

While he brought the water to a boil, he pattered around the cavern, straightening up, extinguishing candles, tending to the fire. Normal things. I could tell it was later than usual and he had been so busy with us this evening to get his errands done.

Periodically he approached me to sink his tongue into the blackness of my pubic hair, tending the fire there, too, keeping my heartbeat up and my breathing fast. His partial erection was out, visible to Riley, the shiny red head barely hidden by the smooth sleeve of foreskin. I could see a sliver of her pretty face in the firelight and I watched her stare at his desire when he was far away, but if he entered her vicinity to perform some chore, she would curl up and look away.

When the water had boiled long enough, he used the ratty pelt of some rodent to lift the hot handle and dump the water into the drinking bucket by the exit. I think he kept the bucket by the tunnel because it was cooler there.

He set the pot down, stopped by the fire to add a large log to get us through most of the night and hurried to the bed. His eagerness was obvious.

His organ had stiffened to its full length and I thought he was going to put it in my mouth again, but he kneeled down in front of me instead. His face touched mine, affectionately brushing against my nose with his, chins pressed against foreheads. It felt like another apology and I was too tired to reject it. I sealed my lips to the skin between his eyes and I felt his face flush in response.

He started to lick my face, scrubbing me, the barbs harsh on my swollen eyelids, my raw cheeks, my lips. He cleaned the dried slobber off my chin and moved up to the kiln-dried glaze of ejaculate on my chest. He groomed me on the wall where I couldn't refuse him, working upwards. Already anticipating his scratchy tongue between my nether lips, my hips started their brazen dance of pumping air, my chains rattling urgently. I moaned for him to hurry, gasped in agony when he scoured my sensitive nipples and continued humming a tuneless song of pure need in time with my springing pelvis. Forcing me still, he combed through my pubic hair and washed the arousal smeared around the inside of my thighs.

I heard the key softly rattling in the lock at my left ankle and I felt my foot come free. He guided the side of my hip to his shoulder, holding me up so he could release my other ankle. Already my legs were so stiff and it felt good to bend my knees, but my arms were still fastened to the floor by the lengths of twine. He lowered my legs, slowly flipping me forward until I was face down. Setting me gently on my belly, Pratt made sure the twine stayed taut and my arms were stretched out in front of me. I rested my cheek on the bedding as he continued preening my backside, groaning into the covers and lifting my buttocks when he licked my anus.

Chilled by his saliva, I felt tacky, but clean. He lifted my hips, allowing my knees to come forward and with my face forced to keep low, I felt wide-open with my rear so high. He made me spread my knees so that my legs bent froglike on the bed. His nose pressed against my backside and I felt his tongue, warm and wet, slide down between my thighs. He gave my vagina several laps before slithering his tongue far inside.

Cringing, my mouth dropped open in a long, silent moan as I felt the peculiar squirm worming against my muscle walls. I heard a lewd slurp as his tongue retreated and this time, he licked with delicious purpose. A divine cry came through my lips as the friction of his thorny tongue on my bloated clitoris sent a crackle of electricity through me, creating a pleasurable quickening low in my belly. My backside began to bob uncontrollably to a wild pace, frantically searching for my release. It didn't take long to find. I shattered inside, my unseemly feral cries bouncing off the stone walls as I rode it out.

Pratt clutched my waist, digging his claws into the soft flesh of my belly, and burrowed into me, ramming, battering at the delicate gateway of my uterus. His angle inside was high and I could tell he was on his feet instead of his knees, leaned back on his hindquarters like the beast he was. The image in my mind's eye alone was enough to keep me climbing towards a second pinnacle and I tumbled down the other side, pushing a long libidinous moan through my vocal cords, white blindness searing the back of my retinas. Pratt slowed down, relishing his final thrust, snarling his relief.

Replete and drained, I slumped sideways in a semi fetal position, my arms pulling on the ragged twine around my wrists. I was asleep before Pratt had a chance to untie me, but when I woke later in the night, I realized it was because he hadn't released the ropes at all.

*

I slept on my stomach, the side of my face hidden in furs, my body covered in a crude patchwork of rabbit hides. Pratt had changed his usual position in the bed to sleep by me, the substantial yet comforting weight of his head lying on the small of my back. My shoulders were painfully stiff and it hurt to move them so I kept still, listening to the rumble of Pratt's breathing and the quiet dry heaves of Riley's sobs.

I wished I could go to her. I knew she was feeling scared and alone right about now, probably more than I was my first night. This was all so different from the way it was with Amy and I'm not sure what it meant, if anything. We were all individuals, reacting differently, and my gut reaction to Riley's arrival was to run away and hide. I don't believe I was wrong to feel this, but it made me realize how blithe and callous Amy seemed that initial night, acting as if nothing bothered her. Maybe that had just been Amy's way.

Worming forward on my elbows, I gave my arms a little slack to relax my shoulders. Pratt stirred and reached out in his sleep to smooth my hair, settling me.

The next time I woke it was from Pratt's shifting. I was lying in the same position on my belly, facing away from him, and I stayed absolutely still, knowing whatever muscles I moved first were going to ache the most. I felt him lazily sniff my hair and then nuzzle his face into the back of my neck, but still I didn't move, didn't breathe, realizing I hadn't yet gotten my revenge on him for playing dead on me.

For several long moments, he stroked my hair, his woolly body pressed against my side, gently rousing me. My breaths were as shallow as I dared. It was so long before he suspected anything I was sure he could hear my heart beat or smell my general aliveness. Then he bristled.

I counted slowly to nine before his heavy hand roughly shook my shoulder. I had to grind my teeth together to bear the sting of the twine yanking on my wrists. I counted again, this time to thirteen, the blood thudding in my head the entire time. I wished I knew what was going through his mind and I was starting to wish I hadn't started this prank at all.

Two fierce jerks, one on each cord, and I was loose. Scooping me up, Pratt rolled me over on my back and I struggled to stay flappy and unresponsive. I still had long bracelets of prickly twine around my arms and I wondered what he'd used to sever the lines. His own sharp claws, I imagine.

I felt him sniffing me, warm, humid gusts of air at my throat, and then heard the squeak of his whine, high and helpless. It broke my heart and my tears felt like needles jabbing the inside of my eyelids. I realized I wasn't doing this for a laugh. I think part of me wanted to wound him, to make him hurt like I was hurting.

I wanted to end the ruse, but Pratt was squeezing me with the strength of a vice. Very soon, I realized how easy it was to suppress my breath while Pratt was forcing it out of me. The sheer power in his arms terrified me and until that moment, I don't think I understood just how gingerly he had to handle me to avoid injury.

"Pratt," I rasped shallowly, using the reserve air my lungs kept for emergencies. "Pratt, you're squishing me."

He inhaled sharply, his hard arms relaxed. Air filled my lungs and I panted to catch my breath. Freeing my arms, I flung them around his neck and kissed him, searching his face in the dark with my lips. When I tasted the wet salt in his whiskers, my eyes flooded with scalding tears.

"No, don't cry," I said between kisses. "I'm sorry." Kiss. "I'm sorry." Kiss. "I love you." Kiss.

His massive hand was buried in my hair, lightly scratching my scalp with his long nails. He sniffed my face and I felt his tongue on my cheek, lapping to dry my tears.

"Stop." I pulled away, finding his face again with my mouth and gave him a little lick of my own. My lips moved on his skin as I said, "This time, I lick away your tears."

He seemed to understand, if not my words, then my actions. The patchy, fine hairs of his face were soft under my tongue. He tasted briny from tears and sweat. I had to kneel up to reach the other side of his face and Pratt considerately held me steady, running his talons tenderly up and down my bare back.

When I finished, his arms tightened around me, pulling me closer and my knees fell into a natural straddle around his narrow waist. He kissed me with his nose, running it back and forth over mine, our own special intimacy, and I felt the familiar thrill in my loins. Soon, the stiffness of Pratt's manhood was bumping against my sex. I felt his hand quivering as he reached down for his organ, gripping it upright for me to sink down on until I was full of him.

I felt his abdominal muscles flexing as he leaned back, holding me snug against his body with one hand while the other disappeared to the bed to hold himself up. His hips drifted up off the bed to slowly drive into me. I buried my nose in his chest hair, the peppery musk of tree sap and pine cones filling my nostrils, my fingertips plumbing his fur until I found his wrinkled nipples. I licked one. Stray, coarse hairs were like spliced wires growing out his areolas. Pratt gave a low rumble of approval but his leisurely pace remained steady, his unhurried thrusts measured and deliberate.

During the seeping trickle of my climax, I pressed my face into his chest, gasping. His arm was shaking underneath him from the burden of our weight and when he found his release a great sibilance of air hissed through his teeth.

His arm gave out and he dropped himself with a huff. I felt his empty organ slip out as both his arms curled around me. They were still shivering, I noticed, when it occurred to me: he only trembled when we made love.

In my chains again—right side up—I listened while Pratt bustled around in the dark, getting a fire going. As the shadows floated back, I looked over at Riley and discerned in startle she was already studying me. I wasn't even aware she was awake.

She looked away as if I'd caught her. I think we both blushed and I knew she had been watching last night. I didn't blame her. It had been quite a show from what I remember. I wondered if she heard us this morning, too, and I was glad it had been dark. Last night had been for her, but this morning...this morning was just for us.

Pratt came back to the bed to slide on his shoulder furs, kneel down in front of me for a good-bye Eskimo kiss and left with his broken basket to gather our breakfast.

Reluctantly, Riley met my eye again.

"Did you get any sleep last night?" I asked her gently.

"Couple hours. The sound of water dripping drove me mad."

Straining an ear, I hunted for that sound I'd long forgotten about, the soft, shrill rebound of hollow dripping. For me, it had become background noise, honking traffic in the city.

"I heard you crying," I said.

"I heard a lot of things, too." She passed me a tiny, almost apologetic smile and I knew she heard me talking to Pratt this morning. "You love him."

I hesitated. "It's complicated."

She lifted her eyebrows and nodded. "That's an understatement."

I agreed.

A few moments later she added, "He loves you too."

And he'll love you, as well. Probably more.

Looking at her, I wondered: if I acted out in jealousy towards Riley, would Pratt banish me, too? Would he choose her? I don't know what kind of relationship Pratt and Amy had when they were alone. Had it been anything like ours? I had been under the assumption Pratt and I were closer than he was to Amy, but as I stared across the room at my replacement, I honestly wasn't sure.